Electron Wind

[Zarni]

Hello, and welcome to a first draft by me. I am aware that this needs MAJOR redrafting, probably a complete overhaul in the form of a full scale rewrite, and so am, as always, open to suggestions as to how to go about it.

Electron Wind[/i][/u]

Space is a lonely place. Everyone knows that. What most people don’t think of is how lonely it can be to spend eight weeks alone in a submarine at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean. In the old days it was different; before so much automation, you needed large crews to man a big sub like this one. Now it just takes one man and computer. Which, by the way, doesn’t make good conversation or play chess. It’s as much as a man can do to remain sane under such conditions, but somehow I was managing it.

My spell of duty on the Navy Submarine Lugubrious had been more than three weeks under way when the fault occurred. No major problem, I thought, probably just one or two of the engine’s cooling fins being jolted out of alignment. Still, I knew it was going to require shutting down the engine for a day or so to make the necessary repairs, and my stomach heaved at the thought of it.

I hate doing this. Consider me, at a depth of over a mile, with a pressure of so many tonnes weighing down all around me, and I have to play at being a mechanic. Used to do it just fine when I was a kid, but now, at twenty nines years old… well, I never envisioned I would be fixing a secret underwater military missile silo. But I knuckled down to it and got on with the job; the sooner I started, the sooner I would finish, and the sooner I finished, the sooner I could continue with my patrol.

I was, however, glad of a break from the monotony as I climbed down a maintenance tube towards the engine; doing the same old routine day after day wears on you. Same old buttons, same old readouts, same old scenery – or lack of – out of the ports. So dark. You never realise quite how eerily, oppressively dark it is down there. So, you can understand my position, after enduring over three weeks of solitude in such conditions, as I headed deep into the belly of the ship I had called home for almost a month.

Even clad as they were in the thick rubber-soled boots one expects from the Navy, the echoes of my feet on the metal rungs of the ladder still rang out clearly as I descended, not dying away for many seconds. You begin to notice that kind of thing when there’s no-one around to talk to; I couldn’t even use the satellite communication system, as this ‘routine patrol’ required that I maintain strict radio silence at all times. That’s the military for you: always paranoid that someone’s listening. I was feeling quite proud of myself that I personally hadn’t started hearing voices; I hadn’t even been talking to myself, which, I thought, was quite good going for a man in my position.

I reached the control point for the coolant systems that maintained safe engine temperature. Basically consisting of a long tube with spikes protruding from the circumference and pointing inward towards the centre, the hydro-regulator worked on a very simple principle, the stages of which I went over in my head as I initiated the shutdown procedure. First, ensure that the now inert engines are safely cool enough; wouldn’t want to deprive a hot reactor of its means for dispersing heat right when it needed it. Second, turn off the water intake from the surrounding ocean. Once there was no more water coming into the tube, I could leave it to slowly drain, removing all the water in the tube and allowing me to walk into it to exact the necessary repairs.

Thinking that a cup of coffee was merited before I began work in earnest, I ascended the ladder again to the living area. Glancing around the tiny galley that served me as a kitchen, my eye chanced upon the picture of Maria and Stuart that I had finally got round to making a frame for. I remember thinking it looked nice, hanging there in its makeshift way, and it just served to comfort me when I felt low. I wondered then, as I had done countless times before, what they were doing at that precise moment. I expected Stuart would be toddling around the garden, and Maria would be struggling frantically to try to keep him still and feed him; the image brought a smile to my lips even then, several hundred miles away from my wife and son, just as it did every time I had seen it in the flesh.

I finished my coffee and climbed back down the maintenance tube. This time, the echoes were so crisp that it was almost as if someone else was there with me, following me down. I reached the cooling plant, which by now had emptied itself completely, and keyed the sequence to open the door, granting me access into the tube. Bracing myself nonchalantly, as though there were someone to watch, against the metal doorframe, I watched the twin belts whir quickly round and round on either side of me as the door opened on its pulley system. Not quite knowing why, I felt the hair on my arms and on the back of my neck prickle slightly, standing on end as if I were nervous of something. What was there to be nervous of? I switched on my torch. Casually I passed through the wide doorway, designed of course for the equipment which, in just such a situation as this, one may have to take into the hydro-regulator in order to fix it.

There were, however, no tools yet; first I needed to do a quick ‘reccy’ to assess the extent of the damage, and of the necessary repair work I would then have to do to fix it. The cooling tube is an impressive sight, almost awe-inspiring by torchlight. Several hundred metres in length, it comprises the core of the great engine that drives the sub; the rest of the reactor is built around this tube. Its ten metre radius is filled with spikes which protrude down from the curving walls towards the central axle, and it is these spikes, or fins, which are cooled by the water flowing though the tube from the sea outside in order to keep the reactor temperature optimal. That day, however, it seemed somehow forbidding. I couldn’t say why.

There was, as per the requirements of your average human engineer, a clear path along the floor of the tube where there are no fins, so people like me could walk around and exacts repairs when necessary. It was along this path that I now walked, inspecting the fins as I went, so that I ended up practicing a sort of sideways skip-hobble which was almost comical given the circumstances. But as much as I tried to keep a smile on my face as I inspected, I couldn’t help but feel a little daunted by the silence. There was something, well, not wrong, as such, but certainly not quite right. Only my footsteps made noises, echoing down the length of the tube and then coming back again to creep up on me, almost playfully.

Then I heard it. Turning my head to look for the first time down the full length of the tube, a piercing, whistling scream engulfed my senses; it was as if the phantom of some long dead ghost of the deep was pouring out its anguish into my lonely mind. I dropped my torch, and, clutching at my ears, my eyes wide, I looked around me, trying to place the origin of the sound. But when I looked at the fins, the wind subsided. There was nothing there. Out of the corner of my eye, at the other end of the tube, I fancied I saw something move, a flickering shadow in the darkness no longer illuminated fully by the torch.

Cautiously turning, afraid of what I might see, I looked down the tube. And the scream returned. Striking me numb, for several seconds I felt I couldn’t move, just standing, trying to rationalise the deathly cacophony in my head. Eventually, I turned, and, not knowing or caring what may have been behind me, ran.

[Zarni]

It took me several hours, as well as a good stiff drink and a lie down on my bunk, but eventually I brought myself to terms with what I’d experienced down in the tube. There had to be some nice, straightforward logical explanation for what I had heard, but I couldn’t think what it was. Finally I regained my composure and courage, but, most importantly, I became curious. What had defeated me? I managed to convince myself that it must have been the loneliness playing tricks on me; my desire for human contact had manifested itself as a mocking parody of a voice. With this in mind, my resolve grew stronger, and I decided I would go back into the tube to face my fears. And to do those repairs so I could get the engine running again. There was nothing down there anyway, I told myself. Why then, did I pocket a knife from the galley…?


Standing in front of the metal door, I again braced myself against the frame as it whirred up; this time, though, I was steadying my nerves. Stepping into the tube, I noticed, as if for the first time, the darkness, broken only by the light from my torch which lay on the floor about ten metres from me. It threw up light at odd angles, casting bizarre and grotesque shadows from and upon the spike-shaped fins, making the tube seem more like a haunted cave, and I, fearless as I wasn’t, was standing at the mouth. I steadied my breathing, feeling the hair on my arms and the back of my neck stand on end again, and stepped over the edge into the void, into oblivion.

All I would do would be to retrieve my torch. It was as simple as that. Watching the spikes carefully, I sidestepped down the tube until could bend my knees and pick up the fallen torch. Turning to go back the way I had come, it hit me. The scream. The howling wind of the ghoul sounded clearly, echoing around in my head. For the second time that day, I ran. That time, I screamed myself.


No drink saved me that time; I had consumed all of my meagre ration the last time. All I could do was lie curled on my bunk and pant, sweat oozing from every pore, my eyes squeezed so tightly shut that it hurt. I couldn’t take that again. I wanted out.

Time passed, I don’t know how long, but I broke radio silence with a distress call, and got myself airlifted out of there. I’m not going back.


The recording ended there, and Professor Stein switched it off.

“Fascinating.”

“But can you explain it?” The inquiry came from the smartly turned out officer who had brought the recording in. “We were sure there had to be a scientific explanation for what happened.”

“Well,” replied the scientist, “I can’t think of anything offhand, but I’ll have another listen to his account and have a think about it. Is he in a fit state to answer questions?”

“He may be soon; he’s seeing a psychiatrist. He was very shaken up by the whole affair.”

Stein snorted derisively. “Pseudo-scientists,” he exclaimed, shaking his head.

The officer said nothing, thinking it wise not to hinder the great man’s train of thought. The room was nice, though. Standing, he walked across to a model of the solar system which hung suspended from the ceiling and rotated in a pattern he assumed to be representative of the actual rotation of the solar system itself. A very nice little toy. He turned back to Professor Stein.

“The MOD would appreciate it if you could let us know as soon as possible if you come up with something.”

“Certainly; it’s not often the University gets a case like this to look into. I’ll keep you informed.”

The officer excused himself and took his leave, and Stein, sitting back in his comfortable chair and pouring himself out a small measure of scotch, thumbed the button to play the recording through again.


“Thank you for calling us back to the University, Professor Stein.”

“That’s nothing; thank you for being able to come at such short notice.”

“The MOD has placed a high priority on resolving this issue as possible,” said the officer, curtly, as if speaking from an autocue, “so I am always available.”

“You must be Simon Harris,” the Professor motioned the other man to come from the door and sit down, deducing that this was the man around whom this entire affair revolved.

The man’s only acknowledgement that he had been spoken to at all was a timid nod, and he took the proffered seat, wringing his hands together nervously. He was a furtive little fellow, thought Stein, his eyes reddened through anxiety and darkened through lack of sleep. His every movement appeared jerky, as if ill-rehearsed, and he wondered again if he had made the right decision in asking that he be present here today. Still, he must continue with this, Harris or no.

“You will be pleased to hear that I have an explanation for you,” started the scientist, “albeit something of a surprising one. I have requested some equipment so that I may demonstrate something to you both in due course.” He gestured to the mysterious looking gadget he had hidden under a white sheet in the centre of the room.

Both the officer and Harris sat forward in their respective chairs, the former interested solely professionally, the latter biting his nails as if awaiting an ethereal revelation.

Stein could keep them in suspense no longer. “My explanation is purely scientific,” he assured them. “There was no paranormal involvement in this case at all, you’ll be pleased to note, gentlemen, just some interesting and unusual physics at work. Consider, if you will, what happens if a man is to be charged up electrically, and then discharged suddenly. He may feel this, when he is earthed, through a small shock, a little crackle, and then will go about his everyday business. This may happen when walking, for example, on certain carpets which allow one to gain a high static charge.”

He stopped, to ensure his audience was following, then continued.

[Zarni]

“However, this sudden discharge only happens when the surface area of the object through which the man is earthed is sufficiently large to allow it; something else happens when this is not the case. When a man so charged is brought close to a metal object of small cross-sectional area, the electrons which have built up as the charge in the man will discharge more slowly via the small object.”

Neither of his listeners were scientists, he saw that in their eyes. Military men understood little but their own killing trade, he thought, sighing inwardly. This would require his demonstration. Pulling himself laboriously to his feet, he moved to the centre of the room and, with a dramatic flourish, removed the sheet from the equipment it concealed.

“Is that a Van de Graaff generator?”

The speaker was Harris. Stein grinned to himself; someone obviously remembered school physics lessons well enough.

“Yes, it is,” he confirmed smiling, placing his hand on the large metal dome at the top of the machine and pointing to the belt which ran down vertically from a point inside the dome to floor. “When this belt rotates, it causes a charge to build up on the dome through frictional forces. The dome then has more electrons than the surrounding environment, and thus is said to be negatively charged. When a man holds on to the dome, he gains a similar negative charge.”

The officer nodded, and came across the room to join him, inspecting the machine as if assessing the threat it may pose to his wellbeing and to that of the country as a whole. He seemed about to poke it, but refrained.

“No, please, Officer, hold on to the dome. I have something to show you. Are your feet suitably insulated? Yes, they are. Good thing you’re wearing those boots. So was Mr. Harris, if you’ll recall from his account. Now, I’ll just switch the power on…”

Stein saw the military man’s muscles tense as if he expected a threat from the silvery dome, and Harris, still sitting, bit his nails with increased fervour.

“That’s weird; is my hair standing on end?” asked the officer, overcoming his navy man’s danger instincts and beginning to feel somewhat curious.

“Yes. That’s because your individual hairs are becoming negatively charged, and, as like charges repel each other, they are repelling the rest of you, which is, of course, also negatively charged.”

Now the Professor turned, and took from behind him a strange looking little implement. It appeared, basically, to be a metal pole with a sphere on one end, and the officer’s eyes widened at the site of it.

“Don’t worry, it’s not dangerous. Now hold still, this may hurt a little.”

He held out the sphere towards the charged man, making sure to keep his distance, and there was a loud snap as a small blue spark arced across the few inches separating the officer from the Professor’s globe.

“Ow! I thought you said it wasn’t dangerous!”

“I did, and it isn’t. But I also said it would hurt a bit. Now, that’s what happens when you discharge someone quickly with an object possessing a large surface area. When the object has a smaller surface area, the story is different.” He turned the pole around, so that now he held it out to the officer thin end first.

A slight hesitation, then, “I don’t feel anything.”

“No. That’s because the electrons are streaming from you to earth down the pole, but not in sufficient quantity that you feel a current which could hurt you. Now, listen to this. Mr. Harris, I want you to watch this carefully.”

The meagre man nodded, feebly, his eyes saucers and his pupils wide as Stein lifted the pole up so it was level with the officer’s ear. Startled, the man jerked back, stepping away from the generator, and got as his reward a small shock from the metal frame of a chair.

The scientist smiled as the officer rubbed his hand. “You heard it then?”

“What the hell was that?” exclaimed the officer by way of a reply, as he put his hand to his ear and tried to make sense of what had just happened.

“What you just heard,” explained Stein, patiently, “was the sound of all the electrons around your ear leaving you and streaming across to this pole.”

“It sounded like someone was screaming in my ear!”

“Yes, I know. That was precisely what Mr. Harris heard down in that tube on the submarine. Substitute the Van de Graaff generator for the doorframe with the belt system against which he rested, and this pole for the thin, spike-like cooling fins, and you have exactly the same situation as I have just demonstrated to you here.”

There was silence for several minutes as this sank in, and then Harris spoke up.

“So that’s why I kept feeling my hair standing on end…”

“Yes. It also explains why you only heard the wind when you were looking down the tube, so that the fins were pointing at your ears.”

“Well,” remarked the officer regaining his professionally cold composure with admirable speed, “I suppose that’s cleared the whole case up very nicely. Thank you very much for your help, Professor Stein, the MOD owes you a debt of gratitude for this. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I now have a report to write up explaining all that you have shown us here today.”

“Certainly, Officer,” said the scientist, amiably, “it was a pleasure to be able to help you out with your little challenge.”

Harris also rose to leave, but turned at the door, and said the only certain thing he had yet uttered in Stein’s presence.

“Thank you Professor, I thought I was going out of my mind.”

“That’s ok, I'm just pleased I could reassure you weren’t hearing ghosts.”

Harris looked at his feet, seriously contemplating this. “There was a point where I actually believed it myself,” he said, at last. He looked up again, appearing stronger already, as if some semblance of his former spark of life had returned to manifest itself in him once again. “There’s just one thing that still puzzles me, though, Professor.”

“What’s that?” he smiled, as if to put the younger man at ease, but quickly saw that it was unnecessary; Harris already seemed twice the man he had been when he had first walked into Stein’s office.

“What did I see moving at the end of the tube when I turned to look?”

Stein looked thoughtful for a moment, then said: “That, my friend, I’m afraid you are going to have to reconcile within your own mind; there are some dark places in the human brain which such a situation as the one you were in can bring out, and that, I think, is what you saw.” He smiled again, impressed that such meaningless psycho-babble had emanated from his own lips. “Although I believe a psychiatrist would be better suited to give you a proper answer than I.”

Harris nodded, noticeably surer of himself now, and followed the officer out the door. That was interesting, thought Stein when he was alone, and he stood for a while looking at the Van de Graaff generator. Truth, he concluded, is indeed stranger than fiction. Then, feeling foolish, he shrugged off this philosophical air, and went to get himself a whisky.

[Zarni]

I was considering changing the first bit so the Navy man is not actually military after all, but perhaps a civilian attempting the breaking of some record, or another scientist doing some research. But I'm told the second part is weaker than the first. What do you think?

[Toptomcat]

The strange-phenomenon-followed-by-scientific explanation type stories work somewhat better when the build-up is larger and more dramatic. Having the dry, technical explanation be about as long as the story does weaken it somewhat, yes.

[Zarni]

Would it be better if there was some element of mystery at the end? Maybe the scuientist can't quite explain everything, and it could be a tad enigmatic.

I reckon I'm going to make him a marine biologist doing either private research or somehting for the Navy. Not quite sure what the Navy would want with algae, though... Any suggestions?

[Medesha]

First off, just let me say that 1) This is a cool idea, and 2) I have been reading writing guides and revising my own novel for what seems like six weeks straight. So if I seem awfully pedantic or arrogant, just smack me down. Or ignore my advice.

The thing I noticed the most is the lack of conflict. This is a true "Idea" story (there are four main types of stories, which can be summarized with the acronym MICE):

Mileu: A story about a new place. It begins when the character enters a new world and ends when he leaves it. Think Shogun or Gulliver's Travels.

Idea: A story that reveals a new idea. It begins with the character wanting to understand something and ends when he understands it (like most mysteries. The detective wants to know whodunnit, and at the end, he figures out whodunnit.) A lot of sci-fi, like this story, is Idea based.

Character: A story about someone changing. Starts with the character being forced into change and ends usually when he either changes or dies.

Event: A story about something happening. Starts with the natural order of things being disrupted and ends when order is restored (think most action and disaster movies, like Independence Day or Volcano.)

Anyway, this is clearly an Idea story. The whole story is the scientist trying to figure out what's really going on.

But where is the conflict? By that I mean, who is the hero of the story and what is he trying to accomplish? Who is the reader rooting for? Why does the reader care?

I read "Electron Wind" and it was interesting, but in a detached, scientific sort of way. It was a little like reading a history book. No one was in any danger - there was no real reason for Professor Stein to solve the mystery except that the military asked him to. The officers made reference to things like, "We have to make sure there is a scientific explanation for this," but why? Why didn't they just write Harris off as a looney?

The story idea is really solid, really good, but it struck me as more of a thought exercise than a story. You need some drama.

Some ideas off the top of my head:

-Harris isn't the first man this has happened to. Several other men have reported "ghosts" in the submarines, and perhaps one very important one committed suicide. His family is suing the military, and the military has to prove it isn't their fault. The hero of the story is the officer who assigned Harris to submarine duty; if a scientific explanation can't be found, he will be held responsible for the other officer's suicide and for the lawsuit. His career and life will be ruined.

-Harris is still on the submarine. Due to a terrible storm, he can't get off the submarine for another week, and Harris is terrified that the submarine is haunted. His sanity is surely breaking down, as the military can tell from repeated, increasingly fragmented transmissions. Stein is racing to find an explanation for Harris before the man goes completely mad.

-The "ghost incident" happened a year ago. When Harris got off the ship, he babbled about his experience to anyone who would listen to him and has now gotten a reputation for being a "nut." Now Harris is up for a promotion but his superiors are reluctant to award it to him because of his past "psychotic episodes." Harris must prove that he did hear something down there and that he wasn't crazy or his career will be forever stalled.

I'm sure you can think of more. Basically I think the story would be stronger if you give the reader a character to care about and give us a reason why he needs to learn the secret of the electron wind right now. I know you're talented enough to make a great story out of this.

Hope that helped and it wasn't too pedantic!

[Wizard]

I like Medesha's idea #2, but it's your story, Zarni, so do whatever.

[K Man]

I second the Medesha #2 option Zarni. It's a good story, but it needs more DRAMA! ;D (It's not often I get to use that word with such flair. )

[Zarni]

Wow. Now I remember why I come here. You guys are good.

Medesha, I treasure every word you type, thanks for the comments. Now I must go forth and consider what other peopel have said as well.

Firstly, Harris will now be a marine biologist doing private research funded by the navy instead of being a Navy boy himself.

Secondly, I will try to add a slightly more enigmatic element to the ending. Some thing Stein can't quite put his finger on, which troubles him as a scientist.

Thirdly, I agree, there must be a reason other than curiosity; I like the idea that it's not the first man it's happened to, but maybe he's the most distinguished man to whom this has occurred, and thus this is the first time they are taking it seriously. THe others they have just written off as crackpots.

Look out for draft 2, coming to a board near you, sometime. Just as soon as I can bring myself to write the damn thing.