I've been an avid reader since I was 10 and my parents subscribed me to ''Boy's Life''. We lived in a small town without TV for 3 years; my family read as many books as we could! (My wife still occasionally mentions TV shows I've never seen; I think the books I read did me more good!) I'm going to put my opinions of books I've read and especially those I could not finish.
Things to ask for:
1. Socks
2. Long term inhalers (bring the last one in).
3. Short term rescue inhalers (bring a new one in).
4. Ask for those anti-pain pills.
5. Re order meter stripes and needles.
6. Print list of meds and add used ones. Tell her which ones come from Dr. M.
Hi – I'm reading "Order of the Centurion (Galaxy's Edge)" by Jason Anspach, Nick Cole and wanted to share this quote with you.
"Liberty is a thing that simply is. It’s wild, natural, and frightening to stare in the face. It promises no comfort, no promises of safety, no easy answers. But it does provide unfettered opportunity. It’s up to each individual to decide just how much liberty they can stomach."
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/48ttbsX
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Hi – I'm reading "Order of the Centurion (Galaxy's Edge)" by Jason Anspach, Nick Cole and wanted to share this quote with you.
"Copyright © 2018 by Galaxy’s Edge, LLC All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior written permission of the publisher and copyright owner. All rights reserved. Version 1.00 Edited by David Gatewood Published by Galaxy’s Edge Press Cover Art: Fabian Saravia Cover Design: Beaulistic Book Services"
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/hMAtQKQ
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Hi – I'm reading "The Call of Cthulhu" by H. P. Lovecraft and wanted to share this quote with you.
"The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the light into the peace and safety of a new dark age."
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/iXR8Pl3
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Hi – I'm reading "Hell Hath No Fury: A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 8)" by Orlando A. Sanchez and wanted to share this quote with you.
"I landed on a hard floor. A few seconds later, my back was nearly shattered as my Hellhound landed on me. I grunted in pain as he padded off, about as delicately as a dump truck, crushing my spine in the process."
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/5Rias81
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Hi – I'm reading "Hell Hath No Fury: A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 8)" by Orlando A. Sanchez and wanted to share this quote with you.
“Hades is a god, it’s—”
“Of the Underworld,” Corbel shot back. “Not New York City. Do you honestly think he goes around advertising he’s a god?”
I rubbed my chin in thought. “That would be a problem. No one would believe him anyway. Not without lots of special effects—some dark fog, maybe a few skulls, and wailing from souls and such.”
Corbel stared at me with a look of disgust."
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/fp7rqOy
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Hi – I'm reading "Hell Hath No Fury: A Montague & Strong Detective Novel (Montague & Strong Case Files Book 8)" by Orlando A. Sanchez and wanted to share this quote with you.
"He currently wanted to rip me into several small pieces, and then probably set those pieces on fire, while using hydrochloric acid to douse the flames."
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/cwEdfSA
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Hi – I'm reading "Time Ship" by Gary Cottrell and wanted to share this quote with you.
"He would also discover that no matter how much we may expand our knowledge, we can never fully comprehend the universe we inhabit. "
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/8ZG7QEQ
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Hi – I'm reading "Time Ship" by Gary Cottrell and wanted to share this quote with you.
"He would also discover that no matter how much we may expand our knowledge, we can never fully comprehend the universe we inhabit. "
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/aH1QZQU
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Hi – I'm reading "Hellhound Blues: A Brew & Chew Adventure" by Orlando A. Sanchez and wanted to share this quote with you.
"“There is nothing better than a friend, unless it is a friend with meat.” -Peaches"
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/eSI4W0b
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Hi – I'm reading "Genesis Wave: Book One (Star Trek: The Next Generation 1)" by John Vornholt and wanted to share this quote with you.
"curmudgeonly,"
Start reading this book for free: http://a.co/hnzmeho
--------------
Read on the go for free – download Kindle for Android, iOS, PC, Mac and more
http://amzn.to/1r0LubW
Introduction This book is a collection of my short stories from the late 1970s to the early 1990s and my poems, mainly from 1984 to 1986. I wrote a novella in 1990 and plan on adding to it. I wrote novels in 2005, 2006, 2007 and 2008. I still have not finished the 2008 novel. Since I used some of the characters in the 1990 novella in my 2007 novel, I now need to “reimagine” those scenes from the viewpoint of the 1990 novella and put them in said novella. Somehow, I never seem to find the time for either project… Dedication My Short Stories a small, private, gathering A War Story Andy's Boatshop The Artist! Boat Cat Eater Excerpt from a Keynote Speaker Eggeyes (Deathblood, Defender of the Faith) Film at Eleven Hero Herman (A Good Dog?) Lottery Lucky Man Miracle Ship Nightmare! Powder Bust Reunion Rituals Spring Rose Surprise Thief Unlamented War Game Whistle Up Your Home Paul Dean Anderson’s Method of Writing Stories My Poems… List of Illustrations Page(s) List of Illustrations Figure 1. USNS GENRERAL MM PATRICK 2 Figure 2. USS FORRESTAL (CVA-59) 2 Figure 3. USS BLUE RIDGE (LCC-19) 2 Figure 4. YP 674 2 Figure 5. Navy Good Conduct Medal 2 Figure 6. National Defense Service Medal 2 Figure 7. Me at age 5 months 2 Figure 8. Me at age 56 years 2 Copyright©: Figures 1, 2, 3, 5 and 6 were taken by active duty Navy personnel and are therefore in the public domain. The copyright for the remaining pictures and all text belongs to Michael W. Bell. The copyright for figure 7 was inherited and Mrs. Bell took figure 8. a small, private, gathering It was a small, private, gathering that spring in 1955. They had just started drinking and were probably about to refight the old battles from old wars. "I thought I'd find you all here!" The speaker was a medium height man wearing civilian khaki as if they were a uniform. "Find who here?" The man replying was the senior gunny sergeant of their detachment; he was tall, gaunt and would fight a beer gut the rest of his life. His endurance was legendary. "All you DAMNED FAGGOTS! I get you kicked out of this man's Army if it the last thing I do!" "There are no faggots here. You will leave now!" "My name is MISTER Johnson. Don't give ME that shit, soldier GIRL! I can prove you're all faggots and I will!" "We are all veterans and war heroes. Most of us fought in WWII and some..." "Bullshit, you never left the states." "...some of us fought in Korea (he pronounced it as Core ree ah). We are war heroes who deserve your respect!" "You're all sick and deserve to rot in jails and you will for the degrading things you've done!" The man in khakis left abruptly; perhaps he realized that his audience wasn't spineless shoe clerks and college students. The gunny had the sick feeling he always had before going facing battle. He had been drafted into the Corps back in WWII and had fought with Merrill’s Raiders. He had helped "clean up the Japs" from the highlands of the Philippine Islands. He had been an American liaison team member to the British SAS during their Malaysian crisis. He had fought with the Navy UDT in China during the Korean "Police Action". (He had learned that the UDT Frogmen were better warriors than most of the Corp). All the men in the room with him had fought with him in one or more of these conflicts. Now, he faced any enemy that the NCO Academy, combat and joint service had not prepared him for. He faced a zealot using new military regulations against him! "What the hell are we going to do?" That scared man had been a grunt for 18 years. "Yeah! Kill the son of a bitch!" "But can we get away with it?" "Hey! Hey! We can't kill him!" The senior gunny paused. "REMEMBER, we swore to "uphold and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and..." "Gunny! We're facing disgrace, jail time, female hormones to 'cure' us and the loss of our retirements! We just can't sit here and let that civilian asshole get away with this!" The gunny was hard pressed to answer that remark. It had been spoken by a man who had saved the gunny`s life from a sniper when the gunny had screwed up big time; none of the room's occupants cared that he was black. "Look, men, you know I don't like killing unless it is necessary! I think we can solve this be destroying his evidence. That asshole scumbag is staying in the BOQ (bachelor officer quarters), right?" There were a couple of confirming nods. "Anybody know what he's up here for?" The MP boss, an Army top sergeant, had walked in unnoticed by MISTER Johnson. "His name is Steve Johnson and he brought a letter of introduction from the Mountain Home chief of police. Seems he's looking for a 'nest of gamblers' up here." "Top, he plans on busting the lot of us for being 'faggots'. We've got to find some way to stop him!" "I can check out his story, see if he's legitimate, talk with some of the boys downtown." The top cop was straight and didn't care who his friends were "close" friends with. The memories of shared terror and combat in joint operations with some of these men was still quite fresh. "Anybody see where this scumbag went when he left?" The top cop was working the phone for a minute. "He left through the main gate less than five minutes ago, gunny." "Well, let’s go search his BOQ room and remove any evidence. Does anybody have anything to plant on MISTER Johnson?" "How about some marked cards? He is up here looking for 'crooked gamblers' right?" "Too obvious and backs up his story. He can say 'he confiscated those cards'." "We can shake Johnson's BOQ room down and I can leave a couple of partially full bottles of booze there. When the Base commander does his weekly room inspections tomorrow, I'll tell him that Johnson bought full bottles the day before. He was at the Class 7 store today." "Which accomplishes what, top," the gunny inquired? "Establishes that the man is a lush." "Well, he had to come here FROM somewhere. He's getting money from SOMEONE. Let’s find out who! Top, can you work some of your connections?" "I worked on a base larceny case with one of J. Edgar's boys. He just spent a tour working for the man himself and came out here to get some field experience before going back to headquarters. We can do business, he and I." "Good! If there isn't dirt on this dirt bag, maybe we can provide him with some!" "Now! The most important thing! How long has MISTER Johnson been on base?" A phone call to the billeting office gave an answer of three days. "Three days and nobody took any notice of him?" This was hard to believe since the base was near the top of a small mountain near Mountain Home Idaho. The nearest town was twenty miles away and the base was reached only by cattle trails and one terrifying two lane country road. The base itself was small and there only for training elite infantry units and to provide radar coverage of the valleys below. It was a sleeper of a base. "What have you guys been doing lately? Drink a lot at the club? Get a little too chummy drinking or walking home?" After some questioning, the top cop and the gunny had established a depressing picture. There were no short service men at the base. All of the personnel were either close friends and wouldn't talk; so a part of the military culture and apart from the civilian world that they wouldn't talk; so naive that they didn't notice anything and couldn't talk. But, to a hunter, the signs of the prey were all too damnably evident. What made matters worse was of the twenty-five men labeled "faggots", only six were gay or bisexual; the rest were friends who would be smeared and see their lives and their families destroyed. "We've all had anti guerrilla training and some of us have lived 'underground' in the civilian world. This base seems safe, but it really isn't. We've ALL got to start being careful!" "Too damn late for that, ain't it Larry?" This marine was a Staff Sergeant who would have never dared calling the gunny by first name when on duty. "Not at all, Marine, not at all. We WILL come out of this unhurt!" Privately, the gunny wasn't at all sure of that! When the gunny went back to his room at the Senior NCO BEQ (Bachelor Enlisted Quarters), he poured himself a drink and let the feelings of being trapped wash over him. He looked at a small bag in one of his lockers and thought that maybe this was one of the "bag times" the shrink had talked about. He took another sip of his vodka and water and pulled the bag out of the locker. After the Korean War, the gunny had experienced stress off and on and gone to a civilian doctor for help (it would have been the kiss of death to visit a Navy doctor). The doc had diagnosed him as having battle fatigue and had given him some "common" drugs and some "experimental" drugs. Then, the doc had listened and had truly honored patient/doctor confidentiality; he didn't report the gunny's "battle fatigue" (which would be called "post traumatic shock" years later) or his sexual preferences to the Naval department. The bag contained a collection of pills, bottles, sugar cubes and a book on meditation. The gunny almost took one of the "calming drugs" but had this fear of mixing booze and something from a bottle. He put the bag back in his locker and brooded on his drink and another one as well. The following morning, a couple of "his boys" visited the gunny at his office. They brought a set of handwritten notes about who was seen with whom, surveillance notes about who was "chummy" with whom (one of the less sophisticated straight men had the proverbial 'wife, mistress and girlfriend' to their surprise) and even some notes on gamblers. They had left a couple of bottles in MISTER Johnson's room (the gunny had contributed a Vodka bottle). At 0900, the gunny left for his morning meeting with the "Old Man"; the base commander. The gunny was the NCO in Charge of a US Marine Corp training unit that trained Air Force personnel in Escape and Evasion. He worked directly for the base commander. The base commander had been an Air Force pilot in the Korean Police Action until he had been shot down twice while providing close air support. The gunny had personally led rescue teams into enemy territory to save the Colonel's ass; the Colonel had not forgotten this. They got through the routine business then the Colonel decided to do something about the gunny's evident bad mood. The Colonel got up from his chair and moved over to an easy chair. Knowing his part of this ritual, the gunny moved over to sit on the couch by the Colonel's chair. "All right, Larry, tell me what's bothering you." "It’s that new man, Johnson, he's been acting strange." "Johnson came here with a letter from the Mountain Home Police Chief saying some nonsense about a 'ring of gamblers' or some such crap." He paused. "It is crap?" The gunny nodded a yes. "Can you evict him from this base?" "You know I can't! The memorandum of understanding (MOU) with the local police states that he can operate here. He does have to coordinate with the MP boss and my XO; beyond that we can't run him out. "Well, it is more than that. We think that he is going to try pinning some evidence on some of my grunts. I don't know why but we think he is out to hurt some of us senior NCOs." The colonel had been leaning down to serve himself coffee and didn't notice the facial tick that lies produced on the gunny. "Well, I love you guys and I am going to continue looking out for you! Count on it!" This was not a sexual statement. "I think he's been seeing things..." "Damn right I have!" Johnson had obviously been listening from just outside the Colonel's office. "...that just aren't real or creditable and he is a menace..." The gunny's voice finally ran down when he realized that MISTER Johnson was in the room. "I've seen some strange things lately and you're going to hear about them!" The colonel looked puzzled. "I've got my eye on you, soldier girl". Johnson left. The colonel looked puzzled. "That is one of the things I was going to mention, sir, Johnson didn't seem to be able to tell men from women last night. He was also seeing things that he mumbled about." "Well, any man who thinks you look like a woman is just too screwed up to be worth listening to. I'll have the police chief check him out." Both men knew that the "police chief" was the MP Top Sergeant. After the gunny left the Colonel's office, MISTER Johnson was waiting for him. "You think you're so damn smart, don't you?" "Why don't you leave?" "You think that CRAP about 'seeing things' will matter? You know, I didn't realize just how high up this thing went. It didn't occur to me that Colonel would be one of you fake men." "The Colonel is one of the finest men I know..." "...he said he LOVED you..." "...and I won't listen to this nonsense." "...you pervert. Have you no shame?" "You would ruin our lives and for what?" "You get you perverts out of the service! To make the military pure again! You're a worst threat than those Godless Russian commies." "Bullshit! We're combat veterans who have protected our country! Did you serve in Korea? Were you old enough for WW two?" "I was too young for the Second World War and why I didn't serve in the Korean Conflict is none of your God Damned Business." "Didn't have the balls to go?" "You think you've stopped me by cleaning out my room? I have more papers in town. See you at the court Martials! Maybe you and your boyfriend will be tried together!" "What boyfriend?" "Why the one that 'loves you'. I thought the officers were supposed to leave you enlisted alone." "Get out of here!" The gunny thought of killing that human cockroach right then and there. He also thought of his dislike of killing; he had killed in combat to protect his comrades and truly regretted hurting others. Why he stayed a Marine was something he refused to let himself think about. He went back to his room and sat on his bed staring at the bag in the locker. He knew that there were things in it which would take the pain away. There were things in there that would change his very emotions in ways he still found confusing. But he couldn't. Several of his friends walked in (he couldn't let himself think of any of them as lovers). "What progress?" The staff sergeant spoke first. "The dirtbag says he has documents in town. Says he'll try to take the colonel down as well." "What good are the documents? Can't we destroy them?" "I'm going to ask the Top Cop to see what he can do. I don't have a lot of hope." "Look, Larry, it the `shit hits the fan', we can say that we were all drafted (they had been) and no one asked us who we liked sleeping with. Besides, we're all decorated war heroes. They'll let us retire and those who are close to retiring will spend the rest of their time at shitty duty stations. We'll survive!" "They're going to go after the colonel." "His wife can save him." "They'll claim she lied." The gunny got on the phone to the Top Cop who said he would ask his city cop buddies about Johnson's city address. Although few knew it, the city cops were in the habit of collecting carbon copies of apartment rental and hotel rental forms. This minor invasion of privacy had quietly worked for them before. "How about putting some bottles, some AA literature and the like around his place?" "Not to worry. I'll see if I can coach some of his neighbors into saying he's a mean drunk. I'll get back to you later." "Look, we have friends. We just have to testify that there ain't anything going on and it’s his word against ours. We'll get out of this no problem oh." "It ain't going to be that easy, boss." One of the sergeants brought in a corporal; a young man who had acted just a little too gay till he had been told to clean up his act. "Johnson got to him." "What the hell!" NOW the gunny was pissed off! "He made he tell what we done. He made me sign papers saying we done some real bad stuff. He wouldn't let me see what it was we done. It just was he made him sign papers. He said he'd tell my folks and that would kill them, and I couldn't go to college and I couldn't live a normal life and I..." The gunny clamped a hand on the young man's mouth to shut off the flow of hysterical verbal diarrhea. "What can you remember?" "It, ah, not much, ah, DAMN, I'm sorry, boss." "Don't worry about it, son, just calm down and talk to Staff Sergeant Washington." The gunny thought about his oath once again: "protect and defend the constitution of the United States against all enemies foreign and domestic. Obey the orders of the officers placed over me". He didn't get the exact wording right, but he had the concepts down cold. He looked at the bag in his locker and thought that maybe this was time for some of the civilian doctor’s "presents". Then, he realized that this was combat, and he was getting the adrenalin rush. He had his men to protect! Some twenty minutes later, the Top Cop called him. "We found the apartment he rented. It’s a 'by the week' place at 103 North 2nd in Mountain Home. We're going to slip in later." "Don't you need a warrant?" The top cop just chuckled at that idea. "Not when the owner is running a still in his basement. He'll let us in real quick." "Do you think you can plant something on this dirtball? Something that'll really discredit him?" "You mean beyond the booze and AA crap?" "Yeah. Something WAY beyond!" "I think I can find something in the police property rooms to help out there. I'll go looking and say I'm looking for a stolen military pistol?" "Tell them that. I want this guy burned hard. He screwed over one of the lad's and got him to sign some crap. I want him burned!" "Well, you get that paper from the creep! I'll do the rest. My buddy from the FBI might be able to clue me in too." The gunny shoed his friends from his room and looked at the little bag in the locker. He moved some of the contents to a pocket of his utility jacket and left as well. He still had his duty to attend to! He was a PROFESSIONAL and BY GOD he was continuing to ACT LIKE ONE! Late that afternoon, the same group was sitting around trying to THINK of something optimistic to say and trying to think of a way out of their nightmare. Someone found relief in the mechanical action of making coffee. MISTER Johnson walked in. "Well, I have you faggots by the balls now. Why don't you just sign confessions like your plaything did?" He passed out forms. "Just fill in your names, sign them and I'll witness them." The men started reading the forms. "Don't read them, just sign them, damn you," MISTER Johnson sputtered. "Child molester...raped boys...hate women and rape them...use drugs...work for the Russian communists...want to overthrow the government...been spying for years...never went to combat and got clerks to fade our records." The men were shocked by the pure bullshit content of the "confessions" they were handed to sign. "I suppose you got the kid to sign these?" The gunny's voice was too calm. "Sure, it was EASY to bully him into signing!" “Enough is enough!" MISTER Johnson was surprised by the resolve in the gunny's voice. "I want every damned copy of this 'confession' collected. I want this scumbag's briefcase emptied out now. I want his car searched. I want his room searched. I want it DONE NOW!" Johnson resisted but the resistance was futile. Soon all copies of the forms, including the one the kid had signed, were burning merrily in the metal garbage can. The ashes would later be sifted and flushed down a toilet "If you think that this has done a damned bit of good then you are bigger FOOLS then you look! I can testify against you. I can get the police to REALLY shake you turds down. Hell, who do you think sent me out here?" "Who did send you out here," the gunny had the same soft, cold, calm to his voice. "Some very important people." "Well, we've gotten ALL your papers so that ends you as a threat. We'll just be very discrete, and you'll go away." "The hell I will!" That's the hell of it, the gunny thought. My squeamishness against his threat. You do have to protect them that protect the constitution from "foreign and domestic enemies". The gunny felt around in his pocket and palmed one of the wrapped sugar cubes his civilian doctor had provided. Then, he wrote a note on a scrap of paper. Johnson was involved in watching some of the gunny`s friends sweat and missed these actions; he would pay for this inattention. "Well, we might as well have some coffee. No, don't get up, I'll do this myself. Take your seats, gentlemen!" "I'm the only gentleman in here," Johnson sneered. He didn't know why that brought a smile to the gunny's face. The gunny took a tray out from the coffee mess's cabinet, placed mugs on it and carefully put the sugar cube in one particular mug. Then, keeping track of which mugs were which, he filled them with coffee and hand delivered them to each man. He was careful that MISTER Johnson got the sugared coffee. The note went to a man who palmed it smoothly. (The gunny would later throw the spoon he stirred Johnson's coffee with and the mug in the base garbage landfill). Johnson took a sip of coffee, pouted and acted ready to put the mug down. That just wouldn't do! "What! Not man enough to drink TEPID coffee with us 'soldier girls'?" Taking their cue from the gunny, the "soldier girls" gulped their hot, hot coffee. MISTER Johnson did so also. The gunny carefully noted the time. "So, tell me why you want to hurt us, Johnson. We've all fought to defend this country!" "If you don't know, I don't know why I should tell you! You tell me!" The standoff continued for about twenty minutes when the gunny nodded at the man holding the note; that man slipped out of the room. The phone rang; the gunny answered it. "Yes, speaking...what?where...yes, I have it memorized...yes, I'll have it checked out! Thanks! Good bye!" "So, Johnson, what do you know about an apartment at 103 North 2nd Street in Mountain Home?" "What!" "We have a mutual friend there, so I think I'll go visit him." MISTER Steve Johnson left the room at a run. They heard his car fire up. The gunny phoned the guard shack. "That man Johnson is leaving. Just wave him through." That was sound advice as Johnson went through the gate in 3rd gear and was soon in 4th gear. The gunny got on the phone to Johnson's apartment where the Top Cop was. "Top, this is the gunny. Johnson will be coming down the mountain very soon. He left rather agitated and might be driving a bit quickly." "I found some fairly damaging material here. My buddy from the police force hung around outside till I'd had time to toss the place." There was a pause and a fake sigh. "It seems like our 'MISTER Johnson' was a hophead. I found a few reefers and my cop friend confirmed helping me find them." "This won't cause you problems?" "Nope! I got the reefers from a section of the police custody room set aside for evidence that will be found on 'deserving persons'." That scared the gunny who decided he would be real nice to the top cop. "Don't worry; I'd only use it on real assholes. People like our 'friend' Johnson." "Ah, that's good to know." "You're never going to be a 'Johnson' to me." "Good! Thanks! Oh, by the way, Johnson left here several minutes ago and was driving rather fast. He might run into trouble." "In that case, I'll take a drive up to the base. It'll take me another half hour to make it to the base of the access road. I'll be at the bottom before him." The gunny hung up, smiled grimly at his people and stretched. "Relax grunts, have some coffee or something stronger. The top cop and I have arranged to 'take care of' Johnson." The men didn't seem too happy but tried to act relaxed. About an hour later, the top cop came charging into their club. "What did you do to him?" The words were an excited shout. "Gave him coffee and told him we were going to shake his pad down." "Well, you got him really upset. He was bouncing off the cliff sides before he went over the edge. The car went over a 300-foot cliff, bounced hard on some rocks and ended upside down in the river. If he survived the fall and didn't drown, there ain't no way he could survive the rapids. The water is MOVING in that area!" The gunny was smiling. "How did you know this would happen?" "I put one of my medicines in his coffee. I don't know just what it's supposed to do so I thought he could try it out. I gave him the full dose." This was a lie but one necessary for everyone's peace of mind! "Here's the paperwork I took from his apartment." The material taken from the late and unlamented MISTER Johnson's apartment would not only have destroyed their careers, put them into jail but would have gotten them into "medical treatment". That was the worst fate. Being forced to take huge amounts of female hormones would have grown them breasts, caused them cancer and ruined their lives! The irony of this is that they would have stayed functionally male and gay ones would still be gay; the bisexual ones still bisexual and the straight ones still straight. The more educated of them knew how the brilliant mathematician and war hero, Dr. Allen Turning, had been rewarded for his service to "Crown and County" with such drug treatments. He had committed suicide. All this material was carefully burnt, the ashes stirred and then flushed down the toilet. The next day, the gunny convinced the base Colonel that the Marine Corps needed to reactivate the Scout Sniper Companies. The Colonel called his general who called an admiral who called the Commandant of the Corps who called a Regimental Commander who called the gunny and the gunny's "boys" were on their way to be Scout Snipers (again). Their Army and Air Force friends went on with their careers elsewhere and were definitely more covert in their activities! The top cop's FBI buddy input some truly damning material into his confidential reports files and that put an end to the late and unlamented MISTER Johnson's creditability. Over the years, these men perfected the Scout Sniper techniques; one of their trainees was a man called "Carlos Hathcock". They racked up a number of decorations during the VietNam war and their survivors retired with full honors. EPILOG There was an interesting aside to this story that the gunny would have liked to know. Some forty years after Johnson's death, an intern was doing research and found a dried up, freezer burned, blood specimen. He tested it and then retested it. The analysis showed high grade LSD; there were less impurities than in street acid. This simply wasn't possible! The death certificate stated that "Johnson, Steve" as a lush and a pot smoker as well. He didn't find any pot but PURE, clinical grade, LSD, was DEFINITELY in the blood of a 40-year dead man. This simply was too hard to believe. The intern had played several practical jokes when he was a med student and wanted to live them down. He "accidentally" threw out the old blood sample (which had dropped out of the filing system years before anyway) and aborted a possible threat against a number of old men and their families. They didn't need to know this anyway... Afterword: This story was written per Paul Dean Anderson's outline for writing a short short story. The story was based on something I read once. In "The Boys Of Boise", a description of a witch hunt against gays in Boise, Idaho, in 1955, was described. It later turned out to be a power play on the part of the Boise City Council members against the Mayor. The "investigator" who was used against these men had worked for the Army rooting out "queers" at Army bases in Idaho (as I recall). The injustice of kicking out long service men who had fought in Korea and probably some who had also fought in WWII sticks with me. What a hell of a way to say "thanks for suffering through a shooting war. We found you and you are dead meat now!" Probably some of these men had been drafted... The “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” bullshit of the early 21st century was simply a continuation of the “anti-gay witch hunts”. Many combat vets were shitcanned on flimsy “evidence”. A War Story The Tug/Cruiser Heinlein has been hauling a megaton weight research station to an orbit around a highly unusual planet when The Colonies had revolted. Heinlein had stripped the station of anything useful and had begun the return home. Unfortunately, they were eight months deep into enemy space. At The end of two months, they had been in three firefights and were trying to evade an enemy task force. LT Georges Pierre Maurice Bingham, PhD, The Intelligence Officer and Acting Science Officer, loomed over his sensor display watching as the computer printed out a list of "EVALUATION OF SENSOR: NEGATIVE". Each report was followed by the sensor's name. Finally, LT Bingham turned to the rest of the bridge. "We've lost all trace of our friends. In think that our sensors are about three times better than those on fleet vessels. They probably lost contact with us five hours ago. Bingham's position was behind The Captain's great chair. In front of the Captain were the Helm, Navigation and Tug Control positions. Life support, the executive officer's position and the Engineering Officer's position were spotted around the bridge behind the Captain's Chair. The Captain's great chair was literally surrounded by displays that reflected the data his officers had before them. "How certain are you, Mr. Bingham?" The Captain never felt embarrassed to repeat questions on old subjects. "Fairly certain, sir. When the Rebellion occurred, the colonies took an assortment of standard Naval craft. Barring flukes, only five ships have our sensor capability. I'm reasonably certain from what little Faster Than Light message traffic we've intercepted from "Home" that the other four vessels are on "our" side. The technology for our sensors isn't secret; only a large vessel can afford the added mass. The Captain reflected that combat vessels wouldn’t burden themselves with unnecessary mass. He also knew that the faster than light communications systems was limited to about five words per minute and was about as private as a public urinal. He also mused on Bingham's reputation for almost neurotic honesty. Bingham should have been a full Professor in Applied Gravity Engineering. Unfortunately, his honesty had alienated too many people. Now Dr. Bingham was his Intelligence/Science Officer. The captain smiled with one corner of his mouth at his good fortune. Bingham was worried by The Captain's expression. The Captain was a scientific explorer and not a warrior. The stress of leading his ship for two months of running battle had caused an unholy amount of anguish for The Captain. Still, he had kept them through three firefights that Heinlein should never have survived... "LADIES! GENTLEMEN! What is our situation?" The Captain's voice was firm. The Executive Officer, Commander Mary Lynn Breece, was first to speak. "We are approaching a solar system that we must go around to remain on course for The Naval Base at Barnard's Star. There is a certain amount of danger involved that Mr. Bingham will brief on. Our fuel situation is becoming critical. We can supply hydrogen for the reactors by using a Barnard ram; our supply of aluminum for the reactors is too low. We have enough fuel to reach Home Space if we don't go above quarter pseudo speed. We'll be "sitting ducks" at that pseudo speed, however. Also, we need to make repairs to the hull where we've been hit, and a number of systems need routine maintenance." The Captain wondered what "sitting ducks" were and why did they sit? He had been born and raised aboard an Outstar Research station and his emotions thought biology consisted of dogs, cats, goats, vegetables and tuna fish. He knew that there were other plants and animals in existence, but, had never gone to planets to observe them. The Captain was a creature of deep space: born and raised to it. He also knew which systems needed work but still wanted to hear the report from his XO. CDR Breece transmitted a copy of the work orders to the main viewing screen as well as the Captain's viewer. As they were talking, a farmer/cook from Life Support brought in lunch. The smell of bad coffee, sweat, fear and the smell of overloaded electrical odors almost gagged him. He fled to the carefully cleaned air of his hydro farms. In contrast, CDR Breece made a mental note to congratulate Environmental Control for their repairs on the air cleaners. The bridge hadn't smelled too badly all day... "What are the problems, Dr. Bingham?" The Captain wasn't sure why he always used "Doctor". "The system ahead of us contains sensors good enough to pick us up if we try to circle it. That much I know from pre war briefing literature on this system; I have no confirmation of that. In would assume that the detection equipment is manned and has been improved upon. Again, that is an operational assumption. “We must obtain a supply of aluminum at once, sir!" "Why is that?" The Captain didn't follow the change of subject. His brain felt full of feathers. "For reasons best left unsaid, we cannot transverse this system in hyperspace. Our hyper drive uses aluminum and would use close to thirty times the normal consumption to transverse this system." The Captain had once asked Dr. Bingham why the drive used aluminum. Bingham had lost him in the second equation, which had defined an operation in Spinor notation. The math had gone into a confusion of symbols that had left The Captain thinking Bingham was trying to pull a practical joke at his expense. However, the punch line had never come; Bingham had been very sincere, the Captain realized. "Thank you, Doctor. LT O'Brien, describe the system ahead, please." LT John Michael O’Brien was The Navigator. "The primary is a barely stable class G variable. It has two planets and an enormous asteroid belt. One planet is the size of Mars and is one hundred million miles out from the primary; it is the only occupied planet. The other planet is a Jovian that is about ten time further out than the first planet. I've used LT Bingham's sensors to study some of the crap, err, comets around this primary. I've picked up indications of considerable amounts of aluminum!" The Captain knew that O'Brien meant the star ahead when he referred to the "primary". "CAPTAIN!" LT Bingham abruptly broke into LT O’Brien’s' statements. "My watch chief just reported something interesting!" The entire bridge became quiet as they watched Bingham talk to his Chief Petty Officer (CPO) via message typed on his computer terminal. Even The hull repair technicians who had been welding damaged plumbing became fully quiet for the first time. "We are now in close enough for our gravity wave detectors to pick up a large number of small objects around the inner planet. My CPO is trying to get a Doppler on their gravity waves. We are also beginning to pick up "spillage" from tight beam ship to ship and ship to planet communications systems." Bingham concentrated on what his screen was displaying. "No doubt about it!" Again, the maddening pause. "There are low mass, high acceleration objects moving about the inner planet. A first approximation analysis of their communications reflects a naval structure; we haven't broken their codes yet. Also, their ship's mass and acceleration profiles are similar to light scout craft." "Are you stating that the inner planet is a scout base?" "No, sir, Captain. This profile could be scout craft or Piper "Voodoos". However, there are not very many "Voodoos" in existence since they're the rich person's toy. In must respectfully reserve judgment on this matter." The Captain showed his emotions as he first thought he faced combat craft and then thought he faced civilian toys. Bingham felt vaguely guilty at having played with his Captain's emotions. "Your recommendation, Doctor?" "Refuel from the aluminum deposits LT O'Brien has found. Then, when in have better tactical data, in will be better able to advise you concerning a safe route through or around this system, sir." "Commander?" “In agree, Captain. Our people need a chance to stand down. In strongly recommend that all personnel not needed for the repairs and refueling operation should be granted maximum shipboard liberty." Commander Breece knew that her department heads and division officers would be hard pressed to grant this liberty but would do their utmost. She also knew that this shipboard liberty would take the form of much needed extra sleep and visits to The Ship's Pub and its access to the alcohol from the "farm's" yeast vats. Breece really meant that The Captain should enjoy some of the "brew" for at least one night. The Captain's condition was starkly obvious to his officer. The Department heads has already expressed their concern to their XO in private... "Very well. Mr. O’Brien set a minimum time course to the nearest aluminum deposit. Mr. Bingham find out all you can about those spacecraft and especially about those message. XO, The division officer route their "liberty plans" through our department heads. Have it to me in about three hours. In want to see any modified duty schedules before the crew does. The Captain had read about the chaos in The United States Navy in the early nineteen seventies when Admiral Zumwalt's Z Grams were spread to the fleet before the fleet commander had gotten their copies. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Bingham was sitting in his "intelligence shop" studying the results his CPO had come up with. Bingham and Cryptographic Technician Chief (PhD) Neville had worked together ever since Bingham had graduated from Intelligence School seven years before. Chief Neville was well known in The Intelligence Community for his genius in crypto analysis; his PhD was in Mathematics (ring theory). "Are you sure about these messages, Chief?" "Absolutely, sir. They are using some modifications of codes 2 and 3 for about half of their message traffic. The rest is unencrypted. Their messages are a mixture of letters home, tactical enhances, administrative messages dealing with supplies and chatter. In haven't been able to correlate emitter with specific hulls. Bingham knew that when they were finally able to correlate emitters (or transmitter) to specific and known ships (or hulls) they would know how important a ship was from the type of message traffic it sent and received. This type of traffic analysis was one of the most important functions that Bingham's people did. For several hours, he studied the immense volume of messages that they had intercepted. The deciphered messages were the most interesting of the lot. "Chief, if I didn't have these decrypted messages, I'd say those people were just a bunch of tourists. However, tourists don't have Naval codes and don't "play Navy" They way these folks are." "They could be reservists or a local militia. In have no evidence to back any hunches. They're too sloppy to be regulars and too well equipped to be tourists." "Maybe The rebel Navy is a bit lax in their discipline?" Chief Neville was about to comment on The Heinlein's crew's discipline when one of The Petty Officers walked with a pile of printouts and handed them to Chief Neville. "In think I've correlated the major transmitters with specific hulls, Chief. The major command seems to be aboard a large, rather slow-moving vessel. I've drawn a tentative Electronic Order of Battle for them also." Bingham nodded and looked at the printouts with Chief Neville. "That’s damn fine work Petty Officer Allen." Bingham believed in letting his people know immediately when he was angry or pleased. "In want to know everything about what the main does. I'll be in the 'club' if anything comes up." During The "evening" hours, the ship's mess was informally partitioned into an Officer's Club, a Chief's club and an Enlisted Club. This meant that initially tables were set aside buy rank. Then, inevitably, the clubs "merged" as card games, bull sessions and bottles moved around. The ship was almost in stand down with only the intelligence crew at normal manning and a skeleton crew on watch in other spaces. They could afford to be this relaxed since their enemy apparently did not believe they could be around. They were like fox hiding under the henhouse; relaxed but alert. Bingham sat down with The Captain. The Captain was drinking Navy Grogs which seemed appropriate somehow. "Anything that can't wait, Georges?" "No, sir. There is a vessel we believe to be their command vessel, but we lack evidence. My people are watching it closely. Everything else can wait until the brief tomorrow." Bingham took a sip of The Navy Grog that one of the sailors at the table had passed over to him. It had too much grapefruit, but Bingham wasn't complaining. He could feel the effects of The Rum or thought he could from the first sip. The sailor who had given him The Navy Grog was a fine young lady from engineering. By Naval custom, he was now free to mention a date. She arranged one with Bingham later that night... "How did you get into Intelligence, Georges? Your personnel record doesn't say why?" "In made a discovery that only about five other people could understand. Then, I thought I'd found an error, but no one believed me. So, they used my results to make some SWAGs Scientific Wild Ass Guesses. In thought that a certain class of supposedly stable star could go unstable. The SWAGs were about the conditions under which these stars will go supernova. They decided one such star was safe and put a colony on a planet around it. I'm told that about three hundred people died as a result...I've been a lot of careful about putting out opinions since then. Bingham took another sip, but The Captain did not rescue him from the conversational pit he'd dug for himself. "In was essentially blacklisted by my colleagues and some political assholes. In went into Navy Intelligence since Intelligence and my field use the same instruments. I study stellar atmospheres on my 'free' time. About two years after the deaths, I was proven correct. My colleagues tried to get me to return to Academia. In was still too bitter; I've been an officer for seven years now." SECOND TRY AT ABOVE PARA "In made a discovery that only about five people could understand. Then, I found an error, but no one would believe me. Some of my colleagues made some SWAGs Scientific Wild Ass Guesses based on my work. In tried to convince them that they were wrong; they were convinced when about three hundred people died. A lot of people at the time thought I had approved these SWAGs. "What about you, Captain? You've been on board for six months and all in know is that you were in The Survey Service for eighteen years before taking command. I've heard you called the 'Bligh of Space'." Bingham meant that his Captain was not only as superb as Navigator and explorer as the late, lamented, Captain Bligh, RN, but, was as progressive an administrator as Captain Bligh was for his time. "I've heard that also. In was on three deep space mission that each lasted about three, three and a half years. You told me last week that two of the planets I've helped find are now major enemy bases." The Captain shrugged. Bingham knew that The Captain; was feeling The Navy Grogs; The Captain normally wouldn't refer to intelligence derived from enemy communications. At least he wouldn't make such references in public. "I've never served on combat vessels before, you know. We were just lucky to have survived so far. A lot of our luck is in having Mary Lynn as the XO." Bingham knew different; The Captain had a flair for dirty fighting that had saved his sh9ip in their three firefights. Most of the fighting had been in knowing when to accept his XO's recommendations and knowing when to take Control. The Captain could do no wrong in the eyes of the ship's company. The Captain appeared to be bothered by this; privately, this knowledge pleased The Captain very much. The Captain talked for a while then tried to leave. Bingham signed to the bar steward to bring another pitcher of Navy Grog's to their table and filled the captain's drink. The Captain's cheekbones stuck out like doorknobs; The Captain was carrying the weight of his duties very poorly. One of the crewmen in the group at The Captain's table asked The Captain a few questions and the bull session was back on again. The next morning The Captain was late for the morning briefing. The hospital corpsman who had designated himself the "Captain's Orderly" had obeyed Bingham's orders and hadn't awakened the exhausted man. The XO hadn't after Bingham informed her of this action. Bingham needed the extra time while he tried to digest a surprise that his staff had served up as Bingham had been gagging down dry, reconstituted pseudo eggs. The dog had turned into a fox and now looked like a Dire wolf and Bingham wasn't the kind of man to cry wolf. The surprise was a freshly decoded message from the large, slow vessel. It was signed by an Enhzino Ryan, Admiral of The Liberation Forces. Bingham knew that former Intelligence Captain Enhzino Ryan had defected to the enemy forces; intercepts of their communications had stated this just as they had never given a coherent reason for the rebellion. Bingham went to his stateroom after breakfast to review what he had written in his files about Ryan. Ryan and Bingham had been in Intelligence Officer's school together after Ryan had switched from ship driver to Intelligence. In The years after the school, Ryan had earned the title of "Our New Lawrence." Ryan had tried hiding his love of this title without success; he loved being thought of as the "Great Intelligence Ace". Over The succeeding years, Ryan had taken the best ideas of Lawrence, Moa and Colonel Mosley and had added a few of his own. Bingham carefully prepared a brief for the Captain and then visited the XO. They in turn drug in the Navigator for consultations. The Navigator, who was acting Operations Boss, would be vital to the Heinlein's future survival. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The XO, who had changed the Department Head meeting to an all officer meeting, brought the meeting to order. "Captain," Bingham began, "we've received a very disturbing message. Unfortunately, we could only decode enough to find out that Enhzino Ryan is assuming command of the rebel forces. Are you familiar with Ryan, sir?" The Captain shook his head "no" as did the Engineering and Life Support department heads. "Captain Enhzino Ryan was considered a true young Turk in the Intelligence community. Ryan switched from ship driver to Intelligence shortly after being selected for LT Commander; he had been a deep selectee. Ryan graduated from Intelligence School with me seven years ago. He rose to the rank of Naval Captain through sheer brilliance and by being right on some wild hunches. Rumor has it that Ryan went skeleton hunting; that probably was not true, however." "My department still hasn't been able to find out why the rebellion started. There were rumors that involuntary colonists to 'the Sweat Box' were being butchered as soon as the transports had left them on 'the Sweat Box'. Then, when the Central Governments Corporation (Bingham thought that the over government's name was asinine) took appropriate action, the Colonies 'rallied round'. The situation then escalated into the present war. Personally, I think this story is just wartime lies for the benefit of our civilians. The news source was the homeland press and was being jammed at the time we heard the news. "Ryan is known to have been the genius who planned the abuse at 40 O2 Eridanus. As you know, ladies and gentlemen, a task force was destroyed by small, fast, attack craft. They gave every appearance of being harmless and were thought to be 'Q ships'. Q ships were merchant ships that carried heavy weapons during Earth's First World War. They lured subsurface ships into surface attacks and then destroyed them." Bingham the professor came out at every opportunity. Most of the officers had been born on Earth and learned the history of the Twentieth Century as something that had happened four centuries before. None of the officers present had been born on Earth and had heard of the twentieth century through their history classes. "Every indication we have is that the inner planet has squadrons of these 'Q ship'. We can't handle them in combat and we would have to pass within their range in order to cross this system. The inner planet has communications facilities capable of reaching the enemy battle groups we've evaded. We have evolved several plans, Captain." "Continue, LT Bingham." The Captain was looking more rested than he had for weeks. "We can circle this system. The inner planet's sensors will pick us up and summon help. They might even sortie ships to go after us. It was only a fluke and a chance stellar storm (the navigator nodded acknowledgement of this as he had given the information to Bingham) that enabled us to avoid detection on our arrival to this system. "Next, we can try a transit of this solar system in powered down mode. We would probably be detected, however. Also, such a move would take too long, and our life support system might not last that long." "Another alternative is to make a powered, high speed, transit to cross this system. The inner planet would sense us and would vector both their ships and any battle groups within communications range after us." "Our final choice is to hide behind a large chunk of ice. There are several chunks of ice that LT O’Brien has been studying. One ice chunk we've been looking at would not block their sensors but give us water, oxygen and aluminum. The problem with this is that their sensors would pick us up when we lit off the main drives after leaving this solar system. True, we would be going faster than light, but, the inner planet could signal picket ships between Heinlein and the frontier. Mr. Toomey?" Ensign Toomey, the Life Support Officer, had signaled for attention. "Sir. We can provide life support during such a transit. My supply tanks are too low for comfort (the wardroom knew the supplies were adequate, but they also knew Toomey could never have enough supplies) and I can resupply from the materials the 'miners' obtain from ice balls." "Repairs and maintenance are almost." The XO smiled grimly at Bingham. "There was one other plan you 'forgot' to mention, Lt Bingham." "Yes, Sir..." Bingham face was so upset that the Captain knew something horrible was being contemplated. "What is it, Lt Bingham?" The Captain's voice was soft but as unbending as the ship's keel. A cup of coffee that didn't taste too boiled was passed over to Bingham. Bingham sipped the brew and sought strength from his reflection within the cup. "The final alternative is to couple Heinlein to an ice ball. We would then make a transit of this solar system. At the appropriate moment, the ice ball would be cast off. Then, the tug section would be uncoupled and sent into this system's sun. The drive units from three of our lifeboats could keep the tug section on course. The various gravity generators within the tug section could be tuned to trigger a flare upon this sun's surface." The wardroom was in stunned silence except for the executive officer who taken a bottle from the liquor locker and was spiking the coffee cups. The boozed-up coffee had an almost gagging taste that the officers seemed to welcome. War they could stomach but this was a different matter. "The resulting flare would release heat, light and high energy particles. The heat and light would trigger massive hurricanes and the heavy particles would sterilize whatever was left." Bingham paused, and then continued in his professor's voice. "If this planet is a military base and I'm still not convinced of that, we would be destroying a serious enemy threat. If the planet is a civilian one, we would have burnt a harmless planet. Now you know why I'm reluctant to discuss this plan." "Most of your evidence shows this to be a military base, Lt Bingham. Commander Breece, you will go ahead with securing us to an ice ball; brief me on which one you pick before we approach it. We will tentatively use the ice ball as a shield during our transit of this solar system. I don't plan on attacking the planet, Lt Bingham. I want detailed plans for initiating such an attack given to me prior to our departure. Navigation, Engineering coordinate these plans with...SIT DOWN, DR. BINGHAM" Bingham had been swaying and distill looked faint after he sat down. He said that "nothing was wrong" and his Captain took him at face value. But, when Bingham went to his shop, he had a lot to discuss with Chief Neville. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Bingham was studying a split screen one side was an encrypted message; the other was the tentative decrypted version. Down the center of the display was the code being used. Bingham studied a hodogram of the codes being used. He and Chief Neville were studying the messages with their "chatter" (or unencrypted message traffic) expert, Chief Sheetz. Chief Neville was about to win a bet." The definition of hodogram is, roughly speaking, a frequency distribution of unencrypted and encrypted letters. "Chief Neville, let me clarify what I know about ciphers," Bingham began. "Our fleet codes are based on thirty-five different two hundred digit random numbers being used in 'trap door' algorithms. The encoding is by using a pseudo random selection of these numbers. Chief Neville, just how the hell have you been breaking these codes?" That was what the bet was all about. The Chiefs were sure Bingham would think of the difficulties and miss the obvious. "Only some of the enemy vessels have the computers to decode fleet ciphers. The ciphers are written into the hardware and can't be easily duplicated. Also, since we didn't have an enemy previously, the codes were really written more for privacy than true secrecy. I just monitored the crypto gear as it was performing encryption and then broke down some spare crypto gear. I figured out the easiest ways to change the hardware and programmed the computer to try these solutions. Sure enough, the enemy was using them..." Bingham knew that what Chief Neville had done was quite illegal; he would later sign some paperwork stating that the broken-down crypto gear had been "lost in combat." "They retransmit the messages from the main ship to several subordinate commands. I assumed that these messages were being sent in both codes; the second code was quite trivial. From that, I was able to reconstruct the sequence of codes that the main communications channels are using. Then, I told the computer which codes to look for when instructed to decode the main channel. They are quite amateurish. "That is totally unlike Ryan. I assume that they're using tight beam transmission equipment?" "Yes, sir. My analysis reflects no indications that our enemy is aware of our presence. Their communications are on tight beam and it is only by using our special equipment that we were able to intercept them at all." Bingham already knew this. The Heinlein carried equipment that would have made an astronomer give his right gonad to possess; no other ship had anything similar. Worrying about a nonexistent ship with ridiculously sensitive receivers was something Ryan didn't have time for. "I need a review of all information on the main planet and their fleet." Bingham had learned long before not to jostle Neville’s elbow by going into the scratch pad section of the computer. Neville displayed his results and that of the division. Chief Sheetz sat around for a minute and then took off for lunch. Bingham ran some analysis of his own and then summarized his conclusions for Chief Neville. "What we have is this: the planet shows no industrial activity yet has a high-power fusion reactor. They appear to have on large city or base. There is a fleet of scout or civilian ships around the planet. Finally, they have Admiral Enhzino Ryan directing fleet operations." Bingham paused in his summation and continued. "I would assume this to be a civilian planet but for the anomalies. I will have to tell the Captain, Chief Neville. Any comments?" "No, sir, we aren't able to intercept any TV and the Captain hasn't authorized using drone probes. You'll not have an easy time of it at your briefing, sir." "Yeah, I know that, and the damned brief is tomorrow. We'd better get a probe set up, anyway." Bingham called the XO on the ship's phone. "Mary Lynn, I need a high speed probe readied to go ASAP. I need to keep it quiet, however." "You mean without the Captain or the Navigator knowing about it?" The XO's grin on the phone's video display was malicious. "Yes, ma'am." "OK, if you can keep the beast off the Navigation Computer, I can keep the Captain from knowing that the probe has been readied. I can have it for you in two hours, Georges." Bingham and Breece had earlier discussed the need for not worrying the Captain. Bingham still remembered his awful, unfounded, suspicion that had put him in shock at the staff meeting. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The brief began at ten hundred hours the next day. The XO began: "Good morning, Captain, ladies and gentlemen. We will mate up with an ice ball later today. Preliminary analysis from sensors and from a direct landing three hours ago indicated that "our" ice ball will provide us with aluminum, iron, carbon dioxide and ice. Repairs are coming along very nicely; we are fully operational now. There are still some small repairs to be finished. That’s all I have for you now, Captain." The Captain nodded. LT Bingham was the next speaker. "We are still analyzing the intercepted communications and haven't found anything conclusive. This planet is still an enigma. It seems to be a civilian planet yet it has an outstanding communications and sensors facility, a good fleet and is commanded by one of the finest Admirals of our age. We will be putting in much work on these problems, sir." Bingham nodded to the next briefer who was the engineering officer. After the chief engineer spoke, the life support officer, supply officer, weapons officers, tug operations officer and command master chief spoke. Finally, the XO finished the meeting. Bingham had still not voiced his fears. Later that "day" while using their tug generators, Heinlein, nosed up to a megaton mass ice chunk like a barnacle clamping onto a ship's side. That would be a good description of Heinlein; the ship was like a large wood screw. The cruiser section was the shank; the tug was the head of the screw. Engineering was able to accumulate enough aluminum for the ship's drives; they had stores of it blocking passageways in fact. The ice ball also blocked most of Bingham’s receivers. He was forced to review old data that merely confirmed that the planet was hostile. After the review was done, Bingham used his instruments to study the gas giant which was in range. The results would later form an interesting paper of no value to his Navy. One result of mating with the ice ball was that the Captain relaxed the water discipline that the ship had been under. Very few crewmen were needed to gather the raw material their "miners" used or to work on the towing arrangement once the ship ice ball mating had been achieved. These underemployed crewmen were put to work wiping down bulkheads and in general, doing cleanup. Taking showers daily and shaving even became a fad. The changes were so drastic that the putrid coffee begins to smell bad. Actually, the coffee had improved but no one had noticed the coffee's stench through the odor of too many unwashed bodies. Everyone knew water rationing would return all too shortly; the ship's reclamation equipment simply couldn't be overhauled sufficiently. The ship's farmer even had time to grow fresh vegetables. There was something about the flavor that being grown in zero gravity had induced. However, when thinking back to the frozen vegetables that they'd had during the water rationing of their cruise, no one was of a mood to complain. The Heinlein had been in orbit of the gas giant three weeks when the Captain got the ship underway. Heinlein would carry the ice ball 29.7 Astronomical Units (AU) or 29.7 times the distance from Earth to the Sun before releasing it. Then Heinlein would curve past this sun and presumably be covered by this sun's body. When this sun was between them and the inner planet, Heinlein would accelerate at maximum. Hopefully, Heinlein would be far enough out to safely activate its hyperspace drive so that they could escape without detection. Shortly after getting underway, Bingham had Breece launch a second high speed probe. The probe relayed intercepted messages back to the Heinlein during its flight toward the inner planet. Unfortunately, the amount of equipment that could be crammed into a probed is quite small; the probe could only relay back the main enemy communications channel. The original probe had by now made its way among the enemy ship; there was a sudden flash of light from its direction and the original probe stopped transmitting. Brigham thought that it might have been destroyed by an automatic anti meteor device. When the second probe "died", Bingham began to get much more concerned; the second probe had "died" far from other ships and their anti meteor devices. The XO wrote off both probes as lost in battle; the main tool of the XO was his mastery of the ship's computers. Commander Mary Lynn Breece was a highly proficient XO... Bingham knew how impervious the probes were to detection and his fears stabilized. Bingham had nothing new to report based upon the ship's intelligence intercept capability which was hampered by the ice ball's mass. The Captain was noncommittal when Bingham reported this. Still, tension and the signs of fear returned to the Heinlein's bridge. Three days into their transit to the "sun", Bingham showed some messages to the Captain. "All these messages are from Ryan to his ships via his broadcast. It’s about the only intercepted message traffic we have been able to obtain." "The first message is obvious:" “FLEET COMMUNICATIONS REPORTES PRESENCE OF ENEMY CRAFT. BELIEVE IT HAS BEEN OR COULD BE IN VICIINITY THIS COMMAND. ALL UNITS GO TO FIFTY PERCENT ALERT." "The second was personal." "...MARTHA, WE'LL BE OUT FOR...SOUNDS LIKE HEAVY ACTION..." "If we could have gotten more of that personal message, we probably could have gotten some nice information. Regrettably, people still babble secret material after all these years...The final message is very interesting." FM COMMANDER, 19TH FLEET TO ALL MILITARY ACTIVITIES C O N F I D E N T I A L //N05887// 1. DUE TO COMMUNICATIONS SECURITY VIOLATIONS, ALL UNITS WILL CHANGE THEIR CRYTPO GEAR TO EMERGENCY SETTING 1E. THE FLEET BROADCAST WILL BE ENCODED IN CODE 194 VICE CODE 193. 2. ALL SHIPS WILL CURTAIN PERSONAL MESSAGES UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. "Captain, we are now fairly blind until Chief Neville can recover enough of the codes, they've switched to for us to decrypt their messages. The lack of personal messages will definitely hurt us." The entire bridge team was depressed by this. They knew that it would take Chief Neville an unknown amount of time to decrypt a useable amount of the enemy codes or as Bingham put it "recover enough of their codes." The Captain had taken to spending most of his time on the bridge waiting endless hours for something to go wrong and his face was sallow with fatigue and worry. Shortly afterwards, the Captain left the bridge for a mild workout. Some people use food or alcohol for their personal "drug"; the Captain used exercise. When that didn't work, the Captain went to coffee and to his dark mistress: worry. The Captain was getting insomnia from not knowing what he was taking his ship into more than from just the coffee. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * It was a week before Chief Neville recovered enough of the key to the enemy cypher for Bingham to have any useable intelligence. The ice ball was arranged so that Heinlein was screened yet part of the antenna structure was extended into line of sight of the enemy planet. Shortly after getting underway, their enemy took notice of the ice ball’s new orbital motion. The little amount of intercept regarding the ice ball was concerned with whether it would strike the "sun"; there was also discussion of needing a survey of the outer reaches of the "solar system" for other surprises. Someone on the planet bemoaned the fact that no one would give him access to observational equipment; the fleet exercises were typing up all the instruments. Heinlein was like a moose trying to sneak by the wolves... At about the second week of the transit, Bingham visited the Medical Department for a blood pressure check. He scored 142/92. When the medic advised Bingham that this wasn't critical, he let slip that the Captain's blood pressure had read 160/100 two days before. The Doctor had put the Captain on medication and a no salt diet. The Captain had been losing weight which helped some; he simply had been under too much stress for too long. They were still a week away from going behind the "sun" and Bingham began to worry. The executive officer paid Bingham a private visit later that day to inform him that two more probes had been configured for high speed flybys. Bingham was amused for he had been dialing Breese’s ship's phone number when Breece had walked in. "Did you know the Captain's ulcer has flared up again?" With this greeting, his XO had imparted interesting, previously unknown, information to Bingham. "His blood pressure is 160/110 and is giving the doc shit fits." "I figured it would be something like that, Bingham. I have two probes ready for immediate flight. We'll be out of radio communications with them; all likely flight paths involve traversing the same volume of space once we go behind this star." "Does that include the 'attack' scenario?" "Yes, it does. Attack, flyby and "return to look over the planet" all include a transit of the same small volume of space. That is virtually a singularity in the orbits. I just hope we don't attack... the Captain will probably insist on a reconnaissance flyby then!" "Then launch the probes as insurance. I'll program them." The XO nodded agreement and the meeting was over It took them four hours to program the probes. They were launched at the end of the third week of their transit. Bingham knew that the fourth and final week of their transit to behind this star would seem to last forever. Be sure and get the times of transit right and the details of when they can monitor correct! The flow of when/why they can copy over the air and so forth MUST be explicit. ALSO, the flow of decrypted data must be clear. The middle of the third week dragged by. Finally, after having been awake for about seventy hours, Bingham went to bed. Although he knew the probes would have nothing to report since the Heinlein was in their ice ball’s shadow, Bingham haunted his spaces sitting by the computer watching NO DATA reports be displayed every time he inquired about new intelligence information. Finally, Bingham went to bed knowing that he would probably miss something significant. He did. Bingham had been asleep four hours when Chief Neville barged into his stateroom and awoke him. He knew that Chief Neville would never do this without strong reason. "I'm awake! What's the problem?" Chief Neville gave Bingham a cup of coffee to drink as Bingham appeared to be on the edge of falling backwards into sleep on his bed. "We started receiving message traffic from our probes about an hour ago. We just received and decrypted this message." FLASH FLASH FLASH Z 140250Z AUG 52 FM COMMANDER, 19TH FLEET TO ALL MILITARY ACTIVITIES S E C R E T SUBJ: TACTICAL ACTION MESSAGE 1. ENEMY WARCRAFT DETECTED AT 140221Z AUG 51 AT......BELIEVED TO BE CRUISER OR BATTLESHIP TRANSITING THIS SYSTEM IN POWERED DOWN MODE. ENEMY SHIP EXIBITS CRUISER CONFIGERATION. 2. SET PLAN CODENAME GRESHAM DOG IMMEDIATELY. 3. SET EMMISIONS CONTROL PLAN ALFA IMMEDIATELY. 4. ALTHOUGH THIS.........I EXPECT YOU TO HONOR OUR SERVICE! "The dots represent undeciphered portions of their message, sir. The first anomaly is probably our location and the second appears to be part of a pep talk. This is consistent with some of the reserve training material I've seen before." "It has also been a 'canned ending' to every such message 4th, 19th and 22nd Fleet has issued for the last fifty years! They used it when we had that little war with 'Stones' about five years ago Bingham has referring to a minor border war with an alien race that had decided that leaving humans alone would be a good idea... "Have they set emissions control yet? I don't think too much of their EMCON so far." "Yes, sir, they have. They have been passing only what appear to be tactical messages on the fleet broadcast since this message came in. We haven't had time to decipher them; they have the external look of tactical messages. They passed several technical control messages concerning tight beam radio and LASER circuits between various ships. The last intercepted message was a statement that the fleet broadcast was going down and that all messages would be by ship to ship circuits. It is now 0400Z." Bingham had been about to look at his watch. "The tactical plot indicates that it will be at least four hours before any enemy ships will be close enough to attack us with LASERS and perhaps four days before they can intercept us. However, considering the amount of armour we carry and the mass of the ice ball, I don't think we can be hurt for several days." "Fine. How rested are you, Chief?" "I slept before the midwatch so I'm fine." Bingham pulled on a set of overalls and sandals in lieu of his working blues and then he and Chief Neville left for their "shop" at a fast walk. Bingham reviewed the tactical data and all the intercepted data for several minutes. He bitterly regretted that the probes could not be "heard" through the ice ball when the enemies’ broadcast could be. It was all a matter of how much power each could put out. Then, he set his intercom to the bridge setting. Then, he could see that the Captain was sleeping in his command chair and that the assistant weapons officer had the deck and the conn. The assistant weapons officer was doing the mundane task of "driving" the ship while the Captain and most of their shipmates slept. Bingham called the CO and XO on a conference call. "We just decoded a tactical alert message. We can provide a briefing in fifteen minutes if that is agreeable." "Very well, set up an all officer meeting." The CO was drinking coffee as he talked. When Bingham and Neville arrived in the briefing room, the Captain was already there drinking coffee. Most of the officers were still trickling in as Bingham finished pouring coffee for Neville and himself. Bingham started the brief with a background analysis of enemy locations, activities and their potential for attacking the Heinlein. "As you can tell from the message, the enemy is aware of our presence and has initiated defensive measure. The tactical plot team estimates it will be four days before nay enemy vessels can intercept us." The life support officer interrupted. "They have long range weapons capable of attacking us from their current locations. Why will they have to intercept?" Bingham let the weapons officer answer for him. "Our ice ball will protect us from ship mounted energy and particle beam weapons; no one in their right mind is going to waste missiles on us. The base on the planet is the only location with the necessary power supplies for weapons capable of hurting us. Fortunately, they are facing away from us and will not be able to attack us for about eighteen hours." Bingham noted disbelief on several faces. "There type of weapons installation can be aimed only at angles close to the zenith. The planet has turned away from the optimum angle and won't be available for attack for that eighteen hours." "If we continue on our present course, we will be destroyed in eighteen hours?" The Captain made the statement a question from the way he spoke it. "Yes, sir," both Bingham and the weapons officer chorused. "What are the chances of this being a training drill?" "Very small, sir, it is customary to use the broadcast as a backup channel during exercises. All tactically important messages are sent via ship to ship and planet to ship circuits and only administrative messages are sent over the broadcast. This is tradition in our service to ensure testing of the ship to ship and ship to planet circuits. I think it is a necessary policy since the broadcast isn't very secure." That irony got some grim laughs. "In a combat situation, the broadcast is secured; they secured their broadcast at 0355Z without sending a 'start up' time." "What are our chances of surviving a planetary attack?" "Previous messages concerning the planet's weapons indicate particle beam weapons using antimatter nuclei as heavy as anti carbon. Without the ice ball, we would last about two minutes. With the ice ball, we might hold out a few minutes longer. We just don't know how well the ship's shields will hold out. If I may remind all of you, this weapon is orders of magnitude more powerful that anything ship mounted. We can barely hold off shipmount3ed weapons now..." No one wanted to be reminded of the damage enemy ships had done to them. Commander Breece took over the brief. "Ladies and gentlemen, our only option if we wish to survive is to attack this star." Breece paused for the Captain had suddenly looked distracted as if he had gone into a private reverie. The Captain abruptly snapped out of it after about two minutes. "We have no choice then? Is there any chance of this being a civilian planet, Dr. Bingham?" "None sir. They show no civilian attributes in their communications; we aren't close enough to receive civilian entertainment channels, but we show only noise on the frequencies used for these channels. No one would waste a tactical genius like Ryan on a civilian planet...We received a message yesterday from Ryan referring to his transfer orders. Ryan informed his superiors that he was extending his stay on this planet due to the tactical importance of this area." "Very well, we will attack with the Tug Section as you suggest, Dr. Bingham. Launch a tactical probe for close in intelligence data from the planet itself. Put the ship on modified general quarters." Bingham knew that the command would be on twelve on, twelve off until further notice. It would be very uncomfortable, and the crew would be getting fairly stressed out. But war is war and war is the providence of Stress, Bingham thought. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * A clock had been set on the bridge counting down until the planet could come into attack position upon the Heinlein. The bridge once again smelt of coffee and sweat. Personnel were displaying an unnatural degree of caution and tension as they performed their duties. Bingham looked down at the sandwich that he had been trying to eat for about five hours. He had been reviewing all their intercepted messages and their analysis of them. He could find nothing to counter indicate attacking. Bingham was getting up for yet another trip to the head when the battle alarm went off. Immediately, he forgot about his bladder and watched as the bridge team swung into action. The ship's protective force fields had been penetrated by a projectile and a defensive weapons sub system had automatically destroyed it. The weapons officer had programmed the weapons for massive overkill and all five anti matter batteries on that side of the ship had been fired. Bingham had almost no data to analyze. All his instruments could tell him was that the object had been steel with some impurities. All other data was masked by the weapons residue. He sent all the sensor records of the event to the Intelligence shop for a careful analysis that might be able to reconstruct the nature of the assault object despite the Heinlein's anti matter residue. It was a very long shot but one that might work. It would certainly keep the intelligence and physical chemistry people busy for a while anyway... "They would have to be blind not to notice that energy flare," Bingham commented dryly to the Captain. The Captain nodded agreement. "We will still release the tug as planned at 2026Z." "Yes, sir," Bingham agreed. "It will take the 'tug' section about twenty minutes to take effect, Captain." "DON'T WAIT! DON'T WAIT! ATTACK NOW! ONLY HOPE! ONLY..." One of the ship's engineers was standing his first break-in watch as "Bridge Damage Control Assist While in Modified General Quarters" and had let the stress get to him. Bingham coldcocked the man; this was that individual's first and last such bridge watch. Bingham watched as the Junior Officer of the Deck summoned medics to take the unconscious engineer off to visit the ship's medics. Bingham was pleased that he could still punch after all the year's since he had boxed in high school. But he didn't remember his fist hurting so much back in high school... They were part of a service that placed its emphases on working despite fear rather than on trying to hide fear. They feared particle beam weapons for good reason. They were also worried about the effect that the radiation caused by their own weapons on them when fired so close to their ship. The engineer would return to his normal duty and although not qualifying fully on bridge watch, would undoubtedly still get promoted along with his peers. The incident was immediately forgotten about by the overworked bridge crew. The weapons officer quietly reprogrammed the weapons computer for a milder response to close in meteor penetrations of the ship's protective screens. Unfortunately, the strength of the screen had to be kept low to prevent enemy sensors from detecting their presence. Bingham was thinking back to the night in the "Ship's Club" when he had mentioned how he'd been "blackballed" by his colleagues. He had proposed an interesting usage of a tug's gravity generators: A method of inducing controlled flares on the surface of a star! He had hope to eventually cause such flare to act as lasers. The possibilities of this for destroying meteors and hazardous material around "foreign stars" was very attractive. Unfortunately, Bingham's warning about the highly theoretical nature of his ideas had been ignored by his colleagues. They had tried his method out in a star system with an inhabited planet (they wanted a well-stocked base nearby). The results had been good at first but then turbulence effects had caused the flares to go out of control... At 2015Z, the tug section was released. The ice ball was forward of the tug section as the two fell into the star. Freed of the tug and ice ball, the Heinlein abruptly surged in acceleration to 150 gees and warped into an orbit around the star. They knew this was near the tolerance of the ship's design. Bingham walked to the head despite the sudden 2 gee spikes that the ship's gravity control system was allowing through. He left the head with his pants thoroughly soaked...the ship's gravity had suddenly come from the bulkhead behind Bingham as he had urinated. Bingham hardly noticed. Several minutes later the Captain ordered acceleration reduced to 50 gees and the gravity system settled down. The ship's apparent gravity became its usual stable 1 gee. The bridge was very busy coordinating damage reports, requests for medical aid and analysis of the star's behavior. At 2036Z, there was still no indication of assault from the planet. "When do you expect them to come up on their broadcast, Dr. Bingham?" The Captain asked Bingham this question again. "The first flares will occur at about 2040Z. They will receive the flash wave front at 2048Z. If any traffic is going to come across their broadcasts, it should come between 2048Z and 2050Z. Beyond that, flares will mask any transmission." At 2030Z, several messages were transmitted on the broadcast. At 2047Z, the enemy broadcast went into high speed mode and to Bingham's shock, two backup channels were activated. The 21 cm broadcast was suddenly brought up as well. Bingham knew that the 21 cm broadcast was only used in extreme emergencies. The faster than light communications system began sending an abbreviated series of tune up signals. There was no apparent attempt being made to send encrypted signals. "This is a panic reaction beyond anything I would have believed. I wonder if they have tactical doctrines for handling this type of emergency?" Bingham was very worried. "And if they do, Doctor?" The Captain had a look on his face that meant he already knew the answer. "They'll bust ass to get into the shelter of either planet and will then hunt us down. Our data cannot confirm nor deny this possibility." "We'll face that danger later." The Captain paused to collect himself. "Report on that Star!" "Massive destruction occurring in the surface layers. There are flares occurring that are building to one large flare. The energy release is indicative of a nova; the tug's telemetry reports massive local gravity and magnetic anomalies. We can expect particle radiation shortly." Bingham watched as several displays on his bridge screen abruptly r4ead "NO DATA" and he straightened up while rubbing his sore lower back. "The tug section is destroyed and there is no chance that the surface base can survive this induced Nova. We have not been attacked and I believe we are safe as long as we can evade our disaster." "Excellent, Dr. Bingham, I am going to my quarters. Keep me notified." "Yes, sir." Bingham, who was still fresh compared to the other senior officers, relieved the Officer of the Deck. By now, the Heinlein was moving behind the enemy star and would be out of contact with the enemy planet. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * At 0924Z, on August 25, the Heinlein detected on of the high-speed probes and brought it quietly aboard. Breece instructed the personnel involved that no one was to discuss the probe. She said that the Captain has wanted no discussion in the event of the ship's capture. This would have both amused and concerned the Captain. The first analysis showed excellent data on the planet and its fleet. Bingham had only enough time for a quick scan of the data before going to a Staff meeting. The quick scan confirmed Bingham's previous analysis of the situation. "Ladies and gentlemen, what is the current situation?" Commander Breece led off: "The star is settling down, we believe. The enemy fleet will come to investigate the nova. If there are any surviving ships, they could report our presence. We don't know what the 21 cm broadcast was able to transmit but we must assume it involved us. I suggest immediate evacuation from this area." "No, XO, we'll make a flyby of the inner planet and scan the area around the planet for survivors. We will take them aboard and will also destroy any enemy vessels that attack us." "Captain," Bingham began urgently, "I suggest we get the hell out of here while we can. The enemy fleet will begin an investigation as soon as they realize that this system is non operational and..." The Captain had cut Bingham off. "Nerveless, we WILL make a flyby of the planet. NAVIGATION! Arrange a brief of various orbits we can take for a fast flyby and then exit from this system. I want additional probes sent IMMEDIATELY!" The affected officer said "YES, SIR!" and the Captain left the room. When Bingham entered the intelligence office, both of his chiefs and one of the senior petty officers were sitting in shock staring at a computer CRT. "We finally decoded the remainder of that alert message, sir." On one screen was the original version with its missing portions: FLASH FLASH FLASH Z 140250Z AUG 52 FM COMMANDER, 19TH FLEET TO ALL MILITARY ACTIVITIES S E C R E T SUBJ: TACTICAL ACTION MESSAGE 1. ENEMY WARCRAFT DETECTED AT 140221Z AUG 51 AT......BELIEVED TO BE CRUISER OR BATTLESHIP TRANSITING THIS SYSTEM IN POWERED DOWN MODE. ENEMY SHIP EXIBITS CRUISER CONFIGERATION. 2. SET PLAN CODENAME GRESHAM DOG IMMEDIATELY. 3. SET EMMISIONS CONTROL PLAN ALFA IMMEDIATELY. 4. ALTHOUGH THIS.........I EXPECT YOU TO HONOR OUR SERVICE! "The other CRT has the missing portions filled in." FLASH FLASH FLASH Z 140250Z AUG 52 FM COMMANDER, 19TH FLEET TO ALL MILITARY ACTIVITIES S E C R E T SUBJ: TACTICAL ACTION MESSAGE 1. ENEMY WARCRAFT DETECTED AT 140221Z AUG 51 AT ONE HUNDRED KILOMTERS RADIUS OUT FROM OUR SUN AND SIXTY DEGREES AHEAD OF THIS PLANET IN THE PLANE OF THIS PLANET. IT IS BELIEVED TO BE CRUISER OR BATTLESHIP TRANSITING THIS SYSTEM IN POWERED DOWN MODE. ENEMY SHIP EXIBITS CRUISER CONFIGERATION. 2. SET PLAN CODENAME GRESHAM DOG IMMEDIATELY. 3. SET EMMISIONS CONTROL PLAN ALFA IMMEDIATELY. 4. ALTHOUGH THIS TRAINING EXERCISE IS DESIGNED FOR REGULARS OR FOR TRAINED RESERVISTS, I BELIEVE YOU ARE CAPABLE OF PERFORMING THIS EXERCISE. I REALIZE THAT YOU ARE STILL BASICALLY UNTRAINED CIVILIANS, BUT I EXPECT YOU TO HONOR OUR SERVICE! "The data and visual imagery are worse than that, sir" Chief Neville was having trouble talking. The imagery of the planet showed no sign of military bases. The close-ups of the "combat craft" showed them to be civilian 0p- Bingham knew that these craft could have been converted into war craft but had not been. They summoned the XO to give her the bad news. "What we have here then is a case of civilians playing military, then," the XO paused, "our analysis was sound...suggestions?" "The Captain probably would be destroyed by this information and yet I don't want to lie..." After muttering this, Bingham grabbed Chief Neville's coffee cup and drained it; he wasn't too surprised to feel the burn of vodka going down his throat. "We need the Captain healthy, Bingham. Breece was abrupt but knew the beating Bingham's conscious was taking. Killing was something that Bingham could handle but mass murder and lying were different matters. "Could that have been an operational base?" "YES! YES, MAAM!" The intelligence analysis’s responses were all uniformly positive. "We did what we had to do. We will fake some evidence to justify our actions and I will brief the Captain later. It will appear that I did ALL the faking. UNDERSTAND?" Her subordinates understood very clearly. The orbits chosen would take Heinlein about three weeks to circle behind the enemy star and come into range of the inner planet for their flyby. During that time, the ship was able to settle down and perform routine maintenance. They were making observations of the assaulted star that would result in some very important theoretical work several years after the war's end. But this wouldn't be for another twenty two years... Unfortunately, the Captain had haunted the bridge during the return transit. He even slept there and ate there. The Captain was informed that the mystery assault on the Heinlein several weeks earlier had been reanalyzed as a meteor and not a missile. Still, the Captain waited on his bridge, fearing the worst and hoping for something even he couldn't define. One day, when Bingham was standing Officer of the Deck, the Captain broke his silence. "Bingham, do you think there are any surviving enemy?" "No, sir, I think that they were all destroyed." "Do you have any hard evidence?" "No, sir, just a, ah, gut level reaction." The Captain attributed Bingham's hesitation before lying to guilt at admitting having to use hunches. This would have amused Bingham who had based many a theoretical analysis on precisely defined and stated hunches. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Finally, the dead planet came within visual range. A high speed probed had been configured for radar, visual and infrared scanning and sent with the Captain's blessings. The Captain had then refused to view the results until he could also observe the planet through the ship's telescopes at the same time. Bingham personally thought that the Captain was trying to put off finding out just what kind of damage had been done. The first images from the telescopes were graphic. They showed a planet scoured by enormous hurricanes and radiation counters showed the decline of radioactivity. Despite the bad viewing conditions, it was apparent that the planet was not military. "OH MY GOD! I killed a harmless planet!" The Captain had been in the survey service for too many years to buy the idea of tactical necessity and calculated risks. Yet, in combat, he had proven himself to be merciless against enemy war craft. This was a conflict that intrigues Bingham. "Excuse me, sire, we have more data to show you. We were able to contact a probe we thought was destroyed weeks ago. It was in high orbit around this planet and missed the main effects of the nova." Bingham began displaying data from the probe and pointed out various features from the probe and from the Heinlein's sensor suite. It was a work of art and probably the most seamless forgery that Bingham had ever seen... "Those two derelicts are two combat vessels that were destroyed in the flare. The probe you ordered sent before the attack also reflected this information:" The screen showed a heavy warship base. This had been faked by Chief Neville and Commander Breece. Bingham pointed to the same area on the current data view screen. It was a barren, burnt patch of mud glowing with radiation induced from the heavy particle radiation that had vomited forth from the nova. "The probe shows a base that was destroyed by hurricanes and induced radiation. The planet will take generations to settle down and for the lower life forms to respread." "That was a civilian planet according to prewar data." Bingham wondered where the Captain had obtained an old atlas. To the best of his knowledge, there was no such book on the Heinlein. "It may have been once, but it was a military base when we struck." "I found an old letter from my niece inviting me to vacation with her on this planet. They could not have changed this into a combat unit in only eight months!" Bingham mentally smiled. The Captain had been correct in his assumption that the planet could not have been made into a base during the lifetime of the rebellion. He prepared to exercise his new-found talent at tying. "Most of the enemy bases were prepared four to six years in advance of the actual rebellion, sir. We have found evidence in the form of prisoner interrogations, intercepted enemy communications and from that Postal Service ship we intercepted. I have found fragmentary data in old shipping warnings and ship movement reports that indicate that this planet was converted to a military base some four years ago. The Captain noticed that Bingham wasn't acting normal but attributed this to concern about the Captain. The Captain was aware of Bingham's concern about his health and knew that Bingham had given the medics lectures about better managing the Captain's stress and high blood pressure problems. "Do you remember that fragmentary message we received, Captain? I have a full decryption of it here." FLASH FLASH FLASH Z 140250Z AUG 52 FM COMMANDER, 19TH FLEET TO ALL MILITARY ACTIVITIES S E C R E T SUBJ: TACTICAL ACTION MESSAGE 1. ENEMY WARCRAFT DETECTED AT 140221Z AUG 51 AT VICINITY OF GAS GIANT ON TRACK TOWARDS OUR SUN. FURTHER LOCATION DATA NOT AVAILABLE; APPEARS TO BE MATED TO A LARGE ICEBALL. BELIEVED TO BE CRUISER OR BATTLESHIP TRANSITING THIS SYSTEM IN POWERED DOWN MODE. ENEMY SHIP EXIBITS CRUISER CONFIGERATION. 2. SET PLAN CODENAME GRESHAM DOG IMMEDIATELY. 3. SET EMMISIONS CONTROL PLAN ALFA IMMEDIATELY. 4. ALTHOUGH YOU ARE THE BEST TRAINED COMBAT UNIT IN THIS QUADRANT. I KNOW THAT THIS IS THE FIRST COMBAT SITUATION MOST OF YOU HAVE BEEN IN. THE CONGRESS, YOUR COMRADES AND I EXPECT YOU TO HONOR OUR SERVICE! "This was a heavy enemy base. We were lucky that the HIGHLY TRAINED REGULARS DIDN'T DESTROY US. They were an outstanding enemy base! The irony was that the base was planned to have been built there in the now defunct five-year Naval building plan. In fact, several units of Naval Construction people had been sent to begin this work when the rebellion had occurred. Bingham also knew that the ships carrying these engineers had been destroyed in the opening days of the war... Commander Breece had some friends in the proper places of the construction bureau who could make ALL the records read properly... The Captain sighed in relief and slumped in his command chair. The medic was summoned, and the Captain removed to his cabin. Breece logged the doctor's diagnosis of exhaustion into the ship's log and gave his first orders as the acting Captain. The Heinlein was put onto a course that would take her back around this star again and as quickly as possible to where she could use the hyperspace drive safely. "For a man with the reputation of being unable to lie, Doctor Bingham, you're learning fairly quickly; I'll have to watch you more closely." Bingham chocked on his coffee. "Relax, Georges, you're still the worst liar I've ever seen. What do you think of this planet?" "Knowing Ryan's abilities, he would have made this a very dangerous base in about five years. Right now, it was a rich man's pleasure planet. The last message he sent before we burned the planet was:" 1. I WOULD APPRECIATE IT IF YOU AMATEURS WOULD REFRAIN FROM TRYING TO ATTACK IMAGINARY TARGETS NEAR THE SUN., WE ARE AT THE END OF A VERY LONG SUPPLY LINE AND WEAPONS ARE NOT FREE! IT WILL TAKE AT LEAST A YEAR TO TURN YOU PAMPERED, RICH, CIVILIANS INTO A COMBAT SQUADRON IF ANYONE WERE FOOL ENOUGH TO GIVE YOU SHIPS! 2. WHO FIRED UPON THE SUN? "Those playboys were stranded there when the rebellion started, and I imagine they volunteered for a Reservist or Home Guard unit. They could have been molded into a combat unit capable of infiltrating out home worlds. That was one of Ryan's best ideas." "I agree. Now we just have to keep the Captain sane and get him healthy again." "I thought YOU wanted to be the Captain," Chief Neville was both startled and tackles enough to blurt out. "I do but not at the expense of this Captain!" As Bingham and Neville left the bridge, he felt Breece's eyes on them and wondered if anyone could ever believe him again. Breece wasn't worried about Bingham's fears but was about Bingham's ability to handle his guilt. Breece had been in several violent and hushed up scrimmages with the rebels during the final maneuvering that lead up to the rebellion. This was stressful for Breece but he could handle it. Now he had the Captain, Bingham and Bingham's senior petty officers to worry about... Oddly enough, he felt good about their future...I think I should delete this sentence. 1. Point out earlier that the ship is in orbit around the big planet. 2. More about what Bingham was doing while in stand-down. What was happening with the probes? 3. Put proper times throughout the story and plug in an appropriate year such as in the 23 century. * * * * * * * * * * * * ** That which does not kill us makes us stronger. Friedrick Niechietz. END NOTE: Contrary to popular belief, Captain William Bligh, RN, was noted as being both a progressive administer and compassionate leader (for his time) and one of history's most outstanding explorers and navigators. I wrote this story in November 1979, shortly after Kathie and I returned from our honeymoon. I was in the Navy reserves at the time and had seen a lot of conflict between the commanding officer and executive officer of the reserve unit (there truly WAS backstabbing occurring!). So, the idea of an XO not wanting to inform a commanding officer is not alien to me; true, in a combat situation it would be mutiny and possibly treason, but my story has extertining circumstances. This was meant as a story of solving the problem of getting home. I also wanted to put in the touch of realism in the discussion of the intelligence section that came from having worked in an intelligence section while enlisted. This endnote is being written in 1992 and I have the value of hindsight. I believe that no one would have kept any of the facts from the Commanding Officer (if he has a stroke or heart attack from learning of the true results of his actions than that is just tough shit for him!). *______* * * * Andy’s Boat shop Andy's Boat shop was just another name and door in the Springfield Industrial Park. It was up the block from Robert Lin Chau's Chinese butcher shop, Bob's Transmissions, Radiators & Transmissions, Daryl LeeMore & Sons Caterers, the Caterpillar Diesel repair shop and other worthies. It was just another shop, and seldom could anyone remember cars other than Andy's parked out front. Yet, ol' Andy did a fair piece of business... Andy's shop was a controlled mass of confusion that Tuesday. It was early summer and already Dayton, Ohio, was becoming warm. His shop was thirty feet across the front and sixty feet deep. Andy kept his desk in a little partially walled cubicle across the room from the front door. The industrial grade shredder was along the back wall and was partially masked from view by the racks of lumber, stacks of good grade plywood and bins of fitting. Most of the floor space was taken up with a Johnboat that Andy was making. Andy had carefully roped off his working area to prevent his rare visitors from messing things up. Andy moved his lanky form about the ribs of his boat and moved his greasy hair away from his eyes. He smiled, dreaming of how nice the boat would look when finished. His customer, an IRA inspector who had traded the favor of blindness for this boat would truly love his boat. Andy was betting his business on this little bit of graft. It was getting to be a hot day and Andy walked over to adjust his air conditioner when four visitors walked in. "Afternoon, gentlemen, what kind of boat can I build for you?" "We'd like to get us a day sailor. A mutual friend of ours, Roberto Lanton, recommended you to us. Andy immediately knew that more than a boat was desired. "So what kind of day sailor are you interested in?" "Something about fifteen feet long. Say, something we can pick up in about three months, perhaps?" "Anything else, gentlemen? Surely you must have more specifications than that?" "We do have some trash in the car to dispose of. Just one bundle. Perhaps, you can help with that?" Andy knew now just what type of boat was desired but enjoyed the bargaining. "Certainly, we've a good shredder here and some dumpsters we can use. That'll be no problem. I take it you'll leave the boat design up to me, gentlemen?" "Certainly, certainly, we trust your taste!" "The boat will be $500 per foot or $7500. Agreed?" The speaker for the four handed Andy an envelope which contained one hundred and fifty hundred-dollar bills. Andy nodded and put the envelope in his pocket. They shook hands. "Come back in three months for the boat." "No hurry, no hurry." Clearly the speaker was in no hurry to obtain his boat. Andy wrote on his calendar "fifteen-foot day sailor"; the boat was scheduled to be finished in exactly three months. It would be also. Before leaving, three of the guests lugged a package out of the trunk of their limo and put in down carefully on the floor. When they had left, Andy rolled the package onto a dolly and moved it over to the shredder. Then, he muscled it up to the bin of the shredder. He opened the package. It was, as he already knew, a corpse. He didn't recognize the "dear deceased". He shoved the body into the shredder, carefully closed the lid, put on a set of hearing protection goggles and started the shredder. A few minutes later, the remains of the body had fallen into the dumpster. Then, Andy used the water hose to wash the shredded meat into the sewer line used by Robert Lin Chau's butcher shop. Then, he rinsed the shredder and dumpster out and he secured the entrance to the sewer pipe. He ran some scrap lumber through the shredder and called his wife to tell her about the day sailor sale. It was ready access to that sewer line which had closed the sale when Andy had bought his shop; it had taken him about a week to obtain illicit access to the sewer. Life was good for Ol' Andy; he'd meet a lot of interesting people. Why, he'd shown Jimmy Hoffa his shredder (in a manner of speaking) a few years before... Andy's Boat shop was just another name and door in the Springfield Industrial Park. It was up the block from Robert Lin Chau's Chinese butcher shop, Bob's Transmissions, Radiators & Transmissions, Daryl LeeMore & Sons Caterers, the Caterpillar Diesel repair shop and other worthies. It was just another shop and seldom could anyone remember cars other than Andy's parked out front. Yet, ol' Andy did a fair piece of business... POSTSCRIPT: I have always wondered just what could go on at those lonely little backroom offices in business buildings that no one seems to go into or better yet, what could be going on in industrial parks? There are no families around, the fire marshal probably doesn't appear very often, and the cops might check outside padlocks occasionally. They (especially industrial parks with lots of noise and non descript smells) seemed like the ideal place for a little quiet illegality to be occurring... PREFACE: This is a delightful little piece that I wrote in the winter of 1990; I figured that it might bother Kathie and I was right. So, without further ado, I present for your reading pleasure: The Artist! The Artist! For three days, Hawk had been working on his greatest masterpiece; it was an experimental work called his "P Phantasy". He had thought of the concept only days before and was eager to complete it. His wife was wondering what it was. She had never seen this work for he kept the back of easel facing toward the bedroom door. "You can tell me, dear," she said at dinner, "I'm your wife." She avoided looked at Hawk for Hawk had a truly classic cold; he was grateful that the cold had gone into both his ch¬est and his larynx and that he couldn't talk. So, he whispered something knowing that his wife couldn't hear him. "Oh, you poor dear! Here! Drink this cough medicine." "Can't dear, I just took a Sue de fed." Later that evening, feeling worse than ever, Hawk returned to the spare bedroom he worked in. His work was coming along nicely. Hawk liked to work with whatever texture or colour of paint he had available; he was not one to plan and preselect his material for Hawk liked to be spontaneous. Hawk just grabbed what he could and figured where it would go in the completed "P Phantasy". It would take a few more days. The next day, Hawk's wife had guests over who sat around talking about the latest TV craze: an overweight, overly made up woman, who cried on the TV and interviewed failed ministers. It was quite amusing and also up to Her aldo's best (that being how Hawk pronounced the one-time newsman's name). Hawk was busily filling his hankies with stringy mucus that no one wanted to look at yet which everyone seemed to see out of the corners of their eyes no matter where they looked. Hawk's wife and their guests were quite relieved when "the poor dear" left the room to get some rest. However, Hawk had always been blessed with excellent hearing. When he heard the way they were discussing him, Hawk / knew / that they would view his greatest work. He thought that they might not appreciate the subject matter. Hawk didn't like people who talked about him behind his back. The work was coming along nicely, and his cold was beginning to abate. He knew that with his return to health would come his return to the office ... his return to processing quality control statistics on the colectomy bags that his medical supply company produced. The final day had come, and he was almost done. His greatest masterpiece was a delicate work in red, greens, tan and clear overlays. The work was of course a Phantasy. His images were, to say the least, disturbing. Later, some would say that they were disturbed. Hawk went to his garage to get some Mountain Dew. Unfortunately, being an abstracted artist concerned with the completion of his somewhat abstract work, Hawk forgot to put on his jacket. It was raining outside and there were four inches of snow still on the ground; he returned to the house soaking wet and with his shoes caked with snow. Hawk was crushed by his carelessness and told his wife that the work might have to wait; his cold renewed its assault on his battered system and Hawk sat bundled in his easy chair quite miserable. His wife made him a hot lemonade that was mostly rum; Hawk never knew when his wife undressed him and put him to bed. The next day dawned wonderfully. Hawk's cold was feeling better and he was honking like a bull goose trying to service more than his mate. He ran into his work room and began to feverishly complete his work. His wife opened the door and gagged slightly as she saw hawk snort a strand of mucus onto his palm and then delicately attach it to the canvas. She walked around to look at the abstract images that looked like something taken from an old fantasy story. Then, she realized exactly what media Hawk had been working in and felt very ill when she saw the full title of the piece: "Phlegm Phantasy" by Hawk Lunger Yeah, Kathie was grossed out by this story... * * * * * * Boat From my earliest years, I remember being on the boat. My parents were there as well as my kinfolk and later my kith. For me, the world was the boat. Ah, the things we could see from it. Sometimes, the boat swam through wide, misty seas or lakes; mostly we cruised through rivers lined by exotic shores on either side. I played, I quarreled and later I loved but never did I leave the boat. Always, life was lived on her broad decks or the lavish staterooms. There was much to do. Sometimes people, children, would be brought aboard by the crew. The crew would ferry them to our boat by longboat and they would join a family the way water joins a dry sponge. How each child knew which family he or she was meant for was a mystery to us; they could never remember the kith and kin they left behind on the shore and what they may have been told before leaving the shore. Also, sometimes, people would leave the boat, ferried to the exotic or sometimes boring but always interesting shore. The ones leaving were gone; gone to whatever or whoever dwelled upon the land. The land that floated not upon water but on rock; a very strange place indeed. Often, we would sit around and discuss what the shore must be like. We even floated philosophical ideals of what it must be like. But, to know for sure, we would have to await our turn in the longboats. For we all knew that someday we too would grow bored of our riverboat and be taken ashore by the crew. The crew that kept to itself not once did they talk with us. They supplied our food, cleaned our quarters and provided the means for entertainment. All this without us noticing them for they acted when we were elsewhere. Elsewhere you ask? Indeed, elsewhere; for on a riverboat with two sections, one crew, one passenger, there are many secrets and secret places. And, we hunted for them. Many times, I watched the shore, smelled the shore. Many times, I watched strange birds and weirder animals and things that were seemingly one thing or perhaps another cavorting about and acting in mysterious fashion. And I wondered what to make of them. At times, I felt like throwing myself into the gentle, flowing, waters and making for that shore. That shore that was so familiar and yet hid so many things. But, I don't. For, my wife and I have been joined by a child from the shore in a meeting like a yeast mixing with bread batter and our lives are growing in new and frightening and wondrous ways. The living is good, the sun is warm and all that I love is about me. I will wait. Cat Eater by Mike Bell KA6VIN "Mr. Chompiere, you stand accused of Willful Manslaughter of An Intelligent sub species, to wit a "Common Housecat", Violation of the General and Specific Curfew laws and Violation of Sundry Drug Enforcement Administration regulations. How plead you?" "Your honor, if it pleases the court, my client wishes to plead Not Guilty By Reason of Lycanthropy." “Objection! Your honor, the State wishes to remind the Defense that such a ruling is inadmissible under the usual rules of procedure and is not a legally binding plea in the eyes of the American Legal Association." "Objection overruled. Conditionally! Counselor, you will show cause as to why I should admit this plea." "My client, Mr. Chompiere, did not voluntarily enter upon his current status of lycanthropy and has in fact obeyed all salient laws and regulations until this incident." "Objection, your honor, the state will establish that Mr. Chompiere did indeed voluntarily violate the several laws and regulations cited in the indictment by failure to report to a secure holding facility prior to full moon. Mr. Chompiere did in fact know of the time of full moon as he admitted to the Grand Jury that he did in fact have an IBM/GE MoonRise(TM) calculator on him at the time of the alleged crimes. Furthermore, we will show that this act was purely and simply the result of negligence on his..." "OBJECTION! YOUR HONOR! I object most strongly to the District Persecuting Attorney's remarks." "...his part and was systematic..." "SUSTAINED." With that the D.P.A. finally shut down his flow of words. "Your honor, I have sworn statements that Mr. Chompiere has always reported to the Enterprise, Oregon Lycanthrope Safety facility (what a euphemism for padded cell, he thought) well prior to the onset of full moon. On the night in question, Mr. Chompiere was delayed by business in Joseph, Oregon and was further delayed on his return home by a freak and unseasonal snow storm. Mr. Chompiere stopped by his home prior to reporting to the Lycanthrope Safety facility. Nothing untoward occurred during this stop and the delay was not significant. We concede that Mr. Chompiere did in fact revert to his alternate physical configuration (what a way of saying that his client turned into a giant, ugly and rather pathetic looking French poodle, the defense lawyer thought). However, the Safety facility personnel were able to take the situation well in hand (he thought, an ex linebacker for the Houston Fangs had tackled Mr. Chompiere and carried him into the holding tank. the situation had reminded the defense lawyer of a large house dog being scolded for messing on the rug. Chompiere the six-foot lapdog could not have scared even small children human or otherwise)." "Your honor, that defense of this absurd plea is ludicrous! Mr. Chompiere did not commit his actions before or during the duration of his transformed state. His crimes were committed after reversion to the human form." "What!" The judge was shocked into glaring wide eyed at the two lawyers. This was something the judge never did as it violated the tenant that judges should appear bored, squint eyed and arrogant at all times. Once again, the judge's facade had slipped... "I, ahem, did not read the charges prior to this hearing in order to preclude myself from prejudging myself" was the Judge's lame comment. That'll be the last time I go skinny dipping behind the courthouse without reading the brief first. On second thought, I should take that mangy cur of a Law Clerk I have behind the courthouse and use a rolled-up newspaper on the rump as the best way of communicating with that cur’s "alleged brain". The lawyers were not impressed as that knew the Judge had always been a lazy old goat and was prone to becoming a lazy old goat night times around full moon. Oh, well... "I will concede that my client, Mr. Chompiere, did in fact assault and kill his neighbor's cat after fully reverting to human form and after having returned from the Safety facility to his home. Mr. Chompiere had spent the entire night in the company of several large and vicious were cats. These creature severely threatened Mr.Chompiere and in fact..." "OBJECTION! Defense is introducing irrelevant, distracting and time-wasting material." "Objection overruled. Pray continue." "These creatures severely threatened and harassed Mr. Chompiere. Upon return to his home and in human form, Mr. Chompiere was set upon by his neighbor's Tom Cat (the District Persecuting Attorney could smell which way the wind was blowing and wisely kept his mouth shut). Said and aforementioned 'Tom Cat' reminded my client of his 'Night Of Anguish'; in a Fit of Temporary Non Sanity, my client then used a painless and legal method to kill this cat. Said Tom Cat was then disposed of." "Your honor, the People wish to add the charges of Use of Unauthorized Deadly Force and Possession of Unlawful Lethal devices". The D.P.A. had known about the defendant’s usage of a Terminal Stress Level Pleasure Inducer. He also knew that the late and possibly lamented "Tom Cat" had most certainly died of pure, uncontaminated, pleasure. "Objection, your honor. My client is a supplier of human lethal devices to all area Jewish and Moslem slaughter houses as well as the Special Punishments section of the Oregon Corrections Facility (he meant death row) located outside of Joseph, Oregon. My client is legally licensed to possess these devices." "Very well," the Judge intoned, "I will now take a short recess to adjudicate this matter." The judge slipped back to her chambers and glared at her Law Clerk. The Law Clerk began to get the idea that it was a good time for a "Family Emergency" to require an immediate trip back to Bad Water, Mississippi. Upon her return, the Judge announced her verdict. "I find the defendant NOT GUILTY by Reason of Lycanthropy." "Your honor," the D.P.A. piped up in the shrill voice that always went to a Raven's chirp every 'Moon day', "the PEOPLE wish to charge Mr. Chompiere with Violation of Animal Protection and anti Cruelty to Animal statutes and regulations and Violation of the aforementioned 'Tom Cat's' civil rights. Her honor sighed. The constitutional amendment which allowed new charges to be added during a trial was meant to speed up trials; instead it tended to mess things up. "OBJECTION! Your honor, the Persecuting Attorney will have to show that said and aforementioned 'Tom Cat' has legal standing in the eyes of this court prior to charging Violation of Civil Rights..." With that, the Law Clerk slipped out the back entrance and missed the rest of the legal wrangling... The End I wrote this in 1987. The copyright belongs to the author. Excerpts from the Keynote speakers address as taken from the Notes of a obscure organization: And now, on to further business. Before we announce the winners of our Man of the Year awards, I should like to say a few words about the direction our beloved English language is taking. Recently, the Women's movement has caused words such as "Postman" to be changed to "Mail Carrier", "Chairman" to be changed to "Chairperson" or simply "the Chair" and "Salesman" to "Sales Person". I'm sure you can think of your own examples. Of interest is that "Garbageman" is still "Garbageman" vice "Garbageperson" or "the Garbage." I say this to preface my comments concerning a most unusual letter we've just received from a rather well-known Woman's Organization. They request, no, insist that our society refer to its annual awardees as "Man of the Year" regardless of the winner's sex or sexual orientation. I have begun to wonder if this might be a slight or perhaps an unfavorable innuendo, cast upon the sensibilities of this organization, the "Society for the Appreciation of Evil"... Eggeyes (Deathblood, Defender of the Faith) Eggeyes, also known as "Deathbood, Defender of the Faith", carefully put on his black plate armour and metal helm. He had to meet with his master, the Grandfather of Assassins. That creature was known to a few of his faithful as "Gramps" (he happened in fact to be Eggeye's great grandfather). He was known to his enemies by far more sinister names. Eggeyes looked into his mirror and beheld his bulging eyes set in a face scarred like an old piece of fire pit rock. There was little of kindness in his face and much controlled intelligence. He sniffed himself with his better than human sense of smell and decided he could pass among the true humans and half elves that made u the town's population. He put on the girdle with its bastard sword and poisoned dagger. The crossbow was slung across his back. He carried no backpack with him. His vial of unholy water was in a pouch and the poisoned quarrels were in his quiver. There were five of them. Eggeyes, looking like a prosperous fighter, carefully left is rooms at the Bloody Miscarriage. He set the alarms and traps well. He heard his watchbeast awaken and Eeggeyes hoped that some poor damned thief would enter. The thief would leave his soul to the watch beast and Eggeyes would have a little extra deserved profit. The street was safe. A guard approached Eggeyes and bid him a good evening. Eggeyes answered politely and waited until the man had turned to go before stabbing the guard with a poisoned blade. The guard had time to turn toward Eggeyes and almost got his blade out. "You BASTARD...". The victim fell to his knees. "I'm truly upset!" Eggeyes exclaimed in amazement. "The alchemist who sold me the poison told me it was instant acting and very painful. The Better Business Bureau will hear of this. Actually", he continued in a musing tone of voice, "I'll just have a word with the alchemist about this." The prospect delighted Eggeyes! "You're an assassin! You must be a..." At this Eggeyes ripped the man's throat out with one hand. There was one thing no one would say to him and that no one would know. Only the Grandfather of assassins knew his secret and Gramps wouldn't give the Grand duke or anyone outside of the Assassin Guild the time of year let alone Eggeye's secret. The body yielded two flasks of oil and a flask of holy water. There was the armour to be removed and sold. The man's short sword and throwing axe were simply added to Eggeye's girdle. There was five gold pieces which Eggeyes cheerfully added to his purse. He didn’t fear a Deadman’s curse upon the decreased guard's property. Eggeye's deity had guaranteed him protection from such curses. The night was cool and the smell of dung in the open sewers began to predominate over the smell of charcoal fires as the fires were doused after the evening meal. Eggeyes noticed it not at all. The walk to the Assassin's Guild house was uneventful. Eggeyes gave the dead guard's chainmail to the Housemouse. The Housemouse was a drab, retired, thief who gave good prices for stolen goods. Then, Eggeyes went to the Guild's alchemist. Eggeyes put the vial of "bad" poison on a table. "It doesn't work fast! A target almost attacked me before I ripped his throat out. And he didn't seem to be in much pain." The wide assortment of hidden and subtle traps and poisons in the room was upsetting Eggeyes. He held out his hands toward the alchemist in a subconscious attempt to ward off any attack from that worthy. The alchemist feared what spells could be brought into existence from those hands, however. "The poison might have had some old eye of unborn elves in it. Here, try this fresh batch." "Thank you, good master, I shall try it!" With that Eggeyes left the alchemist who was secretly very relieved to see Eggeyes leave. Then, Eggeyes slowly made his way to the Grandfather of Assassins' quarter. "Well, don't stand there boy, say 'hello'". "Good evening, sire. I see you've enjoyed another night with 'Their Graces'?". "Damned foolishness, if you ask me. I have to go to the Better Business Bureau meeting or people will get the wrong idea of our guild. Some of those fools, those merchants, wanted to examine our books with an eye to seeing if we pay our taxes!" "Do you wish me to spy out the tax records that we may know who knows how much we should be paying? I'd like that!" Eggeyes meant that he would like interrogating the BB clerks in the dungeon. Somehow, torturing humans wasn't business but was enjoyment. "We have a problem. There are a group of giants who are plundering all caravans leaving this town. The Guard was about to roast the entire Thieves Guild over slow fires when I was able to convince the Guard Captain that no Master Thief would cut off his source of income. Someone else is plundering the caravans. The Master Thief is the only one licensed to plunder. And that is on a quota system. We are the only technical advisors allowed to assist the thieves. Someone is using our techniques in the caravan raids. We must stop this raiding to save our good bad reputations. we have a reputation of honest 'evil' to uphold and you will protect our reputation!" "Who is cutting in our turf?" Eggeyes words were a bit slurred as his fangs were beginning to slid down into place. He no longer looked quite so human; he was beginning to resemble his father and great grandfather's brother. "The leather merchant is a spy for giants. He must be killed to stop the attacks! Others of the brotherhood will guide chaotic fighters to find and wipe out the raiders. Go to the Inn of the Whipping Post and you will find the leather merchant's grudge there. Here, take this:" The Grandfather of Assassins held out a small vial. "It will make her love you for the night!" As Eggeyes, Priest to the Worship Of He Whose Name Was Not Spoken and Assassin left, his great grandfather mused to himself. The "love vial" contained just the opposite and the Grandfather of Assassins might this night be rid of his most serious future rival. The Inn of the Whipping Post was a true dive. Eggeyes had to step smartly to avoid the rotting corpse of a customer who had sought to leave without paying. He had paid by giving his living intestines to an entrails reader and his soul to a creature from Middle Hell (a fun place to visit occasionally Eggeyes thought). The main room of the Inn smelt of old shit, strange drugs, sweat, semen and fear. Woven through that was the smell of the food and drink served there. It was a hideous smell in the smoke air that made Eggeyes think we'd gone back to his childhood home again. He ducked his head beneath the low slung rafters and sought out the barman. The barman was an incredibly hairy man who wore a brand identifying him as a werebear. The human form of the werebear was huge, stooped over and very old. “Where, bear, do I find the leather merchant’s hag." He was ignored. "Give me a tankard of mead." Eggeyes held out a gold piece. "The orcbitch in the corner." The barman smiled for he had gotten a gold piece for a glass of mead that was worth only a silver piece. Rather, would be if the mead had been bought rather than stolen from the brewers. The orcbitch was incredibly hideous. Eggeyes thought she looked like one of his old girlfriends or perhaps his sisters and went to meet her. "Hi ya, beautiful." "Fuck dog breath or I'll rip your balls off!" She suddenly sniffed with a light of hope appearing in her eyes. "Can it be?", she murmured in Orcish. "Sure is beautiful and watch the threats or I'll rip your tits off and feed them to my dog!" Eggeyes whispered his endearment to avoid any humans hearing him speaking Orcish. The orcbitch gazed in lust at Eggeyes. He had established himself as a true lowlife. That is to say, established himself as the most desirable lust object for a lustful orcbitch, in the room. They drank their drinks and Eggeyes made his way to the barman to order two more drinks. The barman bitchingly took one gold piece for two tankards and Eggeyes successfully relieved the barman of a platinum piece the barman had kept in an inner pocket. The orcbitch and Eggeyes were in a state of advanced lust when they left. Eggeyes poured the "love portion" into a drink the sleepy bar hog was taking to a barbarian. As they left, the barbarian fell into hate with the bar hog and most of the rest of the patrons. The barman wondered where his platinum piece went. Suddenly, he went werebear knowing where to bear down to recover his treasure. The barbarian began breaking bottles over the heads of customers and the werebear began attacking anything that moved. A truly drunken mage used a fireball spell and then the fun truly began... The Guard had a busy night and the Palace truth finders used many thumbscrews and hot nails on the survivors of the brawl to try finding out the cause of the brawl. The Grand duke didn't take well with brawls that ended up firing half a section of his town. But, Eggeyes and his love were oblivious to the fire behind them and they went to the orcbitch's quarters. Eggeyes and his lustful orcbitch made lust in typical orc fashion. If they had been human or elven, then mere humans could stomach their actions. Violent rending reader , I, your narrator, am but a retired Grandfather of the Grandfather of Assassins. To tell you of the orc and helforc's "lovemaking" would be a vomit inducing event! On second thought, I will write down the chronicle and have it preserved until the next age of humans. It is fit to published in a magazine which will be called "Five Houses" or words to that effect. But back to my story... After leaving his lustmate sleeping, Eggeyes had to make his way through the leather merchant's house. He knew the general outline of the house from the orcbitch. Her quarters were in the basement. He would have to go from the orcbitch's quarters to the pantry. From there, he would go up a set of stairs to the entrance hall. Thence, via a hallway, to the master's study where the leather merchant purportedly was. There was a dogleg in the hallway. As he went up the stairs in the pantry, he noticed a putrid odor and a very strong updraft. Eggeyes could see no openings from which the updraft could be coming. He stopped moving and very carefully loosened his poison coated, great bastard sword in it's scabbard. He then oh so carefully cocked his crossbow and lashed doiwn the release mechanism. He fitted it with a poisoned quarrel. He went the rest of the way up the stairs. At the open door, Eggeyes carefully did a recon down the small hallway (almost a crawlspace) that extended to the left of the door and could see or hear nothing either in that little hallway or from the room beyond the closed door; Eggeyes had excellent hearing and his vision extended beyond that of humans. He could smell nothing but the putrid odour from the stairwell. The assassin part of his soul cursed the sloppy but oh so orcish housecleaning. The cleric part of him prayed for his life. Finally, he entered the parlor. A window at one end was open and the air was hot and clear near the window. He could see no reason for the breeze in the stairwell and assumed it to be some sort of magic. If he had known what type, he might have dove out through the window. But, more likely, he would have pressed on regardless... The room had rotting wood along the baseboards and he thought that the wall hangings were too faded. There was a desk under the window and an armoire near it. A hissing sound could be heard coming from a large chest against the far wall. Eggeyes went over to the chest and investigated it. There was a distance hissing coming from the chest. Carefully, Eggeyes looked it over for traps. He found none. Slowly, he raised the unlocked lid just a crack. The hissing was very loud now. He took out his dagger and slid it betwixt the lid and the box. He felt the blade shudder as something struck twice at it and then bit it. With a happy, happy, smile, Eggeyes waited until the creature inside quit moving. Moving back to full arm's length from the chest, he slowly raised the lid. The dagger was the only thing touching the chest and lifting the lid was tricky work even for a half orc. Inside the chest was a dead snake and several gold pieces and platinum pieces. This was a treasure beyond belief! Inside was the lodge pin of one of the area's tribes of giants. It identified the bearer as an ally of that tribe and was a safe pass. Eggeyes' mind spun with thoughts of what he could do with such a thing as he carefully picked up the pin with an unpoisoned quarrel. He could tell that the pin was poisoned and didn't want to die just yet... From the armoire, he found nothing of value or of threat. He carefully went to the closed door and removed his helmet. He listened so hard that he thought his heart was a kettle drum and he thought of cursing it. But, he remembered the disconcerting habit his god had of answering such curses and refrained. If only his god would answer his prayers so readily... He went to the unopened door and gently open it. Then, he remembered to put his helm back upon his head. But, the pause to redon his helmet was his undoing. Out in the hall were two Troglodytes and they had seen him! With hisses of hate they charged him. Eggeyes quickly slammed the door in their faces. After bolting the door, he noticed that one of the trogs had managed to hit him with a thrown axe. The sight of his own blood filled Eggeyes with the lust for revenge. He ran silently for the stairway entrance to the parlor. He carefully opened it a crack and the door rang to the assault of the trog's stone battle axe. The trog backed off to allow Eggeyes out of the parlor. Eggeyes swung hastily and missed; the trog swung and was equally inept. Then, again they attacked and both missed. The other trog was roaring with laughter and waited to see how the comedy would progress. Eggeyes set himself and with total concentration swung his bastard sword. He cut the trog just below it's rib cage on the right side and the large bastard killer of men and monsters sword sheared through the trog's body and exited through it's left shoulder socket. The body oozed to the floor. As it fell, the trog released it's most potent weapon. It released a stench that would make a skunk gage and pray for deliverance. Eggeyes abruptly jackknifed over in a spasm of vomiting. He would never have believed that a half orc could be so affected; perhaps his god had intervened? The stone axe thrown by the surviving trog passed harmlessly over Eggeye's head and the trog disappeared down the hall. Having emptied his stomach, Eggeyes' wiped off his mouth and crept up the passage. In a manner that would have made his mentors come with joy, Eggeyes moved silently through the shadows and crept up upon his victim. Perhaps it had been grief that had kept the trog from noticing Eggeyes; perhaps, Eggeyes was simply very good at his chosen vocation... The orcbitch smiled as she watch the action in her crystal ball. The body had a few gold pieces and some silver pieces on it. Eggeyes figured his spoils at about four gold pieces. He thought of the 3600 gold pieces that he had been promised for this night's work and decided that he would be asking for a bonus. There had been too much shit going down for the mood he was in. Without making any further attempts at concealment, Eggeyes went to the entrance of the leather merchant's study and set foot inside. He had his slightly magical shield up at the ready. The room had a large collection of books and at a lectern sat a darkly dressed man. The leather merchant was dressed in the finest of brown silks. he wore no armour and had only a dagger on. There leather merchant picked up a staff and moving away from the lectern, leaned upon the staff. "I have been waiting for you to come here." He pointed toward a mirror that showed the image of the orcbitch. Most of the scratches had stopped bleeding but scratches were normal to orcish love (or lust play to be exact). Eggeyes felt his own scratches and his fourteen inches of warty lustfulness began straining against his suit of plate armour. He really didn't pay attention to the walls of books in the room or the rich decorations on what parts of the walls that were visible. He momentarily turned his attention to the useless thoughts of his lust object and the leather merchant struck in that instant. From his hands spouted twin jets of fire that seared Eggeyes and might have blinded him but for theinstinctive raising of his shield. On one side, the flames ignited a stack of books. With a scream of pain, the merchant turned his attention to putting out the fire with a water dispatching spell. He would pay dearly for the use of the water elemental that produced the water but the books were worth saving. Eggeyes didn't react but merely tried to recover and watched the merchant put out the fire. Thus, his opportunity was lost. The leather merchant turned and struck Eggeyes with his staff and Eggeyes staggered backwards. Recovering, Eggeyes tried to ignore the smell of burnt paper and the smoke in his eyes. He brought up his crossbow and whipped off the restraining lash. His shot was instantly lethal. The leather merchant fell in a heap. Breathing hard, Eggeyes cautiously searched the body of the leather merchant. he removed a gem worth at least a thousand gold pieces. The Guard arrived to check out the fire. Then, to Eggeyes's surprise, the orcbitch came running upstairs. She told the guard officer that her master had gotten drunk and set the room on fire. She told them of how she would give the leather merchant pure hell the next morning. The sight of a crossbow quarrel protruding from the leather merchant made the Guard doubt that the leather merchant would be awakening again ever. But, he had his orders and the Guard Commander had been most specific about this house: Ignore all things that occur at that house tonight!" Eggeyes went to the orcbitch's room for the remainder of the night which made for a truly memorable night of sin, debauchery and degradation. He left early the next morning to report in. There was a spring to his step and at least 3000 gold pieces worth of loot. He had spent the morning between dawn and leaving in stealing this wealth. When he returned to the Guildhall, the Housemouse paid Eggeyes 3100 gold pieces for his loot. Then, Eggeyes went to see the Grandfather of Assassins. His adventure the night before had started with meeting with "Gramps" shortly after nightfall. The final encounter with the Guard had occurred three hours before the sun arose. It was near noon now and Eggeyes wanted his lunch and then some sleep. "Your report, assassin!" It was the Grandfather of Assassin and not "Gramps" who gave the order to speak. Eggeyes reported all events from the time he had taken the job. The Grandfather of Assassins interrupted once to say: "You didn't have to use the lust potion?" "No, your unholiness. The orcbitch practically raped me so I just put the potion in a barbarian's drink. I trust it gave him much happiness." Gramps smiled. "It gave a lot of people much happiness." Gramps was more than a little sadistic. "Here is your just reward ("Gramps" put 4000 gold pieces in Eggeye's grasping hands.). Take a few days off. Then, I am going to have you take a combat team and hunt for the headquarters of the giants." Gramps carefully didn't tell Eggeyes that the leather merchant's body had been removed from town in a wagon that morning by the true spy. Eggeyes was not told that the true spy was a high level cleric, a High Priestess capable of performing Resurrection, Regeneration and Restoration. He didn't know that the true spy would never heart Eggeyes for she had found in him the ideal lust partner. As the orcbitch and her dead servant, the leather merchant, went to the deep woods location of the orcbitch's god's temple, she lusted for Eggeyes. She decided that the leather merchant would have to be better trained. But, first, she would fulfill the promise she had made to the Guard Officer... The great plans the orcbitch had for Eggeyes would have horrified a man and might have upset Eggeyes had he known. More likely they would have delighted him. THE SAGA OF EGGEYES, DEATHBLOOD DEFENDER OF THE FAITH, TO BE CONTINUED... I wrote this story in January 1983, shortly after Kathie had gone to Navy O.C.S. I started writing a sequel but didn't get too far as I was transferred in March 1983 and never got around to finishing the story. The sequel would have featured a half elven Paladin (a holy night sworn to defeat all evil) forced to work alongside Eggeyes (a creature of quite the opposite orientation). After saving each other lives’ a couple of times and learning to see matters from each other’s wildly different viewpoints and backgrounds, they parted amiable enemies as opposed to blood enemies. There was also another D&D story I started about the same time which was the same story but told from the viewpoints of four different characters. I wrote it mainly for the fun of writing the common scenes as told from the four different viewpoints (i.e. a raid on a wagon train or a night in a tavern/inn). This story is lost (alas). *______* * * * Film At Eleven The day was pleasant with scattered clouds and alight breeze. It was an ideal spring day for a bike ride and some tourism. Henry Ronin had a bottle of white wine in his backpack along with his camera and was planning for a very pleasant day. _____As he approached the Natural History Museum, Henry carefully signaled his turns well ahead of time; there were a lot of DC cops out getting their ticket quota. He parked his bike at a bike stand outside the Museum and carefully locked it with his chain. _____As Henry went inside, he saw some joker with about fifty pounds of stereo crushing one shoulder. The radio was saying something about the "Soviets were upset at the latest U.S. provocation and the U.S. was decrying the Soviet deployment of missile subs within 2300 miles of the U.S. coast." Henry's only reaction was to think "at least the news is consistent." _____The inside of the Museum was fairly empty. Henry walked around the "Stuffed elephant" in admiration. Then, he went to the insect exhibit. A tour guide was talking about the "common cockroach". _____"The common cockroach has the highest resistance to radiation of any creatures we'd tested. In the event of a nuclear war, the cockroach would outlive us all! In fact, after a nuclear war, descendants of cockroaches would take ecological niches much the same way mammals did from the dinosaurs." _____If what you say happens, then future 'humans" could be forms of cockroaches?" _____Yes, sir, they could." _____"Wonderful", Henry thought, "some future cockroach can dig us up and put reconstructed human skeletons in Museums for other bugs to look at. Maybe they'll do a better job of running things than us?" _____Henry wondered over to the section dealing with minerals and sat down to rest. On the bench was a paper whose front page read: "SOVIETS PROVOKING U.S. RESPONSE." Henry read the article with intense concentration. A tired looking man on the bench near Henry commented: _____"Sounds read horrible, don't it? Them Russians are putting missiles near our coast. Sounds like Cuba again, don't it?" _____"Not really", Henry said in a musing tone, "They have been putting missile boats near our coast for ten, fifteen years now. Sounds more like a 'relief on station'." _____"A what?" _____"One missile boat goes home when it's relief arrives. That way, They have the same number of missile boats there all the time. There was an interesting article in Time about two months ago." _____Henry was a GS-13 who worked at the Naval Intelligence Command and had talked to a few of "the guys" about this. They figured the Soviets were just taking their time about the boat relief. But, Henry wasn't going to tell this civilian that. Besides, Time made the perfect reference source. _____"Well, I hope you're right. Think I'll go get me a beer. See you around." _____Henry never did see the article about the Soviets sending their unnecessary personnel and dependents home. He didn't bother reading about the two day old Israeli/Egyptian vs Syria war; he'd heard all he wanted to from Dan Rather the night before. He put down the newspaper and left for his favourite section, the carved Jades. _____Henry carefully pulled out a clean handkerchief and wiped off the glass in front of the display of carved Jade bowls. Then, he sat in front of them and stared with lust in his heart. To him, They were the Museum! If he could have taken them, he would have. But, that would deprive other patrons of the pleasure of studying them. Behind him, a tall guard smiled with approval. _____"YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE! YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE! THE MUSEUM MUST CLOSE IN FIFTEEN MINUTES! AN ULTIMATUM HAS JUST BEEN RECEIVED BY THE GOVERNMENT. WASHINGTON D.C. WILL BE DESTROYED BY A NUCLEAR WEAPON IN FOUR HOURS. NO ONE HAS CLAIMED CREDIT FOR PLANTING THIS WEAPON. PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND GO TO THE BOMB SHELTERS LOCATED IN THE BASEMENT OF THIS BUILDING." _____Henry stood up and turned around in shock. It was eleven AM and that meant he had till 3 PM to get out of D.C. He heard the tall guard talking to a patron. _____"It won't do much good to go to the bomb shelter but if you want to, the guards are putting up signs." _____The woman had a stroller with two babies in it. She looked like she was trying hard to wake up from a nightmare. _____There was only one thing for Henry to do. He pulled his bottle of wine out and held it in front of the woman. ______"Take a swig. You'll feel better!" ______"I doubt it," she said. She drank about a third of the bottle before gasping for breath. ______”I think I'll try getting home, now. Do you think the Metro will be very crowded?" ______ "Where do you live?" ______ "Northern Virginia. I left my car at the Pentagon parking lot." ______ "Better hurry, Metro will be crowded." ______ As the woman left with her kids, Henry thought that the Metro would be impossibly crowded. If she did get to her car, she'd probably be a ground zero. But, he didn't tell her that. ______ He heard someone snarl "fuck it" and this was followed by the sound of breaking glass and alarm going off. Henry walked back into the gem room and saw the tall guard pulling the Hope Diamond out of it's niche. The man looked at Henry and said: "I've been guarding this thing for years. Someone has got to keep it safe." ______ With that, the tall guard walked off and "saved" several other gems. ______ Henry took a long swig of his wine and thought about what the tall guard had done. Then, he went back to the Jade Room and kicked through the glass windows by the Jade bowls. He carefully removed them and gently dusted the glass from inside them. ______ "You're a fucking looter!" ______ It was the tall guard who had been collecting gems. ______ "No way!" Henry replied. "I'm trying to save these for the future." ______ "That's what I thought. But, just doing my duty. Now, we got to get out of the city to protect our treasures" ______ Henry was feeling depressed and gave the tall guard a hit off his wine bottle. The tall guard pulled a flask of Ol' Granddad out and they both tried it out. Then, the tall guard walked away. Henry never saw the man again. ______ Henry walked out of the almost deserted building and carefully avoided the people who were "salvaging" various exhibits. Although alarms were ringing continually, no police or security arrived to investigate them. ______ The street in front of the Natural History Museum was jammed with people and cars. He saw two fights and saw one man pulled bodily from his car. The attacker hopped into the car and was able to go all of two feet before being forced to a halt. The "former owner" reached into the car and started stabbing it's new driver with a ball point pen. Henry shook his head in dismay and went to get his bicycle. ______ He ignored the phone booths which had a herd of people around them. He retrieved his bike and went around to the back of the Natural History museum which faced onto the Capital Mall. There, he hoped to find a phone. His wife was visiting her folks in Sleepy Eye, Minnesota and had taken their dog. Now, he just had to get out of the city. ______ Henry stopped by a deserted beer booth and helped himself to a cold Budweiser. For once, he had a regular and not a Lite. He left enough change to cover the cost of his beer and two bags of popcorn. ______ There was an abandoned souvenir stand nearby. Henry helped himself to a couple of tee shirts and used them to pad the Jade Bowls in his knapsack. He thought about paying and left a cheque for the tee shirts., he turned on a portable radio in the stand. ______ "...the Soviets are denying planting the nuclear device in Washington D.C. and claim that this is 'an imperialist plot to discredit the peace loving people of the Soviet Union.' They further state that 'in any event, such an action would be tantamount to a declaration of war. No one could win such a war.' A Department of Defense representative stated that this bomb threat may be in response to the current middle east crisis." There was a long pause. "This will be our last news broadcast. This station will be carrying the Federal Emergency Management Agency, or FEMA. broadcast live. Good bless and God be with us all." ______ There was the "white noise" of an open microphone and faintly Henry could hear the D.J. say: "Tell Walt to hold his helo for me. I'm coming as fast as I can!" Henry knew that "Walt" was the traffic reporter and flew a large helicopter. ______ Then, a voice came on announcing "This is the FEMA broadcast. Remain calm and leave the city in an orderly fashion. Local, state and federal authorities are arranging for an orderly evacuation of the city." ______ It was 11:25 AM and Henry decided the Mall was empty enough to try riding down. He headed for the Lincoln Memorial with the radio slung over his shoulder. He had forgotten to leave his name or any money in payment for the radio. ______ The roads leading away from the Lincoln Memorial were parking lots. There were people oozing between cars and people moving in close formation down the sides of the roads. Clearly, this wasn't the place for him to go. ______ Besides, he realized that every road going out of town would be clogged. There would be fools in Northern Virginia who just had to go to Baltimore instead of going south. There would be idiots in Georgetown who would figure safely was in Georgetown would try for there instead of Ohio. Henry turned on the radio and the FEMA man confirmed this. The man sounded rather calm. Henry decided he would be calm if he knew he could leave D.C. at 10 miles per minute and go to Ohio or any other safe haven. ______ Henry decided to try Pennsylvania Avenue. The road was an absolute zoo with traffic totally snarled up. Henry got off his bicycle and began pushing it. ______ About 1:30 PM, he was some six miles from the Natural History Museum when some wild-eyed gent pushed up to Henry. ______ "Give me the fuckin' bike, man!" ______ "Hey, sure, take it." ______ Maybe it was kindness and altruism that made Henry give away his bike. Maybe it was the hunting knife the wild-eyed gent had stuck under Henry's Adam's Apple. ______ As he watched his bike being ridden slowly off, Henry shrugged the knapsack off one shoulder and pulled out his wind bottle. It was still half full. He took a swig and offered it to a young man who had been eyeing the bottle. The young man took a swig and pulled out a hand rolled reefer. He lit it, took a hit and offered it to Henry. ______ Henry hesitated for a second and then took a hit. Smoking grass could cost Henry his security clearance and would get him fired. Somehow, that just didn't seem too important. ______ They smoked and finished off the bottle. Henry spotted an unoccupied phone booth and ran for it; his former companion nodded and keep walking. ______ Henry punched the phone number for his in-laws. He got cutoff before the phone could ring. He tried calling again and once again just got a dial tone after dialing. In frustration, he tried calling the operator. The number was busy. ______ There was a "special long distance" operator. Henry tried calling that number and got a recording "All of our long distance lines leaving the Washington D.C. area have been preempted. We advise that you try calling back. This is recording 547. All of our..." Henry hung up. So much for one last call to his wife and in-laws. If he survived this, he would never let his wife go on vacation without him. To Texas (which is where he thought Hell was located) with the boss saying they were shorthanded at work and couldn't spare him!" ______ "Well," he thought, "the only thing to do is survive. The only way to survive is to try another way of leaving the city." ______ Henry turned off down a side road by a parking lot. Painted on a wall of the lot was "Malcolm X Park". He figured on going up one block and then Pennsylvania Avenue. ______ As he passed an NS&T bank, he saw a group of about ten local residents "making an informal cash withdrawal." He decided that They were taking NS&T bank up on their ad slogan of being the "NS&T or NEST of Washington D.C.: and were lining their own "nests". ______ A gent in a D.C. Police uniform sauntered over. ______ "What you doing here, man? You don't belong in this neighborhood.." ______ "Well, officer, I'm just trying to get around the traffic jam on Pennsylvania Avenue." ______ Henry was beginning to sweat. Being nuked was too abstract a fear to really bother him; he was numb to that fear. He was being surrounded by some angry looking people with weapons. He could see what looked like a dead man near the bank. The prospect of being beaten to death worried him. In every novel he'd read, the hero either used some Karate and/or keen wits to save his own ass. Henry had dropped out of Karate fifteen years before and knew he froze up when having to talk in front of a "strange audience". Book nerds didn't seem to have this problem. He damned himself for having left Pennsylvania Avenue. ______ "You wanta be like him?" The cop pointed at the corpse. ______ "Uh, no, sir, really don't!" Henry was amazed how much he was starting to sweat. ______ "Good. He fucking killed hisself. No ball, I guess." ______ What's in the sack, white boy?" ______ "Tee shirts and some old bowls I found." ______ "Let me see." ______ The cop barely glanced at Henry’s camera and ignored his radio. Then, he pulled out the bowls and looked at them. Henry was amazed at how gentle he was with them. ______ "My grandmother had stuff like this. Never would let my brothers or me touch it. Amazing what the Chinks can do with plastic, ain't it?" ______ "Sure is!" ______ "Stole it, didn't you." ______ Sure did." Henry heard himself telling the truth too late to stop himself. He figured that was one habit that could get him in trouble." ______ "Well, it needs to be padded." ______ The cop stood up and grabbed Henry's upper arm and towed him over to a pile of money. There, the cop grabbed handfuls of cash and packed them around the bowls. He handed the knapsack back to Henry. ______ "You know what you really got in there?" ______ The cop's tone of voice demanded an honest answer. ______ "Yes, Jade." ______ "Damn right! Second floor, Natural History Museum, right?" ______ Henry just nodded. ______ "My grandmother used to take me there all the time...You don't recognize any of us, understand!" ______ "Never saw any of you before in my life!" ______ As he left, Henry heard someone comment: "That white boy ain't so dumb." ______ Then, he saw the gang hop into the police squad car and van and head out of town on roads parallel to Pennsylvania Avenue. ______ By the time Henry made it to Pennsylvania Avenue, it was 2 PM. He turned on the radio and heard:"...now report that the D.C. bomb is estimated to be between 4 and 10 megatons. This could cause total destruction as far as Suitland to the southeast and...' Henry shut the radio off. ______ Henry figured he was well within the radius of total destruction. He figured he'd take his dad's advise: "It's just as important to die well as it is to live well!" Henry figured he'd die well. ______ There was a liquor store nearly. Henry went there and got several bottle of Dom Perion Champaign and some caviar. He put two bricks together then placed the saucepan on this "stove" and carefully placed cash under the saucepan. It was to be the fuel for his stove. He put the caviar in the saucepan and lit the money. While his caviar was heating, he counted the cash in his knapsack. He was carrying $54,000. He figured he was burning $3,000 to heat his caviar. ______ Henry was sure his father would call this "going in style". He popped the cork off on one of the bottles of Dom Perion and drank from the bottle. It was 3:45 PM by the time he finished his last meal". ______ An older, black couple had seen him drinking and brought up lawn chairs for the three of them. ______ "Good afternoon, I'm Henry Ronin. This here’s Dom pair-e-own and is supposed to be the best in the world. Let me pour you some?” ______ Henry poured the Dom Perion into three plastic glasses as if they were the finest Champaign glasses. His "guests", a man and woman in their early forties, accepted the glasses with good humour and with the respect that $300 Champaign deserved. ______ "I’m Andy Mordecai and this is my wife Enid. Why are you sitting here?" ______ "We're within the zone of total destruction and there's no point in running cause we'd never escape in time." ______ "We know," Enid replied. ______ Henry figured "what the hell" and used his camera timer to take their pictures. ______ At 2:58 PM, Andy raised his glass for a toast: "Life has been good to us. A toast to life!" ______ They drank the toast. ______ "To the decent people in the world. There's damn few of us!" ______ They drank to Enid's toast. ______ "My daddy used to say it's important to live well and to die well. I can't think of anyone I'd rather spend my last minutes with!" ______ They drank to Henry's maudlin toast, then refilled and kept drinking. ______ Someone noticed that it was 3:15 PM and They weren't dead. ______ Henry turned on his radio, which was tuned to a local TV station: "...report that the bomb didn't go off. Our news sources aren't saying for sure why the Nations Capitol was spared. There are unconfirmed rumors that the Soviets assisted American agencies in defusing this situation. Anyway, the threat is now over. National Guard units are entering the city to control looters... ("You'd better stay with us, Henry, you'll never make it home tonight." ______ Henry nodded in agreement.) ...and are authorized to shoot to kill! We will report details as they become available. However, due to the fact that our newsroom had to shut down and technical difficulties, we will have a comprehensive report with.. ______ Then the three of them spoke the traditional words along with the news announcer: "File At Eleven!" This was a fun story to plot out and write. I was a fan of the Jades Bowls and would have loved to have plastic copies of them or at least good photos. Herman (A Good Dog?) At six am, the sun shinning in through the window woke Herman. He shook his head to get the fur out of his eyes and then stood up. Herman decided that it was time to wake up his pet humans. Herman jumped up on the bed and walked up to his pet man. He stood six inches from his pet man's face and breathed on it. The man didn't move. So Herman moved closer and licked the silly human on the nose. Still, the pet human didn't move. Herman decided that extreme methods were needed. He climbed on top of his pet human and began licking the man's ear. The man awoke and said "Go away, Herman. I want to sleep!". Herman knew better than to let his pet human say this and kept licking the man’s ears. Herman's other pet human, the woman, rolled over and looked at Herman licking the man's ears. "I think he wants you to take him for a walk, dear." "I can't," 'Dear' replied, "Herman is holding me down!" When he heard this, Herman decided to be nice and moved back to let 'Dear' stand up. 'Dear' pulled on his "extra skins" (clothing) and put Herman's leash on Herman. Herman liked the leash because then his pet human couldn't get away from him. Herman took his pet man around the yard and sniffed the trees and bushes and looked for cats. Then, Herman took his pet man down the street while he looked for dogs to talk with and cats to chase. Herman smelled another dog and made his pet human run with him over to where the other dog was. The other dog was like Herman: a small furry dog with long, light brown fur and eyes that were almost hidden. The two dogs sniffed each other. "Where are your pet humans?" Herman asked the other dog. "They stayed up late last night so I'm letting them sleep in." "I never let my pet humans sleep in," Henry said, "they aren't very smart. I have to keep taking them outside every day. Maybe I can get them fully trained someday. See, this pet human is almost leash trained already." "Keep training," the other dog said, "humans are slow learners! See you tomorrow." With that the other dog ran off and Herman lead his pet man back to their house. In the house, Herman let the man feed him some canned dogfood. Then, his pet man went back upstairs and went back to sleep. Herman decided that sleep was a good idea and he went back to sleep himself. Late that day, Herman decided to case his pet cat. The cat was so much fun to play with. Herman loved to chase the cat from the kitchen to the living room and back. He also loved to chase the cat around the rocking chair and behind the sofa. Herman truly loved to stand on top of the cat and chew on it's ears. The cat would hiss in anger and try biting Herman's ears or try scratching his nose. But, Herman's fur was too long and the cat could never hurt him. The cat was only half as big as Herman but Herman didn't care. IT was the only cat Herman had. That evening Herman found his favorite rubber cat. He took it to his pet humans. Herman let his pet man take the rubber cat and throw it across the room. Herman ran over and got the toy. Herman brought the toy back to his pet man. The pet man tried taking the rubber cat from Herman but Herman made him work for it! Finally, Herman let the pet man take the rubber cat and throw it across the room again. Herman heard his pet woman say "He sure is playful tonight, Dear." 'Dear' just grunted in reply. Herman didn't care what his pet humans said as long as they were happy. After all, a wise dog has to keep his pet humans happy by playing with them and keeping them out of trouble! A few minutes later, Herman decided to go for a walk outside. So Herman barked at his humans and then ran over to the front door. When his pet humans didn't get up, Herman barked a few more time. "These poor humans," Herman thought, "they are sooo slow sometimes!" "You'd better take Herman out, dear," his pet woman said, "we don't want him to wake up the neighborhood!" His pet man came over and attached the leash to both Herman and himself. Then, they went for a pleasant walk. Herman sniffed in his yard and thought that he could smell a strange cat. That was horrible! How dare a strange cat be in his yard! Herman began running back and forth looking for the strange cat. Finally, Herman's pet human said "Look, Herman, there’s a cat!" Herman was pleased that his pet human was finally learning how to help him. Herman ran toward the strange cat. The cat ran under a car and Herman tried getting underneath it. Herman coulnd't fit under the car. So, Herman barked at the cat: "Come out and fight like a dog!" The strange cat just hid under the car. Finally, Herman's pet man picked Herman up and carried him back to the house. Herman was so angry that he ignored his pet humans for the rest of the evening. The next morning, Herman woke up at six o'clock. He was still angry at his pet man and decided to let his pet woman take him for his walk. Herman walked up to his pet woman's face and stared at her for a few seconds. Herman panted on her face but she didn't move, so, Herman licked her on the nose and then licked her mouth. His pet woman woke up and said "Dear, this stupid dog is bothering me. Please take him for a walk." "No!", said 'Dear', "Herman wants you!" As soon as they were outside, Herman lead his pet woman over to where his friend, the other dog was sitting. "There was a strange cat in my yard last night!" "Don't mess with that cat; it's mean!" "Don't worry," Herman told his friend, "no cat can bother me!" "I've warned you!" Herman strutted off in search of the strange cat. NO strange cat was going to walk in Herman's yard and get away with it! Herman saw the strange cat and began chasing it. They went to the left, they went to the right and Herman's pet human just couldn't keep up. So Herman did something that he hadn't let his pet humans know Herman could do. He stopped real quick. His pet woman kept running and Herman's collar slipped over Herman's head. Herman ran after the strange cat. His pet woman yelled at him: "Come back, Herman, that cat is dangerous!" But Herman wasn't listening. Herman almost got the strange cat's tail in his mouth when the strange cat stopped running. The strange cat hissed at Herman. Herman charged at the cat and the cat swung at Herman. "Ouch!" The strange cat had scratched Herman on the nose. That hurt! Then, the strange cat rushed in and bit Herman on the ear! Herman tried to get loose but the angry cat just hung onto Herman's ear. Herman's pet woman ran up to them and the strange cat ran away. His pet woman picked Herman up and said "Oh, my poor baby! Did that cat hurt you?" Herman just laid in her arms and felt sorry for himself. This was the first time a cat had hurt him. It wasn't fair! Cats weren't supposed to hurt Herman! Herman's pet woman took him back to their house and put something on his nose and ear. They stopped hurting. Herman's pet man rubbed Herman's head and said "Dumb dog, this'll teach you not to attack cats!" The pet man had sounded so sympathetic that Herman didn't mind being called a "dumb dog". Herman laid down and went to sleep feeling sorry for himself. Later that day, when Herman hadn't attacked her, Herman's pet cat came over to see if Herman was okay. Herman just ignored her. Herman's pet cat went over to his food dish and ate some of Herman's breakfast. Herman just ignored this. Herman's feeling were still hurt. How could he face his friend, the other dog, after getting scratched by a cat? *______* * * * HERO The boy ran into his great grandfather's room wrinkling a treasure in one fist. "Gramp, Gramp," the boy shouted, "lookit this picture of you. You're a HERO!" The old man looked at the faded picture; it was a newspaper clipping about sixty years old. "Yore right, lad. That was taken back when I was a deputy sheriff. Would have been 'round nineteen ten. That sure is a good picture of Dan Beowulf. Ol' Dan was quite the sheriff. Yes, sir, quite a man." "It says here that you 'got a na torous robber.' Did you really? What was he like?" "Well, lad, it SAYS we faced him down 'man ta man'. But, it wasn't that way." The old man gave the boy a serious look. "We got Lucas Andrews and that boy was a badun. No, we really didn't get 'im face to face. We never gave a rattler a chance and we sure didn't give Andrews one either!" "Whataya mean, Gramps?" The boy cast one quick glance toward the door. Sometimes his mother had a nasty habit of telling him "not to bother your great grandfather" just as Gramps was getting to the more interesting parts of his stories. "Get yur cards out, boy and I'll tell you that story while we plays." The boy brought a dog eared deck of cards to the card table and the two sat down. "Well, now, lad, it all started when the sheriff, Dan Beowulf, came looking for me. I had the night off and was playing cards with the boys." "I'd just been dealed a straight flush and was acting like I'd gotten nothing. The boys I was playing with were acting real cute so I was playing real carefully." Actually, the old man thought, those mules was using marked cards and thought I didn't know. So I was hiding my cards from them. For that hand, I'd stacked the deck and those mules never caught on but I ain't gonna tell the lad this. "I figured that they was fixing to cheat on me. Dan walked in an' said he needed to 'have a word with me.' The old man emphasized Beowulf’s formal phrase and the boy laughed. "What can ah do for you, Sheriff?" The deputy spoke without leaving the poker table. "Lucas Andrews robbed a train office last night and killed the telegraph operator. The railroad's night clerk was wounded and didn't regain consciousness until about an hour ago. He identified Andrews as the thief. "Ya mean the clerk jus woke up an' said Andrews was the wun who dun it?" "Yes." Beowulf knew that his deputy understood him very well but was "acting dumb" so as to stay "one of the boys." "You gitting up a possey?" "No. This isn't the 1880s. I've talked to people who came into town today and to the other deputies. No one saw Andrews on the roads near town today. I believe that he is hiding out in the hills northwest of town while waiting for attention to die down." "Well, that ain't the only thing a dying," one of the boys at the poker table snickered. Sheriff Beowulf just looked disgusted at this reference to the railroad clerk. "Well, damn, Sheriff, maybe we better git going now. Can we finish this hand later, boys?" "NO! Play or fold," said one of 'the boys' who was smelling easy money as he upped the ante. Oh, all rite, ah meet ya and raise you a dollar." As he said this, the deputy looked nervous and 'the boys' smiled. "CALL!" When the deputy laid down his cards and 'the boys' saw the straight flush, they taught the sheriff some language he'd never learned before; all unmentionable in polite company. "Well, gotta go, boys. Sheriff Beowulf wants me and y'all are just too good for me." The boy looked at his great grandfather. "You get much money outa them?" "Oh, 'bout a weeks pay all told. Didn't hurt them any and they'd have just spent it at the saloon." The old man had privately briefed the lad on what really happened at saloons after the boy's parents had forbidden him to question his great grandfather. The old man had said saloons were for playing cards and drinking too much and don't let your parents know you now know. He figured he'd let the boy would find out about sex on his own. "Well, lad, I look me money and we went over to the general store to buy some supplies. "Henry," I said to the owner, 'I need somea your good stuff." "I got some Winchester 30.30 here at fifty shot for thirty five cents. I got some specialty ammo for five cents a round. This is the best you kin buy!" "Well, let me see them." "Well, that was more than I wanted to pay. The sheriff said we was on county business an 'that he wanted good supplies." "When I'da paid fer my ammo, I'da been given those ten rounds. I know the sheriff got himself a bunch, never did know how many." The old man refrained from telling the boy that he's slipped the special ammo into his bag of supplies when the store owner wasn't looking. The way that thieving storekeeper robbed people, it didn't hurt him any or so the old man had thought at the time. "We left town like we was heading for a ranch to the easta town. Then, we cut north and headed for the hills." "Gramps, was there INDIANS out there? Did ya see (gasp) any rattle snakes?" "Nah, we didn't see nothing but dried up hills. That part of Texas ain't nothing but dry grass an rocks an dried up cattle. No Indians near there, neither." The old man carefully stacked the deck so that his great grandson would get a busted royal flush. It warmed his heart to see the boy's excitement as the lad tried to don a "poker face." If that was the world's best poker face, the old man mused, poker could be played with the cards face up! "We got up ta where we thought that snake Andrews was hiding out and watchin' the town from. We hid our horses an started lookin' fer that snake." By now the boy had 'casually' opened with "bet ya a nickel." The old man looked like he was thinking about this and said "meetya and raise ya a dime." "Meet ya and gimme a card!" The old man knew exactly which card the boy needed and could see it sitting facedown on top of the deck. It was the queen of hearts and was missing one corner and had a unique pattern of wrinkles. The boy threw down his useless card (a two of clubs) and snatched the queen from his great grandfather's hand. The old man pretended not to notice which card had been dealt and was secretly delighted to see the lad's look of greed. The old man resumed his narration. "When we found that snake, Andrews, we tried to take him alive." Andrews had been sitting behind some boulders watching the town below; he was well protected and could only be seen from above and behind him. It had taken the sheriff and his deputy almost four hours of searching before they stumbled onto Andrew's hiding place. The sheriff stood and yelled to Andrews. "Surrender, Andrews, we have your position infillated and you can not escape. DON'T make us have to hurt you!" Andrews turned like he'd been goosed and just stared at the Sheriff and his deputy. Then, he ran for cover. Andrews fired at his pursuers and they fired back at him. Then he got into the rocks and was lost from sight. His pursuers had ta go in after him." The old man paused; the boy looked at him hanging in suspense waiting for him to continue. "Sorry, lad, ah need some water." The boy went over to the old man's dresser where a glass of water was and retrieved it. The old man was vastly amused to watch the boy trying to get the water and watch the old man at the same time. The boy was clearly afraid that the old man would try looking at the boy's cards. This merely increased the old man's pride in the boy. "THEN what happened, Gramps?" "Well, he went sneaking down through the rocks. Me and the sheriff was walking together. We caught up to that snake Andrews from behind and the sheriff told him to surrender. He didn't and got shot." "Did ya shoot him, Gramps?" "Don't know 'bout that, lad," the old man hedged. "The sheriff was wun hellofa shot and liked to do his own dirty work." The old man sighed. "Anyway, we hadta pack that snake Andrews down outa them hills and into town. We took him to the funeral house." "He was shot resisting arrest," Sheriff Beowulf told the funeral house owner. "Got it in the back, looks like." "Yes Andrews has kinfolk around here and I'd rather they think he was shot in the chest. "I know you do," the funeral house owner thought, "you don't want it that way too!" "First time I've ever heard you lie, Sheriff." "True. I regret it. Will you cooperate?" "Sure, sheriff, them boys this skunk kilt was friends of mine. Anyway you killed him is fine with me!" The funeral home owner paused to regain his calm. "I'll tell the newspaper owner that you shot the 'dear departed' through the left lung from the front." "Well," the old man continued, "the newspaper man had ta take our pictures and he just had ta print them. He even interviewed us. "Well, well, so these are the heroes. How did you shoot him." "The railroad clerk, Mr. Clark Smyth, identified Andrews as the man who robbed the train office, killed the telegraph operator and wounded the railroad clerk. We located Andrews in the hills outside of town where he was shot while resisting arrest." "Was he trying to kill you?" "Yes." "Did you fight him mano a mano?" (A spectator muttered: "What’s that mean? The deputy replied "Face ta face.") "Yes." The sheriff sounded faintly pained as his answered; the town scribe misinterputed this as regret or maybe grief at the killing and reported it in his article. "Anyway," the old man continued, "the headlines read 'Sheriff Faces Down Fiend in Saga of the Old West.' Well, they got a good picture of Sheriff Dan and me and we was real proud of it. Why, when they that had Andrew's funeral, somea his kinfolk came up to us and said 'ya did him better than he deserved. We knowed that boy was nogood and ain't never did have any sense." The sheriff looked real relieved to hear that. "Anyway, I'da had enough of being a lawman and took that railroad clerk's job. I ended up learning the telegraph code from the new man and took his job a few years later when he moved on." The old man looked pensive as his mind's eye looked back down the long years to his past. He felt like an archeologist looking down a long tunnel at the relics on the bottom of the well. "Well, what are you two up to?" The boy's mother, who was the old man's granddaughter, had come into the room. "Gramps was telling me how he an' the Sheriff hunted down a murderer and how the Sheriff killed that skunk Andrews and we're playing poker an' I'm skunkin' gramps!" The boy's mother was relieved to hear which version of the story her son had been told. She had heard that same story first when about the boy's age. The boy looked at his cards and gave his great grandfather a truly gloating smile. "Call, Gramps," the boy shouted. "Full house, boy, aces and tens." "Royal flush, Gramps, I win!" "I think it's time you played outside," the boy's mother said. The boy picked up his massive winnings, $1.37 and left with stride of a Caesar. "Someday," the old man thought, "I'll tell him the full story like I told his mother and her father when they was older than the lad." They had been behind Andrews as that unworthy had inched along a footpath betwixt man high boulders. Beowulf yelled at Andrews: "Surrender! You cannot escape!" Andrews had tried to turn and aim at the sheriff and his deputy when two 30.30 rounds had caught him in the back. The Sheriff had spasmed in shock when he heard his deputy fire the 30.30 at about a foot from the Sheriff's ear. "Y'all right, Dan? I thought you was having a seizure?" "You did not have to kill him." "Yah ah did. Them victims of his was friends of both of us. Besides, he was tryin' to kill us." The sheriff sighed in agreement. "This can never happen again, you know. Why don't you become a railroad clerk?" And so the had. * * * * * * LOTTERY In the limousine, Georges Williams began thinking of how he'd ended up there. The beginning of the chain of events leading to his presence there had started out so simply five weeks before. He and a few friends from work had gone to the Wooden Nickel Saloon. It had been a typical day at work for Georges and five of his buddies: hard work and a lot of boredom. They were glad to have a few beers before going home. After a few beers, they noticed a sign the owner had posted which offered a 40% discount to anyone buying "John Wayne Lottery" tickets. "Hey, lookit that," one of the guys yelled, "they're talking about that 'John Wayne Lottery.' You pay your money and you get to shoot some turkeys. Damn that must be weird!" "Whatya mean turkey shoot being weird? Mah dad used ta go shoot the range and win prize turkeys. They were good eating." "Well, Georges, that’s one way to look at it. Still, its different." "Yeah, I know what you're talking about. Didn't expect it to happen, though. Seems too damn logical." "Lets buy a ticket, guys, what’s the worst that could happen? We ain't gonna win." "Hey, lets buy some tickets," sang out one of the guys, "I wantta go shoot some turkey; get a little white meat, get a little dark meat, yup, shoot me some turkey." "Do it! Do it!" Georges joined the chorus; they were like reluctant sharks circling around some victim waiting for the first shark to bite; the bite that would start the feeding frenzy. "Hey, Suzzie," Georges yelled at the barmaid, "bring us some of them 'John Wayne Lottery' tickets." "None of you look like killers to me," Suzzie snapped. "We ain't gonna win. All we're gonna get outa this is yur 40% discount!" "OK. How many? Remember, they're ten dollars each." "We'll get one ticket and put it one our tab." "Big spenders," she shook her head and left to get the tickets. The tickets were rather austere looking and as one of the guys said, "the only dignified touch about the damn lottery." Georges looked at his buddies and remarked: "Which of you pigeons is gonna sign this thing?" "I will," said one, "sounds like fun!" "Then sign the damn thing." "Can't do that, Georges, I've got real bad writer's cramp. Lets have another beer." "Come on," Georges urged another, "you'll get a real bang outta this!" "Maybe, but I don't wanta de prive one of y'all from this great op poor tun it tee." Georges got up to visit the men's room. "Tell you what, lets get Georges to sign this thang," said one of George's buddies as soon as he disappeared into the stench of the Men's room. “What’s happening, guys." "Suzzies been eyeing you all night, Grorgie, maybe she’s interested?" Georges snickered at this thought but was intrigued. Suzzie would have been amused at this lie. Georges and the guys had a couple more beers. As they were swigging and talking, they ignored Dan Rather discussing how a convicted rapist/murder had been sentenced to death by a federal court in Oregon. Georges waved Suzzie over to him and began vigorously rubbing his face. "Hey, Suzzie, let me clear a place for you to sit!" "Promises, promises, all I get from you is promises." Suzzie sighed very loudly. "Maybe we can go to my place later?" "OK, later." Both knew that later would never come; Suzzie was fairly solidly married and so was Georges. "Time to go home. Georges, sign this tab and we'll pay ya our shares." Then one of his buddies stuck the 'John Wayne Lottery' ticket in front of Georges and put the pen in his hand. Georges signed without ever really looking at what he was signing. Suzzie came over and asked: "You boys ready for your tab?" "What I sign?" "You just signed the lottery ticket! But don't worry, hero, we'll pay for the beer." Georges was shocked as he realized what the guys had pulled over on him. He would be a damn sight more careful about signing anything they gave him from then on. What would he tell his wife? When Georges got home, he decided to break this news to his wife quickly by showing her the ticket. "How could you do this?" His wife's voice shook with rage and disbelief. "Hey, I know it's expensive! But, dear, look at it this way. It's for a good cause." There was a bit of self doubt in Georges' voice. He held back the ultimate argument of "I was with the guys and we got carried away... "I don't like it and I never expected anything like this from you. You just never seemed the type to me." Three hours later, she had calmed down. "I still don't like it." Finally, an hour after that, she had fully calmed down. "Oh, well," she conceded, "it is being advertised as the greatest thing for the economy and our way of life. I know we've both agreed it's a good idea, but, I just never expected you to actually buy a ticket. "Hey, they don't call it the 'John Wayne Lottery' for nothing! It is in keeping with our greatest traditions." His wife nodded in reluctant agreement The next three weeks until "Lottery day" were nerve wracking. There were protests against the Lottery by various groups. The right wing loved it; the left wing vilified it; the vast majority of the indifferent in the middle bought the tickets if not the arguments for and against the lottery. On the big night, Georges popped the tab on a beer can and took a gulp as they waited. His wife sat on the arm of the sofa. Before the Lottery, Dan Rather came on to give the latest rundown of global madness. He mentioned that it seemed the Arabs were about to attack Israel (again), several criminals on death row had lost their appeals and that the leading indicators indicated yet another recession. Afterwards, Georges and his wife could not have told anyone what the news had been; it was just too unexceptional. By the time five numbers had been read off, Georges realized that he had hit on four. His wife gasped: this meant that Georges was a standby for the group shoot. When the sixth number was read off, Georges realized that he had scored on five numbers. This meant one grand a year for twenty years and the duty of being in on the turkey shoot. True, he would have to share the shoot with three other people but "what the hell", Georges thought. Actually, he was relieved to be part of a group; this was not a solo event in his opinion. The person who was lucky enough to hit on all six numbers got the glory of a one on one shot. Georges and his wife gaped at each other. The next two weeks were nerve wracking. Finally, about a day before the Turkey shoot, Georges confronted his wife. "Look, if you don't want me to go through with this, just say so! But, please, quit moping around. "I've gotten used to the idea of what you're going to do. It still makes me nervous, that’s all." "Look at it this way: I heard the other day that the ACLU troublemakers don't mind this. If they don't mind, why should we?" She had heard exactly the opposite. Georges had that story about the American Civil Liberties Union from one of his buddies. "If you don't want me to go, just say so." "No, dear, you can go. It just takes some getting used to." “I know." Their arrival at the Lottery building jolted Georges out of his daydreams. As he left the limousine, a woman with a protest sign ran up to him. "You greedy bastard," she screamed and spit in Georges' face, "you're nothing but a ...". The rest of her statement was lost as a cop shoved her away from Georges. After wiping his face on a towel, Georges turned to his wife and patted her on the arm. “If you really want me to, I can walk away from this now, dear." "No," she sighed, "it's something we believe is good for the country. After all, we did vote for it." Georges walked into the Federal Building to meet his fellow winners. He could smell fresh mowed grass and as he walked into the building, the stench of the cleaning fluids used there. He met his three fellow interviewers: one was a middle aged black man named Anthony, another was a middle aged white woman named Mary Beth and the third was a young white woman named Jennifer. They exchanged introductions. "What style do you prefer?" Anthony liked taking care of business quickly. "I kinda think 'face to face' would be best," said Georges. Georges was nervous about this style and therefore felt compelled to use it. "I don't like the idea of working 'face to face'," Jennifer replied. "Lets go for the 'faceless stranger' style." "Doesn't make any difference to me," was Mary Beth's remark. "Are there any other styles," Anthony remarked. "Well," Georges hesitated then continued, "there is the '1984' style. However, the idea gives me a headache to think about it." Georges rubbed the base of his skull. "Lets take a vote. I support 'face to face'," stated Anthony. "Face to face," stated Georges. "You know what I want!" Jennifer was very adamant. "I'll go with the majority," was Mary Beth's laconic answer. In a formal voice to the lottery officials standing near them, Georges stated for the group: "We're three to one in favor of 'face to face.'" The lottery officials smilingly took the results of this election and left to arrange the proper seating. The four winners would be conducting three turkey shoots in front of a nationwide audience. The lucky four were ushered into a waiting room where they had their choice of beer or wine. Georges and Jennifer chose white wine, the other two went for beer. "How do you feel about this 'shooting contest'? "A bit nervous, Anthony," Georges replied, "but someone got to do them and we did win the contest." "It's just part of winning the lottery," Mary Beth remarked. Anthony nodded in agreement to both statements. A few minutes later, a lottery official returned to escort the four to the target practice room. It was a thirty by thirty foot square room. They entered from a door in the middle of one wall. There were three people seated directly across the room from them. Jennifer looked around the room, at the lottery officials, at the dead cameras, the spectators and her fellow lottery winners and said: "Count me out! This is just too stressful. With that, she left. She would get expense money for her inconvenience but would lose the lottery payments. Georges shook his head sadly. "Shit, guys,, I'm nervous but its worth it." "Yes," Anthony agreed, "this makes my stomach jumpy but these 'turkey shoots' have had excellent results nationwide. The advertisers love them. Mary Beth just nodded silent agreement; she was biting her lips nervously. A smiling man identified himself as the MC. "We're on the air in thirty seconds." "Good evening and welcome to your John Wayne National Lottery. I'm your Master of Ceremonies, Bill Canard. Tonight's lucky winners are: Anthony, a lawyer from Universal City, Texas; Georges, a steel worker from Hagerstown, P.A.; and Mary Beth, a fishery biologist from Coos Bay, Oregon. "Tonight, these three randomly selected American Patriots will be conducting the ultimate turkey shoot with a rapist and two murderers, ah, 'watching'." Mr. Canard smiled at his jape with a smile big enough for one to count all of his perfectly capped teeth. Canard was close enough for the three winners to smell his manly man's cologne as he turned to the lucky three. Do you have anything to say to your neighbors and fellow countrymen?" "No, Bill", said one of the three, "we came to shoot and shoot we will!" This speech won them another view of Canard's back teeth. With a graceful wave of his arms, Canard directed the three over to their seats. Georges sat down at a desk identical to those his comrades were at and prepared to earn his lottery winnings. The death of the late, unlamented, Gary Gilmore had lead to the John Wayne National Lottery. In front of him, a Remington 30.06 with scope mounted was rigidly clamped to the desk. The scope was centered on a target pinned over the heart of the first "target of the Turkey Shoot": a convicted murderer. When Canard gave the word, Georges caressed back the rifle's trigger. The rifle's bark marked the end of any innocence he may have still retained. Lucky Man George Jonathan Carlton had completed his run in record time for him: five miles in 29 minutes. He was relaxing and meditating. Actually, he was daydreaming but his sensei, Orlando, wasn't around to catch him so he wasn't worried about that. He saw one of his brethren walk past a doorway and nodded towards the man. Funny thing how the way a life can change; he wondered what his true destiny was. He looked at the wall clock: fifteen minutes until he was "on the air". # Five years before, in 2007, he had been an astronaut. He and the Frenchman, Dr. Henri Ramm, MD and a Swede named Paul ap Fenn had manned the first flight to Mars. It was to be a three year trip. It would take 15 months for the transit there and back; they would spend six months on Mars. They had left from the NASA Space Station in good spirits and had quickly settled into a routine. Henri had quickly become a celebrity on Earth with his discussions of the long range medical effects of their flight and the possibilities of space flight. There was the "medical problem" (as NASA delicately put it) to be contended with. But, that was something for the three astronauts to contend with. Their wives weren't too happy but they could face a fact when it hit them in the face. Astronauts "becoming gay" was not something to be bragged about at press conferences! It was something that the tabloids had a field day with. Playboy did interviews with their wives, People did a feature on them and Hustler had some crude fun. Again, these were predictable responses. At first, all three men were very proper towards each other. But, gradually, they faced the choice of hatred or affection and choose the path of survival. Friendship deepened into affection and then into physical relationship. Again, all this had been predicted. It was not something that could be explained to the public or flaunted to their wives. All three men spent much time reassuring their wives that they were loved; the Space Agency spent much time counseling both the men and their families (and that was the reason for encrypted voice and data links to their ship). But only dignified silence could handle the tabloids that were out for blood. A large portion of the United States was indifferent to the crew's personal problems; these were, unfortunately, religious fanatics who would have loved to see the three men burnt alive! When they were fourteen months out from Earth and a month away from Mars, they received an interesting message. "The World Health Agency has just completed testing three very special vaccines. One vaccine prevents all fourteen varieties of AIDS, other stops thirty four viruses that cause cancer and the third prevents nearly all forms of the common cold. There is worldwide jubilation about this. Since the animal tests and human tests had worked out very well, everyone on Earth is being immunized. The UN has got more people spreading these vaccines than they did when the World Health People got rid of smallpox. Just think, when you guys get back, you'll be in quarantine until you’re vaccinated. News wise, this is a bigger deal than your Mars probe!' George's reaction summed up the crew's feelings: "They're going to run this one into the ground, too." After a fifteen month flight, their mother ship went into polar orbit around Mars. The three men took their lander down to the Martian surface and began their studies. They sent out weather balloons, robot aircraft to map Mars and to the take geological samples and sent out robot "cars" equipped with geological laboratories. Also, they conducted in-situ studies. After three months on Mars, Henri was conducting the routine physicals that were required every six months. After taking blood samples from his shipmates, Henri fed them along with his other findings into the medical computer. The computer chimed and a strip of tape extruded from it. Henri read: "Well, George, according to this, you're disgustingly healthy; In fact, as healthy as a stud bull. You've got the heart of a twenty year old man...why don't you return it to him?" They all laughed at the old joke. "Well, why don't we?" Paul continued musing, "put him up for stud, I mean? We could get a cut of the gross!" "Sounds good to me. We could find some nice little house in Bangkok or maybe New York. Someplace with a lot of 'lonely women'." Both men were acting as if the amused and slightly indigent subject of their conversation, George, wasn't present. "How are we going to keep this from his wife?" "We'll tell her 'George is away on Space Agency business'." "I'm not interested, GENTLE and I use that word loosely, men! When I get back, all I want is to be with my wife and kids!" "I thought we meant more to him than that," Paul said heavily to Henri. Henri just shook his head. "I'm being serious now, damnit." "I know. I miss my family too" was Paul's reply. Henri just nodded in agreement. The medical computer chimed again and once again Henri read the strip the machine produced. He sucked air sharply and looked like a man who`d seen a plane crash; a bad plane crash. "Anything wrong?" "No, nothing, the computer is fouled up. I want to make some more tests." Without saying anything more, Henri re-ran his battery of tests` and did some extra tests. Then, he ran these results through his computer and looked dismayed at the results. he took all the medical computer`s findings plus his own diagnosis and sent them to the World Health Organization. About three hours later, the results came back. Henri opened his medicine locker and brought out his one bottle of fifty year old brandy. The crew had been allowed two hundred kilos of personal belongings and this bottle made up two of them. He poured glasses for all three men. If nothing else, NASA was generous about what the men had been allowed to bring as personal belongings. "Paul, the initial tests, the re-done tests, my diagnosis and the World Health`s all point to one result.? "What the hell is it, Henri," Paul interrupted, "am I going to die or what?" Henri smiled sadly at the futile hope expressed in Paul's "or what?" "You have terminal cancer, my friend. It didn't show up on your last exam six months ago. It has spread everywhere throughout your body. You might live six months. "Then, obviously, I'll never see my family again." "No. I'm sorry." Paul sat in shock as his shipmates tried to comfort him. Sometime late, Paul whispered: "I have to tell my wife." "I can if you want," George offered. "Thanks but no. This is something I have to do myself." Paul spent some three hours in their "communications centre" taping and retaping his message to his family. Then, he waited till his wife replied. When he emerged from the "communications centre", his shipmates were awaiting him. "How did it go," was George's inane question. "Bad, very bad; The kids don`t understand and Debbie is taking this thing very badly. Maybe I'll get a relapse?" Henri immediately realized that Paul was in denial. "Maybe you will," Henri replied very gently. One day, both Paul and George had been working away from the ship on a Martian geology project. After returning to the ship, George removed his suit effortlessly and noticed that Paul was having difficulty with his. "Let me help you." "No! I don't need your help. I can do this quite well myself!" Paul was grunting with suppressed pain as he tried to pull part of the suit over his head. George assisted him. "Damn it! I told you I didn't need help." "How you feeling?" "Just fine. No problems." "Pain medication working." "No, the stuff just seems to wear out too quickly." Paul had sat down and was carefully ignoring George who was pulling Paul's boots off. Paul knew George was helping him but didn't want to let on that he needed the help. When most of his suit had been removed from him, Paul pushed himself upright. "Thanks, but, I don't need help unsuiting." Paul finished dressing himself and sat down again to rest while George finished cleaning up after them. Paul had put in about four hours physical labor that day and was about to pack it in. With George's assistance, he made it up to his stateroom for more medication and a nap. After leaving him, George went to Henri. "What can we do for him, Henri?" "I don't know. More pain pills, I guess." "When will they wear out?" "Too damn soon. We have a major problem." "Yeah. When he dies, it'll be damn hard on both of us. Can you hack it, Henri?" "I'm a doctor; we're trained to face death." "Your patient is also one of your lovers." "I know," Henri sighed. "I was in the Marines when I was young, before I went to college and became a Navy pilot" George stated. "I never got used to people dying. This is going to be damn hard." Henri hugged George. "We can see him fading away and we can’t help him. This waiting is killing me.: Then Henri whispered: "I can't save him." Henri sounded like he was weeping but his eyes were dry and his face like weathered leather. George could feel Henri's ragged breathing. All George could do was trying lending his strength to Henri; George too was crying on the inside. Later that day, George went to check on Paul who was sitting on his bunk looking pensive. Paul's "stateroom" was similar to his shipmates: It was two meters high by two meters wide and three meters long. It contained a bunk with built in drawers, a pull-down writing table and cabinet space. There was a "personal safe" that like it's counterparts in the other two men's rooms were still set to the factory supplied combination. It stood open to show pictures of Paul's family and an array of pain medication. George couldn't stand to look at it. "George, I'm sorry I snapped at you. Shouldn't have." "Don't worry about it. Remember how I screamed when I burned my hand soldering?" That incident had convinced all concerned that George wasn't trustworthy around soldering irons. George had also been in a foul mood for hours afterwards. "I hate asking for help." "Yeah, I don't like asking for it either." "It just occurred to me that I'm NOT going to make it back. I just kept hoping that some miracle would happen." "Well, damn it, don't go checking out early. Don`t be working yourself to death." George looked somewhat embarrassed by this poi-fax. For the first time in weeks, Paul laughed with delight at George's expression. However, the laugh ended in a prolonged, pained, cough. "Are you all right?" "Yes, yes, I'm fine now." Paul was very touched by George's concern. "Look, we can adjust your work schedule to anything you want including bed rest. What do you want?" Henri had walked in and was listening to the conversation. "I don't want you overexerting yourself." Henri had a very good bedside manner and that manner included knowing how to tell patients how to slack off. "All right, all right, you two. I'll take it easy." Paul looked very amused at his shipmate's expressions. Then George brought the subject back to the practical. "It's dinner time. Do we want it here or at the table?" "At the table," decided Paul as he stood to leave his stateroom Both his shipmates allowed him to walk unassisted but were within inches of Paul the entire way to the dinner table. In the coming weeks, Paul seemed to be in remission and to be his old self. He did not talk about his death sentence and his pain medication seemed to be adequate. Two weeks before their departure date, George had "the duty" in the communications centre. This required him to monitor the activities of their wheeled and aerial surveyors and to resolve their problems; monitor the data link to Earth and to monitor the telemetry of his shipmates who were working outside the ship. "Paul. Come in, Paul. I've lost your telemetry signal!" "Henri, I've lost Paul's telemetry signal. He was using a forklift to load specimens into the cargo bay. How about checking things out. His signal is probably being blocked by the ship." "I'll check it out." Neither man consciously remembered that their suit radios had never been blocked by the ship before. "George, check Paul's telemetry records will you? Did they stop abruptly?" After a few seconds delay at the computer terminal, George replied: "Yes, everything from Paul stopped abruptly." "Well, Paul suicided." "I know," George whispered, "I've been sort of expecting it." "There are a number of empty pain killer and sleep shot injectors here. More than enough to kill him. With the amount of drugs he took, he didn't feel a thing. "What'll we tell his wife?" "That he died of natural causes." Henri replied. "We'll search his personal effects before reporting his death." Henri found a folded piece of paper addressed to "My Friends". It read: "I committed suicide since death was inevitable and I wanted death on my own terms. Just bury me here and tell my wife and kids that I loved them. Tell them I died of natural causes. I'll miss you two." It was unsigned. They took his body out into the plains surrounding the landing craft and scraped out a shallow grave. Then, they buried Paul there and put a marker with his helmet on it above the grave. They composed one message to Mission Control that informed them of Paul's suicide and sent it via an encrypted circuit. They requested that Paul's suicide be kept secret from Paul's family. They requested that Paul be given a proper, Catholic, burial. Mission Control promised to arrange this with Paul's Priest (who was given the "natural death" story). Then, they made the tape to Paul's family telling them of his "painless death in his sleep from natural causes." It was the finest acting that either Henri or George had ever done; this fact was privately noted by Mission Control. Paul got his proper, Catholic, burial. Mission Control arranged for a mountain peak near their landing site to be renamed in honor of Paul; he also had the dubious honor of being the first human (of many more to come) to be buried on Mars. Paul was also Time Magazine's "Man of the Year" and received some very nice obituaries. Paul would have been highly amused by the differences between these articles and the leering trash the same publications had put out only eighteen months before. When their return launch window opened after their six months on Mars, they had a normal launch and rendezvouses with their mother ship for the return home. When there were about a year from home, they received a rather unusual medical request: Perform a sperm count on both men to see if the three year mission had harmed them in any way. Henri had had a vasectomy and didn't appreciate this request. "Yes," Henri's return message said, "I still have zero sperm count. Same as when I came on this mission. So does George for that matter; he fried his gonads working on the reactor. Fortunately, he is already a father." Mission Control replied in the absolute minimum time that their distance from Earth would allow and the reply was somewhat hysterical. "What! Why weren't we informed of this? Request verify your last remark!" With an air of total puzzlement, Henri replied: "George is as healthy as a prize bull and as horny! Tell his wife to stand by!! Also, tell my wife to stand by; I may be firing blanks but I like the target practice. Mission Control’s reply had none of the banter in it that they had come to expect. The director of mission control was speaking. "Dr. Ramm, in the future you will tend to your ship`s nuclear reactor and CDR Carlton will spend as much time as possible in the "Storm shelter". You will also collect and freeze sperm samples from CDR Carlton for future medical testing; these samples are to be treated as if they were going to be used by sperm banks. CDR Carlton will release all communications from your ship. Is that understood?" "Yes, understood," Henri replied. "And I released that message," George snarled. Their regular operator came back on. "I can't tell you why you have to do all this crap; there is a tight security lid on that for some reason. But, just do it please. OK?" "For you, you frustrated ground bound astronaut, we'll do it!" The message from ground control upset both men very badly. They honored the sperm bank requirement and Henri worked on the reactor most of the time. Every so often, George would "slip in" to make some adjustments that were outside Henri's comfort zone. The "storm shelter" was a small room at the centre of the ship's water tanks. It was their only protection against solar flares. There was a freezer in it to be used for emergency food supplies. By the time their ship reached Earth, a year's worth of daily sperm samples had filled the freezer almost to capacity. Their return to the NASA space station was totally uneventful. Control of their ship was taken by NASA as they crossed the Moon's orbit; this was much further out than originally planned. When they docked, both Henri and George lined up to see the new faces. They were ready to receive their visitors four hours early. The first people aboard barely nodded at them before heading into the ship. George noticed that the women looked with apparent longing at George and the men looked at him with a mixture of envy and hate. Henry was almost completely ignored. The base commander greeted them. "Gentlemen, welcome back! You've had one hellofa flight. Henri, how are you doing? You look fairly good? George, how are you doing? Are you healthy? Getting enough rest?" "Yes, sir. If I get any more rest or concern over my health, I think I'll explode! Now, how long will the debriefing take? I'm planning on having dinner with my wife and catching up for 'lost time'!" "Me, too," agreed Henri. "Henri, you'll be able to see your wife in about five hours. The next shuttle to Houston leaves in about three hours." The commander hesitated. "George, your reunion will be delayed a wee bit. Les go to my office and we can discuss this there." As they walked through the space station, George noticed that they were getting a lot of attention. Or rather, he was the crowd stopper. Somehow, this reception was not what they had expected... As they entered the commander's office, the commander told his clerk that he was having no visitors. Once in the office, the commander got out a cherished bottle of brandy that he had been hording for this day. He had been hoping for a happier occasion. "We got a problem, gentlemen. George, enjoy that brandy; it may be the last you get for a very long time. Also, you didn't get it from me, understand? "Yes, sir, why the hassles?" "You remember the nice anti-everything vaccines that the World Health people invented? Both listeners nodded. "Well, they tested the three separately. They worked great and had no side effects on rats or people. The computer models said they were great. Then, to save costs, they made one version that combined all three vaccines. Once again the computer models of human biochemistry that the anti-vivisection people forced on us said that there were no problems with the new vaccine. You see, the vaccines are made by recombinant DNA methods. They didn't test the new version very well on animals. They tested it on the computer and then went out and injected everyone in the world with it! When about 74% of the world population was injected, there was a dramatic reduction in the birthrate. The docs figured that there was some kind of female infertility cropping up. That wasn't true. The sociologists decided that Family Planning was finally working. Wasn't that either. It turned out that the new version of the vaccine triggered men's auto-immune systems to act against their sperm. It is irreversible. Boys are reaching puberty sterile. To the best of our knowledge, you, George Jonathan Carlton, are the only human male capable of fathering a child!" After a pause, George burst into hysterical laughter. "That...that...is the best...JOKE...you've ever played on me!" The other two men had been swept up in the hysterical laughter. ~It...it...it is true, George. How...about a donation for my...wife?" "Sure. Live or test tube?" "Your choice." When the laughter dies down, George said: "You're serious, aren't you?" "Yes." "I don't like this. It's got to be a joke!" "It isn't and don't ask about the sperm banks. They were taken over by the UN. Some sperm samples are being held by various governments and some are being black marketed. The going rate is said to be $10,000 a shot; pregnancy isn't guaranteed. The UN established very stringent regulations for sperm collections and there are less than 100,000 doses in existence. You are the truly indispensable man." "A woman a day! Sounds like paradise!" Henri leered. "No, I'm afraid not," replied the station commander, “animal husbandry, you know." By the disgusted look on Henri's face, it was obvious that he knew what "animal husbandry" meant. It took George a couple of second longer to catch on. "So how much longer do I have my freedom?" "Until you leave my office." Part II "Come with me." The station commander beckoned both his guests to follow him. As they walked down the corridors, both Henri and George had expected some attention. However, wheat they got would never have occurred to them. Women were looking with undisguised lust at George; Henri might as well have stayed on the ship. "Some return, George. They look at you like you're some kind of god and ignore me." George put his arm around Henri's shoulders; this gesture merely increased the tension. "Einstein once asked Chaplin what all the publicity meant. Chaplin replied 'nothing'. Weren't you the one who was getting all the attention before the flight?" "True", Henri muttered. At the shuttle, the base commander turned to both men. "Here is where we have to split you up. Henri, you'll go down on the next shuttle which leaves in an hour. After your debrief, you can see your family in about ten hours. The press will be on you like 'stink on shit' after that so enjoy the quiet! George, you'll be going down deluxe." "No! Henri and I flew this mission together and we'll end it together!" "The UN would hang us all if anything happened to you!" "We're both returning heroes, we BOTH get the hero treatment!" George had started out calmly and his voice had a wolverine snarl when he was finished. "Fine. Hero it is for both of you. Glad I have an excuse to defy the 'bean counters' on this one!" Both Henri and George were put into special survival suits, the put into escape modules in a space shuttle certified safe for heads of state. Then, they got a ride to Earth that was horribly wasteful of fuel but incredibly smooth. At the spaceport, both men were taken into a delivery van while still in their survival suits. Then, they waited while an official UN limo surrounded by motorcycle police went screaming into the night. A few minutes later, they left through a back entrance and were ignored by the crown held back from the terminal building by hundreds of riot police. They were delivered to a building fourteen blocks from the UN buildings. There, they were introduced to a short man called Dr. Jesus Tupaz LaMar. "Dr. Ramm, you won't be needed here and might as well see your family. We will be giving CDR Carlton a complete physical." "I'd rather watch what you do to him." Henri didn't like Lamar’s arrogance. "Your wife is waiting; you have been gone three years, you know." "Henri and I will get the same treatment." LaMar looked at George and surrendered in very poor grace. "Fine. You both get physicals. Follow me." Three hours later, as both men lay near each other festooned with wires, George looked wryly at Henri. "Just couldn't miss out on my fun, could you?" "I don't trust government doctors. This treatment is ridiculous." "Only the best for the only fertile human male still alive," snarled LeMar that matched the bitter look on his face, "Have fun, HERO!" "We will", George smiled, "when do we see our families?" Two hours later, after having donated bodily fluids of all types and having endured tests that neither man had ever had before, they were allowed to see their families. Their only satisfaction was that one doctor had said they were in excellent physical shape. George kissed his wife and looked down at his four year old daughter. The girl looked back in puzzlement at him and then screamed 'DADDY, DADDY'." George picked her up and the child clung to his neck. George's wife also clung onto him. "Hey, relax; we'll be seeing each other a lot." "No. I don't think so, dear. We were told that it 'wouldn't be fair'." "Fair to whom?" "Fair to the other women in the world if I could see you a lot." "I want you too, so screw 'em!" "That’s the name of the game, George." George could say nothing and just hugged his family. Sometime later, a UN official separated George from his family and took him to separate quarters with the explanation "we have to keep you in quarantine until your system has readapted to Earth'." The next day, George was introduced to a slender man named Orlando. "Are you another damned MD?" "No," Orlando, replied, "I'm merely a teacher. I am going to get you back into physical shape. You need it badly." Fifteen minutes later, George was running on an indoor track. After a quarter of a mile, he was hyperventilating and was bent over with a side cramp. "I told you that you're in bad shape. You don't appreciate just how much being in free fall took out of you, George." Orlando had trotted backwards during George's humiliating "run" and wasn't even breathing hard. After they had showered and were massaged, Orlando told George: "I'll return for you later." The first time George was told he “would be milked” every other day, he laughed for several minutes. Not even telling LeMar “I’m a man and don’t have tits” got a laugh or smile. When he was told this meant “you’ll have to masturbate under a nurse’s supervision”, he refused. Several days later, he gave in… For the next several days, George was kept busy with a schedule of exercise, diet, meditation lessons from Orlando and "milking" every other day. This isolation was "explained" as necessary for George to readjust to Earth. The isolation from his family and Henri and his family was increasingly hard to handle. It was one thing to be in space and KNOW he couldn't go home; it was harder to be so close and yet still not be able to go home. George was beginning to feel rebellious. //written 20Jan93// After one of "his sessions", George was taking meditation lessons from Orlando. He was recovering quite nicely from the effects of his mission; the physical effects. "Orlando, the only time I feel like a man and not like a lab specimen is when I'm with you. You run my butt off and make me exercise but you treat me like a man." "They hate you, George. You have what they don't." "Yet you don't hate me? Why?" "I have grandchildren, my friend. I'm in no hurry for them to have children. Besides, you did not ask for this." "Get in touch with my family, will you please?" "I already have and have told them that you are fine and miss them." "Why didn't you tell me this before?" Orlando smiled and tapped his ear then nodded his head toward a gym attendant who was approaching them. George took the hint. At the end of the second week, George's butler dressed him in his dress uniform. This uniform was definitely NOT standard issue material and was much better tailored than any uniform that George had ever bought for himself. LeMar walked in with a folder in his hand. "You are scheduled to give the following speech. Please memorize it." George barely glanced at it. "Unless I see my wife, I won't make this speech." "THAT is politically impossible! It is simply out of the question." "Arrange it or no speech." "One hour a day." "That’s a start." The interview room was packed and the glare of the overhead lights was blinding. George squinted but could not see beyond the second row. "You all know who I am. I just wanted to say that I am doing all that I can to help eliminate this problem the human race has." There was much applause for this. "How does it feel to be a hero?" “I was one of three who went to Mars. I suppose we were all heroes but I never felt like a hero. So, I don’t know; you might ask my shipmate. “How has your return been?” "No fun. After three years, I've only seen my wife for about two hours. Two hours in public, err, with my pants on." George decided to throw that in since he recalled reading about riots at "his" sperm distribution centers. “The Navy has early promoted me to Captain and assigned me to special duty; I had hoped for Command at Sea of a carrier.” “What do you want?” "I didn't ask for this; I'm certainly not getting rich from this. All I am asking for is to be given a normal life." From there, the news conference went into his space flight. It was obviously carefully staged. Later, George was finally allowed to see his wife. "How are you holding up, dear?" "Badly," his wife replied. "I've been getting death threats from women who think I'm steeling their chances for a baby. We've had to get protection. Some people tried to kidnap Dad last week but the police stopped them in time." "I never, never, dreamed anything like this could have happened. I always figured I'd come back from Mars too messed up to every be a father. That’s why Henri had his tubes cut." "Henri and Denise have been keeping us going. Henri sounds so much like you sometimes." His wife was crying as she said this. The next few visits were much calmer. George's daughter demonstrated her writing and drawing ability. She proudly produced several pictures that George though would have made good modern art; he couldn't tell what they were supposed to be! Instead, his wife, Loraine, seemed to be very tense and wouldn't tell George why. George turned to his intelligence source. As George was running and Orlando was slowly jogging next to him, George gasped out: "Are...we being...monitored?" "No, what would a 'loyal servant of the state' like me tell you anyway?" "Tell me...what people think...of me? What...does my wife...think?" "The public thinks you have two or three women a day in here and that your wife is reserved for your nights. They also think you live in bliss like a sultan. There have been a lot of death threats against your wife." "Shit...I can even...'entertain'...myself anymore. Did...you tell my wife...what is really going on?" "Yes, within a day of your becoming my student. It was easy to arrange since your wife is now living near here. The guards were instructed to let me visit." "Why?" George was suddenly jealous of Orlando. "Officially, to learn more about you, my friend. Actually, it was to comfort her. Loraine reminds me of my younger daughter." She didn't but that remark seemed to calm George. After three weeks of this "bliss", George was about ready to explode. "LeMar, when the hell is this quarantine going to be lifted? I'm tired of just talking to my family in public. I'm tired of being treated like a stud bull!" "We are containing a plague. You!" "What the fuck? I'm not contagious!" "Have you read the news lately? A splinter group in South America took over the UN local headquarters there and killed most of the staff. They were demanding your entire daily production. We told their home countries that said home countries would be cut off unless the siege was broken. We were given the heads of fourteen people yesterday who were supposedly responsible for the takeover. We then restored those quotas. Fourteen countries have tried to 'rescue' you from here. You haven't seen them but offers of up to a million dollars a donation have been coming in." "How much have you made off the 'black market'?" LeMar was offended that his honor could be so impugned. "Not a bloody penny!" "Then your lab techs must be. Somebody has to divide my `stuff' and some of it must be getting stolen." "Well, rumor says that a sample is going for ten thousand dollar a pop. Not the good stuff, of course. Control of your 'material' is extremely tight; none can be taken out of the control system!" "LeMar, I am NOT a bull or an oil well. Working my tail off every day, getting molested by a test tube and being SOBOR all the time is driving me nuts. AND, your damned nurse took my erotic material away yesterday. Said it might make me so nuts and go out and rape people! Where did you get such a moron?" "Life is hard on you heroes, Commander." There was no mistaking the gloat in LeMar's voice. "Well, LeMar old buddy, taking my 'porno' removed any semblance of horny behaviour I have. You'd better work my wife into this 'routine' or this bull is going on strike!" The next day, the "cow dried up" (to mix metaphors). Maybe the meditation techniques that George had learned or maybe it was simple boredom but nothing the technicians were willing to try worked. The "cow" was "dry" and not too co-operative. Orlando was delighted. They threatened George with Court Martial and this put him into hysteria. They threatened to treat him like a prize bull and this put the doctors into hysterical rage. They brought George's wife in the next night under special conditions. George was required to use special condoms to ensure that he didn't waste any fluids. His wife was required to wear a female condom in case George's condom broke (a .4% chance but worth defending against). In spite of these hindrances or perhaps because of them, the evening came off quite well. The next day, George was happy when LeMar arrived. "Did you enjoy your 'boy’s night out'?" "Sure did. It was worth the three year wait." "I was disgusted." "You're married, LeMar, you sleep with your wife every night?" "MIND your OWN damned business." "Touchy, aren't we, LeMar. You've been running my life. How does it feel?" "LEAVE my wife out of this! This is purely a business arrangement." "No, it is NOT, LeMar." George's voice was soft but LeMar could hear it very clearly. "I read one of your memos today. Said that I'm going to have to 'donate' on public TV so that people will know I really do 'provide them with germ plasm'. You wrote that memo and then you get upset when I ask about your sex life. You know something, LeMar, stud bulls sometimes have accidents!" George's lips curved up in a half moon smile while his eyes looked through LeMar. Then, to George's surprise, LeMar fainted. George just looked at the crumpled form in amazement. "Hell", he though, "I'm one bull that is never going to have an accident!" AFTERWORD It was two years since he had returned to Earth and his life was as normal as could be expected. He had bargained with LeMar by arranging for LeMar's wife to receive a "stiff dose" of the "Good Stuff". In return for arranging this heir for the LeMars, LeMar had found five look-a-likes so that George only had to appear "on the air" one day in six. The public didn't know that he was appearing only once a week and had looked a like a like to handle “business”. Also, careful filming kept anyone from noticing the differences in the six penises. Those who knew were willing to protect George and “friends” and didn't care if the public did not know. George had fathered a child with his wife the old fashioned way and Henri's wife had received "a stiff dose of the Good Stuff" (neither of their wives’ would condone the "old fashioned way" in this case). These young children were learning to walk and thought Orlando was their grandfather. Society had actually changed for the better. Abortion Clinics had advertised their expertise in fertility matters and were working together with Operation Rescue to maximize the pregnancy rate. George and Loraine had been afraid that their daughter would either be childless or have to accept incest to be a mother. Fortunately, some high level deal making had gotten them sperm from a sperm bank. Harming a child and especially harming a pregnant woman became hanging offences in most countries; that is, where the alleged child molester or woman abuser survived to be tried. In spite of everything, a world which treated children as the treasures that they are was better than the one it replaced. Years later, George's children proved to be fertile. A huge effort was made to keep track of who had provided the sperm for the new generation and many arranged marriages were created. The population boom had gone bust and many people were fear mongering about the coming population crash. Ironically, many of them had publicly worried about the population expansion! Finally, an effective and safe vaccine was developed. The drug companies just did what they should have in the first place! AFTERWORD: This story had sex, suicide and the downside of an ancient myth – to be the ultimate stud and be banging many, many women. (apologies to Harlan Ellison for stealing a theme from a “Boy and His Dog”.) ENDNOTE: I wrote the vast majority of this story when I was stationed at the Naval Polar Oceanography Center, Suitland, Maryland. I didn’t feel like showing this story to anyone at the command because I was afraid that it would brand me as “gay”. I later showed it to a friend on Guam who advised me to keep all knowledge of this story strictly confidential for exactly that reason. I thought I could trust my Department Head (CDR James Francis Etro - Jetro) but I took his advice. I later realized that had Jetro known of this story, he would have very likely crucified me! (That is no fucking joke either!) But, back to the story. I wrote the suicide scene in a hot rush of emotion one night, using my Commodore 64. Unfortunately, the save routine failed and wasted all of my writing. I went to bed that Saturday night simply writhing with rage. I rewrote/recreated the material the next day. But, I still don’t think it was quite as nice as the original! Then, let’s get into the real anger! The asshole in the last section is named Jesus Tupaz LeMar. The genesis of this name is interesting and revealing. When I was an Ensign, Captain Jesus Tupaz made my life miserable. LeMar was one of my sailors, a young woman of about 22 years. I don’t recall exactly why I was pissed at her but I do recall (from some 14 years after the event!) that she was one of my “problem children”. Well, three “problem children”... * * * * * * * * * * ENDNOTE 2: I wrote this story in early 1986, when I was in Bob Bauch’s Creative Writing Class at the Northern Virginia Community College. I didn’t finish this story in time for Bob or my classmates to read. I finished it after moving to Guam. (I was in the US Navy at the time.) A friend (Greg Vayda) read and liked it and told me: “don’t you dare let anyone where know about this story!” I had no intention of showing this story to anyone else. I had learned many years before that it could be very hazardous to one’s Navy career if you told Senior Officers the wrong thing. I wrote this endnote before I realized the original had survived. I guess an additional 14 years can make a difference in attitude… I put this story first as it is the most intense of my short stories. Spiritually, it pre-stages my novels for intensity. ### Miracle Ship The first true interstellar starship was a true miracle: the product of a thirty five nation consortium and produced under cost to boot! It was the lead ship of a small fleet to follow. LCDR Heinrich Dauber, USN, lead the way aboard the "Trailbeaker". He was followed by the Navigator/Computer officer, LT Margaret Hanson, USN and the Electronics officer/ engineer, LT William Bell, USCG. With an incredible amount of fanfare, the "Trailbreaker" was launched. The three person crew had been picked because the "Trailbreaker" was actually an upgrade of the ships that had been mining the Oort comet belt for years. The ship had been tested exhaustively and they would be the first to travel to another star: Barnard's Star. Barnard's Star was picked because it was a mere six light years away and because it was believed to have planets of it's own. The betting on the truth of this and side bets on the types of planets (if any) was incredible. The "Trailbreaker's" velocity rapidly reached to almost the speed of light and there it stayed for most of the voyage. The first few months of the journey were fairly routine. The press wanted to know what the sexual arrangements between the three were; the answers given were tailored by the crew to match the audience and were generally lies. The ship was powered by twin Brossard Ramjets which took in interstellar gases and burnt them. The ship slowed down by using thrust reversers whose principle was stolen from twentieth century commercial jets. Everything was going smoothly until three years into the voyage when the "Trailbreaker" began to decelerate. Then, something failed in one of the engines and the end was quick. The Court of Inquiry never did discover which killed the crew: the intense radiation caused by the interstellar gases hitting the ship at nearly the speed of light or the interstellar gases wearing down the ship's hull like the ultimate sandblaster. It didn't matter; dead is dead! *______* * * * The Court of Inquiry decided that the port ramjet had somehow destroyed itself and the leading theory was that it had tried burning the wrong type of gases. "It was the manufactures’ fault", the Court decided. The manufacturers blamed the subcontractors who in turn replied that the original design requirement were at fault. No one had told them that the engines were supposed to be able to burn carbon monoxide; it wasn't their fault that carbon monoxide in one interstellar gas cloud would cause the engines to become unstable and out of control. Actually, the subcontractors had known about the carbon monoxide but the engineer in charge of resolving the problem had skimmed off fifteen million dollars from the development funds and had moved to Rio to live. His new buddies in the El Presidente's office kept him from extradition. The manufacturer wanted to hide their embarrassment. The manufacturers figured that resolving the problem would require a three year research programme and fifty seven million dollars (before cost overruns). One of the Fleet Repair centres came up with a programming solution that solved the problem with burning carbon monoxide: it was simply to reprogram one of the computer chips in each of the engines. This solution was found by a couple of engineering officers and a Chief Petty Officer. They got hefty bonuses and nasty looks from the engines manufacturers. "Oh well", they sighed, "they really didn't want to build starship engines for a living after retirement anyway..." The manufacturers signed a United Nations Consent Order which basically said "We're not responsible for what happened and we'll never do it again! We promise! We promise!" It had taken three years for the telemetry from The "Trailbreaker" to reach the Earth and another four years for the legal hassles to work themselves out. The stock market and the public didn't really care about this little problem it was ancient history! The families did care but then what the hell; the public never feels other people's pain anyway. *______* * * * A friend of read this and complained to me about having put sex into this story. oh, well... Nightmare! The man in the coal smog gray coverall carefully checked through the wiring entering the apartment. It was past midnight and his ladder was undetectable against the building. Only a few people would have had the nerve to climb an unguarded ladder at night since many "youths" liked to topple ladders; unfortunately, no one was around... The man entered the apartment building and walked cheerfully up to his victim’s door. He now wore a bright red jacket and was unnoticed in the hall. Both locks on Apartment 1719 whispered open and the man slid into the apartment. The woman who was stretching out by her bed was a board member of a chemical product firm. She was the key person of her firm and held the legal and illegal components together. She worked more than the rest of her peer and was paid more than even the chairman. He strolled in and watched as his victim hit alarms and then tried calling for help. He didn't notice that the TV phone had a recording mode and was on record. He didn't need to care. He took his time going about slowly degrading and raping his victim. She was a trained fighter but he had survived the Crash of 1987; this just added to his pleasure. He raped her three times before strangling her. Then, before leaving, he righted a few chairs and carefully straightened the covers beneath the body. He was a most unusual man and the more horrible for his need for neatness. # The bar was bright at the bar and the few tables near it as Dr. James Richardson entered. He walked to the bar opposite the entrances passing darkened booths that murmured the sounds of activities best left unseen. In one well lighted corner was the Lunny who was the bar's chief drawing card. He floated in his aquarium with a fish and an inflated mermaid. James nodded at the Lunny who happened to be a friend of his. James walked over to the enclosed booth his boss had ordered him to report to. Inside were two morose men with a viewer sitting on the table? "Georges sent me," Richardson gave the agreed upon opening. "They named the Farside radio telescope after you." That was true and was also the completion of the security check. Richardson would have liked to been back on the Farside of the moon. "My name is Marcos Paladice and I'm the chairman of Paladice Chemical," said the taller of the two men; a florid faced individual. "My friend is Michael Pierre, Managing Director of Consolidated Drug Stores." "Were you informed of our joint problem, Dr. Richardson? I'm somewhat at a loss as to how a radio astronomer can help us," Pierre. "I'm primarily an electronics engineer these days," Richardson replied, "I was told that you wanted a favor done." Paladice pushed the viewer toward Richardson and remarked: "The young lady there was a close friend...lover in fact...of both of us" Richardson watched the recording of the rape and murder in a mixture of shock and deep anger. Finally, the tape ended and he looked at both of his bereaved "guests" with pity. "I'm deeply sorry. What have the police done?" "Nothing," Paladice snarled. "That asshole rapist is named Samuel Malyn Ryan. He controls two judges and is virtually immune. He was trying to put pressure on me to end a deal with Pierre." “I'm in the drug business," Pierre stated. "Marcos Paladice makes the equipment I need to purify the Columbian coke I sell. It is still illegal to sell coke but the FDA requires that we ensure purity. Legally, they can't tell DEA who is dealing." Pierre smiled slightly. "DEA puts most of the poison in the coke anyway...they want to kill the trade anyway they can." Richardson had reservations about the poisoning. "I sold the gear through the murdered woman. She had the most sensitive job in my company and was nearly irreplaceable. She must be avenged!" Paladice in his anger was magnificent. "And the business salvaged," Richardson murmured. "Correct. Pierre and I have had a sweetheart deal going since we found out we had mutual personal interests. Your boss recommended you." "Tell me more about Ryan." "Ryan owns two federal judges and works for one of my rivals," Paladice stated. "The rape and murder were to disorganize me enough to force me out. Pierre would have had to switch companies in order to keep FDA from shutting him down." It was a strange world where the DEA couldn't stop Pierre and FDA could if they were enforcers. The FDA was forbidden to reveal it's information to anyone. Pierre was doing fine. It was an even stranger world where a radio astronomer worked half time as a counter espionage enforcer for his NASA department head. The discovery of thermonuclear power had caused the Crash of 1987. The recovery had pushed international interest in space to the point where the moon had to be colonized for political reasons. Six ex Marines like James Richardson could go far and Richardson had gone very far. "Give me all the info you have. I'll try to screw him up." They handed Richardson some tapes. Richardson glanced at the drink menu which stated that the bar featured "Their Own Lunny In An Aquarium For Life!" Richardson knew that the Lunny was trapped in an aquarium because a mutated virus caused the bones of long term lunar residents to leach calcium so badly that they could not survive on earth. He also knew that the Lunny had been busted for taping into the Lunar computer net. The Lunny could get into Earth's computer nets just as easily. Paladice would have been shocked had he known. Richardson ordered a drink from the waitress who had finally decided to wonder in their direction. He left after a decent interval. Dr. Richardson was working on a way to coordinate the usage of radio telescopes with gravity wave detectors. Richardson thought of this as akin to using computerized radars to back up a person using their bare eyes. Richardson was ultimate goal was to produce a gravity wave detector that would be the equivalent of a spotter telescope. This would greatly improve upon bare eyes. Richardson dismissed his aides for the day and then called the Lunny who moonlighted at the bar. Together, they began to hammer out a plan to hamper and then destroy Ryan. Both needed his other's good offices; Richardson knew this case would have no pleasant outcome. Richardson left to call upon one of Ryan's tame judges. It was a peaceful day for Baltimore. That is, peaceful and pleasant for early fall of 2014. The streets were full of trash and the horizon brown from industrial waste. Three gangs fought each other but didn't dare touch Richardson. Like many, Richardson was authorized garb that declared him immune to public violence. Immune where the police could see him anyway. Richardson had gotten the garb as a fringe benefit of his job. The unemployed didn't have this benefit. Street gangs had been butchered completely for violating this rule. Often the contract had been let out to the rule violator gang’s rivals and the killing had been fully supported by the police. The judge was still in his office when Richardson let himself in through the chamber's bold hole. The Lunny had given him the bolt hole's location from supposedly classified city held floor plans. "Judge Larson, I'm Dr. James Richardson." The judge was shocked by the intrusion but counterattacked. "Get out or I'll call the guards!" "No, sir, you won't. If you do, I'll tell the press you destroyed the investigation of the U.N. building bombing last year. Sir!" Richardson knew it would be best to be polite to Judge Larson; it would be disconcerting enough that Richardson was the one in control. "I had nothing to do with that outrage!" "I know that, sir. However, the relatives of the thirteen thousand dead employees and tourists don't know that. However, the evidence is most convincing." "What the bleeding hell do you want?" The judge was not the cool personage that he seemed to be when he was on the bench or facing "pressure" during re elections. The judge sighed; then said: "Make me an offer." "Issue a warrant for the arrest of one Samuel Malyn Ryan on rape and murder one charge." The judge started in surprise. "We know Ryan is supplying you with Coke. We also know, sir, that Ryan has...influenced...some of your decisions. My principals can supply you from now one." Richardson made a mental to note to clear this with Pierre. Pierre began supplying the judge and Richardson also arranged for Judge Larson to be on the mailing list of an anti narcotics hospital. "What the bloody hell will I DO when Ryan comes for me?" "Don't let him threaten you. Just tell him who I am and my employers will protect you. However, sir, we think you retire rather than run for election again. You would probably be quite happy as say, Assistant Dean of the Law school at the University of Guam..." Judge Larson nodded mutely. He knew a veiled threat when he heard one and hoped that Richardson's employers would not use him harshly for the rest of his term. As Richardson left, Judge Larson began making out the warrant for the arrest of his previous "benefactor". He kept thinking that the definition of "traitor" was the betrayer of a benefactor. It had been a long day and Richardson was tired. His research was going slowly and he needed to see his friend the Lunny about that. Besides, the man was a computer expert and that gave him much pull. It had taken pull for the Lunny to stay alive. Richardson used a back entrance to the "Lunny's Bar". Several employees nodded to him in passing. The Lunny was resting in his bath/aquarium with his head above water and a submersible keyboard across his lap. "Greetings, James, how goes the battles?" "Fine, I think, my research is going slowly." "Your pet judge issued the warrants a little while ago. Some very powerful people had to squelch them. Ryan resisted arrest by some cops who didn't know the warrants were voided." Both men laughed. "So the bugger is finally jailed!" "No, James," Richardson, "the Lt. Governor got him sprung. A few friends of Pierre and Paladice are starting to cut Ryan's friend's hearts out." "What did you get on that other judge? I can't threaten him; he has got to go." "Do you know anything about Texas politics?" "Very little, Pitor," Richardson replied to the Lunny. "The Mexicans run most of Texas now and their representative is basically a figurehead whose main job is to keep the US government at arm's length. Four of the other six representatives are concerned with Texans. The fifth is concerned with Eskimo affairs and the last representative position is empty." "A Texan running Eskimo affairs? What do the Eskimos do to get around this?" "Beautifully simple, friend! One of their members of congress has one duty and that is to keep Uncle Sugar away from the Eskimos. Their other member is on the Mexican American Affairs Committee." "Let me guess: that bloody judge is a Texas resident. Right?" "Right. Ever since I registered him retroactively to about six months ago. I finished changing the records just before you walked in." "Good...can you ever get out of that tank." "Never, at least not on Earth," Pitor the Lunny's voice was sad. "Perhaps I'll be able to leave Earth someday again..." Richardson knew Pitor was very lucky. Most exiles from Luna (thirty-five since the colonies founding seven years before) were simply "freed on Earth". They died of broken bones shortly thereafter. Two had gotten diver's jobs in ocean habitats. Pitor had moved into his aquarium in the heart of Baltimore. Baltimore was the drug center and the true center of American politics." Pitor displayed a copy of the "letter" that had been sent to the second judge. Richardson was delighted by the genius of the letter. An insult should sound like a complement and a complement like an insult. The letter was almost an asskiss in it's sweetness... Pitor was a computer expert in two fields tampering with government files and analysis of very difficult scientific problems. Richardson's gravity wave research was very tricky... Samuel Mayln Ryan was very pissed. He had spent an hour in prison before being sprung. Now he was trying to find Richardson's apartment from the cities' highly classified homeowners and renters’ data net. Earlier Ryan had actually found Richardson's apartment. Fortunately, Richardson's neighbor told Ryan that a priest named "Sherlock Holmes" lived there. It was a private joke between Richardson and the neighbor that Ryan didn't see through. The second location Pitor's interference had provided to Ryan was a discrete whorehouse. Ryan was very doubtful of this location but had depended upon his intelligence network for many years and never suspected that his network had been penetrated. Ryan kicked open the door whose number his intelligence network said was Richardson's home address only to find it was an outside door leading into a men's room. In anger, Ryan began to destroy the room. He found a hidden door and began to explore the hall behind it. This door was used by currency smugglers. While Ryan wasted his time, Pitor got a printout informing him of Ryan's inquiries on the homeowner/renter net. The false information the Lunny had inserted about the whorehouse was signed for by non existent clerks. This conflict in information was already causing conflicts between Ryan and his masters. During the night, Ryan was surprised in his investigations by a roving gang. The gang regarded the passageways as their home. They were paid in food, drugs and weapons by the smugglers to guard the place. Unfortunately, Ryan escaped; slightly wounded and now dedicated to hurting Richardson. Richardson left the Lunny's bar and made his way through the fully crowded streets. The disease that had trapped Lunar residents was affecting old people on Earth also. Earth was making large sized low gravity satellites to grow food. Old people would crew them and farm with good machinery. This caused unemployed farmers but a boom among educated technicians but massive employment. Earth's industrial countries were a powder keg; capital crimes were tolerated in many places. Richardson went to a gunsmith who was on the take. He had his own weapons but they were registered. Richardson walked into the gun shop and six youths turned, stared at him and then left hurriedly. "Evening, I need a good piece," Richardson opened with. "Everything here is the finest, sir. What can I get for you?" "I'd like a small, clean, weapon. Non registered, that is." "SIR," he gunsmith began with almost pompous rightness, "that is quite illegal. All our weapons must be registered and there is a three day waiting period." "Those lads I scared off didn't seem to be bothered by that. Perhaps we can come to an agreement..." Richardson showed the merchant his weapons I.D. card which stated that he was licensed to possess weapons. He "accidently" dropped an amulet of an intelligence enhancing drug that the gunsmith immediately recognized. The drug bore the UpJohn label and was worth as much as a weekly dole check. The merchant caused the drug to disappear. Richardson had gotten the drug from Pitor and it had only cost Richardson a drink. A display of five handguns was under a velvet cloth under a locked cabinet. Richardson examined three and picked his choice; a weapon quite unlike his preferred type. "How much for this one?" "For you, SIR, it is on the house." Richardson carefully sorted through the ammo the merchant and took a dozen of the best dum dummed cartridges. They could rip a man to shreds. Richardson left and the merchant smiled. The gun was worth a bottle or two to him; he bought wholesale from an automated factory. The same weapon would have cost a couple of days of Richardson's pay had Richardson gotten a registered weapon through official channels. Getting clearance through FBI channels would have taken days. Both men had gotten fantastic deals from the other... The merchant ran to his phone to call certain parties. Richardson had used the shop since he knew that it was part of Ryan's machine. The city's streets were darkened and most of the crowd was listening to a street concert. They had cleared part of the litter and set up acoustic instruments. The cops and electric company were pleased by this. Richardson ate a taco at a street vendor. Knowing it might be his last added to his enjoyment. He was spotted although he didn't know it. Richardson continued drifting toward his selected ambush site. The spotter discretely tailed Richardson. Richardson went through the gate into a large, drab, false front of a building. He walked through a courtyard and into the brightly light entrance of the building. This building resembled an amusement park. Inside he could see the stage show which partly visible behind the booths. A female stripper was "working" with a male amateur from the audience. These drunken, drugged customers were pondering the charms of both. No one could tell where a spectator's interests could lay; the audience thought of themselves as "sophisticated slummers" and spoke thusly. Richardson took a booth with phone. The waitress entered her nipples coloured bright green and wearing a matching G-string. "Anyone you care for, dearie?" "Rum and Vodka mixed with Pepsi coke and some salted squid." "Would you like some company?" She looked at the booth's couch. The menu Richardson held listed her among the items: both "ala carte" and as "dinner". "Perhaps later, dear, I'm not in the mood now." "Certainly, Sir, may I expect you or would you like someone else?" Richardson knew that she was asking if he were gay. "No thanks. I'll visit you later! Quitting time." She smiled and left. Richardson wondered if his anti VD, anti AIDS, anti herpes and anti Virus fourteen inoculations were up to date...and hers for that matter. Richardson phoned Pitor who told him that Ryan had just called his masters. Pitor had more connections than that phone company and played back his recording of Ryan's "private" phone call. "Ryan here, code 4 4." "Daily code 1 9 alpha," the voice replied, "time 11:30 pee em." They both set those figures into their wrist computers and fed the code information into the attached crypto units on the phones. "OK, that’s done. Where the fuck is Richardson?" Anyone else would have screamed his frustration but Ryan's voice merely hinted at it. "A hooker is planning on meeting Dr. Richardson at Slum Lee's at 2 a em. He'll be in the back room." "Fine, thank you." There was the sound of a phone being hung up. "Ryan will be there by 1 a em or I've badly missed my guess. You should be in place before then." "Fine, good idea," Richardson replies. "I will try to get police patrols suspended from that area before then," Pitor replied. Richardson hung up when the bar "maid" returned with his drink. She was barely seventeen and he patted her ass as she left. That cemented the implied "date" he had "made" with her. The drink was good and Dr. James Richardson left feeling relaxed. The stage show now featured two men "making love" as the mostly female audience cheered them on. Richardson gave this spectacle hardly a glance as he left; his interests lay elsewhere. Richardson was hiding behind an overflowing garbage can in the alleyway. The alley was a trapezoid with its long end at the mouth and it's small end was the back of Slum Lee's place. The two sides of the alley were of equal length. Ryan moved into the alley at 1:02 AM. He was tired looking but moved easily and never flinched when Richardson hissed. Richardson's illegal gun barked once and Ryan's right kneecap was blown apart. Ryan dropped screaming and then stopped moving. Somehow, he reminded Richardson of a wounded predatory waiting for a last shot at its tormentor. Richardson tossed a brick toward Ryan but a few feet from the trash can. Richardson wondered why Ryan had been so overconfident. He decided that Ryan held other people in contempt...the fool! Ryan slid his weapon out and desperately did a sit up. Ryan ignored the pain of his wasted right kneecap. Richardson shot Ryan in the left forearm. Ryan's right arm was still raised and Richardson shot Ryan through the right wrist; Ryan's right hand dangled like a wilted flower on a dead stalk. Richardson strolled up to Ryan. Ryan was barely conscious. "Anything you want to say, Mister Ryan?" Richardson was polite; he had killed before and thought that executions should be "civilized" matters. He had never killed slowly before, however. "Fuck you, bastard! I never had a chance." "Neither did your victims!" Richardson aimed his weapon at Ryan's head. Then, he heard two men approaching and a hard young voice snapped out: “DON'T DO IT or we'll kill you as well!" Richardson turned to see two riot cops. Working the street had given one an old man's eyes and the other had snakes eyes...or the eyes of a man who has seen too much brutality. Snake eyes efficiently removed Richardson's regular piece, the "clean special" and both his knifes. He overlooked the nerve gas pen and the lead knuckled gloves. The other cop spoke: "Pity that this man is going to get away from us. Seems he had a holdout gun and held us up. Let us live, he did but got away..." "Bullshit! He’s my prisoner and hes not getting away!" "Yes he is, partner," snake eyes replied, "the 'victim' is named Ryan and killed my second cousin last week. Killed her in her own apartment! Yeah, Ryan's assailant got away from us!" The other cop returned Richardson's weapons to him. "Too bad a street gang finished Ryan off when we had to leave to get help. Some 'unknown crazy' did the shooting and a mob finished him off." "I hope neither of you will be hurt for this." Richardson was quite sincere. His connections could get him off quite easily... "I'll take the blame," snake eyes said. "I'm as high on the ladder as I'm ever going so it doesn't matter. Beat it, Richardson!" Richardson returned to the bar and picked up the bar maid. Pitor told him that the best their connections could do was to exile Richardson to the observatory on the moon's Farside. He would have to remain there till the twenty year statute of limitations on maiming had run out. That was fine with Richardson who had finally had enough when working on this last "case"; he was ready to settle down to peaceful research far away from Earth. Besides, they were building a new society on Luna and it was still uncorrupted. Richardson hoped he would see the inevitable corrupting of the idealism... After the cops had watched Richardson leave, Snake Eyes had called a few of his relatives who had showed up to "visit" Ryan. His relatives had called some of the dead woman's ex coworkers who had come a running. Ryan was very unhappy to see this gathering and did not die a peaceful death... Richardson began his last few days on Earth by shipping most of his belongings to Luna and by giving away the rest. Richardson found his new quarters on Luna to be crowded, the food left much to be desired and the entertainment was something best left un-discussed. Still, things were improving. The people had more spirit than those of Earth and Richardson was doing work he truly loved. Still, Richardson feared that Earth would not be worth returning to at the end of his twenty year "exile". For that reason, he arranged for Pitor the Lunny to be allowed back on Luna. Unfortunately, Richardson was right. Two years after his exile, things began to really fall apart on Earth... AFTER NOTE: This is one of my favourite stores; it is a well structured murder mystery. I don’t usually kill people off and I’m not great at creating action. This is one of my “stretches”. * * * * * Powder Bust! Milton slid his bulk through the last of the foliage and stepped into the jungle clearing. His "pet" oranghuman, a product of the Mist Demons magic, thrust past him into the clearing. George glanced around and sniffed experimentally at the scraggly undergrowth. "Miilton, woman went through heer soon. We hurry, she catch us!" In the background they could hear the rumble of lust crazed elephants as they smashed their way through the jungle. Milton eased his seven foot bulk to the jungle floor. "We won't have to wait long, George. I can hear the woman coming now. She's been dogging us all morning." As they waited for the woman to risk making contact with them, they sweltered under the tropical sun. The rains that had stopped the night before seemed to have hatched every insect in the jungle. Milton glared at George as the oranghuman lustily consumed the insects. "You should try these lovely bugs. Yoouu humans don't know what' good for you." Milton growled a cure at George and continued trying to kill the insects that were feeding on his body and then proceeding almost directly to George's grinning snout. Bushes at the opposite edge of the clearing parted and a young woman entered the clearing riding her crocagator. The crocagator was a hybrid creature that stood three feet tall at the should and was covered in natural armour plating. She slid down off her mount and walked to within three paces of the waiting duo. She wore her hair in a pony talk and an obsidian knife was around her waist; an animal skin rain cape was tucked behind her out of her way. "I am Banger, sacred non virgin and Queen of the Dungbettle people. I am going to HenryKiss to trade for the sacred powder. What are you two doing in these forests?" "My oranghuman is called George and I am Milton," Milton boomed. "We too seek the sacred powder! Or will if these damned bugs don't eat me alive!" The ravages of the mosquitoes could bee seen in what little of Milton's skin was visible through the mud on it. "We are planning on going to HenryKiss. Iit iis not hard triip." "You're both mad! There are dangers ahead that you can't possibly survive. Return to your homes before it is too late!" She shook her head in disbelief at Milton and George's ignorance. Banger returned to her crocagator and then walked over to Milton and began applying a salve to his bites. The bugs had begun to take an interest in Banger and Milton began rubbing the salve on her. George gazed idly at the two for several minutes before breaking the silence of the jungle. "Whaat aare the daangers, Banger?" "There is the lair of the death plants...then we must cross the river of the rabid rhinos...finally, the worst...we must persuade the Guardians of the Sacred Powder of our righteous intentions..." She stopped rubbing the salve on Milton's body and fixed George with a penetrating gaze. "Then, we must survive the journey back to our tribes!' George stared at his feed and began plucking insects from his pelt. Milton continued to rub the salve onto Banger's back. The frustrated insects swarmed to the crocagator where they impotently attacked his almost impervious hide. "We must go, Banger," Milton rose to his feet. "If we don't get the sacred powder all my people's elephants will die out. We cannot allow this to happen!' "Fools! It is on your heads them!" Banger introduced Milton and George to the lethargic crocagator before they climbed aboard. The three could hear the sound of elephants stumping past as the herd returned to HenryKiss. In the distance could be heard the cries of the elephant riders. At Banger's command, the crocagator turned to a heading parallel to the elephant herd and moved off into the jungle. The elephant herders were jealous of the location of their city; the three did not want to encounter the herders too soon. They left the clearing and safety without a backward glance. After several hours of travel, they noticed that the character of the jungle was slowly changing. The tall, stately, trees of the rain forest were giving way to short, waxy, pedaled plants. They continued following a heading parallel to the elephant herd. Occasionally, they would see tall, scarlet, pedaled plants that loomed as tall as small trees. "Milton, why are you two traveling together? Why are you traveling with a plaything of the Mist Demons? "George represents the Mist Demons. The Mist Demons are dependent on us for their supply of fermented palm leaves. George was sent to aid me to get the sacred powder for our beloved elephants, Banger. George has been my closest friend since I was a child!" "I suggest that we and you work together, Banger. What are these flowers beside the path?" "My people have never seen anything like them, George. One of the older of my priest/teachers spoke of the death plants being in this region. But they were never described like this! They told of large Venus flytraps that were a threat only to the unwary." "These aren't the death plants you spoke of, Banger?" Milton glanced at the plants on either side of the path. He covered his fear well with an air of assurance. From behind them a group of some ten or twelve dwarf boars ran by them on the path. The path they followed was a solid, packed dirt road bordered on both sides by the mysterious flowers. None of the three had commented on the improbability of this path; none had noticed when the rude path they were following through the jungle had changed into this road that slowed so many of the signs of the HenryKiss people's handiwork. The crocagator growled deep in its throat when several of the boars dared to run under his body. Our three heroes had scant warning when the crocagator collapsed upon the boars. With horrible garbling squeals the boars expired. The crocagator rose, shook himself clean and began noisily feeding upon the boards. The three left the crocagator to his repast and walked up the trail watching the surviving boars. A large plant suddenly extended across the trail and snapped up a board in its pedal. The boar slid down the inside of the plant stem like a mouse down a snakes’ throat. The plant resembled a huge Venus flytrap. The appalled witnesses watched as the boar tore slices of the plant stems from the inside of the plant. Then, they watched as the boar's blood slowly drooled down the inside of the plant’s stem. The plant straightened up and the pedals closed like a miser's fist on his last hundred dollar bill. The other plants fought over the remaining boars. They watched as two mindless plan6ts struggled to assimilate the same withering prey. One plant that had missed the orgy attacked it's more fortunate neighbor in a cannibal attempt to get some pig. "They're impressive alright, Banger. I hope you're carrying something that can handle those plants." "I warned you two! Can you use some of the stuff I'm carrying?" George had been sitting just behind the crocagator's head scratching the horned ridges covering it's ears. Along with a massive increase in size, hybrid vigor had given the crocagator the intelligence of a Marine; that is, he could take orders like a good hunting dog. Banger had been sitting just in front of Milton. Milton had been leaning back against the cargo while his hands provided Banger with a living seatbelt. The largest part of the supply cache was the food supply. There were protein, fat and vitamin supplements provided by the Mist Demons. Banger also carried a fishing pole, violin, bullroarer, various trade baubles and some handicrafts. George grabbed some bananas and passed them around. The crocagator was still munching on his snack as they watched the carnivorous plants. "Banger, how diid you plant on gettiing by the plants?" "I had planned on catching some fish if necessary to throw to the plants. My people told me that this is the dormant season for the plants I think we blundered into a trap." "How much meat does iit take to stop the plants?" Milton had picked up the violin and was listening intently as he tuned his instrument. Milton glanced involuntarily at his enormous, apelike body and shuddered at the thought of how much meat would be necessary to satisfy the hellish plants. "Based on their size, it would take about fifty pounds of meat per plant. Our plants feed until they have gotten enough protein, etc....that could be the answer!" "Iif we could feed the food supplements to the plants, we could triick them. Can you fiind anythiing useful, Miilton?" Milton replied by reaching into the bag of baubles and pulling out some lightweight glassite balls the size of his fist. Milton handed a vial of the protein supplement drops to Banger, to George he gave a jar of fat supplement drops to Banger and he kept the vitamin supplement for his use. "According to the instructions," Milton read to his companions, ONE DROP IS SUFFICIENT FOR THE AVERAGE PERSON("THEY AREN'T TALKING ABOUT ME, are they?" "you're not average," Banger replied. George ignored this exchange with dignity)> Three drops should do it, right?" While they put the food supplements on the glassite baubles, the unsatiated plants were creeping closer to the increasingly restless crocagator. banger stretched and stood. She tied the winds of her cape behind her and readjusted her weapon belt. Milton and George gathered up the lying glassite balls and the three prepared to attack their green foes! Banger threw a glassite ball into the pedals of the closest plant. With an almost audible sigh of delight, the plant fell back from the adventurers. I shock with the delight that only a true junk food junkie can believe. Slowly, the crocagator advanced forward as the food grenade pitching people on its back routed the plants. The plants clamped shut on one or several balls at once. They wiggled like addicts getting their first fix in weeks! To them, the treated balls had as much meat as a college football team; as much fat as a senator's expense account; the vitamins of a TV toothpaste pusher's smile. The poor damned plants never stood a chance! As they pushed onward on the path, the vegetation slowly returned to the nice, safe, only mildly deadly rain forest. it was rapidly becoming dark and the crocagator was beginning to have trouble picking the path out from the surrounding jungle. They stopped for the night; the crocagator curled into a protective semi circle and dropped into a restless doze. Banger made it clear to Milton that she would appreciate his help for she desired to maintain her qualifications as a sacred non virgin and queen of the dungbeattle people; Milton always was a friendly, co operative sort of man. For several minutes George watched but he thought that the action resembled the bug salve ritual. George then turned his back upon the enraptured couple and fell into a deep sleep. The next day, when they awoke, they could hear the roar of the river in the distance. The sounds of the rabid rhinos were a counterpoint to the chatter of the old world monkeys, the cries of loud beaked birds, the sounds of things going glop and squishing in the jungle. Milton dressed formally in leopard skin shorts and a large hat that was given to hime as a going away present. Milton had a concert to attend and felt it would be best to dress for the occasion. Banger shook out the rain cape that she had wrapped around Milton and herself and began preparing breakfast. While Banger was getting the food concentrates from the crocagator, George began foraging for fruit. George found a cluster of berries that was being visited by several large rodents. After inviting the rodents to breakfast with the crocagator, George decided that the berries looked forlorn. Being a gentle soul, he removed them from the branch and took them back to camp. George stopped at a banana tree which the Mist Demons had brought to Africa a hundred generations before. He decided that they would be good company for the berries. When George returned to camp, Banger added protein, etc. George, Milton and Banger entertained the fruit in much the same fashion as the crocagator had entertained the rodents. After breakfast, Milton began practicing his old favorites on the violin. He played vintage Steppenwolf, "Fixing to Die Rag" by Country Joe and colorfully alternated Alice cooper and Bing Crosby. Banger and George started working up on the bullroarers. For miles around near hearing great apes, cheetahs and bull boars began scouting around for they were absolutely certain that their territory was being invaded (I did say that they were near hearing). "George", Banger stopped spinning the bullroarer and lowered her aching arms, "why does Milton play the violin so well?" "Hiis parents wanted hiim to be a famous wiinee bottle maker. Back home that iis aa very honored professiion. Miilton wanted to be a poet so he and hiis famiily comprosiised...he iis one of the best violin players the humans have and studies at the Mist Demons school." "Then why is a violin player who looks like a great ape out playing hero in the jungle?" "We fiigured he needed a break from home. Besiides, we were getting tiired of the songs he plays. Hiis parents asked me to go along on thiis triip and make sure nothing HARMFUL happened to hiim. They fiigured iit would be a good exerciise iin practiical poliitiics!" George and Banger were gazing peacefully at each other, when, several minutes later, Milton walked over to them. "I think we're ready to go now. I hope that everything we've heard about these rabid rhinos is correct. Have you ever talked to someone who has faced the rabid rhinos?" Banger simply shock her head "no". They boarded the crocagator and the brave little band began it's trip to the river. Milton continued warm up exercises and the crocagator swung its head and rolled it from side to side in time to the music. They crossed a final ridge and gazed in awe at the rabid rhinos as they waddled about their river. With grunts of rage, the animals were butting each other. Anything approaching the rhinos was attacked. Our heroes watched in shock as several tons of rhino advanced to drive off the shadow of a cloud. Groups of rhinos would cluster then charge and run other animals off. The victorious group would occupy their new land until they in turn were run off. Into this din our heroes rode! As the crocagator walked slowly toward the river, Milton's violin began to sing, to scream, an Alice Cooper song. Banger began knocking out the beat on her bullroarer and the crocagator added a base growl. George and Milton began singing a duet. The rabid rhinos stood transfixed and then made a mad dash toward the river. Like a squadron of maddened tugboats, the rhinos began lining up in the river. Now it was finally verified as to why the rabid rhinos had earned their name. It was not due to their obnoxious personalities; any political convention had more disgusting personalities. It was their love of group dancing! The rhinos were lined up in the river packed tighter than the boozers at Norfolk's cheapest happy hour. In perfect unison. the rhinos began to dance: stomp (splash), stomp (splash) leftward stomp, roar. Then the same pattern was repeated but backwards as the rabid rhinos moved back to their starting place. All this time, more rhinos were crowding into the river. With an unnatural composure, the crocagator began walking across the backs of the rabid rhinos who either couldn't attack or didn't care. Milton began playing a slow song. The rhinos responded by standing in place, shivering happily and looking like a couple "slow dancing". They finished making their way across the rabid rhinos and climbed to the top of the riverbank before Milton dared stop playing. The rabid rhinos began roaring their approval of the music. Being a natural ham, Milton began once more to play his violin to the accompaniment of Banger's bullroarer. George began singing the lyrics and the crocagator growled a base line that complemented the other very nicely. As the afternoon began fading, the sight of the musicians on the riverbank overlooking their wildly dancing audience would have been enough to blow the minds of even Salvador Dali or David Bowie! All roads lead to Rome, they once said. In this case, the roads lead to HenryKiss. After blundering into the traps of the denizens of HenryKiss, our heroes were at last approaching the city itself. even the coning of the death plants and the pacifying of the rabid rhinos would be nothing compared to the dangers of HenryKiss. This was a city whose jealous guarding of its sacred powder was legend. The city loomed above them; a large white citadel with but one large gate. The elephant herd they had originally heard was sleeping sedately near the gate. The city's streets were too small to handle a traffic jam like a herd of elephants. The three rode into the city; the gate keeper ignored them with the lordly contempt of any guard nodding off on duty. The street they rode into was but ten feet wide and four story stone buildings were on either side. A hundred yards up the road, a market place was situated. In this area, the merchants who sold the sacred powder awaited their customers. Deciding that discretion was better than getting put into the dungeon for stupidity, the three decided to watch the market for a while. Banger reached into her handicraft bag and pulled out knitting needles and a very esoteric, exotic looking yarn. Banger handed this to George and Milton who began knitting with very puzzle expression on their mugs. "I know the sacred powder is necessary for our elephants, Banger but why? And I've never heard of anyone knitting while watching merchants’' "No one would tell Milton that the sacred powder iis an ergot deriivatiive spriinkled upon driied bananas..." "..and used as an aphrodisiac for elephants," said Banger who completed George's sentence. "Untiil a person is iiniiated iito adulthood and Miilton wiill be after thiis triip the adults treat the powder as a priivate joke!' Milton sputtered a few chuckles and gasped as he tried to stop laughing. "You you you mean THIS was what was al always cracking people up? Spanish fly for Elephants?...What are we knitting?" Milton had a habit of occasionally changing subjects radically. "The people of HenryKiss have a strange custom of putting the resin of certain plants on the fiber of the HighLife plant. They place the treated fibers in the bottom of glasses and pour a mixture of honey and elephant milk over them. This produces a very intoxicating drink. The people of HenryKiss must import all of their HighLife fiber." "Then why don't we have it back home?" Milton was thunderstruck at the idea. "Because the beer iindustry managed to conviince our rulers that the driink would damage the liiver and lead to HighLife slums." "You are both knitting very well," said Banger sounding like an art teacher, "but you should make small scarfs only four fingers wide and ten or so fingers long. During the two day journey from the river of the rabid rhinos to the city, they had discussed how to escape from the people of HenryKiss. Although she had not told Milton and George the details of the trade goods, Banger had been very reassuring on the value of the aforementioned trade goods. They had arrived at the city just after dawn that morning. It was now approaching midafternoon when Banger nudged the crocagator into motion towards the traders. Banger addressed the first sacred powder merchant they approached: "Would you like to trade for some HighLife fiber scarfs?" "Yes! Yes! I will trade weight for weight!" The word went around the market faster that the news that the local booze shop was giving a 95% discount would go around a skid row! The merchants rushed to the waiting visitors; agents of the ruler himself began walking in their direction. "I will trade you two weights for one!" "No! No! He is a cheat! I will give you three weights to one and my coveted seat at the best honey bar in HenryKiss!" Fights broke out; George and Banger began playing the merchants off against each other for the best bargains. Ever the gentle, poetic soul, Milton began composing a satirical song about the bargaining. "They're foreign scum! It is illegal to deal with them and we will have to confiscate their entire cargo!" With raised clubs, the customs agents of HenryKiss's ruler were forcing their way through the crowd. Banger came to a sudden decision and stood to address the crowd. "If you get us out of the HenryKiss, we will give you the rest of our yarn!" To Milton and George, Banger muttered: "Besides we can't carry any more powder; we're overloaded already!" Sounding like a victorious army, the merchants repulsed the customs agents and hustled the crocagator and it's riders out of HenryKiss' gates. The guard who had been "on duty" all day had by this time slid down the wall and was gently "meditating" on the ground. At the sound of the alarm, he groggily got to his feet. Hearing the alarm meant one thing: "SECURE THE GATE AT ONCE!" He swung the city gates shut into the faces of the ruler's customs agents who bounded off the gates like super balls off of a wall! + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + ________________________________________________ The merchants overturned a visitor's wagon against the outside of the gate. It was only after the remaining yarn had been evenly distributed to the merchants that the city gates were finally opened. The guard was pouring out toward the group of merchants clustered around the crocagator. Once again, Banger rose to speak: "Try to block the guards from reaching us! We will be back next year!" Then, in an aside to Milton and George: "It’s illegal for foreigners to buy the powder from city merchants. The elephant herders who come to our tribes charge huge overheads. They also overcharge the city merchants for our HighLife fiber. They are agents of the rulers of HenryKiss. The rulers of HenryKiss made direct trade illegal when they realized what great profits they could make! But the rulers don't dare hurt the merchants!" The happy merchants hurried off toward the guards to fulfill their end of the bargain. They were happy "knowing" how they had swindled the barbarians! "Toward the elephants!", Banger shouted. She tied a bag of the sacred powder to the end of her fishing pole. Then, shouting directions to the crocagator, they raced past the sleeping elephants. With a roar like Dr. Ben Casey discovering that a patient had died after a hangnail operation had heirs who wouldn't pay the interest on his inflated bill let alone the bill, the elephants came awake! Like the pace car leading the racers at the Indianapolis 500, the crocagator fled from the stampeding elephants. The elephants were trumpeting a lustful message that jumped, neh, leaped across the special barrier. Who wants to be near a crowd of male and female elephants that think a crocagator smells like the ideal mate! The mass of trumpeting elephants swept all obstacles aside from their path like a tornado. The elephants made noises that in elephant language meant: Hubba! Hubba! Hubba! and other things too crude for a family type story like this one! + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + "...and then we can go to my home, Banger. But first lets deliver the sacred powder to your Queendom, Banger." Milton had to shout so that Banger and George could hear him over the din of the elephants. Banger leaned toward Milton and whispered a suggestion. Milton threw his head back and roared a laugh that shock his whole massive body. "Why not, we'll take them all and make them cheats in HenryKiss buy the elephants back from us...and do what else you suggested!" Looking like a dust tornado, the group swept down the traditional path that lead toward Banger's Queendom. *______* * * * Renion Joey, the shorter man, rocked from foot to foot; he danced a few steps in the alley and slumped back against the building at his back. George leaned back against The building touching only the wall with his head and slowly rolling his body like a stretching cat. "Hey, George, when you think Keith'll get here?" Joey was acting pretty edgy. "Beats The fuck outa me, Joey. Our blowout is The same every year...guess Keith'll git here when Keith gits here." "You remember what happened last year? Well, this year I'm carrying." Joey wore an old Marine raincoat and looked like The wop hood out of a thousand bad movies; nothing could have been more deceptive. George was over six feet tall and had long, lanky, browning hair. "No sweat, man, Keith looks out for his friends and his friends look out for Keith". He smiled at Joey and Joey returned The smile. Their friendship was something more than friendship... A car turned into The alley and They began moving towards it. The car was a late model Ford four door; it was like every other non decrypt car on The road. The driver rolled down his window and stuck his head partially out. "Joey! George! I'm glad you could make it tonight!" "Yeah, no problem. Joey and I got here early cause we figured this would be a good bar to start the evening." George was leaning against Keith's car. "Sound good. You two have good taste when it comes to picking appropriate bars." He parked The car on The spot and locked The door as he got out. "Around a neighborhood like this, you can't be too careful." His friends nodded in agreement and They went inside The bar. The bar was a no class dive that combined The best features of a whorehouse, a smoker's den and a drinking establishment. It was The kind of place very rarely seen in The U.S. by The "innocent" public; it was The kind of place that They had frequented in 'Nam and then in The P.I. {Philippines}. They entered and searched for a booth. "The last time In saw a bar like this was in The PI", Keith commented. "In never expected to see such a place In Washington, D.C. It's a step down from where we were last year." "Yup", Joey replied. He nudged George. "What you think, George?" George had spotted a hooker moving toward them and was busy planning his evening. The woman sat beside George and whispered into his ear. "Wanta buy me a drink, sport?" She smeared some of her lipstick on his ear as she propositioned him. "What's The action?" "Suckee/fuckee. Thirty bucks." George slid a twenty out of his pocket and palmed it off on The hooker. Then, George turned and winked at Keith who had watched The whole transaction with a knowing smile. "Be back in a while. Gotta get it on!" The woman stepped out of The booth and waited while George boogied out of The booth; swaggering for The benefit of his friends. "Certainly, George, have fun." Keith smiled gently, understandingly, as his friend left The room with The hooker. "Sheet man! George is gonna fuck his nuts off one of these days. In think he's been treated for The clap maybe four, five, times." "As they say, Joey, 'different strokes for different folks'". Joey nodded in agreement. "Besides, it's a harmless way to relieve tension. George doesn't hurt anyone ... what have you been doing lately? The last In heard you were still doing grass and horse; you really had me worried, man!" "In got off The heavy shit, man. In do a little coke once in a while but that’s about it." Joey pulled an elegant little box out of his pocket and offered it to Keith. "Do you mind if In, ah, indulge?" Keith handed him his own handkerchief. The handkerchief was pressed linen that matched Keith's suit perfectly. Joey sneezed into The cloth and blew his nose loudly. Joey clutched the rag and leaned back against the booth’s cushion. The sneeze had finally caused The barmaid to realize that there was another customer in The joint. "You want something?", she mumbled at the two men. "We'll have two beers, please." Keith smiled. His teeth were like polished ivory against The bar's light brown of his skin. The waitress glanced sideways at Joey who was rolling, squirming, on his couch in The booth. he was mimicking Keith and giggling. "Ignore him, please, my dear lady. Once a year we have a reunion and The three of us relax in our various fashions. Our brother (she raised her eyebrows at The idea of The two and an unknown third being related) is visiting a young lady who, ahhh, works for this establishment." Joey giggled at Keith while he laid The hype on The barmaid. She glanced at Joey's raincoat and nodded her head. "You guys were in a war together or something?" "Yes," Keith stated, "we spent some seven months together..." "Hey Angel, you ain't telling them damn war stories again, are you?" "...in combat." Keith glanced at Joey in acknowledgment of Joey's interruption. "No bother, I'm not telling any war stories." He glanced back at The barmaid. "In was a student at American University before In was drafted. The three of us grew up together here in D.C." The woman nodded at them and left to get The beers. "Well, cool it, bro." Joey took Keith's hand off his shoulder and squeezed it. This gesture was proof that Joey would always accept is friend's quirks. "You got your devils. In got mine. So what The fuck you been doing lately?" Joey was talking almost normally now. Keith took a deep breath. "I'm The token nigger over at The VA rehab center. In can meet some really strung out people there. A lot of people are getting fucked over out there and nobody really cares! Comrades of ours who were exposed to Agent Orange, drug users and those who can't handle their memories and do weird things! Folks who remember the jungle when they smell the wrong smell and think that there are snipers on The roof tops waiting for them! Or at least things that society doesn't officially like!" Keith's voice rose as his indignation rose. Both men looked up with a start as George slid into The booth beside Joey. George picked up Joey's beer and drained half of it in one gulp. "That sure was a lot of fucking work." George held his darkly tanned hand out toward Keith. "What’s this crap about you being a token nigger? I'm darker than you and They say I'm white!" Joey entered the conversation by burping and then saying: "You got a straight nose, straight hair and no lips, George. Keith looks black even through Keith is a brown! Joey snickered and smirked at Keith. The three men laughed at this idea. Most of their laughter was based on long association. Some was based on The knowledge that They would probably always accept each other. This was The way their friendship went beyond mere friendship. Keith tossed two ones on The table to pay for The beer. George picked up Keith's untouched brew and killed it; Joey finished his own glass. They entered The car with Keith driving and Joey sitting beside him. George sprawled out in The back. "Hey", George shouted, "let's stop by a 7 11 and pick up some beer!" Keith agreed and They pulled out of The alley. They were in southeast DC. The area was fairly safe; there had only been one person "offed" that month. They pulled into a 7 11. It was a quiet area if you were The right color and/or had The right friends. Keith walked in very carefully. On one side of The checkout stand, a group of drifters was sprawled. The clerk was either resigned to their presence or was too scared to evict them. Keith took a six pack of Bud from The cooler and paid. He was very careful to avoid The drifters. One of The drifters walked over to Keith. "Hey, nigger, you want to contribute to charity?" The man held one hand out with his palm up; a hunting knife that looked like a well sharpened K Bar was in the other hand. The man's friends began walking around The back of The stall hoping to do a squeeze on Keith. Keith smiled wryly and kicked his assailant in The knee. Immediately, Keith put his stiffened fingers into The man's throat. The sound of breaking bone halted The man's friends. There was a mad glow in Keith's eyes as he turned and half ran to The car. Two of The man's friends followed Keith outside. George kicked one man in The groin. Keith kicked The other man in The face and punched out an "innocent bystander" just for general principles. Keith piled into the driver's seat and George lunged through a passenger door into the back seat. As he pulled out onto the street, Keith glared back at The store. "Bastard wanted me to 'contribute to charity.'" Keith was speaking in a tense, chopped, voice. Joey turned to George who had sat up in The back seat and muttered: "That was bad. Reminds me of the old days." George nodded somber agreement. Their emotions were in no way directed toward Keith's victim; their concern was totally for Keith. George broke open the six pack and handed a can to the other two men. He pulled The tab on Keith's before handing that beer to Keith and placed it into Keith's grasp like a surgical nurse placing a scalpel into The cutter's hand. They were driving slowly through a slum neighborhood that totally lacked streetlight. It was very quiet; They could see furtive forms gliding from shadow to shadow. As They passed through an intersection, a group ran out into The road hoping They would stop The car. Keith aimed The car at two men who stood almost directly in The path of his high beams. Both men froze as the car headed toward them then desperately tried to run. One man was caught by The bumper and flung down The street. As They accelerated down the road, Keith and company could hear the curses and screams of their would be attackers. As They left The area, Keith saw a pedestrian. As he rode up on The sidewalk, The man ran into a storefront entrance and plastered himself against The door. with a snarl, Keith pulled back onto The road. Keith gripped The steering wheel so tightly that The blood was forced from his fingertips; his hands were like dusky ivory claws on The steering wheel. Finally, Keith slowed down. There was The sound of relief in The car. Joey put The beer can back into Keith's hand. Joey had taken The beer from Keith just before Keith had tried to commit murder. George leaned forward and tapped Keith on The shoulder. "You OK now, Keith?" Keith glanced back toward George and then looked sideways at Joey. "Yeah, In guess so. In think In broke my hand and In feel kind of drained. When The rage hits me, it's like I'm on The outside watching someone else run my body. There's a dude at The VA I'm going to talk to tomorrow. Well, maybe in a couple of days when everything settles down. Hell, I'll definitely see him in a couple of days!" The mad look was gone from Keith's eyes. It had been replaced by a sated look that did not match The look of slight regret his face wore or The soulful tones of regret in his voice. "Well, what are you two planning for The rest of The evening?" Joey took his little box out, held it in his hand for a minute, and then put it back into his shirt pocket. "In was thinking we'd have a few brews then call it an evening." Keith nodded agreement and began heading back toward The bar. Joey leaned toward Keith: "Why don't you go home and crash? You look really tired!" "Yeah, In think In will...I'm remembering things In rather have forgotten." Keith spoke in a very soft voice. Keith pulled up in front of The bar and The other two men got out of The car. Keith stuck his head out of The window. "Nice seeing you two again. Later!" "The wife and me are gonna bar be que some steaks next Saturday afternoon", George stated. "Coming over?" The other two men agreed to come by. Joey and George watched The car disappear. Then, They walked into The bar and sat down. To their surprise, The barmaid cam over immediately and took their orders. Joey took a sip of beer and began" "You remember last year when that damn drunk picked a fight with Keith? Remember how Keith broke The fucker's arm then threw The poor guy across The room? Keith got pretty heavy tonight!" "Keith picked the neighborhood we was cruising in." "Well, 'Nam fucked up Keith's mind some. Violence is Keith's trip now and he don't like it. Tries to hide it most of the year. Besides, you brought a heater with you tonight, Joey. You must have been expecting something heavy to happen! "Keith hassled me into drug rehab and joining Narcotics Anonymous. We can make him git help! Agreed, George?" George looked very pensive. "Yeah, we can make him do it. Keith never could say no to both of us. Me, In like to fuck anything that moves. Maybe I'm not so bad off after all. I'm gonna get a 'bladder infection' for The next couple of days until In know I’m 'clean'. The wife'll just have to be a nun for a couple of days." George finished his beer. "See you next Saturday, Joey." George walked over toward where three hookers of indeterminate sex were taking a "coffee break". One of them scored and it walked ahead of George upstairs to The cribs above The bar. There, their bodies went through The motions of lust. Their minds were detached observers of The scene for this was strictly a business deal. Joey stretched and glanced over at a phone. On it, he knew, was The number for The police. If he called, he knew Keith would be committed and would get The treatment he needed. On The other hand, that would be an act of personal treason against Keith. Joey finished his beer and left The bar without a backward glance. AFTERWORD: It should be obvious (In hope) that this story is about three VietNam vets who get together yearly for a special reunion. At this reunion They "reenact" their pleasures from the past. In was thinking about how people celebrate events when In wrote this story and it occurred to me that violence is also very human way of celebrating events. In also tried showing that the three men still got together for more peaceful, "normal" get together as well. Finally, In remember reading an interview of Anne Rice which stated that she was proud of all of her work. She has the right to be proud of her work (it is quite good writing and story telling) and in future I have the right to be proud of mine! (In don't necessarily have like everything that I have written in the distant past!). Second post script written on 21 October 1999: In do hope no one thinks this story was written after that mini-war, The “Gulf War”... Rituals The starship approached the space station that had circled a dying, white dwarf star for nearly twenty five centuries. The station was worn and appeared battered but still appeared in useable shape. The starship's crew hailed the station. To their surprise, they were told to stand by for a few minutes. They watched with interest as the station seemed to remain unchanged and then clouds of vapor appeared and rapidly dissipated into space. Their sensors told them that the clouds were impure water. Finally, they were requested to send a shuttle craft to the station and enter through one of the cargo locks. Once inside, they saw a red carpet waiting for them and three people who were very ornately dressed in what appeared to be ancient military costumes. Their Captain recognized this attire as being from a space Navy that had died peacefully centuries before. They walked down the red carpet between ranks of space warriors lined up facing them; the warriors held weapons across their chests and wore spotless vacuum suits. The three station people waited for the visitors to walk past the rows of warriors. "Welcome to our station! You are the third set of visitors we have received since this station was comm9issioned. Come! We will show you around and see to your creature needs." The speaker was a person of indeterminate age and sex who turned around with a total economy of motion and began to lead the other two greeters away. As the visitors followed, one of them turned and noticed that the "honor guard" had completely disappeared. It was a shock to realize that the "honor guard" was a well done holograph. They walked down passageways that smelled of cleaner and were still shinny from drying water and cleaner. In the distance, they could see a cleaning robot hurriedly finishing a section and they disappear into the ship. One of the station's people commented: "Didn't you enjoy that reception? We seldom are able to bring out the full honor guard and I do enjoy their displays. They are fine young people!" "It was a most remarkable display," commented the visitor who had seen the disappearing act of the holographs. "I trust that we will be able to enjoy more of them?" "Yes! Yes!" The enthused station member gushed enthusiasm and then ran off. "Thank you for your kindness," the station speaker commented. "That old one has been putting on those displays ever since the real honor guard was transferred off the station almost twenty four hundred years ago. The joy of having such a display is a point of stability." "Why do you do that? Also, why are you cleaning the station so thoroughly?" "Why, it is Naval tradition! You are the first visitors we've received in a very long time and we do things right here! That 'honor guard' was a bit ridiculous but it is harmless. DON'T tell that old dear that I said this>" With that, the station speaker's other companion began checking the state of cleanliness. The station speaker nodded in approval and then said: "They are doing an excellent job! You programmed the cleaning robots very well!" Shortly after, the cleaning fanatic left and ran toward a knot of cleaning robots. The visitor's spokesperson commented: "Why are you having this ritualistic cleaning and honor guard business? Why have these rituals, anyway?" "You don't understand the purpose of ritual here. We have been here for 2500 years and will be here much longer. We were sentenced here for crimes that only we remember and since we think the sentences are just, we will remain. ALSO, we don't understand the civilization you outsiders have created..." "But why the ritual? Why not change your daily routines as you wish?" "You misunderstand the reason for our ritual. Ritual can be a hollow thing that a person plods through. An empty thing without joy and which is death in life. Or, ritual can celebrate some truth or celebrate some person or event in the past. Ritual can be a living thing. Some people have 'blind spots' which they don't recognize or do not want to recognize. We all know who has what blind spots here. They are easy to spot...just see what rituals each person thinks are natural laws and you will know their weak spots. We are always careful to honor people's weak spots. KNOWING what ritual is a form of cynicism that runs through our station and could destroy it like a plague if it were not for the mutual compassion for our comrades' weaknesses that holds us together. THIS compassion is like thick cream poured over a strawberry desert and which binds everything together. We are very old and set in our ways. You have already seen two of the rituals of my people. Others share these rituals and have their own. Fortunately, I do NOT have any rituals of my own and would never tell my station mates how ridiculous their own are...AH, it looks like the honor guard is already down this passageway." Then, in a whisper to the visitors: “PLEASE comment nicely on the sweet smell of the flowers, the strong odor of the oiled weapons and the fine shine on the floors. Please do not comment on the smell of cleaning fluids. As they walked toward the illusionary "honor guard", the ship visitors realized sadly that the station spokesperson practiced a ritual: The belief in having rituals for everything! *______* * * * Spring Rose The final flight briefing was on July 21, 2015 and was uneventful: Jason Armstrong boarded the "Spring Rose" with his partner, Enid van Allen and they immediately went to the control room. There, they waited for the fleet tug that had pushed them up to a thousand miles per second to break off contact. They were crossing the orbit of Mars and it was time to be going. Their ship consisted of two decks: the top deck had a control room forward, the wardroom behind it, a combination kitchen and exercise room ran down the starboard side of the ship while their staterooms ran the length of the other side. Still further aft was a stateroom and aft most was the viewing room for the engines. The engine room could be entered only when the ship was in "dry dock" for overhaul. Underway, they could look through glass windows at the blank faces of the drive machine air and water purification plants and the rest of the engineering spaces. The machinery was built with redundant components and had robot repair equipment. It was about as reliable as humans could build it. The viewing room was the size of four phone booths put together and was festooned with monitoring and computer interface equipment where not windowed. The second deck contained the hydroponics tanks, cultured yeast tanks, cold storage room, dry storage room, another storage room and the entrance to their "lifeboat". The ship's control computer stated for the record: "The tug has broken off; now prepared to get underway. Trip time to Barnard's Star is six years objective time, six months subjective. Request advice." "Damn thing talks like it's in the Navy!" "That was for your benefit, Jason. Do you want it changed?" "Please don't; it helps remind me of who we're working for." Then in a much colder tone of voice he gave an order to the computer: "You have the course and heading. Get underway!" The engine monitors showed the main drive starting, the view screens pointed aft shut themselves off to protect the viewer’s eyes from the glare of the drive exhaust and the computer plot that showed the ship's location appeared on a large display. Otherwise, there was absolutely no indication that they were underway. They could have been in the training simulator at Leningrad or Colorado Springs for all they knew. "Well", Jason remarked in a mild voice, "That means we'll finally have time to get to know each other. I've heard that you always marry a stranger no matter how long you've know them." "I think I know you fairly well." "No, not really, Training together for a year doesn't mean we really know each other." "The computers saw we're very compatible. Almost made for each other in fact." Enid sounded very convinced. "Well, we'll see." With that, Jason turned on a video monitor and typed in commands to let him see the ship's projected course. At the ship's top speed, relativity would slow time down enough so that the trip would seem six months long. Jason began requesting the computer to put in alternate flight plans so that he could see what effect that would cause. Four hours later, Enid tapped him on the shoulder. "Time for dinner. There were some calls for you and I said you'd return them later." "Ok. It can wait till after supper." "Why are you trying to find a better flight plan?" "I don't trust it." "But the current flight plan uses a very good data base of hydrogen and other gas densities. It is the best one." "I just don't think we know enough about those gases to come up with a flight plan this detailed. It has us doing two course changes to take us around dangerous gas concentrations. We can't know about them! The instructors in flight training said so!" "Well, things have improved drastically since they sent those probes toward Barnard's Star. Don't you remember?" "Well, I guess I don’t." For a moment, Jason looked confused then accepted the reality of remembering the lectures on the probes. He decided that the state of the art was good enough for their flight plan. Jason didn't notice that Enid was sweating slightly. The structure of interstellar gases along their flight plan was like a vast building whose layout was burned into Enid's mind. She knew the location of carbon monoxide clouds and ammonia clouds and ice moons like she knew the interior of their ship. It was just something part of her. She no longer wondered that Jason did not have such an advanced knowledge. "Well, I guess you're right ... somehow I seem to recall some fancy sensors.” Enid looked relieved. **************************** They sat down to a dinner of salad, fish and a small bottle of Rose. Halfway through the meal, as Jason poured some more Rose, he commented: "You made a good choice. Too bad we don't have much more." "I know." The answer was a sigh. Both knew that they would be living on freeze dried food and the products of the hydroponic and yeast tanks. They would have to get used to the low class beer made in the food yeast tanks. "I had some of that freeze dried food before. That was when I wintered over in Antarctica [sic]. Wasn't the worst food I've eaten. " "I thought you people were fed better than that." Enid already had a good idea of Jason's life history but liked to hear him talk. "I was out alone in a small station with very little storage space." "Why were you alone?" "They needed someone to check on an experiment being run about fifty miles from the base camp. I took a snow tractor out there and stayed about six weeks. The experiment went better with someone watching it and I was working on a project of my own." "Weren’t you lonely?" "No. It was quite pleasant. Now, you tell me about you! You know how little I was told!" "Later, dear, we'll have a long time together." The second day, Star Fleet called them. "Spring Rose. Star Fleet. We've given you a couple of days to get settled down. Are you up to an interview with the world press?" Jason glanced at Enid who nodded "yes" and murmured "you should have called them back yesterday!" "Sure." "Good morning, my name is Dan Cerebureus representing InterPlanetary Press. How are you two adjusting to your mission?" "Fine." "And you, Ms. vanAllen?" "We're adjusting very well, Mr. Cerebuerus. Mr. Armstrong and I are quite compatible. Also, we have sufficient work to keep us very busy." "Why are you going to Barnard's Star?" "It's there. It's human nature to explore the unknown and it's the greatest dream of our time." "It will also give us an excellent test of the ship design and will open the stars to all humans." Jason was surprised by her fervor. "How does it feel to know that the people on Earth will age much more than you?" "Simple relativity, no big lose, actually." "Don't repeat that please," Enid interjected. "I won't. How about you, Ms. van Allen?" "I said good bye to my family and they will be waiting for me to return." That was news to Jason who decided he'd ask her about her family. While reflecting on why he was so ignorant about her, he began to wonder if their trip was really important. It seemed to him that he had the feeling of repeating something worn thin and tired. Jason decided that he'd read too many anti spaceflight editorials and had planned this trip too much. The anticlimax of actually making the flight was getting him down, Jason decided. "What do you two hope to accomplish?" "Knowledge. Proof of concept." "Jason means that we will prove that this ship design is a sound one." Jason was feeling embarrassed at being so verbose to a stranger; Enid thought he was being curt. "Thank you for that interview. We will be talking with you later..." Star Fleet came back on. "Congratulations! That was very well handled." That Star Fleet communications officer had a very delicate but sure tough with sarcasm. "Sure was. Nothing like repeating dead news." Jason hadn't been impressed with the interview either. "Are you planning on accepting any other interviews? Playboy/Penthouse and the Star/Hustler have been printing articles about you two!" "Definitely not! I want your lawyers to take action if they print anything truly obscene about Jason and me!" Jason, who still remembered when Playboy and Penthouse were deadly rivals and the Star and Hustler worked different sides of the street, privately hoped that anything printed would be very obscene. He remembered masturbating while reading "dirty magazines" and hoped it would entertain some lonely people. He wasn't about to tell Enid about this fantasy however. Besides, it probably couldn't be any worse than what was printed about the three male astronauts NASA had sent to Mars. Those men had been on a three year trip and they had lived up to NASA's expectations that they would all turn gay. Three years alone was a long time. He was just glad that he had Enid and not Ernie. (Jason drew the line there!) "Well, the legal beagles will growl away. Is there anyth9ing we can get for you folks? We can still get a supply drone to you within the next two weeks." "More Champaign and the latest issue of Penthouse." "No!" Enid and the Star Fleet communications officer echoed their answer but to different request. Jason smiled in delight. "Sorry, people, but that is not an emergency item. If there is nothing else, then adios. Star Fleet out." "We have three hundred people living in space stations and on the moon and ten on Mars and he calls himself the InterPlanetary Press! Egotist!" Jason was disgusted. "Playboy/Penthouse! Men!" Jason just smiled at Enid's reaction. **************************** Jason didn't say much for the next two days. He spent his time in a brown study while watching the Earth and Moon recede into the distance. He was using the remote TV system instead of the highly shielded windows because it was too much hassle to remove the shutters. Besides, he liked the magnification of the TV system. Enid left him alone and busied herself with studying the engines and working with the hydroponics tanks. "What are you studying?" "I just got started studying navigation. I know which buttons to push but not the theory behind it." "I can help you with that. I did some research on the subject when I was younger." "When was that?" "When I was on the ice." Enid knew that he was referring to his time in Antarctica. She also knew that it was his research that had really earning him the starship billet. "Jason, why are you so quiet?" "It's my nature." "Do you ever miss people? Places? Your home?" "No, not really." "I miss my family; we had a house on the Sein overlooking the Paris skyline. I miss it." "If you miss it so much, how can you stand to be here?" "People change. Places change. Paris will still be there when we return...and I have you now." Jason had the grace to blush. **************************** After about a month of very quiet, almost monastic, life, Jason stormed up to Enid absolutely livid. No one who hadn't lived with Jason could have told that; anyone else would have though Jason was having a slight case of gas. "Damnit! This place is a pigsty. Please pick up your stuff!" Enid had taken to leaving her laundry neatly folded on the desk in her stateroom rather than putting it away. Also, she was fond of using the same coffee mug without washing it. "It is not! I have never seen a place that is cleaner than this! You scrub this damn place every day and clean things every time they're used!" "I like clean places." "There is no dirt here. This place has less germs than an operating room!" She put her hands on his cheeks and pushed them gently together so that his lips were forced out into a pout. Jason had just shaved and his skin was roughened. "Lighten up!" Jason sighed and relaxed. "I’m sorry if I hurt your feeling. I can't help it if I like clean places." He patted her on the arm; this was the most intimate gesture he had yet given her for he was uncomfortable with the apparently wide held assumption that he would have seduced Enid as soon and as often as possible. Later that day, Jason carefully hung her clothing up or put it in her closet while Enid was checking on a batch of "beer". The "beer" was brewed using the scraps from the hydroponics tanks. Enid just sighed when she discovered this little "favor". The next day, she raided the storeroom for some "real food" that they had been saving for a rainy day. She knew that emotionally, they were experiencing a typhoon and not a mere rain shower! She brought out some vegetables, chicken and strawberries with whipped cream. She even sacrificed some of their small wine supply to make things proper. "Jason, do you ever miss anyone?" "No." He paused. "Not really. Sometimes I sort of miss my family. How about you?" "I don't have a family. They were killed in a light plane accident when I was fifteen. The past ten years, I've been in school or training. I've had lovers but they're all married now. How about you?" "I thought you said you had a family?" "No, dear, I just said that I miss them and that they will be waiting for me to return. But, I have you now!" Jason was surprised at how goo9d it felt to hear that and was surprised at his sudden realization of how much he had somehow come to like and need Enid. "I have an Uncle and two brothers living in Melbourne. Didn't see them very often before this flight. Funny thing; I've begun to miss them lately and wish I could see them again." "Do you miss them a lot?" "Not really. I just think it would be nice to see them but my visits in the past were never much fun." Jason paused for a second with his face looking empty. Enid knew without having to be told that the ship's psychology computer was reinforcing Jason's feeling that visiting his kinfolk was an overrated pleasure. Her primary job was ship’s doctor. All this was information that she was forbidden to mention to Jason. In fact, Jason had been carefully conditioned to believe that the ship could not slip into his head in that way. The ship couldn't read his mind but could reinforce or change what it thought was his emotional state. "No, I don't feel any strong urge to visit them. Besides, they'll still be there when we return. If not, the Red Cross will send us a message!" They both smiled at the absurdity of the Red Cross sending them a "deeply regret" message. It would be years before they would had received it and Star Fleet would never have allowed such a message to be sent to them in the first place. They looked forward to a subjective year of receiving happy, happy news about his family and their respective friends. Jason had the sudden feeling that this conversation had occurred many times before. "It was funny", he thought, "how many times he had wished he was outspoken and extroverted". Yet, when the chance had come, he had retained his silence. He had cursed himself for that when younger... "Finish your wine, Jason, I feel sleepy!" "Damnit", Jason thought to himself, "the story of my life. Just when I'm having a good time, she gets sleepy!" "Well, good night then. I'll clean up." "Clean up can wait!" Enid deliberately and slowly kissed Jason and then pushed him in the direction of his room. She unzipped his jumpsuit and Jason finally got the idea and began to cooperate. She had expected him to be a "gentleman" but had never expected to have to seduce him. For an almost virgin, Jason proved himself to be a rapid study with much potential for further growth. Afterwards, they sipped the leftover Champaign as they lay on Jason's bunk. "Jason, have you always been so quiet?" "It's just the way I am, I guess. I've never been much of a talker." He squirmed slightly. "Also", he thought, "when you're quiet nothing you say can be used against you by your loving brothers or your fucking uncle. The uncle who kept saying he was raising you 'only 'cause you're me brother's blood', boy." "I have always been just the opposite; I've always talked a lot. You poor dear!" Jason squirmed slightly but said nothing; silences in conversations didn't bother him. "Why do you think we're aboard when the computer runs everything anyway?" "Backup pilots are what we were told. Although, if the computer couldn't navigate, the backup computer and we couldn't does a very good job of getting us back alive? I figure we're here for emergency repairs." "But why two of us?" Enid paused then answered her own question: "I suppose we're to keep each other sane and serve as backups." Briefly, Jason remembered once being told that a two person crew was less stable than a one person crew but didn't pursue the thought; he had the incredible urge to "seduce" Enid. Jason demonstrated that he had learned a thing or two from her. Afterward, Enid helped Jason change the mattress sheet and they showered together; truly, that was a day of firsts for him. **************************** Four days later, Jason sat at the control panel seething with anger. Normally, he could control his feelings but he felt like he had a balloon of rage in his skull. Every time he breathed, the hot balloon got bigger and closer to popping. He tried suppressing this rage but that did not help. Enid wondered in and sat down in the chair next to him. "What is the matter, dear?" "Nothing is the matter! NOTHING!" "Then quit shouting at me!" "I am not fucking shouting at you!" After taking a few deep breaths, he continued. "Everything. Is. Fine. I just feel upset. That’s all!" "Why are you upset? Now you're upsetting me and I wasn't feeling upset before!" "Cleaning up this dump upsets me." "But I've been helping you." "I know. I know. Thanks for helping me. I really appreciate it." His remark had come across as sarcastic to Enid and she stiffened in anger. His anger was partially abated but now he felt guilty as well. "Why are you upset?" "I learned to live without other people, I guess. Before, ah, before we became intimate, I could just sort of ignore you." He glanced away and didn't see her expression of hurt outrage flicker to one of curiosity and then back to hurt outrage. "I just don't know how to live with someone as closely as we have been living together. The manual says to keep everyone busy and I guess we've been doing that. But, it doesn't say much about how to live together." He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. She walked over to him and rested her face against his. "What really bothers me is the feeling that we've been through this conversation before." He looked very puzzled. "Maybe in some past life? Maybe something that happened when you were a kid or read sometime before?" "Maybe. I sort of remember hearing my uncle arguing with my aunt before she left him. But, that was so damn long ago, Twenty-five or thirty years ago. I was about eight or ten at the time." Maybe you're afraid we'll be like your aunt and uncle?" "Never!" His voice and body language reflected the exact opposite beliefs. "Well, it won't happen to us! Do you hear me? It won't!" "Ok, ok, I believe you!" "Now, I feel guilty about getting angry about something as trivial as cleaning the ship." "Well, it is only human to feel human, dear. Besides, we're running low on cleaning supplies. How about we just sponge everything off as necessary?" She kissed him. A few minutes later, she realized that he needed to be alone. "I'm going to the engine room to run some simulations on the instruments there. I'm still weak on engine theory." After she had left, Jason finally totally relaxed when he realized that he was alone. This desire for absolute privacy was so fundamental to his spirit that he no more thought of it than he thought of his heartbeat. It was interesting, he mused, that Star Fleet control would send just two of them out as the crew of the first starship. He was an engineer, navigator and electronics repairman. She was the MD, ship's farmer, computer expert and astronomer. Well, if he could study his engines, he could study farming, computers and astronomy. It would never have occurred to him to study medicine especially psychology. **************************** Turnover at the halfway mark had been without problems. The SPRING ROSE was two point eight light years from Barnard's Star and all aboard was well. By this time, Jason and Enid had settled down to a routine of work, study and play that left them little time for sleep. Standing watches amounted to running simulated disaster drills and that was something they could do in their sleep. In fact, some of the drills were surprise drills staged in the middle of the "night". After a trip that had lasted six years to an observer watching from the earth but which had been only six months to them, they were close enough to Barnard's Star to shut down the main drive. Now, they were moving at a mere eleven hundred miles per second as they fell across the sky heading for Barnard's Star. Enid joined him in the control room as he ordered the ship's computer to launch photometric probes. The Earth based observatories had mapped the locations of this system's three planets and two asteroid belts. The SPRING ROSE had been updating this database with their own observations during their flight. "For the record, I am allocating two probes to the major planet. We will send three other probes to handle the minor planets and the two asteroid belts." Jason knew that this information would be relayed back to Earth as part of the telemetry but wanted the satisfaction of saying the words himself. "Jason, that isn't what Star Fleet wanted." Enid was frowning. "I know; they wanted more observations of the asteroids and the star itself. Somehow, I think that the planets are more important." "It was almost a week before the probes were close enough to their target planets to make observing their imagery worthwhile. By then, the probe images were incredible. Both the minor planets were larger than Jupiter and contained enough moons to make this system a major attraction for astrophysicists, chemists, geologist, geographers and every other specialty that Jason could think of. It reminded him of the excitement of seeing the first voyager pictures of Jupiter. They spent most of the day watching the incoming photos before reluctantly leaving the control room. But, they noted the time they left so that they could "catch up" later. After about three weeks in the Barnard Star system, they finally were able to receive data from the two probes sent to the "major" planet. They had been wondering just what the major planet could be like and figured it must be impressive or the astronomers would never have called the two "minor planets" "minor planets". They were not disappointed. The first images they received were infrared or heat spectrum and displayed very intricate cloud features. The "major planet" was believed to be a "brown dwarf" or a sub stellar mass or a star that just didn't grow big enough to become a star. In visual light, the "major planet" clearly had an impressive "red spot", the colour banding of the clouds was awe inspiring and the ring structure around the "major planet" was enough to put those of Jupiter, Saturn and Uranus to shame. There were also several earth sized moons among the hoard of moons and moonlets orbiting this God of a "Major Planet". The radiation belts surrounding the "major planet" made that planetary system as deadly as the core of any nuclear reactor. After falling across the sky of Barnard's Star for a month, Jason and Enid "lit off" the main engines and accelerated into a tight orbit of Barnard's Star that slingshot them back toward Earth. They felt some anticlimax at the end of their stay yet were still receiving very interesting data from the probes; it also felt good to be going home. Shortly after their return was officially consummated, Jason began to suspect something eerie. It seemed that ever since his temper tantrum (or so he thought of it), if he felt like being alone, Enid would disappear. It took some doing to disappear on their ship but her duties could enable her to do so. If he felt like having company, she would suggest a "day off" or her duties would keep her near him. He decided to test this theory out at dinner. have to ensure that it integrates well with the rest of the text and any future description of the "major planet"! "What have you been doing lately?" "Studying engineering, dear. The 'heart' of the engines would make nice modern art." "They're not supposed to be modern art. Besides, modern art is just a bunch of crap." He knew she appreciated modern art and thought she even liked it. "It depends on your viewpoint. Some is very nice." "None is worth a damn!" That'll piss her off, he thought, she'll leave for sure. Enid looked angry and concentrated on eating her dinner. "I'm getting tired of the same old stuff for dinner." "Then. Fix. Your. Own. Dinner! Aren't you the 'I can eat anything' guy? I'm getting tired of your carping. Why don't you cook?" "You're the farmer." "That is not an excuse. Besides, I think you're trying to hurt my feelings!" Oh, shit, he thought. I didn't want it to go this far. "I'm sorry, dear; I guess I'm in a rut or just got cabin fever." "Fine." "I love you, dear, will you forgive me?" "I love you too but you're being a bitch and I’m still upset." "I said I was sorry!" "I can't calm down in a fucking heartbeat! (That was an expression Jason had used a time or two himself). She maintained a silence for the rest of the evening that was intimating to him. Although they slept together as usual that night, they did not touch. The next morning, Jason fixed breakfast and took it to Enid who was in the engineering room. After that, Jason began doing routine preventative maintenance. Around lunchtime, he began feeling slightly lonely and called Enid on the intercom. "Lunchtime. Can you wrap things u and come out?" "No, dear, I'm on a roll and don't want to quit." When he took lunch to her, he found her intently studying a video and respected her desire for privacy. Later that afternoon, he realized that he had been staring at the same image of a moonlet for ten minutes without seeing it. He was beyond feeling lonely and had begun to feel a strong desire to be with Enid. This was a type of emotion that was new and painfully raw to him. He tried telling himself fuck her if she doesn't want to be around me, I don't need her. Yet, a part of him cried out for her and wondered why she was forsaking him. Occasionally, a rational part of him asserted that she was merely working and was not sadistically abandoning him. This calmed him momentarily and then the surge of despair would flood over him again. The worst part was that he could not force himself to go to her or even call her on the intercom and blurt out his feelings. And so the pain went on for several hours. Finally, he drank some freeze dried coffee and fixed dinner for both of them. He went back to the engine room to see her. She was not there. The door to her room was closed but he knew better than to go in there. On the ship, each stateroom was the ultimate place for privacy; he could not imagine himself entering there uninvited if the door was closed. He slept late the next morning and only awoke when Enid walked in and kissed him. "I forgot to say goodnight to you last night, Jason. I just got worn out working." "That’s ok, what are you doing today?" "Tracing the power supply wiring." With that, she left him and he went back to sleep. That evening, Jason broke two of their five remaining Cornish game hens out of the freezer and fixed a feast. Then, he laid out their formal dinnerware and invited Enid in from the engineering space. "This beats the yeast tank. What’s the occasion?" "Celebrate you learning the entire electrical distribution system." The computer had updated her training record to reflect this achievement and had notified the Training Officer, Jason. The truth was that the meal was the best way for him to get her out of engineering long enough for them to enjoy a long, quiet, meal. "It is very interesting but not hard to understand. I've gone about as far as I can without tearing the ship apart. Maybe during overhaul?" "Yeah, we can work on it together. Although, the 'shipyard' will probably tear everything out and replace it." "No, on second thought, they probably won't. They'll just put the ROSE in the Air and Space Museum." Jason had the sudden image of the Air and Space Museum having been moved to high earth orbit and filled with spacecraft that would have made the SRING ROSE look like a small sailboat compared to a Clipper Ship. Such a pleasant fantasy, he thought, and decided to work on making it come true. "I missed you." "I just had some thinking to do." For a moment, she looked like she was going to speak but said nothing. Jason knew when to keep his mouth shut and decided to wait it out. "What are you planning on working on next?" "The yeast tanks need cleaning." "I can help you with that", Enid suggested. Jason raised his glass in a silent toast to her. **************************** For several days, they cleaned the yeast vast. To their mutual disgust, it was necessary to swap out two pumps that were going bad. The highly aromatic yeast solution had pooled at the bottom of both pumps and had a way of splashing out of the pump and onto both of them. It was not pleasant. On the last day they worked on the vats, Jason began to feel the old urge to be alone. However, he didn't want to offend Enid so he said nothing. "You've been more quiet lately, dear.' "Just running out of things to talk about, I guess." "What is next on the preventative maintenance schedule?" Checking out our landing craft." "Good; we can work on that tomorrow." After cleaning up, they spent the rest of that day watching old movies. The next day, Jason examined the landing craft's engines while Enid checked out the landing craft's medical supplies and its computer. Although they could see each other, they didn't speak often and thus Jason's urge to be alone was partially satisfied. The landing craft was only good for landing on a planet and then returning to the SPRING ROSE. It didn't have the star drive so it was useless for abandoning ship. Also, it didn't have force field generator that was needful for protecting the ship. Outer space is not quite a vacuum; it contains some gases. Moving at almost the speed of light means that the ship was in extreme danger from the impact of interstellar hydrogen. Jason and Enid both knew that leaving the ship while in flight was a death sentence. If the intense radiation caused by the hydrogen hitting the ship at almost the speed of light didn't kill them within a second, the hydrogen sandblasting most certainly would. The landing craft was as useless as a life preserver on a submarine! Basically, Jason thought that it was included as a sop to the "folks back home" and took up room that could have gone for beer and popcorn! Several days later, Jason was finally and firmly convinced that Enid was not timing her presence with him to suit his moods. He was almost embarrassed by his assumption! A couple of week after that, Enid began matching her time with Jason to match his need for company; Jason never noticed. When they were three months (subjective time) away from Earth, Enid found Jason in the control room using the ship's telescope. "Sometimes, I think that I can almost see the Earth," he stated. "Although we're too far out to even see Jupiter." All that could be seen on the screen was a faint star outlines by computer generated white lines. If you didn't know it was "The Sun" you'd never had seen anything special about it. "Give it time, dear." "Ok, I know, I know, we're too far away. Still, I keep getting the feeling that we're coming home. It’s sort of a comfortable feeling." He paused. "Funny thing, I don't remember when I've ever felt this way before." "What about when you were in the Navy? Didn't you feel it then?" "No. Going home was nothing special. Sort of a duty. It became easier after my family moved to Australia cause then I had an excuse for not going home. I can remember pulling into 'Diego (Enid knew that Jason meant San Diego, California), seeing all those family members and friends greeting me shipmates and there wasn't a God Damned one of them there to greet me! Not a one! The family said they couldn't make it to San Diego from Cleveland and I pretended to believe them. I just don't think it mattered to them. That hurt. If we could have pulled back out to sea immediately after 'homecoming', I would have given a lot to do so!" "Somehow, I just feel we'll get a good greeting!" Jason couldn't tell if the wetness he felt on his scalp was sweat or Enid's silently shed tears; he just knew that the rest of him wasn't sweating. **************************** They were six week out from Earth one morning when Enid left the shower and found Jason at the communications panel. "What are you doing?" "We're close enough to Earth and going slow enough that we should be able to pick up commercial broadcasting. I can't pick up a damn thing." "Maybe you have the wrong frequencies?" "Nope. I sent a message to Fleet Communications Central a week ago and I'm using the freqs that they sent back." "Maybe something is wrong with the receivers?" Enid typed something at a computer keyboard, and then read the screen: "Says here that you have the receivers set for low gain." "Bull! I know that I set them for high gain!" "Well, do it again." Jason reentered the commands into the keyboard in front of him. The computer responded with: COMMERCIAL SIGNALS FROM EARTH BLOCKED DUE TO INTERFERENCE FROM THE JUPITER SYSTEM IN CONJUNCTION WITH INTERFERENCE DUE TO UNUSUALLY HIGH PEAK SUN SPOTS. INTERFERENCE IS EXPECTED TO CLEAR UP IN FOUR WEEKS. Jason immediately typed in orders to the computer to effect a course change that would put them away from a direct line drawn from the Earth through Jupiter to the SPRING ROSE. This would allow them to receive signals from Earth. The computer replied that Fleet Central would have to approve such a course change now that they were within Earth's traffic control pattern. Four hours later, Fleet Central's rejection came back. However, Fleet Central began sending a selection of commercial broadcasting on a spare Command and Control circuit. Jason had to be content with that. Jason read Fleet Control's reply then remarked bitterly: "They won't let us change course since we're too close to the solar system and because it would delay our return. But," his voice dripped with sarcasm, "they'll give us our choice of stations and will send them over a spare communications circuit." "Well, it's better than nothing." The irony of the situation was that if Jason had called up a projected flight path for the SPRING ROSE, he would have seen that Jupiter wasn't between the SPRING ROSE and the Earth. However, it never occurred to him and Enid didn't wish to bring the subject up. Earth had changed socially since they had left and Fleet Central wanted to make sure that they were briefed before their safe womb was smashed open. Space flight had always been a controversial subject and one the politicians could latch onto. Late one afternoon, Fleet Central sent them a message requesting that the two handle an interview with the news people. Jason looked at Enid who nodded in agreement, and then Jason replied to Fleet Central. "Go ahead, Fleet Control". "Mr. Armstrong, Ms. van Allen, this is Dan Cerberus representing the newscasters of Earth. How have you two held up on your voyage?" "Good", Jason replied, "it took some getting used to but we've done just fine." "How about you, Ms. van Allen?" "Like Mr. Armstrong said, we're doing fine. We had some disagreements while learning to live together but nothing major." "It is a relief to hear that but it also sounds a bit phony. Our readers and viewers will wonder how two people could survive together in such cramped quarters for over a year without killing each other. How have you managed?" "We're just compatible." "Good. There have been a number of nasty remarks made by comedians and religious groups about an unwed couple being together as you have been. For example, Joan Rivers tottered out of retirement to lambast you and the religious right wing has been fairly nasty. I'm just warning you in preparation for your return; be advised that you've provided a stone for people to grind their axes against." "Tell them they can all go to HELL! Enid and I were married shortly before we left Earth and consummated the marriage after leaving Earth!" "THAT IS PRIVATE! I don’t want to discuss this any further!" "My apologies, Ms. van Allen. Cereberus out!" Fleet Control came back on: "Well, folks, we didn't know what he was going to talk about. Unfortunately, he is correct about the bad press and we are trying to bring pressure against the worst offenders. But, that will take time. In the meanwhile, what type of wedding do you want our records to show you as having had? Also, who should we dub in as the witnesses and minister?" "Hindu for me," replied Jason who had been raised Southern Baptist. "Irish Catholic", replied Enid who was a member of a Unity church. Neither felt any urge to let the public in on something as personal as their religious beliefs or lack thereof (in Jason's case). Fleet Control's spokesperson laughed in appreciation of their jest. Two days later, they were contacted by André Hefner, the grandchild of Hugh Hefner. Fleet control recommended that they take the interview. "We understand that you're both doing fine but that also sounds a bit phony. Our readers will wonder what kind of life you've had together." "A nice one. Ms. van Allen and I get along very well together." "I agree with Mr. Armstrong." "Why are you two referring to each other so formally?" "We're being interviewed. It is the polite form of address. Don't you agree, Jason, ahhh, Mr. Armstrong?" "Most definitely, Ms. van Allen." Jason bit his lip to try aborting his smile. That failed and they both continued speaking in the same sickeningly sweet voices. Then a random thought occurred to Jason. "We're just inside Neptune's orbit. There should be about an eight hour delay in communications between us but there is only a second or two delay. How come?" "We're broadcasting from the Fleet Research Centre orbiting Neptune. We're quite close, actually. Pity you can't drop by." "Yeah, right." Impossible was more like it they knew. Maybe some other year or trip or a miracle drive system for the ship. "Now, for the benefit of our listeners, could you give us a description of your daily routine and what you found?" "We found three planets around Barnard's Star and a lot of junk. There was something odd about those planets, however. I kept getting the feeling that Rod Sterling was lurking behind an asteroid fixing to say 'and now for your Entertainment, we present...'. Or was it Hitchcock? Anyway, there was just something passing strange about those planets that I couldn't figure out." "Perhaps your studies had lead you to believe that they would be quite different than they actually were?" That is probably the case", Jason conceded. **************************** Enid was relieved to see that Jason had bought his own explanation. The interview continued with the three tastefully sparing about the couple's sex life. Hefner would hint and they would tastefully change the subject. Jason wanted to tell Hefner what to do with the questions but had a problem. From voice and appearance, he couldn't tell what sex that this André Hefner was and that seriously inhibited the nasty remarks he wanted to make. Besides, he knew that the shrinks were listening for evidence of anti social attitudes. Anti social attitudes could get him washed out from the Space program and that would mean that he would have to live the rest of his life on Earth. This was a fate far worse than mere death to Jason considering that there was a universe to explore and he wanted to get on with the exploring. He couldn't understand why anti social attitudes would harm someone who was in an anti social lifestyle but he never did understand bureaucrats very well... **************************** When they were four days out from Earth, Enid found Jason packing his suitcase and getting ready to press their dress uniforms. "What the special occasion? We don't need to dress up for our last bottle of Dom Perone." "Nope, we're not dressing up for that." "Then why the ironing?" "I want us to look good for our homecoming." "They probably won't have a very big reception for us." "Sure they will! Have you forgotten? We're the first starship and I expect them to do us up right. I'm surprised that we haven't been asked to give more interviews!" "This will be the 'homecoming' I've dreamed of", Jason half muttered to himself. Enid felt pity for him as she could almost feel the weight of his loneliness she knew Jason carried with him; loneliness and the pain that hurt so much it had often spilled over into a bitter sort of joy. This was a type of emotional confusion that was both pathetic and yet intensely human. She feared it even as she wept for Jason. Later that night as they laid together in the post coital letdown, she tried reasoning with Jason. "Jason, my dear, homecomings are often a letdown. We spend so much time rehearsing for them that the reality is often a letdown." "I know! I know! But, this time I'm not letting myself think ahead!" From his intensity, Enid knew that Jason had harboured this fantasy for weeks at least. "Were there any good homecomings?" "No, there never were." "Jason, my love, you're home now!" Jason just buried his face in her hair; for a moment she thought he was crying but then she realized that he could never let himself do that. She could and would cry for the both of them. **************************** As they approached the Fleet Central space station, the Earth was blocking the sun so that they were able to watch an eye scorching sunrise on the visual monitors. The sunscreens were still on the ship's windows. "I just thought of a poem to celebrate this sunrise over the Earth. It is our first sunrise over the Earth in some time! "Go ahead, dear, let me hear your poem." He recited an attempted at haiku: "The Earth bleeds red to space birthing Piranha life!" "That is very interesting and weird, dear...thank you for sharing that with me." "You're very welcome, me dear." Jason sounded very pleased with himself. Unfortunately, Jason was too inexperienced a poet to realized that Enid couldn’t stand his poem and was being polite about it. Two hours before the rendezvous with the Star Fleet Space Station, Enid went to the hydroponics room to secure it. Jason continued to monitor their approach from the control room. Somehow, seeing the Earth through the hull mounted TV cameras wasn't good enough. Jason punched a button to retract the micro meteor shield from a window; this was a command that the computer couldn't countermand. Now, he was really seeing again. The Earth didn't look any different; there was a hurricane near Florida and a cold front over Michigan and a witch on a broom flying alongside the ROSE. A witch flying alongside the ROSE! He did a double take at that! It wasn't a witch but some kind of advanced spaceship. There was a cable running from it to the ROSE so as Jason's mind reeled, he thought that they sure have changed the design of fleet tugs! He glanced back into the SPRING ROSE looking for Enid. As he turned to look at her, he suddenly was aware of reality and she simply wasn't there. He knew where and guessed when he was; the SPRING ROSE looked far different to him now. The computer immediately put him to sleep. **************************** After the tugs placed the SPRING ROSE in parking orbit around Earth, a two person lighter carrying two physicians certified for organic and cybernetic (MDoc) patients came alongside. They passed the vast length of the two kilometer long open cargo bays now being refurbished and refilled. The SPRING ROSE could carry almost eight cubic kilometers of cargo. Near the bow of the ROSE, the drive generators were being swapped out. Repair techs, both human and cybernetic, were conducting other repairs. The cabin they entered was small and featured a human enclosed in a life support capsule; the crew area that Jason thought he lived in was as imaginary as was Enid. The doctors opened the capsule, moved aside the exercise equipment and sensors and casually moved Jason's body into their portable surgery. After taking readings, the doctors typed in commands that caused the automatic surgery to swap out Jason's heart and lungs, replace a number of glands, add some replacement cortex material, and generally fine tune Jason's body. His immortality came in blocks of time that had to be renewed with specialized operations and highly specialized nanometer scale technology. The junior MDoc swapped out the computer module that contained the essence of Enid vanAllen and placed it in an analysis unit. A few minutes later, the reprogrammed module was placed back into the master computer. "Why do we keep sending him out?" The junior medic asked. He was young, the older physician decided, he was only 120 years old and quite new to this medical service. Therefore, she was gentle with his ignorance. "Someone has to command these ships and Jason is one of the few who can. He is almost totally unique." "Why not send out cybernetic lifeforms?" "That is against tradition. For eight hundred years we have sent out ships commanded by organic humans with cybernetic companions. Jason was the first star ship commander and has spent virtually his entire life riding star ships." "Why him? There doesn't seem to be anything special about him." "He couldn't adjust to the 20th century and he most certainly can never adjust to ours. We regressed him to the time of his first mission; it really was a solar mission, however, according to the historical records. He still has emotional scars from that isolation." The older physician paused while controlling her emotions. “I've been his doctor for over twenty decades now". "Why not send a robot? Why the imaginary lover?" "He knows what he wants; but what he wants is probably not what he needs." There was no mistaking the sadness in the senior physician's voice. "Again, this is traditional!" The two doctors concentrated on adjusting the psychological drugs to be fed Jason and then scanned the psychological programme adjustments the Bethesda Naval Hospital Mental (Space) unit had transmitted up to them. It didn't occur to either physician that Jason might prefer the final sleep and had been trying to find it when he had ridden his first starship so many centuries before. "We're trying to breed more space pilots but the organized religions and various 'concerned citizen' groups are opposing this. We're making covert progress however." The junior physician nodded and was pleased to know that he had just be admitted to a wider level of knowledge and also to a rather tightly controlled secret society. He showed his youth by the pleasure he took in "having a secret". The senior physician was gentle with him and didn't tell him how meaningless this "sister/brother hood" really was. The two physicians replaced Jason in his life support devices; there was no danger of infection and Jason would be completely healed in several days. The operation had taken four hours. The reprogrammed psychological computer sections would be able to handle any further crisis, they thought. They felt that the Enid van Allen module would be able to retain her sanity also. Then, with a gentle smile for her poor, damned, "son" Jason, the senior physician programmed in a homecoming for Jason and Enid that would fill the hours with sea stories; sea stories that would be told during their "second voyage" which was to Tau Ceta. Fortunately, since both had spent time apart during their vacation (or thought that they had), there would be enough difference in their stories so that both would have many entertaining hours ahead of them. As the doctors left to visit another incoming starship, a starship commanded by a 22nd woman who thought she was John Wayne riding wild in a cattle stampede, the tugs were coming alongside the SPRING ROSE. The ROSE would be carrying vitally needed medicines, fertilized whale ova for the oceans of Tau Ceta II and future colonists. **************************** After only an eight hour turnaround, the SPRING ROSE was heading out again. She was like a car being driven through the countryside in a cold Michigan winter day. The road was clear with no ice, snow covered fields on either side or nothing to get in her way. She kicked up her heels and moved out! ///NOTE TO ME: Earlier I mentioned Enid knowing much about the interstellar cloud structure. Have her use this information later in this story?/// PREFACE: This is one of my favorite stories and was written in fall 1985; I wrote this story while in Bob Bauch's class at the Northern Virginia Community College. I didn't get a chance to show this story to anyone as I finished it on Guam. A friend of mine, Greg Vayda, really liked the Enid character. One of the things that was autobiographical in this story was my feeling of "homecoming" that I had when the USS Forrestal (CVA 59) returned to Norfolk in June 1973. My parents couldn't make the trip from Tigard, Oregon to Norfolk, Virginia and I understood the reasons why. However, it was hard to be understanding when I stood on the flight deck and watched "friends and relatives" of my shipmates waiting on the pier. It was especially hard when I left the ship shortly after the brow went over (i.e. the "gang plank" was put ashore) and felt so alone at not having someone there who cared that I was there. Oh, well, such self-pity 18 years after the fact! My cruise on FORRESTAL was from 22 September 1972 to 6 July 1973 or 45 years 7 months (almost) ago. I have gotten over not having family on the pier when we returned (as of 30 January 2019). c’est le guere This story was written around November 1979 to March 1980. When I found it recently, I was irritated to notice that I had not dated it. However, I remember having written the winter that Kathie and I were married. After finishing it, I ran off 100 copies at PIP and then distributed them to all the mailboxes in the apartment complex we lived in. Since this isn't a story I'm very proud of, I wonder what the neighbors thought of this "little present". I didn't put postage on it so I was careful not to leave fingerprints (that’s almost 14 years ago so I don't think I need worry about being arrested for violating that postage regulation! hee...hee...) I still remember how I had always thought it was very dark near the group mailboxes. These mailboxes were near the end of the apartment complexes and on one side of the entrance road. Yet, when I went down the row of mailboxes opening the doors, I was struck by how well lighted it seemed. It seemed to me that I was as visible as if it were high noon! I opened all the doors, then put one copy of my little story in each box and finally went back to slam all the doors shut. I didn’t think anyone saw me. Then, I casually walked back to my apartment. No one ever mentioned it to me so I figure that any outrage had died down quickly; we didn’t socialize with any of our neighbors. It was weeks before rent was due (this was a consideration) so I knew the manager would not remember to discuss it with Kathie when she took the rent check over (if I didn’t that is). By then, my little “crime” would have become an old and over-discussed subject...) It was based on a little story that my sister in law Sharon saw on TV. This woman told a man about his wife's committing adultery. He thanked her and said that he and his wife were getting a divorce; he said that it was for the best. When he asked her why she'd intervened, she replied "because I'm a Christian". The man beamed in approval. Personally, I don't think that the interfering bitch did a very Christian thing and a different response on his part would have been more likely! Personally, I don't like the story and it is one I could not write today. The amount of revelations of male female violence today is appalling and this story is about a kind of violence that I think MUST be eradicated. However, the story can now speak for itself. It is, I must admit, the kind of story that would get me pilloried on the various talk shows as the perfect example of the horrid, modern, man. And all I was doing was trying to tell a story! (not a pleasant one to be sure) SURPRISE! The man in the overcoat approached the waiting young lady with steady, measured tread. She waited in the entrance of an alley. "I've just talked to my wife and we've decided to get a divorce..." "Oh, I'm so sorry. But it was necessary to do it..." "Why did you interfere?" "...because what she was doing was adultery and that is morally wrong!" She continued as if unaware of his outburst. "You see I'm a Christian!" She glanced at him to see what effect she was having. He stared back through glazed, pain filled eyes. "I knew that I had to tell you both because adultery is a mortal sin that would ruin your relationship...but...(she paused), I wasn't interfering." "I knew of her lover. I've known for a long time." "No, but, why did you...but...you knew what she was doing?" "I love her so much that I’d have her on any terms I could. Can you understand that? Now she says she can't live with me since I know! You ruined it by telling her you had told me." He leaned forward shortening the distance between them. She leaned back and took a step backwards trying to increase their separation. Her face was white and mirrored confusion and growing fear. I know what you're feeling." She tried smiling. Her eye shadow stood out vividly against the ached hue of her face. "I...DON'T...THINK...YOU...DO!" He spat the words out like pebbles against glass and lunged for her throat. Her face turned purple and her eyes began popping out. She gasped and futilely tried kneeing him in the groin. In fear, she urinated; neither noticed. His face was purple; he leaned forward as if trying to snap her neck. She struck feebly with clawed fingers at his eyes. His arm deflected the blow but still she cut him above his eyebrow. He instinctively reeled back, loosing his grip on her neck. She staggered back struggling to get her breath. His eyes widened in shock as he realized what he'd almost succeeded in doing. They stared at each other in horror. Then she touched her neck and pulled her collar up to cover the bruises. "I...I..." He took a step toward her. She turned and ran down the alley to the street at the distant end. He leaned an arm against the building and vomited. He was past the dry heaves when he realized that the police would not be coming for him. He wiped his face on his sleeve and began trudging back to his hotel. END NOTE: This is not one of my favourite stories; in fact, it is the one I like least. Still, one should present the bad with the good. I’m sure that any readers can find the warts and logical problems in my stories well enuf as is... Thief The room Rudolf “Ruddy” Tenner entered was cluttered and had books, clothing and dirty dishes scattered on the couch, chairs and TV. It was his living room and he really didn’t care how it looked; he thought it looked “lived in”. He went into the kitchen and ignoring the stack of moldy dishes in the sink, grabbed a glass from the drip rack. With a little maneuvering, he managed to fill the glass from the tap without getting too much gunk on it from the dishes. Then, he walked over to the kitchen table and sat down on the newspaper covered chair. There was a pleasant breeze coming in through the open kitchen window. It had been a bitch of a day. He had business to transact that night and hadn’t concentrated on his job. They had received a new batch of Pre-Columbian relics and his normal lust at handling them and cataloging them was gone. Also, his boss had been snide about his “unkempt appearance”. What a bitch. Ruddy went into his bedroom and carefully removed some piled up dirty clothing from the floor. There, nestled in the mess, was a Cloisonné Vase and a very fine carved Jade Bowl. Both were recent “acquisitions” and he had fallen in love with them. A very fine enamel had been used on the Cloisonné vase and it had gold wire instead of copper. The color of the Jade Bowl warmed his heart and he loved to make up stories in his head about the people carved on it. He picked up the Jade Bowl and carried it with him to the kitchen and dialed the phone. "Hey, this is Ruddy. Let me talk to Larry.” "Ruddy? Larry. Que pas?” "Finest fucking kind! Hey, I got something you’ll like to see! Can you come over tonight?” "Yeah, sure, about midnight. Got to see some people. I’ve been waiting for you to ‘invite me over’, Rudy.” "It’ll be a real nice visit, Larry.” "Ruddy thought "that asshole" as he hung up the phone. Then, he looked at the Jade Bowl and smiled, smiled in delight at it. Ruddy carried the bowl back to his bedroom and carefully hid it under the pile of dirty clothing. It was about time to invite his girlfriend over to visit. She was always so damn efficient at doing his laundry and dishes and generally cleaning up his pad. He took off his shirt and sniffed his armpits. Not bad, he had showered two or three days before and didn't need another one, yet. He took a "Marine Shower" (underarm deodorant only) and then put on a shirt he'd worn a couple of days earlier that wasn't too smelly. After a balanced meal of canned spaghetti and a diet coke-and-rum, he went to visit his good buddy, George. George's place was on the fifth floor, three floors below Ruddy's. The decor was vastly different: the rooms were clean, tidy and everything was carefully arranged in its place. Ruddy thought it didn’t look lived din. Ruddy helped himself to a beer and ignored the samples of other things that were George's stock in trade. Ruddy just couldn’t understand why anyone would use them. George took a beer and sat down at the kitchen table in the breeze from the open window. He liked being upwind from Ruddy. "Spaces or blackjack", George inquired. "Spades." George dealt the first hand and Ruddy bid low. Both men made their bids. "How you been doing, Ruddy?" "Pretty good! I got some good stuff in at work. Old Pre-Columbian stuff; artifacts about a thousand years old. I'd really like to own them!" “Maybe you will, some day." "Nope, the security is too tight. Besides I think my boss is figuring I'd steal it. That really burns my ass!" "Why do you think she suspect you of anything?" "She said to 'be sure and lock everything up good. There have been a lot of thefts lately and I don't trust the cleaning staff,’ She means she don't trust me!" "The paper said that a couple of dudes on the museum’s cleaning staff were arraigned for theft. She probably wasn't accusing you of anything." "I don’t know about that, man. I just don't know." "Your deal. You've been pretty suspicious lately, man. If you keep being that way, it can give you ulcers and ruin your life." "You're no one to talk. What would the cops say about the stuff you sell? It isn’t legal that I know of!" "I know my customers and who I buy from. There is no reason for me to get unduly upset." Ruddy grunted. "Well, you be careful. I hear you got audited?" "Almost." George, who owned a small print shop, smiled slightly. "The IRS auditor hinted he wanted some free printing one so I 'ran off a sample'' to show him the quality of my work. He got his printing done free and marked my case file 'Closed'. I can do business with him." "I hear that they check out the friends of people they audit." Ruddy started thinking of what the Infernal Raping Sadists would find if they audited him good. It wasn’t bloody likely. You got anything good lately? How’s your lady been doing lately?" "She’s the evening bartender now at the Oregon Museum and doesn't have to hustle the customers anymore. Besides, I 'acquired' a really nice Jade Bowl the other day. I was out looking around when I found someone who was displaying a very nice Cloisonné Vase and this fantastic Jade Bowl. I let myself in and took both of them. Come on up and I'll show you the vase. I'm going to be offloading the vase tonight but I'll be keeping the bowl." "Something I've never bothered asking you, Ruddy. Do you ever feel any guilt about robbing folks?" "Nope. Their insurance company pays them off and everyone knows that insurance companies have been robbing the people for years now and anyway. Bout time they got took a little!" Both men took time to concentrate on their hands and made their bids. Ruddy was over bidding; the score was George 210, Ruddy 185 and Ruddy wanted to catch up quick. Ruddy barely made his bid and George did quite well. They decided to switch to blackjack. Ruddy was a showy player and kept hitting on 18 and under, took five card splits like they were manna from heaven and generally acted like George couldn’t remember which cards had been dealt. Stupid mistake. Finally, George started playing really dumb on a few hand and Ruddy won a few bucks back. About 10:30, there was a knock on the door and it was the 55-year old woman they called “Prune face”. She looked in for a second, then spoke: "There you are! I’ve b been looking all over for you. You’re a hard one to find!” "Great,” Ruddy thought, “the one person I really don’t like to see and she says she looked all over. “Everybody here knows I hang around with George.” "I wasn’t sure you weren’t out with that ‘laadee’ - what’s her name, by the way?” "DebbySue.” "I was just upstairs walking around the room before getting my ‘beauty rest’.” George made a polite noise of encouragement. “ And I saw something really strange.” Ruddy thought “this is the same ding bat who thought Venus was a flying teacup”,. "What was that? “Ruddy tried so hard to sound interested that George winced but “Prune Face” didn’t notice any of this. "There was a rope dangling over the side of the building. My Herby (her husband) says it went in front of Mrs. Tailor’s apartment, those I-tal-yons and your apartment. We was wondering if any of you was robbed.” "Prune face” had a look of delight as she contemplated bad fortune visiting someone else. "Oh, shit!” Ruddy paused in panic for a second. “My collection!” As Ruddy ran off, he heard George cover for him by saying that Ruddy had a very nice record collection. “Prune face” replied with an understanding “oooh”. About 35 seconds later, Ruddy was at his apartment door, which was a jar. He walked in and noticed the room was even more cluttered than usual. It was so bad that even Ruddy was shocked. In a panic, he ran for the pile of dirty clothing that hid his treasures. The Jade Bowl was gone and the Cloisonné Vase was damaged. There was a large chunk of enamel lying on the floor near it and some of the gold wire was torn and bent. The value of the piece had gone down considerably. What really hurt was the Jade Jar getting stolen. He had planned on making it a “Private Piece”. How the hell could he have been ripped off? That shit George must have set him up! Ruddy felt like killing George. Then he realized that George hadn’t called anyone and couldn’t have set him up. He almost felt guilty about accusing George; but only almost. Then, he finally thought of “Good Ol’ Larry”. Everybody’s’ friend, especially if you owed him a couple of thousand. Ruddy sat on the floor and cradled the broken Cloisonné piece on his lap and wished it whole again. The piece remained broken. Then, he put it carefully down on some underwear and went over to where he’d hidden his thief’s tools and decided he’d better go out and “collect” some more stuff. But he decided not to because every job he’d pulled off had been carefully set up ahead of time. Finally, he sat down in a kitchen chair and made himself a drink. Rum and diet-coke, no rock and hold the fucking soft drink. He didn’t appreciate the irony of having been robbed and not being able to call the cops or his insurance company. At exactly midnight, Larry knocked lightly on Ruddy’s door and walked in. Larry’s favorite “collector” remained outside. "Hi ya, Ruddy. Redecorating, I see” Larry looked with amusement at the trashed out apartment. "I fucking got robbed, Larry! It really burns me.” "That’s too bad. Lose anything valuable?” Ruddy completely missed the irony in Larry’s voice and the situation. "What you got to show me?” Mutely, Ruddy carried out the Cloisonné vase. "Don’t look like it’s worth much to me.” "Larry, that was worth about 15 grand before the asshole thief kicked it around. Now, it’s worth about 9 grand.” “ I tell you what, Ruddy; I’ll give you two thousand for it since we’re old friends. But you still owe me another $200 on your bets. What more do you have?” "Nothing now. You know damn well that’s worth more than two grand. If you don’t like it, I’ll go visit Ama Wolker who’ll give me more than that!” Ruddy didn’t mention that Wolker was the man he had ripped off. Fortunately, he knew Larry never dealt with Wolker for some reason.” “Well”, Larry sighed, “I really do want to conclude this deal tonight. I tell you what; we’ll just call you bet paid off. Ok?” "It’s worth more than that, Larry. How can I play the ponies anymore if I don’t any money? Five grand.” Getting pushy with Larry was giving Ruddy a real case of heartburn but what the hell? If he didn’t, Larry would really nail him the next time. "Tell you what, we make it three grand, wipe out your debt and you get eight hundred left over to play with.” "Deal.” Larry handed over the $800 and cradled the vase in his hands. There was a look of delighted greed oh his face. "You interested in a little bet on tomorrow’s races? I hear that ‘Two Eagles’ in the fifth is a real good bet. Want to put a thousand or so on it? I know you’re good for credit.” Ruddy opened his mouth, then paused, then looked at his feet. Larry had used this pitch on him before. The first bet had been good, the second not so good and the third had gotten him into this mess. Could Larry have known about the Jade Jar? As he glanced up, Larry tried hiding a gloating look and Ruddy knew who had taken his Jade Jar and who had robbed him. "I’ll put three hundred on him. Can’t afford any more, I’m taking my old lady on vacation.” "You’ll be back for more. It’s in your blood. I’ll either collect or pay off tomorrow. Ok?” "Ruddy handed over three of the hundred dollar bills he’d been given. Larry had a habit of charging interest when he collected bets lately. Besides, Larry’s favorite “collector” had come in and was leaning against a wall. This man could have scared the crap out of a polar bear. He walked him out of his door. When Larry and his animal left, Ruddy walked back into his trashed apartment and was appalled again at the mess. He began making piles of stuff with the intention of putting everything away. He just ended up clearing pathways through the apartment. He walked into the kitchen, carefully removed the dirty dishes filled the sink with soapy water and put the dirty dished in to soak. Then, feeling soiled, he sorted the dirty clothing into heaps, whose size shocked him, on the floor. Then, he took off his clothing and took a real shower. As he dripped off, he called DebbieSue. "Dear heart, it’s me, Ruddy. Come on over for dinner day after tomorrow, OK? I haven’t seen you in a couple of days.” "Sure, Ruddy but why not tonight?” "I’m doing some house cleaning, tonight. I’ll do the cooking.” Ruddy wondered why she sighed first happily and then with a little despair. His cooking wasn’t that bad. "Well, I’ve got to go to bed. Bye, dear heart.” George knocked on the door and walked in. "Damn, what a mess!” "Yeah, no shit man. Shut the door, will ya?” Ruddy was wearing a towel around his waist. "I’m going to clean up tonight after work. I think Larry ripped me off. The Jade Bowl was the only thing stolen and the Cloisonné Vase was damaged. Larry gave me a real damn low piece for it and I know it can be repaired. That Mother Fucker is the only one I told besides you about this stuff. You didn’t do it so I know Larry did. Besides, he looked like he was gloating at me.” George looked relieved at being off the suspect list but not too surprised to have been on it. "I’ll help you clean up, tonight, Ruddy.” "Thanks.” "Well, got to go to bed. I’m expecting some supplies in tomorrow morning, real early.” With that, George left. Then, Ruddy shut the open window that had been his weak spot. As he locked the three locks on his door and put on both anti-intruder chains, Ruddy wondered if George’s supplies were illegal or concerned with his printing business. He decided he probably didn’t want to know. Almost on a whim, Ruddy got out a clean pair of slacks and a shirt that was part of his “dress up” clothing and put them aside for work that morning. Then, he went to bed. His last thoughts were about how he had finally decided to reform himself and how he’d permanently changed. He forgot about the other times he had “reformed”. Maybe this time he would... Post script: I wrote this story in Bob Bauch’s creative writing class in Northern Virginia around 1985. I lost my only copy till early 2007 and tried typing it in. I didn’t have the patience to type the story in until today (Tuesday 18 March 2008). The story survived well and I didn’t have to make too many changes. There were some places where I "changed" the names of the items and I forgot to mention when they changed from Spaces to Blackjack. This story really doesn’t have any heroes even thought I think Ruddy might be capable of saving himself. George isn’t really a criminal, he just sells illegal drugs. Larry is a true scum bag and definitely the villain of this piece. DebbieSue is a fine person who sees something in Ruddy. This was one of my Anderson “method” stories. I discuss the Anderson Method later in this book. Unlamented The political silly season was in full bloom and the folks in Stephenson county for in for a treat. The Illinois state legislature had decided that they would avoid elitism in their elected officials; an MD was no longer necessary for a coroner; a clean record no longer necessary for city councils and damn near anyone could be on a school board. The election several weeks before had produced an amazing amount of "letters to the editors" about some even more amazing elected officials. An undertaker had been elected coroner in Stephenson County for example. It looked like politics in Illinois would be interesting again! John Bob McHenry heard the door to his office open, took a sip of early morning coffee and turned to see who wanted to have their taxes done up. He took a second sip of coffee and sprayed it across the office when he saw who had entered his office. It was a neighbor whom he knew was having trouble with her abusive husband. He had taken her to the battered woman's shelter a couple of times but she had never pressed charges against her asshole husband. Her face was a disaster and she was favoring her left side. "OH, SHIT!", John Bob thought, "that schmuck goes to jail this time!" Then out loud, "I'm pressing charges myself, this time, if you don't, Maureen!" "That's not necessary, John, I took care of that!" "Good! Lets go see your 'Stevie' get arraigned." "I said I took care of him," Maureen corrected him, "I didn't say I had him arrested." There was a pause. "I killed him." Neither remembered the next several minutes as Maureen and JohnBob went to her house. The late and unlamented Steven Grant was lying on the floor, face florid and had soiled himself. There was the smell of booze on his breath and little other sign of death. The TV droned on in the background with news of the new politicians. "What are we going to do?" Maureen was becoming scared. "Damn! I don't know! You can call the cops and tell them he just had a heart attack?" "Not believable. He had a physical last week and the doctor said his heart was in perfect shape." "Well, maybe he drunk himself to death?" "I guess he could have? He was unconscious when I held the pillow over is face. The bastard didn't even squirm much." "Good! Let's call your cousin, Rich; he's a cop and can help us." The call to the barracks got the cousin there in about twenty minutes. The state police officer, a SGT, looked silently at the damage to Maureen's face then examined the body. "What happened?" "He was drinking and had too much." "Before or after he whaled in on you, Maureen?" "After. Before. I don't know I just know he hurt me for the last time!" "Sure did." "Did you kill him, Maureen?" "No." She wasn't believable. "Sure you didn't, say, put a pillow or towel on his face?" "No!" She seemed even less believable. "Maureen, I can't help you unless you let me. Maybe I should call an ambulance or another officer. Is that what you want?" "Yes", Maureen asserted. "NO!" John Bob countered. "Want to tell me about it?" "He beat me up. Said he was going to leave me and get custody of our daughter. Said he would 'get her in line'. Said he wouldn't 'let our daughter be as insolent as you', me that is, am. I put the pillow over his face after he passed out." "I could tell that from the feathers I can see in his nose." “Can you pull them out before the coroner gets here?" "You know I can't do that. The coroner will know the truth as soon as he starts the workup; will see it confirmed as soon as the toxicology results are back; will charge you with murder as soon as he checks out your ex's heart. Your ex bragged about his 'perfect heart' at the family barbeque three days ago." "Will she go to jail," John Bob asked. "Not likely, I think I can get her probation but the Child Stealing Division will take her daughter for damn sure. They think that parents who kill are bad parents and Maureen will lose custody." "It's not fair! Damn it, it's not fair! I did it to protect my daughter, damn it!" "There's no way around it. We have to report this death and the coroner will be involved. We just can't cut the coroner out of the loop." "I got it!" John Bob shouted. "Rich, you report that he dropped over when you were here. You tried artificial respiration. It didn't work. It was an obvious heart attack and you knew that you 'late friend Steve' didn't like to have doctors involved. Maureen, you tell them that 'your dear late husband Steve' wanted to be cremated within twenty-four hours. No problems there." Rich, the state bull, just sighed. "He still has to be seen by the coroner. I'm not going to ruin myself by seeming so damn stupid. Besides, everyone will wonder why no one called nine wun wun. There just ain't no way we can avoid the coroner. From the TV, the answer came to John Bob; he thought about it for a delighted eternity of about five seconds. Then, he spoke: "No way we can or need to avoid the coroner. We'll take him to the coroner but it'll be the right coroner. Take a look at the new politicians who are just starting their terms." The TV was showing the smiling reelected or the naive, virgin, office holders. The Coroner race in the next county over, Stephenson County, had unseated the incumbent. The old Coroner, an MD, was congratulating his successor, an undertaker. In a magnanimous gesture, the old Coroner gave the new Coroner the keys to the office and said: "There aren't any cases active so you might as well start now. I had the books audited. Enjoy yourself and don't hesitate to call." "Thank you. I'll be sure to keep in touch!" It was obvious that the "new guy" wouldn't; at least not for a while. "There's our solution," John Bob shouted, "we just need to get him over to Stephenson county and let the new coroner do the workup!" They put the body in the passenger side of Maureen's family car and John Bob drove it the fifteen miles to Freeport, Illinois, in Stephenson County. Rich, the state bull, drove in front of them. They parked in a small strip mall parking lot and Rich wrote out a drunk driver ticket on Steve. The ticket was time stamped an hour before. Then Rich called 9 1 1 and informed them of a death and asked for both an ambulance and the new coroner. The new coroner arrived shortly after the ambulance crew, which had been told that they weren't going to have to get their uniforms messy. Maureen, who had driven there with Rich, was properly grief stricken and buried her face in her hands. John Bob had discretely faded into the background. "He was driving when this officer pulled us over. He had been drinking and wouldn't let me drive. After he got the ticket, he started breathing funny and then he gasped and slumped over." "Did he have a history of heart trouble?" "Yes. Yes, he did. He didn't want to take his medicine...and..." Maureen turned and hid her face against Rich's shoulder. "Well," said the new coroner, "I can make out the death certificate now as heart attack or we could have an autopsy done?" "He didn't want his body cut up." "I am an undertaker. I could handle the details or you could call someone else?" "Please take care of it. He wanted to be cremated and that done within twenty-four hours. It was a religious matter to him." And so it was. The body was cremated after the signing of the paperwork by the undertaker/coroner, the insurance came through, the three principals had a problem they couldn't tell a priest or therapist about but worked through anyway. The coroner was eventually un-elected by his predecessor. He was un-elected for too many events like Steven Grant's death. Somehow, by accident, the ashes were lost. Some folks thought they saw Maureen and her daughter emptying a container over the crap at the local sewage treatment plant but they didn't know either the mother or daughter; the matter was rapidly forgotten. Afterword: They really did pass a low in Illinois that allowed undertakers to be elected as coroners (or so the newspaper wrote). This law was later revoked. When I was in Junior High, a little snot named “Steve Grant” tormented me. This is the first revenue story I wrote featuring “Steve Grant”. In my first novel (“Visiting Ronald Regan’s Boyhood Home, Part Two”, 2005) I had him beaten twice, shot once and harassed by the IRS. I also had my lead character repent this violence two and try to do make apologies by sending him illegal drugs. This caused “Steve Grant” problems as well.) This was a weird little story I wrote one evening in college when I didn’t want to face physics and calculus homework. ### War Game The war game was in it's fifty sixth hour and JaBee's unit had been in a deep probe into the People's Block Hive City 904 for fourteen hours. They were a thousand meters below the surface. JaBee's troopers were now blooded Combat Specialists. The survivors were all due to promotion at the end of the war game. JaBee's unit drifted down an access ramp leading to a large, open, plaza. The Combined Staff Intelligence office had informed JaBee that a full combat unit of the People's Block army was approaching the plaza from the opposite side. JaBee and his first officer, Karge, halted their unit well back from the entrance. Then they crept up to the entrance and cautiously surveyed the plaza. Their combat suits changed color to blend with their surroundings and their equipment was very well shielded. They were effectively invisible. Across the plaza, JaBee saw three combat suits appear and jerk around in a confused attempt at reconnaissance. Karge aimed a radiation sensor across the plaza. "JaBee! Radiation in the very high radio freqs and IR spectrum! They must be mudbrains!" "They move like stoned roaches! Call the stompers, Karge!" As Karge issued her orders, a ragged groups of troopers from the other side appeared and fumblingly made their way across the plaza. JaBee's stompers paused in the mouth of the exit per doctrine and military custom. They laughed hugely as the People’s Block mudbrains shot at the exit and missed them; laughed as the mudbrains sought cover behind objects that were transparent to both the sensors and energy weapons of JaBee's stompers. The mudbrains accidentally killed several of their own number who had experienced the misfortunate of being in front of their comrade's shaky aims. JaBee sent his stompers into the plaza. The armour of JaBell stompers easily deflected the mudbrains's bullets. The ranks of the mudbrains melted rapidly as they blundered incredibly. Their suits were little protection again JaBee's stomper's energy weapons. "They're worst then our own incompetence corp", JaBee snapped as some more troopers appeared in their enemy's doorway. These newcomers carried energy weapons and moved with the fluid grace of JaBee's stompers. JaBee and Karge had wasted most of their incompetence corp early in the war game and a number of their lesser qualified stompers. Karge took a reading with her sensors. "They've moved a large number of their stompers up to their doorway and appear ready to assault." One of JaBee sensor's chimed and he turned to yell at a senior level "free press" worker. The man had ridden his anti grav lifted camera along after JaBee's stompers in the plaza and hung in midair holographing the conflict. "Back, you fool! You're an unprotected target!" "Captain selectee JaBee, I must cover this 'invasion'. How else will the public know that you are counterattacking to get more living space for the Amera Mexican Republics?" The "Free news worker" spoke with heavy sarcasm. His newscasts along with those of his People's Block counterpart were relayed to their respective "Newsrooms" by a People's Block communications crew in the senior level of tunnel between the two cities. The Ameri Mexican Republics "free news worker" was directed by people in Amera Mexican hive city 217. A M hive city 217 was built against People's Block hive city 904. The two cities looked like a long rectangular block set in the middle of a wasteland; the city rose four hundred meters into the polluted air and sank two thousand meters into the dead dirt. The air outside was unbreathable and only fusion power kept the human hives alive. In spite of "Programmes to Augment the World Death rate", the hive cities of the 22nd century held fifty billion people. The People's Block stompers advanced forth to meet JaBee's stompers. Both sides slaughtered the Block's mudbrains indiscriminately. The mudbrains were people who had shown outstanding incompetence. The mudbrains were cannon fodder whose primary duty was to teach the stompers of both sides what not to do in combat. Many were too inept to even that little... In side passages leading away from the plaza were some of the jobless rabble who made up nearly all of humanity's vast numbers. These unfortunate, useless, people had been trapped when the emergency doors had slammed shut at the beginning of the combat. Both sides killed the unprotected rabble like so many flies. In their protein starved world, however, flies had great value as food... "JaBee, what is the official doctrine about this exercise? I wasn’t briefed on that." Karge spoke without looking away from her battle scans. "Our city’s rabble are being told that we were defending the city for the first forty-two hours of combat. Now we are counterattacking and will take part of People's Block City 904." "Will we win?" Karge was totally disinterested in the answer. "People's Block will say that they won the war and are colonizing our city. Our 'free news workers' will say the same thing to our city but with us as the winners." At that time, JaBee and his counterpart received new orders from the Combined General Staff. The Combined General Staffs were ruled by a Swiss neutral. JaBee was ordered to send his elite stompers into the fray. For a short time, both sides slaughtered carefully selected members of the People's Block's mudbrains. Those mudbrains who showed promise were spared. The elites of both sides were forbidden to attack each other. Finally, the battle was declared over. JaBee withdrew to his team's training area to promote his surviving mudbrains to stompers and some of his stompers to elite status. Then, they left for their quarters. They passed underneath pipes carrying protein from the Amera Mexican city to the People's Hive city. Control of these pipes could lead to starvation in the People's Hive city; these pipes were guarded by fanatics of both "sides" to ensure that nothing harmed them. After all, the Amera Mexican city got most of it's oxygen and drugs from the Peoples Block city. That night JaBee and Karge went to an orgy that was being thrown for the survivors of the war. There, the warriors of both sides partied peacefully together. JaBee liked these parties since he could visit with his old classmates from People's Block hive city 904 War School; after all, he was on an officer exchange programme to Amera Mexican hive city 217... This is the first time I’ve read this story in at least 20 years. I had forgotten how cynical, bitter and perhaps intelligent this story is. I see this as a disturbing look at my mind set from the mid 1970s. New Years Eve 2018 *______* * * * "Whistle Up Your Way Home" by 6 For P.J. Johnson, this visit to Bali had been a true gift from God! His wife had liked it also. They had lived with Aussie tourists who just thought that they were Yanks; the Balinese thought they were white Yanks (the folks back in East Saint Louis, Ill. would have disagreed); he had enjoyed watching "Aussie Lasses" sunning topless (his wife would give him grief for getting sand in their new camera); his wife looked at Aussie men (in spite of his orders to the contrary). It had been a perfect vacation; even the beggars had been no problem. They had discovered that the monkeys in the famed monkey forest were just as irritating as the people. P.J. and his wife disagreed on one other subject beside who could look at Aussie bodies and who couldn't. They disagree on passports. P.J. always carried his; is wife always left hers with the "desk boy" at the hotel. P.J. just loved being able to use his passport as proof of identity along with his American Express card. P.J. would later realize that this was a serious mistake. On the day before they left Bali, they struck up a conversation with a local while drinking gin and tonics with ice that looked like milk. "Hello, you are from Australia?" "Nope, we're from America." "Ah, rich white American tourists. You come see the monkeys? See the religious shrines? Take home statue of a God?" "You got some good statues of Gods?" Bali is called the "Land of a Thousand Gods" because every tree and building has a God and if you're good you become a God upon death. "Yeah, us white folks (DebbieSue rolled her eyes at this) love statues." "I'll bring you one. Just tell me which 'otel you stay in. I bring it by." "How much will it cost?" DebbieSue had been taken by a massage that turned out to be ridiculously expensive in "real money". "Only five dollars U.S." "We'll have to think about it." "Think about it, hell", P.J. thought, "that's cheaper than anything else we've seen. "Tomorrow", the friendly local went on, "I take you to my village. You see how Bali people live. You have meal with us. Yes?" "Yeah, sure, sounds great." DebbieSue looked doubtful but didn't object; they had a hard time being rude. That would change. They walked back to their "hotel" weaving back and forth in the 8 foot wide lane. P.J. pulled out a whistle that he wore around his neck. It had been his daddy's tin whistle and was now P.J.'s plaything. It was amazing how effective that old police whistle could be at scaring off teenagers from in front of their apartment. Even the dopers couldn't tell the difference between P.J.'s whistle and the local police. P.J. tooted on his whistle, his wife made timeworn insults about it and neither noticed the shape of the "local" following them back to their "hotel". Early the next morning, after they had bathed in the ocean rather than the polluted water which came from their room's water system, the happy couple was eating breakfast at the "hotel" dining room. They still had plenty of bottled water. The local from the night before walked up to them. "We go to my village when you done eating? Give you statue for only four dollars U.S." "Well..." "My mother made statue like her mother made statue and my daughter's will make statue." After the local left, an Aussie nearby commented: "Hey, mate, you're Yanks?" “Yeah." "Don't be too trusting of these blokes. Bali ain't been the same since them damn Jap tourists ran the prices up. Be careful of who you talk to; some of these bloke 'ain't no innocents' as you Yanks say." “He seems innocent enough." "Well, just go with someone your hotel recommends. And mate, leave yur bloody passport with 'otel desk boy; you don't want to be losing it." The Aussie bloke's wife appeared in beach ware and P.J. tried not to stare at the expanse of uncovered freckles on her uncovered front. They left and headed for the front desk. Their local intercepted them and they went to his jeep. P.J. and DebbieSue later realized that they should have gone to the front desk to buy bottled water or any damn thing. They front desk clerk was a member of the Indonesian Special Police. The trip to the village was uneventful if you discount two lane traffic using an eight foot wide alley, pigs and family shrines to family Gods in the street and the ever changing smells of something that almost smelt familiar. They should have prayed for an accident instead of not. P.J. tooted out the Marine Corp hymn (once a grunt always a grunt) and his High School fight song on his whistle. The passport was safely buttoned in a pocket of the "Great White Hunter Jacket" he would never have dared wear back in "East Saint Loused Up Ill". They village was nice, the village had one well, the village bathed under one waterfall and the village made them feel rich. They met their guide's family who looked at them with lust. They damn sure should have walked out then. "Here! You take this statue! Cheap! Only four dollars U.S.!" They took the statue and put fingerprints on it like a cat putting paw prints across a wet kitchen table. “You go to She cog go? Yes? She cog go?" "Yes, She cog go", P.J. mimicked their "friendly" local. "Good, you take statue to friend of mine in She cog go. I have other white 'Merican friend who take statues to She cog go. I have Aussie friends take statues to Sid knee in south Australia." "This is a heavy little booger", P.J. commented as he turned the surprisingly heavy and ugly little statue of a household God over and over in his hands. "Oh Shit!", DebbieSue muttered, "oh dear God, oh Shit!" "We can't take this statue, we've got too many things already." "Sure we can," P.J. countered. "We got those calendars for yo mamma, DEAR, we can' take no statues." "What you mean we can't take the statue? We got room!" DebbieSue took the statue from P.J., P.J. grabbed it back and the statue slipped from their grasps and broke quite nicely on the ground. It brook too damn easily for such a heavy little item. It was obvious that the pasty brown material filling the statue hadn't provided much structural strength. Opium paste from the Golden Triangle isn't supposed to! “Hey, man, it was nice visiting but we got to git back to the hotel. Got snorkel lessons today." "Oh, God, how did we get into this", DebbieSue thought. "If only we were back at the beach with him looking at boobs and me giving him shit over it. Got to admit he was frisky last night". “This just can't be happening," P.J. thought, "we git out of this and I ain't even going to play poker with the boys at the Cop Bar". A man dressed in native attire but speaking with a muted Aussie accent walked through a back entrance. "Sorry, mate, you're going to have to take another statue back home with you. Don' worry, we'll make sure it's stronger and will make sure you have it well sealed by the Indonesian government. Here, I'll just take that, mate." The Aussie plucked P.J.'s passport from his pocket before P.J. could react. "Well mate, you can't leave this lovely island without this picture and we'll just have to have the missus' picture as well." DebbieSue made a futile defense of her purse; after dumping the contents out, the Aussie searched through the contents. "Missus, I can't find your passport. Where do you have it?" "In a very safe place. Now, we are going to leave." P.J. got up and helped his wife to rise. Then, seeing the Aussie appeared momentarily distracted, he lunged for his passport which the Aussie was holding rather carelessly. The Aussie slipped back, deflected P.J. into a wall and enjoyed a good laugh. It was obvious that P.J. was reacting very predictably. The trip back to the hotel was glum and miserable. P.J. held his whistle but didn't bother using it. He was trying to figure a way out of this mess. After their driver dropped them off, P.J. and DebbieSue walked down to the beach. Even the massage women, who were as persistent as flies, left them alone. "What the hell we going to do?" "Well you should have left your passport with mine and you should have listened to me!" "I know! I know! I know! And I shouldn't have gotten sand in the camera." "Well, I wish you were taking pictures of them white women's tits all morning." "Me too, but, what the fuck we gonna do to get out of this mess." "Let's go talk to the Embassy." They were proof that some folks should not be let out of the U.S. of A. without a baby sitter! The desk clerk helped them contact the American Embassy. After only a thirty minute wait, they were talking with a Deputy Assistant Undersecretary for something or another. "Hi, I'm P.J. Johnson and I'm here with my wife. We got a problem. Some locals stole my passport and I need another one to leave the county." "Did you notify the local police?" "Not yet, could you help us with that?" "I'm sorry, but, the Embassy really can't get involved in such matters. You'll have to contact the police on your own." There was a pause. "I hope that this won't concern you, but, if you get involved with drugs, the Embassy can't and won't help you. Now, it will take at least three working days to obtain another passport for you. Since this is Friday, you'll have to visit us next Tuesday." "But our tourist visa expires on Monday!" "Unfortunately, the only person who can help you has already left for the day. You should be back here Monday morning. I really must handle some other calls. Good bye." "Well, what happened," DebbieSue was obviously anxious. They should have noticed the desk clerk listening raptly. However, you don’t expect desk clerks to have graduated from the FBI Academy in Quantico, Va. "That shithead said 'come back Monday' and gave me some crap about calling the police ourselves. He also said something about drugs." "I'll call the British Embassy for you." The desk clerk did just that. A five minute wait resulted in a cockney voice taking down their complaint and a promise of immediate action. They were also told to call that officer, Ollie MacMillian, if they had anymore trouble. They had MacMillian's office and home phone numbers. "Did you mention drugs?" They looked at the clerk. “Many tourists get into trouble in our county. No one tells them who to go to for help. If you have any trouble, I would be happy to help you." "Nope, don't have any problems besides the passport, just need to buy some drinking water." P.J. didn't realize how stressed he sounded. As the less than happy couple left with their bottled water, the FBI trained desk clerk stared thoughtfully into the distance then made a quiet phone call. P.J. and DebbieSue sat in their room and waited for the other to make that salvation plan. Neither spoke up. They thought about their possessions: some books, some trinkets, some native fruits that had planned on "smuggling" into the U.S. and the tin whistle. P.J. played the Marine Corps hymn on the whistle till DebbieSue looked like she was ready to shove it down his throat. What the fuck are we going to do? They got my passport so I can't leave." “The Embassy will give us another one on Monday. We can leave on our flight that afternoon." "What if they don't have a new passport?" "We tell our boss's back home that you lost your passport, you get charged for more annual leave and everybody give's you shit about losing your passport." "What about those drug dealers? They got our fingerprints on that statue?" "We broke it remember. How were we supposed to know it had drugs in it?" This last remark by DebbieSue would later be lifesaving for them. "Well, we ain't' going to take any crap back to the States and we're just going to have to lay low." The weekend was miserable and it wasn't until Sunday that DebbieSue started noticing the Aussie men's bulges and it was late Sunday before P.J. started taking pictures of white Aussie women again. They could almost believe that everything was going to work out. Monday morning or "MOANday morning as P.J. called it started out easy enough. Their friendly desk clerk called them a different driver and they set off to the American Embassy. P.J. nodded crisply to the Marine who stood guard in summer uniform; grunts sure seemed young compared to when he had served in 'Nam. Their first hint of trouble came when they tried to get into the Embassy. "I'm sorry, SIR, but we can't let you into the Embassy. You need to provide your passport or other proof of U.S. citizenship. Your Illinois driver's license simply won't do." "But, my passport was stolen. How can I get it replaced?" "You'll just have to wait here." Twenty minutes later, the same clerk called them back. "We can have your passport replaced tomorrow." "But my tourist visa expires today. I'll be arrested as an 'undesirable alien' if I stay. Can't you help me?" "We're rather busy today but perhaps you can be seen later this morning. The consular officers are all working on a major drug case." The clerk, a GS 5 for life, looked started at his remark then shut up. "Oh, shit!. They know about us!" They left not realizing that the Embassy people were working on busting the ring that had snared them and that the Embassy officers would have been their salvation. Who trusts the DEA? "Their" driver and the Aussie were waiting in the jeep for them. They were photographed by Embassy staff at a cafe across the road and went on the Embassy's "mule list". After they returned to their room, the Aussie pulled out two statues of "Household Gods". These were ugly little trolls which could have one any ugly contest. One was grossly male and a gross male at that; the other might have been female but was gross anyway you looked at it. These "Household Gods" didn't deserve to have worshipers. The Aussie, who was wearing rubber gloves, handed the statues to the Johnsons. "Hold these little lovelies, matey, aren't they just lovely. Just what you need to show off to the boys back in Chicago. Best not drop them or we'll have to call the police. You won' like our jails here. Most of you Yanks just can't survive them." The Johnson's handled both statues. "Don't worry mate, we'll give you back your passport before you board your plane. In fact, we'll even pay your exit free for you!" Neither of the Johnsons replied. “What is it that you blokes say? 'Mighty white of me?'" If there was anything worst than this Aussie's attitude, it was his laugh as his victims left. "What are we going to do? We can't leave without your passport?" "Maybe I can grab it at the airport?" "You tried that once, remember?" "Damn it! I remember. Don't remind me." "Maybe we can tell the Indonesian Custom's people your passport was stolen. That British man, MacMillian, said he would help." "I don't know. I don't know. Maybe he can, maybe he can’t. Maybe I should just try hauling both statues back to Chicago." "It won't work. You know who is going to be working Customs today and tomorrow." "Yeah, I know." The Customs Inspectors included a fellow member of a Lion's Club that had been in. This inspector would insist on checking their luggage and this man would detect the opium. "You'll never make it past Roger." "How about if I wipe off the prints and leave the statues in the toilet on the plane?" "Might work; maybe we should just put the statues in our checked luggage and not claim it?" "We could try that. They haven't given us the statues yet. Maybe we could elude them at the airport?" "Yeah, maybe we could." They had already packed their luggage and began "saddling up" to use P.J.'s old Marine term for "fixing to go" as DebbieSue preferred to say. The phone rang and they were both startled; other ears listened to he phone call and to the room in general. "Yes?" No one back home would have recognized the nervous mouse as P.J. talking. "We'll meet you in the airport, old cock," the Aussie was damned cheerful. "We'll have your passport and some local items you naughty Yanks just had to have. Don't be late and don't even think of 'playing games' with me, Mate!" "We weren't thinking of any games." "Right oh, it pays to have friends, you know!" P.J. hung up; DebbieSue waited for him to speak. "It was that white trash asshole Aussie tellin' me that we're to make some kind of swap and that he got friends. What are we going to do?" "We're not going to smuggle this, are we?" "I don't want to but what other choice do we have?" "Well damn it all, if we go through with this, we go to jail when Customs busts using Chicago..." "...and Roger will be pissed at us, we'll go to jail and our lives’ will be ruined..." "...in Chicago or this Aussie trash turns us into the police." "Then what?" "We go call that Brit Embassy man, that Mr. MacMillian." They finished lifting their belongings, P.J. played "charge" on his whistle and they went to the front desk. The desk clerk was in front of his desk with several men and women that had the "hard ass cop look". Neither Johnson was reassured; they were scared almost to point of losing sphincter control. "We need to call the British Embassy." "Why not call your own Embassy". The front desk clerk didn't sound like a local now. "They can't or won't help us." "Why not go to the local police?" "We would but we need to talk to Mr. MacMillian first." "You want to return home without getting into trouble?" "Well, yes", P.J. was beginning to think he talked too much. "You are talking to the Indonesian Special Police and we know all about your problems. We've had your room under surveillance since we saw who you were leaving with. Now, this is what you're going to do." After listening to the police, the Johnsons had to be reminded that they were supposed to be in deep trouble. At the airport, the Aussie watched them enter and followed after them. He put a bag with the statues on a table and then placed the passport next to it. "Hell, mate, I even paid your exit fee." The receipts for this were placed on top of the passport. P.J. backup up, put his whistle to mouth and blew hard! Hard enough to bring out veins on his forehead. Hard enough to make the Aussiebird start away and give DebbieSue time to grab the paperwork. The Aussie simply froze when uniformed officers confronted him. The Johnsons walked away, were swept through the normal boarding procedure and taken out a back entrance. They spent two days giving testimony to the American and British Embassies and were the Guests of the Indonesian Special Police. Someone in one of the three agencies notified the Johnson's employers that the Johnson were assisting in an international criminal investigation. They were both lionized when they returned home and the stories that they told their friends bore little relation to reality; you might say they told what they wished had happened rather than what really did happen. Who could blame them anyway? Both Johnson's got more photos of Aussies with a new camera and didn't give each other grief about the taking. Their next vacation was in Minnesota. ______ I wrote this around 1992, as part of a writing contest in the Rockford, Illinois, writing club. It was an Anderson Method story. We had about two hours to write our stories and it took me about an hour to plot the story. I barely got the story done in time. I did not win but I did not expect to. I simply enjoyed the thrill of trying to get the story done! I thought I should have won but I vaguly recall it was won by someone who wrote a traditional story about Mom, Dad and kid problems. I can not picture myself writing a story like this because I really do not know these situations; my family as I was growing up simply did not have this drama. I suspect the family did after I left home immediately after high school and never actually went back,. (I might be remembering wrong who wrote the “winning” story but I don’t think I have this wrong.) So much for rewarding a creative story… New Years Eve 2018 Authors note: I wrote this story while visiting Kathie at her parent's house when we were dating in 1977. I had the idea for the story then sat down and wrote this story on Kathie's mother's old manual typewriter. I had never seen anyone use coke when this story was written and could only go by the descriptions that I had read or seen on TV. Therefore, that portion of the story now seems inaccurate. However, since I didn't feel like rewriting an old story, I let it stand. I copied this story to a file on my Commodore 64; later, I transcribed it from a printout from my Commodore64 to my Amiga1000. I liked this story when I wrote it but now, I find that I don't like this story very much. It is also a story that I could not write today. But, it is a stage in my "development" as a writer and worth preserving (perhaps I'll change my mind about this story some day...). Rockford, Illinois 11 October 1991 ## Story Fragment (In never worked on this story beyond this...) Captain (female)____________ Navigator/Cartography (male) Chang (female) Sensor and Analysis (male) MBA/Alien World Analyst (female) Doctor (male) Nun/Vet (female) Chef (male) {vacant} The exploiter family ship, Peruvian Evenings, was five and a half light-years out from Old Earth and was cruising at a mere fifty times The speed of light; They would arrive at The outer reaches of The Earth's Solar System in forty days. The Master Computer had The conn and The bridge; that is to say, The Master Computer was giving The orders and then carrying them out. It's people were attending to more important duties... "We're short a crewman," The Captain intoned what had been obvious for fifteen years, "The time has come to adopt a newbie. What say you?" ______The ship priest, a gentle Nun, had been "wife" to The Chef who had died fifteen years before, replied first: ______"It would be a goodness that would alleviate our mourning. In say we adopt a newbie; young blood might be of benefit to us." The Captain hid his smile for he knew that his Nun had been deeply in love with The late Chef who had been a virile youngster of seventy-five. So had several others on The ship... "We need a new Chef," The Chief Engineer interjected, "In for one am in need for some new flavors." Then realizing The implied criticism in his statement, "not that In have any complaints about The Doctor's cooking. In just think that some new recipes might be interesting." Her voice trailed off; she was Chief engineer principally due her preference for machines rather than humans. ______The Doctor, who had The "thin skin" of a battle cruiser and whose feelings were as hard to hurt just smiled. He had never been bothered by remarks about his cooking; his shipmates had been eating it for fifteen years and could have done The cooking themselves... ______If anyone had given a deserting opinion, The Captain probably would have had a heart attack. Fortunately, she was spared that. "There being no dissent, we will petition The Personnel Department to obtain a compatible newbie for us." Then, The Captain of The Peruvian Evenings used The handprint reader to unlock a display cabinet made of unbreakable, transparent, metal. She removed a thousand year old Katanga that once belonged to The Japanese Imperial family. Then, will The aid of her husband, The Navigator, she carefully cut The forearm of each of The seven person crew. As a few drops of each person's blood flowed onto The ceremonial quarterdeck's teak floor, They recited their credo: "The steel is in The blood, The blood is in The steel. The ship is it's people, The people are The ship." The Master Computer dimed The lights and played very soft background music; in some ways, The Master Computer was a human as it's people. Oddly enough, in some ways, it was more human. After this, The ship's people drifted off to their cabins to relax and to recover from The emotional trauma of their conclave. The Nun, who was "odd person out," went to visit The Chief Engineer and her husband, The Sensor's and Analysis Officer. *______*______*______*______*______*______*______*______* Benden Tow laughed at The Examination System as he left The Personnel Office of The Interstellar Exploitation Corps. The naviate of The examiners had appealed to his sense of The absurd; he had been hard put to keep a strait face. He would have to face The final test The next day, The Grand Selection Board. He stopped at a self consciously period bar called The "Trendy." This bar was a creditable imitation of a disco bar; The twenty sixth century had a fancy for The late twentieth century that would have shocked many of that period who had had little use for disco. He ordered a Gin and Tonic although he preferred a Rum and Banana concoction; his patron was partial to Gin and Tonic. "How did it go, boychick, did it work?" "You were correct, my master, They asked exactly The questions you said you would and expected The postures you said They would. It was wonderful." ______His master could tell when Benden Tow was trying to con him and when he was sincere. The old one was quite pleased. "Yes, In knew They would. In arranged The questions myself." "Thank you for this favor." "FAVOR, by The Itch, it took a major investment to arrange this. I've many plans for you, Benden Tow, many plans. Don't blow that, boychick!" ______"In won't, my master, you know that." ______Benden Tow reverently and demurely lowered his eyes; he thought he was hiding his amused reaction from The Old One. They both knew that there wasn't much The Old One could do once Benden Tow had left Old Earth for The Younger Worlds or even The Hinterlands. It was a game that both had played for most of Benden Tow's twenty seven years. ______Yet, The Old One knew that he could trust Bentow Tow with his life and more importantly, with sensitive business missions. "Your final hurdle is tomorrow, Boy Chick and you must have your act memorized. Read it and use a mind imprinter to burn this into your mind. You are very close to glory, my disciple, very close. And it was then that Bentow Tow knew that success would bring him The ultimate reward of being The Old One's successor. He enjoyed a pleasant fantasy of having his own decuple hanging on his words. He knew that he could handle The crew of The Peruvian Evenings if it was The last thing he or They did... "DON'T GET COCKY, Boy Chick, you're not that good yet!" Benton Tow did a creditable imitation of a mortally offended person; his master did an impeccable imitation of having accepted The young one's surface reaction. "You're good, Benton Tow but these ship riders have been out there for a long time and have learned to read each other very well. They mayhap can read YOU equally well? Now Benton Tow was offended and had trouble hiding his reaction. He, Benton Tow, Master agent and disciple of The Old One, was no one's pushover. No, by The itch, he wasn't! The Old One remembered what a subordinate had once written about Benton Tow and just sighed to himself behind The pleasant, accepting and trusting expression that he was hanging upon his face. Not even The young one (as their associates were beginning to call him), could penetrate that facade... The board was no problem and in fact, was far easier than The acceptance boards for The Old One's organization. The Old One that was more of a Grandfather to Benton Tow that The actual ones had been. The Old One's Official Title was "Mayor of Denver, The Mile High City." Occasionally, for forms sake, he would actually play that role; his real position was master of a political group that would once have been called a Mafia or perhaps a Tong Society. It's influence literally spread to The stars. Benton Tow's orders were simple: Go to The Star Port and await The arrival of his ship. He was put up in transit housing; it was The work of ten minutes to convince a fellow guest that it was in her interest to move in with him. Benton Tow had no scruples or problems when it came to fulfilling his desires... *______*______*______*______*______*______*______*______* The Peruvian Evenings came out of Faster Than Light drive, that strangeness which was commonly called FTL by folks who hadn't The slightest idea of what a miracle it was and The Navigator conducted a routine navigation fix. As desired, They were just "outside" The Earth's Solar System and were about to cross The orbit of Pluto. They only had a forty five minute wait before Traffic Control gave them a trajectory that would have them arriving at a Custom's Port in Earth orbit. They trip would take them four days at The low speeds They for forced to use in Earth's Solar System. The Solar System had become very crowded since The middle of The twenty second century and people were sensitive about collusions and The damage that a ship's drive wake could cause. The Captain was on The bridge when Customs Control called: "Peruvian Evenings, this is Customs Control. Do you have anything to declare? Over." "Customs Control, this is Peruvian Evening. We have nothing to declare. We are returning from surveying Wolf 357 and it's solar system. We did not land nor have we deshipped and we have not taken aboard anything since we cleared customs prior to our departure. Over." "Peruvian Evenings, Customs Control. Thank you. You are cleared to land; we are transferring docking instructions for you to 'tie up' at Heinlein Space Station, Bay Echo. The Port Master will transfer mail and accept your trip report. Over." "Customs Control, Peruvian Evenings. Thank you for that info; we will discuss supply requirements with The Port Master. Over." "Peruvian Evenings, Customs Control. Rodger, Out." The Navigator glanced at The Captain. "The course given us will bring our ship to dock in about an hour and a half. I've already asked Heinlein Station to notify our newbie of our arrival." "In..In wish you had waited," The Captain sighed. "You're worried, aren't you dear. Are you afraid that this newby will turn out as bad as that girl did about two centuries ago." "Yes, In am." They had had trouble with a thirty five year old female newbie about two centuries before. The Captain and The Navigator had been married for about seventy five years then. The problems The newbie woman had triggered could have torn their ship apart. Instead, their crew had found ways to handle their trouble. She had been transferred off to another ship and had formed a harem...or so The rumor mill had it. Actually, she had married and settled down. The Navigator walked over to his Captain and hugged her; he had already started The ship on it's way to Heinlein Station. *______* * * * How to Write a Short Story that Will Grip Your Readers! This is a paraphrase of an informal lecture given by Paul Dean Anderson at the January 1993 meeting of the Rockford Writer's Guild in Rockford, Illinois. Mr. Anderson is a well known writer and co-editor of "2 AM Magazine". This magazine is published in Rockford and focuses on Science Fiction, Fantasy and poetry of the horror genre. Mr. Anderson preaches having interior problems for your lead characters vice external problems. FIRST PARAGRAPH: Give your character a THREAT that everyone can identify with. It can be a life threat or a spiritual threat. SECOND PARAGRAPH: Develop the character and show the character's reaction to the threat. This shows a LOT about the character. THIRD PARAGRAPH: Throw in a prop. i.e. "the gun on the mantle", the stuff that the character is wearing or has in his/her pocket, a vehicle, suitcase, etc. FOURTH PARAGRAPH: The second paragraph action did not overcome the threat. The character "feels down, wants to give up and end it all". FIFTH PARAGRAPH: The threat becomes more specific to the character or to someone the character cares about. This is the "do or die moment". The character now refuses to "take it anymore". SIXTH PARAGRAPH: The character acts intuitively and in character but fails to overcome the obstacle. He doesn't save the world (as it were). SEVENTH PARAGRAPH: Character realizes that he must make a conscious change to solve the problem. The character MUST grow and change to face his challenge. The Character MUST make an out-of-character decision. i.e. The selfish must do a selfless act, the claustrophobe must go into a cave or sewer, the person scared of arguments must confront an obnoxious verbal bully. EIGHTH PARAGRAPH: The character must take the out-of-character decision and combine it with the prop (see THIRD PARAGRAPH) to produce action in the resolution. The resolution can be one sentence (as Mr. Anderson is fond of using). The resolution can be as long as you need. Mr. Anderson challenged the Rockford Writer's Guild to write 500 word stories that would embody this ad-hoc outline above. He later stated that perhaps as much as 2000 words he later stated. Mr. Anderson hinted that these "rules" were somewhat ad-hoc but they flowed forth from him so easily that I had the feeling that they were something he had thought about for a long time! SECTION II - My Poems: Ode to Bill (reminisces of an Internal Team Meeting he "chaired".) Smooth words, flowing like honey, gentle like diarrhea, before your anus gets chaffed. Words dulling the senses, blinding the mind till you're lost in a world of sounds. Dulled, dazed, mesmerized by gentle words lacking inflection, passion or breaks. Agreeing with anything said: yes yes! YES! manning as blindly as a cult member. Fearing to fall asleep, wondering why not; praying I've not sold out totally! Poor zombie! Dead to the world, hoping, praying the coat of honey colored dung will wear off. AUTHOR’S NOTE: Bill Nichols had this horribly irritating habit of talking, talking and talking. Every so often, he would make some outrageous, asinine comment and ask us if we agreed. By the time we hear this request for agreement, we’re so dazed by the flow of words that we don’t know what we’re agreeing to! Ode to a Tornado Victim Good thing that man is dead cause I just saw his head flying through the air going who know where? Tornado hit the county Jail proceeded by a wash of hail covered the ground in a blanket of white some how, this just isn't right. Saw the inmates scampering, scampering, falling debree hampering, hampering, some ran hard, some ran fast he was fleeing, couldn't last. Tornado hit the county jail, was too new to possibly fail, in the winds things did sail, now the tax payers will start to wail. (take 2) Ode to a Tornado Victim Good thing that man is dead cause I just saw his head flying through the air going who knows where? Tornado hit the county Jail proceeded by a wash of hail covered the ground all in white some how, this just isn't right. Saw the inmates scampering, scampering, falling debree hampering, hampering, some ran hard, some ran fast he was fleeing, couldn't last. Tornado hit the county jail, was to new too possibly fail, in the winds things did sail, now the tax payers will start to wail. There are a series of poems I wrote during the summer of 1985; that was a great summer where I couldn't seem to write fast enough to write down all the poems that were bubbling up in my head. I thought that this was an embarrassment of riches and wished it would slow down or quit; unfortunately, the inspiration largely did stop. Winter Olympics (Berlin) A waltz played in the background as the skaters wove their way across mirror smooth ice through clean air, air smelling faintly of woodsmoke. Their hosts smiled at their guests who glided with the grace of hawks cutting patterns but sailing ever closer to hidden thin spots. The Jews were the first plunged through and hosts sank the guypes next, but, the hosts and the guests said nothing, nothing to ruin the wonderful day of skating. This poem was written in Fall 1985; it lacks something, a certain smoothness I think. However, I liked the images (but then I can hardly be expected to say negative things about my "Mind Child" (to steal a line from Seymour Papert). Sanctuary I walk the night alone, wrapped in darkness and quiet. I see without being seen. I've become a part of the night. My skin merges out with it as it flows around the houses lit like lanterns in the sea of night. I move apart from those within, aloft and safe from harm. They cannot touch me nor I touch them. I watch and walk as through a dream. The Hollow People Last night, I went to "THE" party: In a room with a shimmering mirror, where all the guests wore smiles and elegant dress, hardly touched their drinks and looked only at each other's faces. They were so lively, yet their smiles seemed so sad; then I noticed their backs were bare and looked like the inside of cast figurines: dull gray and contoured to match their fronts. Fearfully, I touched my back and it felt solid. In that room, only I was real! I looked at them and felt pity. I frowned and found I disliked being surrounded by these hollow shells. My back faced the mirror and I glanced back towards it. In shock, I turned away and gulped my drink, trying to forget the dull plastic where my back should have been. Finally, I donned the sad smile of the others, sipped a new drink and thought: Am I real? Insects I sat watching as an insect slowly walked across my arm like a hiker in a forest and I was godlike in size and intellect compared to it. Casually, I brushed it from my arm and killed it - then felt annoyed as I went to wash my hand. The Great Wheel (revised version) The great wheel turns; dead winter burns away the old; leaves appear like green jewel arrays on trees of coat hangers made. Flowers spray their need in red and blue and white display. A special language only bees can read: They slip into the flowers so smooth - casual in approach; take a bit, leave another's seed and flitter off in lust for renewal! My poem: "Post-Winter non-Blues" I was a student in Bob Bauch's writing class at Northern Virginia Community College in late 1985 and early 1986. Mr. Bauch liked most of the poem but disliked the ending (the portion I've converted to blue). He said I'd taken "a nice poem and turned it into a boner poem". I've presented this poem (the part in black) on one of my webpages. I let my wife read it last night and she liked the part in blue best! I think I'll take her opinion... Post-Winter non-BLUES The great wheel turns, dead winter burns away the old; leaves appear like green jewel arrays on trees of coat hangers made. Flowers spray their need in red and blue and white display. A special language only bees can read: They slip into the flowers so smooth - casual in approach; take a bit, leave another's seed and flitter off in lust for renewal I sit to watch the world unfold, with beer in hand, good friends nearby. Women go by, their nipples poking through light shirts so clear, my spirit-it rises, my thoughts, a bee, now fly! For Bees or Humans tis the time of year for pollination, sunburn, honey, pollen and beer. My original poems and stories for Bob's classes were written on a Commodore 64 (with a wonderful word processor I was given for free) and printed on a dot matrix printer. Alas, this word processor did not have a spell checker so I've found usage for spell checkers on the more advanced (and far more expensive!) word processors I've used since. It! The boy clenched his mother's hand as he dragged into the kitchen to see the monstrous dog bought for him. This nightmare creature sat balanced upon his father's palm and whimpered. The boy stuck out a shaking finger; the puppy sniffed it and began to nibble as the boy giggled in delight. Short Timer a cloudlet leaves it's parent white climbing, sliming, up the sky then dying, drying, burnt by the day. Mr. Happy Mr. Happy walks his garden weeds it, waters it, watches as: A ship burns in the sky, A bum freezes on a grate. Perfect fruit for the picking, in Joy he gathers his Crop. Prometheus Teacher/bringer of fire, White smoke chases you. Writing your name on the sky In glyphs spelling death. Cranes Giant young Cranes perching today, they say whale eating, drinking from the Reflecting pool. Nesting in the Pentagon well way, just grandly perched on Condo roofs...broken things! Giant young Cranes chasing aircraft away, when they go brunch or munch the City Zoo! Whose mating rites are sights to see, I say to awe and thrill or chill cynic me or you! Time 0. Time flows like honey, slow, sweet, full of bubbles and twisting like a rope in a golden haze obscuring everything but itself. We're the bubbles thinking that we've always been there, always will be there, not knowing or caring how short our lives will be, falling in the sweet golden haze that seems to last forever. I. I feel time, time like a giant strobe now flashing in my youth, now flashing in my manhood, now flashing and I am gone. II. We are nothing, nothing but frozen images among the multitude in a scrapbook or sparks flowing upward from a fire that glows brightly for an instant and they are gone. III. We live in a now, now "knowing" tomorrow will never come, living in a frenzy feeling that endless tomorrow's await us and scarcely noting that days past piling up like debris in a small prison cell from which we cannot escape. An Old Uncomfortable Suit Fear is a suit I wear when under pressure and stress; it coats my thoughts like batter on deep-fried scrimp and slows my thoughts like some bad drug that's still legal. Fear fills my mind like steam filling a shower stall and I see it, feel it coming like a small boy watching the belt fall during a whipping and I can't will it away. Or when I've surprised fear in a crisis and calm fills me insides like a cold glass of water on a hot day, fear can lunge at me like a shit-covered spear impaling it's victim without warning. Fear is like a thick coat of paint and now I have a paint scrapper and I scrap and scrap but the removal is slow, inefficient and only time and weathering finishes the job. Middle Ages When we were young, our parents told us: "Grow up!" "Quit acting so childish!" "He's such a big baby!" "She's such a little girl!" And so we grow up to become adults and be told: "You grew up too fast!" "Remember the things you lost, in the carefree days of youth!" "You've lost your childhood!" Too young and now too old is our crime, we've lived our lives at the wrong time! I wrote this poem as an exercise in Bob Bauche's class; you will note that it is in iambic pentameter and is the first eight lines of an Elizabethan sonnet. I threw out the last four lines and the finishing couplet because Bob Bauch didn't like them; pity! The last four lines were about human lust and the couplet combined the themes of the first three verses. An Elizabethan sonnet consists of three verses each of four lines and a finishing couple; fourteen lines in all. The rhyme scheme is ABAB CDCD EFEF GG. The lines are in iambic pentameter (and actually are in my poem!).BACK A neighbor's dog scared me badly when I was in 1st grade; this dog was almost as tall as I was. So, my parents bought a miniature dachshund. This dog was as described as was my reaction to it. This poem was written around 5:30 am one morning on Guam whilst I was sitting on a roof and watching the weather. We were in the midst of an anti-terrorist exercise on Guam called "Operation Bulldog". The cloudlet was a bit of strato-fractus that boiled up from some morning cumulus. These two poems were written the day of the Challenger explosion. I heard a couple of "jokes" that same night! It is amazing how fast people people can come up with bad jokes... The middle two lines of "Mr. Happy" refer to the mixture of rich and poor in out country. A shuttle is a very expensive system and representative of a wealthy culture. The poor are representative of a poor culture. "Mr. Happy" is a reference to the grim reaper. "Prometheus" brought fire to people and Christine McAlee (I think her name was) was a teacher. It did upset a lot of people that the press talked mostly about the teacher. The title of this poem is "Cranes"; it is a joke. I wrote this poem when we lived just south of Washington, DC and I had just started in Bob Bauch's writing class. They were using the gigantic construction cranes in the Washington, Dc area that look like a "T". That is, a vertical post with the crosspiece on top. When these cranes dipped down, they reminded me of living Cranes in a Zoo. So, I used the image of birds effectively 150 feet high. The Reflecting Pool is a very nice place to visit (or for huge birds to drink from!). The Pentagon Well way is in the very centre of the Pentagon. (There is a cafe there called "The Ground Zero Café”; this graveyard humour reflects the reality that the Pentagon is an ideal target). FAME Cherry blossom blooming bright, colorful, attracting bees; dies, falls in graceful swoops. Who remembers it's name? After being interviewed on TV twice and having seen myself quoted in the local paper several times (including one quote that was wildly out of context in the Freeport paper), I decided to write a poem about "Fame". I did it in pseudo-haiku fashion. The syllable count is wrong but my poem has nature images (anyway). Wine! From grape to squeezing to must, yeast, nutrient and CO2 in a gust, from fermenting vat to bottling; aged a year, it virtue to sing. Its raw and strong and just a bit strange, from bottle to bottle the taste does range! Now drink that...wine! wine! wine! I made it...mine! fine! wine! Must is the pre-fermentation liquid and CO2 is produced from the fermentation container. Needles Fearing the needle as a child, for polio, tetanus and other drugs. Fearing playmates who acted wild: wise guys, trouble makers and other mugs. First the child stole a beer; it was just a drink; near to hand was coke! First the nose finally the needle added to blood's rose. The needle so damned dear! At first fearing even a kiss. then, foreplay but still a "Miss". Then fearing pain from the flesh needle, such was the pleasure, she soon would wheedle The touch! The kiss! The slow bliss! One is tawdry, the other regal, one is legal, one is not. Both are pleasure, are they not? Yet, one is legal, the other not legal. For the sake of argument, I though as changing the last line to: Yet, one is legal, the other regal? This poem compares drug usage and sexual intercourse in terms of penetration, hesitation before starting and the desire to continue after a while and an acceptance of penetration. I have been told that drug users who would have detained needles eventually accept the sting of the needle as part of their pleasure. I have been trying to write poems that explore this strange concept of the pain of a needle prick followed by whatever joy is to found from the drug; I "suffer" (I use "suffer" with irony) from the lack of direct knowledge of the experience. Well, I intend to try a few more poems for the sake of art but intend to retain this innocence (or perhaps ignorance would be a better word). There are just some things best learned from reading the papers and news magazines and not from personal experience! Fag Rag God rest ye Merry Gentlemen and ye not be gay, remember God hates fagots or soooo they saaaay! Keep your cocks, In your pants a-lock even if your heart may not be pure or viruses will AIDs you for sure! .Name of the book: Author: Type of book: