The Man from Snowy Belt. Chapter 1: Stolen Goods

I am in the midst of my third writing class at Hollins University, and loving it. We're focusing on retelling the classics in different ways. Below is Part 1 of the story I've been working on this week - "The Man from Snowy River" retold as a science fiction story.

We were all pretty excited about the roundup that morning.

Harrison had discovered that fifteen of her new Machines had been stolen at the break of day. She sent out a call immediately, and by ten AM, thirty or forty Machinists had gathered in her hangar. The giant room was full of men and women and Machines. Some of the humans leaned on one leg in that casual way they have and chatted it up, but the room was practically snapping with excitement. We love a good chase.

Clothes were every shade of the rainbow, favoring hot pink and electric blue and neon green. Most Machinists matched the personal Machines they'd brought with them. People are always trying to decorate the emptiness of space with color.

Even Harrison was wearing neon-green pants and an electric-blue long jacket, with her long hair darkening downward from fuchsia to deep purple. Her brown face really stood out against all that color. It looked nice. She had an eye for what would go together. Me, I go for the same-ole same-ole white and gray - and the gray used to be white, and my hair and mustache match too. By accident. To me, it's the person and the Machine that matters, not the color. But to each his own.

"Here's the deal," Harrison yelled over the voices, which quieted right down. "You know my Machines were stolen. Right now they're pretty much headed toward the Snowy Belt. I've never seen anyone who could give chase in the Snowy Belt, so let's go at them before they get there and see if we can cut 'em off and bring 'em in."

We'd all heard the story, although no one's sure whether it's true: A man leaves his Machine door open so the inside can dry after a nice shampooing. His cat climbs onto the pre-heated seat, falls asleep, and starts dreaming of floating - which is what cats apparently dream about these days, according to the scans. Machines are made to latch onto the brains that are allowed inside them and do whatever the brain wants it to do, so the Machine latches onto the cat's brain and begins to float.

Machines are only supposed to respond to registered brains, which are entered when you purchase the Machine. But smart as those scientists are, they still haven't figured out how to stop a Machine from latching onto a cat's brain, registered or not. Supposedly it could latch onto a cockroach's brain, too, except cockroaches don't have enough thoughts to latch onto. Good thing.

Anyway, the guy in this story finds his Machine bumping around at the top of his hangar, which he has fortunately kept closed. End of story.

But the story was probably true, because this time it really happened to Harrison.

Harrison's a cat lady. She has thirty-one cats, to be exact. And quite a few of them are partial to warm seats. Short Man, who doesn't work for Harrison anymore, complained later that she shouldn't let them live in the workshop, but he knows that he shouldn't have left ALL the Machine doors open. He claimed that they had to be open so the new decals inside could dry, and besides he only meant to be gone two minutes. He didn't mean to watch a whole futbol game in the break room. He just meant to grab a Yo-Lo.

Of course, it just so happened that Building Maintenance opened the inner set of airlock doors that afternoon to work on them, and without checking closed them and opened the outer set. Just like that, off wandered the cats in their Machines, floating in the direction their dreams took them: upward. Into the sky.

Except by now the cats probably weren't dreaming anymore. They were awake and terrified, and that meant escape.



As we finished getting our gear sorted and our Machines primed, one last little Machine popped out of the airlock and came to a rest. It was round in a lumpy way (when most of them are shaped for dramatic beauty, sleek and sharp), white and gray and brown in color - extremely old-fashioned, and a bit dinged up too. I knew it to be Young Jim's Machine. Unlike most of these guys, he built it himself, from old Machine parts, back when Machines were quiet colors.

He flipped open the lid on top and stood up, head and shoulders sticking out.

"Hey," he said in greeting. "Where are we going and when?"

"Ha," Harrison snorted. "We're going now. But ain't no point in you coming, buddy boy. We got some tough flying to do and it don't look like your piece a work there is ready for it."

I could tell this bugged him. He looked away and his short black hair made a crazy, spiky silhouette against the sunlight.

"Aw, come on, Harrison," I butted in. I reached up to rub my white mustache. "This guy's good. He lives near the Snowy Belt, and he built his Machine himself. I bet he's not too bad at navigating them tricky asteroids, right, Jim?"

"That's right," he said, still not looking at Harrison.

"Well, it certainly wasn't built for speed," she snorted. A few people chuckled.

He looked at her now. "And apparently your Machines weren't built with cat protection."

The group howled and flicked their fingers with delight.

"Whatever, man," she said to Young Jim. "Come with us if you want, but I can't imagine how your Machine will even make it that far."

I looked at his Machine again. It really was a piece of work, asymmetrical with the joints coming together at weird places. I'd defended Jim because his dad and me went way back and I knew he was a good kid, but privately I was worried about him. What if his Machine stopped working in the heat of the moment? It could ruin the whole operation if we had to worry about saving him instead of them Machines.

Harrison turned away from him. "All right," she said to everybody, "don't hurt my Machines. I'm shooting you the passcode so you can bring one in if you find it. Don't hurt my cats. And I have a prize for whoever brings em back unharmed. Let's GO!"

The mob gave a cheer and began jumping into their own sleek little Machines. I climbed into mine, too - not so sleek, but she's stood by me through a lot, and is one of the best little Machines a guy could ask for. I sat down on the warm little seat and rested my hands on my knees. A cup-holder, a mini-cooler for a sandwich or two, and a touch screen that was useful for navigation, auto-pilot and movies - the inside of my Machine was simple. Above that, it was all glass till up behind my head.

Together, we rose like a disintegrating asteroid.

I moved myself to fly next to Young Jim as we began the journey between the asteroids and up to the Snowy Belt. We live in an asteroid field, but the Snowy Belt is where they really get happening.

"Glad you came," I told him on a private radio signal. We could see each other through our bubble shields. His suit was just as plain in color as his Machine. At least he matched, Harrison would say.

"Don't know if I'm glad or not," he replied with a grin. "Hey, does Harrison have a plan for snagging them Machines? I've never seen anyone have to chase down a whole fleet before. You can't exactly herd cats."

"I dunno," I replied. "If I have to help her with it, I'm gonna get between them and the Belt. I'll set off a flash bomb and hope it scares them into going back toward home. Then maybe everyone else can have their nets out and catch them and we can guide them back. Do you have a plan, smartypants?"

"Dunno. If I'm even needed I'll have to see what happens." He frowned thoughtfully and looked ahead. I figured he wanted to focus on his driving instead of talking. I put my ship on autopilot and leaned back to enjoy the view.

"Hey, Clancy," I heard Jim say. I looked over. He was frowning at something inside his Machine.

"Yo," I said.

"Something's going wonky here. I gotta pull over. You keep going, I'll catch up if I can."

"You sure you're okay, buddy? Need me to look at something?"

He shook his head. "Naw, I'll be fine. I'll be careful. It's just the telepetrometer acting up and I need to figure out why it's saying this."

"You sure?" I asked again.

"Yup. If I don't show up, stop by and see me on your way back if you want. Gonna land on that stroid right there." He made a two-finger salute and dipped away from the group. I decided he'd be okay (he'd built his own ship, after all) and checked my autopilot to make sure it was still on target.



We slipped smoothly through space, and drifted between the asteroids - with purpose. There was the Kosciusko Trio on the left, each stroid several miles across and orbiting each other; then on the right, the Timor cloud, several asteroids less than a quarter of a mile across. The snow-white rocks everywhere stood out real sharp against the pitch black sky, which was also sprinkled with millions of stars. Here and there was a bright spot of color. Machines. We weren't in the Snowy Belt yet, but we were close.

"Clancy," Harrison said on the group line.

"I'm on it," I replied. I had noticed what she had noticed: a serious thickening of the asteroids up ahead - the Snowy Belt - and a small scattering of Machines, not our crowd. Which meant the cats.

I love this kind of thing. The beauty of man meeting space, the thrill of racing to meet adventure before she comes to you, the satisfaction of a hard task done, and done well.

I turned off autopilot and mentally moved my Machine into zooming action, racing off to one side so as not to frighten the cats. Gradually I curved around and got in between them and the Belt, like I'd told Jim I'd do.

"Y'all be ready to catch em. I'm sending em your way," I said to everyone through my headpiece.


Read Chapter 2 here.