R.C.Mantley
Bio
Rickey C Mantley--pen name, R.C. Mantley--works as an advocate among the decamisados ("the shirtless ones") in the Twin Cities. I also have a stage play and screenplay under my belt and I have a novel in progress.
Stories (3/0)
Ghost Ship
Ghost Ship By R.C. Mantley Chapter 1 Unmoored Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. So, I didn’t scream, I didn’t panic, the moment I realized my tether, my lifeline, had broken loose from the ship and I was adrift. At the same time, the coms (communication) link with the bridge abruptly went down. Thus, the symbolic umbilical cord was no longer attached. I watched, almost numb, as the spaceship receded. It was difficult to judge the speed at which I was moving away from the IGF (Inter-Galactic Federation) Bayard Rustin, a Class C transport vessel, where I had spent the last five months of my life as a member of a crew of seven. If I were on Earth, subject to gravity, I’d be free falling at the rate of ten meters per second per second. But every schoolchild knows there is no gravity in space; I was floating in the vastness of the cosmos, like jetsam bobbing on the surface of the ocean, but not knocked about by waves or batted around by the wind. It was a matter of seconds before the ship was reduced to a pinprick and then disappeared entirely. It was indistinguishable from among the other distant stars in the Andromeda galaxy. There was no sound except the exhalations of my breath. The lifeline that kept me anchored to the ship was just that. It was an oxygen hose. I had reserve packs strapped to my back. They were designed to be automatically triggered in case…in case the hose became severed. I remembered the training exercises. The hours spent breathing in the oxygen from the reserve tanks. It had an odd smell and taste, slightly metallic as I recalled. After the exercises were over, and we removed our suits and our gear, we remarked on the taste and smell. We laughed. We made jokes about it. At the same time, we gave thanks that the oxygen we breathed everyday was odorless and tasteless. And then this motley group of trainees I had bonded with, those of us who sought comfort and camaraderie after the stressful training exercises, would rendezvous at the Galactica. It was a watering hole for space jockeys a few miles off base. Beneath all the revelry fueled by alcohol our greatest fears were buried, deep and unspoken. Space is an unforgiving place and there is no return from misfortune.
By R.C.Mantley2 years ago in Fiction
Kicking Sass and Taking Numbs
Kicking Sass and Taking Numbs Ode to the Kick-Ass Heroines of Yesteryear and Today By R.C. Mantley Kick-ass heroines are all the rage these days. From Olga Kurylenko (Sentinelle, Netflix) as the brooding, pill-popping, Special Forces operative who is determined to avenge the rape of her sister. To Queen Latifah, as the latest incarnation of an ex-CIA operative named McCall—in her case, Robyn McCall—who is an Equal Opportunity Avenging Angel otherwise known as The Equalizer, now doing her shtick on CBS Television. But no matter the guise or who plays the role, or where these Idols of the Cave flicker, the tradition of the nose-busting, butt-whupping, take-no-prisoners distaff destroyer is alive and well— kicking. Or nannu, nannu, as Robin Williams as Mort, from Mort and Mindy, would say.
By R.C.Mantley3 years ago in Viva
