Category: Fiction (page 35 of 41)

Flash Fiction: The Whimper

Image courtesy Esquire

For Chuck Wendig’s Flash Fiction Challenge: An Uncharted Apocalypse:

He fumbled with the little packet of cheese and crackers in the empty store. The whole place smelled like rotten meat. The few items that hadn’t been cleared out in the final surge of panic had gone bad months ago. Now the only food worth taking were items so processed that they barely qualified as food, but were still edible and had at least some nutritional value.

He tossed a box of Twinkies, a few unopened bottles of water and a couple cans of pork and beans into his backpack. He shouldered the burden as he headed out of the abandoned store, looking over his shoulder at the empty aisles and dead overhead lights. He walked out across the abandoned parking lot to the street he’d been walking since he’d woken up and realized he was all that was left.

He was keeping his eyes open for some form of radio, but even if he found one he wasn’t sure what good it would be. Transmitters needed power, and power wasn’t something most people had anymore. When the oil reserves ran dry, people were told that other means of fuel would keep things going until a solution could be found. The eggheads rolled out better solar-powered cars and hydroelectric plants but it was too little too late.

Folks had started knifing each other over a gallon of gas. Prices at the pump skyrocketed. Those that could took portable generators and a few belongings and headed for the hills. Scientists scrambled to find a solution but bureaucrats whined about government subsidies going to them while people went hungry, and special interests whispered in their ears about there being no profit in philanthropic science. One by one, the sources of power the world depended upon disappeared. Power went out all over the world. The food in the stores went bad, hospitals could no longer treat the sick and wounded, governments shut down and corporate stock was useless.

He opened a bottle of water and drank as he walked. He wasn’t sure why he was the only one left. He wasn’t anyone special, just a contractor that didn’t mind heights. He’d worked on a lot of the tall buildings around him. What would happen to them now that they were empty? The wind howled quietly through the streets and between those buildings, giving no answer.

He figured he’d keep walking until he found someone, one of those families that had taken a camper and portable generator into the woods and hills. But he knew he wasn’t the only one who’d had that idea. People followed the smart ones who’d skipped town at the first whiff of trouble, some with money that no longer had any meaning, some with weapons to simply take what they wanted.

A bit of broken glass shattered under his boot as he passed a storefront. Its front window was smashed, a few of the TVs missing. He smirked. The looting had started when the newsreaders sagely told the public that there simply wasn’t any more oil to be had. The scientists and hippies had been right, they said between the lines, and we’ve gotten ourselves good and screwed. People did what they always did: they panicked. In their panic they started taking what they wanted, things they’d never been able to get when the world made sense, and since it didn’t make sense now, why should they? A Blu-Ray player might have been useless when the power finally died, but there’d have been some good movie marathons until then.

Rummaging in his pack, he pulled out a Twinkie. He knew he had to pace himself, as this food needed to last him until he reached the next store. Still, the sweet cream in the middle of the sponge cake lifted his spirits a little. Maybe he wasn’t the last man alive. Even if someone was willing to take a shot at him when he found their little cabin or trailer or whatever, at least it would mean he wasn’t alone. The rows of silent, impotent cars and apartments all around holding the dead was beginning to unnerve him.

He spent the night in an abandoned bookstore. He made a fire with some of the conservative periodicals and newspapers and sat by it to read. He read about aliens coming to earth, about mighty earthquakes and meteors smashing cities and giant bugs. He had to laugh. The end of the world hadn’t been anywhere near that dramatic. Humanity had simply not planned far enough ahead. Every time they’d drilled for more oil, they’d cut their own throats just a little more.

Sleep was fitful and short. He was up before dawn, cooking his pork and beans before putting his fire out and walking away. A few hours of hiking later he came to the river. It was small, only a few feet wide, but he still took the time to find a bridge. When he crossed, he noticed something. A few months before, the trees and undergrowth had been ten or so feet from the shore. Now, green growth and vines were spilling down towards the river, like thirsty men groping for water.

Nature was taking back what was hers.

He looked back over his shoulder. Soon the stone and brick buildings would be covered in vines. Trees would spring up in the streets. Birds would nest there and animals would make their homes in used game stores and fitness centers. He smiled and turned back to his path.

A bear was standing in it.

It was a big, black, shaggy thing, rising up on its hind legs and smelling the air. The man swallowed, standing still. He wondered when the bear had last eaten, then thought it’d been stupid not to look for a gun store or at least pick up a knife from the grocery store. The bear came down onto all fours and tensed to charge. The man closed his eyes.

Nature’s such a fucking bitch sometimes.

Guest Post: Deer Santa

As I head back down from Canada, please enjoy this thematically appropriate short story from Joe McGee. He’s been a busy guy, working on his paranormal Western novel Witchslinger, dabbling in children’s picture books and pursuing his Master’s of Arts in Writing at Rowan University. You can find his web page at here, his blog here or follow him on Twitter – @witchslinger – but in any event, enjoy the story!



Courtesy Greenpeace
DEER SANTA,
(A Story About Giving in Ontario’s Forested Expanse)
by Joseph McGee

Nicholas paused to catch a breath and tighten his suspenders. Damn that Weight Watchers. There was just no point system accounting for the Missis and her constant cookie baking. Sure, it kept the elves working, but dammit, he was not getting any smaller. A few more trays of cookies and Ontario might find its toy allotment replaced with his alLOTment of bulk next year.

Focus, Nick, he thought. Remember why you’re here and not enjoying your box seats where the Maple Leafs were undoubtedly knocking the crap out of Crosby and the Penguins. All you need is one good reindeer.

Teaching it to fly? That was the easy part. Teaching it not to drink and fly? That was the hard part. Thanks, Blitzen. I’ll be sure to choose your replacement’s name with a little more foresight.

He followed the trail he had picked up that morning. There were two of them. When he came upon their droppings around midday, he knew for sure they were reindeer. Nicholas prided himself on knowing more than just who was naughty and who was nice.

He caught up to them with a couple of hours of sunlight remaining. The reindeer had stopped to forage in a small clearing. Nicholas settled into a spot far enough from detection, yet close enough to keep tabs on them. He needed a few moments to unpack the rifle from the cloth case, fix the scope and ready the dart. He was as quiet as quiet could be. He’d had plenty of practice at remaining undetected.

They were still grazing when he took the rifle in his hands.

Nicholas raised it to his shoulder. He pressed his cheek against the steel and stared through the scope. Natural breaths, he thought. Don’t hold it in. His fingertip tensed on the trigger, dancing a fine line between squeezing and laying off. He’d have one shot. One chance to bag his reindeer. If he missed, they’d be off and he would be dragging his ass through this spruce and wolf riddled expanse of forest for another few days. The Easter Bunny doesn’t have these problems, he thought.

He trained the crosshairs on the smaller of the two. Smaller, but not by much. And slender. If he went for bulk over grace, he would never hear the end from Donner (who, incidentally could go without some cookies himself, hmm? He’ll be getting a mirror this year, Nicholas thought). Besides, he would be the one dragging it back to the camp site. With 4 cc tranquilizer darts, the deer would be out for a while.

Nicholas counted down from ten, in his head.
7…6…5
The reindeer looked up, staring toward his cover. Its muscles tensed. Its eyes narrowed and it stopped chewing.
3 … 2 …
It winked at him. Looked right through the undergrowth and log cover and winked.
… 1 …
Nicholas squeezed the trigger on his exhale. Something crashed across the back of his head. The gun fired. His body slumped. The world went dark.

When Nicholas awoke, he found himself chained to a tree. His rifle was gone, his head throbbed and every time he blinked, a zing of pain like a dentist’s drill pierced the back of his skull.

The metal cuff on his wrist was squeezed so tight that it was rending his flesh. He had dirt in his mouth and leaves in his beard. Maple leaves, he chuckled, inwardly, and then groaned. No sudden movements, he thought. But even thinking hurt.

“What the hell happened?” he said. It was a whisper. A whisper was all he could stand. “Hello?”

Silent, grey shapes padded out of the forest. Wolves. Easily a dozen, with ears pinned back and teeth bared. They fanned out, circling him like a toothy wagon train.

“Oh, I get it,” said Nicholas, tugging at the chain and biting down the painful cry that almost gurgled up from his throat. “Send a message to the poacher. Hohoho, good one. You got me.”

The wolves did not make a sound. Drool collected at the corners of their mouths and glistened on the sharp points of their teeth. Their eyes were searing blue points of hunger and intensity.

“Look, I understand,” Nicholas said. “You’re activists. You got me. You have my rifle, you saved the reindeer. I don’t know how these wolves are listening to you, but I won’t do it again. Just…just come out and let me go.”

He tugged harder on the chain gaining only a rattle and fresh blood as the cuff further tore the skin.

“But I’m Santa, dammit. I’m Santa. You can’t harm Santa!”

The two reindeer he’d been tracking appeared at the edge of the wolf ring. Nicholas watched as they strode into the center of the clearing, unmolested by the predators around them. They stopped a few feet from him.

“You … but …”

Words refused to form on his tongue. When the slender deer he’d had in his sights transformed before him, all thoughts froze.

Where two reindeer had stood, there was only one. Its partner was now a pale girl whose nakedness was only partially concealed by her long, auburn hair.

“What, in Jack Frost?” said Nicholas.

She smiled down at him. “It seems Christmas comes early for us.”

Nicholas laid his finger aside of his nose.

“Your magic won’t work here,” she said. “This is our home and native land.” She turned to address the largest of the wolves, the one whose mouth seemed large enough to swallow Nicholas’s own in one gulp. “As agreed, Bearkiller, we give you a gift of tribute. We give you a sacrifice in exchange for your wolves letting our people live unharmed.”

The massive wolf pressed its icy, wet nose up against Nicholas’s own ruddy one. Bearkiller’s breath reeked like putrid meat and soured milk.

“And what better gift to give other than the world’s largest exporter, Nicholas Claus?” said the naked, nubile girl. “A poacher who has built his empire on the backs of lies, slaves and extortion.” She spit in her palm and held out her hand. “Seal the deal, Bearkiller. Santa is yours. My people live without fear for another year.”

Bearkiller licked the spittle from her palm.

Nicholas watched as the girl turned, twisted violently and fell to the ground, writhing. In seconds, her body had transformed, becoming once again the reindeer he’d had in his sights.

It was the last thing he saw before the wolves set upon him.

– Footnotes –

Some fun facts**:

The Migratory Woodland Caribou (or woodland reindeer) have become threatened in their habitats, with the exception of those living in the Northern Canadian forests.

Santa’s reindeer must be female (or castrated males, which makes Santa’s fate even more deserved, heehee) because male reindeer lose their horns during the winter.

Canada’s boreal forest covers about 60% of the country’s land area, ranging from sparsely treed areas to regions with 80-100% forested cover. These forests are home to many species of plant, insect and animal, to include caribou and the Gray Wolf (the most effective natural predator of the adult reindeer).

Tranquilizer dosages vary with the drugs used, but on the average, it takes 2 CC’s to tranq a deer and 5 or 6 CC’s to tranq a grizzly bear.

**Facts researched via Wikipedia

Free Fiction: Miss Weaver’s Lo Mein

Bard by BlueInkAlchemist, on Flickr

Okay, I’m going to be honest. This isn’t likely to be my best story ever.

I haven’t been editing as thoroughly as I could have over the weekend, which makes this essentially a first draft. And as Hemingway put it, “The first draft of anything is shit.” So it’ll probably be better when it gets bundled with my other retold myths. Anyway, appropriate for Valentine’s Day and based on the Chinese folk tale “The Princess and the Cowherd” (a.k.a. The Cowherd and the Weaver Girl), I give you “Miss Weaver’s Lo Mein.”

Spoiler

To say that Caroline Weaver didn’t get out much would be an understatement.

In terms of creature comforts, she wanted for nothing. She had a spacious apartment within walking distance of her father’s office. Weaver & Weaver had been in the commodites business practically since there *was* a commodities business, and it was a long-standing, solid and above-board company handed down from eldest son to eldest son. When Joe’s sons and wife were killed in a car accident, he turned to Caroline and immediately began grooming her to take his place when he was gone.

The loss of her brothers and mother left Caroline numb, dedicated solely to her work. She knew how important it was. Her dad was counting on her. If someone who wasn’t Weaver took over the company when Joe passed on, it wouldn’t be Weaver & Weaver anymore, would it? It was something that consumed her. She ate organic food, slept near a laptop, never took vacations and no relationship she tried lasted longer than a couple months. Some of her co-workers joked the only guy she could stand on a regular basis outside of her father was “the lo mein guy.”

His cart was always parked across Broadway from the office building. FRESH CHINESE was the declaration on the placards bolted to the hammered metal sides. Paper lanters hung from the opened side doors, a little MP3 player hooked up to speakers piped quiet Chinese toons, and the smell coming from the cart was always something divine to Caroline, never greasy or fatty. It was the man behind the cart, however, that really kept her coming back.

“Morning, Miss Weaver! The usual lo mein?”

He was her age. He kept his dark hair short, and his eyes always had a glint of mischief in them, a laugh just waiting to explode from his mouth. More than once, Caroline reflected that there was a significant lack of laughter in her life.

“Yes, please. How’s the beef?”

“Absolutely delicious.” He grinned as he spooned noodles into her take-away container. “But you know that! You never get chicken or shrimp.”

“It’s just that the beef is so good,” she admitted. “Is it local?”

“Yes, unfortunately.”

“Why is that unfortunate?” Caroline was speaking before thinking. That never happened. She’d been visiting this cart for months, why was she suddenly so talkative? She watched him, carefully sprinkling spices on top of the pile of beef and noodles in the paper box. Why couldn’t she look away from his eyes today?

“It’s not as good as the beef back home. My father’s a cowherd, like his father and so on and so forth.”

She blinked. “‘Back home’? You’re a Chinese native?”

“Why is that a surprise?” He let out a short, barking laugh. “Is it because I speak English so well?”

“Well…” She shuffled her feet. The last thing she wanted to do was offend him. If nothing else, she didn’t want her food spiced with spit.

“I get it all the time.” He was still smiling, handing her the lunch. “I was educated at a school upstate. My father was here for years trying to secure an export contract for his beef. It never happened. He couldn’t afford to move us all back home, so I stayed to make enough money on my own to do it.”

She handed him a few bills from her purse. “Here, and keep the change. I hope you make it home someday soon.”

“Me too. Thank you, Miss Weaver.”

His smile was infectious. She turned, face to face with a construction worker who wasn’t as happy with their banter as she was. Blushing, she hurredly crossed the street. She didn’t stop blushing until well after she returned to her desk. She still wasn’t sure what’d possessed her to talk to him like that. She tried not to think about it as she got her chopsticks out and ate her lunch. Hours later as she was plowing through a pile of work it occured to her she’d never asked his name.

That’s exactly what she did the next day.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I didn’t think to ask your name yesterday.” She paused. “I’ve been coming her for months and never once have I asked your name. Wait… how do you know mine?”

“You answered your cell phone once while I was making your lunch. That’s rude, you know.”

His deadly serious face made her crestfallen. “Oh…”

His eyes glimmered and he grinned. “I’m just playing. I didn’t mind. Folks behind you might’ve, but I can’t tell them how to think.”

She returned his smile. “I’m sorry. I’ve just been working a lot lately.”

“Aren’t we all.” He handed her the beef lo mein. “I’m Yuan. Sorry if I didn’t say so before.”

“No, really, it’s my fault for not asking.”

He handed her the lunch he’d made her. “Think nothing of it, Miss Weaver.”

She paid him, along with the tip she usually added. “It’s Caroline.”

His smile lit up his entire face, and the rest of that afternoon flew by for her.

Over the next few months, Caroline and Yuan began to learn more and more about each other. She didn’t know much about baseball, but he hated the Yankees. He hadn’t gotten to do much reading since establishing his business, and she was a huge Harry Potter fan. They shared a taste for older rock’n’roll, with Caroline marking the death of Jimi Hendrix every year and Yuan considering himself a Beatlemaniac. Caroline didn’t go to the movies much, and Yuan promised if they ever did, it wouldn’t be to see a romantic comedy.

“I don’t know if I’d have the time to go see a movie.” The skies above were threatening rain that day. Yuan smiled as he stirred a fresh batch of lo mein noodles, intent on giving her the first portion of it.

“But you’d be open to the idea?”

She smiled. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be?”

“Don’t people in your line of work usually associate with others in the same industry or social circle?”

“I guess, but most of them are entitled self-important arrogant douchebags.”

Yuan snorted in laughter. “Well, I can’t say I’m any different. I mean, these are the best noodles in the city.”

“But I can attest to that. I’ve tasted your noodles. I only have vapid claims to go on from those clowns. I have no interest in seeing their golf swings or art collections, and they think I’ll be eager to find out how good they are in bed when their cologne could knock out a herd of angry rhinos? No, forget it.”

Yuan shook his head, grinning. “I think this is the happiest I’ve heard you. You really enjoy trashing your peers this much?”

“No. I enjoy talking to you this much.”

He looked up at her smile, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words. He handed her the lunch box. She took it, touching his fingers for a moment before handing him the cash.

“Thursday night, the cinema over on 55th. Seven o’clock?”

He nodded. “I’ll be there.”

The movie showing on Thursday night was a little independent production, and it was neither romantic nor a comedy. Still, at times the movie seemed absolutely superfluous, as Caroline was in the company of someone who made no demands of her and had no expectations. It wasn’t an industry event where she was supposed to hobnob with this client or that CEO, it was simple, straightforward, uncomplicated.

She didn’t want it to end.

He walked her to her door afterwards, kissed her good night and took the train back to his self-described “rathole”. She was still walking six feet off the ground when she came into work on Friday.

“You seem to be in excellent spirits.”

She came out of the pleasant memories to look at the man standing at the door of her office. Her father. Tall and thin, with a bald head and bright blond sideburns flowing into his distinctive mustache, he entered the office and closed the door behind him.

“Yeah. I… I was on a date last night.”

“A date? With whom? That nice boy Howards from the exchange?”

“No.” She hesitated. How much did she want to tell him? How much could she? “You wouldn’t know him.”

The lift he’d had in his mustache disappeared. It was the most she’d seen him smile in a while, and now it was gone. “Well, maybe I’d like to. Give it some thought.” He left her to her work, and the morning dragged by for her until she headed downstairs for lunch.

“You look awful,” Yuan commented as he stirred the noodles at his cart. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s my father. I told him about our date, and…”

“…he’d be less than impressed with me.” He nodded slowly. “He’s a high-powered executive. I understand.”

“Yuan, he’s not a bad man, but the company is all he has. I’m important to him because of the part I play in it.”

“Can’t you be important to him because you’re his daughter?”

“I was, once. Now he’s pinned all his hopes and future on me.”

He touched her hand, gently. “That’s a lot to ask of someone.”

She looked in his eyes. “Yuan, I’m sorry. I don’t want to stop seeing you. I… you make me so happy sometimes I can barely contain it.”

He smiled, and gently handed her her lunch. “I’m glad we agree on that. Look, you’ll see me here every day. When you’re ready, we’ll talk about how to handle this ‘dad’ situation of yours. It’ll be fine. I promise.”

Nodding, she gave her usual generous tip, taking a moment to kiss the bills before putting them in his jar. The grin splitting his face was priceless. She returned to work in better spirits and made it through the rest of the day.

The next day, however, it was Yuan’s turn to be followed by a dark cloud. He showed Caroline a form that’d been delivered to him in person.

“It’s a deportation notice,” he told her. “My visa’s been revoked.”

“How is that possible?” She studied the form. It made no sense.

“After my student visa expired, I applied for residence. Despite the fact my work permit from my previous visa hadn’t expired, they’re saying this-” He gestured a his cart and its delicious-smelling food. “- is illegal, and they’re deporting me for it.”

“That is bullshit!” She slammed the form back onto the cart. “What was this officer’s name? I’ll find him and sort it out.”

He shook his head. “I’ve already found a buyer for the cart. I’m going to go home, help dad with the farm. The money I’ve made here isn’t much, but…”

She took his hand, ignoring the people behind her. “Yuan, they don’t have to run you out like this. It isn’t right. We should fight this, together.”

“Even if we do, I’ll either be doing it from China or from jail. I’d like to hold on to my freedom, even if it means leaving a country supposedly founded on it, and you.”

Caroline felt tears coming to her eyes and tried to blink them away. He touched her face and smiled faintly.

“It’s a smaller world than you might think. I don’t think it can keep us apart for too long.”

She leaned into his touch, kissed his hand. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too, Miss Weaver. Here’s your lo mein.”

She didn’t remember the trip back upstairs, nor leaving her lunch on her desk. The next thing she knew she was in her father’s office.

“This was your doing.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” He didn’t look at her. Six financial reports were on his wall of televisions at once. He said it kept his mind sharp.

“Yuan’s deportation. You had something to do with it.”

“People shouldn’t be here on expired permits and visas. If they can’t be bothered to renew their paperwork properly, they’ve got no place here.”

“His work permit’s fine, you just don’t like the fact that I’m interested in someone in a lower tax bracket from you!”

“I don’t like your tone, Caroline.”

“And I don’t like the way you try to control my life like it’s a game of chess or something! I’m your daughter, not a slave or a pawn!”

“You’re also the best employee I’ve got, and this is our busiest time of year. I need you completely on your game with no distractions. You can have all the girlish flings you want third quarter, just as long as I don’t have to see it by looking out my window.”

Caroline felt her hands curling into fists. She stared at her father as her nails bit into her palms. Finally, when she couldn’t think of anything constructive to say, she turned and walked out, returning to her office. She managed to make it through the rest of the work day and get herself home before she broke down into tears.

It was a dismal month that followed. The corner across the street from the office was soon occupied by a hot dog vendor, a large gentleman with hairy shoulders who tended to undercook the dogs. She tried to focus on her work, and as her productivity didn’t dip too far, her father either didn’t notice the way she dragged herself through her days, or simply didn’t care. Caroline suspected the latter.

Finally, after returning home from work, she found an envelope with internation postage on it waiting for her. She got into her apartment, tore off her coat, sat at her tiny kitchen table and clawed the envelope open.

Dear Caroline,

I’ve never been all that good at writing things out. I try to deal with what’s in front of me and not live inside my head, in words and pictures. I’m sorry if that meant I came across as cold the last time I saw you. Leaving you tore me apart. I loved that little cart and I miss it, almost as much as I miss you.

We don’t have the Internet out here on the farm, as my father thinks it’s a superfluous expense. So I’ve taken to riding the train to the nearest library. Still, I have the credit card I got while I was in the States, and I used it to buy you a copy of this software that teaches you Chinese. The code for downloading it’s enclosed with this letter. I’ve also sent you a voucher for an airline ticket, which should bring you out here around our New Year’s celebration.

You’ve got six months to learn enough Chinese to not piss off my dad.

No pressure.

I’m kidding. I’m sure you’ll get along fine. Still, a few key Mandarin phrases won’t hurt. I’m sure your dad won’t be too happy with you skipping town on him, and I know your work is important to you. I’m not going to ask you to run away or anything like that. Just come see me, or at least write back.

I miss you more than words can say.

Love,
Yuan

Sure enough, the envelope had a print-out with a download code and another with information on a cross-Pacific flight. She read and re-read the letter several times, and a plan began to take shape.

The exchange of letters between her and Yuan quickly became preoccupied with the particulars, as she practiced her writing of Chinese characters and he gently corrected her sentence structure. She saved all of her excitement and anticipation for after hours, ensuring her productivity remained at its usual high level. With her father pleased, he left her relatively alone. She worked her vacation request through the HR department like any other employee, knowing that her father tended to ignore the scheduling calendars of other people in his company as long as nothing they did interfered with his meetings. The Friday before she left, however, he knocked on her office door.

“A two-week vacation, and I’m only just now hearing about it?”

She didn’t look up from her paperwork. “I’m the top earner in the company three months running. I’ve earned some time off.”

“The HR calendar doesn’t say where you’re going.”

“I didn’t see how it was anybody’s business.”

“What if you’re going someplace dangerous?”

“You mean like five blocks from here? I’m not going to stay shut up in this office or my apartment because of a minority of ultra-violent whackjobs.”

“I see your point.” He lingered at the door, watching her work, before he disappeared. When he came back, he closed the door behind him and placed an envelope in front of her.

“What’s this?”

“I moved you up to first class.” He stood before her desk, his face inscrutable. “I won’t have you on a cross-ocean flight for hours on end cramped in a coach seat. My daughter deserves better.”

She looked at the envelope, then up at her father. “You know where I’m going, then?”

“Yes. And I know why.” He paused. “You’re right. You deserve your vacation, and the reason you’re taking it there is my fault. I was… I was scared.”

She blinked, breath caught in her throat. He tapped the envelope, not looking her in the eye.

“I know this won’t make up for what I did. But I had no right to take away something that made you happy just because I feared it getting in the way of business. I’m your boss, but I’m also your father. I can’t let one overwhelm the other.” The muscles in his jaw danced. “I know people say this company’s all I’ve got. But, really, Caroline… it’s you. You’re all I’ve got. And I’m scared of losing you.”

She took his hand. “You’ll never lose me, Dad. Not really. But I can’t always be here. Not when my heart is somewhere far away. I miss that little Chinese cart and the sweet guy behind it more than anything, and I’m sorry it took you this long to understand that.” She smiled at him. “Don’t be scared. I’m going to come back. But I need to see him. You understand that, don’t you?”

He nodded. “Take the time you need, be safe and come home. We’ll be waiting for you.”

She got up from her desk and hugged him. It was the first time they’d hugged in years. Phones rang elsewhere in the building. Emails poured into inboxes. The Weavers ignored them. For that moment, they weren’t co-workers anymore. They weren’t commodities traders. They were a family.

Two weeks later she was in China. Fireworks exploded in the streets. Paper dragons chased parades and lanters swung as people went hither and yon during the festivities. Yuan and Caroline walked hand in hand.

“I’m sorry my dad’s not in better health.” Yuan smiled a bit in spite of his mood. “It turns out I came home at just the right time. Getting into the groove of running the farm took longer than I thought it would, but we’re seeing better business than ever.”

“I’m glad something good came out of that. I was worried for you.”

“I know.” He squeezed her hand. “And your Mandarin sounds good. I know you’ll keep practicing when you go home.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Let’s not talk about that yet. I know I have to, that it’ll be a long time before we make this work. If we ever do. For now… for now, I just want this.”

He nodded, and smiled. “Let me take you home, then, and make you some lo mein.”

Firecrackers popped nearby. Miss Weaver smiled at her cowherd. “I can’t wait.”

Free Fiction: The Jovian Gambit

Jupiter & Callisto

Continuing experiments in cross-pollination between old myths and newer storytelling genres. They didn’t have spaceships and ray guns in ancient Greece, after all.

As always, you can download the PDF or read the text after the spoiler tags. However you enjoy your fiction, this is how to do it.

Spoiler

Tranquility Base was a misleading name for the installation, at least on the date in question. After a great deal of communication between the Terran government and the Jovian military, a single vessel was authorized to cross the interplanetary void. It docked at Tranquility Base under the watchful remote visual links of the installation’s massive MAC batteries. The turrets turned back towards the infinite emptiness as the docking collar was secured and the ships’ passengers walked to their destination.

Rear Admiral Cyprus knew what to expect. He sat behind the carved mahogany desk, his hands resting on the blotter as he monitored the progress of his guests through the polished metal corridors. He reminded himself, as he often did, that this heirloom had required as much fuel to move from Terra to his office as a lightly-armed infiltration squad. He didn’t want to forget that some sacrifices were necessary while others were frivolous.

Next to him stood his adjutant, who kept an ear out for the trod of incoming boots which were somewhat muffled by the carpeted walkways. Their guest had a presence, however, and both men felt it when the doors parted to admit him and his handful of armed escorts.

“Welcome to Luna, General Minos,” Cyprus said cordially. “I trust your journey was a pleasant one?”

“Space travel is a tedious and uncomfortable experience.” Minos of Io was flanked by four of his personal guard, veteran soldiers, killers to a man. “Not to mention I have very little patience for Terrans in general and Terran Command in particular. The politicians and peaceniks may be interested in peace between us, but as far as I’m concerned the Jovian Colonies deserve to be treated as separate, sovereign worlds. But I’m not here to debate our independence. I’m looking for a scientist.”

“You’ve come to the right place. Tranquility Base is one of the Terran Confederacy’s premiere research stations. We have quite a few scientists here.”

“I’m looking for one in particular. Rather than dance around verbally, however, I have a means of discovering if he is here.” The general handed a small data card to the admiral. “Transmit the contents of this data card to your research staff. It contains an algorithm that, I am told, is unsolvable. It was being developed on Callisto before the abduction of the scientist in question, and we believe he might be able to solve it.”

Cyprus nodded, doing as the general asked. The admiral’s adjutant looked on as Cyprus sent the data to the terminals throughout Tranquility Base. Once the transmission was complete, the admiral leaned back to regard his Jovian counterpart.

“Why don’t you take a seat, General? This might take a while.”

“I suspect it won’t.” Minos stroked his mustache. Cyprus made a non-committal noise. Terran tracking stations had been observing Minos’ spacecraft as it made its way through the asteroid belt and stopped on the Martian moons. Both stops had seen the general storming into the commanding officer’s presence, make this same demand and leaving after all of the scientists and mathematicians at both installations had given up. Minos, however, was undeterred. Cyprus knew the Jovian would scour the surface of Terra if he had to.

A soft ping was heard from Cyprus’ terminal. He looked it over for a moment, and then turned the screen to face Minos. The equation staring back at the Jovian general made no sense to him, but the fact that it was a solution caused him to lean across Cyprus’ desk with a snarl.

“I want Professor Daedalus returned to Jovian custody at once.”

“Professor Daedalus is not a prisoner.” Cyprus’ fingers interlaced under his chin as his elbows rested on his blotter. “He is our guest, and if it is his wish to return to Callisto…”

“He was abducted!” Minos roared, pounding the desk with his fist. “An infiltration squad of Terran soldiers came to Callisto, using the storms and gravitational shadow of Jupiter to mask their presence. They navigated our corridors, kidnapped Professor Daedalus, stole or destroyed his research, and killed several of my men, including my base security chief, Colonel Talos. His presence here is all the proof I need. You will release him to my custody, and if you wish to prevent a full-scale interplanetary war, you will hand over the terrorists responsible for this cowardly act!”

Cyprus remained unmoved in expression. After a moment, he addressed his adjutant without looking away from the enraged Jovian.

“Lieutenant Commander Theseus, here, will take you to Daedalus. Commander, if you would.”

“Aye, sir,” Theseus replied, moving to the door. “This way, gentlemen.”

Minos was surprised, but hid his emotions behind his mustache. The Terrans were capitulating too easily. Something was going on that he didn’t like. Was he being deceived? Had they moved Daedalus to another location, or were they perhaps in the process of doing that now?

“You commanded the Taurus division,” Theseus observed as they walked, “which was involved in more exchanges during the war than any other unit on either side.”

“That’s true.” Minos tried to put his frustration and suspicion behind him. “They served with courage and honored us with their sacrifices.”

“I have no doubts about that,” said the younger man, guiding them through the brushed steel corridors, “but I have to wonder why the Martian colonies were so brutally handled. Most of the population there were civilians, and I hear the noxious weapons used on the crop domes fed into the air processors in a way that will take decades to clear up before new colonists can settle there.”

“Much of that is hyperbole and propaganda,” Minos said dismissively. “There were reports of Terran troops hiding among the civilian population. There were civilian casualties on Mars, yes, but the damage done to the fragile and fledgling eco-system was as much the fault of the cretins designing the processing plants as it was any Jovian action.”

Theseus nodded and changed the subject. “I can understand why you want Professor Daedalus returned. He’s been a real asset since his arrival, and has made several key changes to the installation.”

“You’ve been forcing him to work?”

“No, we haven’t. We don’t force people to do anything when they come to us willingly.”

The commander’s words made Minos stop in his tracks. Theseus turned. The Jovians were standing in an intersection of corridors, and when Theseus reached out and touched a spot on the wall, four heavy doors slammed down around them. Each door had a small, thick porthole in it, and Theseus was visible through one of them. There was the hissing sound of a pressure seal, and Minos’ men raised their weapons.

“Put those down!” Minos snapped. “You want to kill us with ricochets, you idiots? Burn us out!” One of his men fumbled with a backpack looking for his torch when a speaker snapped on.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Theseus said coldly into the handset he now held, “Daedalus has made some changes to our installation, such as these heavy blast doors that resist hard vacuum. He prepared them specifically for your arrival. He told us you’d be coming.”

“You coward!”

“I’d save your breath, General. You haven’t got much time left. Do you have a message for your family? You see, I was never given the opportunity to send one to mine. They were colonists on Mars, who were slaughtered on your orders.”

Minos raised his chin. “How does this make you any better than me, Commander?”

Theseus stalked to the porthole, scowling at Minos. The general was taken aback. The man who had appeared as nothing more than a glorified secretary suddenly had a countenance appropriate to the blackest pages of human history, an absolute terror to behold.

“When I kill, Minos, I kill soldiers. I kill those fighting to kill me. I killed Talos because he was about to send me to my family by way of a poisoned dagger at my throat. As for the civilians on Callisto, not a single one was harmed and I doubt most were even aware of our presence. War is an ugly and brutal thing to behold, let alone participate in, and yet you brought it into people’s homes when you had no right. Children and pregnant mothers died choking on their own vomit because of you. Seven thousand souls, and you snuffed out every single one without having the courage to show your face.”

Minos tried to muster a defiant response, to salvage some sort of moral or pyrrhic victory from this. The guard trying to get his torch working finally lit the white hot flame.

“Take a good look at my face, Minos,” Theseus was saying. “This is the face of a murderer who looks his victim in the eye. It’s the last thing Talos saw. Now you two have that in common. Daedalus would tell you to give his regards to his son, but we both know you’re not going the same place he went.”

And with that, Theseus activated the chamber’s upper door. It opened to the blackness of space above Luna. Minos maintained eye contact with the younger man before he was pulled upwards into the void. Without pressure suits, all seven men were dead within minutes. Theseus turned away and adjusted the channel on his handset.

“Get a cleanup crew to junction DA-12, exterior. Have the bodies put back on the Jovian ship per Professor Daedalus’ instructions.”

He walked through the installation and down a flight of stairs, into the very bowels of Luna. He found his quarry sitting at a terminal in the corner of one of the workrooms, indistinguishable from the other desks. The man’s hair had grown along with his beard, but when he looked up his eyes shone with the intelligence and resolve Theseus had seen from the moment he’d found the physicist in the darkness of Minos’ base.

“It’s done,” Theseus said quietly. Daedalus sighed a bit, passing a hand over his eyes.

“My son can rest in peace. Are their bodies being put back on their ship?”

“Just as you asked. It happened just as you said, right down to him using that equation to determine you were here. How did you know he’d do that, by the way?”

“You can’t determine one human biorhythm from another unless you get very close. Using a negrav ship for our escape masked our trail, and he had little else to go on after I deleted my files & backups and you trashed the servers.”

“So why this equation in particular? What is it, exactly?”

“It’s a small program I put into long equation form. A bit of a cypher, really. It expresses the intent and procedure of the program mathematically, like using an encryption key to make a simple text message appear as random characters. I never did get to finish the equation version of the program, however, and without my files…”

“You brought some with you, didn’t you? I mean you’ve been working on a new negrav design…”

“Yes, my boy, but I didn’t save any information on this program. I couldn’t. I didn’t want Minos to have any idea what was in store for him. But now that the equation is complete, I can tease it out into a programming format and use it for its intended purpose. Instead of him going to war to get me back, he used the equation to track me down, when all the while I’ve been here waiting for him. The program he unwittingly helped complete will cause his ship to have an accident on the way back to Callisto. The accident will occur after he reports, in his own voice, that I have been retrieved without incident.”

“I’m sure the Jovians will cry sabotage.”

“They might, they might indeed. But I hope you and I will be far enough from this place that it won’t matter. You mentioned my new design, Theseus, and I’m curious as to your input.”

The physicist called up a schematic of his design, and it sprang to life above the desk, floating in midair, rotating slowly to allow Theseus to take in every angle. He was speechless, and Daedalus smiled for the first time since before his son left Callisto for the last time.

“I’m glad you like it, Commander. I call it the Argo.”

The Song So Far

Courtesy HBO
Sean Bean as Ned Stark. Do Want.

I totally forgot to write up a formal review of A Game of Thrones when I finished it. Olympic-league slacking on my part. I’m now two books into George R.R. Martin’s excellent doorstopper series A Song of Ice and Fire. I’m frothing at the mouth for the third. Let me tell you why.

Lots and Lots of Great, Deep Characters

From every corner of this well-constructed well-researched world come characters of all shapes and sizes. From kings to servants, knights to whores, advisors to savages, GRRM brings them all to life. Even characters mentioned merely in passing are given enough weight to feel real to the reader. When a character with a particular name or carrying a certain banner appears, we have a basic idea on who this person is, who they represent and how they go about their business. For the most part, that is…

Clever PoV Shifts

GRRM not only gives us a diverse and nuanced cast, but shifts the point of view with every chapter. Every shift brings not only a fresh perspective on events unfolding in the narrative, but insight into the characters. It’s particularly interesting when the shift comes from an established protagonist to someone considered to be a minor character or even an antagonist. The more time we spend with a character, the more we observe changes happening both around them and within them. Characters we liked can turn sour, characters we loathe earn our respect and loyalty, and the occasional “jump-cut” change in perspective can leave us howling for more.

Subtle Magic and Sublime Majesty

The world of A Song of Ice and Fire is not devoid of magic. However, it’s not a prevalent thing. A bit like the magic in Middle-Earth, you won’t see lightning bolts flying around or dragons clogging the skies. Even moreso than Tolkien’s world, the magic is subtle, and there’s not even a magical evil kingdom to speak of. The difference between Mordor and the lands north of the Wall are night and day. Everybody in Middle-Earth knows that Mordor is place drenched in black magic. Most people don’t know what exactly waits beyond the Wall. There are stories, nothing more.

Written For Adults

Creating fiction for ‘mature’ audiences means, to some, lots of cursing, sex and violence. While GRRM doesn’t shy away from profanity, he reserves a great deal of his more vulgar language for precise moments. His sex scenes are, for the most part, presented with the correct atmosphere – intimate love scenes feel intimate, more jarring scenes come out of nowhere, etc. And the violence, while visceral and detailed, never feels like a spectacle. The characters involved in the fighting, by virtue of being so deeply and completely drawn, are people we care about and we want to see them prevail, or at least survive. On the other hand there are characters we can’t wait to see split open like ripe melons by someone’s over-eager sword.

So, yes. Bring on A Storm of Swords. And the HBO series preimering in April.

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