Category Archives: NOVEL WRITING

Canto 82 – Siege of the Seadome (the Blood-red Thread)

Ham Aero was chafing in the wrist cuffs.  He’d been stripped of his yellow and blue combat armor, as had Ferrari and myself.  We all lay on the hard metal floor of the seadome brig.  Ham was working at the cuffs, seemingly knowing how to break free in a Houdini-esque fashion.  He twisted them back and forth, rolling his knuckles over in a very interesting fashion.  I have never seen such a form of double-jointedness before.

“I am supposed to execute all three of you,” the black-suited commander was saying.  “I know I am supposed to, but I can’t see killing someone like you, Duke Ferrari.”

“Why don’t you let me go, then, soldier?” said Duke Ferrari in his oiliest political voice.  He almost seemed sympathetic to our captor and potential executioner.

“Admiral Tang has personally ordered your immediate execution.  What will I do?”

At that moment, the Commander of the commando team we came with came in with two armed guards.  He still wore his armor and seemed remarkably fit compared to the wear and tear that showed on the rest of us.

“Why haven’t you killed them yet?” he asked of the Black Commander.

“I had to confirm that the orders were not a mistake,” said Blackie. 

“Nonsense.  You know what the Admiral wants.  Just do it!”

“I called Planet Mingo Command to confirm the order before I do it.  I don’t want to kill the former ruler who did the most to help my people in his lifetime.”  The Black Commander took off his helmet to reveal a snake-eyed Human-Galtorrian face.  He was of the fusion race that dominated the Imperium.

“What happened to your loyalty?” Duke Ferrari asked the yellow and blue Commander.  “I thought you were on our side?”

“I am.  I don’t want his people to claim that you made a mess of things with your little rebellion.  The people idolize you, but they don’t realize what is actually good for them.  A government of a space empire cannot be a democracy.  You have to have order to maintain the rule over so many worlds.”

“Save me from military intellectuals!” moaned Ferrari.

“Give me the fusion gun, Commander,” said our former friend.  “I will take responsibility for their deaths.”

“Ruts rowing on here?” said the metallic voice of a mechanoid mutt, possibly a Great Dane.

I looked at Ham.  He had his hands free, ready to grab a gun and fight for our lives against impossible odds.

“Commander Doo!”  The two commanders stiffly saluted in utter surprise.  “What are your orders, sir?” said Commander Blackie.

“I rahnt rorder!  Rese men are under the protection of Rord Rayrond King!  Roo will not harm them!”

“What?  Lord Doo!  We have to kill them.  They are a danger to the Imperium.”

The snake-eyed commander seemed visibly relieved.  It was as if this message from the dog’s mouth was exactly what he wanted to hear.

“Will you release us, then?” asked Duke Ferrari.

“Res!” said the mechanoid dog.  “Roo are free.  Rord King rahnts it that way.”

“I protest!” cried our commando friend, our false friend.

“You’re a weasel,” said Blackie.  His slug-thrower gave off a quick blast, piercing the traitor in the chest plate of his armor.  As he slumped dead to the floor, Ham began freeing us from our cuffs.  The Black Commander helped.

“We are grateful,” said Duke Ferrari.  How can we repay you?”

The dog-mechanoid looked at us with artificial eyes, creepy eyes.  “Roo rill rule Farwind as risely as roo took care of riss sector before.  Re are all allies now.” It didn’t seem right to be set free by a mechanical talking dog, at least, not without a set of meddling kids to go with him, but I was in no mood to question our good fortune.

Canto 81 – Mong the Miser-like (The Midnight Blue Thread)

Tara Salongi stood next to the conference table in the reception room of the main hall.  She wore a diaphanous blue gown that, with its see-through fabric, was quite revealing of her newly-healed feminine form.  In fact, it was the kind of dress that, if this story were a Japanese anime, it would be called fan service.  But, of course, it was no more so than the fur bikini she had worn for most of her old life back on Don’t Go Here.

At that moment, Emperor Mong, who had summoned Tara, entered through the double-door entrance.

“Ah, the beautiful sorceress Tara Salongi, I believe,” said the sinister looking bald man with the goatee that came to a sharp point under his chin.

“Yes, I am here.  What do you want of me?”

“I am told that Wormheart Toadsucker, Admiral Tang’s left-hand sycophant, delivered you here by giving you over to Lord Dark Doo.”

“That is correct, if I know who you are talking about.”

“But the question is, my Lady, why weren’t the admiral’s specific orders carried out?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yes… whatever do you mean, Mong?” said Raylond, appearing from behind a curtain on Tara’s right.

“Excuse me, Lord King.  I do not believe it is business you were supposed to know anything about.”

“Am I not one of the ruling triumvirate of this star system with it’s multiple inhabited worlds?”

“Yes, that is so.  But the Admiral…”

“Wait a moment… do you mean Admiral Tang started a business in secret that he didn’t want me or Lord Hardretter to learn anything about?”

“That is correct… er, I mean… It was a local matter from another star system that the Admiral wishes to control… for Imperial security reasons.”

“So, tell me, what is the Admiral’s specific plan involving Tara, whom I consider to be under my protection for now?”

“Um, well…  Lord King, the fact is… this woman is a dangerous Psion.  The Admiral captured her at great personal risk to himself.”

“I am aware that she is a Psion.  But we have the proper shielding capability available to us, do we not?”

“Um, yes… but the Admiral wanted to ship her to the planet Djinnistan where Dr. Havir Bloodlust could possibly use his genetics skill to transfer her unique abilities into a suitable Mechanoid or even a controlled genetic Freak.”

“No sir.  I will not have it, sir.  She is under my protection.  Lord Hardretter and I have discussed ways to use her here on our worlds to better life for all of us.”

“Ah, but since Lord Hardretter isn’t here now, and I have the Admiral’s proxy vote in the matter…”

“Ah, but I am here, Mong.”  Smoky Hardretter, the teenage ruler of the system’s manufacturing worlds, stepped out from behind the curtain on Tara’s left.

“Lord Hardretter?  Uh, are you suggesting you are siding against me and Admiral Tang with Lord King?”

“That is exactly what I am suggesting.  We have use for the cooperative and lovely Psion, and two thirds of the ruling triumvirate can overrule even the Imperial Grand Admiral.”

 “So, maybe you should go back to playing with your rot warriors and tin men, Emperor Mong, and leave us to the business most beneficial to the Imperium,” said Raylond King.

Mong, white in the face and obviously frustrated, stormed out of the room.

“Thank you, Lord King.  And thank you too, Lord Hardretter,” said Tara.

“Think nothing of it,” they both said simultaneaously.

Canto 80 – Jungle Darkness and Damnthings (The Green Thread)

Running and sweating in the jungle darkness had begun to get very old.

“Climb a tree!” ordered King, pounding down the jungle path behind Hooey and Culver.  The damnthing, a huge, smelly pig-dog sort of predator, was close on their heels and all three men were beginning to tire.

A large, gnarled tree loomed straight ahead.  King leaped and caught its lower branches, swinging himself up into the lower branches like Johnny Weissmuller playing Tarzan on steroids.  Dr. Hooey imitated him to the very best of his ability, meaning he was as graceful as a hundred pounds of chopped liver being flung through the air by a baboon that had drunk three too many cups of coffee.  The good doctor managed to lodge himself on a branch just above the apex of the damnthing’s leap, though he was hanging upside down by one knee hooked over the branch.

“Help me!  I’m the expendable one!” cried Willie Culver as he missed the branches and tumbled butt first into the undergrowth.

“Dang it!” swore King Killer, “I told you that we were ALL going to make it!”  He leaped down from the branch that held him directly in front of Willie Culver.  “You do not have permission to die right now!” he swore.

            Unfortunately, directly behind King, the snorting damnthing lumbered up and came to a gum-gnashing, teeth-grinding halt so close that its spittle ran down into the back of King’s collar.

            “Oh, Gawd…” prayed Willie.  The pale expendable sidekick scrambled out from under King and used his fingernails to claw his way up the side of a foul-smelling babuti tree.  Babutis were an exotic form of alien tree that existed on several jungle planets which sprouted gorgeous orange and yellow flowers, but smelled so bad they made your eyes water like raging rivers.  The damnthing moved first to grab Willie, but the smell wrinkled its big pignose and resulted in the damnthing turning its attention to the Corsair King of Killing.

King, partly frozen in place by the vague hope that the thing’s vision was based on movement like he’d seen in an ancient Earther video about a dinosaur park, and partly winding up his interior springs for the leap of his life, slowly turned his head to stare right down the slavering gullet of the huge, nasty pig-dog thingy. 

“King, old buddy, you can’t die here either, you know,” admonished Hooey from his upside-down perch.

“I’m working on it,” said King.  His legs were taut with stored energy, ready to leap.  He vaulted forward at the same instant that the damnthing struck with its big-piggy chompers.  The beast growled.  King screamed.  Big pig teeth pierced the flesh of his shoulder.

“Aaargh!”

“Oh, no!”

“King!  My gawd!”

Just as it seemed that the damnthing would devour the King, a sudden flesh-colored flash came blazing out of the canopy on a sort of bungee vine.  It was a relatively small boy wearing nothing but some furry animal skins tied around his delicate parts.  He grabbed on to King with a grip of steel, and then the bungee pulled them both back up into the canopy, ripping King’s flesh out of the very mouth of death and dismemberment.

            The damnthing, stunned in its piggy surprise, blinked twice, and abruptly walked away into the jungle.

“What was that?” asked Willie, clinging to the bark of his smelly tree.

“That would have to be Randy the Jungle Boy,” said Hooey, without missing a beat.  “He’s not the only weird character we are about to meet in this jungle.”

“You knew what was going to happen?”

“Well, some of it.  I read about it in Googol Marou’s book, which I read in the future.  Of course, the timeline has been altered again, so I can’t predict anything with certainty.”

“Why?  What’s changed?”

“You were supposed to be the pig-dog’s lunch.  So, I guess you have to write your own destiny from here on, Willie Culver.”

Willie’s eyes grew round with sudden fearful gratitude to King Killer.  And it would only take another chapter or two for his heart to actually start beating again.