CITY OF INVENTION A Thesis Presented to The Graduate Faculty of The University of Akron In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Master of Fine Arts Tony Bradford December, 2010 CITY OF INVENTION Tony Bradford Thesis Approved: Accepted: _______________________________ _______________________________ Robert F. Pope Jr. Dr. Chand Midha Advisor Dean of Arts & Sciences _______________________________ _______________________________ Donald M. Hassler Dr. George R. Newkome Faculty Reader Dean of the Graduate School _______________________________ Imad Rahman Faculty Reader _______________________________ _______________________________ Dr. Michael Schuldiner Date Department Chair ii TABLE OF CONTENTS Page CHAPTER I A PLACE TO CALL HOME ………………………………………………….1 Streams Extracted: Log-I ……………………………………………….8 SLUMBERING SIREN …………………………………………………………10 Streams Extracted: Log-II… …………………………………………....15 II A PLACE TO CALL HOME……..... …………………………………………..17 Streams Extracted: Log-III ……………………………………………..35 CHILDREN OF STARS ………………………………………………………...37 Streams Extracted: Log-IV ……………………………………………..50 COINCIDENCE ………………………………………………………………...51 Streams Extracted: Log-V ………………………………………………70 DEAD ZONE ……………………………………………………………………72 Streams Extracted: Log-VI….…………………………………………..81 III A PLACE TO CALL HOME ………..………………………………………….82 Streams Extracted: Log-VII …………………………………………….94 SOMETHING ELSE / REBIRTH ………………………………………………98 Streams Extracted: Log-VIII …………………………………………..119 INHUMAN NATURE …………………………………………………………120 Streams Extracted: Log-IX ……………………………………………130 iii MOTHERSHIP….……………………………………………………………...131 Streams Extracted: Log-X….…………………………………………..147 IV A PLACE TO CALL HOME ………………………………………………...148 iv CHAPTER I A PLACE TO CALL HOME I took the skytram uptown one evening, looking for a nice place in town. A nice, social place, with good people — you know — a classy joint. I got off at the station and took the glass escalator down to the street. It was a late night, but the flashing lights of the big city shone brilliant as ever. I walked down the half-empty streets, feeling small amongst the towering buildings surrounding me. The cities back home were a lot like this. Shop signs flashed with bright letters and digital pictures, lighting up the path along the street. Looking out from under the brim of my hood, I pulled a pipe-cigar from the inside pocket of my hoodcoat, sampling its bitter-sweetness with the tip of my tongue before placing it between my teeth. I stopped at a corner to light it and took a few puffs as a night patrol drone drifted quietly down the street. It shined its scanner on me briefly as it floated by. I crossed the intersection into the Late-Night District on Fifth Street. At the middle of the block, two lovers embraced on one of the benches in front of the Earth Museum. The lights from a sparkling fountain nearby illuminated their contented faces. Everyone seemed so happy here. But still, I missed home. At the corner of Fifth and Goodport, lights from a nightclub glimmered on a display up above. Through the open door drifted the laid back sounds of a saxophone 1 playing tunes of a smooth jazz number. I passed by the club. There was another right next to it. Its doors were closed, and bass and techno sounds thudded within. I recognized the song and halfway cracked a smile. I wear my sunglasses at night. The song was describing me. Across the street was a sign that read, "The Milky Way Bar and Cafe.” It looked inviting, so I headed over. Bells jangled above as I pushed the door open. I felt welcome as soon as I walked inside. The doorman gave me a cordial smile — told me to come on in. The rows of green and red colored glasses behind the bar twinkled under the dim light. I took a seat at the end of the bar, near the piano at the back. A sharp fellow in a black tuxedo sat at the keys playing out the end of a soft, peaceful song. An absolutely stunning beauty in a red dress sat on top of the piano, looking at the lucky fellow with blissful eyes and a warm, infatuated smile. Of course, they were only holograms — but they were so lifelike, it was hard not to feel like the famous pianist and his dreamy songstress were sitting right there in front of you. "What'll it be, sir?" the bartender asked me. "I'll have a Wicked Twister — a dark bourbon and some Old Scotch over dry ice. Make it strong for me buddy, will ya?" "Sure thing." The song ended, and a guy got up to put a coin into the slot on top of the piano. The pianist began playing softly at the keys again, and the lady with the starry eyes started to sing this beautiful melody. It was so familiar to me. "That song," I said. "I know it. My mother used to sing it to me back home." "That so?" said the bartender. "Hmm. It's funny. Never heard the machine play 2 that one before. Sure is a pretty song, though." "That it is, my friend." I turned my stool to lean back against the bar, sipping from my shiny green glass, and watched the beautiful woman on the piano sing that song — letting her voice take me away. The sweet melody put me back in those days of my childhood. Ah, those sweet days. Maybe this place ain't so bad after all, I thought. The bells above the door chimed again. A couple of armed patrolmen came into the bar. Maybe I spoke too soon. I turned back around in my stool, hovering over my glass, like I was working hard on my drink, took the last sip and motioned for the bartender. “Need another one?” he asked. I nodded. He reached beneath the counter, grabbing the two bottles and pouring them simultaneously. The liquid steamed the ice. He slid the smoking glass to me, glancing over my shoulder, then leaned in discreetly and started whispering. “Hey, buddy. Don’t look now, but I think them guards are staring at you.” I nodded again. Moments later, a hand grasped my shoulder lightly. “Excuse me, sir. I need to see some identification, please,” the voice behind me said. “What’s that?” I said without turning around. I took a sizable swig from my glass. “I said I need to see identification,” he said, noticeably louder this time. He tugged my shoulder, turning me around slightly. I craned my neck to look at him. He was an older guy, probably late forties. “Let’s see some I.D,” he repeated. I reached inside my 3 coat, looking for my wallet. “Is there some problem?” I asked. “A patrol drone in the area reported a random I.D. scan that came up blank. No I.D. means suspicious character. We got an upload of a snap shot from it, and guess what — it was your picture.” Of course, I knew what the problem was. My fake ID hadn’t scanned. It was the second time I’d had this problem. I reached into the opposite side of my coat and found my wallet in the inner pocket, took it out and opened it for them to see. The one in front of me, the older of the two, took a small laser scanner from his belt. “Just need to make sure it checks out and we’ll be on our way.” He scanned it. This time, it worked like it was supposed to. He paused, probably reading information displayed on his visor. He gave a quick nod and handed the I.D. back to me. “Look’s like he’s clean. Sorry to bother you, sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” “James, what the hell are you thinking?” his younger partner asked. “How can you tell that’s his I.D.? You can hardly see his face. Sir, can you remove those glasses, please?” I didn’t move. This clearly angered him. “Did you hear what I said, man? Take off those damn glasses. Am I speaking a foreign language?” I just sat there, staring at him. “I don’t have time for this. Let’s not do this tonight, pal.” He snatched the glasses off of my face. “Who the hell wears sunglasses at night?” 4 “I heard that song playing on my way over here,” I said. “You know the one, right? You can’t hear that song and not put your sunglasses on. I heard it’s against the law.” “You think you’re entertaining? Listen. You'd better watch what…” He stopped, staring in my face, a bewildered look on his. “Those are some freakish eyes you’ve got, pal. I’ve never…” “Paul, wait,” said his partner. “You don’t think…" “Holy shit!” was Paul’s reply. “He’s…he’s modified. He’s one of them…” They both reached for their weapons. I smashed my pretty glass into shiny shards against patrolman Paul’s face as I slid off the stool. He fell back against the railing separating the bar from the small section of tables. I reached back and grabbed the older guy’s gun with one hand, gripping his uniform collar with my other and slamming his head into the bar. I threw the weapon against the far wall and pushed him to the ground. They both lay there stunned, but not seriously injured. “I don’t want to fight,” I told them, picking my shades up off the floor and putting them back on. I quickly reached into my wallet and laid a generous tip at the bar counter. “Sorry about this,” I said. I was. The bartender shook his head. “Don’t worry, ‘bout it," he said. "Everyone’s welcome at the Milky Way.” I nodded, then stepped over the older guard and made haste for the door. The younger one was crawling toward his gun.