Jet Carson & the Climate Machine

Or, What I Do Between Drafts of Big Projects

Happy Tuesday!

I finished the first draft of a new novel a few days ago, so while that’s cooling, I’m playing around with a few ideas. The one I’m sharing with you today came from Robert Junker, a gentleman I follow on various social media. He asked me if I had any Jet Carson (an important side character in “Mercury Rising”) short stories lying around.

Now, I’ve had a lot of thoughts about expansions of The First Planets universe, but not that one. I responded thusly:

And couldn’t stop thinking about it. And, so, I started something, an excerpt of which is printed below.

Jet Carson & the Climate Machine, 1957 (excerpt):

Dr Bijay “Banjo” Banerjee took off his glasses. “We have a problem, Captain.”

Captain Jet Carson leaned against the door frame he’d come partway through. “Didn’t think you’d called me down to talk about the weather, Banjo.”

“That is where you are wrong, my friend.” Banjo gestured to a seat on the other side of his desk. “Tea?”

“I brought my own.” Jet put a stained coffee mug on the desktop and claimed a chair.

Banjo glanced at the darkness inside the cup and pulled a face. Jet liked his coffee strong enough to power a docking thruster and so dark it trapped light. “Count Czar is back.”

Jet grunted. “That didn’t take long.”

“The Count has plans within plans. It’s possible the Callisto matter was just a distraction.”

“Heck of a distraction. Took two fighter wings and the Admiral’s flagship to chase him out of there.”

“Even so.” Banjo tented his fingers on his desk. “The speed at which he returned suggests he had this plan in the works long before then.”

“What’s he doing now?”

“He’s built a machine that he claims can raise the average temperature on Earth by three degrees in a single year.”

Jet took a mouthful of coffee. “Doesn’t sound too bad.”

“You’ve not seen the projections. How does a worldwide fifty-foot sea-level rise sound?”

“Pretty bad.”

Banjo ticked off troubles on his fingers. “Climate change at a speed natural evolution cannot possibly keep up with. The desertification of half the continental United States. Millions upon millions of desperate refugees from all over the planet looking for asylum. Super storms and broken weather patterns. Deadly heat events and domes. Polar vortexes.” He lowered his hands to the desk. “I could go on.”

“I get the picture, doc.” Jet rubbed his chin. It was just past two, but he stubbled up quick. “What’s he want?”

“A sum of money equivalent to three-years’ worth of the gross national products of the US, Europe, China, and the Soviet Union.”

“I’m guessing that’s a lot.” Jet’s chair squeaked. “Where’s he been since Calisto?

“The Arctic, apparently.” Banjo lit his pipe. “We haven’t found the base, but it makes sense. His family fled there just before the Russian Revolution in ’17.”

“Little before my time.” Jet smirked. “From an ice moon to the Arctic. You figure he’s set up on another popsicle somewhere? Pluto?”

“Probably not. Too far out.

“Could be anywhere then. The Moon’s got fifteen million square miles of its own. Still plenty of caves and cracks we haven’t laid eyes on.”

“It’s Mars.” Banjo tossed a folder onto the desk. “We have a mission for you, Jet. You’re not going to like it, and you’re going to like who you’re working with even less.”

Jet picked up the folder, opened it to the first print out. “Well, heck.”

 Jet paced angrily in their small living room. “We’re technically at war with these guys. How am I supposed to work with them?”

“You could resign in protest,” said Betty Carson, Jet’s wife of ten years. “Max Martinez would love to hire you as a pilot on one of his Moon liners.”

“Ha! Can you imagine me flying one of those whales back and forth all day?”

 “Easily.” Her mouth firmed. “Then you’d be home on the weekends, and we could get a good deal on a lunar cruise.”

“Betts.” He sat next to her on the couch and took her hands. “Betts, you knew what you were getting into when we tied the knot.”

“Maybe I’ve gotten tired of seeing you put your life on the line.”

 “You take on the most dangerous people in the city every day, Ms District Attorney!” He laughed. “I don’t see you batting an eye over that.”

“It’s not the same.” She huffed. “No one’s trying to blow me up in court.” A thin smile found her lips. “At least not usually.”

“I’m going to spend the next two weeks bored and missing you. Then there’ll be a day or two of light danger, followed by another two weeks of sitting around.” He lifted her hands to his lips. “Most of that time, I’ll be safer than you are down here. At least in space I don’t have to worry about bad drivers or getting hit by lightning.”

“No, you just have to worry about working with Yuri Grishuk, the Soviet Ace. How many fliers has he killed again?”

“Most of those were Nazis, dear. I shot down my share of them, too.”

“Still. What are they thinking sending you to Mars alone with him?”

“They’re thinking Count Czar is a bigger threat.” He kissed her mouth. “And I agree with them.”

Made with HotPot.AI

The next day Jet flew his long-range fighter, the Victory, to Paris, France, neutral ground for his first meeting with Yuri Grishuk. He landed at the American base outside the city and swapped his flight suit for something more appropriate for nightlife in the City of Lights.

“Can I get a ride in?”

The leader of the ground crew, a brawny fellow named Armaund Moreau, pointed with his cigarette. “You can sign out a Vespa at the gate, no trouble.”

The little scooter didn’t have the horsepower of Jet’s motorcycle back home, but it was perfect for the narrow streets of the old city. Jet had a little time to kill so he took the scenic route, checking out a few spots he remembered from the war and his honeymoon some years later.  Need to get Betts back here. She’s right; we both deserve a break.

Jett parked the Vespa outside the wine bar he’d been directed to and ducked inside the smoky interior. The table was in the rear. Grishuk was seated there with another man, their backs against the wall, drinking wine and smoking slim cigarettes.

“Commander Grishuk.” He dipped his head, never taking his eyes off the man.

Grishuk and the other man rose. “Captain Carson. I’ve heard so much about you.” Grishuk extended his hand.

The Soviet Ace was smaller than Jet had expected, compact in a way that suggested precision and speed. He shook the proffered hand. “Nice place.”

“We come here whenever we can.” He gestured to the other man. “This is my husband Afanazy Affek.”

Jet shook Afanazy’s hand, too. “I didn’t realize Soviet law allowed it.”

“It’s allowed, but not encouraged.” Afanazy smiled. “We seldom go out in public together in Moscow, so our little trips to Paris are a treat.”

“Please, sit.” Yuri gestured at the chairs opposite. “Wine?”

“Sure.” Jett examined the bottle. “I like red.”

The End (for now)

Maybe this will come to something, maybe it won’t. I’ve three or four full drafts in the drawer now, along with a few partials. I like to strike where the iron is hottest, but some Jet Carson shorts or novelettes might be fun. What do you think?

NEWS: I’m counting down the days (six!) until Earth Retrograde (the sequel to Mercury Rising) springs forth. Early reviews are still looking good, and there are two book events scheduled thus far – 6:30pm Nov. 2 at Pandemonium Books & Games in Cambridge, MA and 6:30pm Nov. 16, at Gibson’s Bookstore in Concord, NH. I’ll also be doing a signing event at World Fantasy Con in Kansas City, MO, but I don’t have much information on that, yet.

Paul Semel interviewed me about The First Planets duology here (and I am grateful).

How about a book giveaway? Tell ya what, the first five people who comment on this post with the word “rutabaga” will get a free e-copy of Mercury Rising to love (and hopefully review).

Currently reading:

Lessons in Bird Watching by Honey Watson.

Listening to:

Beyond Mere Politeness: The Art of True Civility

“Take a Walk on the Wild Side” (Cover)

That’s it, friends. In spite of it all, try to walk in beauty. -Rob