Return of Halley’S Comet

By H. Valencia

Return of Halleys Comet is a satirical novel by H. Valencia. As literary political fiction and as science-fiction, Return of Halleys Comet is a classic novel in content, plot, and style. Many of its themes, such as love and patriotism, have always been a part of all cultures. Set in a not too distant future The Republics occupied territory is a region of political unrest. Under the control of the Governor General it is has declared War on Barbarism. Though The Republic justifies their rule in the name of a supposed greater good the suspicion is their desire to obtain a recently discovered energy source called Helium Three. The protagonist of the novel, Professor, is a linguist and former officer who volunteers to teach Conversational English at an unnamed regional university. Back home the Professor is going through a something of a mid-life crisis. He spends a majority of his free time hitting golf balls into a mine field until his fate becomes entangled with a few of his students. One of his students in particular is the son of a National Hero. He is brash, opinionated, impulsive, and has a dark secret. Although the Professor has always been a loyal citizen of The Republic he secretly becomes a bit apprehensive of its foreign policies. The more he becomes invested in the lives of the people he was charged to help the complex situations become increasingly difficult to remedy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: May 13, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483638584

H. Valencia

This is H. Valencia’s seventh novel and his first attempt at Fiction Romance. With each effort, he seems to be getting closer to mastery. Since graduating from SJSU he’s been a consistent contributor to the arts. As an author, he searches the world for “Art...with a conscience.”. He then applies it to his natural gifts as an insightful linguist.  With the world as his palette, the result is a relevant voice that knows few bounds.

Book preview

CONTENTS

Prologue

Swan Song

Chapter One

First Blush

Chapter Two

There’s Someone I Want You To Meet.

Chapter Three

The 4Thannual Mad Hatter’s Tea Party

Chapter Four

The Education Of Ruben Booksley: Vol. II

Chapter Five

Chance Encounters And Unintended Consequences

Chapter Six

A Nation Of Strangers

Chapter Seven

Shades Of Grey

Chapter Eight

The Rooster That Brought Up The Sun

Chapter Nine

It’s Only A Failure If You Learn Nothing Form It.

Chapter Ten

Walking Between Raindrops

Chapter Eleven

Think Tank Debates

Chapter Twelve

The Sky Caves

Chapter Thirteen

Return Of Halley’s Comet

Chapter Fourteen

Theatre Of The Unexpected

for Ice and Josh

PROLOGUE

Swan Song

Last summer I volunteered to give support to a cooperation mission that was taking place overseas. Anyway, much of the history of that region has been one of conflict between the foreigners (led by former-president Kenji) on one side and the proletariat (the indigenous majority) on the other. Hundreds of thousands of proletariat were displaced in the recent fighting, during which timeThe Republic came to their aid. Former-president Kenji went into exile ending a series of uneasy armistices. With the recent discovery of Helium Three the region has developed from an agrarian state run along collectivist lines into a hi-tech economy. It has absorbed immigrants many from The Republic who have begun creating settlements. The region’s political life has nonetheless been dominated by the tension this occupation has caused. Relations with the proletariat have been the key factor in foreign and security policy. They have lived under military occupation since the fall of former-president Kenji. The settlements that The Republic has built in the region are home to nearly one million people and are deemed to be illegal under international law. The main stumbling blocks to peace, include the status of the region, the control of Helium Three, the fate of refugees, and The Republic’s settlements. The Ministry of External Affairs has been recruiting do-gooders to go into the region to exchange language and cultural experiences and build better relationships. The irrationally generous thinking is that language and cultural barriers keep us from understanding and appreciating the world around us. It is these barriers that can keep people from achieving something as simple as a decent living and—in this region especially—it has kept them from understanding that The Republic aren’t there to merely steal their Helium Three. My mission was to be in partnership with paramilitary units that were already on the ground. The expectation was that, through this humanitarian mission, The Republic would build better relations and possibly find a way to split the pot. In those times English was an international language in which all business and political relations were conducted. The underdeveloped region was at a competitive disadvantage, due in part to their lack of English skills. As a lifetime member of The People Who Care Way Too Much Club, my charge was to teach conversational English. After spending six months in the region I have to admit that my trip ended a little differently than most.

This is my story.

CHAPTER ONE

First Blush

It began in such an innocent way. Word of the holiday didn’t reach me until after I got onto campus; unfortunately, that left me waiting for nothing. I sat there mapping out ways to reorganize the twenty-two desks in my wide rectangular shaped classroom. The university had been looted and all that remained was the furniture. I submitted a requisition for miscellaneous resources but after two months I’m starting to have doubtsabout the quartermaster. She told me that it’s a logistical problem and not a financial one. For me, when I hear someone say that it’s not about money the first thing that pops into my head is that it is definitely about money. I’ve always had poor eyesight; technically, I suffered from a systemic disease with an ocular manifestation. This meant that, in my youth, I couldn’t really see the board from the back of the class. If I had credit, the medics could treat my eye disease. I didn’t have credit. I had debt and I don’t want to talk about that. I never considered myself a violent man but whenever I see rows of desks, I want to beat the hell out of something. Are educators such slaves to conformity that we have to lay our classrooms out like cornfields? You go to Europe and there are those rows of desks. You go to Asia and there are those rows of desks. You go to Latin America and there are those rows of desks. You go to Africa and there are those rows of desks. I would love to be in the room when it was decided that, that’s the way we’re going to do it—for all time. At the university level there are no seating charts; yet, every semester the students not only sit in those rows but they sit in the same exact seats in those rows. They say that behavior is shaped by consequences and reinforced by repetition. You’d think that the educated young adults—with all their ideologies—would be the first to sit on top of their desks or sit on the floor or something… . I’ve been in one class or another since I was four-years-old and I’ve yet seen it happen. I knew at that, the desk thing wasn’t revolutionary but it did perhaps warrant an intellectual discussion.

As I slowly ate my hoagie I wondered what it was that prevented my students from rearranging the desks. On the outside they were informed and morally sensitive individuals seemingly possessed by individualism. They talked the talk. They went their own way… or did they? I wondered how much of them was truly them. Perhaps it was their individualism that kept them from being individuals. They all agree to sit in rows because rows are a sort of public good. To maintain order they have become dependent on rows of desks. Seated in rows they’re left free to succeed—independently. If they can’t keep up with the rest of the class… well they’re also free to fail—independently. Thus, the goal was not so much a universal good as it was an individual achievement. Concerned mainly with their own progress they fail to realize the degree to which their lives were shaped by external forces and the degree to which they could have reshaped those forces for the better. Due to individualistic blinders they allow the rows to push one another further and further apart. I thought it all boded ill for a group of people claiming to be enlightened. The more I thought about it the more I saw how individual freedom and affluence may have been an illusion. Maybe I was being overly negative and cynical. Maybe we didn’t need a change. People have conflicting values and agendas and this can cause tension. Any time the potential for inequality exists there ought to be an open line of communication. I wasn’t against a status quo so long as there was an open line of communication. I believed my students were inherently good but—realistically—there were only so many seats in the front row. Being their teacher, I thought we could make our time here whatever we wanted. One thing I was pretty sure of was that the university was the main thing that separated these young kids from the radical idiots who were hiding in the Sky Caves.

By the time I reached that conclusion, a few of my students showed up. They walked into class wearing facemasks. It didn’t surprise me; after that thing with the llama, very little surprised me. They knew more about the holiday than I did. They told me that the Governor General announced a public holiday because the air pollution was reaching a dangerously highlevel. Now is as good a time as any to tell you that the region was divided into seven districts. The university was in the central zone of District Seven. District Seven was an important cultural center where many museums and theatres could be found. The residence of the Governor General (affectionately referred to as Burned Palace) was located in District Seven’s town square. The proletariat called that compound Burned Palace because it was set on fire several times. It is my understanding that—to the proletariat—the Burned Palace stood as a symbol of despotism. Although it had been restored many times over, the name has remained untouched. District Seven was home to the relatively privileged. While former-president Kenji was in power he would reward his strong supporters by allowing them dwell the area.

All the information, relating to the public holiday, could be found on my student’s Specs. Specs were a device people wore over one of their eyes. The Governor General declared a five-day public holiday. I thought that was a clever way to spin it. It’s like ecology by the economists. Maybe we should’ve all went out and watched the birds change colors and fall off the trees. One of my more outspoken student’s names was Mireya. She was about five foot three inches tall and one hundred ten pounds. She had a pink crew haircut and pink eyes. She had no visible video tattoos or piercings. I recall her saying she wanted to be a journalist. She proceeded to tell me that the Governor General issued a warning regarding the intensified air pollution in the city; that government offices and institutions were closed; that banks, universities, airports, and medical centers were to remain open; that people were being urged to use the public transport system. While I was getting my feng shui on, people were suffering from pollution-related ailments. They told me that the toxins accumulated easily here because District Seven is positioned between two large mountains. Something that wasn’t included in my volunteer abroad handbook was that, annually, between four to five thousand people die here because of high levels of air pollution. They never said that was smog (in the pictures): they said it was stardust. Maybe the real problem was that our lungs were too weak. You do know that air pollution is caused by trees, right?

I asked the students why they bothered to show up but they didn’t answer. Meno was an interesting student. He was about five foot six inches tall and one hundred sixty pounds. He had blue hair and yellow eyes. He had no visible video tattoos or piercings. I didn’t know too much about Meno other than his father was a particularly influential person in the community. It was Menowhoasked me what I had prepared for the class that day. I should mention that I made a Faustian type of bargain, with an old friend, to volunteer to teach a conversational English course. The company that sponsored me was Excalibur. Excalibur was a Fortune 500 company so I didn’t question their reliability. I taught for about fifteen hours a week plus prep time. My course fell under the category of extra-curricular so the students were there by choice. My curriculum was largely based on topics covered in their other courses. This included but was not limited to intercultural topics and international affairs. The level of English in the region was generally low; however, English was viewed as a sort of gateway. With English being the language of international business and commerce, my students were eager to learn it. I told Meno that we were going to have a guest speaker. A low-ranking officer from the Governor General’s Civil Police would be available for question and answer. The entire conversation was supposed to be carried out in English. They seemed overly-eager to participate so I connected with the officer via-satellite. Second Lieutenant Bashir went through his extraordinarily ordinary recruitment monologue and then I got out of the way.