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Aeroquest… Canto 23

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Canto 23 – The Fellowship of the Crown

      The Leaping Shadowcat docked smoothly at the starport.  Frieda had completely rerouted and refitted all the systems on board.  Robot arms were redeployed, circuits revamped, and energy flows were maximized.  Frieda had made the starport more efficient, and much more her own.

Ham was impressed by the starport operations on his return.  It was the most pilot-friendly base he had ever visited.

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As they disembarked, Tara moved to catch up to Ged.

“I want you to know that I now know you better than any other human being ever knew you.  I… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

Ged looked sternly at the sweet-faced teenage girl.  He softened as he saw her blush and look away from his searching eyes.

“I know you don’t approve.  I know you feel violated,” she said.  “But I will never share any of your secrets.  Not only would it be against my own moral code, but… Ged, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

“You are too young,” said Ged matter-of-factly.  “I am the same age as your father.  Besides, you will get over this crush you have developed.”

“I’ve shared minds and personalities with many others before you,” she said.  “I’ve never melded with anyone as good and decent and loving as you.”

“You’ve lain with other men before?”

“Be fair.  That only happens when the Psion is dying because of his own powers.  The deeper connection was necessary.  I only used that procedure once before.”

Ged was tempted to ask who.  He thought, however, he already knew and didn’t want it confirmed.  He quietly slipped his right hand around Tara’s bare middle.  She was so warm and soft to the touch.  Her Sheena Queen of the Jungle skin bikini looked so alluring on her.  This was a severe temptation that Ged knew was a critical test from God.  He did love her, but he would not give in to temptation.

The adventurers went to the control room to access key information from Frieda.  It was then that Ged noticed that the blue box and the Crown of Stars were gone.

“Frieda?  What has happened to Trav and the Crown?”

“Captain Tron Blastarr has both the Crown and my beloved Trav.  Don’t worry.  I wouldn’t have let it happen if it wasn’t the right thing to do.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Crown and its remaining three minds have a destiny that belongs with Trav and Tron.”

“Three minds?”

“Yes.  The dark mind, the side-winding mind, and a copy of Trav’s mind are all still loaded on the Crown of All Stars.”

“Oh, this is bad,” said Ham.

“Your friends Tron and Trav are not to be trusted?” asked Tkriashav.

“Tron is a pirate and Trav is a clown,” said Ged.  “A thing like that in their hands is a danger to the entire galaxy!”

“Do we need to follow them and take the artifact back?” asked Tkriashav.

“Some of us do,” said Ged, looking at his brother Ham.

“We don’t know where they might go,” said Ham, studying the floor.

“Yes, we do,” said Tkriashav.  “I am clairvoyant.  I can see already that they are going into battle on a planet called White Palm.  They go to battle a smuggler king.”

“Oh, gawd!” swore Ged.  “They’re taking on the White Duke?”

“Doesn’t White Palm belong to Count Nefaria?” reminded Ham.

“Yes, but even Nefaria can field a force big enough to crush Tron’s corsairs.  And you remember how Goofy betrayed Tron before he came to help us?  Trav may already be dead.”

“No, Ged,” said Tkriashav.  “They are allies in the struggle.  For good or ill, they go together into the fray.”

“We need a plan,” said Ham.

“It’s my responsibility,” said Ged.  “Ham and I will take the Shadowcat back into known space.  We’ll track Goofy down and take the artifact away from him before he destroys us all.”

“If you go back into the Imperium,” said Tkriashav, his eyes glowing eerily, “Someone in your party is doomed.  I see a better path.  Come with me further beyond the Imperial border and we will find a new place where you are supposed to be.”

“Can Ged go with you and I go after Goofy myself?” asked Ham.

“I don’t see the result of that course,” said Tkriashav shaking his head.  “I do see the Crown of Stars in Ged Aero’s hands as it does its last service for this galaxy.”

“That settles it!” said Ham.  “I have to go back alone.”

“Ham,” said Ged, “I have a bad feeling about this.  We’ve done every mission together before now.  Who will copilot for you?  Who will lead the away teams?”

“Upon me dead bones,” said Sinbadh, “I will go with Hamfast and purrteckt ‘im.  I be owing you both that much.  I am a capable hand and copilot.”

“I go too,” said the Madonna resolutely.  She moved behind the chair in which Ham was sitting and twined her arms protectively around his neck.  “He and I together.  Is good!” she insisted.

“You’ll hire a crackerjack engineer when you get back?” asked Ged. “To replace Goofy?”

“I promise,” said Ham.

“Where will I go?” asked Ged of Tkriashav.

“There is an unknown planet near here where you must go, Ged.  I don’t know its name, but I see you ruling there.”

“I need to go with you, Ged,” said Junior softly.

“You won’t go with your mother?” asked Ged, surprised.

“He is destined to be your disciple, Ged,” said Tkriashav.  “He has to go with us.”

Ged looked at Tara.

“Can I come with you too?” the young girl said plaintively.

“The Hammer operates by telepathy,” said Ged.  “Someone has to stay here and manage the starport, grange, and planet for us.  We consider you an equal share-holder in this project, both you and your father.”  The word goodbye was already sticking in Ged’s throat.  After all, Ham had his girl.  Still, she was only a child.  “I will… I will come back for you when the time is right.”

Tara looked at Ged with tears glittering in the corners of her eyes.

“We can never truly repay you,” said Bam-Bam gratefully.  “You have given us so much!”  He shook Ged’s hand.

“You are a trusted partner,” said Ged.  “And both of you have my word, I am not yet finished with the Salongi family, or the world of Don’t Go Here.  I will be back.”

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Aeroquest… Canto22

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Canto 22 – Flying by Pinwheel

The Conference Room onboard the corsair flagship was spacious.  It was one of the largest in Tron’s fleet.  The most famous corsairs in the Imperial Rim Worlds were gathering there for a meeting.

“I missed you, Uncle Goofy,” said a cherub-faced little boy to Trav Dalgoda.

“I missed you too, Artran.  I wouldn’t have left, but two of my very best friends from Questor needed my help.”

“The Aero Brothers?” asked Artran, eyes opening wide like brown blooms in a sunny field.

“Yes,” Trav nodded.  “And your father got rather mad at me too.”

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“He’s always like that.  He always forgives me, though.”

Trav nodded at the boy.  Artran was no more than seven years old.  He was a very open-faced, trusting little man.  It was difficult to believe his parents were two of the most infamous space pirates in known space.

The sour-faced pirate known as the King of Killers came into the room and sat down opposite Trav.  He was a thin, bitter man with no sense of humor.  Trav liked him anyway.

“How’s the pirate business, King, old Jester?”

“Shut up, Goofy, or I’ll rip your head off and stuff it in your… er…”  He looked at Artran, “mouth.”

“That’s not very nice, Mr. Killer,” muttered Artran softly.

“Oh, I know, boy.  I don’t mean it.  It’s just that this clown and thief has caused us too much trouble.”

“I apologize, King.  I had to help my friends, didn’t I?”

“I respect Ged Aero,” shot back the King.  “If you’da said that he needed the artifact, I’da voted to give it to him.  You don’t just steal stuff from Tron.  Where’s your sense of honor?”

“I’m not sure I ever had one.  If I did, I probably sold it and forgot about it.”

“The Aero Brothers are colonizing a planet?” King asked for conformation.

“No.  It already had a really cool civilization on it when we found it. They are merely taking ownership.”

Just then, Elvis the Cruel walked into the room, his guitar slung over his back.  He walked with a swagger and wore a dirty white muscle shirt.  He was combing his greasy black pompadour with a practically toothless comb.  Beside him walked the gorgeous lady pirate called Sheherazade.  She wore a Princess Leia-style bronze slave bikini, though no one remembered why the heck such clothing was called that.  It had something to do with a former emperor’s favorite comic book or something.  Her skin, and she was showing practically all of it, was a deep ebony color.  She sat down next to Artran and motioned Elvis to sit beside her.

“Thank you, thank you very much,” said Elvis.

“So, Trav,” said the sultry Sheherazade, “How did you get Tron to let you live?”

“Oh, Sheherry-baby, you know I’m Tron’s best buddy.  The old Jester could never kill me.”

The beautiful lady laughed with a charm made more elegant by her tawdry companions.  She seemed a regal Egyptian goddess.  The King of Killers watched her longingly.

Elvis took out a cigarette butt and lit it, letting it hang on the slack part of his lower lip.

Pirates from other corsair fleets began to arrive.  Razor Conn of the Black Hawk fleet showed up wearing a white cowboy hat and sunglasses with his second in command, the mysterious oriental, Shad Blackstone, by his side.  The Degenerate, one-eyed Captain of the Corsair Frigate Palace of Foul Odors showed up in his crusty Lancer Battle Suit.  The dwarf that traveled with him was named Stinky because of his unique ability to produce overpowering flatulence on cue.  Several other Lancer Corsair captains were also there.   Fez Amin of the dreaded Monopoly Brigade was there.  His bald, tattooed head was skull-like and menacing.  Arkin Cloudstalker was there with seven of his beautiful Lady Knights, captains of the White Sword Corsairs.

Tron came in with both his beautiful wife Maggie the Knife and Dana Cole.  They both sat with him at the head of the conference table.

Tron held up a hand for silence and attention.  All eyes fixed on the man with the scar.  He had a commanding presence above and beyond the many forceful personalities gathered on the ship.

“You’ve heard the word circulated already,” began Tron.  “News travels fast among the Corsair Brotherhood of Gentlemen Adventurers.”  Everyone laughed at the high-tone name for the scum of the universe.  “I have come here to declare war.  We have been double-crossed by the smuggler prince and planetary duke of the planet White Palm.  Count Nefaria tried to take us all out by acquiring ancient artifacts of incredible power.  The Pinwheel Corsairs intend to take him on in his own system and take him out.  I am not asking you to help me, though help is welcome.  I am asking you to refuse any call for help he might make.”

“And what happens if we decide we like Count Nefaria more than we like you?” growled Fez Amin.

Elvis stood up and glared across the table at Amin.  “Then we bust you up like a bunch of Louisiana hound dawgs!”

Fez Amin laughed.  “What does that mean?”

Tron stared at the Monopoly Brigade’s tattooed leader.  “Are you taking me on?”

“Naw,” said Fez Amin.  “I’m just asking what if?  Goober there gave me a funny enough answer to satisfy my need to laugh.”

There was a lot of nervous laughter.  Everyone feared Fez Amin.  He was dangerously insane and full of bloodlust.  They feared Tron and his ace pilots as well.  Few openly laughed at the eccentric behavior of a pilot like Elvis the Cruel.  The possible consequences of such disrespect made everyone with a sane brain nervous.

“You tell me now,” said Tron to the group, “Who has a contract with Count Nefaria?”

No one raised a hand.

“Who is against my plan?”

Again, no hands went up.

“We hear you met a group of Corsairs called the Wraiths,” said Razor Conn.  “You know much about them?”

“No,” said Tron.  “But we beat them hard.”

“Let me give you this to help your cause,” said Conn, tossing a computer log core onto the table.  “That is proof that the Wraith Corsairs work for both Nefaria and Syn Corporation.”

Everyone gasped but Tron and Maggie.

“Robots?” asked Tron.

“That’s my guess,” said Conn, smiling beneath his mirrored sunglasses and white cowboy hat.  “It cost me forty fighters and one Black Hawk Frigate to get that bit of evidence.  I’m not gonna help you kill Nefaria, but I mean to bet on you and the Pinwheels to succeed.”

“I thank you for that,” said Tron with a gracious nod.

Arkin Cloudstalker spoke up then.  “We hear you helped Ged Aero escape the Imperium in return for your so-called Crown of Stars ancient artifact.  And we hear Ged now owns a planet.”

“I won’t deny it,” said Tron.

“What part does that Crown play in all of this?” asked Cloudstalker.  “That’s what I’d like to know.”

“You know the Crown has the power of the Ancients,” said Tron.  “If we knew how to use it, we would tell you what we plan, but we need to research it more.”

“So, if we throw in with you, does that mean we are also supporting Ged Aero?”  Cloudstalker’s face was grim as he got to the crucial question.

“I haven’t negotiated with the Aero Brothers yet.  You can see I have their friend Trav Dalgoda as a member of my team already,” said Tron, indicating Goofy who was playing with Artran and oblivious to all around him.  “I think it’s safe to say we respect Ged Aero and intend to throw our support behind him as he opens new systems in unknown space.”

“Well,” said Cloudstalker, “I believe Ged Aero is the one man who can solve our problems with the Imperium.  I believe only true integrity can undo the Gordian Knots of Galtorr.  I’m adding the White Swords to the Pinwheel Corsairs in this attack on Nefaria.  I say one less nasty old spider in the Galtorr Imperium is a good thing!”

Most of the corsairs applauded Cloudstalker.  Fez Amin growled.

“Ged Aero is a Werewolf!” shouted Amin’s tattooed second in command.

“Your foolishness is good for business!” mocked Fez Amin.  He jabbed a large polished knife intao the conference table.  “If you kill or capture Nefaria, Admiral Brona Tang will be hunting you down like the dogs you are.  The Imperial Navy hasn’t paid any attention to you before now.  That will change.  I’ll be the only corsair still operating with a reasonably valid Letter of Marque.  I’ll be laughing at your cold, dead corpses floating in endless space!”

Fez Amin and the Monopoly Brigade stormed out of the conference as if in anger.  Tron frowned.  It was more likely a tactical retreat.  Amin was now part of the enemy.

Trav reached across the table to retrieve the fancy toad-sticker.  “Sorry about the table, Maggie,” he said sweetly to Artran’s fierce mother.  “I’ll just keep this cool knife.”

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What We Can’t Keep Mickey From Doing

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Mickey is hopelessly addicted to writing.  He keeps writing and publishing these story-things we refer to as novels.  We are searching for some kind of five-step program to cure Mickey, but we have been forced to conclude the disease is probably incurable.

The book has now gone live on Amazon in its Kindle e-book form.  The paperback version is still pending.

Here’s a link to the book on Amazon.

In an attempt to understand Mickey’s addiction problem from a diagnostic perspective, we intend to present evidence here to arrive at a conclusion about what’s fundamentally wrong with Mickey.

Superchicken, the main character of the book, bears the same nickname that Mickey himself was called repeatedly and without mercy  when he was in junior high school and high school.  Mickey claims that Edward-Andrew Campbell is not him in fictional form, but we find that generally hard to believe, and we can point to considerable evidence that the character has many of Mickey’s own characteristics.  It is disturbing to note that on the cover picture, the derby-hatted character called Milt Morgan in the book, is a self-portrait of Mickey himself drawn from an old school photo.  Milt Morgan in the book is highly imaginative, obsessed with magic, and a creator of truly insane and somewhat wicked plans.  It is disturbingly reminiscent of Mickey himself.

And then there is the whole nudism connection.  The Cobble Sisters in the book are dedicated nudists and manage to talk the Superchicken into going to a nudist camp with their nudist family, though he didn’t know what they were signing him up for until he gets to the campground and sees all the naked people.

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It is not a coincidence that Mickey had a girlfriend whose sister lived in a nudist apartment complex, and he was himself taken by surprise when she took him to visit there.  Besides, Mickey has even confessed in his goofy blog to visiting a nudist camp himself in recent times.

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So, as you can plainly see, we now have new evidence that Mickey is in need of some kind of intervention to help him get over this sinister malady of the mind.  One thing we can do is suggest you find the book on Amazon and read it for yourself.  Maybe, just maybe, you will be the one who comes up with the solution to Mickey’s endless novel-writing nonsense.  This is a problem that may well turn out to be terminal if something is not done about it soon.

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Cover Design

I am the first to admit, I don’t know diddly-sqwoot about effective cover design.  But now, with self-publishing as the only option left to me, I am learning things about publishing that I only ever scratched the surface of in my few college forays into publication design and layouts.  I had some experience publishing junior high yearbooks, (and losing money on something that most teachers lose money on).  And I have gotten a lot of serious criticism from sources that matter to me, like my daughter, the Princess.

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With the novel I have been working on with Kindle Publishing on Amazon in view, I came up with this.  I like it.  But it will not cut the mustard with the Princess.  (She uses a knife on mustard, but lately has given up on eating mustard all together).  So I had to work the idea out further.

I tried this;

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The design is a little better.  But Rowan has become so ratty and run down that I hesitate to use the background which is not much like the Rowan of 1974 when the novel was set.  So I decided to focus on character instead.

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Still needs work, right?  You can no longer see the post office sign in the background.  Sherry is still a small head growing out of Superchicken’s neck.  And Milt Morgan is a good addition, but the purple paisley shirt looks terrible.  And besides, this will not fit the whole cover of the Kindle paperback.

It will end up looking something like this;

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Or not.  Because I am still learning how to do it right, and I still have many more mistakes to make.  But as I finish editing and formatting, the time will come soon to see the proof in the pudding.  (And you better hope I don’t put uncut mustard in the pudding.  That would taste terrible.)

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Aeroquest… Canto 21

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Canto 21 – Blue Boy

The entire group of adventurers went aboard the Leaping Shadowcat to work out their problems. The Hammer, an ancient device of incredible power, was now actually in their possession. Junior Aero had detected it hidden within the Synthezoid’s body cavity.

Junior Aero“How was this boy able to read the robot’s mind?” Ged asked Tkriashav.

The almond-eyed Psion Master looked at Ged through narrowed eyes. “He has a Psionic power I’ve never encountered before. His mind reads as a telepath, but he can read artificial minds. He can manipulate computers and robots in the same way Tara and I can bend human minds.”

“Will you teach him to use this power?” Ham asked.
“No,” said Tkriashav, closing his eyes. “I believe he is meant to be Ged’s first student. I can’t touch his mind properly. Neither can Tara. He might prove dangerous to us.”

“But…” began Ged, “I don’t know how to teach! …Not Psion power!”

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“You know more than you realize,” said Tkriashav. “You are a master of the inner eye. You do it so well. It is an instinct with you. From what we saw today, the child is nearly there himself. All he really needs from you is moral guidance, positive support, and, well… love.
Ged looked at the blue-skinned boy. He hadn’t really paid much attention to him before. He looked like a blue version of Ham when he was young. He was small and thin. He hardly ever smiled, but he had dimples when he did smile. He was nine years old, but looked more the size of a six-year-old. It was his Nebulonin curse to be forever small and child-like. Ged nodded. He could learn to love this boy.

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“Lend me a hand, Ged,” said Ham as he hoisted the inert body of the Synthezoid onto the game-skinning table. The Madonna had gone to the galley to cook. Tara and Sinbadh had gone to help. That left Bam-Bam, Ged, Tkriashav, and Ham to do the surgery on the Synthezoid.
Ged helped Ham stretch the body out on the table. They pierced the wrists and ankles with skinning hooks. The flesh oozed green juice as if it were blood, but there the similarity to human anatomy ended. There were layers of circuit-weave mesh under the skin and titanium bones at the bottom of it. On the outside, Sorcerer 4 was made like a human. He even had the naughty bits. But under the skin, he was all robot with fiber optic wires and blinking lights everywhere. Ham easily peeled away synthetic flesh to reveal the metal man underneath.
In the hollow of the Synthezoid’s chest cavity, they uncovered the device itself. Ged almost laughed at Junior’s big-eyed facial expression when the boy first saw the Hammer of God. Everyone had been pretty much expecting a Thor’s Hammer type of thing. What they got was an undecorated tube with two right-angled handles on one end. You would never know it was an ancient artifact without the eerie purple glow coming out the open end. It looked like an ordinary plumber’s tool.
“There are no buttons to use the dang thing!” swore Ham, disappointed.
“No,” said Junior in a small voice, “but the thing is telepathic.”
“He’s right,” confirmed Tkriashav. “I can sense that to use the device, you must be a telepath.”
“Oh, great!” moaned Ham.
“It’s workable,” said Ged. “We have to use these things carefully. We will ask Frieda about it, and we have telepaths that might be willing to help us.”
“You do,” confirmed Tkriashav. “I know I haven’t earned your trust yet, but from here on out, our destinies are all intertwined.”
“Even mine?” asked the little blue boy.
“Especially yours,” said Tkriashav.
Ged couldn’t help but be a little spooked by the Psion Master. He didn’t like knowing so many riddles about the future, and he was not comfortable around someone who did.

Tkriashav picked up the Hammer. “It makes things according to mental directions. It uses some kind of organizing power that can rearrange molecules and energy flows. It is light years beyond any technology on Don’t Go Here.”

“What will we use it for?” asked Bam-Bam.
“This planet,” said Ham. “We can bring space-travel technology here with the thingy. We’ll build downports and dry-docks and spacecraft. We can make this world high tech overnight.”
“Don’t be surprised if they insist on staying cave men,” warned Tkriashav.
“Yeah,” said Bam-Bam. “Most of us grew up in Fredsuits and riding dino-back.”

“If we’re going to make this world home, we need to dress it up a little bit,” sighed Ged.

“Yes,” said Tkriashav. “But this world may not turn out to be home in the long run.”

“Why would that be?” asked Ham.

“I see other places on both of your horizons.”

Ged shivered. “Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to know.”

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Aeroquest… Canto 20

Canto 20 – Seize the Hammer

In the caverns of Don’t Go Here, Ged and Ham and company had arrived at the coordinates of the so-called Hammer of God. Instead of some large ancient construct resembling Thor’s Hammer, however, they found a small army awaiting them. They were not an un-schooled, low-tech army of cave people. They were leather-clad laser jerks, complete with plasma laser rifles and allosaurus mounts.
The army was led by a white-skinned conehead in fake tiger fur. He rode the largest of the allosaurs and he had a small electrical star orbiting his cranium.
“So, you are the Aero Brothers!” cried the cone-headed leader. “You are too late to thwart me this time. I have the Hammer already, and I mean to kill you all now!”
“Ged,” said Ham, “You have such ill-mannered friends.”
“I’m sorry. I hang out in too many low places, I guesssss,” answered Ged, already transforming into the familiar raptor body.
A beam of green energy lanced out of Ham’s weapon and sliced the torso of a bald allosaurus rider in two pieces. Sinbadh’s twin laser pistols splashed angry red beams along the flanks of two different allosaurs, spilling intestines. The beast that didn’t fall dead immediately lashed out in pain and took the head off of another laser jerk.
Chaos erupted before the Synthezoid leader could give any orders to his army. Ged and Ham had never fought an army before, but they knew dangerous beasts from years of hunting experience. They could split up and de-fang a large group of xenomorphs with great skill.
Beams of blue-white plasma leaped out of the laser jerk barrels and skewered things in their path mostly in random directions. One beam passed through the craniums of two of the ten allosaurs in one shot. It wasn’t enough to kill the two-ton carnivores, but it put them both down with smoking holes in their heads.
Ged had transformed and used the raptor’s innate leaping and clawing ability to great effect. He was quickly up on the allosaurus backs and slashing away at laser jerks, piercing leather armor with the wicked hooked claws he wore on each foot. Growling in triumph, he twisted the head off another laser jerk.
Tkriashav used his telekinetic powers to shield the group from laser fire. Plasma and heat splattered off his invisible force fields to set the rocks alight. Puddles of magma began to form around the group of adventurers as rock melted under the rain of deflected plasma.
Tara sent streams of mental fire into the brains of untouched laser jerks. Most fell from their mounts into the burning lava puddles, or to be eaten by their own agitated mounts. Riderless allosaurs did not stick around for a further fight. They scattered into the darker recesses of the back part of the cavern.
The artificial man, unhorsed from his allosaurus, lay glaring up at the raptor Ged with a fierce defiance on his white face. “I shall not underestimate you again, Ged Aero,” he said. “There are ways to defeat even your kind. Psions have weaknesses too!”
“Who are you?” demanded Ham, pointing his laser weapon at the face of the Synthezoid. Bam-Bam Salongi, unable to do anything but watch in the battle, had picked up a plasma rifle. He leveled it at the Synthezoid and showed him that Bam-Bam had seen how they operated by observing laser jerks. He fingered the trigger switch menacingly.
“I am called Sorcerer 4. Remember that name. I will be the death of you all.”
Suddenly the Synthezoid began to hum internally. His eyes rolled back, and his orbiting spark went out like a light bulb.
“He’s going to explode!” shouted Tkriashav. His inner eye had warned him.
“I will get it!” shouted the little blue boy. His naked body vaulted over the corpses to lay hands on the Synthezoid’s head. “He’s still downloading to somewhere else!” Junior closed his eyes and directed a bolt of mental energy into the metal mind.
“The boy can’t do anything!” warned Tara. “We can’t read that artificial mind!”
Suddenly the whirring and the humming ceased.
“I stopped him,” said the boy, smiling. “I mentally diffused the bomb. I can see into robot and computer minds.”
Ham stepped forward and picked up his new Nebulon son. He glared down at the defeated Sorcerer, and then grinned at the boy.
“You know,” said the boy, “you are really handsome when you smile.”
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Aeroquest… Canto 19

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Canto 19 – Let’s You and Him Fight

Tron Blastarr was a masterful combat pilot.  The wraith corsairs were too much for several of his less talented pilots, but Tron himself began chewing them up.  He found their weakness.  They merely had to be pounded twice on the same part of the hull to open a major hole in the surface of their state-of-the-art ablative armor.  He had taken out six of them before one could even circle behind him.  That lucky one that sneaked behind was taken out in the next instant by Elvis the Cruel, himself the owner of four victories over wraith corsairs.  The Infamous King of Killing was next with three kills to his record.

“We have to get aboard the space station and get the Crown!” hissed Sorcerer 3 grimly.

Dana Cole took the pilot seat from him on their black clipper and showed her own considerable skill as she spiraled into the nearest space port docking bay.  The landing and attachment was silky in its perfect execution.

“Good girl,” cooed Sorcerer.

“Yeah!  Primo flying, young Jester!” added Trav.

“Let’s get the Crown before your pirate friend atomizes us!” growled Cole.

The three treasure hunters ran into the space station as if it were on fire.  Their footfalls clanked down the tube-arm to the central control station.  There, just where Trav had left it, was the blue box, the Crown of All Stars sitting on top of it.  The three crystals were all lit up, though the central stone was a sickly green color, much paler than the two bright stones on either side.

“Ah!” said Sorcerer, snatching it up, “very good, Trav.  Now I no longer need you two.”

“What!” cried Dana, “How can you betray both of us?”

“My dear, did you really think Count Nefaria needed either one of you?”  Sorcerer 3 pulled out the Skortch ray and pointed it at Dana.  “If you thought you were an indispensable agent, you are as much a fool as Goofy here!”

“Tell Count Nefaria that Goofy is mine to kill,” said Tron from the tube-arm behind Sorcerer 3.  Tron’s Advanced Combat Rifle spat a five-slug burst into the Synthezoid’s back.  Sorcerer’s evil smile turned to a scowl as he slumped to the metal floor.

“Tron, you are a dead man!” threatened Sorcerer.

“Can’t be as dead as you are,” said Maggie from behind Tron.  “We’ve killed you twice!”

“Have you down-loaded yet?” asked Tron.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” sneered Sorcerer 3.

Tron ripped a fully automatic blast through the back of the Synthezoid’s head.  Computer chips, wire, and exotic fluids sprayed everywhere.  The spark orbiting Sorcerer’s head winked out.

“You killed him!” marveled Trav.

“Maybe not,” said Tron.  “He apparently can download his mind to new body somewhere else in space.  I don’t think we have seen the last of old Pasty Face.”

“Are you gonna kill Trav Dalgoda this time?” asked the beautiful red-headed Maggie the Knife.  “You have him right where you want him again!”

Tron smiled.  “As irritating as this clown is, he’s done me a favor.”

“How so?” asked Trav.

“You helped me find out who’s collecting Ancient artifacts.  I didn’t know it was Count Vladimir Nefaria until Sorcerer 3 let it slip to you.  I finally know where to go to intercept the packages that rat-man has stolen from me.”

“You’d better kill Trav before he messes things up again!” insisted Maggie.

“Maybe you had better not,” suggested Dana Cole as she picked up the Crown of Stars.  “I happen to be a former agent of Count Nefaria.  I can open doors for you on the planet, White Palm.  But I won’t if you kill Trav Dalgoda.  I have fallen in love with this goofy man.”

“Well,” said Tron, “I pity you, woman, but I will take you both along as we assault White Palm.  This little venture is not over yet.”

“Tron, old Jester?” began Goofy, “you wouldn’t really hurt an old, dear friend like me, would you?”

“I’ll be the death of you yet, Goofy.  I need you a little longer, though.  Get your gear together.  My boy, Artran, missed you while you were gone.”

“Really?”

“Ooh!  I give up!” moaned Maggie, glaring at Goofy.  “Give me that!”  She viciously tore the Crown of Stars out of Dana Cole’s hands and put it back in the blue box.  She took the box with her as she stormed out of the station.

Trav smiled.  He picked up Sorcerer’s Skortch ray. “She likes me too, underneath,” he said.

“Sure she does,” said Tron sarcastically.

“She better not,” said Dana, narrowing her eyes.

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Aeroquest… Canto 18

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Canto 18 – Spelunking with Dinosaurs

    Ged had gotten the planetary coordinates from Frieda for the so-called Hammer of God.  As they took instrument readings on the surface, they could accurately determine by use of a gravitometer the device was located in one of the deep places in the Bedrock Undercity.   An expedition would be organized to retrieve it before they believed Trav and his Slaghoople connection would be able to mobilize the criminal element.

Ged took both Tara and Tkriashav along to teach him more about Psions.  He couldn’t help but look longingly at the beautiful teenager, Tara Salongi.  The facts of it made him feel terrible.  Bam-Bam Salongi and Sinbadh went along for muscle.  Ham couldn’t help but bring the beautiful Nebulon Princess and her young son.  The two of them seemed to persistently attach themselves to Ham, though Ged noticed the boy looking at him more than once.

The Slate Cliffs had a huge cavern opening in their northernmost face.  It was there that most people gained access to the Bedrock Undercity.  The rocks there were an oily gray and led into a series of caverns that were torch lit and gloomy.

“Do you know anything about these Ancient artifacts?” asked Ged, looking sternly at Tkriashav.

“Yes,” said the almond-eyed master.   “I know what prophecy says.  The Prophecy of Master Xan says that the White Spider shall be reborn and he shall use the sacred tools of God to remake the Great Web Across Darkness.”

“Good God!” said Ham.  “What does that mean?”

“Ged is the White Spider, the Weaver of Golden Destiny.  I have foreseen this myself.  The tools of God are the ancient relics of Grandfather whom some describe as God Himself.  These would be the Crown of Stars, the Hammer of God, the Celestial Dragon, and the Orb of Essence.  Ged will use these, I believe, to remake the very stars into a new and better Empire.”

Ged sighed.  “That’s a lot to ask of a simple hunter.”

“You will do it, I have seen.”

Tara slipped her hand into Ged’s and smiled up at him shyly, more like a teenager now than when Ged first met her.  He felt uncomfortable, thinking of what they’d already done together.  She was still very much a young girl.  Still, he couldn’t make himself let go of her soft and delicate hand.

They entered a wide and much-traveled stone footpath into the middle of the Undercity.  Many cave men and women were already there, going about stone-age business.  A billboard advertised the big Rock-ball game on Monday night, and another mentioned Stone Cold Cola in glowing terms.

“What will you teach me about being a Psion?” Ged asked morosely.

“I can’t teach you much.  You are already a Master of Shape-changing.  You can control cellular regeneration.  That power alone will make you immortal as long as your brain doesn’t die.  Your power as a hunter will also make you formidable.  And Tara telepathically gifted you with most of the instincts you didn’t already have.  If you know enough about a creature, if you can read its DNA, then you can become that creature.  Unlike most who can change shape, you are not limited by your size.  You can change into things both larger and smaller than yourself.”

“How do you know this?” Ged asked, puzzled and irritated.  “Is it by your vision?”

“Oh, no.  I can also read your mind.”

Ged looked violated and perturbed.  He had not even sensed another’s presence in his head.

“Don’t be offended, my son,” said Tkriashav soothingly.  “It is not as intimate a reading as Tara did.  You still have secrets that I will not violate.  I am as strong a telepath as you are a shape-changer.  I can even read the Nebulon boy, and he’s going to be a very powerful telepath with tutoring.”

Ged looked at the naked blue child clinging to Ham’s reluctant hand.  “What can you tell me about the two Nebulons?” he asked.

“The Princess has a very important father.  He will not be pleased with the boy, a child caused by abuse as a prisoner in the Imperium.  His father was a Galtorrian-fusion bully.  The boy as yet has no name.  What he does have is psionic ability, and a strong connection to your future as the White Spider.”

Ham, on hearing this, stroked the boy’s bright yellow hair with a loving, sympathetic touch.  “What’s the Princess’ name?” Ham asked.

“In her language, she will now be called the Madonna.  She is mother to a fatherless boy.  The name is Inouijuc.  She is very much in love with you Ham.  She believes she owes her life to you, Trav, and Ged.”

“Princess Inouijuc,” said Ham, “What shall we name our boy here?”  Ham put a hand on the blue child’s soft shoulder.

“Hamfast Aero Junior,” said the Madonna clearly and without hesitation.

Ham blushed.  Then he smiled.  He didn’t say another word or protest the decision.  Ged also smiled.  He couldn’t help hoping that Ham decided to settle down with this pretty blue princess.

Ahead of the party, a row of raptor riders lined themselves up across the road.  Nine of them.  The riders were armed with stone-flingers and spears.

“What do you want, Goober?” Bam-Bam Salongi asked of the beady-eyed leader.

“We mean to help you and your friends, Bam-Bam,” Goober Slaghoople answered the silver-haired caveman.  “A friend of mine witnessed the death of Rocko Slaghoople.  That other group after the Hammer is evil and foul.  They must not have the thing.”

“We welcome your help,” said Tkriashav.  “As Rocko’s nephew and only living male relative…”

“I am now leader of Don’t Go Here! Yes,” proclaimed Goober Slaghoople.

“We are honored to have your help,” added Ged.  “My brother, Ham, and I are the new owners of the Don’t Go Here Space Port and the Grange Station.  We will be working with you from now on for the planet’s own good.”

“Don’t Go Here has a star port?” asked Goober Slaghoople, flabbergasted.

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Now What Do I Write About?

I finished the Baby Werewolf.

This writing project lasted for more than a year.  It ended up being 88 Cantos and 77,000 words.  I poured my soul into it.  It burned up more writing energy than anything I have ever done before.  Is it a good piece of writing?  Maybe.  Is it the best thing I ever wrote?  No.

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After the exhausting process ended, I have to regenerate.  Like Doctor Who, I need a new life, a new face, a new adventure.  If I don’t have something new to write, I might as well be dead.

So, here’s the plan.

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I will turn this, my first completed hometown novel into a published novel on Amazon.  That requires some serious editing and re-formatting.  I have to tone down some of the risque things in the nudist camp section, including some things I have learned about nudists by becoming one.  I intend to soften the language, because it is at times too salty to serve as soup in a young adult novel.  I don’t intend to challenge people’s blood pressure limits.  And you can’t always opt for realism and have kids talk the way they do in real life, totally uncensored.  I don’t know how long this will take.  But it will happen.

Then I will follow that with another story I’ve been itching to write since the 70’s.

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Sing Sad Songs was originally titled The Little Boy Crooner.  It is about a talented little orphan boy from France who is, by way of a fatal car accident and family relationships separated by too much time and distance, suddenly dropped into the middle of a dysfunctional and totally disillusioned family in Iowa.  He doesn’t know them.  He can’t talk to them.  But, oh! when he puts on the clown paint and sings!  Well, I am not ready to tell the story right here and right now.

Like it was with Recipes for Gingerbread Children and The Baby Werewolf, Sing Sad Songs will have a companion book.  That is the story of a goofy family who harbor a talented child of their own, an autistic young man who can only talk through a ventriloquist puppet, but turns out to be a hidden genius.

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It is a completely complicated and confusing mess of a writing plan.  But what does it matter?  I do it for me.  I write what I want to.  What I need to.  Nobody is reading my novels anyway.  Even beloved daughter has only read one of my published novels, about which she says, “Eh…”  So I am not writing to become a millionaire.  I am not committing acts of great literature.  I am writing simply because I have to.  Who knows, maybe one day in the far future, after Trump turns America into an impoverished irradiated wasteland, and aliens from Zeta Reticuli land to find out what humans have done to themselves, Zenu 231 will find a copy of one of my books in the rubble, read it with a dispassionate eye, and say, “Eh…”  It could happen.

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Werewolf Writing

dscn5093 (640x480)I am now in that period of deflation after having finished a draft of a novel.  My brain is drained and mostly empty.  I am left with leftover piles of stupid words and guileless thoughts that I didn’t use in the book and none of that is good fuel for thinking.

But I can tell you a few things about my novel.

First of all, the werewolf of the title is not really a werewolf.  He is instead a boy afflicted with a genetic hair-growth disorder called hypertrichosis.  It is genetic in nature and runs in families.  It may skip generations.  But it is a hard thing to deal with in terms of self image for the sufferer.  Once the wearers of werewolf hair were treated as circus freaks, to be marveled at, pitied, and sometimes reviled.

 

But this is a horror novel of sorts, not really about the hypertrichosis sufferer, but more about another member of the family who has become abusive in increasingly horrible ways.  And the murders in the book are committed using canines as weapons.

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The wolfishness is not located in the animals, but in the heart of a man.

There is a lot of Saturday night black and white horror movie watching in the 70’s that went into this book.  It also comes to fruition by way of my own experience being sexually assaulted at the age of ten.  The fear and self-loathing that this story has to tell about are metaphorically very real things.  I was not myself a monsterous-looking creature in my youth, but I felt the same feelings of isolation and rejection that one of the main characters, the boy with werewolf hair feels in this book.  Part of why it took me twenty years to write this tale is my own personal struggle to overcome my own fear and self-loathing.

But even though this book comes to its conclusion with silver bullets and death by wolf fang, it is basically a comedy.  Comedy, in the Shakespearean sense, always ends with the hero getting the girl and the monsters defeated.  And it has a few laughs that not even the death-by-teeth parts can overturn.

So, I am glad I am finally finished with this book.  Not edited and published, but finished as an exercise in wringing things out of the terrible nightmares and monstrous memories buried in my cluttered old brain.

 

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