So begins Bethesda’s near-future apocalyptic RPG, Fallout 3. The story of your character begins quite literally at the beginning, with your birth deep within a Vault-Tec bomb shelter. After the exchange of nuclear fire between the United States and China in a slightly altered time where technology ran far ahead of society – most notably sticking the United States in the idyllic if somewhat paranoid 50s – many people, including your parents apparently, sought shelter in these underground complexes. As you grow, however, choosing your appearance and skills in an extremely immersive prologue, it becomes apparent that things are not what they seem. Eventually, you need to make your way out of the Vault in pursuit of your scientist father, but how you do that and what you’ll say or do when you finally find him is entirely up to you.
Stuff I Didn’t Like
This is a problem that’s probably going to crop up in future games as well as some of the games I play now: DLC. Knowing that ‘Broken Steel,’ ‘The Pitt’ and ‘Operation Anchorage’ among others are available for me to download and promise new content, new equipment and new story elements, I felt like I was missing out because I don’t have enough Microsoft points to get the DLC, nor do I have enough liquid assets to change into Microsoft points. At least I didn’t have NPCs bothering me about it, which is a problem I have with Dragon Age: Origins.
And now there’s the ‘Game of the Year’ edition that includes all of the DLC on the disk. Thanks, guys, but I still don’t have the spare $60 US for another copy of the game.
There can sometimes be a lag between hitting the button to bring up your inventory and actually seeing the screen come up. More than once I saw I was low on health, hit the button to pop some food, drink down some ice-cold Nuka-Cola or inject medicine as the nearby Super Mutant smashed my face in with a fire hydrant. I realize it’s a little more realistic than auto-regenerating health, but we’re also talking about a game with plasma rifles, giant robots and people who survived being turned into quasi-zombies with side effects including most of one’s skin melting off and sounding like one has a nearly terminal case of strep throat.
Stuff I Liked:
This might be an odd opinion, but the V.A.T.S. made the game much more enjoyable for me. This is a RPG, after all, and points in skills as well as Perks make it more likely you’re going to hit something you’re shooting at. People used to frantic relentless bullet-fests like Gears of War or Halo may find V.A.T.S. tedious or ignore it entirely, but for me, it helped me feel like my character was truly expert markswoman thanks to plenty of points in the Small Arms skill and a few of the relevant Perks.
While there’s a bit of an uncanny valley effect with the NPCs, the voice acting and writing is good enough that it doesn’t interfere too much with immersion most of the time.
Speaking of voice acting, there’s some good talent on display, and not just from the likes of Ron Perlman, Malcolm McDowell and Liam Neeson as your dad.
The hostile mutants, from the giant scorpions to vicious creatures evolved from crabs, are genuinely terrifying in their rendering, which points to very good use of the graphics engine.
The lockpicking and hacking systems maintain the flow of the game and don’t break immersion, even if stocking up on those skills make it terribly easy to steal things right under the noses of people you’re supposed to be helping. Then again, if you’re looking for a quick way to gain bad Karma and make more enemies to blast in half in V.A.T.S. mode, the end result of stealing stuff in plain sight is probably pretty hilarious.
Stuff I Loved:
The Capital Wasteland. Unlike some other games out there, the world feels huge and very real in its own way. There’s also the fact that you’re rewarded for exploring the world, both in uncovering new areas with items and NPCs and in an actual reward after completing a certain side-quest. You can fast-travel from one spot to another after you’ve logged its exploration, but getting from one place to another can be a hike, and it’s a hike I ended up enjoying, except for the one where my dog ended up dying after a particularly long trek and I just couldn’t bring myself to repeat it.
From the radio stations to the publications available to the dialog of certain characters, there’s a great deal of well-realized atmosphere in the game. What we see in this post-apocalyptic wasteland is an America trumped up on its own national pride and sense of entitlement, making this game as much a cautionary tale about imperialism and national arrogance as it is a video game where you can blast super mutants with mini-nukes and set your house up as a love nest complete with cola machine.
Speaking of radio stations, I tuned into Galaxy News Radio for most of the game. I liked hearing Three Dog’s perspective on my exploits and there’s some fantastic soundtrack dissonance to be had. I loved hearing cheery 50’s music like “Civilization” or “Jazzy Interlude” playing while I mowed down Raiders or traded blasts with super mutants. It added yet another layer to the already deep atmosphere and made the overall experience that much more enjoyable.
The diversity of weapons available to you is pretty staggering. There’s implements of destruction tailored to a variety of tastes. If you like old-fashioned guns, you have plenty of small arms to choose from, up to the classic Henry rifle that’s downright musical when fired in V.A.T.S. mode. Ray gun aficionados need look no further than the Gatling lasers and plasma rifles. If you want to get up close, you can pick up a Super Sledge. You can even make your own weapons from bits of junk littered all over the Wasteland, from a slingshot-like dart gun to a mine using bottle caps for shrapnel – which seemed a little counter-intuitive given that bottle caps are currency in this nuclear future. It’d be like using jars of pennies in a modern explosive device. My favorite crafted weapon, however, was the Shishkabob, a literal flaming sword. Then again, maybe that’s because I was loaded with good Karma and it fit with me being a paladin.
Bottom Line: Buy this game. The Game of the Year edition might save you some time, money and frustration in the long run. I’d like to find out for myself – we’ll see how good Santa is to me this year.
“Approaching Regula, Captain,” reported the helmswoman, glancing over her displays with dark brown eyes.
“Slow to impulse, Lieutenant D’Sarl,” Captain Parkhurst ordered. D’Sarl’s fingers moved across the console, her green skin catching the light from the indicators. The USS Farraday dropped out of warp, bringing the pocked surface of the Regula planetoid into sharp relief on the viewscreen.
“Analysis, Lieutenant Skirov,” Parkhurst said over his shoulder.
“Planetoid is D-class, no surface atmosphere. Initiating scans for survey now.” Ecaterina Skirov was normally more excited at mapping new celestial bodies, but her enthusiasm was watered by the fact that this was likely to be the Farraday‘s final voyage. Since the loss of her sister ship, the USS Kelvin, and several other accidents and encounters in the two and a half decades following that fatal incident, Starfleet had been reevaluating the longevity of ships dedicated solely to survey and scientific missions. A great debate had gone on back and forth about Starfleet’s mission, if they were truly a peace-keeping armada or if their focus should become more militarily pro-active.
A flashing indicator on Skirov’s console brought her attention back to the task at hand. “Captain, I’m picking up localized distortions around and below the planetoid’s surface. Scans indicate there’s some traces of a type of matter inconsistant with the planetoid’s composition.”
“Inconsistent?” Parkhurst asked, turning his chair to face the science station. His sideburns made his expression seem more dour than his actual mood. He, like Ecaterina, was a scientist first and foremost. However, he was also a Starfleet captain, and his ship had been given a schedule to which he had to adhere. While anomolies were what brought humanity out into the void, there was also protocol to consider.
“Aye, sir,” Ecaterina replied, adjusting her glasses. Her allergy to Retinax-5 had been a concern during her years at Starfleet Academy, but after acing her exams, Parkhurst had requested her presence aboard the Farraday personally. “The traces appear to be minute, and their patterns seem to point a form of dark matter. I will continue to investigate.”
“Captain,” came the voice of Chambers, the officer at tactical, “comm’s picking up some traffic.”
Looking at Skirov, who shrugged, Parkhurst nodded. “Let’s hear it, Ensign.”
Chambers keyed the speakers. The transmission was mostly static and white noise. Chambers manipulated his console and shook his head. “I’m trying to filter out the background noise, sir…”
“Let me try,” Skirov volunteered, and after a few moments, some of the words of the transmission could be heard.
“…ave Genesis… …ill me, Khan… …u have to come do…” The voice was seasoned, insistent but even.
“Analysis, Lieutenant?”
“Uncertain, Captain,” Ecaterina replied. “Transmission’s on a Federation channel but the encoding structure isn’t anything we currently use.”
“…ne far worse tha…” This was a different voice, more emotional and seemed accented differently.
“Who are they?” D’Sarl asked.
“I don’t know. Transmission seems to be bouncing between a point above the planetoid’s other side and a cavern within the planetoid itself,” Skirov explained.
“…ish to go on hurting…”
“Whoever they are, I don’t think they like each other,” D’Sarl observed. An Orion female, she knew the tone of voice being used by the accented man. It was a man out for blood, driven by a deep need for either justice or vengeance. She’d heard that tone more than once, and even from a stranger, it chilled her to the bone.
“…ied alive… Buried….”
“KHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAN!”
The bridge crew of the Farraday was silent. Eventually, a black man walked up to the center chair.
“Sir,” he said to Parkhurst, “if there are people down there, it sounds like they need help.”
“I agree, COB,” Parkhurst replied to the Chief of the Boat. “Lieutenant, life signs.”
“Unable to determine, Captain,” Ecaterina reported. “The odd matter is messing with the ship’s sensors. I’m not detecting any sort of atmosphere inside, however.”
“Well, those transmissions didn’t come from nothing. COB, you and the First Officer are going down there. Take Skirov with you.”
“Aye, sir.” Senior Chief Stone turned away from the chair and nodded to Ecaterina, who stepped away from her console as she removed her spectacles. A petty officer walked to the science station.
“E?”
Ecaterina looked towards the helm, where D’Sarl was watching her.
“Be careful down there,” the Orion said.
“I will, D,” Skirov replied with a smile as Parkhurst flipped an intercom switch on his chair.
“I’m tellin’ you, havin’ civvies aboard the ship’s a bad idea,” the muscular man in the red shirt was saying as he made an adjustment to a power conduit.
“I’m not saying I disagree,” the man in yellow replied as he handed the other a different tool. “I’m just saying that since this is a pretty direct route, the captain probably didn’t see the harm in bringing her along. It is just one civilian, after all.”
“Look, Commander,” the engineer grunted as he tightened the junction, “you’re new here. I wouldn’t expect you t’ be up on the ship’s history.” He turned away to face the other man. “I’ve been here since she first sailed from Earth. And in all her years, Cap’n Parkhurst’s never taken on a passenger that wasn’t some kinda ambassador or diplomat or very special egghead.”
“I understand that, Robert,” the commander said patiently. “But it is Parkhurst’s ship, and he has the perogative to say who comes aboard and who stays ashore.”
“As evidenced by you bein’ here,” Robert replied, crossing his arms across his broad chest. Unlike most Starfleet officers, he wore his sleeves short at almost all times, as if he wanted to get his forearms covered in grease or some other vital engine fluid. “And it’s ‘Chief Engineer Forrester,’ sir, if you don’t mind me sayin’. Don’t feel we need t’ get on a first-name basis since this is such a short trip and all.”
The commander sighed. “Fine. In that case, ‘Commander Lennox’ will do, unless you feel up to calling me Tony.”
“Permission to speak freely, Commander Lennox.”
“Granted.”
“I’d rather kiss a Klingon.”
“Bridge to First Officer,” came Parkhurst’s voice over the comm. Not looking away from Forrester, Lennox touched the speaker’s control.
“Lennox here, Captain.”
“Meet the COB and Lieutenant Skirov in the transporter room geared for EVA. You’re going down into Regula.”
“Understood.” He flipped the comm off. “I’ll make you deal, Chief Engineer. I’ll stay out of your engine room, you stay off the bridge. That way we won’t have to deal directly with each other. I don’t like that kind of arrangement, but if that makes you more comfortable…”
“Oh, don’t hurt yerself on my account, Commander,” said Forrester, tossing the tool into the nearby carrier. “Just stay outta my way.”
The engineer walked away and Lennox sighed, shaking his head. He touched the comm panel. “Lennox to M’Rann.”
“Yes, Commander,” rumbled the voice on the other end.
“Suit up. We’re going for a walk outside.”
“Delightful,” was the slightly accented response. “I shall bring my best space suit.”
“Bring your best phaser, as well. We’ll be in the transporter room.”
Lennox walked through the Farraday‘s corridors, trying not to feel annoyed. When Commander O’Neill, the ship’s previous executive officer, had been diagnosed with a chronic bone disease that required serious treatment removing him from duty, it had been sheer happenstance that Lennox had been stationed on Deep Space Alpha, the closest station to the Farraday. The ship’s doctor hadn’t been happy with leaving O’Neill at the station, but the rigors of space travel had simply become too dangerous for the other man.
Lennox stopped by the armory to pick out a hand phaser and space suit. As he did, he thought back over his previous assignments as First Officer aboard starships, two tours that had completed without major incident following his stint aboard the Constitution as tactical officer. Nobody aboard either other ship had been as attached to their vessel as Forrester was to the Farraday. Then again, he had joined the ship before she’d even left the space dock, and had served his entire career on her, rising to the rank of Lieutenant Commander. He’d probably figured Parkhurst would make him First Officer in O’Neill’s absence. But Parkhurst had opted for an experienced and decorated command officer instead rather than an engineer who was brilliant with ship’s systems and warp dynamics but had quite a few reprimands for behavior and disorderly conduct.
Suited up, Lennox arrived in the transporter room. Lieutenant Skirov and Senior Chief Stone were waiting for him. After a moment, the doors parted again, and the newcomer had to duck slightly to enter. At over two meters tall, M’Rann took the human-sized craft’s discomforts in stride. One of the few Caitians active in Starfleet, he had proven an enthusiasm for service and loyalty that impressed many among Starfleet who’d been leery of allowing members of a race so closely related to the Kzinti to join their ranks. The war between Earth and Kzin had been a long and bloody one, after all, and old hatred died hard.
Still, Lennox could think of few individuals to whom he’d trust his life. M’Rann had come aboard the Miranda as a cadet serving a year “afloat” as they called it, and Lennox had taken the young Caitian under his wing. When the Miranda docked at Deep Space Alpha and Lennox ordered to remain until the system’s provisional government could arrive to take over the station’s administration, M’Rann had asked to stay with him. Now, the Caitian smoothed the dark fur behind one of his ears as his vibrant green eyes moved from one human to the other in the room.
“Are we prepared to depart?” he asked, before checking his customized helmet for potential leaks.
“We were just waiting on you, Cadet,” Stone replied with a slight smile. As much as the idea of an individual this young soon becoming an Ensign and thus able to give him orders, Caitians had a great deal of traditions dealing with the honoring and even veneration of elders, so when the cadet spoke with the COB, it was always with deep respect. “Have you participated in deep space operations outside of a spacecraft before?”
“Only once,” M’Rann said. “And the lack of gravity was… disconcerting.”
“The first time I walked the hull of a starship,” Skirov put in, “I was petrified.”
“So was I,” Lennox agreed, checking his phaser. “At least we’ll have rock under us when we arrive. Set phasers to stun, just in case.”
They stepped onto the pad. Once they had their helmets on and enviromental controls set, Lennox nodded to the technician. “Energize.”
Parkhurst sat in his ready room, sipping coffee and looking over the ship manifest. There was a chime at the door and he set the data display aside. “Enter.”
A statuesque woman walked in, brushing a lock of flame-red hair out of her eyes. She slowly sat across the desk from Parkhurst. “Captain, I hope I am not interrupting.”
“Not at all, Doctor Fairchild,” Parkhurst said, his smile causing the ends of his sideburns to crinkle. “What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping I could offer you something instead, Captain,” she told him, smoothing out her dress. The cut of the garment indicated she was clearly a civilian. “Some of the crew seem on edge after hearing the transmissions from the planetoid.”
“I’m a bit on edge myself, doctor, but I assure you it’s nothing to be concerned about. Uncertainty at the unknown is a common enough reaction.”
“I understand, Captain. I just wanted to make sure you were aware of it.”
“Doctor Fairchild,” Parkhurst began, standing and looking down at the woman as he sipped his coffee, “I appreciate your insight, but I remind you that you are a guest aboard my ship, and this is a Starfleet vessel. Every officer and crewman aboard her is prepared to face the uncertainties of the cosmos. It’s why the Farraday was built, and why her crew is out here.”
“But the Farraday is going to be decomissioned when you arrive at Earth,” Fairchild pointed out.
“That has yet to be determined,” Parkhurst replied. “She may be refitted instead. Either way, it won’t be long until we know for sure. Doctor Fairchild – Sonora – it may be best if you put the concerns of the crew out of your mind, and return to your quarters.”
Fairchild blinked her aqua eyes slowly as she re-crossed her legs, a motion conspicuous due to the slit in her skirt. “I appreciate you wanting to keep me safe, Captain, but I’m sure you know that Starfleet Academy had me on a tour of the Federation frontier to better understand the nuances of crews operating in deep space, for the benefit of up and coming Starfleet officers. I would be a poor therapist if I didn’t take advantage of this situation to see a Starfleet crew in action in deep space. I gave you my word at Deep Space Alpha that I’d stay out of the way, but I ask you to please allow me to carry on my observations.”
Parkhurst thought it over, and just as he was about to answer, his door chimed again. “Enter.”
Wearing the blue uniform of a science or medical officer, her white hair tied back in a simple plait, the ship’s doctor strode in, handing Parkhurst a report. The Andorian’s antannae twitched slightly as she passed Sonora. “The latest manifest of ship injuries and illnesses, Captain Parkhurst.”
“Doctor Ilal, we’ve been over this,” Parkhurst said, his smile unwavering. “You don’t need to march every report to me directly. The ship does have electronic means of communication, after all.”
“I prefer it this way,” Ilal replied sharply. “I wish to be certain at all times that the ship’s captain has all the information he needs to run the ship with maximum efficiency in regards to the crew. And I don’t need some clever crewman down in the science lab intercepting a transmission that says a rival for a romantic interest has the flu.”
“Fair enough,” Parkhurst replied, handing her the report back. “Everything seems to be in order. Thank you, Doctor.”
The Andorian sketched him a short nod. “With your permission, sir, I shall return to tending to the officer who seems to have contracted a Centaurian strain of pneumonia.”
“By all means.”
Ilal turned on her heel and strode out. Sonora visibly shivered.
“She has the bedside manner of a medical tricorder,” Fairchild observed.
“But she’s one of the best doctors in the fleet,” the captain replied. “Anyway, Miss Fairchild, I think there’s no harm in allowing you to observe the crew as long as your presence doesn’t distract them from doing their jobs.”
Fairchild looked down at her clothing, then back up at Parkhurst. “I will try to find something more conservative to wear, Captain.”
“Thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we have an away team down in Regula taking a look around.”
The captain and the civilian left the ready room, and while Sonora returned to her quarters, Parkhurst went to the bridge. “Status report.”
“Away team has been in the planetoid for seventy-five minutes,” D’Sarl replied. “Communicators are active. Interference is at a minimum.”
“Put me through, Chambers.” Ensign Chambers toggled a few controls, then nodded. “Parkhurst to Away Team. Status report, Commander.”
“Lennox here, sir,” the First Officer said, his voice filtered by the respirator of the space suit. “This place is a dead rock, sir. There’s no life, no technology, not so much as a living microbe.”
“Skirov reporting in, Captain,” Ecaterina added. “Scans indicate that what we picked up from orbit were traces of a theoretical substance called ‘protomatter.’ It’s a highly unstable form of matter that is apparently close as matter can be to anti-matter without actually being anti-matter. The origins of it are theorized to be rooted in the creation of…”
“Skip the history lesson, Lieutenant,” Parkhurst’s voice ordered. “There’s no evidence of any kind of transmitter?”
“None, Captain,” Stone replied. The away team stepped through a craggy opening and their lights streamed into the empty space of a gigantic cavern, playing off the stalactites and stalagmites that were its sole population.
“Blessed Ancestors,” M’Rann whispered. “The entire Farraday could be held in this chamber, were the features cleared out.”
“But you’d have to clear them out without collapsing half of the planetoid,” Stone commented. “The Corps of Engineers would love it.”
“It does have a great deal of space,” Skirov reported, tapping commands into her tricorder. “There are some traces of oxygen and other gases kept in pockets around the cavern. They were probably trapped in the planetoid’s creation. Still there’s no way any life could be sustained down here. The First Officer was right – this place is dead.”
“Keep us posted. Farraday out.”
They walked along the stone carefully. Finally they came to another opening in the wall, and Lennox lead the way through. Skirov’s tricorder chirped.
“Sir, I’m picking up what appear to be…”
Lennox looked over his shoulder. “Appear to be what, Lieutenant?”
“Traces of phaser fire, sir.”
Lennox glanced at the other two. Stone and M’Rann’s expressions, despite being from different species, were almost identical. Both had their phasers ready. Lennox shined his light into the darkness of the side corridor formed in the rock.
“Any signs of power from weapons or suits?”
“None,” Ecaterina replied, swallowing as she tried to keep her heart rate down. “The traces seem almost residual.”
“Let’s check it out,” Lennox said. He lead the way into the darkness, followed by Skirov and M’Rann, with Stone bringing up the rear. They came into another open chamber, much smaller than the main one, and Stone reached out to touch the walls.
“No sign of anything. Not even lichen.”
“No life whatsoever,” M’Rann agreed. “Anthony… I do not like this.”
“What is it?” Lennox asked, seeming to ignore the Caitian’s use of his first name.
“This is wrong. I do not think we should be here.”
“I’m picking up more traces of protomatter,” Ecaterina reported. She waved her tricorder in front of a small alcove. “These readings match those reported back on Earth when they thought they’d found it.”
Before she could go on, the planetoid shook. All four of them struggled to keep their balance.
“Report,” Lennox snapped, looking at Skirov.
“I’m detecting a gravitational irregularity from the main chamber. It’s tiny, but it’s working against the gravitational pull of the planetoid. It has all the profiles of a singularity, but it’s miniscule, sir.”
“A black hole?” asked Stone. Ecaterina nodded.
“Aye, Chief, but it’s only a couple micrometers in diameter.”
“Still enough to make trouble. We better get out of here.” Lennox keyed his communicator. “Lennox to Farraday. Four to beam up.”
“Analysis, Lieutenant,” Parkhurst said.
“The microsingularity has disappeared,” Ecaterina reported, having doffed her space suit on the way to the bridge. Lennox stood by the captain’s chair, Stone had taken a place by the turbolift, and M’Rann had returned to his duties near the shuttlebay. “However, we’re picking up more traces of protomatter seven thousand kilometers away, heading three-two-zero mark one-one-four.”
“On screen.”
D’Sarl brought up the heading, and the viewscreen displayed the distant Mutara nebula, which occasionally flickered and flashed like a multi-colored thundercloud. Ensign Chambers narrowed his eyes at his console.
“Sir, we’re picking up more trace transmissions.”
“Let’s hear them.”
Chambers keyed the speakers.
“…miral Kirk. We t… …nce ur…”
“Did he say ‘Kirk’?” D’Sarl asked.
“That’s what it sounded like,” Stone agreed. “But the only Kirk in Starfleet is that young buck they just made captain of the Enterprise.”
Lennox and Parkhurst exchanged a look as the transmission continued.
“…aughing… …uperior intellect.”
“Sir,” Skirov said, “Much of the sensor data we’ve been getting – the protomatter, the transmissions, the weapons fire – they seem like sensor echoes. They have some of the same patterns as the wake of a ship moving through warp. I’m trying to isolate exactly what’s going on.”
“Keep at it, Lieutenant,” Parkhurst said. “Commander, your thoughts?”
Lennox took a deep breath. “Whatever’s happening, sir, it seems clear that it’s moving from Regula into that nebula. However, the fact that a microsingularity popped up out of nowhere in there, even for a second, seems potentially dangerous. If this area of space has been destabilized by something, there’s no telling if the Farraday can handle the stress.”
Parkhurst looked at his First Officer for a long moment. Stone frowned just a bit. While he’d been with Parkhurst since the beginning, he knew the First Officer was right, but was thankful Forrester hadn’t been around to hear him say that. The Farraday was an older ship, to be sure, but she was their ship. Forrester and Parkhurst in particular had a very close attachment to her. Still, Parkhurst nodded slowly.
“I see your point, Tony. But we’re explorers. If this is to be the old girl’s last trip, we owe it to her to explore something, and if it’s something that’s been unexplored up until now, so much the better.”
“I agree, Captain. I advise caution, but I think we need to take a closer look at this thing, whatever it is.”
“Right.” Parkhurst keyed the ship-wide announcement system. “This is Captain Parkhurst. We’ve detected irregularities in the uncharted Mutara nebula. It’s outside our flight profile. Starfleet has ordered us back to space dock for refit or possible decommission. Before they put the old girl out to pasture, though, we’re going on one last adventure.” He paused. “I know you’re eager to see family and friends back on Earth. I’m sorry for the potential delay. But this is what Starfleet is all about, and I’m proud to have each and every one of you as a member of my crew. Stand by duty stations. That is all.”
He toggled a switch. “Engineering.”
“Forrester here, Cap’n.”
“Robert, keep the warp engine warm. We might need to make a quick exit from Mutara.”
“She’ll be standin’ by, sir.”
“Lieutenant D’Sarl, plot an escape course towards Earth, and log it for emergency warp.”
“Aye, Captain,” the Orion replied, focusing on the task before looking over her shoulder and smiling at her friend Ecaterina. The science officer looked up over the rims of her glasses and returned the smile. Since they’d been in the Academy together, they’d talked about seeing and touching the unknown. Here, at last, was their chance.
“Not the milk run you were promised, eh Commander?” Stone asked the First Officer.
“No,” Lennox replied with a smile, laying a hand on the back of the captain’s chair as the Farraday‘s impulse engines pushed her towards the forbidding nebula. “No, it isn’t.”
STAR TREK and all associated technology and concepts are copyright Paramount Studios. No intention of credit or profit is intended. The USS Farraday and her crew are original creations of Joshua E Loomis and are protected under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License. Some rights reserved.
Maybe you got a letter. It could be something you received electronically. One way or another, a submission or entry upon which you’ve spent time and energy has been rejected. Now, I’m not talking about receiving constructive criticism. That’s always a good thing to get. Iron sharpening iron and all that. What I’m on about is the cold shoulder, either in the form of a bland photocopy of a generic letter or a complete and total lack of recognition for your efforts. It’s like fancying yourself a comedian, telling a joke and waiting for the laughs which never come. It breaks the heart and erodes the soul.
If you’re anything like me… well, you might need a shave. But in terms of this sort of thing, after a few rejection letters or seeing a publication for which you wished to contribute which doesn’t include what you sent, you probably went back over your submission with a fine-toothed comb. What did I do wrong? What could I have done differently? The questions inevitably leave to negative emotions. Maybe you’ll feel put out by the rejection, thinking your work isn’t good enough. There could be some frustration at the difference that ended up existing between what you envision and what you submitted. And maybe getting rejected for whichever time you’ve just been brushed off just pisses you off.
Good.
Not to re-tread old ground, but I’ve said over and over that negative emotions do not need to lead to negative outcomes. There a lot of things you can do with your feelings. One thing you should not do, however, is sit on your ass. There’s work to be done.
Pop the hood on your work. Strip out parts that rattle or shake. In other words, take a look at your creation and figure out the parts that work. Maybe you have a character or two that really connect with readers, or you’ve gotten some feedback telling you that a particular passage really hammers home the good things about your writing. Maybe there’s that one shot in your portfolio that really jumps off the page.
What about it works? Why does it connect while the rest of the work falls away? Step back and examine the situation, the environment and the construction of the parts that work. Once you recognize what makes those portions successful, strip out everything else and rebuild the work around that core of goodness. This might mean you only need to make a couple small changes, or it might mean you need to all but start from scratch. Don’t fret, though: declaring a do-over could very well be a step in the right direction.
One thing you don’t want to do is rush. There’s no need. Take a deep breath. Make some cocoa. Instead of tearing down what you’ve done and smashing it around with a wrecking ball, lay it out and take a scalpel to it. In the course of doing so, you’ll find things that you’re proud of in spite of the rejection and you’ll also likely find something that makes you smile and shake your head in that “What the hell was I thinking?” sort of way.
It might also be the case that you can’t bear to look at the project that’s been so callously rejected. That’s understandable. But you still have a bunch of bad feelings that need to get vented. You have the old stand-by responses of games, movies, booze and cocoa but the best thing to do, in my opinion and experience, is to do something in the same creative vein to get you thinking about what your next step will be. It could be back to what caused you to feel this way or it could be in a new direction entirely. You won’t know, however, until you take that step.
Whatever you do, no matter how many things you find wrong with your work, no matter how much cocoa you drink, no matter how many rejections you’ll have to deal with in the future, don’t give up. You’re trying to do something new and different. Creative people are inevitably going to face a great deal of opposition because the environment out in the world is one where creativity is seen as a secondary concern to efficiency or profitability, if creativity is acknowledged at all. You want to be fast in your process, efficient in your use of energy, but it can be difficult to bang out work promptly if you’re wrestling with bad feelings or unsure of where to go next. Don’t worry about that. Worry about getting from bad to good first. Then worry about getting things out quickly.
Don’t quit. Especially if your ideas and the need to express them get you out of bed in the morning and motivate you to expend your time and energy of turning them into reality. Screw the rejection and the idea that your creativity doesn’t matter because it doesn’t help you file TPS reports more efficiently.
“Don’t ask yourself what the world needs. Ask yourself what makes you come alive, and then go and do that. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.” – Harold Whitman
Drinking your cocoa from a mug of Shakespearean insults doesn’t hurt, either.
I’ve stated in some previousreviews that Jason Statham is a badass. I’ve also mentioned him in his work with Guy Ritchie, of which Snatch is the prime example. It’s also arguably Ritchie’s best film to date, often compared to Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels the way Pulp Fiction is compared to Reservoir Dogs. But before I start drawing parallels between two directors and lose what few readers & listeners I have, let’s talk about Snatch. The movie, not anything else. The film stars Jason Statham, Benicio Del Toro, Alan Ford, Stephen Graham, Dennis Farina, Rade Serbedzija, Mike Reid, Vinnie Jones, Lennie James, Robbie Gee, Ade and Brad Pitt.
Jason Statham is an underground boxing promoter in London by the name of Turkish. (Take notes, Dr. Boll, as he is not named “Boxer” or “Promoter”.) He and his partner Tommy (Stephen Graham) are trying to get their fighter, Gorgeous George, into the ring for a fair fight with one of the boxers promoted by local kingpin and pig enthusiast Brick Top (Alan Ford). Meanwhile, Frankie Four-Fingers (del Toro) has stolen a gigantic diamond from Antwerp to the delight of his boss Cousin Avi (Farina) and is heading to London to discuss his ill-gotten gains with Doug the Head (Reid). Aware of his arrival is Boris the Blade, aka Boris the Bullet-Dodger (Serbedzija), who taps two guys from a pawn shop to intercept Frankie before he can offload the rock. Brad Pitt is a fast-talking semi-Gypsy bare-knuckle fighter, Jones is a cold-as-ice bounty hunter named Bullet-Tooth Tony and Ade is the world’s largest getaway driver. We never learn the name of the dog.
If you’re not confused yet, I’m impressed. The film juggles these disparate plots while standing on one foot and telling off-color jokes. If you’re easily offended by foul language, particularly the word “fuck,” you probably don’t want to watch this film. Or even be in the next room if it’s playing. The liberal use of “fuck” throughout the film might be explained away by some as a lack of intelligence since smart people find other ways to express themselves, but the adept balancing of the various plots and the three-dimensionality of most of the players indicate that plenty of higher brain functions were being engaged in this film’s creation.
While some movies struggle to cohesively tell one plot from start to finish, Snatch handles quite a few, which begin on separate tracks but slowly begin to weave in and out of each other. As I mentioned, most of the key players are given depth and characterization. Turkish, in particular, shows a gamut of emotions, from grim sarcastic satisfaction to almost palpable desperation. Brick Top is charismatic and even funny while being menacing, especially in a scene towards the middle of the film. The guys from the pawn shop are trying to move a body (I won’t say whose) when Brick Top appears and instructs them on an efficient and organic way to deal with such things: feed the body to pigs. After his informative if somewhat macabre tutorial, he rises from the couch and asks simply, “D’you know what the word ‘nemesis’ means?” Despite the comical tone of most of this film, Alan Ford’s delivery can be downright chilling. We’ve seen how ruthless and unhinged Brick Top can be by this point, so his quiet, understated question has all of the bite and discomfort of a circular saw dismembering a corpse in preparation for a piggy feast.
But as much as I love the characters of Turkish and Brick Top, the film is very nearly stolen entirely by Brad Pitt’s turn as Mickey, the Pikey bare-knuckle scrapper. Pikies are modern-day nomads, living out of caravans as they move from one campsite to another. They speak in an accent that is, in the words of Turkish, “not exactly English and not exactly Irish.” And most of them speak fast. Very fast. It’s part of their plan to pull the wool over the eyes of people with whom they do business, but it has the side effect of being absolutely hilarious. And the way we are introduced to this class of people is the same man who portrayed the dead-eyed reluctant predator in Interview with the Vampire and the gritty, ambitious detective Mills in Se7en. He’s bombastic, energetic, quick-witted and funny, yet also finds time to show a range of emotion from heartbroken rage to cold and calculating. If you don’t think Brad Pitt can act, you should see this movie. Then hit yourself in the face with a cricket bat.
Guy Ritchie’s writing and direction in this film are at their zenith. The jokes are funny, the characters are believable and the stories move along just fast enough to keep us off-balance without being terribly confusing, my condensed recap of the opening act notwithstanding. The action and violence grow organically from the story and setting, rather than appearing out of nowhere. You actually have to think, as the film speeds along, about what is happening to whom as the different plots begin to mix. Even the soundtrack is pitch-perfect, from Massive Attack’s haunting “Angel” to Oasis’ high-energy rocking “Fucking in the Bushes.” We even have great camera angles, fantastic framing and some of Guy Ritchie’s trademark jarring interludes. Pay attention whenever anybody mentions gambling to Frankie Four-Fingers to see what I mean.
Now, as I’ve mentioned, the language might be a little too intense for some people. And the frenetic pace and slightly offbeat nature of both the writing and direction might be a turn-off to others. If these are obstacles to seeing Snatch, however, I consider that a deplorable shame. This is some of the best cinematic storytelling I’ve had the pleasure to watch. The word ‘caper’ doesn’t quite do it justice. It’s smart, funny, gritty, intense and awesome from start to finish. Not one moment or shot is wasted. You may have seen Snatch already if you’re a regular reader or listener of my material. If you don’t own a copy, you should, but if you need convincing, toss it on your Netflix queue. And if you haven’t seen Snatch before, you should not only add it to your queue but bump it right to the top. It’s not just brilliant – it’s fucking brilliant.
Josh Loomis can’t always make it to the local megaplex, and thus must turn to alternative forms of cinematic entertainment. There might not be overpriced soda pop & over-buttered popcorn, and it’s unclear if this week’s film came in the mail or was delivered via the dark & mysterious tubes of the Internet. Only one thing is certain… IT CAME FROM NETFLIX.
“All drama is conflict” according to an old saying. That’s why combat features so prominently in gaming situations – it’s easy to have something feel dramatic when the player’s getting shot at. However, the drama and combat should grow organically from the setting and story, rather than just happening when things get dull. To that end, I want to flesh out the sources of conflict within my embryonic sci-fi RPG which still doesn’t have a title.
Colonization
Life on the frontier is rough. Given that the Jovian moons have people living in domes or underground, it’s even more rough. The colonies there were established not only to stem the growing population of the human race but also to mine Jupiter for hydrogen. Rather than simply ferrying it back to Earth, though, there are some Jovian colonists who believe they should be bartering the fuel for food and other niceties rather than just relying on the good faith of the Terran worlds – Earth & Mars. The colonists on Luna, by contrast, think the Jovians should suck it up & deal with it. The Ceres colony is somewhat indifferent to the conflict, as it has the smallest standing population and is little more than a way station between the inner worlds and the moons of Jupiter. This also lends it to being something of a “wretched hive of scum & villainy”. Anyway, some skirmishes have already been fought when armed transports from Jupiter refused to yield to Terran escorts or disable their weapons, since the Jovian colonies are not permitted to have active capital-grade weapons anywhere past Ceres. This flies in the face of the fact that the Jovians have already established a provisional government and military. The rules and regulations are chafing against the colonists’ sense of independence and all-out war seems inevitable.
Corporations
On both sides of the debate are corporations. Some have been on Earth for a very long time, and some have been established recently to represent and promote the interest of the colonies. The corporation sponsoring the mining of hydrogen from Jupiter and the union of workers who undertake this dangerous task are both pushing for independence and leveraging their product for profit rather than being seen as another arm of Earth’s expanding territory. The manufacture of weapons on both sides is highly profitable, and a war would only cause production to rise to unprecedented levels. It’s possible that some involved in corporate espionage would seek ways to get the war started. On the other hand, corporations on both sides are likely interested in establishing peace, to foster good business relationships and expand the possibilities for everybody to profit without loss of life. I’m certain that there are some business owners out there who actually believe that life is worth preserving, provided that in the course of becoming business owners they haven’t lost their souls.
Saturn
Beyond Jupiter and its moons is the next logical step in human expansion. Saturn’s atmosphere is also stocked with hydrogen, it has a plethora of moons and seeing the rings up close might be a draw for tourists. But who will stake a claim first, Earth or the Jovians? Has somebody staked a claim already? Even if the current tension between the home world and the colonies gets resolved without bloodshed, there’s every possibility that the mad rush to claim Saturn’s resources could lead to yet another conflict.
So what am I missing? Is this enough potential drama to draw people in? What else needs to be considered? Where should the project go from here?
