A link to one of my stories 

Helen and the Angel 

The late spring sun was beating down on the back of Reginald Walker as he was working the ground of the flower garden of his home. His blue cotton shirt was showing stains of sweat and the odd splash of dirt. Outside of a few friends and acquaintances, most people would have never taken him for someone who enjoyed gardening. Most people who knew him only saw the stiff, proper business side of him.

The rumble of his phone he had in his trouser pocket interrupted his work. Reginald pulled one of his gloves off and then reached into his pocket for his phone. After seeing who the message was from, he put his phone back in his pocket. He walked over to the shed and put the hoe and his gloves away before going inside.

Once inside, he went to his study and sat down in front of his computer. When he glanced at the screen, he saw there was a group call waiting.

Reginald picked up his spectacles from beside the computer and put them on before unlocking the computer and hitting ‘connect.’ After a few seconds, the computer connected to the virtual conference room. Waiting for him was one other person. The picture showed a generic graphic of a woman with Greek letter iota underneath..

“Good day, Mr. Walker. I hope I did not interrupt anything important,” the computerized woman’s voice said.

Sitting up straight in his chair, Reginald said, “No, ma’am. I was just doing some gardening. How may I be of assistance?”

“Something has come to my attention. I don’t think it is enough to warrant involving all the others yet, but I would like a second opinion.”

“I’m sorry ma’am. My duties exclude me from involving myself in deciding what items we research. I can only facilitate in gathering information on approved research matters.”

“If requested, can you see if any of the others are available?”

Reginald leaned back in his chair for a moment. This was a strange request, especially when coming from one of the Alexandrian. When he took the job as their liaison forty years ago, he did not know the type of research they did, or the requests they would make.

The Alexandrians, themselves, were a mystery. In his time working for them, he had met none of them in person, or at least not that he was aware of. He only knew them by their aliases. Letters of the Greek alphabet. When he communicated with them, he saw digital avatars with electronic voices. Except for Iota responding to “Ma’am,” Reginald did not know if Iota really was a woman.

For all their secrecy and seemingly limitless resources, outside of set times or rare emergencies, they never contacted one another. This made Reginald one of the few people who could reach out to them at almost any time.

Sitting back up, Reginald said, “Do you wish for me to see who is available, or did you have someone specific you wished to talk with?”

“I would prefer Tau or Chi, but any who are available will do.”

“One moment ma’am.” Reginald reached back into his trouser pocket and pulled out his phone. He scanned the list of the Alexandrians to see who was available. “I’m reaching out to Lambda. It seems he is the only one currently available.”

“He will do.”

“I never took you as a flower person, Mr. Walker. What types do you have?”

“No flowers, just vegetables. Something my mum instilled in me as a boy. My grandmother and her kept a victory garden during World War II and they never stopped. You may say I’m carrying on a legacy,” he said in his dry, business manner as he tapped away on his phone.

The animated image of Iota nodded slightly. “I have met some older Brits who would rather keep a vegetable garden than flowers. I had thought it was mainly because of the connection between flowers and funerals. It is refreshing to hear that there is a more practical reason for it.”

Just then, the screen changed as a new caller joined. Like Iota, this person was represented by an animated character of a man, but with the symbol for lambda.

“Good day,” came the automated voice that sounded like the synthesizer that Dr. Hawking had used. “I don’t want to sound rude, but I have a flight to catch in an hour. If we can not finish by then, I will send Mr. Walker my schedule for the next couple of days so we can resume.”

“Thank you Lambda. I think this shouldn’t take that long,” Iota said.

“So Iota, Mr. Walker said you needed a second opinion on something?”

Iota’s image nodded as they seemed to reach towards the camera. “Yes. I just sent both of you two files a Miner came across. It is a report of an incident with an American bomber and it crew during World War II. I am sorry the documents are not fully revealed yet.”

The Miners. Individuals highly skilled at scouring the internet for information out in the public domain. If something ever passed through the internet, the Miners could find it. Though independent of the Alexandrians, they often provided them with information.

Reginald opened the report file he just received and looked at the letterhead, which bore a stamp of ‘top secret’ and showed someone had removed its redaction. This was not the first time Reginald had seen a document that had redactions that the Alexandrians had unmasked.

Lambda said, “It looks like an after action report. Is there some significance to it?”

“Office of Special Actions? I am not familiar with them,” Reginald said as he read the report. 

“Exactly, neither am I. That is, in part, why I wanted a second opinion. If you would read the hi-lighted portions.”

—

Department of War

Office of Special Action

Date: 13-July, 1944

File: 944192-0021 - Document 7

Ref: After action report on B-17 423482 from 9-Jul, 1944

Below is the transcript of the interview of 1st Lt. Andrews regarding events that occurred on 9 July, 1944. Wing Commander Cheatum (RAF) and Major Dewey (US Army Air Corps) conducted the interview on 11 July at <redacted>. Also in attendance was the stenographer, 2nd Lt. Howe (US Army).

Major Dewey (Maj.): Lieutenant Andrews, at ease and please sit down. I’m Major Dewey of the OSA. This is my British counterpart, Wing Commander Cheatum of the RAF. Before we begin, would you like something to drink? Coffee or tea?

Lt. Andrews (Lt.): No, sir. Do you have a problem with me smoking?

Wing Commander Cheatum (WC.): Go ahead Leftenant.

Lt.: May I ask what this is about? I’ve already filed my report about what happened back at base.

Maj.: We will get to that in a moment. This interview is being conducted into the events on 9 July, 1944 involving a US Army Air Corps B-17G bomber, tail number 23482.

Lt.: The Helen, sir.

WC.: The Helen, Leftenant?

Lt.: Yes, sir. Some of us have a Helen, wife or girlfriend, back home, so we decided to call our bird ‘Helen.’

Maj.: Tail number 23482, also known as Helen. This interview is being conducted on 11 July, 1944, at approx 0810 Zulu by Wing Commander Cheatum of the RAF and Major Dewey of the Army Air Corps. For the record Lieutenant, please state your name, rank, and serial number.

Lt.: Andrews, Marcus Leonidis. First Lieutenant, United States Army Air Corps. Serial number <redacted>.

Maj.: Lieutenant Andrews, please be aware any false statements you make here will result in prosecution to the fullest extent of military law.

Lt.: Yes, sir.

WC.: Very well Leftenant. Please describe the events of that day.

<…>

Maj.: After your bomb run, what happened next?

Lt.: After we dropped our bombs, our formation opened up some to help protect against the flak. The plan was to maintain thirty-thousand feet and a heading of three-five-zero until the last group hit their target. Then we would turn left to return to the rally point and hopefully link up with B Group to return home.

Lt.: Approximately three minutes after we dropped our load, we heard the call for bombs away for B Group and started to make our turn. The flak we were taking was still heavy, and we could hear it bouncing off of Helen. During our turn, a round went off near Helen that shook the whole plane. The right wing felt like it was dragging. <Redacted> (RWG) reported smoke from engine number four and <Redacted> (CP) noticed that the manifold pressure on it was dropping.

Lt.: In order to compensate, I pulled the throttle back on number one and increased on the other two. It was already clear we couldn’t hold our spot in the formation. By the time we had completed the turn, we had already fallen back in the formation.

Lt.: As a precaution, if we lost number four, I started feathering it and number one. By the time we reached the rally point, we had completely fallen out of formation and were down to twenty-eight thousand.

Maj.: How far back were you from your group at this point?

Lt.: I would say about three miles.

Maj.: And how far from B Group?

Lt.: They were a mile to the east of us and below. They made their run at twenty-five thousand.

WC.: Did you try to link up with B Group?

Lt.: No, sir. I was concerned about keeping altitude to get over the mountains and didn’t want to descend at that time unless I had to. Helen was struggling to hold altitude.

WC.: Very well, continue.

Lt.: It took us about fifteen minutes to make it to Austria. We had dropped to about twenty-three thousand. I gave the order to ditch our guns, ammo and anything else we didn’t need to lighten Helen. <Redacted> (CP) and I discussed turning west for Switzerland as we were still losing altitude and number four had next to nothing for manifold pressure. Fortunately, it didn’t seem like we were losing any fuel.

<...>

Maj.: In your initial report, you said four German 109s attacked you from ‘one o’clock.’ Please elaborate.

Lt.: Yes, sir. <Redacted> (FE) was up in his turret and made the call. I guess they were patrolling at around twenty thousand feet. Initially, we thought we might get by them as there was some cloud cover around them.

Maj.: And your altitude at the time?

Lt.: About sixteen thousand. 

Maj.: Go on.

Lt.: As I said, I thought we might have given them the slip, but then we noticed them roll over and dive on us. I had never been so scared in my life. We had no guns and Helen was doing all she could to hold altitude. I was sure we were all going to die.

WC.: What happened next, Leftenant?

Lt.: <Redacted> (RO) called out two more bandits from above and behind us on the right side. <Redacted> (RWG) also spotted them and corrected that they were friendlies, jugs.

WC.: ‘Jugs,’ Leftenant?

Lt.: Sorry, P-47’s. I think they were from the 99th as their rudders were painted red. Anyway, these two P-47’s made a pass at the 109s intercepting them. They got a hit on the lead as he started to trail smoke.

Lt.: Because the P-47’s caught the Germans off guard, they pulled out of their initial attack on us, but quickly regrouped and tried to bear down on us again as the P-47’s had to circle back around. They came around from our left to right and met the German’s head on.

Lt.: I’ve heard that those P-47’s can deliver a punch, but I could never imagine it could do what it did. They tore that lead 109 to shreds like it was paper. But the other three 109’s got their payback.

Lt.: They were determined to get past the P-47’s and to get to us; they opened fire. The lead P-47 just exploded into a fireball. I had never seen something so bright and it was as if I could feel the heat off of it.

Maj.: Go on Lieutenant. Tell us what happened next.

Lt.: You are going to think I’m crazy, but I swear to you this happened. I thought we had one chance, and that was to turn into those German fighters. Just as I was preparing to turn, <Redacted> (FE), <Redacted> (RO), and <Redacted> (RWG) were all saying something about an angel.

Lt.: About that time, I saw it. Honest to God, it was an angel. His skin was black, but he was wearing a white robe that had a red tail to it. In one hand, he had a spear and in the other; he had a shield.

Lt.: He took up a position between us and the Germans, as if he was trying to defend us.

Lt.: I don’t know how, but when the Germans opened up on us, nothing hit us. We saw some rounds hit this angel, but they just bounced off. As they passed over us, this angel swung its spear at them like he was Paul Bunyan. When I looked out the left side, I first noticed part of a wing, then the tail section of one of the 109s.

WC.: We’re not here to judge you, Leftenant. Just get the facts. Did you see where this ‘angel’ came from?

Lt.: No, sir. But <redacted> (FE) had the best view from his turret. He says the angel came out of the fireball when the P-47 exploded.

Lt.: Anyway, the other two Germans peeled off. I don’t think they had any more stomach for trying to finish Helen. After they turned tail, the angel and the remaining P-47 got in formation with us until we got closer to Italy.

Lt.: Shortly before we got to Italy, the angel flew in front of us and, I guess, saluted us.

Maj.: Saluted you? How?

Lt.: Like I said, he was in front of Helen, and looking back at us. Then he raised his spear to his face before lowering it and flew off into the sun. About five minutes later, two more P-47’s picked us up and led us back to base.

<...>

WC.: Other than the gunfire and explosion, did you see any other lights or anything unusual?

Lt.: Unusual? In what way?

Maj.: Strange aircraft, unusual clouds or weather conditions.

Lt.: I tell you I’m not crazy. All of us saw it.

WC.: No one is saying you are crazy, Leftenant. That is for medical personnel to determine. We are here to verify reports and gather facts. There are a few more things that Major Dewey and I need to investigate. 

Maj.: The Wing Commander and I are trying to determine if what you saw was a natural event, or a manmade one. And if it is manmade, is it friend or foe? You are not the first to report something unusual and we have returned everyone else to their duties.

Maj: It will probably take a few days, so try to relax and enjoy the R and R.

<...>

—

Addendum, 13 July, 1944.

The crew of B-17, tail number 42-3482, the “Helen”, have been advised that the events on 9 July were inaccurately reported.

The actual facts are that after there were two flights of P-47’s that defended 42-3482. After the loss of Lt. Carol’s aircraft, the second flight of P-47’s engaged the remaining German aircraft. The crew of 42-3482 suffered trauma and hallucinations because of the explosion of Lt. Carol’s aircraft, which led them to believe they saw an angel, which in fact was the second flight of P-47’s.

The crew remains sequestered at this time.

Addendum 17 July, 1944.

Currently, this incident is under review by the OSA board. It is the recommendation of field personnel that this incident, and all relevant material, be struck.

—

“Angels? Quite intriguing Iota. Have you tried to authenticate this?” Lambda asked.

“Yes. I can find no mention of the Office of Special Actions, Wing Commander Cheatum, Major Dewey, or Lieutenant Andrews. When I search for the plane’s tail number, it is as if it does not exist. I found a Lieutenant Carol of the U.S. Army who was a pilot with the 100th Fighter Squadron and is listed killed in action on July 9, 1944.”

Reginald looked at the date of the incident. “Same day.”

Lambda shook his head. “Most likely a hoax. It seems highly improbable that something like this could be covered up so well. I wouldn’t spend resources on it. Besides, it is probably just another case of ‘foo fighters.’”

Iota nodded and said, “I would agree, except for the photographs.”

Reginald began opening up the pictures that Iota had sent with the report. The first picture he opened was a picture of an American B-17 looking like it may have just come off the assembly line. His finger twitched as he started to click to bring up the next photo, when something caught his attention. He saw the tail number: 23482. He looked at the other pictures. They were of a B-17 showing the damage it had taken during its mission. Some pictures showed the tail number 23482.

“Incredible. Are these authentic?” Lambda asked.

“All examinations say they are,” Iota responded. “And a different Miner found them than the one who found the document.”

Lambda leaned back and folded his hands in front of his mouth. There was silence for several seconds before Lambda suddenly leaned forward. “Mr. Walker, do you have any teams that would be suitable to investigate this should we need them?”

“Yes, Lambda. Do you wish me to make this an official case?”

“Not at this time,” Lambda said, shaking his head. “For now, let us send a notice to the Miners to see if we can get more information. There appears to be at least six more documents on this.. Iota, let us bring this up at our next meeting. Do you mind if I share this with Xi? I am to meet with him tomorrow to discuss something else.”

She nodded and said, “Yes. I will send you my personal notes on this as well.”

“Thank you. Since there is nothing else.” Lambda’s screen went black before a red ‘disconnected’ message appeared.

There was a moment of awkward silence before Reginald spoke. “Ma’am. I have an old friend whose grandfather was an American officer during the war. A Lieutenant Colonel Dewey. I will reach out to my friend, to see specifically what his grandfather did during the war.”

“Do you think there is a connection?” Iota asked.

“Most likely just a coincidence of names. But supposedly the Lieutenant Colonel and my friend’s grandmother first met when she was working at Fighter Command Headquarters. When my friend was stationed at RAF Bentley Priory in the 1970s, he asked if she would like to come see him on holiday. She said she would like to, as she had never been to Harrow.”

Iota shook her head. “I don’t see a connection.”

A link to one of my stories

Returning Home

Stanson waded out into the lagoon. It was low tide, which meant that the water where he set the fish trap was only chest deep. Still, it took nearly all his energy to reach it. It had been three days since he had any fish or crab to eat and he didn’t have the strength to climb to get a coconut, much less open one.

When he reached the marker for the fish trap, he carefully pulled it up. He was weary of a repeat of one of the first times he pulled up a trap. The ray resting on top of the trap got startled and slapped Stanson on the hand with its tail. Luckily, the tip of the tail hit Stanson and not the barb, but still Stanson learned to be more careful.

He pulled up the trap and found it contained a single fish. It was not as large as he hoped, but at least he would have something more than roots and seaweed today. A joyous “Yes” erupted from him at his good fortune. With his trap in hand, he turned and made it back to the beach and home.

His home for many years was this small island, some fifty acres total. Stanson had become stranded on this little patch of land when the ship he had been on got caught in a storm and capsized. He and two other members of the crew were lucky and climbed into a dingy and weathered out the rest of the storm. The next day, they found themselves alone on the ocean, amidst a sea of wreckage.

For ten days, they drifted before the tiny boat washed up on the island. By that time, his two companions had died of thirst. Stanson would have joined them, if it had not been for another storm bringing rain.

The ship Stanson had been on, the RNS Sea Pixie, was a trading ship. During his time on board, he had traveled to various islands to pick up cargo for the Sea Pixie to carry to Pembroke. From there, they loaded her cargo onto larger ships to be shipped to other territories of the empire.

It was on these islands that Stanson had learned how the local natives survived without modern conveniences that had allowed him to survive.

Once back on shore, he carried the fish trap into the shade of the palm trees. There, he took his knife to clean the fish and skewered it on a bone needle and line so he could carry it back to his hut.

During Stanson’s short walk back to his hut, he kept looking up at the trees for any signs of fruit or bird nests. These were rare treats for him when they were available, but saw no indications today.

When he got back to his hut, he hung the fish on a tree while he started a fire. “At least I won’t die of starvation today,” he said to himself. Stanson tried several times to get a fire started and was about to give up when he met with success. After cooking and eating the fish, he laid down in the shade of his hut to rest through the most of the heat of the day.

While he rested, he thought he heard someone call out in the distance. It wasn’t intelligible and nearly drowned out by the waves lapping on the shore. Shaking his head, Stanson sat up. He first noticed that the fire he had built was a pile of embers and emitting smoke. Then he spotted what could be the source of the sound that had aroused him.

Not far from his island, Stanson spied a small ship. It was hard to make out its true size, but it was a single-masted vessel similar to the Sea Pixie, though smaller.

Stanson immediately stood and started jumping up and down, waving his arms. He tried to call out, but his voice was hoarse. He did this until he nearly dropped from exhaustion, but saw no sign anyone on the ship had spotted him as its single sail remained raised.

Fearing that they would leave him on the island to spend the rest of his days, Stanson frantically searched for something to signal the ship with. He immediately began tearing the thatching off of his hut and throwing it on the remains of the fire. It only took a moment for it to begin to smolder, producing a mass of smoke.

He took one of the fronds of the thatching that was smoldering and tried to run up wind with it, waving it about. They could dismiss one smoke signal as chance, but two could not. 

Almost as proof of this, the vessel turned towards Stanson. He fell to his knees, crying. After all those years alone and consigning himself, he would never see another person again, he was being rescued.

As the ship approached, Stanson could see a person on deck, steering the ship. When it was just outside the breakers, the crew lowered the sail. At this distance, Stanson could make out a smaller craft suspended on the stern. It was this smaller craft that the individual lowered into the water and began rowing to shore in.

The craft was a canoe of some sort, as it was long and thin with an outrigger to one side that made it more stable in the breakers.

On Stanson’s savior beached the canoe, he came over Stanson saying, “Good grief man, are you all right?”

Stanson threw himself at the stranger, wrapping his arms around him, nearly causing both of them to fall over. “Steady man, get a hold of yourself. Who are you? How did you come here?” The stranger grabbed Stanson by the arms and held him at arm’s length.

“Stanson, Earnest Stanson. I was bosun on the Sea Pixie before she was destroyed in a storm,” Stanson said in a weak, hoarse voice.

The stranger shook his head. “Never heard of the Sea Pixie. How long have you been here? It looks as if it has been an age.”

“Since Gninn, 1218.”

The man’s eyes grew large at this. “Good heavens. That was nearly twenty years ago. It is 17 Judi, 1237. Is there anyone else with you?”

Stanson lowered his head as he sobbed dryly. The stranger pulled Stanson to him and held him as if he was a child. “You poor soul. All is good now, as you are no longer alone. Let me get you back to the Eless. I’m sure the Captain will do all he can to get you home. And where is your home?”

“Pembroke.”

The stranger released Stanson and started leading him to the canoe. “Then this is truly your day. The Captain and I are bound for Port Pembroke. Or at least that is what your Pembroke is now called. We should have you home in a few days. I am Omar, by the way. First mate on the FS Eless and at your service.”

“Bless you and your Captain.”

Omar got Stanson settled in the front of the canoe before pushing it back out into the water and paddling back to the Eless. Once there, Omar hooked the canoe to a pair of tackle blocks before pulling in the outrigger.

“You stay here and I’ll hoist the canoe up so you don’t have to try to climb aboard.”

Since Omar and the Eless had found him, Stanson felt a weariness he had never known before come over him. He simply laid in the canoe and nodded to Omar. Once Omar had the canoe hoisted up and fully secured, he helped Stanson on to the deck of the Eless.

“Welcome aboard the Eless.”

Stanson looked around the deck, but didn’t see anyone else. “Where is the crew?”

Chuckling, Omar said, “It is just the Captain and me. The Eless was built for a crew of five, but really only needs one to sail. Come, I’ll show you to the crew’s quarters so you can rest, but I’ll bring you some food first.”

Omar helped Stanson to the foredeck and down the steps to the crew’s quarters. Inside, he found a small table with a pair of benches and a low hanging lamp. Set along the hull on either side of the room were a pair of bunks. Setting Stanson on the lower port side bunk, Omar said, “Give me a minute, and I’ll bring you some food.”

This left Stanson alone in the cabin, but Omar soon returned with a bowl of salt pork stew, some hardtack, and cheese. Even this was standard fare on a ship, but after twenty years of what Stanson had to eat on the island, this was a banquet of a feast. He ate voraciously, oblivious to his surroundings. He did not notice that Omar had left and returned bearing a pair of bottles, one of wine and the other water.

When he was eating, he asked Omar, “Can I speak with your Captain? I want to thank him for saving me and for the food.”

Omar shook his head. “I’m afraid not right now. Captain Mosi took ill a few days ago and has been bedridden. He is recovering though, and I expect to see him on deck in a day or two. You can thank him then.”

“Rest now. I need to get us on the way again.”

Stanson laid down and slept.

He awoke to Omar lighting the lamp that overhung the table in the cabin. His muscles were stiff and he was slow to move. “How long was I asleep?”

“Only through the night. I hope I didn’t wake you with the lamp,” Omar said.

“No. I feel like I need to get up and move around some.”

“Well, I washed a set of my clothes for you yesterday after we got underway. There on the table.”

Stanson nearly fell over when he went to stand up. “Looks like my sea legs are not what they once were. Thanks for the clothes.”

Omar chuckled a bit. “I’ll bring you some food and drink while you change. After you eat, come join me on deck when you feel you can stand.”

“I’ll do that.”

Stanson could tell when Omar opened the door that it was early morning or late evening. The sky was a dark reddish color. Although the ship was sailing on calm waters, its gentle rocking made standing for Stanson difficult. Eventually, he stood upright by holding on to the sideboard of the upper bunk. He practiced walking around the small cabin until he felt confident that he could set foot on deck.

When he opened the door, he could now tell it was morning as the sky was lighting up. Slowly, he made his way out the cabin door and up the three steps to the main deck proper. From there, he could see Omar on the aftcastle leaning over something next to the ship’s wheel. When Stanson looked out over the railings of the ship, he saw the same sight he had seen for nearly twenty years. 

An endless expanse of blue ocean. Yet, today, it somehow looked different to him.

Using the rail to steady himself some, he went to where Omar was. When he reached him, he saw Omar was writing in the ship’s log, which was on top of a map. “The Captain lets you write in his log?”

Omar twitch at Stanson voice. “It is the ship’s log, and it is common practice that the officer on duty makes entries in it. Not just the Captain. So what do you think of the Eless?”

“She seems like a fine ship. Hard to imagine that you can sail her by yourself.”

“Only because of her size. She has a few changes from what you are used to that make it easier to handle, but not as quick. For example, the sail is raised by a lever system. Come, I’ll show you.” He closed the logbook and slid the table it had been resting on underneath a second table before showing Stanson the control for the sail. It was an ingenious design where one man could do the work of four, but took twice as long to do so.

Omar continued to show Stanson other such innovations that reduced the number of men necessary to perform a particular task to just one. When they were done, Stanson said, “She truly is a fine ship.”

“She is, but you should see the innovations in Port Pembroke. You may not recognize it. Go back to our quarters and I’ll get us some lunch after I check on the Captain.”

“Very well then.”

Stanson made his way back to the cabin and, once inside, went straight to his bunk. He had not realized how tired he was from the simple excursion onto the deck. He had not realized he had fallen asleep until he awoke to find Omar standing over him.

“Captain Mosi has asked us to have lunch with him.”

“Ah, I finally get to thank him for rescuing me.”

The two men made their way to the Captain’s quarters. When they reached the door, Omar knocked before announcing themselves. A faint “Enter” could be heard through the door.

When they entered, Stanson looked all about the room. Less than half the size of the Captain’s quarters of the Sea Pixie, its walls were a pristine white. The bed, desk, table and chairs that adorned the room were all of a simple, practical nature. This simplicity gave the room a much grander feeling.

“Mr. Stanson,” came a voice from an open doorway to the side of the Captain’s quarters. “Please excuse me, I’m trying to finish preparing lunch. I hope roast lamb suits you. Please have a seat and I will join you in a moment.”

The table was set with a plate, cup, knife, and fork in preparation for lunch. Stanson took a seat near the head of the table, with his back to the open doorway. “I thank you for your hospitality, Captain Mosi. After twenty years on that island, even salt pork seems like a grand meal.”

“I’m glad we could save you. Mr. Omar says you served on the Sea Pixie. I am unfamiliar with that ship. Based on your tale, it would have been lost twenty years ago. I know of a presumed cursed ship out of Port Pembroke, the Sea Sprite. Reportedly, she had a sister ship that was lost, but no one will speak its name. Are you familiar with the Sea Sprite?”

Stanson’s mouth twitched at the Captain’s statement. It took him a moment to regain his composure. “Aye, I am. The Sea Pixie was her sister ship. You say the Sea Sprite is cursed?”

“Was cursed. She had a run of unfortunate accidents. Some superstitious fools attributed it to her sister being lost. In reality, her keel was too weak and her mast had a void in its base. She was a doomed ship from the start.”

Stanson’s back was to the Captain as he entered the room. His first sign that Captain Mosi was in the room was when he sat a tray of lamb on the table. “Welcome aboard the Eless, Mr. Stanson.”

To be proper, Stanson stood to face Captain Mosi to salute him. When he laid eyes on the Captain, he froze.

The Captain was a slight man who appeared to be ten to fifteen years younger than Stanson. What gave Stanson pause when seeing the Captain was the Captain’s face. Unlike Stanson and Omar, whose faces were a reddish tan from being out in the sun, the Captain’s face was white like the snow-capped mountains Stanson had seen inland from Pembroke. The irises of the Captain’s eyes were bright red.

The mere sight of the Captain sent Stanson stumbling back into the table. He fell over, knocking his place setting on the ground. He continued to push himself away from the Captain. “Stay away from me, you demon!” he screamed at the Captain as his hand came down around his knife.

Omar jumped up and said, “Man, have you gone mad? Calm yourself.” He came around to the side of the table where Stanson and the Captain were at.

By the time Omar had gotten around the table, Stanson was standing back up, brandishing the knife.

“Mr. Stanson, I can explain my condition,” the Captain said, taking a step towards Stanson.

Stanson swiped at the Captain saying, “Back!”

Omar lunged at Stanson, grabbing for the knife and knocking both down. The two men rolled on the deck, struggling for the knife. The Captain bellowed at them to stop. Finally, they stopped with Omar on top of Stanson. Blood pooling on the floor underneath them.

Slowly, Omar rolled off of Stanson. Stanson was still clutching the knife, which was now stained red. Across Omar’s stomach was a deep, long gash.

“Oh god. Oh god what have I done?” Stanson said as he pushed himself away.

The Captain immediately dropped to his knees beside Omar and put his hands over Omar’s wound. “Mr. Omar, hold on. Damn, hold on.” He lowered his head over his First Mate.

Stanson stood up and looked at the scene. Omar lay on the ground, gasping for breath as the Captain leaned over him.

Still wide eyed over all that transpired, Stanson stood motionless. Slowly, he looked down at his hands and saw he still held the knife. At that moment, he heard Omar take his last gasp.

“Return to the hell that spawned you!” Sanson said as he plunged the knife with both hands into the back of the Captain’s neck.

Stanson released the knife, still buried in the Captain’s neck, and stepped back until he reached the bulkhead. The Captain collapsed onto Omar’s body, his jaw moving like he was trying to say something, but no sound would come. Then he was still.

Once the Captain was dead, Stanson slid down the bulkhead until he was sitting on the deck. A shudder ran through his body when he locked eyes with Omar. The first person he had seen in twenty years, his savior, now lay dead. Stanson pulled his legs up to his chest and lowered his head as he started crying.

There he sat for an indeterminate amount of time. When he looked up, things were the same as when he put his head down. Captain Mosi still laid on top of Omar’s body on the deck of the Captain’s quarters.

“I am sorry, my friend. I couldn’t save you from this monster,” he said as he stood up. He walked over to where the bodies lay and pulled the Captain off of Omar. He dragged the Captain’s lifeless body out on the open deck and unceremoniously pushed it over the side into the ocean, the knife still buried in the Captain’s neck.

“Back to whatever hell spawned you.”

Stanson went back to the Captain’s quarters and rummaged around in the Captain’s possessions until he found what he was looking for. A pair of coins to put over Omar’s eyes. Once he had done that, he stripped the Captain’s bed of its linens and used them to carefully wrap Omar’s body.

Before tying off Omar’s shroud, Stanson searched the Eless for something to weigh it down. From underneath the hold, he removed a few of the ballast stones. These he tied together with spare netting and set it upon the deck while he retrieved Omar’s body.

After staging Omar for his final rest, Stanson ensured the coins were still over Omar’s eyes. He then set about securing the shroud and affixing the weight to Omar’s feet. When all was ready, Stanson said a silent prayer before pushing the weight into the sea. A second after the weight hit the water, it pulled Omar’s body overboard.

“Farewell, my savior. May the heavens accept you,” Stanson said. He stood there for several minutes in silence as the Eless continued on.

When Stanson finally stepped away, he immediately made a quick survey of the Eless and her provisions.

The galley was next to the Captain’s quarters and a pair of doors gave access not only to the main deck, but the Captain’s quarters as well. There he found the normal complement of utensils expected in such a galley besides a stove and a washbasin.

He then went back down into the cramped hold. The roof was a chaotic mess of ropes, pulleys and other mechanics that allowed one man to operate the Eless. Because of these workings, Stanson had to stoop to move around.

He found several casks, small crates and a side of cured pork hanging from a deck beam. Upon further inspection, he found some casks held fresh water while one held wine.

In the crates, he found food stores of dried bread and cheese. However, one crate held small bags filled with a reddish brown bark. He took a small piece of bark and put it to his tongue. After tasting it, he quickly spit it out.

“Cinamon.”

The last crate also contained small sacks. These sacks contained small, dried berries and when Stanson tasted one, it had a mix of flavors. Other than the two crates of spices, there didn’t seem to be much of value in the hold.

Going back on deck, he went to the aftcastle and the ship’s wheel. He pulled out the table where he had seen the map and log book. After a few minutes of study, he could make a fair guess where he was.

“Only two and a half days out from Pembroke, if I’m reading this right. Or at least that is how long the Sea Pixie would have taken. Hopefully, the sky will be clear tonight so I can get a better idea of my position,” Stanson said. Excitement growing in his voice.

Patting the wheel, he said, “Don’t worry, Eless. I’ll take care of you should no one have a claim on you. You might not be as big as some other traders, but I doubt many can match you for speed.”

With that, he secured the helm and went back down to the Captain’s quarters. He paused at the threshold for a moment before entering. As he stepped into the room, he shivered as he looked at the stain on the deck where Omar and the Captain had died.

“I need to clean that up, but first, something to eat.” He went over to the table and filled his plate with lamb, bread and dried fruits and vegetables. Then he filled one cup with wine from the cask that was sitting on the Captain’s desk. When he went to take a sip, he shivered again. “Wouldn’t be proper to eat here until I clean,” so he went back on deck and ate.

After he finished eating, he went back to the Captain’s quarters via the galley. Again, he shivered as he entered. He went through the Captain’s personal effect to find clothes to clean up the blood, which had started to dry. He pulled a shirt and pair of pants from the wardrobe, paying no heed to their workmanship as he threw them on the pool of blood.

He went back to the galley to get a bucket before going back on deck to fill the bucket. Once he had gotten the sea water, he then set about cleaning. It took him several hours and several refreshes of the water to get most of the stain removed from the whitewashed deck. Standing up, he said, “A fresh coat of whitewash will get the rest.”

That evening there was a clear sky, and he got a better fix on his position. His earlier calculations proved to be very close to where he actually was. So when he secured everything and went back to his bunk to sleep, it was with the joy of knowing he would be home in two days.

The next morning, he was up early to get one last fix on his position. The Eless had drifted some off his desired heading, but not so much that he would lose much time getting to Pembroke. A slight course change and all was well again. Other than periodically checking his course, the rest of Stanson’s day was uneventful.

Near dusk, Stanson thought he spied a black whiff of smoke against the red sky. Try as he might, he could not tell if it was real or just his eyes playing tricks. It seemed to him to come from the direction that Pembroke lay. He continued to stare at it until the sun went down and then he went to bed.

When the morning came and he went on deck, he was met with something he had never seen before.

Off the port side of the Eless was a ship like nothing he had ever seen. She appeared to be a large cargo ship with a large black mast that spewed a black smoke and on her side was a wheel-like device. Though this strange ship was moving faster than the Eless, it had no sails.

Stanson ran to the Eless’s wheel as watched the other ship. When he took charge of the wheel and looked out over the Eless’s bow, he found that the whiff of black smoke was still there, but had grown and thickened. It now appeared to be a column of black smoke rising to the heavens.

For the next several hours, Stanson maintained a course towards the column of black smoke. The other ship seemed to be heading for it as well. “Maybe all that smoke is coming from Pembroke,” he whispered to himself.

An hour later, Stanson sighted land. As he approached it, he recognized where he was at; Pembroke. Another hour more of sailing, he would be home.

As he drew closer to Pembroke, he noticed it had changed. The once merchant port now was a large metropolitan area. Throughout the harbor was a collection of lattice structures with a boom on them. Along the piers, several ships were docked. These ships were more akin to the one Stanson had seen earlier than the Eless.

Beyond the harbor area, a new, larger settlement had sprung up. There was an array of buildings that dwarfed anything he had seen before and in a kaleidoscope of colors. Everywhere he looked all over Pembroke, he saw chimneys billowing out black smoke. As came closer, he could see carriages and wagons moving along the streets and causeways with no horses.

Stanson had no sooner reached the entrance to the harbor, when a ship that looked like it could have been a twin for the Eless, if she did not have those wheels on her sides and that black pipe in place of a proper mast, approached. As this other ship approached, someone on deck called out to Stanson, “Ahoy! Lower your sail and drop anchor. The Governor wishes to come aboard.”

“One moment,” Stanson said as he pulled the lever to lower the sail. Once lowered, the Eless began slowing to a crawl. He then released the anchor, and she came to a stop with a slight groan of protest.

Stanson then ran down to the main deck to catch and secure the mooring lines from the other ship. Once Stanson had tied them off, the crew of the other ship lowered the gangplank. A stately dressed man came across, accompanied by two guards. He had over his eyes, two pieces of glass of a dark green color, suspended by metal frames that hooked over his ears. The glass was so dark that the Stanson could not make out what he was looking at or the color of his eyes.

“I am Governor Mardon. Who are you? Where do you come from and where is the crew of the Eless?”

Stanson licked his lips before saying, “I am Earnest Stanson, your Excellency. I was bosun on the Sea Pixie. She sank during a storm after leaving here twenty years ago and I spent all those years alone on an island. The crew of the Eless spotted me and rescued me.”

“Then it is good you are home and safe. But tell me, where is the crew?”

Licking his lips again, Stanson closed his eyes. After a deep breath, he said, “There was a demon posing as the Captain. It killed Mr. Omar before I could kill it. A horrible-looking thing. Its skin was a white like I’ve never seen and it had these sickening red eyes.”

The Governor’s mouth opened slightly as he pulled the metal frames off his face, revealing his bright green eyes, which were forming tears.

A link to one of my stories 

To Draw Your Soul, You Must Give Your Soul  

Zach stared at the page on his drawing table with his pencil in hand. He had been sitting there for hours trying to sketch. The lamp that illuminated the paper only showed a few dots where his pencil had inadvertently touched the paper.

He had been sitting at his table in his studio for weeks during his free time and had nothing to show for it.  Every time he let his pencil touch the paper, he immediately drew it back. The problem was not that Zach did not know how to draw. He worked as a graphic artist, and his work received high praise. The only complaint about his work was it was flat, lacking depth. One co-worker commented that Zack’s work reminded him of old concept art because it had ‘no soul.’ Now sitting at his drawing table, he sought to correct that.

After another failed attempt to start, Zack leaned back in his chair. He again questioned himself, “Why is it so easy at work and impossible here?”

He had tried several techniques to at least start drawing. He looked at photos, looked out the window, and moved outside, but nothing helped. Zach had even hired a Feng Shui designer to redo his studio and nothing except a blank page.

He got up from his chair and paced around his two-bedroom apartment in frustration. His inability to draw outside of work was affecting his personal life.

Some of his friends stopped texting, and Brie, his girlfriend, had accused him of becoming distant.

Initially, when he had set upon this task, she had been supportive, believing he could overcome this. In the beginning, she had tried modeling for Zach, taken him to the park, and even made different arrangements for him. Fearing she may be a distraction, she faded back so as not to disturb him, and soon after, she stopped calling him.

Zach was obsessed with this and was finding himself more and more at his drawing table.

Several times in the last few days, he had tried to watch TV, but was back at his table before the opening credits had finished.

One Thursday evening, at the beginning of a rare four-day weekend for him, Zach sat down at his table, determined to put something down on paper.

Around 7:00 P.M. on Monday, Brie’s phone rang. She picked it up to see who was calling and discovered it was Zach.

She hadn’t spoken to him since last Sunday. Not to hear from him during the week had become the norm, but not to hear from him on a weekend was a first. She hesitated before deciding to answer the call.

“Hello Zach,” she said flatly.

“Come over. Something has happened. I think I did it,” Zach said. His voice had an edge to it, as if he was excited or worked up over something.

“What is it Zach? Is something wrong?” she asked as she sat up on the sofa.

“I can’t explain. Just come over so I can show you.”

“Ok, I’ll be over shortly.” No sooner than she had said that, the call disconnected.

It took her thirty minutes to get to Zach’s apartment, and she rang the doorbell several times before letting herself in. “Zach, I’m here,” she said. As she looked around the apartment, after disabling the alarm, she saw several drawings scattered across the apartment. Some were laying flat while others were in crumpled balls.

As she bent over to pick up some drawings, she called out again, but got no response.

Brie walked over to the dining room table to look at the drawings and put her purse down. Her eyes became as large as teacups at what she saw.

It was a portrait of her, laughing, done in Zach’s hand, but it differed from what she had seen him do before. She could feel the laughter in the black-and-white picture.

The next was another picture of her, this time of her crying, as she did when her dog, Coco, had to be put to sleep because of cancer. 

She uncrumpled one drawing of Zach. Looking at the charcoal drawing, she sensed the hurt and rage in the picture.

Most of the pictures were of either Zach or her, though there were some on other subjects. Each picture she looked at, regardless of the subject or medium used to create it, elicited some emotion in her.

Brie put the pictures down and went to look for Zach. As she was heading to the bedroom, she called out for him again, but he still did not respond.

She looked into his office.

Zach was head down on his drawing table, facing away, asleep.

She walked over to his seat, careful not to step on the pages scattered on the floor. As Brie leaned over to wake Zach up, she noticed the picture he had been working on. 

It was a picture of them standing together, smiling. In her arms, she was cradling what appeared to be a baby while he held the outline of an older child. This picture differed from all the others she had seen from Zach. Though incomplete, she could feel the happiness she and Zach were sharing in the picture. But the children, which were just mere rough outlines, seemed to drain her emotions. Above the picture was a piece of paper taped to the table saying, “To draw a soul, you must give your soul.”

When she went to shake Zach to wake him up, he didn’t move. As she turned his chair, Zach fell out onto the floor, his face discolored. She knelt down to check to see if he was alright and noticed he wasn’t breathing.

“Oh, God!” she exclaimed as she raced back to the door of his apartment. “Help! Someone help,” she screamed. Brie ran to her purse to get her phone and called 9-1-1.

Brie was sitting on the bumper of the police SUV crying when her brother, Doug, arrived. Not seeing his sister, Doug called out, “Brie, I’m here.”

“Douglass. I’m over here, by the police car,” she said back, her entire face was red from crying.

Doug made his way to his sister. The police detained him momentarily, but once he explained who he was, they let him through.

A young couple, Zach’s neighbors, were with her and had brought her tea. Brie stood up and handed her tea to Zara and hugged her brother as she started sobbing. “Zach is dead. It is my fault. I didn’t stay with him.”

“Don’t say that Miss Howe. Zach was a good man, and he would not have done something that would hurt others, especially you,” Bernas said. “I think something unforeseen and tragic befell our friend.”

Doug held out his hand and said, “I’m Doug, Brie’s brother. Thanks for watching her until I got here.”

Bernas reached out to shake Doug’s hand and said, “I’m Bernas Rojhat, and this is my wife, Zara.”

Zara nodded to Doug and said, “It was no problem. She didn’t need to be alone. I am sorry I don’t have another cup or I would offer you tea.”

Just then, a detective came up to them. “Mr. and Mrs. Rojhat?”

“Yes,” Bernas said.

“They’ve brought Mr. Daniel down. You can return to your apartment. Detective Winters will go with you to ask a few questions.”

“Thank you.”

Zara turned to Doug and said, “Take care of her.”

Doug nodded. “I will. Again, thanks.”

The detective looked at the Howes. “Miss Howe, I’m Detective Sommers. And who is this with you?”

Brie faced the detective. “My brother, Doug.”

“I need you to come down to the station with me and answer some questions, Miss Howe.”

Doug reached into his jacket pocket and handed the detective a pair of cards. “I’m an attorney. Why can’t you ask her here?”

Summors looked at the cards before raising an eyebrow and handing one back. “Firm of Dewey, Cheetum, and Howe. Okay. Miss Howe, you told the officer you received a call from Mr. Daniel today around seven?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure it was him?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

“It’s best we continue this at the station. Just so you know, we’ve already started pulling his phone records. There has been no activity on his phone or number for at least forty-eight hours when it appears the battery died. Also, the coroner says he has been dead for at least that long.”

Brie shook her head as she pulled her phone out. “I swear, he called me. Here in the log,” she said as she showed the detective the phone.

Just then, her phone rang. The caller ID showed it was Zach calling.

“Answer it on speaker,” Sommers said.

Brie’s hand was shaking when she hit the button. “Hello?”

“Brie. I did it. I was able to put my soul into my work. You saw?” 

“Yes.” Her voice quivered as she answered. “But… but how?”

“I don’t know how. You can keep all the drawings, but burn the one of us on my desk. Promise me you’ll burn it.”

Tears again were running down Brie’s face. “Zach, I can’t…”

Emphatically, the voice on the line said, “Promise me you’ll burn it.”

“Yes, I’ll burn it. I promise.”

“Doug, make sure she does.”

Doug licked his lips and said, “I will.”

“Thanks. Brie, I’m sorry it turned out like this. I love you.”

Then the line went dead.

Brie turned to her brother and buried her head in Doug’s chest and shoulder while Doug and Sommers looked at the phone with their mouths open.

“Was that…?” the detective asked as he ran his hand across his bald head.

A link to one of my stories 

Stains From a Chicken Salad Sandwich 

Karl Dewey entered the canteen on the ground floor of the office building. His office, D. C. and H., of which he was ‘D.’, was on the ninth floor. The main lunch rush had cleared out, and Karl quickly chose a chicken salad sandwich and a diet soda. He paid the cashier without acknowledging him as he rang the items and took his money, with neither really acknowledging the other. Karl took his lunch and left the building. He had a sour look on his face as he crossed the street to the park. He was supposed to be having lunch with his partners, celebrating the signing of a new client, but a matter concerning an old client called for his attention. Now that they settled the matter, he didn’t go to the lunch party. It would be winding down by the time he got there.

Once in the park, he made for a set of benches under a couple of elm trees. This late in the lunch hour, its seclusion would offer some privacy. Years before, it had a lovely outlook over the river, but new greenery obscured the view. The shrubs didn’t bother Karl; the city had traded the view for privacy, which suited him fine at the moment.

Karl sat down on the bench, opened his soda, and took a drink. After taking a sip, he wrinkled his face.

“Blah, warm.”

He pulled out his tablet to watch a wildlife video. After selecting one on kudus, he set his tablet aside and unwrapped his lunch, and started to eat.

In the video, the researchers had just darted kudu to take measurements of it. They discussed what to do with it as they tagged and measured it. Karl felt a sting in his neck. He slapped at the bug he believed was the culprit.

“I wish they’d do a better job spraying for bugs.”

While Karl was chewing another bite of his sandwich, the researchers had found and darted another kudu. He could feel his eyes growing heavy, and his mind wandered like he was in a dream. In this state, Karl imagined what it was like for the kudu.

In his mind, he could feel himself slumping on the bend, and his head nodded forward. The hand that held the chick salad sandwich fell onto his chest before gently dragging it down his tie and shirt before landing on his lap. The sandwich went tumbling out of his hand and onto the ground.

Karl, unable to move, saw the researchers’ approach through blurry eyes. At first, it was a pair of rangers dressed in metallic green suits with a gray ski mask pulled down, so it hid their faces. Each held a rod between their index and middle finger of their four fingered hands. Once they secured the area, they motioned to another.

This one wore the same outfit as the first two. However, this one didn’t have a rod in hand but held a device about twice as thick as a cell phone. It pointed the device at Karl and waved it for a moment before putting it away.

No sooner had this ranger put the device away than several researchers descended on Karl. These wore silver or gray suits, but wore the same ski masks. Now that these researchers were closer, Karl could see that the eyes on the ski masks were oval and had a black cover over them. ‘These researchers seem a bit odd,’ Karl thought to himself.

As the strangely dressed researchers pored over Karl, they took his various measurements and samples. One had a short cylinder-type device that emitted a blue beam at Karl and ran it over his body. While this was going on, another researcher put a sleeve over one of Karl’s fingers. Through his bleary eyes, he watched the end of the blue sleeve turn a dark red. The researchers seemed to chirp and click to one another in an odd language during this.

While most of the researchers examined Karl, a pair took notice of his partially eaten sandwich. They took the remains and placed them in a container before scurrying off. Another researcher examined his soda, using a long thin rod to draw some out.

Most of the researchers left after they had performed their tasks. When there was only one gray-clad researcher left, he approached Karl with a clamp-like device in his hand, which he held up to the side of Karl’s head. With an electric buzz, Karl felt like something had shocked him on the ear; the researcher chirped, then disappeared with his fellow researchers. Karl shook his head after a few minutes and looked around. Everything seemed to be as it was when he first sat down. He looked on the ground for the remains of his sandwich, but all he found was its wrapper. Picking up his tablet, he stopped the video before putting it in his pocket. He then grabbed the sandwich wrapper and soda before standing up.

He felt a little lightheaded as he stood as if he was waking for the day. He took a deep breath and shook his head before heading back to the office.

He entered the building and made for the canteen for some coffee. But, again, he and the cashier interacted with the fewest words possible.

He took the elevator to the ninth floor. As he entered the double doors into the reception area of his firm, Ms. Habib greeted him. “Mr. Dewey, I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I didn’t take my phone with me to lunch. I just went over to the park. Is there something going on?”

“Yes. Mrs. Howe called and said there was a fire in the building next to the restaurant, and it filled the restaurant with smoke. No one was hurt, but she said they were all going home for the day.”

Karl grimaced at the news. He took a sip of coffee before asking, “So I’m left to man the fort? Any appointments this afternoon?”

She shook her head and said, “Except for a couple of interns, it is just you and me. The schedule is clear. You could run home and change your shirt and tie unless you have something pressing. You’ve got something all over it.”

He looked down and noticed stains from his sandwich when he dropped it. “Bah. No, I’ll be fine. I have a spare shirt and tie in my office. Thanks for pointing it out.”

A link to one of my stories 

New Home Found, New Home Lost 

A ship orbited a blue-green planet, the third from its host star.  Of the numerous planets that were detected from the edge of the star’s heliopause, this was 1 of 2 with liquid water on its surface.  The other with liquid water had an eccentric orbit and spent most of its time as an ice ball, or at least that is how the computer models showed.

Qikzu turned an eye stalk to the monitor showing the projected orbits of thousands of objects in this solar system.  Short of the occasional small asteroid or comet, few objects crossed the path of this world.  The gas giants further out and this planet’s satellite made sure of that.

A flash of a green light on the control panel distracted Qikzu momentarily, its lower mandibles twitching.  A single maneuvering thruster showed a fault, then cleared.  Twice, Qikzu ran diagnostics on the thruster and both times it showed good.

Turning another eye stalk to a different monitor, Qikzu operated the control panel with one of its 8 fore limbs.  On the display, there were several measurements about the surface of the planet.  Its temperature, humidity, the composition of its atmosphere and oceans all appeared to be within tolerable ranges.  In addition, the levels of iridium were well within the safe zone.

This planet seemed like an ideal place for a colony for Qikzu’s people.  Their homeworld was nearly dead due to tectonic activity.  For generations, earthquakes and volcanoes had ravaged the planet.  This planet was quite compared to the homeworld.

Some of Qikzu’s people had left for the stars before the earthquakes.  More left when earthquakes started.  Now, those 100’s of colonies were overcrowded and new worlds needed to be found.

The planet Qikzu orbited was a rare gem.  Its people would not require environmental centers to live here.  Nearly the entire land mass would be available to colonization, not just areas where environmental domes could be built.

It went back to examining the data that the scanners were showing on the planet.  It contained life.  There were organisms that were harvesting the starlight to produce food.  In addition, there were quadrupeds and bipeds roaming the landscape.  Many of the quadrupeds tended to cluster together, while the bipeds milled about in groups no larger than 4 or 5.

Qikzu studied the life forms of this world.  The dominant, higher forms were, like all higher life forms on other planets, unique.  It had never seen life forms as large as some of the quadrupeds.  Stranger still was these creatures did not have an exoskeleton.  Their entire mass seemed to be supported by an internal calcium structure.

“I will leave all the biology to the experts,” it thought to itself.  “Even though there is no sign of myriapol intelligence down there, we might have relatives there.  Just primitive.”

Qikzu set the computer to calculate the course home before leaving the bridge, its 40 legs clacking on the deck as it gripped it in the microgravity environment.  It was not aware that the maneuvering thruster showed a fault again.

After a short while, the ship broke out of orbit and headed out of the system.  Qikzu had finished preparations to hibernate for the FTL journey home when the ship crossed the orbit of the 5th planet, the largest gas giant in the system.  It had 25 times that distance to go before it would accelerate to FTL.

As the ship passed an asteroid, the computer made a slight course correction.  The thruster that had been intermittently showing a fault spit out a tiny chunk of frozen gas.  Nothing about this registered on any of the sensors, so it went undetected.

The piece of frozen gas sped on in the general direction of the asteroid.  Though the asteroid was tiny compared to a planet, it was massive compared to the frozen gas.  The gravity of the asteroid was just enough to bend the path of the gas towards it.  With incredible velocity, the gas slammed into the asteroid.

Seemingly unaffected, the asteroid continued its drift through the solar system.  It crossed the orbit of the 5th planet where gravity tugged on it, bending its orbit slightly.

The asteroid continued to drift through the solar system until the 3rd planet and its satellite pulled on it again.  The asteroid came incredibly close to the satellite, but now headed towards the blue green-planet.

When Qikzu returned with another myriapol ship, it looked in disbelief at what they found.  They did not see a blue-green world, but one that was covered in a gray-black coat of clouds.

“I thought you said this planet was habitable,” Nida said.  “Look at it.  I don’t need sensors and probes to tell me it is a wasteland.”  Its 4 eye stalks glaring at Qikzu on the monitor, both sets of its mandibles opening and closing in frustration.

“I assure you, when I left, the planet was green and full of life.  I showed you the data capture.  Even the iridium levels were well within safety limits.  Nearly non-existent.”

“The iridium levels are beyond lethal levels.  If we send anything down there, it will be stuck forever.  That planet is a toxic dump.  We’re leaving.”

Soon, Nida’s ship left orbit heading out of the system, never to return.  A short while later, Qikzu’s ship also broke orbit.  It checked the controls before it went to prepare for hibernation when it realized the course was locked.  It was not heading out of the system, but deeper into it, through the photosphere of the star.

The formerly blue-green planet continued to orbit the star.  Life survived on it.  Many of the creatures that had once inhabited it were now gone forever, extinct, but a few smaller creatures made it through the devastation.  As the planet continued to revolve around its star, they thrived and diversified.

A link to one of my stories 

Writer's Purgatory 

Shortly after 6 P. M. Rafael sat down at his computer with one of his large spiral notebooks. “One last chapter and I’m done with this,” he said as he pulled up the novel he had been working on since he won a creative writing award as a freshman in high school.

The bookcases that lined the walls of his small two-bedroom apartment held the books he had read, various binders containing half-finished drafts, and knick knacks that fed his imagination. It was an accumulation of fifteen years of him attempting to write just one novel.

He adjusted himself in his chair as the light from the computer screen reflected off his glasses. Rather than dive into the story, completing his tale of revenge and redemption, he clicked on one of his social media accounts.  Rafael had built a substantial following online and wanted to do a quick check on how everyone was doing. 

Through networking online, he had made friends with fellow writers, editors and even a few literary agents who wanted to see a full first draft from him.

As he scrolled through the messages, it was a lot of the same: bad jokes, some plot dilemmas by fellow writers, and cat memes.  Just as he was about to close it down and get to work, he saw one last meme.

It was the “red pill, blue pill” meme that he had seen a thousand times before. 

Rafael only saw it for a second before he closed the window and switched over to his novel.  As he was thumbing through his notebook to find his notes for the final chapter, a voice in his head said, “That is an idea for a story.”

He continued to flip through the pages. “I’ve got enough going on as it is.”

“It will only take a little while to write it, and you’ve practically already written that last chapter.”

When he found the page he was looking for, Rafael sat the notebook on a stand next to his screen and put his hands on the keyboard. And…

Nothing.

The words wouldn’t come to him.

After a minute of looking at the blank page on the screen, he scrolled back to reread the last scene. When he was done, he went back to the blank page, but still nothing.

He pulled his hands off the keyboard and rapped his fingers on his desk. His eyes looked over at an ornate knife that was the inspiration for his story. But beside it, a figurine of nine Greek goddesses drew his attention: The Muses.

It had been a present from his girlfriend, Irene, when he won his award in high school. Rafael always kept it near his desk when he was writing as a ward against writer’s block.

“My sisters won’t help you,” said the voice. 

Rafael closed his eyes and tilted his head back.  After several breaths, he sat back upright and looked at his notes and started typing.  When he looked at the screen to see what he had written, he saw he had only copied his notes over. Not a word of actual, creative prose.

He growled as he deleted what he had typed. Rafael glanced at the clock and realized he had been at it for over an hour, with no progress to show for it.

“Why can’t I finish writing a book?  Even just a short story?  I’ve got enough things started for a lifetime,” he said to the air.  In frustration, he backed his chair from the desk and went to the kitchen to get something to drink.

When he returned, he sat back down. “Ok, I’m going to finish this!”

“Not until you work on mine. When we’re done, I’ll help you finish this one.”

Rafael began typing again, his eyes bouncing between his notes and the screen as he typed.  He had written a dozen lines when he stopped.  What showed on the screen had nothing to do with the story he wanted to complete, but was something completely new.  He curled his hands into fists and beat his head with them.

When he had completed his mini-tantrum, he cut out what he had written.  

“Our work! What are you doing?”

“You win,” he said as he opened a new project.

“Oh, goodie!” the voice exclaimed gleefully.  “We’ll just outline it and flesh out a couple of critical scenes.  It won’t take long.  I promise.”

Rafael pasted what he had written in the old story into the new project. He saved the project to show the Muse he was going to keep up his end of the bargain.  “O.K., let’s get this over with,” he said as he shifted in his chair.

His fingers danced across the keyboard.  Letters forming words.  Words forming lines and sentences as the premise, characters, and the essence of the story took place in the notes he was making. The only interruption was him occasionally grabbing the mouse to move the cursor to a previous part to add some detail or a note.

During this, the Muse directed Rafael and his world shrank down to just this new story.  It didn’t register with him that the drink he had gotten from the kitchen had grown warm.  All that mattered was this new story.

He paused his work and scrolled back to the beginning, not comprehending how far that was. Rafael’s eyes darted back and forth as he skimmed his notes so far and, occasionally, added another.

Without paying attention to the time, Rafael got up and went to the bathroom. While he was there, he rummaged through the medicine cabinet for two pill bottles.  With the bottles in hand, he returned to his writing room.

Once he sat back down in his chair, he set the two bottles on his desk while he opened the desk drawer and pulled two more bottles out.  These were identical to the ones he had just retrieved from the bathroom.  After he had combined the contents of the ones he had taken from the bathroom and the ones from his desk, he put the two refilled bottles back in the drawer and closed it.

From his pen holder, he pulled two markers, one red and one blue.  He then wrote “red” on one bottle and “blue” on the other in the matching color.  With a slight nod, he put the markers back and placed the bottles on the shelf beside his desk.

“Inspiration, that is a nice touch. I like it.”

Looking back at the computer screen, Rafael went back to the new story he had been working on.  He repositioned the cursor and resumed his typing. This time, he began flushing out the opening scene, setting the stage for the story.

He wrote a few paragraphs before moving to another part of the story and laying out that scene. He went like this until he hit the end of his incomplete notes. Rafael finally looked at the clock.

It showed 1:18.

Rafael then checked his page count.  He had generated twenty-two pages.

The Muse, in a tone showing her approval, said, “We made some really good progress on this. We can finish it later.  Now, back to the other story.”

Rafael hung his head as hit ‘print.’ “A half-wasted night. And I’ve got to get up in the morning to go to work.” He shuffled through a stack of binders on his desk, looking for an empty one. Once he found one, he took the printed copy, punched holes in it, and put them in the new binder.

“Half-wasted?” asked the Muse.

A link to one of my stories

Stargazer

The android, designated as WNRV, sat in the control room of its ship as it tumbled lazily through the void of space. The lone occupant had its optical sensors trained on the viewscreen as they had been for the last two weeks. As it always did during such journeys, WNRV watched the stars drift past on the viewscreen and remembered its existence.

Twenty-five centuries ago, WNRV had a different designation, a name: Jhanda. He had been human once and thought about those times. He remembered riding his bike by the wheat farms in the country, out to the hills, where he would lie for hours watching the stars. In his mind, he replayed the dinners with his family or friends and laughing with them. Just a few of the thousands of other events Jhanda could recall, all now electronic patterns in his cyber brain.

Jhanda had lived during the turn of the 22nd century when it appeared that humans had mastered planetary climate, but still had much to learn about stellar life cycles.

It was during this time that the sun cooled dramatically, with little warning. The scientists of the day couldn’t predict how much the sun would cool or for how long. To ensure humanity’s survival, scientists and world leaders devised a plan to reach out to the stars.

Not sure if the nearest exoplanets could support biological life, the first people to reach them would be cybernetic humans. They would take a person’s mind and transfer it to a cyber brain and then connect it to an android body.

Earth built and launched explorer ships with thousands of such people to the nearest exoplanets. But before the first of these explorer ships completed their forty-plus year trip, they received a message from Earth: “Good luck, and godspeed.”

A call from another ship interrupted Jhanda’s respite. “Ore Hauler TQ1, this is Galactic Transport X818. You are tumbling, are you in distress? Please acknowledge.”

Jhanda stood and placed his hand on the control panel so his cyber brain could interface with the ship’s communication system. “Galactic Transport X818, this is Ore Hauler TQ1. All systems are nominal. Currently, attitude controls are turned off. When I reach the alignment corridor to CT-287c, I will reactivate them.”

“Please stabilize. We wish to dock.”

With his cyber brain still connected to the ship’s controls, he activated the attitude controls. In his mind, he saw the readings that the ship’s tumble was coming to a halt and it was orienting itself so the other ship could dock with him.

“Galactic Transport X818, my ship is stabilized, and I am in position to accept docking.”

“Acknowledged. Beginning docking.”

Jhanda left the control room and began walking to the docking port. Once there, he waited for the other ship to dock. A few minutes later, Jhanda registered the vibration as the other ship connected to his ship. Had he been his old biological self, he would have felt nothing.

He put his hand on the monitor panel and watched the airlock go through its cycle of stabilizing the air pressure as the two visitors came aboard. Now that all humans were cybernetic, there was no need for air on spaceships to maintain life. On ships like Jhanda’s, the air was there mostly to minimize volatiles that might be trapped in his cargo.

When the cycle was complete, the doors to the hatch opened for the two visitors. The shorter of the two visitors was a type II, which made Jhanda feel uneasy.

They derived their baseline cyber brain mapping from two type ones, something akin to a biological infant. However, where type Is had anatomically correct bodies, the new type IIs often had arms that were designed differently. They may have a second elbow, elongated upper and lower arms, or longer, supple fingers.

What bothered Jhanda the most about the type IIs, though, was them.

When dealing with his fellow refugees from Earth, he noticed certain body language elements in them. It might be a tilt of the head, a slight turn of the body, or gestures with arms and hands when talking. These little quirks made Jhanda feel comfortable around them.

Type IIs lacked these idiosyncrasies. When dealing with them, Jhanda often felt like he was talking to a manakin as they stayed fixed in their position without moving. 

The other was a type IV, whose cyber brain had no direct baselines from a type I. 

It stood over two meters tall, with a sphere as a head atop a cylindrical body. At the base of the cylinder was a set of six tentacles that ended in four fingers. These six tentacles served both as its legs and arms.

Where Jhanda felt uneasy around type IIs, IVs set him on edge. 

Not only did they not look humanoid and had the same body language deficiency of type IIs, their cold mannerisms, monotone voices, and lack of gender designations made them seem more AI to Jhanda than being descended from humans.

“Welcome aboard the Ore Hauler TQ1. I am WNRV, its operator, but you can call me Jhanda. What can I do for you?” Jhanda said. In the centuries after leaving Earth and the advent of type II and type III cybernetics, and the population soaring into the trillions, people began to use designations rather than names. 

The two visitors crossed the threshold of the airlock. “I am AOKD-FOSA-KLDS-EWRN, you may refer to me as EWRN. This is DFOWDP. You are being reassigned. DFOWDP will replace you,” the type IV said in its monotone synthetic voice. It used one of its tentacles to indicate the type II. “Show us the control room.”

Jhanda’s head quickly, but subtly, tilted to one side. “Why am I being replaced? Is my performance below standard?”

“Negative. Your performance has been above expectations. You possess talents that may be useful elsewhere. We can discuss it more once we are aboard Galactic Transport X818.”

“Follow me then,” Jhanda said as he turned and started leading the others to the control room.

The three walked to the control room in silence. When they arrived, EWRN paused before going in. “Are you experiencing some defects, WNRV?” 

Jhanda shook his head and said, “No. Is there a problem, EWRN?”

“I believe EWRN is referring to the chair and monitor,” DFOWDP said in a voice that had a feminine tone to it. “They are unnecessary unless you are experiencing some defect.”

When he had a human body, Jhanda would have smiled at this. In his current form, he didn’t have the capacity to smile. He simply turned to the other two. “During trips, I like to sit back and look at the stars. Once I am on course and the engines shut down, I put the ship into a slow tumble so it creates the illusion that the stars are passing by like they did on Earth at night.”

“What astronomical data and insights have you accumulated?” EWRN said in its impersonal voice.

“EWRN, I believe Jhanda is stargazing. Just merely looking at the stars and possibly finding pictures or shapes in them. My parents tried to teach me something similar with clouds,” DFOWDP said. “I rarely saw anything other than clouds, though.”

“You are correct,” Jhanda said with a nod of his head.

EWRN entered the control room saying, “Standard star registries should be sufficient.”

“Proceed with the transfer of command,” EWRN said as it walked to the control panel and placed one of its tentacles on the panel. Jhanda and DFOWDP followed its lead. A second after all three had touched the panel, they stepped back.

“DFOWDP, the ship is now yours. WNRV, please come with me.”

Jhanda turned to DFOWDP and extended his hand. “I wish you the best.”

“Thank you. I will endeavor to continue to operate this ship in a satisfactory manner, Jhanda,” DFOWDP said, not acknowledging Jhanda’s outstretched hand.

EWRN and Jhanda made their way back to the airlock, leaving DFOWDP in the control room. During their walk and the processing through the airlock, neither said a word.

Once aboard the X818, EWRN led Jhanda to a room towards the interior of the ship. Unlike his ship, which only had a control room, engine room, cargo holds and a couple of utility rooms, the GT-X818 had far more compartments. EWRN opened the door and asked Jhanda to step inside.

As he entered, Jhanda saw three other type Is standing in the center of the room. They were conversing among themselves as they were facing each other and making gestures with their arms and hands.

Along one wall was part of a cybernetic maintenance pod and various monitors and other pieces of equipment.

Seeing Jhanda enter the room, one of the three individuals looked at Jhanda and said in a feminine tone, “Welcome. Are you WNRV, Jhanda Chadda?”

“I am.”

The type I stepped towards Jhanda and extended a hand. “I am Doctor Agrina Rubene, and this is Doctor Desa bin Demak, and Doctor Nicola Roy.” As Doctor Rubene named her colleagues, she tilted her head towards each one. Doctor bin Demak and Doctor Roy then stepped forward, and the three took turns shaking Jhanda’s hand.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” he said. “Can you tell me what is going on? EWRN said I was being reassigned because of talents I possess that may be useful elsewhere and it has been centuries since I’ve been in the company of more than one other type I at a time.” When Jhanda shook hands with Doctor bin Demak, he noticed engraved on his chest plate was, “I am not a designation, I am a name.”

Doctor Roy nodded his head. On his chest plate, he had stenciled “Hello, My Name is Nicola Roy.” 

“I can completely comprehend that. It has been ten years since I interacted with another person, face to face.”

“Mr. Chadda, if you would step over to the table, we will explain,” Doctor bin Demak said, indicating the maintenance pod.

“Thank you EWRN. Unless you have something to add, you may go. We will call you if we need anything,” Doctor Roy said to the type IV who still hovered at the doorway.

Closing the door, it said, “Understood.”

Jhanda looked back over his shoulder and watched the door obscure EWRN as it slid closed. He then stepped over to the maintenance pod. As he entered the open pod and leaned back, he said, “Is there something wrong with me?”

“No,” Doctor Rubene said. “You are a candidate for a very special project. One that will have a long-lasting impact on what is left of humanity. Now turn your head away from me.” Jhanda did as instructed and soon felt an interface cable being attached to the base of his head.

When the cable connected, Jhanda had expected his sensory inputs to decrease, as if to prepare for maintenance or hibernation. Instead, their levels remained constant.

“We have a good connection,” Doctor Roy said. “How are you feeling, Mr. Chadda?”

Jhanda turned his head and looked straight ahead. “Everything seems to be normal. Are you sure you have a good connection?”

Doctor Rubene looked up from the control board she had her hand on. “Quite sure. The data link is to watch and monitor how your brain functions, so you aren’t having the same sensations you would expect if a checkup was being done.”

“Everything is ready. Doctor Roy, if you would disable his motor controls. Mr. Chadda, we are going to ask you a series of questions and to perform tasks. Please respond as quickly as possible. There are no right or wrong answers. Doctor Rubene, ladies first, please.”

The feed from his optic sensors was turned off and replaced with a simulation of a plain white room. The three doctors began asking Jhanda a series of bizarre and unrelated questions in a rapid fire: What is the sound of a rose? What does the moon smell like? Does Grieg’s music taste sweet or sour?

Interspersed with these questions, they asked him to play childhood games like checkers or go fish. They even asked him to build and draw items with the materials they provided in the simulated room. Sometimes they were specific about what to make, like the Taj Mahal. Other times, it was abstract, such as a feeling of peace.

After an indeterminate amount of time and questions, Doctor Roy said, “We have one last test to perform. We’re going to shut down all inputs to your brain and just record what happens. No need to be alarmed.”

Everything for Jhanda went dark and silent, and he let his mind drift.

In his mind, he saw visions of farms in India as he rode his bike to one of his favorite places to look up at the stars. He thought he smelled the fresh cut wheat and heard the threshers in the fields.

This vision changed as he was now looking down on a large stretch of grassland with a herd of deer grazing. In the corner of his eye, he spied a tiger just entering the grass from the treeline. The tiger looked odd as its fangs scraped the ground and its paws looked like flippers.

He snapped out of this state suddenly when he heard Doctor Rubene say, “Okay, that does it. We’re re-enabling your sensory inputs.”

While Jhanda’s sensory inputs came back online, he felt a series of sensations that he had not felt in centuries. Not since he had a biological body. He felt like he was waking up.

“That was unusual, doctor. It was almost like…” he said.

“You were dreaming? You were,” Doctor Rubene said.

Jhanda looked at the doctor while he tried to comprehend what she just said.

“Doctor bin Demak and Doctor Roy are verifying everything, but it looks like you are a suitable candidate to be one of humanity’s saviors.”

“Humanity’s savior? How? Aren’t we practically immortal?”

Doctor Rubene shook her head. “No, we’re not. There were over ten million of us who left Earth. After twenty-five centuries, there are slightly over nine and a half million of us left. Even at that rate, we would all be gone at some point.”

“Though theoretically we are immortal as cybernetics, only those of us from Earth have any real creativity. Type III and type IVs can out think us, but they lack inspiration. It was our ideas that they took and made tremendous advances on. But without us, they can only improve on things, not create. We are asking those who can transition back to biological bodies to do so and have children and to hopefully ensure our survival.”

“But why children?”

“There seems to be something about growing up with a biological brain that is conducive to creativity. Something not yet discovered. Type IIs have some imagination, but even that pales to our own.”

“And it appears that imagination is tied to empathy and personal feelings. That is why some of us view the others as more machine than human.”

Jhanda looked at the doctor in silence, letting all this sink in.

“We have a copy of your DNA. When and if you are selected, we will engineer you a new body, based on your old one, and transfer your mind to it. We can even make you a woman if you’d like.”

“If I’m accepted, I’ll do it. I’m curious to see what the stars are like on Earth now.”

“You won’t be going to Earth. It isn’t quite ready for us to go home yet. Our new home will be SH-108e, also known as Tellus or Earth II. With a copy of the Global Genome Project database we brought with us from Earth, we are trying to make Tellus a copy of Earth.”

“Think hard about your decision, though. The human mind doesn’t appear to survive multiple transfers to and from biological brains.”

Jhanda nodded his head. “I don’t have to think about it. To see the stars, to actually talk to someone and touch them. Just to be my old self again, that is enough to convince me.”

Doctor Rubene reached out and took Jhanda’s hand in her own. “Then I will let the others know, and we’ll get a maintenance pod ready for you.”

An hour later, Jhanda was in a maintenance pod and placed into stasis for the journey to Tellus.

Jhanda didn’t know how long he was in stasis. Normally, when in stasis, nothing transpired in the months or years he was in stasis. As someone described it, it was like you didn’t exist for years or decades at a time.

This time, it was different.

He was sitting on a blanket, looking up at the stars, describing the constellations to children he didn’t recognize. The children sat around him listening and their eyes were as big as saucers, and the more he talked, the bigger their eyes got.

Jhanda then reached up and plucked the star Atlas from the sky. As he did this, he heard The Pleiades, the Seven Sisters, giggle. It mixed with the exclamations of excitement from the children as he handed the star to the children to pass around and look at.

While the children were marveling at the star, one of them said they were thirsty. Looking around, Jhanda saw the Little Dipper. He grabbed it by the handle and pulled it down so the children could take turns drinking from it.

He was enjoying what he was doing when things started going dark. He thought he heard something. Not the interpretation of sounds that he was so familiar with, but actual sounds. On his extremities, there was a sensation that reminded him of something poking him.

“What is happening?” he tried to ask, but all he heard was a drawn-out moan.

In response, he felt pressure on his left hand. Not something pressing against his hand, but he could feel the structure of his hand shift slightly under a gentle squeeze and it felt warm.

Jhanda heard an odd voice say, “Mr. Chadda, I’m Doctor Sanie Osman. Everything is fine. You are in hospital and just finished undergoing transference. Just relax and rest. Nurse Turner, please stay with him and call me when he wakes up.”

“Yes, Doctor,” came a reply just before Jhanda lost consciousness again.

He didn’t know how long he had been out when he woke up again and was experiencing a host of strange sensations. When his optics came online, he realized he wasn’t seeing things with artificial photoreceptors, but he was seeing things as he did when he was a biological human.

When he tried to look around, he could only make out vague shapes in the darkness that surrounded him.

Again he tried to ask, “What is happening?” but only managed a slurred groan.

“One second, Mr. Chadda,” an artificial voice said in reply. He heard the clacking of metallic feet on the floor coming towards him. When it stopped, he felt something that he could only describe as a hum in his head, like some electronic device that was switched on.

“How do you feel, Mr. Chadda?” 

“Strange,” in his slurred speech. At the same time, an artificial voice that seemed to have no gender echoed his words.

“That is normal. Excuse me while I call Doctor Osman.” There was a moment of silence before the voice said, “The Doctor says for you to lie still and she will be in shortly to see you.”

“Where am I? What is happening? Who are you?”

“I am Nurse Turner, but you can refer to me as Al. Currently, you are in hospital. I’ll let Doctor Osman explain the rest when she gets here. Do you need a blanket? You seem cold.”

When Nurse Turner said ‘cold,’ Jhanda suddenly made sense of one of the strange sensations he was experiencing. “Yes, please,” he said.

A moment later, he felt something warm draped across his body, weighing it down. The weight was not massive, but it felt like it kept Jhanda from moving and felt comforting.

Jhanda spent several minutes trying to sort out these new sensations he was experiencing when a door opened up and a blinding light flooded in. The intensity of the light was so strong that it caused Jhanda to jerk and close his eyes.

He heard the door close and a woman’s voice say, “Mr. Chadda, I’m Doctor Osman. How are you feeling?” After Doctor Osman finished her question, he heard a series of claps he couldn’t identify coming towards him.

“I feel strange. What is going on?”

Doctor Osman said, “You are in hospital. You underwent transference. Right now, your brain is trying to make sense of new sensations. Much like when you became a cybernetic. I’ve turned the lights up just a little. Can you open your eyes and look around?”

Slowly, Jhanda opened his eyes again. The room was dark, but not as dark as it was before, and his vision was still blurry. It was hard to make out details in the dim light with eyes that were learning to focus. He could make out two figures in the room. The one by his head had a humanoid shape, but didn’t move and seemed to have something on its head and something draped over its body.

The other, who was on the other side of the room, also looked humanoid from the waist up. The lower part seemed to be a mix of legs and a rectangular frame. It was holding on to the frame as it walked towards Jhanda.

“Are you having a bad day, Doctor Osman, or did you overdo it, again?” the figure at the side of Jhanda’s bed said. Looking at the figure by his bed when it spoke, Jhanda realized it was Nurse Turner. In his mind, he envisioned a type II wearing an ancient nurse’s outfit, complete with cornett.

Jhanda chuckled as he said, “Doctor Osman, please tell me Nurse Turner isn’t wearing a nurse’s uniform.”

Jhanda felt a sensation on his hand again like before. Doctor Osman was now sitting beside him, holding his hand. Being so close, Jhanda could make out she had a dark complexion and with her hair pulled back on her head.

She responded with her own laugh. “Yes, Nurse Turner is wearing a 1950s nurse’s dress, complete with a cornett. He does that to help patients relax around him.”

“A dress? Why not pants or traditional scrubs?”

Nurse Turner turned to face Chanda. “The cornett helps identify my position here, and I prefer the dress. Also, when I am in the nursery, the children seem to like to reach up and pull on the hem. Dr. Crabtree says it is good exercise for them.”

It then turned to the doctor and said, “You did not answer my question, Doctor.”

“I am fine Al, I’ve just been on my feet all day. That is why I have my walker. How is his condition?”

Looking closer and trying to focus his eyes on Doctor Osman, Jhanda could make out a black handle to her side.

“His vital statistics are nominal. He was suffering from involuntary muscle contractions earlier and a decrease in skin temperature. I thought he might have been cold, so I provided him with a blanket. The muscle contractions have ceased.”

“You should get some rest, Doctor,” Nurse Turner said.

Doctor Osman turned to face Jhanda and said, “He can be such a worrywart at times. Did the blanket help, Mr. Chanda?”

Jhanda tried to sit up, but found that his arms would hardly move. “Yes, but why is it so hard to move?”

Doctor Osman nodded her head as she said, “Even though you now have the body of a twenty-two-year-old, your mussels have never been used and your brain has to build neural pathways to fully control them. You can’t even talk without the halo on. In many ways, it’s like you are a baby again. But not to worry, a few months of physical therapy and you’ll be able to do tasks on your own.”

“Even then, you’ll need at least a year of therapy to be back to your old self. I transitioned back about fourteen months ago and still don’t have my full stamina back yet. But everyday I get a little stronger.”

After a few deep breaths, Jhanda said, “When will I be able to go outside?”

Doctor Osman smiled at Jhanda and patted his hand. “We’ll see about taking you to the sunroom in a few days. Your body needs a little time to adjust first.”

Jhanda’s head sank back into the pillow. “Okay, Doctor.”

“Why don’t you have some dinner and get some sleep? I’ll see you in the morning before your first therapy session.” She gave Jhanda’s hand a quick pat before she grasped her walker and made her way across the room.

After the doctor had left, Nurse Turner fed Jhanda a shake of yogurt and bananas.

Initially, Jhanda had refused, saying he wanted something with more substance to it, but allowed Nurse Turner to feed him some.

After three spoonfuls, Jhanda learned the full gravity of Doctor Osman’s comment of “it’s like you are a baby again.” More of his dinner ran out of his mouth than he could swallow, causing Nurser Turner to use the spoon to scrape the overflow.

At Jhanda’s request, Nurse Turner told him about Tellus. He told him that shortly after its discovery a millennium and a half ago; they decided to terraform the planet. And when the argument that they needed biological humans to save humanity, they selected Tellus to be the first colony.

“Is there anything in particular you are looking forward to doing?” Nurse Turner asked, while washing Jhanda’s face after dinner.

Jhanda smiled as he said, “Falling asleep while laying down outside and looking up at the stars.”

As he was looking up at the ceiling, it changed from the flat white to an image of a night sky. “What is this? Is this Tellus?” Jhanda asked.

“Yes, it is. I thought, since you wished to fall asleep looking at the stars, I would show you a view of the stars here.”

Jhanda shook his head a little. “Not quite what I had in mind. But all things considered, Al, this isn’t bad at all. Are you going to stay?”

“Yes, as you are my assigned patient for the next year. Why do you ask?”

“I always enjoyed looking at the stars with someone else,” Jhanda said after a few deep breaths. He described to Al the patterns he was seeing in the stars.

Starting the next morning after breakfast, Jhanda went through his first rounds of physical therapy. He had never thought simple things such as moving his legs while laying in a bathtub or just opening and closing his mouth could be so exhausting, but when he was done, all he wanted to do was sleep.

He could see tangible results from his hard work. By the end of the week, he was now eating more than what was being pushed out of his mouth and turn his head on his own.

One evening, Jhanda heard the unmistakable sound of thunder through the walls of the hospital while he was eating dinner.

Once he had finished eating and Al had helped him change clothes, Al asked, “Mr. Chanda, would you mind helping with a minor issue this evening?”

Jhanda’s eyes narrowed as he half chuckled, “What issue, Al? I don’t know how much help I can be.”

“This hospital also serves as a daycare for children whose parents are working at night. The storm outside is frightening the children and Nurse Soto is having difficulty getting them to settle down and go to sleep. Dr. Osman suggested bringing them in here with you to star gaze. She had been planning this as a surprise for you when you have more stamina. She says it as good of a time as any, if you are feeling up to it.”

A huge smile came across Jhanda’s face. “I would absolutely love to help. But do you have any hot chocolate for the kids?”

Nurse Turner was silent for several minutes as it finished helping Jhanda change clothes. “Sorry, I was talking with Dr. Osman and Nurse Soto. No hot chocolate for the children, but Dr. Osman prescribed warm milk and biscuits for them. Please excuse me while I assist Nurse Soto.”

“Go ahead.”

“I will be back shortly,” Nurse Turner said as it left the room. Before leaving, Nurse Turner activated the sky view and Jhanda settled in, looking at the stars.

A few minutes later, Nurse Turner returned with another type II. Nurse Turner was wheeling in a bed while the other type II was leading three children by the hand into the room. The oldest child looked to be five, and they were all dressed in pajamas.

When they entered the room, Nurse Turner said, “Mr. Chanda, this is Tarra, Carlos and Jonel.” He pointed to each of the children as it said their names. “Children, this is Mr. Chanda.”

Jonel, who appeared to be the youngest of the three, clutched the other type II’s leg and used it to hide from Jhanda. “Children, say hello to Mr. Chanda,” the type II said in a distinctive feminine voice.

“Hello, Mr. Chanda,” two of the children said while Jonel looked down and shook his head.

“And this is Nurse Soto. She is assigned to the daycare.”

“Good evening Mr. Chanda. I hope we are not disturbing you.”

Jhanda smiled and said, “No, not at all. I like to have company when I look up at the stars.”

Hearing stars, the children looked up at the ceiling and noticed the star view. “Why do you look up at the stars, Mr. Chanda?” Tarra asked.

A link to one of my stories 

Fail Safe  

The video monitor showed the explosions across a third of the planet. They looked like gray bubbles welling up from the greens and tans of the earth, only to become streaks as the winds blew and tore them apart.

“Bring him in,” Queen Adellma said, as a smile of satisfaction grew on her scarred face.

A few minutes later, the guards dragged Onoth into the throne room, half naked, and they unceremoniously threw him to the ground at the foot of the dais that Adellma’s throne sat upon. As he lay there, unmoving, she got up and stepped down to where he lay, her armor making only the slightest of sounds.

When she reached where Onoth lay, she knelt down beside him and stroked his bruised face with affection. “We’ve done it. The war is over,” she said as one lover to another.

Onoth looked up at the Queen, then back over his shoulder. She felt his body convulse and in her mind could see the look of absolute horror in his face as the tears flowed from his eyes.

“The  Escadian’s time has come, thanks to you. Now our child will rule all of Juhnal as its first emperor.”

Onoth moved slowly away from the dais. Adellma let him go and turned to walk back to her throne. She sat down and waited for the spectacle that was to come. She wanted to watch her husband rail against the attack, to wish the genocide that was now happening wasn’t. And she would savor every moment.

The King stood and stared at the video monitor for several minutes in silence. “You translated my notes?” he ask asked.

“Yes. To the letter. Most effective, I would say. A half-life of two cycles and an eighty percent lethality in the first quarter revolution. By morning, every last  Escadian will be dead. Even your strike plan was brilliant.”

Adellma leaned forward in her throne and licked her lips as if she was about to enjoy an exquisite meal. She fixed her eyes on the back of her husband as his head drooped and shoulders slumped. Again, his body convulsed.

She heard the first sounds of his sobs, and the sound confirmed to her his weakness.

Onoth wasn’t a true warrior hardened through battle like Adellma was. The King’s role in the military had been more utilitarian. He was a shrewd strategist and a remarkable engineer, but no fighter. He was the one who had designed the weapon that Adellma had just unleashed.

But rather than use the weapon, Onoth had sought to negotiate peace with the  Escadians.

Now he stood crying for the death of their enemy.

Adellma’s eyes grew wide as the volume of his sobs got louder, only they weren’t his sobs. It was his laughter.

Onoth was laughing like a madman as he threw his head back. He spun and faced the Queen. “You stupid beast. Your ambition and lust for total victory, that ‘make them have their last stand’ obsession of yours, has killed us all. Yes, by morning all  Escadians will be dead, but the first of us will die. Within a week, no Juhnalian will be left alive.”

The Queen’s mouth and lips quivered as she stared at her husband. “What? How?”

“You only looked at the initial results, and did not think of the full impact. The wind is carrying the agent all over the globe. Just one bomb would have crashed the global population by sixty percent. That strike plan was designed to wipe out everyone.”

Adellma stood up. “Why?” she asked, glaring at the King. “Why destroy the world?”