Category Archives: NOVEL WRITING

Stardusters… Canto 16

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Canto Sixteen – Falling Out of Orbit

Alden and Gracie Morrell, along with all the Telleron tadpoles were gathered around the communicator.

“We welded our ship into the side of the space station,” Davalon said to the voice on the speaker.

“Why the Hrrasskattoon did you do that?”  said the angry female voice.

“Hrrasskattoon?” asked George Jetson.

“It probably means blogwopping,” said Tanith.

“Blogwopping?” asked Gracie Morrell.

“You don’t really want to know,” said Davalon.

“Oh,” said Gracie, suddenly realizing.

“We crashed into the side of the station and there were holes in the bulkheads of both vehicles.  We would’ve eventually had explosive decompression if we hadn’t made the two vehicles into one.”

“Resourceful,” said the angry voice, “but you are trespassing on my property.”

“Are you somewhere here on board?” asked Davalon.

“Of course not!  I know better than to be aboard an unaerodynamic space vehicle when I am trying to salvage it and bring it down to the surface through the atmosphere.  I might burn up.”

“You are crashing the station?”  Brekka was horrified.  “We’ll all die!”

“You’re lucky you are not dead already,” said the voice.  “But since you are there, you can do some repairs for me that will help me bring you down safely.  I’d rather not burn the station up if I can help it.  Especially now that I can see you have Earth humans with you.  They might be worth a lot to me if I can get them down here alive.”

“Tellerons are not worth anything to you?” asked Menolly.

“Of course they are.  But I could still eat a dead Telleron, couldn’t I?”

Menolly and Brekka grabbed each other around the necks and did the hugging thing they learned from humans.  Both girls began shivering violently.

“So you are planning to eat us?” asked Gracie in an angry tone.

“No.   I can use all of you if you live through this.  You may have noticed that my world has been devastated.  I am trying to save what is left of it.  I’m not ready for the reality of planetary extinction.”

“How can we help?” asked Davalon.

“I need the anti-gravity coils repaired so I can float the whole thing down.  That will keep the whole station from burning up on re-entry.”

“What if we don’t know how to repair anti-gravity coils?” asked George Jetson nervously.

“I will guide you through it step by step.  You don’t think I would rely on Telleron intelligence, do you?  We often refer to your people as Space Clowns.  There’s a reason for that,” said the voice with a sneer.

“A good reason,” Davalon said softly to himself.

“Say!  How is it that you speak English?” asked Gracie.

“The same reason your Telleron friends speak it,” said the voice.  “Television.   I particularly like the Brady Bunch.  It is my favorite show.  It’s how I know you two Earth people are mere children.  I especially like when Marcia bosses around Greg and Peter.  They almost act like Galtorrians sometimes, though much funnier… and less killing and eating each other.”

“My name is Davalon,” said Dav.  “I am the leader of this expedition.  Can I ask what your name is?”

“I am called Sizzahl.  But we need to be getting to work before your orbit degrades any further.  As far as any of you are actually concerned, my name, for the next few hours, might as well be GOD ALMIGHTY.”

“Oh, good,” muttered Alden Morrell, “a religious lizard-woman.”

*****

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Stardusters… Canto 15

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Canto Fifteen – Inside the Structure

Nervously Farbick crept forward into the depths of a dark interior hallway.  What was the cause of the crazed Galtorrian monster that killed one cadet and contributed to the death of another?  Was some terrible brain parasite working on the population of Galtorr Prime?  Would it kill Tellerons too?

Starbright was following him behind and to the right.  Biznap was behind and to the left.

“Do you think that was the last of the living Galtorrians?” asked Biznap, apparently to anyone who could answer.

“There were billions of people on this planet the last time we surveyed it,” answered Starbright.  “If one was still alive, there is a very good chance that others are still alive as well.”

“We need to find someone alive to talk to,” said Farbick, peering into the darkness ahead.

“If we find someone, I will skortch him!” declared Commander Biznap.

“We have too much we need to find out about this planet and the shape it’s in,” said Farbick coolly.   “We still need a place to live.”

“We can’t live with monsters that will try to eat us!”

“Farbick is right,” said cadet Starbright.  “We have to find someone rational enough to explain what terrible things happened to this planet.  I really don’t believe that just one terrible thing could devastate the entire planet so badly.”

“All right!  Okay!   I get it!  No skortching!  …Unless I feel any kind of threat at all.  I will vaporize them long before they can tear out my throat and eat me.”

Farbick nodded in the darkness.  He’d be happy as long as Biznap didn’t panic and skortch either Farbick or Starbright by mistake.

“There!” cried Starbright pointing.  In the distance ahead, a door was being pulled open by whatever was on the other side and inside the room.

“Stay in the shadows,” whispered Farbick.

“They can see body heat, remember?” scolded Biznap.

“Have your pistols ready,” suggested Starbright, though both of the others obviously out-ranked her.

“We can not only see you three, but we can hear you perfectly,” came a deep voice from the shadows above them.  “You are on our security monitor right now.  Put down your scary weapons and walk through the door with your empty hands on your heads.”

“Yes, on your ugly, Telleron fin-heads!” said a second voice, one obviously more high-pitched and irritating.  The kind of voice you would expect a monster to have if he were effeminate or otherwise girly yet not female.  Not that Farbick was prejudiced against any of those things, but he knew the voice of a bully and a coward when he heard one.  The late Commander Sleez had a high-pitched totally annoying voice like that.

“We run in shooting?” Biznap asked.  “They won’t be expecting an attack.”

“Yes they will,” said Farbick.  “It is an obvious trap.  We either surrender and walk in, or we head back out and fight our way back to the Golden Wing.”

“I vote going back!” said Biznap hurriedly.

“You don’t have to vote, Commander,” pointed out Farbick.  “You can command us.  But I think we should try to find out whatever we can.  I will surrender myself while you and Starbright go back.”

“You’ve been listening to Harmony’s sermons from the Bible about self sacrifice,” accused Biznap.

“Yes, well, not everything your Earther mate says makes me laugh,” said Farbick in return.  “Her old book has some practical applications too.”

“Okay,” said Biznap, “you and I go forward and Starbright goes back.”

“No, sirs,” insisted Starbright.  “I am not going back alone.  I am the most expendable Telleron here.  Besides, if I went back alone who would fly the Golden Wing?”

“Good point,” said Biznap.

“I thought you had flight training,” said Farbick.

“No, that was cadet Buckabuck,” said Starbright.  “Whootney could navigate and do repairs.  I am a cook and a capable armsman.”

“We’re all going through that door,” said Biznap.  “Be brave.”  He put his skortch ray down first and started towards the door.  Farbick was a little amazed right then.  Biznap was a better leader than he was given credit for.  He led from in front, and took the risks he also expected his followers to take.  Farbick put his weapon down, then so did Starbright.  They quietly followed Biznap through that terrible door.

*****

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Stardusters… Canto 14

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Canto Fourteen – Aboard the Orbital Station

In Gracie’s opinion, Tanith was a natural leader.  Gracie was the older, wiser head, even though she inhabited a little girl’s body now.  But she had no trouble with letting Tanith give the orders, and being herself the resource they could call upon when needed.

“Tanith, dear, how do these weapons work?” Gracie asked.  She held the ray gun in her two hands and studied the Buck-Rodgers-looking thing.  The end of the pistol-looking part had a silver ball thingy on it surrounded by a concave reflecting mirror.

“You point the end you are looking at towards your target and pull the trigger,” Tanith answered.  “It’s simple, really.  But I want all three of you to let me have the first shot if we have to defend ourselves.  Like Dav said, the consequences of missing the target could be fatal.”

“What do you mean?” asked Brekka while pointing the silver ball end at her own face.  Tanith grabbed the gun before Brekka could accidentally pull a trigger.

“Just think what would happen if a stray shot hits a station wall and disintegrates it.  First the space station goes pop with catastrophic depressurization, and then each one of us does.  It would be a horrible way to die.  And we would be killing the boys too.”

Menolly began holding her skortch pistol by the tail end using only two fingers.  She wouldn’t be much help in a shootout.  Neither would Brekka, it seemed.  But Gracie had gone squirrel hunting and pheasant hunting in the winter with her dad back in Iowa.  She knew how to hit a moving target with a regular gun, even a pistol.  She would definitely be the back-up Tanith would need in case the poop hit the fan blades.

“Follow me,” said Tanith, heading deeper into the mysteriously dark and quiet space station.

“Oh!  Tanith!” cried Menolly.  “There are bodies over here!  Dead bodies!”

Menolly was right.  There were lizard-people piled in one corner like they had been trying to claw their way out through a space station bulkhead.  They were scale-covered, possessing a tail, and they were definitely in a state of being deceased.  Deader than a door nail as Gracie’s father would’ve said thirty years ago.

“What killed them?” asked Brekka.

“I don’t know,” said Tanith, a little bit shakily.

“They haven’t been bitten or chewed on by an animal,” said Gracie, “though they appear to have been trying to get away from something.  There are no bullet holes in them, either.”

“What do you think it was, Gracie?” asked Tanith.

“Well, look at the way their eyes are filmy and cloudy-looking.  And the crust under their nostrils.  They may have been sick with some disease.  People with fever can sometimes imagine things, even things they are afraid of.”

“How do you know so much without ever being programmed in the egg?” asked Brekka.

“I’ve seen a lot of farm animals in my day,” said Gracie, nodding, “and cows, pigs, and especially sheep often get sick.  Don’t they program you with knowledge like that in your eggs?”

“We are specialized by our programming,” said Tanith.  “The computers try to match our training to the genetic markers we exhibit that indicate what natural skills we probably possess.”

“My, my…” clucked Gracie, “Earth children would never be able to say a sentence like that at your age, much less perform some of the skills you are gifted with by your egg programming.”

Tanith smiled in answer to that.  Gracie was truly impressed by these wonderful alien children, and she was coming to love them more and more as she got to know them.

“Do you think we will find anybody alive here?” asked Menolly.  Menolly was the child more easily moved to happiness and glee than either Tanith or Brekka, but she was also the one more quickly terrified of things, especially unknown things.

“There’s a special room over here,” said Brekka.  “It looks like it has a lot of plants in it.”

The other three girls followed Brekka into the room.

“It’s a hydroponic greenhouse,” said Gracie.

“How do you know that?” asked Brekka.

“Look at all the plants growing in hanging baskets.  And there is no dirt under any of them.  They are growing out of some wet, spongy material.  I was a farm girl, born and bred.  And a farm wife after that.  It is only natural that I would know about plants and growing them.”

Suddenly a voice came on over the intercom.  “What are you doing in my space station?” said an angry female voice.  “Especially Tellerons?  Don’t you know we Galtorrians eat Tellerons for breakfast?”

All three Telleron girls suddenly wet their pants.

*****

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Of Nightmares and Publishing

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Okay, I don’t mean to mislead you with the title.  My nightmares last night were not caused by publishing a book.  But there is a connection.  So be patient with me and let me explain.

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Last night I kept waking up to the smell of something burning… the smell of pine wood smouldering, the acrid smell of plastic on fire, the nose-offending smell of human hair on fire…  So I get up multiple times in the night, searching the house in my underwear, sniffing about to try to detect where in the walls or under the furniture the smell is coming from.  I scared my wife at least once in the kitchen… sometime around 2:00 a.m.  And the more awake I became the less I could smell the something that was burning.  It turns out that was because it was only in a nightmare that I smelled it.  The house was burning down around me in a dream, and the dream lingered after I awoke, even though I had forgotten about the dream entirely as I woke.   It was a classic anxiety dream.

Cool School Blue

What, though, do I actually have going on that causes me this kind of nightmare?  I mean, besides Donald Trump being elected President of the United States, the impending end of life on Earth, and Bank of America suing me with hopes of wiping out my personal finances completely?

I am, foolishly, trying to publish another novel.

I promise to tell you a bit more about this novel in the near future.  But let me tell you first why publishing it is causing anxiety dreams.

Magical Miss Morgan is a novel about being a school teacher.  It is based on real experiences in my teaching life.  I used the time my teaching methods were opposed by a school board candidate.  I also used the time a principal told me that school shouldn’t teach kids to think because that didn’t turn them into good citizens.  I used real kids I once taught as characters.  I even used the time that fairies invaded my classroom.  Oh, but that last one might be slightly fictionalized.

So, even though the main character, Miss Francis Morgan, is not actually me, this novel is a distillation of my entire struggle to be a worthy teacher and accomplish something good as an educator.  My goal during my teaching career was to teach kids to think for themselves, to guide their own lifelong learning, and feel like they were valuable enough as individuals that somebody could actually care about them individually… even the hardest ones to like.  One would think there was nothing controversial at all in this goal.  But this novel tells how I fought that battle.  It is a story that I owe it to everyone I ever taught to tell.

class Miss Mcover

I have turned to Page Publishing to put this novel into print.  Not just digital, online copies, but into real print-on-pages books.  I have no talent or luck when it comes to marketing, but I am determined to make this book real even though this is a vanity press sort of publisher that makes their money by taking advantage of dewy-eyed writing fools like me.  Yes, I am buying the services of their editorial staff and design staff and there will be no money flowing my way any time soon.  This is the way publishing has been changing.  Publishers are still the farmers and writers have become the milk cows.  I just have to hope the milk won’t be sour.

So, I am having nightmares of burning the house down because I am following my dream of making a book.  But it is an important book… at least it is to me.

 

 

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Stardusters… Canto 13

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Canto Thirteen – The Plaza of Bones in the Ruined Palaces

Farbick couldn’t see Starbright, but he knew she was immediately to his left as they moved towards a large pile of skeletons and rotting corpses.  He could hear her soft footfalls.  He was fairly confident in her abilities, something he couldn’t say about most Tellerons.

“Look at these bodies, Mister Farbick,” Starbright whispered through the hostile environment suit comm.  “Some of them have been slain violently by the others in this plaza, but some, like this group of three armed lizard men have no visible wounds or other indications of death by violence.  The toxic atmosphere by itself is not sufficient to explain the deaths of three such otherwise healthy individuals.”

“Could they have died of disease?” Farbick guessed.

“I don’t know the difference between a healthy-looking lizard man and a sick one, I guess,” she responded.  “But I can see nothing wrong with them.”

Suddenly, without warning, a large, muscular lizard man with a full Galtorrian dragon crest on his scaly head leaped up onto a marble portico and glared directly at the invisible searchers.  He snorted and sniffed the air.

“Stay quiet,” whispered Biznap from somewhere to the right.  “If he can’t see us, he won’t know we’re here.”

But before Farbick could even doubt the reasoning behind the order, the naked Galtorrian warrior was on the back of an invisible Telleron, raking him with claws and biting at what was probably the throat.

“Skortch him!” cried Biznap, the voice coming from a direction that proved the lizard man’s victim was not Biznap.

Skortch rays are not in themselves visible, but as the beam slashed outward from where Biznap was obviously wielding his ray pistol, there was a visible line of sparkles and flashes as the disintegration effect acted on small particles the air was obviously laden with.  The shape of a Telleron  flared into view as Biznap’s ray connected with one of the cadets who had the misfortune to be standing between Biznap and the monster.  The cadet screamed as he dissolved.  The other cadet screamed as he died of his wounds and became visible in the clutches of the lizard man.  The invisibility cloak, like the hostile environment suit it was attached to, was shredded and shorted out.  It obviously had not stopped the predatory lizard man from knowing exactly where his prey was.

The lizard man lifted the cadet’s corpse to throw at either Biznap or one of the other two.  He was looking directly at Farbick as Farbick uttered a brief prayer to Charlie the Crocodile God that Biznap was not now between him and the target, and then squeezed off a vaporizing shot that disintegrated the lizard man and the cadet’s body as well.

Biznap immediately uncloaked.

“Well, that was unpleasant,” he said.

Starbright also uncloaked.  “Mister Farbick,” she said, “you may as well uncloak.  Invisibility is useless against creatures such as these.”

“What do you mean, cadet?” Farbick said as he uncloaked.

“They obviously have heat vision of some sort.  They can’t see us with visible light, but they sense us almost as if they can see us.  They may have developed some kind of natural thermal imaging in their eyes.  Or the creature could have had bionic eyes built in.  Didn’t you see the way his eyes flashed with the color red?”

“Yes,” said Biznap.  “I wish I had known that before accidentally skortching what’s-his- name.”

“The two cadets were Buckabuck and Whootney, Commander, sir,” said Starbright sadly.

“Oh, yes, well…. I have heard of them, of course,” said Biznap in what could only be interpreted as a guilty voice.

“I’m sure they regret your not knowing more about them than you do, Commander,” Farbick said.  He also believed those red shirts weren’t standard issue for a very good reason.

*****

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Brekka and the Man-eating Plant (version one)

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Brekka and the Man-eating Plant (version two)

 

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Stardusters… Canto 12

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Canto Twelve – The Alien Space Station, Site of the Tadpole Crash

One might expect a tadpole like George Jetson to be a little bit cooled on the subject of space exploration after having crashed and wrecked the very first Golden Wing he had ever flown.  Alden remembered crashing his father’s Pontiac the first time he drove by himself.  It had made him into more of a foot-bound youth than ever until he was a senior in high school and had to drive to get groceries when his dad had that broken leg.  But George was special.  George was also a rather slow learner.  George walked around the hole and laughed about it.

“We are so lucky!” George said.  “There is a hole in the side of the space station that should have catastrophically depressurized and maybe exploded it.  There is also a hole in the front of the Golden Wing that should have killed us all.  But the two holes match up like we intended to do it!”

“George, we can still die if this thing splits apart from our ship,” reminded Davalon.  Dav, unlike most of these tadpole brat-types was clear-thinking and resourceful.

“Do we have any way to weld them together to keep them from splitting apart?” Alden offered as a possible solution.

“Yes, but then we can’t separate and fly away,” said George.  His stupid grin finally faded.

“True,” said Davalon, “but we can’t fly away without dying in the process as it is.  We can use skortch pistols on heat mode to melt the metals together.  That would make a fairly strong seal against the vacuum.”

Tanith and Gracie were also looking at the holes and hopefully thinking about everything that was being said.  “Why don’t you boys fix that, and we girls will explore the station,” suggested Tanith.

“Isn’t that too dangerous for a girl to do?” asked Alden.  He could tell by the dark look on Gracie’s face that this was the absolutely worst thing he could’ve possibly said at that moment.  “Um… yeah.  You girls take care of that and we’ll do the repair work here.”  Maybe that saved both his twelve-year-old neck and his supposedly grown-up and forward-thinking dignity.

“Take skortch rays,” said Davalon.  “But remember, burning holes in things is a bad thing to do in the vacuum of space.  If you find anyone you have to skortch… don’t miss.”

Tanith smiled winningly.  “Don’t worry.  I was programmed in the egg to be the best shot with a skortch ray that Tellerons have ever seen.”

“Very reassuring,” said George frowning, “and hilariously funny.”

“I thought so,” said Tanith.

“Brekka, Menolly,” called Gracie, “bring skortch rays.  We are going exploring.”

An Earth year ago, Alden would never have believed that such an adventure would be possible, especially when you considered that this really was a life and death situation.

*****

george-jetson

George Jetson, Telleron Tadpole

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Novel News

Cool School Blue

I was going to tell you a lot about my novel Magical Miss Morgan today.  My computer had other ideas.  I was almost done with the post and working on the final edits when the computer suddenly burped and wiped it all out.  Nothing was saved but the title.  Well, I signed a contract for the novel.  I will tell you more about that  as time goes on.  The computer doesn’t want me to do more today.

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“Unfortunately, you are a Writer,” He Said.

I have made up my mind to risk investing more money in getting another book published.  Being an author, especially an unknown Indie author, is really just an expensive hobby.  Even investing in professional editorial services and print-on-demand publishers can’t help you make any money at it, even if you are talented and good at story-telling.  The best I can really hope for is to get my books in print and pray that people will discover them and like them after I die, beaten to death for a crust of bread in debtor’s prison.

So, why would anyone in their right mind want to be a writer?

It is entirely possible that I was simply born that way.  I have been drawing cartoons and telling stories since I was about five years old.  Maybe even before that.  I don’t have many clear memories of my pre-school years.  It is possible that I was lost in a library once… or dropped on my head… or in a library and having a book dropped on my head… something set it off if it wasn’t simply in my genes.

I am planning to publish Magical Miss Morgan with Page Publishing.  They are a pay-to-print publisher who are slightly more affordable than I-Universe that I used to get Catch a Falling Star into print.  I feel like I have to get it published before I die because it is the distillation of my entire life as a classroom teacher.  Books like this are important to me.  In the Bible, there are prophets and holy men who are filled with the Word of God, men like Jeremiah, that claim the Word is burning within them, and will burn its way out of them if they don’t speak it.  My stories that I am working at turning into books are like that.  They are consuming me from the inside out.  I have to get them written and printed if I possibly can.

I have recently tried and failed to get novels like Snow Babies, Magical Miss Morgan, and Superchicken published with publishers that don’t charge for their services.   I got several rejections and one contract that came to nothing because of the economic failings of the publisher.  I have tried being infinitely patient.  It doesn’t work.

Cool School Blue

I will try to bargain for the most affordable deal I can to get Magical Miss Morgan into print.  They will apparently let me input artwork into the final cover.  I understand that successful writers tend to starve for at least fifteen years before they see any success and profit.  At best, I have six more years of that to go.  But this, after all, is my life now.  I need to write books and I need to get them published.  I am, unfortunately, a Writer.

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Stardusters… Canto 11

You may be wondering why it’s “Canto 11” rather than “Chapter 11”.  Well, my novels are supposed to be like long poems, divided into lyrically composed pieces of verbal music.  Rather conceited, right?  But that isn’t what “literary conceit” has always meant.

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Canto Eleven – In Golden Wing One at the Initial Landing Site

Farbick set his Golden Wing down gracefully in the garbage-filled lot next to the large, un-destroyed structure.  His ability, unlike that of most Tellerons, came from practice rather than egg-inserted programming from the nurturing computers.

“Oh!  I can see why there were so few life signs from the city,” said Starbright.  “This plaza is full of skeletons.  There must be hundreds of them.”

“Can you tell what they died of?” asked Commander Biznap.

“The air is filled with toxins and pollutants,” said one of the nameless cadets.  “It’s why we will have to wear our protective suits and breath masks to disembark.”

“Could it be that that killed them?” asked Biznap.

“Probably not,” said the other nameless cadet.

“It looks like, because all of the skeletons are intact, that they died of some kind of virulent disease,” said Starbright.  “We can’t tell for sure without further examination, though.”

“We will take every precaution, then,” ordered Commander Biznap.  Farbick thought the order probably reflected the fact that Biznap’s mission on Earth had failed due lack of proper planning and fore-seeing of the unforeseeable.

“Hostile environment suits and skortch pistols?” asked Farbick.  He hated skortch pistols.  They were actually molecular disintegrator rays, and they dissolved you completely, molecule by molecule.  He had himself survived being shot on Earth because Earthers used slug-throwers to shoot lead projectiles into you.  Bad enough, but they gave a slim chance of surviving.  What he thought might be out there, though, made him suggest skortch pistols.  Those icky evil things didn’t need a survivability opportunity if they were really going to attack.

“Yes.  Get dressed and ready quickly.  We need to find them before they find us.”

The team was suited up quickly in heavy-duty Danger Suits, sealed environmental suits with built in A-I intelligence computers and nano-robotic fabric that could repair itself and even treat small wounds.  Each Telleron was handed a lethal, humming skortch pistol, fully charged and ready to burn things into dust and smoke in seconds.  Farbick hoped he was handing them to Tellerons more capable than poor Corebait, a fellow Sindalusian Fmoog who had accidentally skortched himself back on Earth by shooting into an unfortunately positioned mirror.

“Perhaps Cadet Starbright should stay and guard the ship,” Farbick suggested.

“We could easily guard the ship if we stayed too,” said both of the other cadets.

“No,” said Biznap.  “I may need my full available fire-power out there.”

“I couldn’t stay behind and have to worry about the safety of all of the rest of you anyway,” said Starbright bravely.

“Move out,” commanded the Commander.  The team of five moved through the air lock and out into the corpse-filled plaza.

“Turn on your cloaking fields,” Biznap commanded.  One by one, the Telleron commandos winked out of sight behind their invisibility cloaks.  The ship also shivered and disappeared.  “Be ready for anything,” warned Biznap’s voice.

*****

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Stardusters… Canto 10

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Canto Ten – Aboard Golden Wing Sixteen Near an Abandoned Space Station

Looking for interesting places to explore, the tadpole crew of Wing Sixteen spotted the abandoned orbital station before sensors could detect it.  The sensors were set to find life-forms, lizard men in particular, and the instruments all said that none existed on the space platform.  In fact, it was apparently devoid of all life but a few plants.

“Can you dock with that thing?” Tanith asked George Jetson.

“Of course I can.   I am programmed to be the best wing pilot you have ever seen.”

“And you are programmed to be the most modest Telleron we have ever seen too,” said Brekka.

“Or maybe the one with the biggest gonopodium and the smallest brain,” said Menolly.

George just laughed as he focused his instruments on the docking bay.

“What’s a gonopodium?” Alden asked Davalon.

“Father, you would call it a penis on a human,” said Davalon.

“Oh.”  Alden’s forty-year-old sense of propriety turned his twelve-year-old face a bright crimson red.

“Why do you suppose there are no personnel on that station,” Tanith asked everyone in general.

“Maybe there is something wrong with it,” suggested Gracie Morrell.  “Maybe they had to abandon ship.”

“Maybe,” said Davalon, looking carefully at the sensor monitor.  “But I don’t see anything wrong with the on-board systems.  They are all operating like they work perfectly.  That station has air we can breathe, water we can drink, and no alarms are going off anywhere.  It’s as if they abandoned a perfectly good station.”

“Well,” said George Jetson, “we can find the answer by going in and taking a look around.”  He said that just as he pulled a control lever that thrust the wing forward to meet the docking ring and impacted the station so hard that everyone on board was knocked senseless.

“George!  What did you just do?” Davalon asked from his new position prostrate on the floor of the control pit.

“Um, I meant to dock with the docking port, but it appears I may have embedded the wing in the side of the space station.”

“Oh, this can’t be good,” moaned Tanith, rubbing the greenish-brown knobby bruise that now blossomed on her pretty forehead.

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