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 January 12th, 2007, 10:23 PM | |||
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| Project Forty-two: Part 1 - 1 - Darkness... it was his world. Until the light—so bright that it lit the insides of his closed eyelids—drew him out of it. Gradually, other things integrated themselves into his world. Something hard wrapped around his chest. Someone moving around in the room. He didn’t like the thing on his chest, so he opened his eyes and sat up. Bolts popped, clattered to the floor. A curved metal band slid off his body, and he casually reached out to catch it before it hit the ground. From the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of movement on the other side of the room. A man dressed in a white lab coat spun, stared at him wide-eyed. He looked the man over. Small. Slender. Scared. Not a threat, so he took a moment to gather intel on his surroundings. Beakers, a computer, filing cabinets and lab equipment he didn’t recognize. No weaponry. There was a small, high table beside him loaded with syringes and vials, and he was sitting on a metal table. The walls were also made of metal—steel, most likely. “Where am I?” The man raised his hand, looked at a mirror on the wall as he touched a wireless communication device tucked into his ear. “S-Sir? He’s a-awake.” The words coming from the other end were almost audible, but he couldn’t quite make them out, so he waited. The man glanced back at him, his brown eyes even wider. “Continue the examination? Y-Yes, sir.” He dropped his hand, simply stared at him. Looking down at himself, he noticed another band around his thighs. He took hold of it, snapped it free, and set it behind him with the other one. He took note of the hospital gown he wore. “Is this an infirmary? Was I injured in combat?” “Yes. I-I mean I think so. I mean—” The man straightened his wire-rimmed glasses and flipped through a clipboard in his hand. “You were in a coma,” he whispered. “You weren’t supposed to wake up.” “Am I a patient?” He stood, approached the man. The little guy barely reached his nose. “Or a prisoner of war?” “You’re a patient,” he said quickly, staring up at him. “I’m a doctor.” Somehow, he knew the other man was being truthful. Reaching out, he fingered his chin length brown hair. “This isn’t regulation length.” He nervously swept it back from his face. “I’m not military. I work for them in a civilian capacity.” That made sense. This guy didn’t exactly look like a soldier. “How long have you been working for them?” “Three days.” He bit back a smile as he lowered his head. “What is this place, and who are you?” “This is Fort Dempsey, Lab Five.” He gulped. “I’m Doctor Tyler Andrews.” He straightened, palmed his own chest as he searched for dog-tags. “And who am I?” “You don’t know?” “Would I ask if I did?” Tyler’s eyebrows drew together as he glanced down at his clipboard. “I was told you’d been in a coma for almost a year, which is surprising, considering your lack of—” his gaze flicked to his body, “—muscle atrophy. We don’t really know anything about you, so all the records just refer to you as #42.” “Forty-two?” He rubbed his pecs through his gown. “That’s my name.” “No,” Tyler said quickly. “That’s just what we’ve been calling you. We don’t know your real name, that’s all.” He leaned forward. “Disorientation and memory loss is common after a coma. Let yourself settle a bit, and we’ll go from there.” Not expecting the kindness, Forty-two felt his mouth crook into a faint smile. “You said something earlier about an examination.” Tyler paled. “N-Nothing invasive. A few blood tests, a few measurements. That’s all.” He tilted his head to the side. “What sort of measurements?” “Well,” he flipped through his papers once again. “According to the data, your musculature has been steadily building upon itself the entire time you’ve been here.” He looked up. “That’s exactly the opposite of what’s supposed to happen to someone in your... former condition.” That timid attitude had almost disappeared. Tyler must really enjoy his work. “Where do we start?” “Could you take a seat on the examination table?” Forty-two returned to the metal table. He picked up the bands that had tried to pin him down and handed them to Tyler. “Here.” Tyler held out his arms, waited for him to set the bands on his hands, and promptly dropped to his knees. “Woah!” Frowning, Forty-two stooped to grab the bands with one hand and the doctor with the other. Holding Tyler by the scruff of his lab coat, he straightened, pulling him to his feet. “You okay?” He nodded, looking stunned. Forty-two held up the bands. “Too heavy for you?” Tyler wriggled in his hold a bit, and Forty-two released him. “Too heavy for most people, I think.” “These?” He curled the lightweight metal with one hand. “Don’t think so.” Tyler stared at him a long moment before retrieving his clipboard from the floor. “Alright, you can set those on the counter over there.” He stood. “And please take a seat.” Grinning, he did as he was told. “If I’m not a prisoner, then why did you try to lock me to this table?” Just like that, Tyler’s composure evaporated. “I-I didn’t.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Really,” said Tyler, his face open, honest. “I was as surprised as you when they rolled you in here. Restraints are sometimes used to make sure the patient doesn’t fall out of bed during transport, or if he’s prone to muscle spasms or seizures. But cloth or leather restraints should been more than adequate. Maybe...” He paused, shook his head. “I really don’t know.” Something inside of him heated as he stared into Tyler’s brown eyes. The first real emotion to hit him since he awakened, and he couldn’t name it. “Thank you.” Tyler stopped short. “For what?” “For admitting you didn’t know, instead of making something up.” He rolled up his sleeve. “You said you were going to take some blood?” Confusion flitted over his features as he set the clipboard aside. “Oh, yes.” He put on a pair of gloves and prepared a syringe. Then he picked up a rubber tourniquet, glanced at Forty-two’s arm, and paused. “What’s wrong?” “You have excellent vascularity,” he murmured, setting the tourniquet aside. “I don’t even need this.” Forty-two watched quietly as Tyler tapped the crook at his elbow with his fingers, swabbed it with alcohol. He decided he enjoyed the good doctor’s touch, wondered if he’d be getting more of it. “Alright,” said Tyler. “You might want to look away for a few seconds.” He kept his gaze locked on the doctor. Tyler’s skin tinted red as his voice went soft. “Or not.” He barely felt the needle slide into his skin. As Tyler loaded four vials of varying sizes with blood, Forty-two used the time to take a closer look at the little man’s face. His glasses slid halfway down his nose as his hair curled just under his chin. Intent, but gentle. Trustworthy. “Tell me, Dr. Andrews, are we the good guys?” With deft proficiency, Tyler removed the needle from his arm, started to place a cotton ball on the wound. He stopped himself, lowered his head. “I think so, but then I live here. I guess no one ever thinks they’re the bad guy.” It was an automatic answer—he doubted the other man even realized he’d said anything the least bit unpatriotic. Forty-two thought he liked that, but he wasn’t sure. “What’s so interesting about my arm?” “You’ve clotted already.” He straightened, dropped the cotton on top of the small table. His expression grew thoughtful as he removed his gloves and pushed his glasses higher up his nose. Forty-two’s gaze dropped to Tyler’s bare fingers. “You’re going to measure me now?” Tyler jumped, apparently startled out of his own thoughts. “Sounds good to me.” He glanced at the table, didn’t seem to find what he was looking for, and went to one of the cabinets against the wall. He trailed those long fingers down the labels before opening one and pulling out a measuring tape. He unrolled it and walked back to Forty-two, wrapped it around the biceps on his right arm. “Sixteen and a half inches,” he said, writing the figure down on his clipboard. “Want me to flex?” Tyler set down his pen. “Yes. Please. There’s no notation on the chart for it, but I’m thinking that’s because you’ve been unconscious for so long.” Polite. He liked that, too. Smiling, Forty-two lifted his arm and flexed, pumping the muscle a few times to make it hit a peak. The measuring tape slid from Tyler’s fingers and he scrambled to catch it before it hit the floor. Blushing, he wrapped it around Forty-two’s arm again. And a little bit clumsy. Why would something like that make him smile wider? “What’s the number for me now?” “Eighteen and three-quarters.” He moved on to the other arm, measured it at rest and flexed. After he made the notations, he chewed on the end of his pen. “What’s on your mind, doc?” Tyler set down his pen, looked at him. “Would you mind if I measured your right arm again?” His gaze still locked on the doctor, Forty-two lifted his arm and flexed. “Not a problem.” Tyler measured his arm again, leaning in so close that his nose almost brushed against the biceps. When he’d found whatever he was looking for, he straightened, met Forty-two’s gaze. “Your arms are perfectly symmetrical. Down to the millimeter. That... doesn’t happen.” “Does it mean something’s wrong with me?” “Oh no. It’s just...” He smiled for the first time. “Extraordinary.” That heat touched him again, and he wanted more. “What are you measuring next?” “Your chest,” said Tyler, more relaxed now. “Please lower your gown.” He reached behind him, untied the laces behind his neck, and dropped it to his waist. Tyler’s sharp intake of breath wasn’t lost on him, but otherwise the doctor’s expression remained professional as he wrapped the tape around his chest. “Fifty-two inches.” He stretched it across his shoulders. “Twenty-three and one half inches. Stand, please?” Forty-two slid to his feet, stood straight as the gown fluttered to the floor. His eyes rounding briefly, Tyler measured his waist. “Twenty-nine inches.” Bringing his clipboard with him, he knelt on the floor, his gaze darting away from his crotch as he wrapped the tape around his thigh. “Twenty-six inches.” His other thigh. “Twenty-six inches.” Calves. “Right: eighteen and three-quarters. Left: eighteen and three-quarters.” Tyler’s pen went to his mouth again. This time, though, it only stayed there a few seconds before he hopped to his feet. “It’s not on the chart, but can I measure your neck?” he asked eagerly. “Sure.” Tyler reached up, looped the tape around his neck. “Now, tell me if this is too tight.” His mouth crooked. “Will do.” Standing on his toes, Tyler read the measurement. “Eighteen and three-quarters.” He dropped down to his heels. “That’s amazing.” “What’s amazing about it?” Tyler wrote the number in the margin of his chart. “Your neck, biceps, and calves all have identical measurements. I’ve never seen proportions like that.” He stared up at him, awed. “You’re the Grecian ideal of perfection.” Forty-two tilted his head to the side. “And that’s good?” “Are you kidding?” His excitement spiked—he was practically bouncing now. “That’s... It’s...” He shook his head. “Wow.” Forty-two found himself chuckling. It felt... nice. Tyler seemed to realize he’d lost his professionalism, and settled a bit. He picked up Forty-two’s gown and handed it to him. “Here you go. You can get dressed now.” The smile slipped from his mouth, but he put on the gown. “We’re done?” “No, I’d still like to take your height and weight. That is,” he glanced up, “if you’re not too tired.” His grin returned. “I could do this all day.” Tyler’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he gestured to a wall. “This way, please.” Forty-two stood straight in front of a long ruler. “Here?” “Right here.” Tyler reached up, drew down a thin, horizontal board to rest on top of his head. Pushing himself onto his toes, he read the measurement. “Six foot one, on the dot.” All these numbers... they didn’t mean anything to him. But Tyler seemed to get a lot out of them, making Forty-two willing to hear them all day. “What’s next?” He pointed to the scale beside the ruler, and Forty-two stepped on it. Tyler slid the bars until they balanced. “Two hundred twenty-five pounds.” He wrote the number down. “And now we are done.” “Done.” This room was—literally—his world. He couldn’t imagine what was on the other side of the door. “I don’t know where to go.” Tyler’s lips parted as the playfulness left his face. “How are you feeling, Mr...” His question trailed. “You can call me Forty-two.” “But that’s not your—” “It’s all I’ve got, Dr. Andrews.” Tyler gave him a gentle push toward the metal table. “Why don’t you have a seat? Let me check you out properly.” Although his expression didn’t show it, he was relieved to know he’d be staying with Tyler a few minutes longer. He took a seat, watched as Tyler put his hand to the device in his ear. “Yes, sir. I’d like to take a physical assessment.” He frowned. “Sir, he’s just come out of a coma. I really think I should—” Tyler glanced at him, turned away as he lowered his voice. “Sir... I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight if I let him leave now.” Forty-two tilted his head to the side. Tyler was quiet another minute, nodding at the mirror in front of them. Then his shoulders relaxed, and he turned around. “I’m going to give you a check up now.” Why would anyone risk reprimand for a stranger? He didn’t understand it, and he wondered how many other things about Tyler Andrews he wouldn’t understand. “You want me to disrobe again?” Tyler blinked a few times. “Th-That’s not necessary.” Something damped the heat inside of him. Disappointment, maybe? Why? “It’s your show, doc. Tell me what to do.” He went to the cabinets again, dug around a while. “I’m sorry about this. I should have checked your stats first.” He pulled out a blood pressure cuff and moved to another drawer. “When you woke up like that, just shocked the heck out of me, you know? Forgot the basics.” Forty-two grinned. “Heck?” From his seat, Forty-two could see that his skin had gone red, but Tyler didn’t turn until he’d gotten everything he’d been looking for. He set it all down on a new table and rolled it beside Forty-two. After he’d wrapped the blood-pressure cuff around Forty-two’s arm, he slid a thermometer into his mouth. “Hold that under your tongue.” Tyler put on a stethoscope, slid the bell beneath the cuff, and pumped it tight. He studied the readings, then flipped the top page on his clipboard over to write a new set of numbers on it. “Your blood pressure’s normal.” He removed the thermometer. “So’s your temperature.” “Good to know.” He removed the cuff, pulled a penlight from his pocket. “Look straight ahead. Now, follow the light with your eyes.” Forty-two found the task simple, despite the strange urge to let his gaze drift back to the doctor’s face. Tyler returned the pen to his pocket, felt along Forty-two’s neck with both hands. “What was the first thing you said when you woke up? Do you remember?” He frowned, but answered. “Where am I.” The doctor checked his nose and ears. “What was the first thing I said?” “The first thing you said? Or the first thing you said to me?” Smiling, Tyler pulled back to look into his eyes. “To you.” Forty-two liked it when the little guy smiled. It made the entire room seem brighter. “You stuttered. Then you said that I’ve been in a coma and I wasn’t supposed to wake up.” His skin tinted red again. The blushes, too, were... likable. Tyler stepped back, rubbed the bell of his stethoscope against the palm of his hand. “Sorry for not warming this up when I took your blood pressure. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.” “No problem.” “It’s still going to feel cold, probably. Just to let you know.” Tyler tugged on the collar of Forty-two’s gown, pressed the bell against his chest. Although he recognized that the stethoscope was—indeed—cold, his muscles didn’t tense or flinch. “How’s my heart, doc?” “Strong.” He slid the bell to another section over Forty-two’s heart. “Steady.” He moved to stand behind him, slipped his hands beneath the gap in the gown and pressed the bell to his back. “Take deep breaths.” He took a deep breath, felt his chest expanding, his back growing wider. On the exhale, the movement of his body made Tyler’s fingers slide against his skin. The simple act of breathing took on a new dimension as he focused all of his attention on those fingers. Tyler asked him to lay down and he stretched out on the table. Gliding his fingers over Forty-two’s stomach, he tapped different points at regular intervals. Forty-two chuckled softly. The doctor glanced up. “Tickles,” he said, staring up at him. Tyler laughed, patted his stomach. “Alright, that’s enough. Stand up please.” He stood, turned to face him. “Hold your arms parallel to the floor. Now, close your eyes and touch your forefinger to your nose. Good. Your other hand.” He heard Tyler moving again. “You can open your eyes; have a seat.” Tyler checked his reflexes, made notations in his chart. Now that he’d embraced his role as ‘doctor,’ he seemed more mature, more confident. “How old are you, Dr. Andrews?” “Twenty-four.” “You’re a little young to be a full-fledged doctor, aren’t you?” Tyler broke into a smile. “That’s a very, very long story.” His gaze dipped to Tyler’s full, expressive mouth. “I don’t mind hearing it.” He paused, dragged a stool forward to sit in front of Forty-two. His lab coat fell open, revealing his jeans and a black t-shirt with Dr. Who scrawled across the chest in silver. “Actually, I’d like to hear about you.” He didn’t answer, just kept staring at that t-shirt, trying to figure out the meaning behind it. Tyler leaned forward. “Do you know how old you are?” He shook his head. “How old do I look?” “Hard to say,” he said gently. “I would peg you in your mid-twenties.” “About your age, then.” His eyebrows lifted, but he nodded. “Any idea what year it is?” “Not a clue.” Absently, Tyler picked up a pen and twirled it around in his fingers. “Then I’m guessing you can’t name the current president.” “That’s a good guess.” “What’s the last thing you remember before waking up here?” “Nothing.” He frowned and stuck his pen into his mouth, bit on the cap a few seconds. “Hey, do you happen to know who the first president of the United States was?” “George Washington.” Tyler grinned. “Well that’s something.” “Something important?” The pen started to twirl again. “Your vital signs are... textbook. Nothing to worry about there. Your coordination is perfect. You seem coherent speaking to me. You’ve got a lot of things in your favor.” “Will my memory return?” “Hard to say.” The pen twirled faster. “The brain is the most unpredictable organ in the body. I’d have to run a few tests, and even then I wouldn’t be able to give you a concrete answer.” This honesty... it was good. Very good. “Alright.” The pen finally stopped spinning. “I gotta tell ya, I’d be freaking out in your shoes. You’re taking this so well that if your vital signs weren’t so steady, I’d be afraid you were in shock.” Strange. He wasn’t afraid, or even worried. “I feel fine.” Tyler hesitated, then smiled. “Alright. But if you start having tremors, feeling queasy, or anything else unpleasant, then be sure to let someone know, okay?” His brow furrowed. “Someone? Can’t I just call you?” Surprised, Tyler straightened. “Mr.... Forty-two. While I do have some experience with patients, I was brought to the Fort Dempsey Compound to work in a research capacity. Now that you’re awake, you’ll probably have a military doctor looking after you.” “What if I don’t want another doctor?” The surprise intensified. “I’m afraid I don’t have any control over that.” “Do I have control?” Forty-two stood, leaned close to Tyler. “Should I say something?” Tyler leaned away. “Wh-What are you doing?” He slid an arm behind Tyler’s back to keep him from falling off the stool. With his free hand, he touched his fingers to the com-device tucked into Tyler’s ear. “Who’s watching us from the other side of the mirror?” There was a brief silence, before a man’s voice streamed through the speakers of the room. “This is Lieutenant Colonel James Garza.” Forty-two straightened, kept his hand on Tyler’s back as he stared directly at the mirror. For the first time, he noticed he was a blond. It was somewhat disconcerting, not recognizing his own face. “A Lieutenant Colonel, answering the phone? How much brass is over there?” “What... What makes you think there’s anyone else here?” His mouth crooked as he waited. Another silence, followed by a reluctant answer. “Colonels Abel and Bartram are present, as well as Brigadier General Simon and Major General Wright.” “You’re the ones running the base?” “We are.” His hand slid from Tyler’s back to his shoulder. “Permission to speak freely, sir.” “Granted.” “If at all possible, I’d like Dr. Andrews to oversee my care.” He felt Tyler’s gaze on him, but kept his own on his reflection. Even in the hospital gown, he could see the outline of thick, hard muscles underneath the material. And his stance was one poised for battle. No doubt about it, this body was built for combat. Garza’s voice broke his chain of thought. “We can arrange that for you, soldier. For now, though, why don’t we fit you with clothes and a place to stay?” Welcome to this man’s army. Forty-two heard a door open behind them and glanced down at Tyler. “The Lt. Colonel was telling the truth, so I’ll be seeing you soon.” A mixture of surprise and confusion shaped his face. Forty-two grinned as he fingered Tyler’s long hair. “Very soon, I hope.” Patting Tyler’s head, he left the room to see his world get a little bit bigger. He wasn’t scared, or even wary. He just needed to make sure Tyler Andrews stayed at the center of it. ***** Behind the mirror in Lab Five, Col. Abel chuckled into his fist. “This is going to go so bad, so quick.” “What are you talking about?” asked LTC. Garza, spinning around in his chair. “It went down almost exactly the way Dr. Porter said it would.” Col. Bartram stared at the window, watched the Andrews kid still sitting on the stool. “He’s right, Abel. This time the whole thing started out a damned sight better than the other forty-one Projects.” Abel smirked. “Considering the first ten projects killed the first person they laid eyes on, and the ones after those inevitably went on uncontrollable killing rampages, I suppose this is an improvement.” Brigadier General Simon leaned forward, also watching Andrews with interest. “Perhaps you should reserve judgement until you know more about the Project, Abel. After all, you were only added to the program three weeks ago.” “I’ve read all the files, though.” He leaned back in his chair. “This one’s got the same problem as all the others. Trust issues.” “That’s not precisely true.” Dr. Montgomery Porter—a tall, thin man with graying hair—rose to his feet. “The U-Soldier Projects are tricky. Stronger, faster, often times smarter than human soldiers of the same size. But something we do also makes them human lie detectors, and the Projects have always been picky about where they place their loyalties; vicious when they believe their loyalties have been betrayed. “We’ve never been able to overcome that flaw.” Porter picked up a remote and pointed it at the two-way mirror. It flickered, then began to replay the last hour at 2X speed. “Tyler Andrews is honest, open. He’s the type of citizen a soldier will die for, kill for. He’s the ideal American, and Number Forty-two has already exhibited signs of trusting him.” Abel linked his hands behind his head. “The kid really has no idea why he’s here?” Porter shook his head. “If he did, Number Forty-two would know, and we’d be putting it down before the end of the week.” “So we’re putting an ‘ideal American’ into mortal danger—without his knowledge—in order to carry out a Black Ops experiment?” Dr. Porter stopped short. “He isn’t in mortal danger. Forty-two is already processing what it does and doesn’t like, and it’s easy to see that Andrews is on the ‘like’ list. Why else would it request to be under his care?” Garza spun back to look at the screen. “Likes Andrews a little too much, if you ask me. There was a definite sex vibe there; I’ve never seen any of the other Projects act that way before.” Porter waved the statement off. “Impossible. The Projects aren’t programmed for intimacy. It’s not even in their vocabulary.” “Were you watching the same show as the rest of us, Doctor?” said Abel, his tone teasing. “Definite attraction there, on both sides.” “Regardless,” said Simon, “if that attraction makes this program viable, I’m willing to look the other way.” Garza’s eyes rounded, but he didn’t contradict the general. “Why did you choose this kid?” asked Abel. “His psych profile is perfect.” Porter paused the video. “Hard worker, somewhat naive, careless honesty. In many ways, he’s physically fragile, which should activate Forty-two’s innate desire to protect.” “Not exactly patriotic,” said Simon, rubbing his chin. “That little ‘good guys and bad guys’ comment he made could hurt us.” “Not a problem,” said Porter. “His psych profile indicated a certain submissiveness, a natural inclination to obey authority figures. His suggestibility will work in our favor.” “You think you can control that one.” Abel dropped his hands, unimpressed as he straightened. “Hardly a fool-proof plan. The kid said it: The brain’s the most unpredictable organ in the body.” Porter’s eyes narrowed into slits. Major General Wright stood, linked his hands behind his back as he walked toward the screen and weighed in for the first time. “Forty-two laughed. The first forty-one Projects seemed incapable of that.” He glanced at Porter. “Did you add that into his programming?” “No, sir.” Wright studied the images on the screen. “Then this Project is already markedly different from the others, and therefore worth pursuing.” He turned, leveled his steel-gray eyes on the rest of the officers. “Agreed?” All of them, even Abel, murmured, “Yes, General,” or “Yes, sir.” Wright gave them a short nod. “Dismissed.” The officers stood, filed out of the room. Porter left as well, but Abel remained behind. “General.” “Yes, Colonel?” “If I believe Project Forty-two is going to harm the kid or anyone else, I will put a bullet in its brain. That authority was granted to me directly from the President, to prevent another massacre like the one wrought by Project Forty-one.” “Understood, Colonel.” “And at the risk of losing my commission,” Abel leaned forward, picked up the remote to turn off the screen and reactivate the two-way mirror, “I suggest you take a good, hard look at Tyler Andrews. He’s just a kid, sir. Not a soldier.” “He’s serving our country, Abel. No one could ask for a more noble charge.” “Except Dr. Andrews didn’t ask for this.” The general’s face hardened and, knowing further discussion was useless, Abel dropped the remote and left the room. He was a newcomer to the base, but so was Tyler, and he was fully prepared to carry out his duty. He was serious when he’d said this was going to go bad, and quickly. Reading about all the lives lost before his arrival made him realize something the others hadn’t. Playing God had a price. __________________ www.rowanmcbride.com ***** "And so, may Evil beware and may Good dress warmly and eat lots of fresh vegetables." -The Tick     |
| January 12th, 2007, 10:25 PM | |||
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| This story has no plot. I was just feeling wacky with my birthday coming up.  -- Rowan __________________ www.rowanmcbride.com ***** "And so, may Evil beware and may Good dress warmly and eat lots of fresh vegetables." -The Tick |
| January 12th, 2007, 11:58 PM | |||
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| Well happy birthday, then! It's late, so I can't think of anything else to say other than I enjoyed this story very much. Very cool, indeed! |
| January 13th, 2007, 05:33 AM | |||
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| Quote:
Have a happy birthday, Rowan. |
| January 13th, 2007, 08:56 AM | |||
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| That's surpiseing. I suppose you have a talent for making the audience want to the know the backstory and what will happen next?  |
| January 13th, 2007, 09:25 AM | |||
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| So the story HAD no plot? I I strongly believe that once you post the story, they gain a life on its own. You might be the one who controls the fate on the tale, but it becomes something different for each reader. You might not had a plot when you wrote it. Now, however, you have a problem. The story already moved, and you have two options - simply dropping it (which is always a bad thing considering the potential of that scenario) or you will have to come with a plot. In any case you got yourself in trouble Rowan Congratulations __________________ There's no such thing as TOO BIG! |
| January 13th, 2007, 11:36 AM | |||
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| tyler andrews is officially my new favorite person and my archest of rivals--damned luck getting hooked up with that sexy #42, eh?  I shoulda suspected something WACKY was afoot when, out aaaalll the numbers, you chose 42, Mr. Adams Anyway I hope you play with this one some more...if you can...and would like to, that is...  __________________ just my thoughts as a writer Things happen. |
| January 14th, 2007, 05:26 PM | |||
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| Literary Numerology I would have expected Number 44, a nod to Mark Twain's last work "Number 44: The Mysterious Stranger". This did not reduce my enjoyment of the work, however. Thank you Rowan and Happy Birthday. |
| January 16th, 2007, 04:05 PM | |||
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| Quote:
Thanks for posting this Rowan... fantastic story, love the 'plot'; has so much potential, you'd better make damn sure you continue with it though, can't leave us hanging with just a single chapter!!  Last edited by yobdior; January 17th, 2007 at 08:34 AM. |
| January 17th, 2007, 03:15 AM | |||
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| No plot? Wow, a bit hard on yourself. No plot? It seems to have plenty of plot to me and lots of potential for it to become a full saga. It was your birthday, but we got the present? That was most kind of you - Thank You! I hope someone makes (made) your day a special one for you. Best Wishes! Quote:
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| January 17th, 2007, 12:31 PM | |||
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| Actually Rowan is right. At this point all we really have is set of characters and a basic universe in which they exist. There really isn't a plot yet. In setting up the universe Rowan has hinted at a number of possible plot lines. But right now the characters are standing still waiting for the action to start. And with out action toward some goal there is no plot. Ender |
| January 17th, 2007, 02:09 PM | |||
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| Let's see...42..42... Hmm, in 42 B.C. stuff happened in the Roman Empire, doesn't mean jack to the story unless Rowan edits in a character named Gaius or somethin. Well, in 42 A.D. some stuff happened in the Roman Empire and Asia, not that important. Uhh... The apostle Paul was supposedly converted to Christianity (Jan 25th), also not with the story. So... there's only one thing left for it to be (yes it's been mentioned)... it is... the answer to life, the universe, and everything. __________________ In the MGS FC's I am Psycho Mantis! "Put your controller on the floor...Put it down as flat as you can...That's good. Now I will move your controller by the power of my will alone!" |
| January 17th, 2007, 02:49 PM | |||
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| Hah, no plot. Hah! I am sure that there is a plot lurking in this story, waiting for you to spin it out into glorious words. __________________ WARNING: Microwave musclebear detection devices in use on these premises! [insert witty sig here] |
| January 17th, 2007, 06:49 PM | |||
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| It's been quite a while since I read the series so I'm not 100% sure of my memory on this... But isn't the Ultimate Question of Life, the Universe and Everything" to which the answer, as calculated over a million years by the computer "Deep Thought," is 43.... "What is 6 x 7?" Ender |
| January 17th, 2007, 07:05 PM | |||
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| 42. Six by nine. I have the book "The Restaurant At The End Of The Universe" next to me for any rebuttles. __________________ WARNING: Microwave musclebear detection devices in use on these premises! [insert witty sig here] |
| January 18th, 2007, 03:58 AM | |||
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| Is it a guessing game? Because at this point, we should know better than Rowan really likes to tease us, he must have a very simple and plausible explanation for this number, but he really knows how to make even the most mundane subjects turn into very interesting discussion among his readers... Well, just for the sake of the "guessing game" I also have my "theory" Someone mentioned earlier that 42 = 6 x 7 That's also right but to me: 42 = (3 x 7) x 2 Taking the "cabalistic" meaning of 3 (certainty, sureness, confirmation) and 7 (perfection) - I would say that our gentleman would be 42 because he is "two times perfection" - which would explain his potential. Well, that was just a dumb guess, don't lose your time paying attention Cheers __________________ There's no such thing as TOO BIG! |
| January 18th, 2007, 08:32 AM | |||
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| I bow to your memory...  Like I said it has been a long time since I read HHGG series... what I remembered was the answer was forty something and the question was 6 x something and that the answer and question don't match... not too be bad for reading it once about 10 or more years ago... as I read it the point was that the answer is incorrect but it didn't matter because the question itself is meaningless... I like the cabalistic theory twice "confirmed perfection" but doesn't 2 have a meaning too... I don't know much about the Kabbalah, but I know prime numbers figure in other similar forms of mystisism. There may be some cablistic references in Saved too... I did a quick scan on Kabbalah and it appears that dualism, such as with Tristan and Azra, figure in Kabbalah as well as the Eastern forms of mystisim of which I was aware... Ender Last edited by Ender; January 18th, 2007 at 07:05 PM. |
| January 21st, 2007, 12:38 AM | |||
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Just to get us back on point here, I just wanted to say that I very much enjoyed your new story. It's a little bit mysterious, with this big government project to design the perfect soldier, but the bright spot of the story is definitely the ever-so-adorable Dr. Tyler Andrews. He's young, cute, and a professional when he needs to be. The scene I quoted above - one of my favorites in the chapter - shows how wonderfully gentle Tyler is. It's no wonder that 42 has fallen for him! I know I have! Given how unstable the previous 41 attempts at "playing God" have turned out, I'll be curious to see how 42 develops. Perhaps the guiding influence of Tyler will help stay him from becoming the killing machine he seems destined to become. You seem to be on a role, Rowan. I don't think I've read a story yet where I didn't find a character I liked. (..... wait. That's not entirely true. I didn't like Jonah at first, but he DID grow on me, so I guess I can't count that against you. ) I'm looking forward to seeing the total hunk 42, who i suspect is going to get some serious muscle as time moves on, and the little Doctor who I seem to have developed a crush on.Thanks, as always, Rowan. Hope your b-day was spectacular! --JSmith |
| January 28th, 2007, 07:49 PM | |||||||||
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To everyone discussing the significance of 42's name: You guys think a LOT harder than I do. lol. I did get the name from Hitchhiker's Guide. It's one of my favorite books and listed on my site as such. I do plan to make one reference to it at some point, but really I just chose it because I thought it would be cool. Thanks for all the Happy Birthdays. You guys rock! -- Rowan __________________ www.rowanmcbride.com ***** "And so, may Evil beware and may Good dress warmly and eat lots of fresh vegetables." -The Tick |
| September 23rd, 2009, 05:53 PM | |||
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| Loved the story. Are you working on any more chapters? |
| September 23rd, 2009, 06:14 PM | |||
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| Hmmf. I really don't recall having read it, which is quite odd, since I read everything Rowan writes. But I didn't comment on it, so probably I didn't. I know it's supposed to be a one off but it would be great to see more of Number 42 and Tyler. xoxo Richard |
| September 23rd, 2009, 08:47 PM | |||
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| No plot? Are you kidding? It got a definite plot. It?s the story of the budding relationship between Tyler, a young, honest, naive doctor, and 42, a military super soldier, set admits the adversity of a Government black ops project. Sounds like a plot to me. |
| September 23rd, 2009, 08:53 PM | |||
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__________________ www.rowanmcbride.com ***** "And so, may Evil beware and may Good dress warmly and eat lots of fresh vegetables." -The Tick |
| September 23rd, 2009, 08:59 PM | |||
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__________________ www.rowanmcbride.com ***** "And so, may Evil beware and may Good dress warmly and eat lots of fresh vegetables." -The Tick |
| September 24th, 2009, 06:54 AM | |||
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| Oh. And I thought this was something new from mr. Rowan. We NEED another chapter of this. And soon! |
| September 26th, 2009, 08:37 AM | |||
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| WOW! I did not even since this in your profile. :O! Amazing story. God I love you stories. |
| September 26th, 2009, 02:23 PM | |||
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| I assumed the title was a reference to Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy x.x; |
| September 28th, 2009, 02:18 AM | |||
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I'm still surprised that 42's name sparked so much discussion. I had this vision of Tyler making a one line joke about it and never mentioning it again. __________________ www.rowanmcbride.com ***** "And so, may Evil beware and may Good dress warmly and eat lots of fresh vegetables." -The Tick |
| September 30th, 2009, 02:16 PM | |||
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| Damn, I knew it seemed familiar. 2007, hah. |
| September 30th, 2009, 02:30 PM | |||
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Plot or no, I love it! I think I missed it the first time around somehow. |
| December 1st, 2010, 06:28 PM | |||
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| Hi Rowan! Love your writing. You write the sexiest men, and do really interesting things with power dymamics. I really like the whole premise, Project Forty-Two has a lot of promise, would love the see more of it. |
| December 2nd, 2010, 01:06 AM | |||
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| Aw Come on, guy. Rowan, I haven't read one story of yours that didn't have a good plot. I may have my reservations as to what story I'd like to see you work on, but every story you've written has a grab and a sucess to it. Engaging and involving. I know you have to let your muse push you which ever way it will, but don't let it bring doubt into your story making. Maybe with this one, you're letting the characters tell you what the story is going to be. That can often be wonderful. Tyler Two? I just hope you take this for the encouragement it's meant for. This time of year leans towards the Dickensian, so I'll just ask for... "More Please." and of course.. Keep Writing. MD (And if it brings another chapter to Jascian, I'l really be happy.) |
| March 10th, 2011, 04:45 AM | |||
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| more, more, more... Please? I love this story, it's the second time I've read it and I'm hooked! Can't believe there's no plot. Any chance you're planning on adding to it any time soon? |
| March 14th, 2011, 11:15 AM | |||
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| The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy has this to say on the subject of the number 42: In the long, terribly complicated and extraordinarily dull history of the Universe, it has always been that the Truth is annoyingly difficult to find. And even when it has been found, it is usually far too complicated to make any sort of sense and so people tend to get cross, and demand straight answers, to which the usual response is "Oh, you mean lie? OK." This is exactly the case with the number 42. One day, a race of hyper-intelligent pan-dimensional beings constructed themselves a gigantic supercomputer called Deep Thought to finally calculate the Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything. For seven and a half million years, Deep Thought computed and calculated and eventually announced that the answer was in fact 42. And so another, even bigger computer had to be built to find out precisely what the actual Question was, and this computer was called The Earth and was so large that many people mistook it for a planet, paticularly by the strange, apelike beings who were blissfully unaware that they were simply part of a computer program. And this is very odd, because without this fairly simple and obvious piece of knowledge, nothing that happened on Earth could ever make the slightest bit of sense. __________________ "Ford, I thought you must be dead!" "So did I, which at least proved I wasn't. Then I decided I was a lemon for a while. I kept myself amused jumping in and out of a Gin and Tonic." "Where did you find a Gin and Tonic?" "Weell.. I didn't. I found a small lake that thought it was a Gin and Tonic and jumped in and out of that. At least I think it thought it was a Gin and Tonic." |
| March 16th, 2011, 01:49 AM | |||
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| Rowan, I just want to say how much I love your work. And I understand about not getting back to stories. It happens. It has happened with like three of mine...I keep meaning to go back to them but life can be hectic. Still, I really liked this one, it was a mysterious little gem. |
| March 16th, 2011, 08:51 AM | |||
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| More Hitchhiker's Guide on The Meaning of 42 Quote:
When asked to produce The Ultimate Question, the computer [Deep Thought] says that it cannot; however, it can help to design an even more powerful computer, the Earth, that can. The programmers then embark on a further ten-million-year program to discover The Ultimate Question. This new computer will incorporate living beings in the "computational matrix", with the pan-dimensional creators assuming the form of mice. The process is hindered after eight million years by the unexpected arrival on Earth of the Golgafrinchans and then is ruined completely, five minutes before completion, when the Earth is destroyed by the Vogons to make way for a new Hyperspace Bypass. This is later revealed to have been a ruse: the Vogons had been hired to destroy the Earth by a consortium of psychiatrists, led by Gag Halfrunt, who feared for the loss of their careers when the meaning of life became known. Lacking a real question, the mice decide not to go through the whole thing again and settle for the out-of-thin-air suggestion "How many roads must a man walk down?" from Bob Dylan's protest song "Blowin' in the Wind". At the end of the first radio series (and television series, as well as the novel The Restaurant at the End of the Universe) Arthur Dent, having escaped the Earth's destruction, potentially has some of the computational matrix in his brain. He attempts to discover The Ultimate Question by extracting it from his brainwave patterns, as abusively suggested by Marvin the Paranoid Android, when a Scrabble-playing caveman spells out forty two. Arthur pulls random letters from a bag, but only gets the sentence "What do you get if you multiply six by nine"? "Six by nine. Forty two." "That's it. That's all there is." "I always thought something was fundamentally wrong with the Universe." __________________ Working out is erotic, once you really get into it. |
| May 5th, 2011, 07:52 PM | |||
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| I really enjoyed reading this. It's so well written and I am hoping that you will decide to continue with it. |
| May 6th, 2011, 05:39 AM | |||
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| Me too. |
| May 6th, 2011, 01:49 PM | |||
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| The key to 6 x 9 = 42.... Quote:
Marvin isn't Paranoid, he'd Manic Depressive... And I happened across the key to understanding the meaning of life the universe and everything to which the answer is 42 which is 6 times 9... the key is... Base 13... 6 x 9 = 42 if you are using a Base 13 number system Ender |
| May 6th, 2011, 03:57 PM | |||
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oh? Coulda fooled me! Not only is there a nice plot developing, but I found this to be one of the most inticing chapters-1 that has appeared on this list in a LONG time. Not to mention, you actually know how to write! Thanks!!!! and I look forward to the next installment |
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