Sinbad the Star CaptainSarina Dorie
5900 words Ace Vader Period 2 The Great Gatsby Essay Sinbad the star captain sat on the bridge of his state-of-the-line battle saucer, the U.F.O. Flying Dutchman, listening to the distress signal coming from Omega Centauri 9. He stroked the scar on his jaw with a scaly, purple hand and squinted at the view screen with all three eyes, trying to make out the image of his colleague in distress. “Help! The planet is under attack! Our fleet can’t hold him off. The Great Gatsby is at it again,” the other captain’s voice said through the static. “We are on our way,” Sinbad told the captain of the U.F.O. Titanic. He nodded to the ensign at the controls. “Hyperspeed 10.” With the technology the Great Gatsby had stolen from the Delta Aortronians, an entire planet could be turned into Swiss cheese using magnetized space particles. Wherever he went, the Great Gatsby left a path of destruction in his wake. Sinbad exited the bridge and went to his conference room. He pressed the button on his intercom. “Lieutenant Hashiba, Commander Mariyama, I need to discuss tactical plans with you.” Lost in thought, Sinbad stared out the porthole at the stars streaking past. He remembered his hatch-parents and grandparents on his own home world on Andromeda 3. He would have been happy to embrace the peaceful way of life as a farmer or furry Torb herder like his ancestors, but instead he had been destined for greatness. As the son of an interstellar crime lord, his childhood had been a battleground of events that left him scarred inside and out. When a great solar flare had unexpectantly destroyed much of his world, the United Peace Battalion sent out rescuers to search the planet’s remains and brought aid to those who needed it. With his hatch mother, little sister and grandparents dead, all Sinbad had left was his crime lord hatch father. Sinbad’s only chance at a normal life was to escape the tyranny of his father. He hid in a suitcase of another survivor to be smuggled off the planet. At any moment he knew he could be discovered. He prayed to his ancestors, promising that if he could escape, he would only do good for the universe. He would fight evil and put an end to arms dealers and crime lords like his father. His ancestors must have been listening because Sinbad found freedom. In his new colony, he no longer lived as a prince, but was just another refugee. Humans made snide remarks about his purple skin, accent and three eyes. At the space academy, Sinbad learned that instructors expected more from Andromedans and he had to work twice as hard to earn the respect of humans. On his ship, it was no different. He noticed the way his first officer sneered at his every remark as they discussed tactics. What did he have to do to earn the respect of these humans? At a speed of hyperdrive 10, it only took an hour to arrive at the battle. By the time they arrived at Omega Centauri 9, the destruction had been complete. The fleet of U.F.O.s looked like Swiss cheese. “Too late again!” Sinbad said, collapsing into his chair in defeat. A dead two-headed Orionian floated by a porthole. One of the ensigns lost his lunch next to the console. Green edamame beans floated in the putrid, yellow puddle. The bridge filled with the smell of vomit. Unlike some of the previous planets they had found, this one was still intact. Instead of being torn apart, the planet was charred and scarred. Sinbad’s two hearts started to pound. He’d seen this before. The planet looked like his home world after the solar flare. His throat as dry as a dead Torb’s dung, Sinbad barely managed, “Hashiba, hail the planet. See if there is a response. Yamimoto, scan the planet for survivors. Analysis of the planet?” Sinbad had a sinking suspicion he knew what the science officer would say. Ensign Yamimoto read the computer’s findings. “It looks like a giant solar flare has killed off most of the planet’s population. Our readings show there are a few small pockets of survivors.” Sinbad nodded. He thought of his own childhood. The flare had been a blessing and a curse. He stood. “Ready the away teams. We need to provide medical attention to those left.” “But captain, aren’t we going to go after the Great Gatsby?” Commander Mariyama eyed Sinbad’s purple skin with disdain. “We must avenge our dead comrades. In the name of the United Peace Battalions, we must hunt down that warlord and make him answer for his crimes.” “No, we must help the living,” Sinbad said. “And we must discover the link between the Great Gatsby and these great solar flares. I’ve seen destruction like this before. It can be no coincidence.” To be continued. . . . Grade: F+ Ace, Although the mechanics, grammar and skills of your writing exceed the 10th grade writing standards, it does not meet the criteria of the assignment. How does this essay remotely relate to the Great Gatsby other than you naming the villain Gatsby? Furthermore, I’m sure the physics in this story is impossible. Next time read the directions. And possibly pay closer attention in your science class too. Please review the original directions for the Great Gatsby essay. Also, use your real name on your essay so I can give you a grade. I do not know which of my students goes by “Ace.” Mrs. S 
Directions: Students, write an essay about your first day of school. Remember, you are being graded on grammar, mechanics and clarity of ideas. Today we are focusing on the Common Core English Standard for high school students: Produce clear and coherent writing in which the development, organization, and style are appropriate to task, purpose, and audience. Ace Vader Steven Nakamura? Period 2 The First Day of School Sinbad the star captain told the search parties, “If this is anything like my home world, Omega Centauri will be affected by a series of after-flares. It’s important our crew stay suited up and assist the survivors to safety.” Sinbad dressed in his radiation-resistant suit and heaved a case of medical supplies onto the transportation platform. The chief psychic onboard the U.F.O Flying Dutchman sent Sinbad the star captain and three crewmembers to the planet side by telekinetic powers with other away teams to follow in other locations. On the planet, Sinbad took in the seared remains of blackened corpses. His away team split up, using their advanced technology to find those who remained. Some of the Omega Centaurians were so charred, he couldn’t even recognize them as humanoid. One thing he did recognize on the planet was something that it had in common with his home world: evidence of interstellar gangs. The armored space cruisers of weapons dealers sat in ports, caught unaware by the solar flare. He found slaves chained together, the metal collars burned into their skin. Flashes of memory from his own home world jolted through Sinbad like an electric current. This destruction was too much like reliving his past. His stomach churning, he forced himself on. He had a mission. He was here to rescue those in need. The bodies inside the dwellings were less damaged. These humanoids were small and gray. Their large white eyes stared up unseeing. Sinbad’s life form locator blipped, alerting him that life was near. In the subterranean dwelling of a home, he found a wrinkled old alien sitting in a corner, looking so peaceful and calm he wanted to believe the alien was asleep. The alien rested next to a tub of water. At the bottom lay a smaller figure. Unlike the others, her skin was the scaly purple of an Andromedan like himself. Her diminutive frame and the opalescent sheen to her scales reminded him of his little sister, now long gone. She wore a slave collar. Another mark of the interstellar black market. Etched into the collar was the crest of the Great Gatsby. The child had probably drowned in the tub during the solar flare. Tears filled his eyes. The injustice of it was too much. His life form locator beeped. Someone was still alive nearby. He scanned the room, pausing at the bath tub. The life was faint and fading. Sinbad pulled the small figure out. He placed a technologically advanced breathing mask over the slave’s face which expelled the water from her lungs and pushed air in instead. The child opened all three of her black eyes and sat up. She was alive! It must have been the water that had protected her from the radiation of the solar flare. But how could she have held her breath so long? He could hold his breath for half an hour at most, but the solar flare had occurred at least two hours before. This ability was far more like the Moldovian fish people than his race. There was something more to this slave than met the eye. The little girl smiled and hugged him. Sinbad had saved one life. He hadn’t won the war against the Great Gatsby, but he had won a small battle. To be continued. . . . Grade: F+ By process of elimination, I am guessing this journal entry was written by Steven Nakamura? Is that correct? If so, please put your REAL NAME at the top of the paper so I can give you credit. Also, it would be helpful if you followed the criteria of the assignment so I can give you credit. You are putting so much effort into your writing. If only you would put that effort into your actual assignment. You are a good writer. I want you to pass my class. Please, help me help you. Do the assignment that is assigned. Redo this essay and turn it in again and I will not count it late. Also, it would be a nice touch if you didn’t leave my class halfway through so that I didn’t have to give you another detention. Mrs. S 
Steven Nakamura a.k.a. Ace Vader Period 2 Redo: The First Day of School My first day of school was when I lived back in Japan with my parents and little sister in an apartment half a mile from the subway. In Sapporo, the city where we lived, it was common for kids to walk to the subway and ride it by themselves. I know it is different here in America, but that’s the way it was there. I used to walk there with two neighbor girls and we rode to the school together. If we goofed around and were late, we would get hit with sticks by the principal. We were only late once. That was on our third day. I hear they don’t do that to students these days, but I don’t know since I haven’t been back to Japan and don’t know anyone there anymore. I don’t actually remember the first day of kindergarten or much from the first couple weeks except being hit by teachers if I gave the wrong answer or displeased them. The only real memory I have of kindergarten was the second or third week when a stranger came into our school. I knew something was wrong as soon as he stepped into my classroom, but not for the reason I should have. I didn’t even notice the knife in his hand. I kept staring at his shoes. He wore outside shoes and had tracked dirt down the hallway and onto the train track floor mat in my classroom. Only a madman would wear shoes inside. The students next to me whimpered. Yamaguchi Sensei ran toward the intercom but the man overpowered her and stabbed her in the chest. Kindergarten students screamed. I might have screamed. I don’t remember. I sank under my desk and closed my eyes. Even with my eyes closed, I kept seeing crimson blossom unevenly across her white blouse and drip onto the crayon drawings stacked on her desk. Sometimes I still see the blood when I close my eyes. “Everyone just stay quiet and no one is going to get hurt,” the man said. He stood in front of the door. No one could get out. Some of my classmates were running around, some huddled together in the back, and some hiding under desks like me. One girl was wailing especially loud. He kept telling her to shut up, but she wouldn’t. He slit her throat. Someone threw up next to me. I remember whole edamame beans floating in the putrid, yellow puddle. I watched him stab three more classmates before I jumped out the window. My classroom was on the third floor. I broke my leg and hit my head. I must have passed out for a couple minutes. When I woke, I lay in the bushes, in too much pain to do more than cry. The police arrived a couple minutes later and stormed into the building with their batons ready. Guns aren’t commonly used by criminals or police in Japan, so there was no gunfire. After the madman was apprehended, the school was evacuated and children sent home in a bustle of noise. No one heard me whimpering for help. The school’s janitor found me three hours later. Grade: C+ Steven, Good job following directions this time! Your writing is clear, coherent and well-organized. You definitely meet the content standard for your grade level. I just want to check in with you about some of the information you mentioned in your essay. Was this all non-fiction or did you make some of it up? Did your school really have a stabbing? I looked on Wikipedia and it said Japanese police officers carry .38 revolvers. I am seeing holes in the facts of this story, just like I did with the science in your Sinbad story. I need you to submit non-fiction. By the way, please use only your real name on your classwork. Mrs. S 
Directions: Students, write an essay about your favorite holiday or family celebration. Remember, you are being graded on grammar, mechanics and clarity of ideas. Today we are focusing on the Common Core English Standard for high school students: Write narratives to develop real or imagined experiences or events using effective technique, well-chosen details, and well-structured event sequences. Steven Nakamura Pen name: Ace Vader Period 2 Christmas with the Nakamuras Christmas is not a traditional Japanese holiday and many people at home in my native country don’t celebrate it except as a novelty. My mother didn’t want to celebrate it because we were Buddhist and she didn’t like the commercial aspect. My father thought it would be cool and trendy to show off to his friends that he could afford expensive gifts for his family, which is why we celebrated it. When I was seven, I asked “Santa” for a Star Wars video game. My mom thought it was too violent and worried it would cause me to have nightmares again like I had after the school stabbing, so she asked my dad not to get it for me. He did anyway. I played it out in our family room as they fought about it in the kitchen. Although the size of our apartment in Sapporo was considered palatial there, it would be considered very small and cramped compared to an American home, and sound travelled easily through the thin walls. When I heard my father slap my mother, I flinched and pretended I didn’t hear. I heard her scream and ask him to stop and I heard another smack. I started shaking so hard I couldn’t play the video game. I was scared for her. I remembered how bruised her face had been the last time he’d beaten her. I didn’t know what to do, so I woke Obaasan—Grandma—from her nap and told her what was happening. She shuffled along with her cane. I kept tugging on her arm to hurry, but she only moved at one speed—extra slow. I tugged on her sweater. She shooed me off. In doing so, she lost her balance. She fell and broke her hip. I tried to tell my father that Obaasan was hurt, but he punched me in the head and called me a liar. I fell and smacked the side of my face on the corner of the traditional Japanese table that was in our kitchen. I didn’t realize until later that I’d cut myself. My father smelled like sake, so I knew there was no point in talking to him. I called 1-1-9, our emergency rescue number. An ambulance came. Not only did Obaasan and I have to go to the hospital, but the paramedics made my mother go to the hospital, which shamed her when people saw her abuse. My father beat me when I came home. He smacked me so much, my stitches opened where the doctor had sewn up the side of my face from when I’d fallen down. It left an angry red scar that ran from my jaw to my cheekbone. Grandma died two weeks later from an infection she got in the hospital. My father said that was my fault. My mother felt so humiliated that everyone knew what an unhappy marriage she had that she tried to throw herself in front of a train. It didn’t actually kill her. It dragged her along the tracks for miles. People told the driver they heard someone scream and the police had to come to take her to the hospital. My father laughed and said my mother couldn’t do anything right. She couldn’t even kill herself. I hated him more than ever. I hated her too. I hated everything about my life. While my mother was in the hospital, I asked her why she put up with him beating her. I asked her why we couldn’t just go out to the country and live with my other Obaasan and Ojiisan and hide from him. She told me that if she tried to leave, he would come after her with his friends from the Yakuza and kill her. I didn’t understand what the Yakuza was. Years later, my aunt told me that the tattoos on his arms and legs that he kept hidden marked him as a secret Japanese gang member. That was the only Christmas we celebrated. We celebrated many Japanese holidays like New Year’s Day, Obon and Golden Week but those holidays weren’t much better. Grade: A+ Steven, Good job meeting the Language Arts core standards again. Your English is so proficient, I didn’t realize you used to live in Japan until I read your school records. I called your adopted mother today and had a long discussion with her about you. It definitely sounds like you have had many interesting and difficult life experiences before coming to America. She confirmed your stories are real. I apologize for my previous comments. Let me know if you need anything. I am available after class if you ever want to talk. Mrs. S 
Directions: Students, write an essay about your favorite childhood memory. Remember, you are being graded on grammar, mechanics and clarity of ideas. Today we are focusing on the Common Core English Standard for high school students: Produce clear and coherent writing in which the development, organization, and style are appropriate to task, purpose, and audience. Steven Nakamura Period 2 Favorite Childhood Memory It’s really hard to come up with a favorite childhood memory. The most memorable times involve someone getting hurt or dying. There was the tsunami that hit Otaru while we were visiting family, there was the time Ojiisan was supposed to be watching my baby sister in the bathtub but he fell asleep and she drowned, the Yakuza mob boss who shot at my father, but hit my mom and uncle instead, and the time my aunt dressed as a man and smuggled me in a dog carrier onto the train so no one would recognize her when she kidnapped me and brought me to the airport in Tokyo. I think she must have paid someone to give me a passport as her child. She’s never been clear on that detail. My aunt tries to help me think of happy times, but sometimes, no matter how hard I try, I can’t do it. She tells me the bad things that happened when I was little aren’t my fault. There are days I almost believe her. Often I ask myself what I could have done differently on that first day of kindergarten. Should I have ran out the door while the madman was stabbing my teacher? Should I have let him slit my throat so I wouldn’t have to live through everything that followed? Some days I wish he had. Aunt Tamami says to focus on something that will make me happy. Nothing makes me happy. Except Star Wars, Star Trek, aliens and spaceships. I want to be somewhere that isn’t on this world. I like writing about space adventures because that’s the one time I’m not me. Sometimes in my stories I can make bad things into good things. This is the only time I can make good things happen. I wish I knew how to make good things happen in real life. Grade: A+ Steven Ace, Good job meeting the English core standards again. I’m glad you came and talked to me after class and told me about some of the things that are stressing you out. I haven’t observed your peers treating you differently because you are Japanese or teasing you and calling you scar face, but I will be more aware of side conversations from now on and will intervene when I notice these situations come up. You are so quiet in class sometimes I don’t know if something is wrong, so it was good for me to be aware of what was on your mind. I want to help you if these incidents come up again. I like your plan to grab a hall pass and take a walk if it gets too hard to concentrate and to leave me a note if you don’t feel like you can directly tell me what is going on. As far as our next assignment goes, ignore the directions on tomorrow’s essay. Finish writing your story about Sinbad the Star Captain. We both need something happy to think about. Show me how you can take something bad and make something good happen. Mrs. S 
Directions: Students, write an essay comparing and contrasting your life to various characters in Catcher in the Rye. Today we are focusing on the Common Core English Standard for high school students: Write informative/explanatory texts to examine and convey complex ideas and information clearly and accurately through the effective selection, organization, and analysis of content. Ace Vader Period 2 Sinbad the Star Captain: The Adventure Continues Sinbad sat in his conference room with his officers, listening to their report. He was the only Andromedan. All of the others had the dark hair and smooth, fair skin of humans. Izumi, the science officer was genetically engineered to have a third eye like his but she lacked his purple scales. Out of all of them, he suspected she might have understood him the most. Lt. Hashiba had the gray pallor and diminutive build of an Omega Centaurian but he had hair and never spoke of his alien ancestry. No matter where he was and what he did, Sinbad always felt like an alien. “Good news, Captain. We have determined that the solar flares were indeed caused by the same weapon that makes ships into Swiss cheese. The only difference is it was aimed at the planet’s sun instead. Something must have gone wrong. The weapon wasn’t intended to be used that way.” “Theories?” Sinbad asked. His chief science officer shrugged her shoulders. “We can speculate that the space invaders intended to use it as a weapon against the fleet, but missed and the polarized particles were aimed at the sun instead.” “Or they aimed it there on purpose, knowing the intended affects,” Sinbad said. “Status on the refugees?” The intercom beeped and the communication officer on the bridge announced, “Captain, we are being hailed. Another distress call from a nearby ship. We’re twenty minutes away at hyperspeed 10. Should we proceed?” The expectant faces of his officers waited for him to reply. Sinbad stood. “Tell them we are on our way. Commander Mariyama, ensure all survivors of the solar flare are onboard in the main cargo bay in the next five minutes.” His officers began to argue. Sinbad walked out on them. He wondered if they would dare question a superior had that superior been human. Needing answers before he faced more of the Great Gatsby’s wrath, Sinbad took the turbo-elevator to the cargo bay where the solar flare victims were being treated. A small group of purple-skinned Andromedans like himself flocked to him when he entered the bay. The slave that resembled his late sister hugged him around the waist. “Ani!” she cried, using the word for “big brother” in their native language. His heart skipped a beat. He told himself this wasn’t his sister. The opalescent scales and shape of her three black eyes were a coincidence, nothing more. But he couldn’t quite believe it. “Imoto,” he simply said, the name for ‘little sister’ in his own language. “I must ask you some questions. You wear the crest of the Great Gatsby. Have you met your owner?” Her smile faded. “He isn’t my owner. He’s my creator.” “What do you mean?” “I am an experiment. A clone. Years ago, when the Great Gatsby tested his stolen weapons on his enemies who were about to discover the experiments he’d been funding, he lost both his planet and family. A charred smear of my DNA was all that was left. He took that miniscule amount and recreated me. He rebuilt me—only stronger.” She glanced at the other children in the cargo bay. “Out of all his experiments, I am his favorite. I am the one who will make a perfect soldier to follow in his footsteps. I am the one he will stop at nothing to retrieve.” A shiver stole over Sinbad. Alive again, this was his sister. This conversation had raised more questions than answers. All he knew was that he had to stop the Great Gatsby. 
Sinbad resumed his position on the bridge. The vessel they approached in no way resembled a Peace Battalion U.F.O. as the distress signal had claimed to be. He rubbed at the angry line that scarred the right side of his face. The battle cruiser drifted, life support running. It had sustained damage to the engines and pieces of the shields were gone. “Hail the ship,” Sinbad said. “No response.” “Should we board?” Commander Mariyama asked. “No. My captain’s intuition tells me this is a trap. Have our telekinetic transport an android over.” If Imoto was correct, they had something the Great Gatsby wanted. This was the first step in a deadly game with the crime lord. “Yes, sir. The alien vessel is scanning our ship. I’ve raised our shields and the scan has been cut off.” Lieutenant Hashiba said. After a few seconds, his security officer reported, “The droid has been blown apart.” The cruiser before them flickered to life, engines powering up, shields unfolding and covering the naked hull of the ship. “Catastrophic power source located on board, sir. Sub atomic particle magnets aimed at us!” Sinbad shook his head. Even knowing it was a trap, his opponent had gained the upper hand. Or had he? The Great Gatsby had no psychics onboard for telekinetic transportation. If he wished to retrieve his prize, he would have to board. Sinbad was counting on the Great Gatsby wanting to retrieve his genetic experiment more than destroying the evidence she existed. “Lower our shields. See if that gets his attention,” Sinbad said. “Sir!” Commander Mariyama stood. “I cannot—” “Do not make me repeat that order. Time is of the essence.” Sinbad’s three eyes narrowed. “Anything he aims at us is superior to the technology we possess to deflect it. Our only chance for survival is to let him see what we have.” “Incoming message on screen,” the communications officer said. The screen displayed the bridge of the Great Gatsby. “I have searched my entire life for you, Gatsby. At last we meet in person.” In the captain’s chair sat an Andromedan. Spikes had grown around his brow ridge, a common sign of age. His purple scales had faded to red and pink, the uneven pattern over his face and neck resembling elaborate swirls of water. Still, Sinbad would have recognized the other man anywhere. His two hearts pounded and his vision swam. The Great Gatsby appeared just as surprised. His three eyes widened at the sight of Sinbad and then he smiled. “At last, we meet again.” “Again?” one of the bridge crew asked. They gave each other confused glances. It made sense: the solar flare that had been a way to cover up evidence of his genetic crimes, the clone of his little sister, the crime lord that had started it all with the first solar flare. None of these details had been a coincidence. It had only been a matter of time before Sinbad discovered the connection. “So after all this time, you’ve become a captain. It doesn’t surprise me. You were always destined for greatness.” The Great Gatsby leaned back with satisfaction. “You’ve thirsted for power. You have your own ship and your own minions to control. How does it feel . . . son?” “I am not like you. I am not your son,” Sinbad said through clenched teeth. “Oh, but don’t you see? You are, only hiding under the name of the United Peace Battalions. Surely working with humans can be no joy for you. Wouldn’t you rather be working with your own kind? Wouldn’t you rather have the respect you deserve than serve humans who treat you with contempt and disgust? Can’t you see? They don’t respect you. They tolerate you. These humans don’t understand us.” Sinbad glanced at his subordinates, noticing the way they avoided his gaze, either ashamed to find out his tie with the crime lord, or ashamed that the Great Gatsby’s words rang true. The Great Gatsby leaned forward. “You and I aren’t so different. We both thirst for the same things. Perhaps we can come to a compromise.” Sinbad glanced at his bridge crew staring at him open-mouthed. “Perhaps. But not here. Not like this. We must meet in private.” A smile twisted the Great Gatsby’s lips. The link cut out. That was all the convincing his father needed to allow him to teleport onboard. His crew was a different matter. Commander Mariyama snarled, “I hope our psychic loses you in space, you traitor!” It took two officers to hold him back. “That’s enough, Mr. Mariyama. You are relieved of duty.” Sinbad faced the wide-eyed stares of his crew. “As I said before, do not make me repeat an order. Time is of the essence.” Sinbad armed himself with a laser gun, security restraint net and homing device. “Keep a frequency open between myself and the ship.” Lt. Izumi studied Sinbad with all three eyes, seeing something deeper than the commander’s suspicion. “Captain, do you require backup?” “No, this is a mission I must do alone. Be prepared to get the Flying Dutchman out of here if the Gatsby tries anything.” He stepped onto the tele-transporter pad in the corner of the bridge. Within seconds he was on the bridge of the enemy vessel. He and his father were alone. The Great Gatsby, old and feeble, rose on shaky feet. “You have something I want. Surely you know what it is.” Sinbad nodded. “My sister. Your weapon.” “Yes, and now I have you. My true heir. We will rule the universe together. But first, you will bring me your sister.” Instead of casting his eyes down in subservience, Sinbad met his father’s gaze as an equal. “It doesn’t have to be like this. You can hand over your weapons and assume a new identity. You can give up crime and take up a life of doing good.” His father laughed. “Surely you jest.” “Show the universe that Andromedans can be heroes. Show humans our people are more than tyrants and thugs,” Sinbad said. “Never! You will hand your sister over to me!” Sinbad threw the security net at the Great Gatsby, knocking the old man over and trapping him within. “By the power of the United Peace Battalion, you are under arrest.” The Great Gatsby roared, “Computer, self-destruct!” A high-pitched whine filled Sinbad’s ears. The panels on the far wall blinked red. That couldn’t be a good sign. “You think you’ve won?” the Great Gatsby asked. “Think again. I’m not going without a fight.” “Your days of causing interstellar terror have come to an end,” Sinbad said. “If you’re so certain, have it your way then. It was nice knowing you.” The Great Gatsby’s voice turned into a maniacal laugh. The lights on the panels blinked more quickly. The high-pitched whine grew into a buzzing throb. The communication screen exploded in a shower of sparks. A wave of noxious gases boiled over them. Sinbad ducked away from the heat. A brilliant light engulfed him before everything went dark. 
Sinbad gasped cool, clean air and opened his eyes. He sat hunched over on the transportation pad. His ears still rang and his skin felt raw. Stars streaked by the porthole as they travelled away from the Great Gatsby’s vessel. The exploding ship on the screen commanded the attention of all eyes on the bridge. “You did it! We’ve won!” Lt. Hashiba said. The crew released a chorus of cheers. Sinbad should have felt happy about his victory, but instead his two hearts weighed heavy. This time he had won the war, but he had lost his father in the process. A father he wished he could have changed. “What next, captain?” Ensign Nishida asked. There was still so much to be done: medical attention for the survivors of the solar flare, giving his cloned sister a normal childhood, and of course, writing up his report on the incident for the Peace Battalions. Most of all, he remembered his vow: he would fight evil and put an end to arms dealers and crime lords like his father. Sinbad pulled himself to his feet. “Who’s the next interstellar crime lord we should go after?” To be continued. . . . Grade: A+ Good job, Ace! I can’t wait to read the next installment of Sinbad’s adventures. Now that the Great Gatsby is gone, who will Sinbad’s next opponent be? We are doing a unit on Catcher in the Rye. Any chance you can work that title in to the next story? Mrs. S |
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Sarina Dorie
Sarina Dorie has sold over 200 short stories to markets like Analog, Daily Science Fiction, Fantasy Magazine, and F&SF. She has over ninety books up on Amazon, including her bestselling series, Womby’s School for Wayward Witches.
A few of her favorite things include: gluten-free brownies (not necessarily glutton-free), Star Trek, steampunk, fairies, Severus Snape, and Mr. Darcy. She lives with twenty-three hypoallergenic fur babies, by which she means tribbles. By the time you finish reading this bio, there will be twenty-seven.
You can find info about her short stories and novels on her website: sarinadorie.com.
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