by Travis Perry
The shuttle separated from Avenir, Ernsto’s steady hand guiding the controls. As the vessel pushed away from the station, the commo panel lit red.
“Government shuttle two alpha, this is Avenir Control, please respond.”
Ernsto grimaced before replying. He didn’t know much about spaceship protocols at this level. All his previous experience with Avenir Control had been to the lower cargo levels. “Control, this is two alpha, go ahead.”
“We have no scheduled flight itinerary for your vessel. Please dock at sector four bravo of the station ring until control receives your plan.”
“Sure, sector four bravo. Headed that way.”
He eased the vessel outward to the habitation ring. He actually had no idea where 4B might be relative to where he was, but he had no intention of docking anyway.
“Your current location is sector two,” volunteered control.
Ernsto steered the shuttle to follow the ring clockwise. Soon he passed some one hundred meters over a giant number 3 painted on the gray metal ring encircling the metallic dark shape of Avenir. So four should be next; bravo will be in the middle of the outer edge of the ring.
At 200 kph he hit sector four in less than 30 seconds. He maneuvered the shuttle to the edge of the ring and plunged downward. The alpha docking port at the top of the ring held a cutter with enforcer stripes. The vessel broke free from dock as he passed by and fixed a laser on his ship, a missile-guiding type, flickering spotty red at the rear of his cockpit window.
“Dock now or we will fire!” blared his radio. Ernsto accelerated hard, throwing as much rocket exhaust backward as possible.
Pressed hard into his seat at the four gee acceleration, his back screamed in agony. “Return to dock now or we will fire!” shouted his com system. He shut it off and plunged downward toward the gray skies of Eclectia below.
His anti-collision radar picked up no fewer than four vessels in pursuit, far more than would be expected from a missing flight plan. It seemed Hobson had found him already…
Showing posts with label Wizard Hobson. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Wizard Hobson. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 4, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Escape Part 2
by Travis Perry -
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Hobson. “If the firecrew could proceed on to deal with the blaze internal sensors say is raging in one of my rooms, I’d be most grateful. But as for this man, this Ernsto Mons, please allow me to deal with him myself.”
The firefighters moved toward the second door but the enforcers stood in place, looking confused, as if there was something not quite right with what Hobson had said. After a long moment, one said “Sure” and the lone peacekeeper in the room said, “Sounds reasonable” and then suddenly all of them murmured a chorus of agreement.
All of them except one. “No,” said a young dark-haired man in the uniform of the governor’s personal security detachment. “That’s not normal police procedure. This man needs to be arrested and processed for trial.” Ernsto recognized the young man as Officer Salzar, whom he’d met once by chance. For some reason, more than half of the enforcers in the room wore the uniform of the governor’s security detail—apparently they’d been nearby.
Hobson smiled at Salzar and gazed directly into his eyes. “Young man, I realize you work directly for the governor and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help with my personal crisis here. But I am a high government minister myself and can be completely trusted in this matter. The man is my employee; please allow me to deal with him.”
“No,” said Salzar. And then a battle erupted of sort Ernsto had never seen before. Hobson’s eyes blazed and his voice rang out words. They were not foreign or magical words; Hobson told Salzar in a torrent of words why he should relent, why he should do as he was told, why he was duty-bound to obey, but the rhythm of his speech was hypnotic and Ernsto found he could not retain in his mind anything the wizard was chanting. Salzar balled his hands into fists and stared right back at the wizard. In a low voice the enforcer muttered words Ernsto could not hear, but they reminded him nonetheless of the prayers his grandmother used to make.
He felt the angel reaching out in this fight too, somehow knowing she comforted and helped Salzar. The words from Hobson hammered on with power and Ernsto felt as if he were no longer himself. His whole being, everything about him, turned numb and he dully watched, barely perceiving, as the invisible battle before him raged. It stretched on timeless, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours.
In an instant it was over. Hobson stopped speaking. Sweat poured from the wizard’s brow and he huffed with effort. His eyes lowered to the ground.
Salzar turned to Ernsto. “Let’s go. Take the tank. I’m bringing you into custody.”
The other members of the governor’s detachment followed Salzar and all of them exited Hobson’s quarters as a group. Walking out the door, Ernsto felt an astonished sense of relief. He was still alive, even though going probably going to prison. Still alive, but better yet, free from Hobson…
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Hobson. “If the firecrew could proceed on to deal with the blaze internal sensors say is raging in one of my rooms, I’d be most grateful. But as for this man, this Ernsto Mons, please allow me to deal with him myself.”
The firefighters moved toward the second door but the enforcers stood in place, looking confused, as if there was something not quite right with what Hobson had said. After a long moment, one said “Sure” and the lone peacekeeper in the room said, “Sounds reasonable” and then suddenly all of them murmured a chorus of agreement.
All of them except one. “No,” said a young dark-haired man in the uniform of the governor’s personal security detachment. “That’s not normal police procedure. This man needs to be arrested and processed for trial.” Ernsto recognized the young man as Officer Salzar, whom he’d met once by chance. For some reason, more than half of the enforcers in the room wore the uniform of the governor’s security detail—apparently they’d been nearby.
Hobson smiled at Salzar and gazed directly into his eyes. “Young man, I realize you work directly for the governor and I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help with my personal crisis here. But I am a high government minister myself and can be completely trusted in this matter. The man is my employee; please allow me to deal with him.”
“No,” said Salzar. And then a battle erupted of sort Ernsto had never seen before. Hobson’s eyes blazed and his voice rang out words. They were not foreign or magical words; Hobson told Salzar in a torrent of words why he should relent, why he should do as he was told, why he was duty-bound to obey, but the rhythm of his speech was hypnotic and Ernsto found he could not retain in his mind anything the wizard was chanting. Salzar balled his hands into fists and stared right back at the wizard. In a low voice the enforcer muttered words Ernsto could not hear, but they reminded him nonetheless of the prayers his grandmother used to make.
He felt the angel reaching out in this fight too, somehow knowing she comforted and helped Salzar. The words from Hobson hammered on with power and Ernsto felt as if he were no longer himself. His whole being, everything about him, turned numb and he dully watched, barely perceiving, as the invisible battle before him raged. It stretched on timeless, perhaps minutes, perhaps hours.
In an instant it was over. Hobson stopped speaking. Sweat poured from the wizard’s brow and he huffed with effort. His eyes lowered to the ground.
Salzar turned to Ernsto. “Let’s go. Take the tank. I’m bringing you into custody.”
The other members of the governor’s detachment followed Salzar and all of them exited Hobson’s quarters as a group. Walking out the door, Ernsto felt an astonished sense of relief. He was still alive, even though going probably going to prison. Still alive, but better yet, free from Hobson…
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Escape, Part 1
by Travis Perry -
Each movement brought a spasm of pain to his back and his left ear felt like a hot poker had been shoved inside it. In the angel’s chamber, Ernsto maneuvered the robotic cart carrying the portable pressure tank to the circular lock near the floor, below the transparent wall that physically separated him from the angel.
Two doors entered this room; the one behind him he felt confident was secure—shut tight, its locking mechanism damaged. His left hand held the plasma blaster, covering the door in front of him as his right hand worked the controls to the circular entrance into the angel’s tank.
Waves of comfort and empathetic caring emitted from the angel, reminding him of his grandmother’s touch when he’d been sick as a child, a warm soothing blanket and hot honey tea from her gentle hands, her voice telling him she loved him. The angel’s care probed not only into the suffering of his body, but reached deep into hidden parts of himself, working to soothe the damage he’d done by destroying other men.
The light near the door flickered and he fired on the entryway, a plasma bolt peeling the blue paint on the metal sliding door. Easy, easy, said the warm embrace of the angel’s mind.
He replied, “Babe, the lock’s ready. You needa come out so I can transfer you to this tank, so I can take you back where you came from.” His voice rasped in a whisper, but he knew she understood him. He hadn’t actually needed words at all.
She came out and he physically pulled her from the lock and briefly her body was in his arms, wet and rubbery. Now she suffered the pain of low pressure and his mind clumsily tried to comfort her with it’s okay, it’s okay. But then she was in the portable tank, the lid sealed shut, and the rising water pressure returning her to normal.
At that moment the door snapped open and two enforcers scrambled into the room, plasma pistols raised, shouting, “DROP YOUR WEAPON!” He was ready to kill or die trying—the angel flooded his mind please please please, begging him to stop. His left arm twitched to raise his weapon but he found his hand had let go of it. It dropped to the floor and his heart accepted what the angel wanted. He would allow himself to be captured.
Behind the first enforcers came two others, and then another two. The first pair threw him to the ground and handcuffed his wrists together. They hauled him to his feet and he saw there were now at least ten enforcers in the room and a plainclothes peacekeeper and some firecrew. Among them, in the safety of their numbers, stood Hobson, a triumphant smile on the wizard’s face.
Each movement brought a spasm of pain to his back and his left ear felt like a hot poker had been shoved inside it. In the angel’s chamber, Ernsto maneuvered the robotic cart carrying the portable pressure tank to the circular lock near the floor, below the transparent wall that physically separated him from the angel.
Two doors entered this room; the one behind him he felt confident was secure—shut tight, its locking mechanism damaged. His left hand held the plasma blaster, covering the door in front of him as his right hand worked the controls to the circular entrance into the angel’s tank.
Waves of comfort and empathetic caring emitted from the angel, reminding him of his grandmother’s touch when he’d been sick as a child, a warm soothing blanket and hot honey tea from her gentle hands, her voice telling him she loved him. The angel’s care probed not only into the suffering of his body, but reached deep into hidden parts of himself, working to soothe the damage he’d done by destroying other men.
The light near the door flickered and he fired on the entryway, a plasma bolt peeling the blue paint on the metal sliding door. Easy, easy, said the warm embrace of the angel’s mind.
He replied, “Babe, the lock’s ready. You needa come out so I can transfer you to this tank, so I can take you back where you came from.” His voice rasped in a whisper, but he knew she understood him. He hadn’t actually needed words at all.
She came out and he physically pulled her from the lock and briefly her body was in his arms, wet and rubbery. Now she suffered the pain of low pressure and his mind clumsily tried to comfort her with it’s okay, it’s okay. But then she was in the portable tank, the lid sealed shut, and the rising water pressure returning her to normal.
At that moment the door snapped open and two enforcers scrambled into the room, plasma pistols raised, shouting, “DROP YOUR WEAPON!” He was ready to kill or die trying—the angel flooded his mind please please please, begging him to stop. His left arm twitched to raise his weapon but he found his hand had let go of it. It dropped to the floor and his heart accepted what the angel wanted. He would allow himself to be captured.
Behind the first enforcers came two others, and then another two. The first pair threw him to the ground and handcuffed his wrists together. They hauled him to his feet and he saw there were now at least ten enforcers in the room and a plainclothes peacekeeper and some firecrew. Among them, in the safety of their numbers, stood Hobson, a triumphant smile on the wizard’s face.
Wednesday, January 11, 2012
A Personal War, Part 3
by Travis Perry -
Ernsto grabbed the third pipe bomb, its fuse half burnt and still burning. The contents of the first, the one he’d opened, had caught fire, adding to the flames without exploding. He frantically searched for the knife to cut the fuse of the bomb in his hand, his eyes not picking it out among the flaming and shrapnel-pitted carnage of his cubical room.
A glance at the pipe showed the fuse down to only two centimeters. He jammed the end of the pipe between his lips and bit off the fuse with his teeth. Its flaming end singed his tongue.
Spitting it out, he finally glimpsed the knife blade reflecting a yellow glint of fire and snatched it up, pocketing it. Glancing at the damaged metal mattress frame, one of the legs caught Ernsto’s eye. The blast had nearly detached it from the bed.
He wrenched it free, put the pipe bomb under his arm, and charged the door with the bed leg held to his chest like a battering ram. He dove forward and smashed into the concave door curve left by the exploded bomb. The impact of the leg hurt his ribs and pectoral muscle more than the shrapnel wounds in his back had hurt. But the already-damaged metal at the bottom of door split open about ten centimeters.
His ears, still ringing, heard a faint shout from the other side. He spun back and lit the short-fused pipe bomb in the nearest piece of flaming mattress and threw it through the opening in the door. He flinched to the side but didn’t have time to plug his eardrums before the blast. This time, at least, he did not black out.
He stood up, aware that fluid poured down his left earlobe, the side of his face that had been closest to the door. His lungs ached from the smoke but he’d responded without thinking by taking shallow breaths and living without gulping air as long as he could.
The door had split open down the middle from about the height of his chin to the gash he already made near the floor. With the bed leg he pried the gap open and slipped out of his room. Right at the doorway were the fragmented pulpy remains of two cyborgs, who had a mostly intact metallic tank with them of some kind, of the gas they’d been pouring into his room, perhaps nitrous oxide. Apparently one of the cyborgs had shut it down before death, maybe because N2O is an oxidizer—not safe around flames.
Ten meters away, Nasir lay on the couch of this common room that adjoined his sleeping area. His eyes were open and glazed over, a look of surprise permanently pasted onto his dead face. His chest and neck were punctured with shrapnel wounds.
Ernsto took the plasma pistol clutched in Nasir’s still-warm right hand. Hobson, who might have been near his door at one point, was nowhere in sight now.
Deliberately projecting a bloodthirsty determination, he said out loud, “Stay away from the angel, old man. Or I will kill you.”
Ernsto grabbed the third pipe bomb, its fuse half burnt and still burning. The contents of the first, the one he’d opened, had caught fire, adding to the flames without exploding. He frantically searched for the knife to cut the fuse of the bomb in his hand, his eyes not picking it out among the flaming and shrapnel-pitted carnage of his cubical room.
A glance at the pipe showed the fuse down to only two centimeters. He jammed the end of the pipe between his lips and bit off the fuse with his teeth. Its flaming end singed his tongue.
Spitting it out, he finally glimpsed the knife blade reflecting a yellow glint of fire and snatched it up, pocketing it. Glancing at the damaged metal mattress frame, one of the legs caught Ernsto’s eye. The blast had nearly detached it from the bed.
He wrenched it free, put the pipe bomb under his arm, and charged the door with the bed leg held to his chest like a battering ram. He dove forward and smashed into the concave door curve left by the exploded bomb. The impact of the leg hurt his ribs and pectoral muscle more than the shrapnel wounds in his back had hurt. But the already-damaged metal at the bottom of door split open about ten centimeters.
His ears, still ringing, heard a faint shout from the other side. He spun back and lit the short-fused pipe bomb in the nearest piece of flaming mattress and threw it through the opening in the door. He flinched to the side but didn’t have time to plug his eardrums before the blast. This time, at least, he did not black out.
He stood up, aware that fluid poured down his left earlobe, the side of his face that had been closest to the door. His lungs ached from the smoke but he’d responded without thinking by taking shallow breaths and living without gulping air as long as he could.
The door had split open down the middle from about the height of his chin to the gash he already made near the floor. With the bed leg he pried the gap open and slipped out of his room. Right at the doorway were the fragmented pulpy remains of two cyborgs, who had a mostly intact metallic tank with them of some kind, of the gas they’d been pouring into his room, perhaps nitrous oxide. Apparently one of the cyborgs had shut it down before death, maybe because N2O is an oxidizer—not safe around flames.
Ten meters away, Nasir lay on the couch of this common room that adjoined his sleeping area. His eyes were open and glazed over, a look of surprise permanently pasted onto his dead face. His chest and neck were punctured with shrapnel wounds.
Ernsto took the plasma pistol clutched in Nasir’s still-warm right hand. Hobson, who might have been near his door at one point, was nowhere in sight now.
Deliberately projecting a bloodthirsty determination, he said out loud, “Stay away from the angel, old man. Or I will kill you.”
Monday, November 28, 2011
A Personal War, Part 1
by Travis Perry -
Rolf reached inside his jacket for his weapon, too late. Ernsto shot the needle gun into his neck, through the carotid. Nasir, much faster than Ersnto suspected, drew his plasma blaster and fired.
Ernsto had already leapt forward into the doorway at the front of Wizard Hobson’s quarters when the hot plasma passed his back. Without looking, he squeezed off five needle shots behind him as he charged toward his room.
Plasma bolts hurled past him and a searing burn engulfed his left shoulder. Normally he would have picked a spot with good cover and held his ground. But he couldn’t, not with Hobson somewhere nearby.
Run, had said the angel into his mind, run, she said, revealing Rolf and Nasir’s thinking—this time, they intended to kill him as he walked past, his usefulness finished, as was hers. But he’d never been the type to run—and there was no way he’d let Hobson have the angel.
He charged past the pressurized aquarium that held her on the way towards his room and its hidden weapons. The angel’s eyes were wide and frightened, her ray-like wings tapped the glass in her distress. No, no, don’t kill, her mind told him.
“Sorry babe,” he shot back as he exited her chamber.
“Ernsto!” The voice belonged to Hobson. Something informed him if he looked back he’d lose his will to fight. Whether it was the angel that told him this or his own mind, he knew not.
He sprinted into his small room and slid shut the door by pressing the yellow button on the right side of the frame. He held his thumb to the pad for his print to lock it. Next he flipped the knife hidden in his right sleeve into his hand and stabbed the control panel, penetrating its thin aluminum face three times, hoping the door servo would never operate again.
His key for the lockbox he jammed into the slot and threw open the box. Within seconds he used the tool to open his hidden panel in the wall, the hiding place for his weapons.
His eyes searched and saw…nothing. He reached his left hand into the gap and felt nothing.
A slow chuckle came in through the room intercom. “Ernsto, my lad, did you really think you could hide a weapons cache from me? In my own private section of Avenir?”
Ernsto didn’t answer. His stomach balled into a knot.
“Now be a good lad and fix whatever you’ve done to the door and come on out. We need to sit down and discuss this rationally, man to man.”
I’d rather die first, he thought, eyeing his sleeve knife and hoping this time the wizard knew exactly what was on his mind.
Rolf reached inside his jacket for his weapon, too late. Ernsto shot the needle gun into his neck, through the carotid. Nasir, much faster than Ersnto suspected, drew his plasma blaster and fired.
Ernsto had already leapt forward into the doorway at the front of Wizard Hobson’s quarters when the hot plasma passed his back. Without looking, he squeezed off five needle shots behind him as he charged toward his room.
Plasma bolts hurled past him and a searing burn engulfed his left shoulder. Normally he would have picked a spot with good cover and held his ground. But he couldn’t, not with Hobson somewhere nearby.
Run, had said the angel into his mind, run, she said, revealing Rolf and Nasir’s thinking—this time, they intended to kill him as he walked past, his usefulness finished, as was hers. But he’d never been the type to run—and there was no way he’d let Hobson have the angel.
He charged past the pressurized aquarium that held her on the way towards his room and its hidden weapons. The angel’s eyes were wide and frightened, her ray-like wings tapped the glass in her distress. No, no, don’t kill, her mind told him.
“Sorry babe,” he shot back as he exited her chamber.
“Ernsto!” The voice belonged to Hobson. Something informed him if he looked back he’d lose his will to fight. Whether it was the angel that told him this or his own mind, he knew not.
He sprinted into his small room and slid shut the door by pressing the yellow button on the right side of the frame. He held his thumb to the pad for his print to lock it. Next he flipped the knife hidden in his right sleeve into his hand and stabbed the control panel, penetrating its thin aluminum face three times, hoping the door servo would never operate again.
His key for the lockbox he jammed into the slot and threw open the box. Within seconds he used the tool to open his hidden panel in the wall, the hiding place for his weapons.
His eyes searched and saw…nothing. He reached his left hand into the gap and felt nothing.
A slow chuckle came in through the room intercom. “Ernsto, my lad, did you really think you could hide a weapons cache from me? In my own private section of Avenir?”
Ernsto didn’t answer. His stomach balled into a knot.
“Now be a good lad and fix whatever you’ve done to the door and come on out. We need to sit down and discuss this rationally, man to man.”
I’d rather die first, he thought, eyeing his sleeve knife and hoping this time the wizard knew exactly what was on his mind.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Experiment
by Travis Perry -
***Today we celebrate our 100th story! Can you believe it? And we're celebrating with an all-new look designed for us by Mike Rogers. Here's to the next 100! And now, on with the story :) ***
In the chamber with the pressurized angel tank, Ernsto shuffled toward Wizard Hobson against his will. The feeling was not so much his legs disobeying his orders as the part of the mind controlling his legs no longer seemed to be a part of him.
Hobson’s eyes were green-blue, he realized as drew close enough to peer into them. And then in a blur he threw his hands against the wizard’s throat.
Hobson gagged and his eyes bulged in surprise, but an instant later Ernsto found the control of his fingers no longer belonged to him. His arms dropped to the side—limp, like they were dead.
The wizard coughed and rubbed his throat. He laughed hard, as if all were a joke, but an angry glint lit his eyes. “You have very quick hands, my boy. And a quick, violent will. I was not able to detect your intent before you struck. If I had, you never would have moved a muscle.”
As if to prove the wizard’s point, his thought to bash the old man’s nose with his forehead left him feeling numb in his neck and back. He couldn’t make any movement at all.
“How?” he uttered. He’d intended to say more, but the paralysis that gripped his body hindered his mouth.
“How do I control you? Simple, my dear friend. Chemical compounds, mind-enhancing compounds which I’ve discovered from my studies of the angel cerebral cortex. This one isn’t my first…not even my first live one, but the other live one I captured, one I took myself when I was a much younger man, I moved into a pen under the sea, isolated, but still connected to the ocean. He called for help, mentally of course—after two days the facility was assaulted by hundreds from his tribe. I barely escaped with my life. But even more importantly than my personal survival, I retained the knowledge I had gleaned, knowledge I’ve been adding to and using it for decades now. All wizards use knowledge derived from angels, but I assure you, with all due modesty, I am the greatest of them all.”
“What…?” rasped Ernsto.
“What do I intend to do with you? Or the angel? Or both? I’m not quite sure what you mean. You see, I should be able to know, since I can enter your mind. But I don’t fully—which simply is further proof that there is more work to do, more discoveries to be made. In spite of all I have learned from the tools provided by the angel brain, in spite of all the corners of the human mind I’ve learned to tap into, I still struggle to do what they do with ease—communicate complete thought to thought. I wondered for a time if perhaps the human brain were simply incompatible with such a form of communication. But you, my boy, you give me hope!”
“Why?”
“Why, because you communicate with the angel. Or better said, she communicates with you. That’s why you enjoy being with her, even though you do not admit to yourself that’s how you feel. It’s because she touches your mind. I think,” Hobson chuckled, “she’s trying to heal your ‘sickness’ of violence…how quaint!”
“Now?”
“Ah, now. Now I get to experiment with the link that has sprung up between the two of you. That’s why I haven’t simply shut your mind down, by the way, or reoriented your will. I need to test you in a more natural state.” Hobson turned to the cyborgs, “Strap him to the table.”
Flat on the table, the two cyborgs finished with Hobson’s command, Ernsto felt his body return to his control. Not that it helped—the straps were tight and strong.
The wizard had opened the box. It contained some sort of advanced drill, with a very fine bit surrounded by thin clear tubes. The bit whirred in the air as the professor pressed a button. “For brain tissue samples,” he explained unbidden. “First you, then the angel.”
No, no! he heard her mind say from the pressurized tank.
As the wizard moved the drill closer to the base of his skull, Ernsto said through gritted teeth, “If you do this, you’d better kill me. Elsewise, as soon as you let me go, you’re a dead man.”
“Oh, I imagine this experiment will last weeks. You and the angel don’t die until after that. But I promise to wipe your memory of this moment. Tomorrow, you won’t even know any of this ever happened. You’ll think it’s just another well-paid day on the job. I’ve already done it to you twice.”
Great, he thought. He set in himself a determination to remember every detail.
I’ll help you, said the angel into his mind.
***Today we celebrate our 100th story! Can you believe it? And we're celebrating with an all-new look designed for us by Mike Rogers. Here's to the next 100! And now, on with the story :) ***
In the chamber with the pressurized angel tank, Ernsto shuffled toward Wizard Hobson against his will. The feeling was not so much his legs disobeying his orders as the part of the mind controlling his legs no longer seemed to be a part of him.
Hobson’s eyes were green-blue, he realized as drew close enough to peer into them. And then in a blur he threw his hands against the wizard’s throat.
Hobson gagged and his eyes bulged in surprise, but an instant later Ernsto found the control of his fingers no longer belonged to him. His arms dropped to the side—limp, like they were dead.
The wizard coughed and rubbed his throat. He laughed hard, as if all were a joke, but an angry glint lit his eyes. “You have very quick hands, my boy. And a quick, violent will. I was not able to detect your intent before you struck. If I had, you never would have moved a muscle.”
As if to prove the wizard’s point, his thought to bash the old man’s nose with his forehead left him feeling numb in his neck and back. He couldn’t make any movement at all.
“How?” he uttered. He’d intended to say more, but the paralysis that gripped his body hindered his mouth.
“How do I control you? Simple, my dear friend. Chemical compounds, mind-enhancing compounds which I’ve discovered from my studies of the angel cerebral cortex. This one isn’t my first…not even my first live one, but the other live one I captured, one I took myself when I was a much younger man, I moved into a pen under the sea, isolated, but still connected to the ocean. He called for help, mentally of course—after two days the facility was assaulted by hundreds from his tribe. I barely escaped with my life. But even more importantly than my personal survival, I retained the knowledge I had gleaned, knowledge I’ve been adding to and using it for decades now. All wizards use knowledge derived from angels, but I assure you, with all due modesty, I am the greatest of them all.”
“What…?” rasped Ernsto.
“What do I intend to do with you? Or the angel? Or both? I’m not quite sure what you mean. You see, I should be able to know, since I can enter your mind. But I don’t fully—which simply is further proof that there is more work to do, more discoveries to be made. In spite of all I have learned from the tools provided by the angel brain, in spite of all the corners of the human mind I’ve learned to tap into, I still struggle to do what they do with ease—communicate complete thought to thought. I wondered for a time if perhaps the human brain were simply incompatible with such a form of communication. But you, my boy, you give me hope!”
“Why?”
“Why, because you communicate with the angel. Or better said, she communicates with you. That’s why you enjoy being with her, even though you do not admit to yourself that’s how you feel. It’s because she touches your mind. I think,” Hobson chuckled, “she’s trying to heal your ‘sickness’ of violence…how quaint!”
“Now?”
“Ah, now. Now I get to experiment with the link that has sprung up between the two of you. That’s why I haven’t simply shut your mind down, by the way, or reoriented your will. I need to test you in a more natural state.” Hobson turned to the cyborgs, “Strap him to the table.”
Flat on the table, the two cyborgs finished with Hobson’s command, Ernsto felt his body return to his control. Not that it helped—the straps were tight and strong.
The wizard had opened the box. It contained some sort of advanced drill, with a very fine bit surrounded by thin clear tubes. The bit whirred in the air as the professor pressed a button. “For brain tissue samples,” he explained unbidden. “First you, then the angel.”
No, no! he heard her mind say from the pressurized tank.
As the wizard moved the drill closer to the base of his skull, Ernsto said through gritted teeth, “If you do this, you’d better kill me. Elsewise, as soon as you let me go, you’re a dead man.”
“Oh, I imagine this experiment will last weeks. You and the angel don’t die until after that. But I promise to wipe your memory of this moment. Tomorrow, you won’t even know any of this ever happened. You’ll think it’s just another well-paid day on the job. I’ve already done it to you twice.”
Great, he thought. He set in himself a determination to remember every detail.
I’ll help you, said the angel into his mind.
Wednesday, October 19, 2011
Delivery
by Travis Perry -
The job the old man gave him to do was ridiculously simple. Pick up some a container of special material, no questions asked. Show the forged papers on the way out of the mail hub and as needed on the way back, delivering the package straight to the angel’s chamber.
It was so simple and trivial Ernsto could barely believe he’d been assigned to the task. Hobson might as well have sent one of the cyborgs for something like this. But a lot of the work he’d done for Wizard Hobson in his weeks on Avenir belonged to that category. Trivial, but well-paid. As if he wants me around, even though he’s got nothin’ for me to do…which made absolutely no sense.
The job went off without a hitch, as expected, except after he rode the stainless steel cargo lift up to the executive level. The governor’s staterooms lay off to the left and other ministers had quarters to the right (Hobson served as Minster of Ethics, of all things). Ernsto showed his papers to the enforcer at the elevator and carried the box made out of processed bugshell toward Hobson’s. Before he’d gotten more than ten paces from the checkpoint, he heard the elevator open again and a young voice behind him.
“You there, do I know you?”
He turned around with deliberate slowness. Behind him stood a fresh-faced enforcer with a crisp new uniform, with the silver emblem on the right side indicating Governor’s Service. His name tag said “Salsar.”
“Don’t think so,” answered Ernsto slowly. Moving slow was always a good way to face a lawman for the first time. It tended to put ‘em at ease…
“Your face looks familiar,” said the enforcer.
“I get a lot of that. I resemble Stensin, governor before last.”
The enforcer squinted at him, visibly wondering if that were the reason. “Your papers, please.”
He showed the forms and studied the face of the young enforcer examining them. This one showed no signs of bullying—a true believer in the occupation of law enforcement. Would almost be a shame to kill him.
“Everything seems correct. Please pardon my interruption, Mr. Jons.”
“No trouble at all, officer,” he answered.
Within moments he’d passed by Nasir and Rolf at the door, who still resented the way the old man treated him better than them. Once past the entry the sense of terror and distress stabbed at him, like knives in his eyes. The angel’s distress pierced him. He barely realized that his pace picked up—he nearly ran into the angel’s chamber.
Hobson, assisted by a pair of cyborgs, used multiple manipulator arms within the pressurized tank to press the angel down to the tank floor, while ratcheting down straps of some kind tight into her flesh.
“Ernsto, dear boy!” The wizard’s smile spread his mouth wide, but his eyes were dead and lifeless. “Bring the package here, my lad.”
Ernsto found himself stepping forward.
The job the old man gave him to do was ridiculously simple. Pick up some a container of special material, no questions asked. Show the forged papers on the way out of the mail hub and as needed on the way back, delivering the package straight to the angel’s chamber.
It was so simple and trivial Ernsto could barely believe he’d been assigned to the task. Hobson might as well have sent one of the cyborgs for something like this. But a lot of the work he’d done for Wizard Hobson in his weeks on Avenir belonged to that category. Trivial, but well-paid. As if he wants me around, even though he’s got nothin’ for me to do…which made absolutely no sense.
The job went off without a hitch, as expected, except after he rode the stainless steel cargo lift up to the executive level. The governor’s staterooms lay off to the left and other ministers had quarters to the right (Hobson served as Minster of Ethics, of all things). Ernsto showed his papers to the enforcer at the elevator and carried the box made out of processed bugshell toward Hobson’s. Before he’d gotten more than ten paces from the checkpoint, he heard the elevator open again and a young voice behind him.
“You there, do I know you?”
He turned around with deliberate slowness. Behind him stood a fresh-faced enforcer with a crisp new uniform, with the silver emblem on the right side indicating Governor’s Service. His name tag said “Salsar.”
“Don’t think so,” answered Ernsto slowly. Moving slow was always a good way to face a lawman for the first time. It tended to put ‘em at ease…
“Your face looks familiar,” said the enforcer.
“I get a lot of that. I resemble Stensin, governor before last.”
The enforcer squinted at him, visibly wondering if that were the reason. “Your papers, please.”
He showed the forms and studied the face of the young enforcer examining them. This one showed no signs of bullying—a true believer in the occupation of law enforcement. Would almost be a shame to kill him.
“Everything seems correct. Please pardon my interruption, Mr. Jons.”
“No trouble at all, officer,” he answered.
Within moments he’d passed by Nasir and Rolf at the door, who still resented the way the old man treated him better than them. Once past the entry the sense of terror and distress stabbed at him, like knives in his eyes. The angel’s distress pierced him. He barely realized that his pace picked up—he nearly ran into the angel’s chamber.
Hobson, assisted by a pair of cyborgs, used multiple manipulator arms within the pressurized tank to press the angel down to the tank floor, while ratcheting down straps of some kind tight into her flesh.
“Ernsto, dear boy!” The wizard’s smile spread his mouth wide, but his eyes were dead and lifeless. “Bring the package here, my lad.”
Ernsto found himself stepping forward.
Friday, October 7, 2011
Due Wages
by Travis Perry -
Ernsto sat in the darkened room with the angel, counting his stacks of platinum coins. The pay was good, there was no denying that. And it wasn’t as if the work was hard.
She watched him from the tank, her dark eyes glinting with reflected light from her own white bioluminescent body. The tentacles attached to the back of her head hung down almost like hair and her ray-like fins were spread wide, like wings, making her look especially angelic.
“But you’re not an angel really,” muttered Ernsto. “You’re just a big fish, a smart one.” He didn’t feel fully convinced. He fingered a platinum coin, feeling the cold hard weight of it.
Why? floated into the back of his mind. The more time he spent with the angel, the more he could swear he didn’t just know her feelings—he could hear her thoughts. He glanced up at her but didn’t offer any answer to her question.
The door slid open, revealing Wizard Hobson, smiling as broadly as ever. “There you are! You certainly do like spending time here, don’t you, my boy?” The man deliberately ignored the angel recoiling away from the surface of the glass, balling up at the back of the tank.
Eyes fixed on the wizard, he answered, “I like the dark. The quiet is good, too. You got experiments to run?”
“Not at the moment. I just have another job for you, Ernesto.” The wizard mispronounced his name in a way that for some reason made him smile.
He had more platinum and more luxury than he’d ever had in his life. At that instant he decided he’d had enough; the time had come to go back to smuggling. He rose to his feet, a forceful “No” at the back of his throat.
But when Hobson’s eyes met his own, he found his willpower ebbing away. The wizard started speaking and he couldn’t even remember anymore what he had wanted.
Whatever the old man said, he had to do it.
Ernsto sat in the darkened room with the angel, counting his stacks of platinum coins. The pay was good, there was no denying that. And it wasn’t as if the work was hard.
She watched him from the tank, her dark eyes glinting with reflected light from her own white bioluminescent body. The tentacles attached to the back of her head hung down almost like hair and her ray-like fins were spread wide, like wings, making her look especially angelic.
“But you’re not an angel really,” muttered Ernsto. “You’re just a big fish, a smart one.” He didn’t feel fully convinced. He fingered a platinum coin, feeling the cold hard weight of it.
Why? floated into the back of his mind. The more time he spent with the angel, the more he could swear he didn’t just know her feelings—he could hear her thoughts. He glanced up at her but didn’t offer any answer to her question.
The door slid open, revealing Wizard Hobson, smiling as broadly as ever. “There you are! You certainly do like spending time here, don’t you, my boy?” The man deliberately ignored the angel recoiling away from the surface of the glass, balling up at the back of the tank.
Eyes fixed on the wizard, he answered, “I like the dark. The quiet is good, too. You got experiments to run?”
“Not at the moment. I just have another job for you, Ernesto.” The wizard mispronounced his name in a way that for some reason made him smile.
He had more platinum and more luxury than he’d ever had in his life. At that instant he decided he’d had enough; the time had come to go back to smuggling. He rose to his feet, a forceful “No” at the back of his throat.
But when Hobson’s eyes met his own, he found his willpower ebbing away. The wizard started speaking and he couldn’t even remember anymore what he had wanted.
Whatever the old man said, he had to do it.
Monday, September 12, 2011
Customs
by Travis Perry -
Ernsto fidgeted in the line. He remembered when moving goods up to Avenir used to be a lot easier. But then the Anti-smuggling Acts had been published...
The pressure tank next to him, roughly the size and shape of a coffin, but rounded and made of burnished steel, was mounted on a robotized wheel cart. The line he stood in was for commercial passengers with oversized luggage.
Some part of his brain picked at the word “CUSTOMS,” which had been newly embroidered in bright letters across the armbands of the enforcers standing in this designated section of Zirconia’s upper deck. Somebody must’ve pulled that out of an ancient dictionary somewhere. The word meant nothing to him.
“Next!” said the voice and he stepped forward, the robot cart following him with the tank as he’d programmed it to do. “Papers please,” said the man in his sharp new black-and-white uniform.
“Sure,” said Ernsto, handing over actual printed paper, not digital, not bugshell, supplied to him through a contact of his wizard benefactor in Avenir. The enforcer’s eyes widened at this rare form of official documentation.
“Well, sir,” he said, “All is very much in order…you may proceed.”
“Hold it, Smit!” barked the supervising peacekeeper, stepping toward them. He was not in any kind of uniform, but his badge hung prominently from his belt.
The peacekeeper snatched the papers out of his subordinate’s hand. “Gabril Jons, is it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Ernsto, attempting a smile.
The man evaluated him from his toes up to his face. “You look a lot like the image capture I’ve seen on that smuggler Ernsto Mons.” He glared straight into his eyes, looking for any sign of inappropriate response.
“I’ve heard people tell me that a time or two before,” he muttered. “Can’t say as I like it bein’ accused of criminal activity. I’m Gabril Jons, general merchant, just like the papers say.”
“I think you and your cargo need to be scanned,” said the peacekeeper.
Of course, that would never do. The scan would reveal the presence of the angel in the tank, illegal to transport. And it would also show the weapons hidden under the loose merchant’s shirt Ernsto wore.
“The papers don’t allow that.” He enunciated carefully, “This cargo may not be exposed any extreme form of magnetism or ionizing radiation. This is a special delivery to Wizard Hobson in Avenir and has been pre-inspected. Just as the papers say.” Even as he spoke he was calculating. The peacekeeper and enforcer near him he could kill before they’d realized he had hidden weapons. But the two behind would have time to react, to maybe pull an alarm of some kind, if not actually fire back. And there were more enforcers at the scanning station and the commercial shuttle itself, along with surveillance devices. Plus plenty more on the upper decks of Zirconia. His chances of escaping them all seemed slim, no matter how many he killed.
But he’d known “Forcers” his entire life—he’d known from experience that many of them joined up just to boss others around, to make themselves feel powerful. When given the chance, they could be cruel beyond belief. He was not about to fall into the hands of those dregs—he’d rather die first.
That wizard said it was all arranged! He was angry at the old man. And with himself for having trusted anyone.
The needle gun in his sleeve he’d set up to fire by orienting his arm and squeezing his armpit just so. He turned to the peacekeeper, arm in place, ready to kill. “But officer—”
And then a powerful emotion swept over him, interrupting his plan in motion. It was a deep calmness, slapping away his rage with a shocking coolness, like getting hit on the shore with a sudden surge of the ocean. He gasped.
It showed in the eyes of the lawmen that they felt it, too. Deep, sudden calmness. They probably didn’t know where it had come from, but he knew. He recognized the presence behind it. It was the angel in the pressure tank—she had sent this emotion.
The peacekeeper, calmed and perhaps beyond that, perhaps influenced somehow, took a second look at his high-class forged papers. “I’m…I’m sorry to trouble you, sir. Officer Smit was right. Everything is in order. Please proceed.”
As Ernsto moved forward toward the Avenir-bound shuttle, he wondered why in the name of all Holy-in-the-sea-below-and-the-stars-above would that angel do that for him. Why did she save my life?
Ernsto fidgeted in the line. He remembered when moving goods up to Avenir used to be a lot easier. But then the Anti-smuggling Acts had been published...
The pressure tank next to him, roughly the size and shape of a coffin, but rounded and made of burnished steel, was mounted on a robotized wheel cart. The line he stood in was for commercial passengers with oversized luggage.
Some part of his brain picked at the word “CUSTOMS,” which had been newly embroidered in bright letters across the armbands of the enforcers standing in this designated section of Zirconia’s upper deck. Somebody must’ve pulled that out of an ancient dictionary somewhere. The word meant nothing to him.
“Next!” said the voice and he stepped forward, the robot cart following him with the tank as he’d programmed it to do. “Papers please,” said the man in his sharp new black-and-white uniform.
“Sure,” said Ernsto, handing over actual printed paper, not digital, not bugshell, supplied to him through a contact of his wizard benefactor in Avenir. The enforcer’s eyes widened at this rare form of official documentation.
“Well, sir,” he said, “All is very much in order…you may proceed.”
“Hold it, Smit!” barked the supervising peacekeeper, stepping toward them. He was not in any kind of uniform, but his badge hung prominently from his belt.
The peacekeeper snatched the papers out of his subordinate’s hand. “Gabril Jons, is it?”
“Yes, sir,” said Ernsto, attempting a smile.
The man evaluated him from his toes up to his face. “You look a lot like the image capture I’ve seen on that smuggler Ernsto Mons.” He glared straight into his eyes, looking for any sign of inappropriate response.
“I’ve heard people tell me that a time or two before,” he muttered. “Can’t say as I like it bein’ accused of criminal activity. I’m Gabril Jons, general merchant, just like the papers say.”
“I think you and your cargo need to be scanned,” said the peacekeeper.
Of course, that would never do. The scan would reveal the presence of the angel in the tank, illegal to transport. And it would also show the weapons hidden under the loose merchant’s shirt Ernsto wore.
“The papers don’t allow that.” He enunciated carefully, “This cargo may not be exposed any extreme form of magnetism or ionizing radiation. This is a special delivery to Wizard Hobson in Avenir and has been pre-inspected. Just as the papers say.” Even as he spoke he was calculating. The peacekeeper and enforcer near him he could kill before they’d realized he had hidden weapons. But the two behind would have time to react, to maybe pull an alarm of some kind, if not actually fire back. And there were more enforcers at the scanning station and the commercial shuttle itself, along with surveillance devices. Plus plenty more on the upper decks of Zirconia. His chances of escaping them all seemed slim, no matter how many he killed.
But he’d known “Forcers” his entire life—he’d known from experience that many of them joined up just to boss others around, to make themselves feel powerful. When given the chance, they could be cruel beyond belief. He was not about to fall into the hands of those dregs—he’d rather die first.
That wizard said it was all arranged! He was angry at the old man. And with himself for having trusted anyone.
The needle gun in his sleeve he’d set up to fire by orienting his arm and squeezing his armpit just so. He turned to the peacekeeper, arm in place, ready to kill. “But officer—”
And then a powerful emotion swept over him, interrupting his plan in motion. It was a deep calmness, slapping away his rage with a shocking coolness, like getting hit on the shore with a sudden surge of the ocean. He gasped.
It showed in the eyes of the lawmen that they felt it, too. Deep, sudden calmness. They probably didn’t know where it had come from, but he knew. He recognized the presence behind it. It was the angel in the pressure tank—she had sent this emotion.
The peacekeeper, calmed and perhaps beyond that, perhaps influenced somehow, took a second look at his high-class forged papers. “I’m…I’m sorry to trouble you, sir. Officer Smit was right. Everything is in order. Please proceed.”
As Ernsto moved forward toward the Avenir-bound shuttle, he wondered why in the name of all Holy-in-the-sea-below-and-the-stars-above would that angel do that for him. Why did she save my life?
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Lullaby
by Grace Bridges -
“Sing us a song, Ave!” The clutch of four-year-olds stared at her with demanding eyes, clustering around their ringleader, a tiny girl with blue eyes and golden hair wrapped in a ragged, patched spider-wool blanket.
Ave adjusted her position sitting against the wall, and forced a grin. “What song do you want to hear?”
Felicia frowned, considering. “The one about Avenir, please.” The other little ones nodded.
Ave smiled, for real this time. They always picked that one. She began to hum, and the children hunkered down in their bedrolls. Finally she sang it out, her voice breaking at “Be strong, Avenir Eclectia.”
The words of the song echoed oddly from the conduits of the service corridor. Eyes drooped closed, faces grew slack, breathing grew calm. Ave sang the song through twice more, letting it comfort the inner ache that threatened to burst forth and overcome her just as ruthlessly as a sudden vacuum leak. She must be parent to these children and the rest, even though she had no family herself, knew nothing of parenting. Be strong…it was her only answer, even when she had no more strength.
What must it be like to have a father? A mother? Longing rushed up from a secret place within her, and her face crumpled suddenly. After a lengthy moment, she sighed and flicked a tear from her eye. It was no use wishing for what could not be.
“Don’t cry, Ave.” Felicia’s small hand found its way into hers, and she snuggled against Ave’s shoulder.
Ave kissed the top of the golden head and closed her eyes in thankfulness.
“Sing us a song, Ave!” The clutch of four-year-olds stared at her with demanding eyes, clustering around their ringleader, a tiny girl with blue eyes and golden hair wrapped in a ragged, patched spider-wool blanket.
Ave adjusted her position sitting against the wall, and forced a grin. “What song do you want to hear?”
Felicia frowned, considering. “The one about Avenir, please.” The other little ones nodded.
Ave smiled, for real this time. They always picked that one. She began to hum, and the children hunkered down in their bedrolls. Finally she sang it out, her voice breaking at “Be strong, Avenir Eclectia.”
The words of the song echoed oddly from the conduits of the service corridor. Eyes drooped closed, faces grew slack, breathing grew calm. Ave sang the song through twice more, letting it comfort the inner ache that threatened to burst forth and overcome her just as ruthlessly as a sudden vacuum leak. She must be parent to these children and the rest, even though she had no family herself, knew nothing of parenting. Be strong…it was her only answer, even when she had no more strength.
What must it be like to have a father? A mother? Longing rushed up from a secret place within her, and her face crumpled suddenly. After a lengthy moment, she sighed and flicked a tear from her eye. It was no use wishing for what could not be.
“Don’t cry, Ave.” Felicia’s small hand found its way into hers, and she snuggled against Ave’s shoulder.
Ave kissed the top of the golden head and closed her eyes in thankfulness.
Friday, August 12, 2011
Missed Lift
by Kat Heckenbach -
The lift doors shut with a quiet hiss as Robynn watched the man—‘droid?—disappear around a corner at the other end of the corridor. She shook her head and jabbed the touch panel again, angry that she’d gotten so distracted and now had to wait on another lift when someone could come by at any moment and throw a fit about her being where she didn’t belong.
Angrier that Denton and Strand had abandoned her…
Angriest because she knew she didn’t dare say a word to them about it. She needed their protection. They were the toughest urchins she knew, besides Ave. But Ave couldn’t be around all the time to stop them—or anyone else—from picking on Robynn. Better to befriend the bullies than be bullied by them. It was a matter of survival.
Tears burned her eyes and she chewed at her lip. It wasn’t her fault she had no home, no parents. So why did she have to be treated like a stray dog?
The metal wall in front of her hummed, and a ping sounded with each change of number above the door. The lift was close. Robynn shifted her weight nervously from one leg to the other. Hurry up, hurry up…
And then movement caught in the corner of her eye. She snapped her head to the side, expecting to see a grown-up, someone ready to scream at her (filthy little urchin!), and threaten to call Level Security. But it was a boy, crossing past the end of the corridor.
She stepped away from the lift doors just as they opened and jogged along the edge of the wall. When she reached the end, she peeked around the corner.
He snuck along, glancing side to side, like he was playing “secret agent.” His clothes were clean, his hair trimmed, and he’d gained a few pounds, but Robynn still recognized him.
Gavin.
What was he doing here? Ave had told Robynn…well, something. It was always something. Excuses for why Gavin never seemed to be around.
Robynn skulked along the adjacent corridor, following as Gavin rounded the next corner. He stopped in front of a door and she ducked behind a support column, pressing her cheek against the cold metal.
The door opened, and Gavin stepped through. A man’s hushed voice said, “You weren’t followed?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure? There were some kids poking around earlier.”
“No, sir.”
A grunt, and then the man leaned his head and shoulders out the door, facing away from Robynn. She held her breath as he turned in her direction. It took everything she had not to gasp. It was him—the ‘droid!
The lift doors shut with a quiet hiss as Robynn watched the man—‘droid?—disappear around a corner at the other end of the corridor. She shook her head and jabbed the touch panel again, angry that she’d gotten so distracted and now had to wait on another lift when someone could come by at any moment and throw a fit about her being where she didn’t belong.
Angrier that Denton and Strand had abandoned her…
Angriest because she knew she didn’t dare say a word to them about it. She needed their protection. They were the toughest urchins she knew, besides Ave. But Ave couldn’t be around all the time to stop them—or anyone else—from picking on Robynn. Better to befriend the bullies than be bullied by them. It was a matter of survival.
Tears burned her eyes and she chewed at her lip. It wasn’t her fault she had no home, no parents. So why did she have to be treated like a stray dog?
The metal wall in front of her hummed, and a ping sounded with each change of number above the door. The lift was close. Robynn shifted her weight nervously from one leg to the other. Hurry up, hurry up…
And then movement caught in the corner of her eye. She snapped her head to the side, expecting to see a grown-up, someone ready to scream at her (filthy little urchin!), and threaten to call Level Security. But it was a boy, crossing past the end of the corridor.
She stepped away from the lift doors just as they opened and jogged along the edge of the wall. When she reached the end, she peeked around the corner.
He snuck along, glancing side to side, like he was playing “secret agent.” His clothes were clean, his hair trimmed, and he’d gained a few pounds, but Robynn still recognized him.
Gavin.
What was he doing here? Ave had told Robynn…well, something. It was always something. Excuses for why Gavin never seemed to be around.
Robynn skulked along the adjacent corridor, following as Gavin rounded the next corner. He stopped in front of a door and she ducked behind a support column, pressing her cheek against the cold metal.
The door opened, and Gavin stepped through. A man’s hushed voice said, “You weren’t followed?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re sure? There were some kids poking around earlier.”
“No, sir.”
A grunt, and then the man leaned his head and shoulders out the door, facing away from Robynn. She held her breath as he turned in her direction. It took everything she had not to gasp. It was him—the ‘droid!
Friday, March 11, 2011
Cool, Smooth Metal
by Grace Bridges
Cool, smooth metal met Ave’s fingers as she slid down the wall to sit in the corner. No one would bother her here in this obscure corridor—not for a while, at least. She concentrated, and felt the distant, almost intangible vibrating of the station. Its comfort calmed her, and she hummed to herself, head down, hair shutting out the world and thoughts of Smith. A good kid, but they were both too young—only fourteen Foundings.* And the children—the beggars, the poorest of all beings, who didn’t even have a claim to parents—they looked up to her. She must do right, and not be distracted by an obsession for love, as heady as it was. The time was not yet come.
Ave recognised the tune she hummed, and smiled a little: her name-song, and that of the colony. “Arise, Avenir Eclectia; be strong, Avenir Eclectia. Stand firm, Avenir Eclectia; live on, Avenir Eclectia.” A rousing anthem that gave her the tingles. Her first carer had given her the name of the entire colony: Avenir, though she went by Ave. She placed her hands on the floor, felt her connection to the huge space habitat and the presence of the planet below, and hoped she hadn’t hurt Smith beyond repair. He’d understand, someday. Wouldn’t he?
The beings on the planet called to her and she rested in their mental embrace, sensing only the living station through the cool, smooth metal.
——
Click here for the Eleon song she is humming!
*A Founding being every 15 months, her age is close to 17.5 Earth years.
Cool, smooth metal met Ave’s fingers as she slid down the wall to sit in the corner. No one would bother her here in this obscure corridor—not for a while, at least. She concentrated, and felt the distant, almost intangible vibrating of the station. Its comfort calmed her, and she hummed to herself, head down, hair shutting out the world and thoughts of Smith. A good kid, but they were both too young—only fourteen Foundings.* And the children—the beggars, the poorest of all beings, who didn’t even have a claim to parents—they looked up to her. She must do right, and not be distracted by an obsession for love, as heady as it was. The time was not yet come.
Ave recognised the tune she hummed, and smiled a little: her name-song, and that of the colony. “Arise, Avenir Eclectia; be strong, Avenir Eclectia. Stand firm, Avenir Eclectia; live on, Avenir Eclectia.” A rousing anthem that gave her the tingles. Her first carer had given her the name of the entire colony: Avenir, though she went by Ave. She placed her hands on the floor, felt her connection to the huge space habitat and the presence of the planet below, and hoped she hadn’t hurt Smith beyond repair. He’d understand, someday. Wouldn’t he?
The beings on the planet called to her and she rested in their mental embrace, sensing only the living station through the cool, smooth metal.
——
Click here for the Eleon song she is humming!
*A Founding being every 15 months, her age is close to 17.5 Earth years.
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