As part of the ‘SIGHTINGS’project, the latest draft of an ongoing graphic novel /e-book that I am developing titled, ‘BUSINESS CLASS / MOT’ is presented here. It is a short story is based upon a hybrid ‘Wizard of Oz’ with a UFO / sc fi narrative.
Displayed on this page is a preliminary draft of part one,
‘BUSINESS CLASS / MOT i’
It is also available to download as an animated 36mb pptx / Microsoft PowerPoint Presentation file
Although SIGHTINGS, has been operating for some considerable time, (since 2007), collation of all sightings gathered takes time. As such, related publications based upon field research is an arduous process, however this process is undertaken with professionalism and with the utmost care and dedication.
Our first publication is titled, ‘BUSINESS CLASS (MOT)’ and is the culmination of hard fact drawn upon from front-line field research, combined with a literary creative narrative. The result offers a glimpse into what can be created with dedication and high quality raw material supplied by our own team at Sightings and by our subscribers.
The lapel striked a familiar angle around the A12. Tidily folded, it complimented the Marks and Spencer tie. Top button was required but rarely was it fastened. Instead the loose collar was hidden behind the tie knot.
TIE The tie was in near perfect symmetry and although predictable, offered a steady balance between today and tomorrow.
COLLAR White was the target and was achieved by an extremely hot wash. Drying and pressing was important too, to achieve what is considered the timeless look.
BUTTONS How many? Too many. Still, the uniform provided an overall cover that would disguise him amongst them.
The technicalities of flying were far beyond his understanding. Anyway he had other challenges to consider. His suit fitted and his shoes were comfortable. The problem was that his side-parted haircut was far, far too shiny. However, it would have to do.
The craft’s design offered a silent journey through the entire universe.
He enjoyed examining the construction plans for the craft and often meditated on the complexity of something that was also so very, very simple. Home was a long way away now and that was good.
Tightening his belt he set forth, hoping that his suit would function, as it should. He had someone to meet who would be able to help him with a newfound malfunction of the craft. Once he was helped he could help others – this was common sense to him. He could then get on with some proper work. ‘Work’ was probably not the ideal description of what he was doing, but it suited him and made it easier to answer when asked what he was doing in ‘life.’ In fact the word life was also quite vague.
He knew that his craft, once fixed, was capable to something unexpected and inspiring. Even he himself was unsure to the true potential. A few years ago he had experienced a short, sharp blast of the craft’s capabilities. It was incredible to say the least. In short, it could do a number of magnificent things, but manly it could harness the untapped energy of mathematical formulas and the intellectual mental process that went into calculating them, then, transform itself into either a complex or simple isometric polygon of its choice.
This geometric shape was three-dimensional and yet, and this is what was outstanding, offered a flat plane entrance or exit to or from our immediate reality into another. It could take you in an instant from being awake and a state of alert, to a blurred deep well of sleep.
The changing shape of its own matter and form was endless. It was an entity that was only momentarily recognisable in its geometric and it was only then, whilst in this form, that our fragile and weak mental aptitude could, for a moment, observe it.
It was GOD LIKE and he had seen it. The problem for many is that although we had all experienced it in its purist form whist being conceived by our parents we had come to forget. We had forgotten what was most important. And this was sad. This sadness became a mist fogging any form in our senses that had once enabled us to be one with it. The craft was an extra terrestrial reminder. It was, he thought, not just a saviour, but God itself.
FIRST THINGS FIRST
First things first, that was a contradiction in terms to say the least. Anyway, he had to play by their rules now. Humans, he meant, well most of them anyway. So the plan was to get the damn thing fixed. Ok, so what was broken? They say it’s better to ask the right questions rather than find the right answers. It could be a number of things, for one it could be the fuel filter. It wasn’t a fuel filter in the conventional way, it wasn’t actually a filter, it was a series of perforations that collected a variety of metallic traces, magnetised and then re-channelled back into the fuel. The magnetisation process was key. The magnets needed looking at. This was the fault, he thought.
Without them working correctly there were a variety of impending dangers that could cause him and his mission to fail.
A GARAGE, A BIG GARAGE
Was what was needed. And for that he needed a recommendation. Ok, start from the beginning. He needed to talk, to communicate to get matters moving ‘forward’ in the right direction. How to talk and who to talk to were key. Key to his list*.
EVERY NOW AND THEN
Every now and then there as a problem, well he thought of it as a problem. The ‘problem’ was that although he had been properly trained and proved so far that he had ‘metal’, (which was quite funny description considering his biological make-up), and the correct attributes required for the task at hand, he had what can be best described as a ‘medical condition’.
Diagnosis: plain and simple memory loss, or memory fatigue. Symptoms: he could function as good as the best of them, however, the symptoms became evident over a prolonged period of time. Perhaps two months, six months, but more often than not it was most debilitating over a period of year.
You see, it was as if he were an electrical piece of hardware or software, with a finite storage capacity that becomes full of information or data. The system grinds to a painful and grinding halt and ceases to function.
One solution, he thought for elevating this condition and access more ‘space’ was to dump what was already there. Unfortunately, and this was the real problem, was that this chain of event appeared to happen automatically and unvetted. Important data was lost. Forever? He didn’t know.
The list would identify what was needed to be done, where it could be done, when it should be finished and what he should do, in the more than likely scenario, that the plan doesn’t go as hoped.
He looked normal from a distance and close up looked near normal.
His suit was his camouflage and it was also what was most likely to reveal his true identity, or at the very least, cause and incredible amount of confusion. He had learnt to speak human Japanese as this, he thought, was closet to his native linguistic. His appearance also leant toward that of a Japanese businessman. One that had just finished a long days work in a tiny office, with a huge amount of unfinished paperwork and was ready for home and a hot meal.
He’d practised so many times to look human and thought he was passable in the right environment, preferably early evening and somewhere that was very busy.
He liked to begin his train of thought with the word however. As such; however, if there was one redeeming feature it was that the system; the spaceship’s and his own, (which if you haven’t realised by now are intrinsically linked), were partly self-regulating.
Yes, there were regular problems, but with the right conditions and often quite a bit of time, it fixed itself; he became fixed. Whether this would happen exponentially or not, for now he would take it, and it made him happy. Unfortunately this time, this self-maintenance feature was not going to redeem his current situation.
HEARD OF A MAN
His only hope of actually finding some kind of realistic assistance was through his service issue address book.
A faux leather bound book about the size of a Japanese 1000 Yen note. Its respective wear and tear was faux too. You see, his appearance, including all ‘personal’ processions were part of his not-so cunning camouflage.
If his camouflage was a bucket then his camouflage leaked. Not enough to see the water level drop, but put it like this, if you leaved it on your living room floor, by the end of the day you’d have a wet carpet. His address book was the ONLY chance to find a way out of the mess that he found himself in.
Alphabetical, it was not, and random wouldn’t come close to describe the collation of its content. The federation that had equipped him, and all other pilots, had the reputation of thinking that all their personnel were hotshot geniuses. This was a description that did not suit him.
Nuts, sip of beer, Nuts, sip of beer, nuts, more sips of beer. Mmmm, so this was one of the pleasures to be experienced. He had found a pub not by chance but was sure some luck was involved. ‘The Cloak and Dagger’, esb 1879 was a public house that deserved to be responsible for accommadating the ‘reveal’.
Ron , the barman was obviously unaware of his plan and thought quite simply that he was a random stranger that looked a bit ragged and stressed and needed a pint.
He decked the pint not quite realising that it was better eticate to take a more relaxed approach to strong lager. However he was keen to follow the specified instructions to reveal his standard issue address book.
Detaching every other page from the first sixteen pages, he then folded each alternative page into a standing origami stalk. He then arranged them together neatly as if they were drinking at a lake of spilt larger on his horrible heavily varnished pub table and waited to see what would happen next.
To be continued,
BUSINESS CLASS / MOT ii
will be available soon.