Author: Jacob Swift

Swift is a US Postman, writer, RPG player, husband, and father, based in a small town in Louisiana. After ten years of not seeking publication, he’s decided to try again. In the meantime, he works a manual labor job and cares for his family. This blog site is a spot for him to put his notes and thoughts down, as well as brag about his family’s accomplishments.

Time to start writing again

It’s been a few months, but I believe it’s time I started focusing on my keyboard again. I have to admit, I’ve missed telling my stories.

That said, I’ll be taking a new approach with my story-writing. I’ve wanted to try this a few times but have never had the opportunity. Strangely, the pandemic is helping me realize this goal.

I’ve always wanted to write out a Star Wars RPG campaign in story format, and I can finally do this. The players gave consent to being recorded, because my memory is terrible for this sort of thing.

So, readers, be ready for some interesting Star Wars (Legends) side stories! I’ll post the prologue soon!

In Memory of Brady Firmin

The only photo I have of my best friend, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Charles Brady Firmin (1988-2021), known to most of us as simply Brady, was a very complex man who would influence those around him through sheer wit and discourse. How he was seen by other people was their own perspective, but for me, he was a good man and a better friend.

I met Brady when he was about 20 years old, in a crowded apartment with the intent of nerdy interactions through Dungeons & Dragons. This should seem fitting by the end of this writing. When I walked into this apartment, greeted by mutual acquaintances and friends, there was this young man sitting at the head of the table who stood up to shake my hand and greet himself.

At that moment, I was 22 years old and reeling from depression, anger, and self-loathing. At that time, I was actively pushing away those few friends I had left. In that moment, I thought I was simply stepping into a several-hour session of debate and acting with people I either did not know or knew well enough to feel uncomfortable around.

Little did I know that, on that day, I would find a friend who became one of my most treasured people. I did not know that I was stepping into thirteen years of almost-daily conversation. I did not know that I was meeting who would become my best friend, and for a period of time, my only friend. I did not know at that time that I was being given only thirteen years to know a good person. I did not know that I was shaking the hand of a young man that would leave this earth in a short amount of time and I would miss him.

Upon meeting and interacting with this young man, I was struck by his sheer intellect. Here was a man I could not lie to, I thought. I had to be on my guard with my points of view and ready to explain my opinions. That was what Brady did to those who were receptive to rhetoric; he challenged them. I do not know why he saw this slightly older, angry person reeling from his parents’ divorce and sabotaging his relationships and thought “I will invest my time in this person”, but he had. That first night at our friends’ apartment, we sat out on the porch and debated both politics and religion. We disagreed, quite strongly, but he was patient with my rhetoric where he was otherwise scathing to our mutual friends in their stronger but ill-formed opinions.

Over the next 2 years, I learned that I had someone I could talk to and lower my guard around. I realized that I had someone I could trust. It would be years before I realized that he most likely saw the same potential in me, as he divulged his own secrets.

Within four months of our meeting, Brady would celebrate his 20th birthday and come out as homosexual. I like to think that he was personally frustrated by my calm acceptance of this admittance; I thought he was gay and had accepted the point at once, whereas several people at the same party gave him the shocked reaction he was expecting. It was probably that I had simply accepted the idea that told him to see me as a friend, but I genuinely hope he had simply liked talking to me. Really, we had more strident conversations over his atheism than his homosexuality. The latter was readily acceptable, but at the time, the former was worthy of discussion.

After this particular party, Brady became a daily occurrence in my life. Be it a sit-down at the local café or an exchange at the table over drinks, I had a fiercely intelligent friend who expected me to bring my absolute best to the discussion. If I faltered, he would call me out on the fact. If I slipped into a logical fallacy, he would bluntly tell me and help me walk back my discussion until I could explain myself better.

But he was always patient with me, where I had seen him reveal scorn to others who were willfully ignorant or steadfastly averse to education. I wanted to be a better person, and he saw that. He made the investment of time and discussion. He became an emotional foundation for me, like he had for so many others.

This is not to say that he did not come to me with his own demons. He was battling depression, self-loathing, alcoholism. He had a very bleak view of the world when left to his own devices. It’s possible that he needed the talks as much as I did.

Brady would take long periods of time to himself, named his ‘social hibernation’. During those times, he’d never answer my calls or texts, and I would not see him out and about. One of those times was well-deserved as he was struggling through rehab. It was during those times that I would learn how much I needed my friend, and I will shamelessly say that I missed him during those times.

After he became sober, he became a near-daily presence in my life. He visited my home through my bachelorhood, engagement, and eventual marriage. He was a cornerstone to my life. He became, as I liked to phrase it, my ‘Girl Friday’. He would visit and share personal moments of his life, delving into the details of his battles with diabetes with science and wit. I like to think that I learned more from my friend than I ever did in my stint at college.

My best friend died on August 17, 2021. He went into a diabetic coma and formed a blood clot that would eventually take his life. He and I did not see each other for over a year beforehand, but he would text or call every day. I will be saving our discussions.

I hope he knew how much I saw him as family. I hope he knew how much he was respected and admired. I hope he knew how much he meant to that 22yr old man who agreed to sit outside an apartment one night and discuss politics. I hope he doesn’t mind that I hope he is wrong with his atheism and that his soul is in Heaven. I hope he knew that he was my best friend for thirteen years.

I will never know. I can only hope.

Goodbye, my friend and little brother. Know that you were loved. Know that you will be missed. Know that we will continue after you. Know that we will tell stories about you.

I’ll miss you, my friend.

“The Queens’ Honor” Story Idea

Prologue

2240.01 CE
20.01 PSD (Post Starship Departure)

                Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, African League, Kingdom of United Stars Capitol

The city looked beautiful in the mornings, Queen Mahima Varma thought as she gazed at the sprawling metropolis from her veranda. The sun was cresting over the mountains and bathing the city, her city, in dappled red and gold. The early commuters with hover-licenses were gracing the upper lanes with their wakes, stirring the morning fog into contrails while the lower lanes battled in both vehicle and pedestrian traffic. The glint from the skyscrapers showered the city in even more brilliant light, overtaking the city lights in their own war for dominance in luminescence.
                It was almost a pity that today was a Firmament day, she mused as she rested her hands on the guard rail. Mahima was aware of the trappings of the throne, but the Lords should take a moment to enjoy the view sometimes, by God. Maybe then they would have a bit more awe in their world and stop pushing their expansionist agendas on the throne.
                “My Queen,” a voice demurely said. Mahima turned away from the spectacular view to find Ishim Valwa, her majordomo and sometimes confidant, standing at the door. Her dark skin was enjoying the first heat from the sunrise and Ishim, who knew the Queen’s preferred schedule better than even she did, had shown up right after her face was warmed. For all that it was a kindness, she was irritated that he knew precisely when to call her away from her leisures. She gave the man a slightly exasperated smile.
                “Must I, Ishim?” she asked. “It’s such a beautiful day.”
                Ishim smiled gently. “Normally I would agree with my Queen,” he said, “but I’m afraid that today cannot be simply waved away. You have more than just the Lords Council.”
                Mahima grimaced. “Are you sure my treatment is today?” she asked. “I could’ve sworn I would not be due for another fortnight.”
                “My Queen attempts at levity,” Ishim said, bowing at the waist. “It was a valiant effort, I will note. But I must also note that, had this been a fortnight from today, my Queen would insist it was the fortnight after that.”
                Mahima scowled playfully. “You never let me have my fun, Ishim,” she said. The scowl deepened. “Are we certain the treatments must continue? Eighty one years is quite a long life for a human.”
                “I am afraid that it is not nearly enough for the rulers of the Kingdom, my Queen,” Ishim said. “The treatments are meant to extend your life, and with it, the stability of the Kingdom.”
                The Queen raised a skeptical eyebrow, but walked away from the rail and to the glass door of the veranda. “The way the Lord Governor of Greacus Alphus tells it,” she muttered, “that stability is threatened by my mere existence.”
                Ishim bowed again, offering an arm to Mashima. “I cannot give an opinion on the nobles within your Court, my Queen,” he said, “but if I could, I would venture to say that Lord Tan had never understood the fine points of interstellar rule, and that was why he never became more than a Lord Governor.”
                Mahima laughed, pressing her palm on the reader for the door. The glass slid away, allowing the two to enter, sliding shut after Mahima’s gown was beyond the sensor.
                “Shall we, Ishim?” Mahima asked, looking out at the sunrise from behind the window. Ishim bowed again.
                “Begin Firmament protocols,” Mahima said, projecting her voice to ring out through the chamber. The halls began chiming a musical tone, and the palace grew abuzz with activity. Servants and staff dashed about the building, tapping on panels that activated the protocols within the structure.

Anything that was not already bolted to the floor or built into the foundation began cycling their magnetic harnesses, locking them onto the plates placed discreetly under their posts. Foodstuffs, wardrobes, and even pets like Centurion, Mahima’s mastiff, were ushered into secured spots for the protocol.
                “We will begin Firmament within two minutes,” a computerized voice said in the palace. “Please secure yourself within that time.”
                Mahima sighed and seated herself on a couch within the room. While it was cycling its magnetic seals, she was gingerly setting a restraint over her waist.
                “And it was going to be such a beautiful morning,” she complained. Ishim, seated in a personal chair and likewise restrained, smiled.
                “My Queen,” he said, “it will only be for a week, standard time. Your schedule will be free for another week. You will have ample opportunity to gaze upon the sunrises over the mountains.”
                Mahima snorted, rather delicately. “And the entire week will have morning rainfalls as we leave the dry season. Mark my words.”
                “I do, my Queen,” Ishim said. “Every word.”
                The two minute timer wound down to zero, and with the gentleness of a feathery wind, the palace lifted from the mountainous foundation and began to ascend. Mahima watched the window avidly, soaking up the view of her shrinking city. The space elevator built into the center of the palace took twenty minutes to rise into the stratosphere, and the view was always breathtaking.

Soon, the views of the Red Sea became visible, if but for a few moments. The lands drew out before her, with a brief glimpse of Cairo at the extreme edge of her window. The wide expanse of Africa and the former Middle Eastern countries, now the Crossroad Nations, revealed themselves to her in tantalizing detail.

                But the moments were short-lived, unfortunately. As the palace reached further into the heavens, security and safety shutters began slamming into place. Mahima sighed in regret at this, for all that she it was necessary. At least the exterior of the palace was rated for zero-vacuum; otherwise she would never be able to visit her favorite veranda.

                As the shutters settled, Mahima tried to settle herself and welcome the morning rituals. “Are the Lords already gathered?” she asked.

                Ishim shifted in his seat, bringing out his planner. “They have all arrived at Firmament,” he said. “Of course, it’s difficult to poll each individual, but there was a note made for their assistants to not keep you waiting on such a fine morning.”

                Mahima smiled at this. “How much bickering over territory must I expect?” she asked.

                “Considering that Count Lords Bristoli, Tan, and Otchello have been fighting to expand beyond our five colonies and the Urfenor have been aggressive in their negotiations over border security,” Ishim noted, “I’d expect a great deal of bickering.”
                Mahima raised an eyebrow. “You’re slipping from your strict stance of not having an opinion on the nobles, Ishim.”
                “I am merely answering the questions my Queen asks,” Ishim retorted, smiling. Mahima chuckled, but a thought struck her with worry.

                “Where is Norinaga?” Mahima asked. The artificial gravity began to cycle up, and she felt the weightlessness of microgravity begin and suddenly lessen.

                “The Crown Prince had returned from his hunting trip on Columbia, my Queen, about four hours ago,” Ishim said. “I believe he wishes to be present for the Lord’s Council.”

                Mahima sighed. Noirinaga was impatient about his inheritance, but he was simply not ready to rule. She tried her best to instill the sense of awe and humility that came with ruling an interstellar empire, but he never accepted her conservative attitudes. She believed their territory was sufficient for their people and that they should focus on making their worlds homes for humanity.
                Norinaga, however, had been swept up in the craze of expansion. What good was it to call ourselves an empire if we only had five worlds, he would ask. How much larger are the alien territories compared to that of humanity, he would argue. How long would it be before those aliens decided that humanity needed to be under their rule, he would conspire.
                Mahima spared a private moment to mentally curse Lord Tan. The Alpha Centauri system, with Greacus Alpha being their oldest colony, had a direct jumpoint into the Urfenor Republic. He was agitating to expand into their territory and had ever since the jumpoint had been mapped.
                She would just have to hold on for maybe twenty years, Mahima told herself. Twenty years, and Norinaga would be beginning his own lifespan treatments and would, with luck, start seeing the empire like his mother did: as a delicate garden that needed tending.
                That hope kept her spirits up as the palace rode the space elevator to Firmament Station.

Typical work hazard.

That, my friends, is a red wasp sting. It struck while I was dropping off letters, and let me tell you: it hurts to an almost offensive degree.

I did get my revenge on the wasp, though. I also convinced the customer that mailmen are weird creatures. He found me in his yard, driving my fist into the grass. I was making sure I would have defeated the red wasp, and I might have been hyped up on adrenaline.

You know what? I really can’t fault the customer. Mailmen are, indeed, weird.