"So, Mr. Carlyle, is there anything else I can get you?" the young woman asked, making sure that her breasts, hanging heavy in her low-cut blouse, just barely brushed against the man's suited shoulder.
The man, however, didn't glance up from his paperwork. "No, Missy, that will be all, I think," he said, waving one hand vaguely in the air.
Missy felt a little put out, but she straightened up carefully, making sure to accentuate the long, slender lines of her figure. Her mini-skirt ended only a fraction of an inch below the perfect curves of her ass, and if Richard Carlyle happened to slide one hand up along the inside of her perfect bronze thigh, he'd soon find a very distinct lack of underwear beneath...
Wednesday, September 30, 2015
Monday, September 28, 2015
Book 38 of 52: "The Map of the Sky" by Felix J. Palma
Steampunk science fiction and fantasy has been a rising genre, in my eyes. It's often difficult for me to immerse myself initially in the complexity of the steampunk universe, trying to remember how I know names like Algernon Swinburne and Charles Babbage. However, I've found that, after the first 100 pages, I'm irreconcilably mired in the story, and I can't bring myself to close the book until I've reached the last page.
Of course, it's helpful when the plot is sufficiently fantastic, as well.
Friday, September 25, 2015
REWRITE: Possession Talk Around the Neighborhood Grill
Author's note: I like this story! But I feel that it could actually use a rewrite, to give these characters some description. I normally hate editing, but... why not give it a shot?
The sun shone brightly down from above the trees, as a thin wisp of smoke rose up from below. Given the scent of charcoal, mingled with that of charring meat, any observer wouldn't be amiss in guessing that they were catching a sniff of neighborhood barbecue.
The street was a cul-de-sac, a little half-circle of houses wrapping around the widened end of the street. Today, the men had dragged their grills out to the middle of the street, plopping a couple of orange traffic cones further up the street to dissuade any lost drivers from plowing into the little gathering. The grills were a motley assortment, from Jerry's traditional round charcoal grill to Bill's monstrosity of a modern grill, covered in knobs and adjustable flaps, its aluminum shining in the sun.
Gathered around the grills, the men chatted back and forth, occasionally opening up the grills to poke at the meat and produce sharp hisses of grease and juices flashing into steam. Meanwhile, the women gossiped in little circles as they sipped at freshly made margaritas, and the children ran around the groups, chasing each other and occasionally letting out high-pitched screams.
It was a great day for a barbecue, overall. The sun hadn't yet reached its apex in the sky, but the day was already pleasantly warm, with just the slightest of breezes rustling the leaves on the trees.
The women gossiped, but the women always gossiped. Most of them stayed home during the week instead of heading out to offices, and they'd raised gossip to a high art form as they ducked in and out of each other's houses.
For the men, on the other hand, 'gossip' had become a taboo term. If asked, each man would insist that he never gossiped - he merely updated the other men of the neighborhood on current events within his sphere of influence, his household, his kingdom. They considered the exchange of information now occurring as vital to defending their homes as the motley assortment of baseball bats and golf clubs that they guiltily kept hidden in the back of their closets.
As he lowered the cover of his round charcoal grill back over the hissing meat, Jerry shook his head back and forth in disbelief. "Man, you cannot be serious. On either count."
"No, I swear it's true!" Bill reached out and adjusted some knob on his huge, gleaming aluminum monstrosity of a grill. Most of the other men would wager - accurately - that even Bill didn't know what that knob did, but that didn't mean that the others weren't envious of the hulking machine. Here in the suburbs, men gauged the measure of each other by the size of their grills.
Once the knob had been satisfactorily adjusted, Bill looked back up at the others. "Summoning ritual gone wrong, the whole nine yards. It's really the only way for me to explain it. She's nothing like how she used to be."
The sun shone brightly down from above the trees, as a thin wisp of smoke rose up from below. Given the scent of charcoal, mingled with that of charring meat, any observer wouldn't be amiss in guessing that they were catching a sniff of neighborhood barbecue.
The street was a cul-de-sac, a little half-circle of houses wrapping around the widened end of the street. Today, the men had dragged their grills out to the middle of the street, plopping a couple of orange traffic cones further up the street to dissuade any lost drivers from plowing into the little gathering. The grills were a motley assortment, from Jerry's traditional round charcoal grill to Bill's monstrosity of a modern grill, covered in knobs and adjustable flaps, its aluminum shining in the sun.
Gathered around the grills, the men chatted back and forth, occasionally opening up the grills to poke at the meat and produce sharp hisses of grease and juices flashing into steam. Meanwhile, the women gossiped in little circles as they sipped at freshly made margaritas, and the children ran around the groups, chasing each other and occasionally letting out high-pitched screams.
It was a great day for a barbecue, overall. The sun hadn't yet reached its apex in the sky, but the day was already pleasantly warm, with just the slightest of breezes rustling the leaves on the trees.
The women gossiped, but the women always gossiped. Most of them stayed home during the week instead of heading out to offices, and they'd raised gossip to a high art form as they ducked in and out of each other's houses.
For the men, on the other hand, 'gossip' had become a taboo term. If asked, each man would insist that he never gossiped - he merely updated the other men of the neighborhood on current events within his sphere of influence, his household, his kingdom. They considered the exchange of information now occurring as vital to defending their homes as the motley assortment of baseball bats and golf clubs that they guiltily kept hidden in the back of their closets.
As he lowered the cover of his round charcoal grill back over the hissing meat, Jerry shook his head back and forth in disbelief. "Man, you cannot be serious. On either count."
"No, I swear it's true!" Bill reached out and adjusted some knob on his huge, gleaming aluminum monstrosity of a grill. Most of the other men would wager - accurately - that even Bill didn't know what that knob did, but that didn't mean that the others weren't envious of the hulking machine. Here in the suburbs, men gauged the measure of each other by the size of their grills.
Once the knob had been satisfactorily adjusted, Bill looked back up at the others. "Summoning ritual gone wrong, the whole nine yards. It's really the only way for me to explain it. She's nothing like how she used to be."
Wednesday, September 23, 2015
The Heavy Darkness
There's a feeling, Elle considered to herself, that can come from darkness.
She clutched the slightly bent tire iron closer to herself as she tried to see further, blinking her eyes in a futile attempt to help her night vision. All around her, the shadows grew deep and thick before congealing into a solid mass of impenetrable blankness.
Elle normally felt accustomed to darkness. She was, after all, a creature of the half-dark, spending most of her waking hours prowling in the twilight. It was always a delicate balancing act; she had to wait until the sun had sank down to kiss the horizon, to the point when most of the other bands of hunters would have already set up their camps and turned in for the night.
But Elle also knew that for each moment she waited, the sun grew a little dimmer, and her window shrank. And if she waited too long, darkness would come sweeping over her like a crashing wave of surf. That darkness brought its own terrors with it, far more ephemeral than the bands of hunters, but just as deadly.
Tonight, the darkness felt especially thick...
She clutched the slightly bent tire iron closer to herself as she tried to see further, blinking her eyes in a futile attempt to help her night vision. All around her, the shadows grew deep and thick before congealing into a solid mass of impenetrable blankness.
Elle normally felt accustomed to darkness. She was, after all, a creature of the half-dark, spending most of her waking hours prowling in the twilight. It was always a delicate balancing act; she had to wait until the sun had sank down to kiss the horizon, to the point when most of the other bands of hunters would have already set up their camps and turned in for the night.
But Elle also knew that for each moment she waited, the sun grew a little dimmer, and her window shrank. And if she waited too long, darkness would come sweeping over her like a crashing wave of surf. That darkness brought its own terrors with it, far more ephemeral than the bands of hunters, but just as deadly.
Tonight, the darkness felt especially thick...
Monday, September 21, 2015
Book 37 of 52: "Mystery of the Blue Train" by Agatha Christie
More Agatha Christie! Probably a quarter of all the books in my 52 Book Challenge for this year so far have been AC novels. They're just always so engaging, while still being a great way to unwind after a long day, sitting in bed with just a night light turned on.
Like many others, "Mystery of the Blue Train" is a Hercule Poirot mystery, although, as is often the case, the eponymous detective is not truly the main character. Instead, the story revolves around Katherine Grey, a young but level-headed heroine who, upon coming into a large sum of money, sets off to see the world. But scarcely is she away before she finds herself involved in murder!
Friday, September 18, 2015
[The Kung War] The Diplomat at War, Part I
If he ignored the lurking sense of uselessness that sulked constantly at the back of his mind, Nils told himself, it was a great day.
To be fair, he wasn’t wrong. The yellow sun overhead cast down its gentle warmth on civilized Ehftia, and a gentle breeze blew across the glassy walkways. This close to one of the warm freshwater oceans, there was always a slight little hint of moisture and freshness in the air. The thread-thin glassine supports that held up the walkways in suspension, high above the ground, vibrated tightly as the air blew through them. Nils was slightly shy of his fortieth birthday, but he still appreciated the mildly reduced gravity of Ehftia.
It was, Nils reminded himself, the dream appointment of any diplomat. He ought to be thrilled at this posting.
And yet, try as he might, he couldn’t shake that little sense of useless melancholy.
To be fair, he wasn’t wrong. The yellow sun overhead cast down its gentle warmth on civilized Ehftia, and a gentle breeze blew across the glassy walkways. This close to one of the warm freshwater oceans, there was always a slight little hint of moisture and freshness in the air. The thread-thin glassine supports that held up the walkways in suspension, high above the ground, vibrated tightly as the air blew through them. Nils was slightly shy of his fortieth birthday, but he still appreciated the mildly reduced gravity of Ehftia.
It was, Nils reminded himself, the dream appointment of any diplomat. He ought to be thrilled at this posting.
And yet, try as he might, he couldn’t shake that little sense of useless melancholy.
Thursday, September 17, 2015
"Danni California" is now available as an ebook!
“The girl’s eyes widened - just as I pulled the trigger…”
It’s the end of the nineteenth century in a growing nation, and unrest is close at hand. Jasper might wear the high collar of a priest, but he’s a trained killer, highly paid to assassinate anyone troubling the shadowy Organization. He's just received his latest target: a young female redhead robbing banks from Mississippi to Illinois.
But as Jasper hunts his flame-haired mark, he finds himself growing closer to her. Danni is smart, sassy, and sensual—even when Jasper's looking down the barrel of her Colt.
As fate pulls the robber and the assassin closer together, they find comfort in each other’s arms. But can these two outlaws hope to stand together as the nation’s forces rally against them?
Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Writing Prompt: Who owns samurai swords?
Normally, I'd consider the curved samurai sword out of place. Who expects to find an actual sword in an office building, even in a gigantic executive's office like this?
At the moment, however, the sword looked like salvation - if I could only reach it.
Trying not to draw attention to myself, I flexed my arms, testing the ropes that bound me to the chair. The coil looped around me several times, but I could feel it budge ever so slightly when I strained my muscles.
Maybe, just maybe, I had a chance.
At the moment, however, the sword looked like salvation - if I could only reach it.
Trying not to draw attention to myself, I flexed my arms, testing the ropes that bound me to the chair. The coil looped around me several times, but I could feel it budge ever so slightly when I strained my muscles.
Maybe, just maybe, I had a chance.
Monday, September 14, 2015
Book 36 of 52: "Redshirts: A Novel with 3 Codas" by John Scalzi
Shocking geek confession: I've never seen Star Trek.
However, even though I haven't ever watched a single full episode of the show that this book parodies, that doesn't mean I can't enjoy the fast-paced and wicked humor that runs rampant in this novel. If you've ever watched an action movie and felt like the hero must have somehow acquired a suit of invulnerable plot armor, well, this is the book for you!
Be warned, however: there's going to be some very meta themes.
Friday, September 11, 2015
[The Kung War] First Contact
Frisson (n): a sudden, passing sensation of excitement; a shudder of emotion; thrill
Michael Frederick paused as he strolled along the road, his nose wrinkling slightly. Something smelled off, he thought to himself. He took a deep breath of air, and frowned as the word “acrid” wandered through his mind.
For a moment, he glanced down at the muddy road beneath his feet. “Road” was an optimistic term for it, he thought to himself with a touch of wryness. The dirt track leading back to his little town of Deven Ride was splashed with puddles and ruts from farmer’s wagons, adding to the already thick layer of dirt coating his boots.
All around him, the scene was quiet, pastoral. The rolling hills of Idris around him undulated gently, the nearly four foot high crops swaying back and forth in the soft breeze. If Mike ignored the second moon glowing faintly even in the brightness of the early afternoon sky, he could pretend that he still stood back in the fields of his childhood home in Iowa.
His farmer’s eyes instinctively scanned the horizon. There! Up ahead of him, a thin plume of smoke rose up above the crops. The wind carried the hint of smoky ash towards him.
“Damn,” Mike cursed, quickening his pace slightly. Deven Ride, the little village that he and Kate called home lay in that direction. His boots splashed in the shallow puddles as he stomped along, fighting the sucking mud.
Could something have caught fire? Usually the Ehftians were pretty good at getting any accidental fires put out pretty quickly. A necessary skill, considering that they still built most structures out of wood. On Idris, the trees grew quickly, and their small community needed far more material than they could fabricate with the tech they’d brought over.
At first, Mike had balked at the idea of settling on this new world. “I’m not a settler,” he had protested, standing over the kitchen table in their cramped little apartment. "And you know how aliens make me uncomfortable."
“But you are a farmer,” Kate had replied serenely, looking as calm and composed as she sat at the table as Mike had ever seen her. “And I know you’re miserable here, in the city. You miss gazing out at fields of crops."
Mike shook his head, but they both knew that Kate was correct. Even now, in the midst of this debate, he felt a surge of affection towards his wife. She was the best thing to happen to him, and he still sometimes couldn’t believe that, when she took his diner order all those years ago, he’d managed to summon up the courage to ask for her number.
A farmer and a waitress, he had thought to himself, shaking his head ruefully as he settled down at the kitchen table across from his wife. Two of the most unlikely choices for interplanetary settlers that anyone could pick.
“Okay,” he finally gave in, after a long sigh. “Tell me about this crazy plan of yours.”
And Kate told him.
The planet was twenty-seven light years away, discovered several centuries ago and given the name Idris, after the prophet. Humanity knew it was habitable, but Idris’s borders only recently opened up for immigration. “The Ehft technically control the planet, but they’re opening it up to us as a sign of goodwill,” his wife read from the pamphlet she’d brought home. “It’s a little milder climate than Earth, slightly higher gravity. And it’s got great soil, a lot like our own planet.”
There had been more debate, of course, but Mike and Kate both already knew the final outcome. Kate had made up her mind, and although a strong man in many respects, Mike was perenially powerless to argue against her.
Now, four years later, he looked back on that decision as one of the best in his life.
Sure, settling on Idris hadn’t been easy. The Ehft, stocky meter-tall feathery creatures that reminded Mike of old drawings of Kiwi birds, proved to be friendly enough. Their beaks gave their speech a curious clipped accent, but they quickly mastered Galactic English, and Mike even picked up some phrases in their curious squawking tongue. He sometimes felt like a giant when he passed through a crowd of the short little aliens, but they were always polite and cordial in their greetings.
Mike reflected on the strange little aliens for a moment. They weren’t what the farmer would call “his people,” that much was certain. But they were agreeable, in their own little way. They always inquired about Kate, and now asked about little Ethan’s health as well. Mike always smiled when he replied. In some way, the little birdlike Ehft reminded him of his own child.
After some thought, he and his wife chose a plot of land on the northern continent, inland but near a river. The climate proved as mild as promised, and although fluctuating rain levels sometimes made him worry about their crops, the river’s irrigation proved a blessing. His house sat in the little village of Deven Ride, a larger mother bird surrounded by the smaller Ehftian dome-shaped huts.
That little village was just over the next hill. Still eyeing that plume of smoke with concern, Mike picked up his pace, cutting through the nearest field and climbing up until he could see over the waving crops.
As he crested the hill, he stopped, staring.
The village hadn’t been laid out in any real order. The Ehft tended to add more homes as their population grew, spreading out in all directions without any true pattern. But they had made sure to leave a central green, where the Ehft youngsters flapped and bounced off each other. Mike and Kate imagined that Ethan would soon be running about as well, once he grew steadier on his chubby feet. Normally, the village reminded Mike of a cluster of mushrooms.
But now, those mushrooms were smoldering and scattered. Something must have happened, Mike thought blankly to himself as he stared down, trying to make sense of the chaos in front of him. A meteor strike of some sort, perhaps?
Several of the Ehftian domes looked flattened, completely demolished. Others looked shattered, burnt and blackened. Several of the round homes still burned, sending up that plume of smoke.
Where were the Ehft? Mike thought wildly, taking another step down the hill towards the village. Surely, they would be hurrying to extinguish those fires!
But his eyes fell on an object in the middle of the village and he stopped, staring.
A large, bulbous shape sat in the middle of the destruction, its oval shape distorted by strange blobby growths. Several short rods protruded from some of those blisters, and with a thrill of terror, Mike realized that he was looking at some sort of armed spaceship.
The ship didn’t look like any he’d seen, either Ehftian or Terran. But who else could it be?
Movement suddenly caught Mike’s eye. There! An Ehft came scurrying out of the wreckage of one of the huts, sprinting across the charred ground.
Mike started to call out, but as his mouth opened, some thrown object shot out from between the huts, and the Ehft stumbled and collapsed with a cry. As Mike stared in confusion and horror, a new creature emerged from behind one of the huts, advancing on the injured little birdlike alien.
This new creature stood on two legs, like Mike, with a bipedal body, but that was where the similarities ended. Instead of two arms, it had four, and it looked almost unnaturally thin. In one of its four arms, it brandished a nasty-looking knife, which it kept pointed at the whimpering Ehft.
Invaders! Mike’s mind still reeled, but he crouched back, down amid the cover of the plants around him. The Ehft whimpered again, prompting the attacker to deliver a savage kick. It made some sort of noise, a harsh scraping sound like nails on a chalkboard, and then raised the long knife in its hands. Standing over the injured Ehft, it lifted the blade high.
Mike tore his eyes away, but he still heard the crunch and the organic sound that followed.
It still didn’t make sense! Some sort of unknown alien race, attacking out of the blue? And why pick their little farming community on Idris? There was no military presence here, no valuable strategic base.
Confusion weighed heavily on Mike’s mind – but beneath it, he felt a rising tide of burning, furious anger. The little bird couldn’t have meant any harm! And this alien had butchered it without a thought!
He heard another squawk, and dragged his attention back down at the ruins of the village. The six-limbed alien had advanced on one of the still-standing huts, knocking down the door. Another Ehft scurried outside, clearly cringing away from the weapon in the attacker’s hands.
More movement danced around this Ehft’s legs, and Mike’s blood suddenly turned to ice in his veins as he squinted. There were chicks, little Ehft youngsters, clinging to their mother’s legs!
It didn’t seem to make a difference to the attacker. The sword’s blade flashed again, and the Ehft collapsed. The chicks squealed in alarm and fear, trying to cluster up against their fallen parent. The alien just grunted, bringing its blade up again for another slaughtering strike.
The boiling anger overflowed. Without thought, Mike was on his feet, charging forward. Aliens or not, the little chicks were helpless! And this attacker was going to slaughter them? Never!
The six-limbed alien glanced up at the sound of his pounding footsteps, but Mike was moving too quickly for the alien to react. It tried to bring the blade around, but Mike tackled it, his weight bringing them both to the ground.
Those four limbs scrabbled at Mike, but his vision was edged with red, and he barely felt as slashes cut through his clothes. He slammed an elbow down, grinning with bitter, humorless satisfaction as something crunched beneath the blow.
His questing hand closed on something hard, something of cool metal. The blade slid into his hand awkwardly, but he brought it around, slamming it over and over into the creature beneath him until its spasms ceased.
Mike rose up uncertainly to his feet. The Ehft youngsters had scattered, probably out into the fields. He stared around at the burning village, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He glanced down at the six-limbed alien at his feet, but the creature sprawled, clearly dead. No creature, human or alien, could survive with its chest shattered like that.
His thoughts felt like sludge, mired and lost in fog. The blade, still clutched in his hand, felt heavy and useless.
He stood in a waking nightmare. All around him, little Ehft lay in motionless piles of feathers, while their homes and structures burned.
And then, piercing down to his very soul, he heard the scream.
This wasn’t the squawking cry of an Ehft. This scream was uniquely human, the shriek of a woman in mortal danger.
Kate.
His heart stopped, and all conscious thought ceased inside the Terran’s mind.
The two Kung cautiously entered the house. This building seemed larger than the little huts surrounding it. They didn’t anticipate trouble, but both clutched their scimitari in their more powerful upper hands.
Outside, their companions were probably cutting down the last of the little bird-creatures that populated this planet. There was little honor in killing such weak and worthless opponents, but their duty was to exterminate. And perhaps, this Kung considered hopefully, this larger building would contain a chieftain of some sort, whose death would bring them more honor.
There! One of the Kung caught a hint of motion, and leapt forward. His kick shattered the closed door, and the sentient on the other side let out a loud cry and shrank back.
No bird-creature, this! Larger, the Kung observed, nearly as tall as he stood. But flabby, with none of his deadly thinness. Only two arms, not four. Pale skin, clutching what looked like a smaller version of itself to its chest. The smaller, perhaps a juvenile, stared at the Kung with large, watery eyes.
The creature let out another scream, trying to back away from the Kung. No fighter, this one. Not worth much honor. But the Kung were here to purge these lesser sentients. He raised his scimitari and advanced.
From behind, the Kung heard a pounding sound, drawing closer. Something approaching? His companion turned, brandishing the knife and watching the door.
Something burst in, slamming into the Kung nearer to the door with a roar of deep-throated rage. It yelled something, but even if the Kung could have understood the language, the words blended together into a cry of raw, unhinged emotion.
“I’ll kill you I’ll kill youkillyoukillyoukillkillkill you I’ll kill you kill you I’ll kill you-“
It was another one of these flabby two-armed alien creatures! Larger and more muscular than the cowering specimen – a male, perhaps? But even as the Kung drew this connection, his fellow slumped back, as the screaming alien slammed a scimitari over and over into his fellow Kung’s carapace.
Grinning, the Kung turned towards this new threat, hefting his own scimitari. This, now, this was a fight that promised honor! He squared off, one blade forward to defend, the other drawn back and poised to strike.
This screaming, raging alien didn’t bother with any form, however. He threw himself forward, still bellowing at the Kung.
“You hurt her I’ll kill you kill you kill kill killyoukillyou I’ll kill-“
Its first strike was sloppy, wild. The Kung parried the attack and brought his own blade around to counter, slicing open a line along the alien’s flabby arm.
But then the Kung made his first mistake.
Another Kung, after failing on the attack, would have pulled back and recalculated, planning its second assault. But this screaming, shouting alien didn’t pause. Even as strangely red blood erupted from its arm, it slammed the injured limb forward, knocking the Kung off balance from sheer fury. Its leg swept forward as well, smashing against the Kung’s own leg and upsetting his battle stance. They both toppled backward.
On the ground, the Kung kicked back wildly against this alien on top of him. It never entered the Kung’s mind that he might be losing this fight. He was trained to win, to always seek victory.
Another hit scored, this time along the alien’s ribcage! The Kung felt his knife sink in deeply, and knew that he’d won. Victory, as he’d been trained to seek!
Yet still the alien flailed at him. It howled in pain, but still didn’t retreat. Did this creature not know reason? Was it some sort of berserker?
That wondering thought was the second-last thing to pass through the Kung’s mind.
The last thing was the blade of the alien’s scimitari, stolen from his fallen companion, piercing his skull and turning the Kung’s brains to pulp.
The six-limbed creature slumped back, still twitching, and Mike found himself thinking again.
He stared down at the thing, below him. His final, desperate attack, guided by unthinking rage, literally nailed the creature to the floor of the farmhouse. His hands dripped blue gore, coated up to the elbow.
Mike raised his eyes to Kate, who still clutched little Ethan to his chest. “Are you-“ he began, unable to even finish the sentence.
She nodded, shaking off her paralysis and rushing forward to him. “You’re hurt, Mike! We have to-“
He waved her off, even as the pain hit him and he doubled over, clutching at his side. “No!” he rasped, covering the wound in his stomach, unwilling to let her see. “You have to get Ethan out of here. Get to safety – tell someone about this-“
“I can’t!” Now she was sobbing as well, her hands grabbing at him, sounding almost hysterical. “What about you-“
His teeth gritted as he fought the pain, Mike pulled himself back up to his feet. “There could be more of these things out there,” he said, picking up the dead monster’s knife with his good hand. “You go. I’ll hold them off.”
Kate shook her head, but Mike leaned up against her, kissing her softly, almost tenderly, on the cheek. “Please,” he begged her, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I can’t – I need for you to be safe. I need it, more than anything.”
Now, Kate was weeping as well, their tears mingling together as she embraced him. “Oh, Mike,” she sobbed, holding him for what they both knew would be the last time. “Mike, I love you.”
“I love you too,” Mike whispered back, meaning the words with all his heart.
After a moment, however, another spasm of pain hit his body, and he straightened back up. “Now, go! Away from the ship, and don’t look back. Head for Caemlyn, over the hill – they’ll have a radio. Keep Ethan safe.”
Kate nodded, and although her eyes shone with still more tears, she managed to straighten up, showing off the iron spine she possessed. Mike saw that iron, knew it for the surge of love it summoned up within him. He watched as the love of his life picked up their son, who still stared, too young to understand, and headed out the back door of their farmhouse.
As she left, Mike staggered back to the front door. Still clutching the stolen knife from his dead foe, he stared up at the bulbous, ugly ship that stood in the middle of the destroyed village.
“Fuck you,” he growled under his breath, as he started forward. Once again, the redness crept into the corners of his vision, letting him ignore the burning pain.
“Odd.”
The Kung commander narrowed his eyes as he turned to the subordinate officer who’d dared to speak aloud. “What is it, navigator?” he growled, considering executing the impertinent officer right there for daring to speak without addressing him by his proper title.
The juvenile officer, perhaps not realizing his error, gestured down at the screen below him. “One of our shuttles, victor. It’s coming back up – but we received no signal before its launch.”
Now, at least, the officer used the proper term of respect. The commander leaned over the display panel, watching as the little dot representing the landing craft rose up from the planet’s surface. “It’s moving quite fast,” he observed.
“Yes, victor. In fact, it should be visible on the main screen in a moment.”
They both raised their eyes up to the main display, higher than the other screens. Sure enough, there was the flare of the approaching shuttle. Its flight path seemed very erratic, and the engines looked out of sync, but it was definitely headed towards them – and accelerating. Whoever sat behind the ship's controls clearly hadn't piloted a vessel like this before, but the ship still advanced - rapidly.
“It’s not diverting its course towards the docking bay, victor,” the navigation officer commented unnecessarily. Everyone on the ship’s deck could see that, whatever the shuttle was doing, it wasn’t changing course.
The commander sprang into action as the shuttle continued to grow larger. “Open a line of communication to its comm!” he demanded, waving a hand at the communications officer.
That Kung was already flying his fingers over his keyboard. “Shuttle 23, this is the main ship,” he called into the microphone. “To avoid a collision, cut speed and shift heading to-“
The growled, half-garbled response that came back over the channel made no sense to the Kung. Their ship’s computers could perhaps have created some sort of translation, given enough time, but time was one advantage that they no longer possessed.
For just a moment, before the shuttle slammed into the side of the warship at full power and underwent cataclysmic meltdown of its main drive core, the Kung commander frowned at the nonsensical sounds from the shuttle.
“Fuck you!”
*Author's note: Yes, this will (probably) be a series! I really want the chance to try and develop some good characters. Personally, it's that defiant middle finger, fighting back against impossible odds because it's the honorable thing to do, that gives me a sense of frisson, that chill running down my spine. That's what I want to capture here.
Michael Frederick paused as he strolled along the road, his nose wrinkling slightly. Something smelled off, he thought to himself. He took a deep breath of air, and frowned as the word “acrid” wandered through his mind.
For a moment, he glanced down at the muddy road beneath his feet. “Road” was an optimistic term for it, he thought to himself with a touch of wryness. The dirt track leading back to his little town of Deven Ride was splashed with puddles and ruts from farmer’s wagons, adding to the already thick layer of dirt coating his boots.
All around him, the scene was quiet, pastoral. The rolling hills of Idris around him undulated gently, the nearly four foot high crops swaying back and forth in the soft breeze. If Mike ignored the second moon glowing faintly even in the brightness of the early afternoon sky, he could pretend that he still stood back in the fields of his childhood home in Iowa.
His farmer’s eyes instinctively scanned the horizon. There! Up ahead of him, a thin plume of smoke rose up above the crops. The wind carried the hint of smoky ash towards him.
“Damn,” Mike cursed, quickening his pace slightly. Deven Ride, the little village that he and Kate called home lay in that direction. His boots splashed in the shallow puddles as he stomped along, fighting the sucking mud.
Could something have caught fire? Usually the Ehftians were pretty good at getting any accidental fires put out pretty quickly. A necessary skill, considering that they still built most structures out of wood. On Idris, the trees grew quickly, and their small community needed far more material than they could fabricate with the tech they’d brought over.
At first, Mike had balked at the idea of settling on this new world. “I’m not a settler,” he had protested, standing over the kitchen table in their cramped little apartment. "And you know how aliens make me uncomfortable."
“But you are a farmer,” Kate had replied serenely, looking as calm and composed as she sat at the table as Mike had ever seen her. “And I know you’re miserable here, in the city. You miss gazing out at fields of crops."
Mike shook his head, but they both knew that Kate was correct. Even now, in the midst of this debate, he felt a surge of affection towards his wife. She was the best thing to happen to him, and he still sometimes couldn’t believe that, when she took his diner order all those years ago, he’d managed to summon up the courage to ask for her number.
A farmer and a waitress, he had thought to himself, shaking his head ruefully as he settled down at the kitchen table across from his wife. Two of the most unlikely choices for interplanetary settlers that anyone could pick.
“Okay,” he finally gave in, after a long sigh. “Tell me about this crazy plan of yours.”
And Kate told him.
The planet was twenty-seven light years away, discovered several centuries ago and given the name Idris, after the prophet. Humanity knew it was habitable, but Idris’s borders only recently opened up for immigration. “The Ehft technically control the planet, but they’re opening it up to us as a sign of goodwill,” his wife read from the pamphlet she’d brought home. “It’s a little milder climate than Earth, slightly higher gravity. And it’s got great soil, a lot like our own planet.”
There had been more debate, of course, but Mike and Kate both already knew the final outcome. Kate had made up her mind, and although a strong man in many respects, Mike was perenially powerless to argue against her.
Now, four years later, he looked back on that decision as one of the best in his life.
Sure, settling on Idris hadn’t been easy. The Ehft, stocky meter-tall feathery creatures that reminded Mike of old drawings of Kiwi birds, proved to be friendly enough. Their beaks gave their speech a curious clipped accent, but they quickly mastered Galactic English, and Mike even picked up some phrases in their curious squawking tongue. He sometimes felt like a giant when he passed through a crowd of the short little aliens, but they were always polite and cordial in their greetings.
Mike reflected on the strange little aliens for a moment. They weren’t what the farmer would call “his people,” that much was certain. But they were agreeable, in their own little way. They always inquired about Kate, and now asked about little Ethan’s health as well. Mike always smiled when he replied. In some way, the little birdlike Ehft reminded him of his own child.
After some thought, he and his wife chose a plot of land on the northern continent, inland but near a river. The climate proved as mild as promised, and although fluctuating rain levels sometimes made him worry about their crops, the river’s irrigation proved a blessing. His house sat in the little village of Deven Ride, a larger mother bird surrounded by the smaller Ehftian dome-shaped huts.
That little village was just over the next hill. Still eyeing that plume of smoke with concern, Mike picked up his pace, cutting through the nearest field and climbing up until he could see over the waving crops.
As he crested the hill, he stopped, staring.
The village hadn’t been laid out in any real order. The Ehft tended to add more homes as their population grew, spreading out in all directions without any true pattern. But they had made sure to leave a central green, where the Ehft youngsters flapped and bounced off each other. Mike and Kate imagined that Ethan would soon be running about as well, once he grew steadier on his chubby feet. Normally, the village reminded Mike of a cluster of mushrooms.
But now, those mushrooms were smoldering and scattered. Something must have happened, Mike thought blankly to himself as he stared down, trying to make sense of the chaos in front of him. A meteor strike of some sort, perhaps?
Several of the Ehftian domes looked flattened, completely demolished. Others looked shattered, burnt and blackened. Several of the round homes still burned, sending up that plume of smoke.
Where were the Ehft? Mike thought wildly, taking another step down the hill towards the village. Surely, they would be hurrying to extinguish those fires!
But his eyes fell on an object in the middle of the village and he stopped, staring.
A large, bulbous shape sat in the middle of the destruction, its oval shape distorted by strange blobby growths. Several short rods protruded from some of those blisters, and with a thrill of terror, Mike realized that he was looking at some sort of armed spaceship.
The ship didn’t look like any he’d seen, either Ehftian or Terran. But who else could it be?
Movement suddenly caught Mike’s eye. There! An Ehft came scurrying out of the wreckage of one of the huts, sprinting across the charred ground.
Mike started to call out, but as his mouth opened, some thrown object shot out from between the huts, and the Ehft stumbled and collapsed with a cry. As Mike stared in confusion and horror, a new creature emerged from behind one of the huts, advancing on the injured little birdlike alien.
This new creature stood on two legs, like Mike, with a bipedal body, but that was where the similarities ended. Instead of two arms, it had four, and it looked almost unnaturally thin. In one of its four arms, it brandished a nasty-looking knife, which it kept pointed at the whimpering Ehft.
Invaders! Mike’s mind still reeled, but he crouched back, down amid the cover of the plants around him. The Ehft whimpered again, prompting the attacker to deliver a savage kick. It made some sort of noise, a harsh scraping sound like nails on a chalkboard, and then raised the long knife in its hands. Standing over the injured Ehft, it lifted the blade high.
Mike tore his eyes away, but he still heard the crunch and the organic sound that followed.
It still didn’t make sense! Some sort of unknown alien race, attacking out of the blue? And why pick their little farming community on Idris? There was no military presence here, no valuable strategic base.
Confusion weighed heavily on Mike’s mind – but beneath it, he felt a rising tide of burning, furious anger. The little bird couldn’t have meant any harm! And this alien had butchered it without a thought!
He heard another squawk, and dragged his attention back down at the ruins of the village. The six-limbed alien had advanced on one of the still-standing huts, knocking down the door. Another Ehft scurried outside, clearly cringing away from the weapon in the attacker’s hands.
More movement danced around this Ehft’s legs, and Mike’s blood suddenly turned to ice in his veins as he squinted. There were chicks, little Ehft youngsters, clinging to their mother’s legs!
It didn’t seem to make a difference to the attacker. The sword’s blade flashed again, and the Ehft collapsed. The chicks squealed in alarm and fear, trying to cluster up against their fallen parent. The alien just grunted, bringing its blade up again for another slaughtering strike.
The boiling anger overflowed. Without thought, Mike was on his feet, charging forward. Aliens or not, the little chicks were helpless! And this attacker was going to slaughter them? Never!
The six-limbed alien glanced up at the sound of his pounding footsteps, but Mike was moving too quickly for the alien to react. It tried to bring the blade around, but Mike tackled it, his weight bringing them both to the ground.
Those four limbs scrabbled at Mike, but his vision was edged with red, and he barely felt as slashes cut through his clothes. He slammed an elbow down, grinning with bitter, humorless satisfaction as something crunched beneath the blow.
His questing hand closed on something hard, something of cool metal. The blade slid into his hand awkwardly, but he brought it around, slamming it over and over into the creature beneath him until its spasms ceased.
Mike rose up uncertainly to his feet. The Ehft youngsters had scattered, probably out into the fields. He stared around at the burning village, suddenly feeling overwhelmed. He glanced down at the six-limbed alien at his feet, but the creature sprawled, clearly dead. No creature, human or alien, could survive with its chest shattered like that.
His thoughts felt like sludge, mired and lost in fog. The blade, still clutched in his hand, felt heavy and useless.
He stood in a waking nightmare. All around him, little Ehft lay in motionless piles of feathers, while their homes and structures burned.
And then, piercing down to his very soul, he heard the scream.
This wasn’t the squawking cry of an Ehft. This scream was uniquely human, the shriek of a woman in mortal danger.
Kate.
His heart stopped, and all conscious thought ceased inside the Terran’s mind.
*
The two Kung cautiously entered the house. This building seemed larger than the little huts surrounding it. They didn’t anticipate trouble, but both clutched their scimitari in their more powerful upper hands.
Outside, their companions were probably cutting down the last of the little bird-creatures that populated this planet. There was little honor in killing such weak and worthless opponents, but their duty was to exterminate. And perhaps, this Kung considered hopefully, this larger building would contain a chieftain of some sort, whose death would bring them more honor.
There! One of the Kung caught a hint of motion, and leapt forward. His kick shattered the closed door, and the sentient on the other side let out a loud cry and shrank back.
No bird-creature, this! Larger, the Kung observed, nearly as tall as he stood. But flabby, with none of his deadly thinness. Only two arms, not four. Pale skin, clutching what looked like a smaller version of itself to its chest. The smaller, perhaps a juvenile, stared at the Kung with large, watery eyes.
The creature let out another scream, trying to back away from the Kung. No fighter, this one. Not worth much honor. But the Kung were here to purge these lesser sentients. He raised his scimitari and advanced.
From behind, the Kung heard a pounding sound, drawing closer. Something approaching? His companion turned, brandishing the knife and watching the door.
Something burst in, slamming into the Kung nearer to the door with a roar of deep-throated rage. It yelled something, but even if the Kung could have understood the language, the words blended together into a cry of raw, unhinged emotion.
“I’ll kill you I’ll kill youkillyoukillyoukillkillkill you I’ll kill you kill you I’ll kill you-“
It was another one of these flabby two-armed alien creatures! Larger and more muscular than the cowering specimen – a male, perhaps? But even as the Kung drew this connection, his fellow slumped back, as the screaming alien slammed a scimitari over and over into his fellow Kung’s carapace.
Grinning, the Kung turned towards this new threat, hefting his own scimitari. This, now, this was a fight that promised honor! He squared off, one blade forward to defend, the other drawn back and poised to strike.
This screaming, raging alien didn’t bother with any form, however. He threw himself forward, still bellowing at the Kung.
“You hurt her I’ll kill you kill you kill kill killyoukillyou I’ll kill-“
Its first strike was sloppy, wild. The Kung parried the attack and brought his own blade around to counter, slicing open a line along the alien’s flabby arm.
But then the Kung made his first mistake.
Another Kung, after failing on the attack, would have pulled back and recalculated, planning its second assault. But this screaming, shouting alien didn’t pause. Even as strangely red blood erupted from its arm, it slammed the injured limb forward, knocking the Kung off balance from sheer fury. Its leg swept forward as well, smashing against the Kung’s own leg and upsetting his battle stance. They both toppled backward.
On the ground, the Kung kicked back wildly against this alien on top of him. It never entered the Kung’s mind that he might be losing this fight. He was trained to win, to always seek victory.
Another hit scored, this time along the alien’s ribcage! The Kung felt his knife sink in deeply, and knew that he’d won. Victory, as he’d been trained to seek!
Yet still the alien flailed at him. It howled in pain, but still didn’t retreat. Did this creature not know reason? Was it some sort of berserker?
That wondering thought was the second-last thing to pass through the Kung’s mind.
The last thing was the blade of the alien’s scimitari, stolen from his fallen companion, piercing his skull and turning the Kung’s brains to pulp.
*
The six-limbed creature slumped back, still twitching, and Mike found himself thinking again.
He stared down at the thing, below him. His final, desperate attack, guided by unthinking rage, literally nailed the creature to the floor of the farmhouse. His hands dripped blue gore, coated up to the elbow.
Mike raised his eyes to Kate, who still clutched little Ethan to his chest. “Are you-“ he began, unable to even finish the sentence.
She nodded, shaking off her paralysis and rushing forward to him. “You’re hurt, Mike! We have to-“
He waved her off, even as the pain hit him and he doubled over, clutching at his side. “No!” he rasped, covering the wound in his stomach, unwilling to let her see. “You have to get Ethan out of here. Get to safety – tell someone about this-“
“I can’t!” Now she was sobbing as well, her hands grabbing at him, sounding almost hysterical. “What about you-“
His teeth gritted as he fought the pain, Mike pulled himself back up to his feet. “There could be more of these things out there,” he said, picking up the dead monster’s knife with his good hand. “You go. I’ll hold them off.”
Kate shook her head, but Mike leaned up against her, kissing her softly, almost tenderly, on the cheek. “Please,” he begged her, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I can’t – I need for you to be safe. I need it, more than anything.”
Now, Kate was weeping as well, their tears mingling together as she embraced him. “Oh, Mike,” she sobbed, holding him for what they both knew would be the last time. “Mike, I love you.”
“I love you too,” Mike whispered back, meaning the words with all his heart.
After a moment, however, another spasm of pain hit his body, and he straightened back up. “Now, go! Away from the ship, and don’t look back. Head for Caemlyn, over the hill – they’ll have a radio. Keep Ethan safe.”
Kate nodded, and although her eyes shone with still more tears, she managed to straighten up, showing off the iron spine she possessed. Mike saw that iron, knew it for the surge of love it summoned up within him. He watched as the love of his life picked up their son, who still stared, too young to understand, and headed out the back door of their farmhouse.
As she left, Mike staggered back to the front door. Still clutching the stolen knife from his dead foe, he stared up at the bulbous, ugly ship that stood in the middle of the destroyed village.
“Fuck you,” he growled under his breath, as he started forward. Once again, the redness crept into the corners of his vision, letting him ignore the burning pain.
*
“Odd.”
The Kung commander narrowed his eyes as he turned to the subordinate officer who’d dared to speak aloud. “What is it, navigator?” he growled, considering executing the impertinent officer right there for daring to speak without addressing him by his proper title.
The juvenile officer, perhaps not realizing his error, gestured down at the screen below him. “One of our shuttles, victor. It’s coming back up – but we received no signal before its launch.”
Now, at least, the officer used the proper term of respect. The commander leaned over the display panel, watching as the little dot representing the landing craft rose up from the planet’s surface. “It’s moving quite fast,” he observed.
“Yes, victor. In fact, it should be visible on the main screen in a moment.”
They both raised their eyes up to the main display, higher than the other screens. Sure enough, there was the flare of the approaching shuttle. Its flight path seemed very erratic, and the engines looked out of sync, but it was definitely headed towards them – and accelerating. Whoever sat behind the ship's controls clearly hadn't piloted a vessel like this before, but the ship still advanced - rapidly.
“It’s not diverting its course towards the docking bay, victor,” the navigation officer commented unnecessarily. Everyone on the ship’s deck could see that, whatever the shuttle was doing, it wasn’t changing course.
The commander sprang into action as the shuttle continued to grow larger. “Open a line of communication to its comm!” he demanded, waving a hand at the communications officer.
That Kung was already flying his fingers over his keyboard. “Shuttle 23, this is the main ship,” he called into the microphone. “To avoid a collision, cut speed and shift heading to-“
The growled, half-garbled response that came back over the channel made no sense to the Kung. Their ship’s computers could perhaps have created some sort of translation, given enough time, but time was one advantage that they no longer possessed.
For just a moment, before the shuttle slammed into the side of the warship at full power and underwent cataclysmic meltdown of its main drive core, the Kung commander frowned at the nonsensical sounds from the shuttle.
“Fuck you!”
#
*Author's note: Yes, this will (probably) be a series! I really want the chance to try and develop some good characters. Personally, it's that defiant middle finger, fighting back against impossible odds because it's the honorable thing to do, that gives me a sense of frisson, that chill running down my spine. That's what I want to capture here.
Wednesday, September 9, 2015
A true flight saga, told through tweets.
On a late night flight, I'm being distracted from a very loud baby by watching my seat mate attempt to understand the wifi.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015
He doesn't realize it isn't free.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015
He's watching TV on his phone. Heroes - one of the earlier episodes. It's buffered a bit. I'm waiting.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015
It's hit the end of the buffer.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015
First step, check to make sure wifi is on. It is. Let's wait. We're holding our breath.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015
Surprise, no buffer. Because he hasn't paid for wifi.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Okay, let's try reloading the app.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Interestingly, the app loads - but none of the videos. It must display titles offline.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Five reloads has not brought back Heroes. Damn you NBC.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Okay, let's try reloading the wifi. Sure enough, the signal is very strong. We have reconnection!
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015App still isn't working. Even reloading it 5 more times hasn't helped.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015I've pulled out the wifi card from my seat back pocket in an attempt to help the poor fellow.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015He looks to be giving up and switching to music.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Wait - success! He has discovered the card about wifi access in flight!
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Sadly, the card was crafted by a hellish marketing executive and never actually says "You must pay for sweet wifi."
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015The card has not been helpful.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015The saga is interrupted by the arrival of the drinks trolley. Apple juice, please.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015App still isn't working, even with some Coke providing a caffeine burst for his brain.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Should I tell him? I feel conflicted.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015I'll consider this as I sip my delicious apple juice. Tastes like schadenfreude.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015My Spotify works great. Because I have loaded the playlist offline. Muahaha.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015I've decided that I will tell him - if he asks me.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Coke is gone. So long, empty apple juice cup.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Google maps! This is something new!
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Google maps is stuck on "loading". Because it cannot access the phone.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Oh no. He took the blank GMaps as a good sign and has tried the TV app again. No luck, my dear companion.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015The flight attendants have left the cabin lights on, which hinders both my ability to sleep and my ability to spy on my seat mate.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Hey, we have browser!
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015He has discovered that the wifi is, indeed, not free. He looks dismayed.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Fortunately, we are now descending towards our landing.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015It took him almost an hour, but I'm proud of him for figuring out on his own.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015We have now landed, and I can tweet this. Because I also did not pay for wifi. I bite my thumb at you, #gogoinflight.
— Sam Westreich (@MissingBrains) September 4, 2015Monday, September 7, 2015
Book 35 of 52: "The Windup Girl" by Paolo Bacigalupi
If I had only one word to describe this book, I think I'd call it "harrowing."
If I had a few more words, I might call it "a harrowing, twisted look at life in the third world in a plague-ravaged, genetically twisted post-apocalyptic, calorie-starved future."
Yeah. That sums it up pretty well.
Friday, September 4, 2015
Viruses.
Excerpt taken from a recording stored in the archives of the Maximegalon Institute, c.o./ZB.
Viruses.
Funny things, aren't they? Little buggers, not really alive. Just a protein coat as a shell, wrapped around the most distilled and basic instruction of life.
Multiply.
Heck, some don't even have a protein coat at all. Naked DNA, floating through the void in search of a host. Eternally patient, willing to wait forever. And when that host comes, the virus exults in a brief flurry of wild, carefree activity, growing and spreading and conquering all in its path, before once again returning back to dormancy.
Most races try not to think about viruses much.
Viruses.
Funny things, aren't they? Little buggers, not really alive. Just a protein coat as a shell, wrapped around the most distilled and basic instruction of life.
Multiply.
Heck, some don't even have a protein coat at all. Naked DNA, floating through the void in search of a host. Eternally patient, willing to wait forever. And when that host comes, the virus exults in a brief flurry of wild, carefree activity, growing and spreading and conquering all in its path, before once again returning back to dormancy.
Most races try not to think about viruses much.
Wednesday, September 2, 2015
Danni California, Part 28
Continued from Part 27, here.
Start the story here.
Start the story here.
* * *
At this point, Jasper, the man in black, sat back, lowering his stack of meticulously typed up papers down onto the table in front of him. His eyes came up to survey his stunned audience.
Whether she was truly the first to find her voice again, or if Old Hillpaw simply let her speak, Jenny became the one to break the silence. "It... exploded?" she asked, sounding more bewildered than anything else.
Jasper nodded.
The waitress shook her head. "But... but why?"
Whether she was truly the first to find her voice again, or if Old Hillpaw simply let her speak, Jenny became the one to break the silence. "It... exploded?" she asked, sounding more bewildered than anything else.
Jasper nodded.
The waitress shook her head. "But... but why?"
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