What Path Lies Ahead

“I don’t want to.”  Rejali started to fold her arms, but realized that gesture might come across as bratty rather than just hesitation to negotiate.

The left corner of Cormac’s mouth curled up.  “Since when has not wanting to ever stopped you?”

Blazes, they’d met each other only a few days ago, and he was already taking advantage of her sense of duty.  They hadn’t agreed to accepting this marital arrangement – yet – but she suspected Cormac had already made up his mind.  In all likelihood they were only waiting on her decision.

He flicked a finger toward a nearby maintenance pod, one of the various vessels scattered through the holding bay.  “If you get a feel for what it’s like to navigate a spacecraft, you can better determine if you’ll ever want to do it again.”

He had a point, which counted both in his favor and against.  His approach to problems relied primarily on logic, which was good.  But it was possible he relied too heavily on his own judgment.

She glanced toward Father Garfin, a somewhat elderly gentleman about twenty paces behind them and visiting with some random stranger working in the bay.  “What if he doesn’t want to go off-world on a lark?”

“There’s no ship called a lark.”  Cormac shrugged as he began walking toward the priest and motioned for her to follow.  “But we can ask him.”

Was that a joke?  She did appreciate his sense of humor, but pondered just how dry it got sometimes as she fell into step beside him.  The levity counted as a positive trait, especially for someone who for all the under two decades of his life had been hunted for something he’d never done.

And now, because of her training in a particular branch of defensive arts – and the other parameters she met – she’d been tossed into his trajectory.  Since they were going about the business of getting to know each other, a chaperone always accompanied them.  This time Father Garfin was stuck with that duty.

Cormac did wait for the priest to wrap up his chat with the stranger before asking, “How about we go for a celestial spin, Father?  Rej agreed she ought to try piloting a spacecraft, considering it’s something she might need to know later.”

She could take umbrage with Cormac’s choice of words, but the light frown that crossed the priest’s face stirred hope he would decline.  If he didn’t go, they couldn’t go.

Garfin’s voice was deep and smooth.  “Fly a ship?  You aren’t a registered pilot.”

“Ah … hah.”  Cormac’s gaze darted to her and back to the priest.  “I’ve been known to take off in the nearest vehicle that facilitated an escape.”

“I see.”  Garfin studied him with a deadpan expression.  “You might tell me more about that later.  But if this knowledge plays a role in your survival, then perhaps Disciple Rejali should try it out.”

Although hearing her recently acquired title still seemed anomalous, that wasn’t what caused the tremor in the pit of her stomach.  Until a little over a week ago she’d never traveled off the planet of Hin where she’d grown up.  Hurtling through space was still … extremely disconcerting.

So Garfin dashed her hopes by making the arrangements to borrow a shuttle, a basic passenger and cargo ship used for commuting between the planet and larger spacecraft.  The cylindrical, ivory vessel fit three in the operating cab, which might have been one of the reasons the priest chose it.

Rejali sat on the far left where most of the control panel was mounted.  As Cormac took the seat beside her, she frowned at all the switches, buttons, and display screens before her.

“I don’t even know where the On button is,” she grumbled.

Cormac smirked again as Father Garfin settled on their right.  “There’s not just one button to start it.  And first of all, you have to put it through a systems check.  You can’t even take off until you do.”

He talked her through that process, and all the readouts and lights confirmed the systems were ready for takeoff.  And then he instructed her on the motions to actually start the shuttle.

The roar of the thrust engines beneath them caused her heartbeat to quicken, but as the vessel lifted from the ground, only the knowledge they were headed for space nagged at her apprehension.  She was no stranger to flight itself, and always enjoyed gazing upon the expanse of creation.

Rejali tried to hold on to that satisfaction as they sailed through the air.  This, she could take a liking to.  It wasn’t heights that distressed her.

But as they rose ever higher, the sky ahead growing darker, she contemplated that perhaps she knew too much about space.  If only she didn’t understand that exposure to its vacuum would force the water in skin and blood to vaporize and the body to expand like a balloon filling with air.  Since there was no air, however, the lungs would collapse, not to mention the person would freeze within ten seconds.

There were few good ways to die, but that one seemed too unnatural.

Because they were on the side of the planet facing the sun, no stars emerged in the dark distance.  Her stomach fluttered again as Rejali reminded herself that even in this vast desolation, they really weren’t totally alone.

Cormac’s tone was warm and approving.  “You’re a natural.”

“Can we go back now?”  There might have been some tension in her voice.

“Glide along the curve of the horizon for a few minutes.  You’ll find—”

Their craft shuddered, and a red light started flashing on the panel.

Her heart pounded against her chest as she snapped, “What happened?”

Garfin leaned forward to study the panel.  “Fuel cell?”

“No big deal.”  Cormac still sounded completely calm.  “It’s just a minor clog, probably some grit that managed to suck in.”

Rejali frowned at him.  “Why didn’t the systems check find that before we took off?”

He shrugged.  “Because it didn’t happen until after we took off.  We’re not in any danger.  A clogged fuel cell just makes the ride a little bumpier.”

He might also be a liar.  She was pretty sure she’d heard of explosions brought about by fuel cell malfunctions.

“I’m taking us back.”  Rejali tapped the instrument panel in the method she hoped she remembered to turn them around.

The craft shuddered again.

She glared at Cormac as Garfin asked, “Was that another fuel cell or the same one?”

“Looks like the same one.”  Her companion’s tone was more pensive.  “But yeah, I agree, we might as well head back.”

“So much for inspiring my confidence in space,” Rejali muttered.

A few seconds passed before Cormac responded, “Nothing like a crisis to build confidence.  You’re still operating the controls correctly.  Very commendable for a first outing.”

“Very likely my last outing.”

The vessel rattled several more times as it made its descent, each time renewing a quickening of her heart.  The reentry into atmosphere shook them around more than when she first arrived at this planet, but Rejali wasn’t sure if that was because the first craft had been larger.  She was in no mood to ask.

The engines shifted to a high whine as they approached the landing pad, and the shuttle bumped considerably as it touched down.

“Hit that row of switches to shut it off.”  Cormac’s tone was calm again.  “See, we made it back just fine.”

A realization struck her as she followed his instructions.  The engines hummed into silence while she locked her gaze on him.

“Why didn’t you take over navigation when the fuel cell failed?”

He smiled as he placed his palm against the back of her hand.  Its warmth and steadiness made her aware that she was cold and trembling.

“You were handling it perfectly.  And the cell never failed.  We were in no danger.”  He glanced toward the priest who’d remained silent once they started entering atmosphere.  “Right, Father?”

“Not now.”  Garfin’s voice was lower than ever.  “I’m in the middle of the Confiteor.”

“Aha, see?”  As the words left her lips, Rejali’s conscience cringed with the fact their chaperone had reflexively prayed, but she had not.  She’d been far too focused on operating the craft in order to return alive.

If only Cormac had taken over the controls, she wouldn’t have been so distracted.  Her glare deepened as she continued speaking.

“He knows we were in danger.  The last thing I need is a bunch of sweet talk when it’s time to confront the grittiness of reality.  And as the experienced pilot, you should have taken over.”

Cormac watched her for a few seconds, his lips slightly clamped.  He shrugged.

“You may be right.  I just thought that if you did it all yourself, it would help you overcome your anxiety.  But maybe I should’ve stepped in, helped you even more than I did.  It’s just … you really did do an excellent job.”

“Don’t put too much faith in my abilities.”

He nodded, and a smile touched his lips again.  “It wasn’t just your abilities I had faith in.  I sorta figured that since I was sitting between a priest and a disciple, whatever happened could only be for the best.”

Rejali stared at him.  For the first time since they’d met, he’d confessed belief in something beyond facts and data.  He’d alluded to part of what had brought her into the Discipline.  Maybe … maybe she was beginning to see there was more to him than she first noticed.

Perhaps she should continue to think about this arrangement for a while longer.


Here is this month’s submission to #BlogBattle, and the prompt word this time is Navigate.  Give yourself a treat for the holidays and check out the other contributions.  Merry Christmas!

Conflict of Interests

Tira glanced up from the ceramic bowl that she used to rub in dough as her fourteen-year-old son bounded into the kitchen.  Rhys usually bounded wherever he went.

“I had a dream last night about being a tracer.”  He stopped beside her and peered into the container.

Oh, knickers, not that rubbish again.  She had to look up slightly because he was already getting taller than her.  He’d just returned from morning chores and still hadn’t combed his hair, so the brown follicles were sticking in every direction.

“Where’s your tad?”

“You’re trying to change the subject.”  Rhys smirked.  “Or are you calling in reinforcements?”

“I don’t need reinforcements to keep you in line.”

His smirk deepened, much like how his father would smile when up to mischief.  “Tad wanted to scout the edge of the woods for chanterelles.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with him.”

“Still trying to change the subject.”  Rhys stepped to her other side and scanned the counter, probably hoping to discover a hapless ingredient he could toss into that bottomless pit masquerading as his stomach.  “You know, you can’t ultimately stop me from being a tracer.”

Tira grasped the edge of the bowl, the flour on her fingers providing extra grip, and locked her gaze on him.  “But the council can, which your tad and I are members of.  You know good and well why you can’t be a tracer, and your skills can be put to good use in other ways.”

“But I have unique skills.”  He bounced to the icebox and opened it.

A tremor rose from the pit of her own stomach.  “Which is exactly how they’ll figure out who you are.”

She could have added another statement, but the words were too sour to permit past her lips.

“I can keep the Legion from discovering whose son I am,” he said to the inside of the box.

“You just underestimated your enemy.”  Her fingers dipped back into the dough and curled into it with higher fervor.  “One good reason of many not to be a tracer.”

“You’re grasping for excuses.”

He closed the icebox and returned to her side in one long stride and a short step, half-full milk bottle clasped in one hand.  When he twisted off the lid and proceeded to drink from it, Tira didn’t scold him.  Rhys would easily finish it off.

She pulled her hands from the dough and rubbed its remnants off her fingers and into the bowl.  “Facts are not excuses.”

“There’s no fact they’ll discover who I am.  The Legion wants to kill all of us anyway, Mam, so how does my becoming a tracer really change anything?”

Ach, he’d gone and done it.  He’d practically said what she despised to utter.  Tira drew a deep breath to calm her increasing tremor because now she was going to have to speak those words.

She delivered her statement slowly and deliberately.  “If they find out who you are, they will kill you, and they will … take their time.  Never forget they nearly killed your tad years ago, and his power is greater than yours.”

“They were specifically looking for him.  One advantage of growing up in an underground society is we’re good at keeping secrets.  What if I promise that if I even suspect they’re figuring me out, I’ll withdraw from the tracer program?”

His proposal was surreal.  Rhys had mentioned interest in this vocation a handful of times over the past year, and he already knew why his parents were against it.

“Why you are trying to convince me?”  Tira picked up a hand towel on the end of the counter and wrung it as she wiped off her hands.  “Have you mentioned it to Tad this morning?”

“No, I thought I’d talk it over with you, first.”

“Trying to soften me up?  You should know that won’t work.”

He took another swig from the bottle, almost draining it, and studied her as he lowered it.  “My dream about being a tracer isn’t just some nocturnal vision.  I know I’d be good at this, and I like to travel and I like solving riddles and I like – using weapons.”

“And do you like having diabolical beings try to kill you?”

“Well,” he shrugged, and that impertinent smirk curled his lips again.  “Every job does have its drawbacks.”

“You’re refusing to take into account –”

From the mudroom that connected to the kitchen, the rattle of the back door opening interrupted her.  Rhys drained the bottle, set it on the counter, and flashed a grin at her.

“We’ll have to finish this later.  I’ll wash up for breakfast.”  And he romped across the kitchen to the stairs that he clamored up.

Tira stared after him, debating if she should call him back down and have his father settle the issue.  Settle?  Rhys knew why they were against his taking up such a dangerous occupation, especially one all the more dangerous for him.  Yet he wouldn’t let the matter drop.

To make it worse, he did have a point.  He would be good at being a tracer, tracking down and neutralizing creatures seeking the destruction of humanity.  He was, after all, his father’s son.

The fact his strength and his weakness were the same only muddled the matter … perhaps more than she’d been willing to admit earlier.  When his dream was her nightmare, was that all it took to prove she and his father were right?  Tira cast a glance toward her husband as he entered the kitchen.

No, Rhys should have to be the one to tell him about still wanting to be a tracer.


Here’s my story this month for #BlogBattle, and this time the word is Dream.  You’ll want to be sure to check out all the other contributions!

Under the Sun – Part 2

Yanaba sat on wooden porch steps as she stared upon the rugged, rouge landscape stretching before her.  She knew what it looked like because home used to be in this area.  But her home was no more, and she gazed at the Arizona desert without seeing it.

Nor did she acknowledge the young woman who approached, the owner of this ramshackle house that was pockmarked with bullet holes.  Some of the windows were boarded up.  Mere weeks ago the building had been in better shape, but that was before the world ended.

The house Yanaba used to live in, a couple of miles from here, was now a pile of ash.

Her hostess leaned over slightly and said her name.

Yanaba didn’t reply.  There was nothing left to reply to.

“Yanaba.”  The woman actually tapped her shoulder, an assertive move for a traditional member of the Diné.  “There’s a couple here to see you.  The fellow says he traveled with you for a couple of weeks after the disaster.”

She understood the words, but they meant nothing.

The woman turned away from her and toward the man and woman that Yanaba barely noticed stroll from around the corner of the house and toward the porch.  “Like I told you, she’s not speaking.”

She did recognize the man’s voice, but it signified nothing.  “That’s quite all right if she only wants to listen.”

Odd, hearing him did a stir a question from the depths of her despair.  What was Fritz doing here?  The last time she saw him was when they parted ways in Colorado … was that a week ago?  How many weeks had it been since the solar storm took down the electrical grid?

Her hostess shrugged and walked away.  Fritz and his companion approached, and each sat on the bottom step, below the one where her feet rested.

Yanaba had never seen this woman before, but another question stirred before it drowned beneath her despair.  Was this the fiancée he told her about while they traveled together?  Like him, his companion appeared to be in her mid-twenties.  Svelte and dressed in a beige tee shirt and olive shorts, her raven tresses were pinned up.

Fritz clasped his hands together, between his knees.  Also dressed in tee shirt and shorts, his blond hair was in the same disarray it seemed to prefer, although he appeared to have recently trimmed the beard that started growing … was it nearly a month ago when the sun took out the grid?

“Hello, Yanaba.  We … heard about your loss.  I’m so sorry.  Words can’t express how terrible I feel about your husband and sons.”

Others had offered their condolences and had also needed consoling.  In the beginning of her end, she’d been able to mourn with them.  But now she was empty.  Ah, it had taken three weeks for her to travel across three-quarters of the country to get back to her family and confirm their safety.  But it had all been in vain.

If only she’d gotten here a few days earlier, she would have found them alive.  She might have been able to help them all escape the looters.  And if not, at least she could have died with them.

After about ten seconds of silence, Fritz continued.  “It’s the same story everywhere we go.  The cities are hellscapes.  Setting curfews doesn’t change human nature.  It’s like all the gangs think the electricity will come back on eventually and by then they’ll have reaped their profit.  I think too many people don’t realize how long a haul we’re in for.”

The world wasn’t going to end in a day.  When Fritz had traveled with her, each trying to get back to their families, they agreed that after the riots and looting, starvation would set in.  Disease would grow rampant.  This eschaton would be prolonged and painful.

“It’s a mixed bag out here, in the countryside.”  Fritz, who proved his determination the first day she met him, didn’t acquiesce to her silence.  “I truly wish your area hadn’t been one of the pockets for raiders.  When Meg and I decided to track you down, I expected to find you back with your family.”

He looked at his companion before returned his attention to Yanaba.  “By the way, I’d like you to meet my wife.”

Something flickered in her darkness.

Wife?  So they’d managed to find a minister and completed their commitment to each other?  Yes, deep down she was glad Fritz was successful with his quest, even though her own attempt had been totally fruitless….

“Meg, I’d like you meet Yanaba … the toughest U.S. house representative I’ve ever met.”

The blonde woman smiled, and her tone was warm and gentle.  “I know you’re the only representative he’s ever met, and I’m also sorry for your loss, especially when … it’s thanks to you that Fritz was able to get back to Colorado.”

“Meg and I still haven’t been able to track down our own parents, which is part of why I suggested we look you up.  I figured you’d be going back to Washington, and there’re some things you need to know.”

Maybe that flicker was because their marriage was a glimmer of hope in the gloom of destruction.  A dozen or so years ago, Yanaba had been as young as them, and as ideological and foolish.  Fritz was usually more perceptive about reality, but he was smitten by this young woman … they needed to understand that any attempts at normalcy were all vanity.

Her voice was raspy from a day of disuse.  “I’m not going back.”

The couple glanced at each other, and then Fritz sat straighter.  “You have to.”

His impertinence didn’t surprise her, but for the first time she found it annoying.  “No.  All any of us have left to do is die.”

They glanced at each other again, and Fritz shook his head before leaning toward Yanaba.  “I understand you’ve been knocked down after putting forth valiant effort.  I understand it gets hard to keep pulling yourself up.  But this is no time to give in.  You said you dove into the swamp to wrestle those slimy creatures.  Yanaba, the fight is just beginning.”

Meg took advantage of the fact she didn’t respond.  “We all know what happens during a crisis.  The authorities will overstep their bounds.  They’ll make things worse.  Fritz told me that you’re a warrior, and that’s exactly what we need to help keep them in check.”

Yanaba could see why he liked this girl.  “You expect too much of me.  I can’t stop them.”

Fritz replied, “You certainly can’t by yourself.  That’s why we’re offering to help, and to find others who will stand with us.”

“Don’t you see?” Yanaba actually looked at him, their preposterous proposal dragging her from the suffocating folds she’d surrendered to.  “There’s nothing left to fight for.  There’s nothing left.  Everybody who isn’t killed outright will die of starvation or disease.  Nobody can do a thing to change that.”

Fritz and his wife studied each other for a few seconds.  They’d been married for mere days, yet the way they regarded each other reminded Yanaba how she and Martial would share a look whenever the children presented them with life’s complications.  How could this couple already express similar familiarity?

She could suppose that deep down inside, they knew she was right.  They had little time left together, so would have to be quick about cultivating their relationship.

His gaze locked on Yanaba’s face.  “I’m sorry, but we’re not going to let you give up.”

She didn’t anticipate the growl that crept into her voice.  “It’s my right to give up.”

“That may be, but we weren’t put on this earth to surrender.  We really were put here to fight.”

“It will only be a fight to the death,” she replied.  “And nothing will be accomplished.”

“That’s not true.”  Meg’s voice betrayed determination.  “If we fight the good fight, then there’s everything to be gained.”

Yanaba stared at Fritz’s wife.  Wife.  Even though the world was ending, even though they knew there was no future, they just had to shake their fists at adversity by living as though they could possibly survive.

“Fight if you want.”  Yanaba turned her gaze back to the desert.  “You’re not dragging me into it.”

Fritz spoke bluntly.  “I may just have been a security officer, but I do know one of the arts of war is to gather allies.  You are a powerful ally, Yanaba, even if you don’t believe it.  And there’s another thing you’re wrong about.  You do have something left to fight for.”

This persistent Bilagáana was starting to get on her nerves.  With any luck, her return to silence would encourage these two to give up.

“An apocalypse hangs over us every day,” he continued.  “Global, national, personal.  The end always comes.  Sometimes we aren’t fully prepared for it.  But in one way or another, there’s always a new world to look forward to.  The road there is usually hard, but we believe it’s worth it.”

She refused to speak.  So he kept talking.

“And so do you.  You struggled, you braved hardships, to make it back to your home after this crash.”

Heat surged through her and entered her voice.  “I came back to ash.”

“And everything and everyone that stands against you is counting on your tragedy to make you surrender.  Then they win.  Do you want to hand victory over to them, or would you rather become an obstacle to them?”

Who were them?  The raiders that murdered her family?  The bureaucrats that would secure their own comfort at the expense of the populace?  The unseen entities of conquest, violence, famine and death?  Who was she to stand against them?

Then again, they drew first blood.  The heat within her subsided, but it only shifted from a raging conflagration threatening to consume everything to a robust blaze crackling on a hearth.  They were still out there.  They were guaranteed to come after her in any of their incarnations to lay claim to her life.

 Her family wouldn’t have surrendered to them.  Her husband would have fought to defend their children, even to the bitter end.  And now she was going to give up?

Would that dishonor her family’s memory?

Yanaba sat straighter as her gaze swung to Fritz.  “I knew you were trouble from the day I met you.  But … I’m willing to consider you might have a point.”

A smile touched his lips.  “Don’t consider this the beginning of the end.  We might just be facing the beginning after the end … and I’ll admit, that will be even harder.”


Here’s my contribution for this month’s #BlogBattle, and the word for this round is Eschaton.  Yep, it concludes the story from last month.  With a word this fun you don’t want to miss out on the other submissions!

Under the Sun – Part 1

Yanaba spied the stranger’s approach from the corner of her eye, and her alertness ascended to the next level.

“Maybe we can help each other out,” he murmured as he stepped to her side.

She shifted half a step away from him while sizing him up.  He was a young man, maybe mid-twenties.  Only a few inches taller than her, he had a lean build worthy of a track runner.  His blonde hair was a bit tousled, and there was stubble on his face.  His navy blazer, light blue shirt, and khakis were rumpled.  Although after what happened last week, most people looked rather frumpy these days.

“How so?”  She figured it was a good idea to determine his motivation.

Unless he was a complete loon, he surely wouldn’t try anything now.  About twenty National Guard personnel – a small fraction of their usual entirety – were milling about the school parking lot as they secured the dragged-out-of-retirement vehicles to deploy from the city of Paducah in Kentucky.

He slipped a blue knapsack off his shoulder and deposited it beside him on the pavement.  “I heard you get to hitch a ride with this caravan since you’re a congresswoman.  But peasants like me aren’t allowed.  Take me along as one of your staff, and I’ll see to it you get to your destination safely.”

How did he find out about her arrangement with the unit?  And did a threat lurk within that offer?

“I’m already surrounded by military.”

“Mm-hmm.”  He glanced at the soldiers and their equipment before returning his attention to her.  “But do you really trust every single one of them one hundred percent?  And riots have broken out in some places.  What if some gang gets cocky about raiding this convoy?”

“Does half a dozen dirty trucks pulled out of mothballs qualify as a convoy?”  As soon as the question escaped her lips, she regretted it.  What if he was a scout for some such gang, trying to mole his way in so he could compromise their defenses?

The left corner of his lip curled, and he stepped slightly in front of her.  His left hand tugged aside the front panel of his blazer, revealing a shoulder holster and the pistol it contained.

“All the more reason to carry extra protection.”  He slipped back to her side.

Although Yanaba’s glimpse of the weapon was fleeting, it appeared to be small caliber, perhaps only a .25.  Her husband would call it a lady’s gun.  This guy had taken a risk showing her that.  How could he assume she wouldn’t alert the nearby soldiers?

He quickly followed up.  “You know how to shoot a semi-automatic?”

She studied his face.  “Why do you ask?”

“Because this is the deal I’ll make with you:  get me on that caravan, and you get to carry the pistol.”

“You’d surrender it to me?”

“Only while we’re traveling together.”  He smirked.  “As soon as we part ways, I get it back.”

That seemed like another risk on his part, and maybe she could use that to dampen his enthusiasm.  “You trust me to give it back?”

“Fair enough, isn’t it?  We’ll have to trust each other.”

She wanted to concentrate on getting home, not on figuring out this guy’s angle.  For nearly a week now, ever since a solar storm of unprecedented magnitude leveled the electric grid and everything dependent upon it, she’d been trying to get back to her husband and two sons.

US representatives – especially freshmen – weren’t high enough on the food chain to commandeer any military transportation that was already stretched thin.  And fully cognizant that congress was impotent in addressing a coronal mass ejection, Yanaba had no qualms about joining the thousands, or probably hundreds of thousands, attempting to get home.

With what little influence she had, she’d managed to hop from unit to unit, helping to pack and unload supplies.  She was still only about a third of the way to her destination, but she’d managed to get this far without the aid of any staff.

“Where’d you get that, anyway?”  Maybe she could punch a hole in his story if it was cockamamie enough.

“Gift from my parents.  Years ago.”  He shrugged.  “I’m trying to get back to Colorado.  I was unfortunate enough to be attending a security conference in Lexington when all the lights went out.  It took me this long to walk this far.”

His right foot rose slightly as he twisted the sole toward her.  The leather sneakers were scuffed and tattered.

He lowered the foot.  “So I’d like to get home before spring turns into summer and I wind up barefoot.”

His reference to the conference smelled too convenient.  “What kind of security are you in?”

“Oh, right now I’m just a peon who helps make sure drugs don’t get smuggled out of the hospital.  The conference was supposed to upgrade my training, give me a nudge toward consultant or analyst work.”

Belittling himself seemed to be a habit, but it didn’t give her any real clue about what kind of person he was.  A conman would know some people might find the trait endearing.  And a conman could possess certain other skills….

“How did you find out about me hitching a ride with this unit?”

“When technology is kaput, the grapevine flourishes.”  The left corner of his mouth curled again.  “Sorting the truths from the lies was a formidable challenge, but I heard that skeleton military units were addressing the riots in the bigger cities, and occasional convoys would resupply them.

“I also heard they refuse to take civilian passengers because there are too darn many stranded folks like me trying to get home.  But if you have a clout, you know, like a politician, they’d make exceptions.  I overheard you making arrangements with them.”

Yanaba frowned.  “I don’t recall seeing you around here.”

“I was under a truck, fixing a leak, trying to ingratiate myself before using some fast talk on the friendliest-looking person I could find.”

She studied his disheveled clothes.  Yeah, he looked like he could have been crawling under trucks….

He asked, “What do you think of divine intervention?”

The question caught Yanaba off guard, causing her gaze to lock on his face for a few seconds.  As a woman of the Diné, more commonly known as Navajo, she harbored a hesitation for prolonged eye contact.  But sometimes, especially around any Bilagáana, she had to overcome that instinct.

The sentiment he’d just expressed was the sort of reference she rarely heard from others.  When she did, it usually meant she was among friends.

“Why do you ask?”

“Our meeting when we did, at the right place and the right time, can’t just be coincidence.  We can help each other get home.”  Soft intensity crept into his voice.  “I want to find my family and know that they’re safe.  I’m sure that’s what you’re trying to do.  We increase our odds if we join forces.”

No red flags were becoming apparent, but his suggestion of divine intervention had momentarily distracted her from some of the details in his story.  Had that been on purpose?

“If I decline your offer, will you resort to fast-talking the friendliest-looking soldier?”

His lips pursed and his brow furrowed.  “That depends … are you determined enough to get rid of me that you’d make sure I fail?”

She didn’t like playing hardball like this, but these were peculiar times.  The world was more dangerous now.  She had to assume everybody would have an ulterior motive of stealing whatever they could, with whatever devious plan they could come up with.

“Maybe you should just be grateful I don’t report what you’re packing to those soldiers.  Fair enough?”

He continued to study her, and she forced herself to keep her gaze locked with his.  This was no time to show any weakness.

His tone was slightly lower when he replied.  “Then I thank you for upholding my Second Amendment right, congresswoman.  I don’t suppose you can give me any tips for trying to catch a ride with anybody else?”

Maybe it was the disappointment in his voice, maybe it was the fact he remained polite with her, but something spurred that twist in the pit of her stomach.  She had no tips … and wished that she did.

“I’m sorry.”  A touch of regret managed to sneak into her voice.  “I’m barely able to keep up with these units as it is.  I don’t know about any other options.”

“Can’t blame you, of course, and can’t blame me for trying.  I knew it was a longshot.”  He picked up the knapsack.  “Hope your path stays safe.”

He slung the bag over his right shoulder and sauntered away from her.  Yanaba’s stomach wrenched again as he departed, never looking back, each step steady and deliberate.

He’d be all right.  He was young and fit – and resourceful.  Those shoes could hold up for many more miles.

No … this was wrong.

There was nothing new about living in peculiar times.  Suspicion and distrust reigned throughout history.  The world had earned its reputation for being cold and cruel.  But when people stood together, united in a common good, they persevered against iniquity.

He offered her the gun, for crying out loud.

Sometimes divine intervention had to be delivered with a smack.

“Wait a minute.”  She didn’t want to speak too loudly and draw attention from the soldiers.  But despite his leisurely pace, the fellow didn’t seem to hear her.

Yanaba broke into long strides to catch up to him.  “I just thought of something.”

He hesitated this time, and turned to face her.  “You have a suggestion?”

“Maybe we should introduce ourselves.”  She held out her hand.  “I’m Yanaba Todacheene.”

The shadow of a smile touched his lips before he grasped her hand.  “You’re right.  My apologies.  I’m Fritz, Fritz Kaufmann.”

“Well, Mr. Kaufmann, now that we’re no longer strangers, shall we discuss your idea in more detail?”

His smile broadened as he released her hand.  The ache in her stomach faded as he nodded.

“Please, just call me Fritz.  And thank you for such a wonderful suggestion.”


Here my contribution this month to #BlogBattle, and the prompt word used here is Peculiar.  Speaking of peculiar, you might have noticed the Part One designation, which means next month’s story will actually be related instead of the usual wildcard.

And don’t miss out on checking into what other writers submitted this month!

Risk Assessment

Perado had already broken away from the rest of the crowd that disembarked from the passenger carrier when a rumble like thunder rolled behind them.

The others, mostly Zora like him but a few were other beings of various shapes and colors, were probably going to switch to aircraft or spacecraft at the busy transportation port where he worked.  Everybody hesitated, some glancing at the clear azure sky framing the high buildings that displayed every color his mineral-rich world of Dea offered.  Perado was among those who looked back where he believed the noise originated.

Yellow and green smoke rose in the distance, from the other end of the urban settlement.  His stomach wrenched and his heart pounded against his chest.

That looked awfully close to home … where troops of Voratene had been prowling this morning searching for an infamous human.  And his wife Ervina was still there.

Gasps and cries arose from others as they began comprehending what happened.  Perado hastily tapped a specific pattern on the lower part of the interlink cuff on his ruddy left wrist.  The screen flickered on, pulsed, but then returned to a dull gray.

The communication service at home was down.

Perado broke into a sprint, dodging past other members of the crowd.  He darted back on the transport that brought him here and burst into the cabin with the Zora pilots.

“Take this carrier back!”

Both of them gaped at him.  One had green skin and the other was blue like Ervina.

“We can’t go back there!” the green one protested.

Perado tapped the cuff again, and the screen lit up with his credential to authorize transportation exchanges.  He thrust it in front of their faces.

“I said take it back, now!  Maximum velocity!”

They grumbled, but obeyed.  Perado braced himself in the doorway and scanned through the screen on the cuff, his throat tightening with each nugget of information that surfaced.

Voratene sonic burst … troops used … pursing unspecified number of humans … purpose unknown … sonic burst to prevent escape….

And it all happened on the division where he lived with his wife.

The conversation they had that morning, before he left for work, replayed in his mind as he hoped it wouldn’t wind up being the last time he got to speak with her.

“Have you ever wondered why this liberator they’re looking for would be human?”  Ervina asked as they stood in their kitchen, after the Voratene troops left their masonry home.

He sipped his cup of swizzle in an effort to assuage his annoyance.  Looking upon her was at least an enjoyable distraction from the rude interruption of having their house searched.

The blue cast of her skin reflected the nickel-rich hills of the planet Dea, just as his ruddy complexion was reminiscent of the iron-laden plains.  Her navy hair was twisted in five ringlets that cascaded down her back.  She also wore that shimmering jade outfit that complemented her graceful figure.

“The Voratene are a scourge to all the races of the confederation.”  That didn’t exactly answer her question, but it was true.

Her cobalt lips pouted.  “Of all the worlds in the confederation, why would the race that has no world produce somebody to challenge their regime?”

Perado redirected his gaze to what of the amber liquid remained in his cup.  “Why not?”

Ervina rolled her head and returned her attention to the window where earlier she watched the Voratene troops leave to pound on the doors of other homes.  “I think it’s because humans have nothing left to lose.”

“That’s a brilliant theory.”

“But if they have nothing to lose, then what are they defending?”

Her topic of conversation dug deeper into his consternation.  “Humans share more than basic physical characteristics with us.  I understand it was their devotion for freedom that drove them to leave their own world.  They might be scattered on different planets now, but oppression is oppression.  Nobody likes it.”

“Then why do we put up with it?”

His heart skipped a beat.  “Careful.  The Voratene are hunting down a man based on the yammering of a Yuri.  If they overheard what you said, that’s enough to arrest you, or worse.”

“You know, I’ve wondered, do the rumors of this liberator do the rest of us a disservice?  Are we willing to hide behind a homeless race and submit to foreign rule while we wait for a man who might not exist?”

“The Voratene believe he exists, and if that distracts their predations from the rest of us, well….”  The end of his statement was as dangerous as her question.  “That frees us up to work on our own projects, unseen and unheard.”

Ervina tilted her head.  “Do you know of such … resistance projects?”

“No, and we’re better off if it stays that way.”  He swigged the rest of the swizzle, and set the cup in the lavage bin.

Her brow furrowed.  “Wouldn’t it be better to participate in an uprising against the Voratene regime than just wait for what might unfold?”

Perado tried to ignore the quiver in the pit of his stomach.  “You want to get us all killed?”

Her gaze leveled on his.  “I don’t want to be a Voratene subject for the rest of my life.”

“There’s nothing average folk like us can do.”

So when he left for work that morning, he was somewhat relieved to escape Ervina’s questions.  They only stirred his annoyance at the troops … but right now he’d give anything to speak with her again on any topic of her choosing.

The carrier didn’t reach a complete stop before he opened the portal and leaped out on the decking.  A chill coursed through him as he approached the ruined buildings lining a couple of the roadways.

Built from blocks saturated with copper, the cottages used to abut each other, creating soft-green rows of columns and arches.  Now sickly dust lingered over rubble piles, and the patina blocks were scarred with orange.

Several excavator craft hovered over a segment of the span’s remains, shifting blocks and debris onto a central mound.  A sparse line of Voratene forces pointed pulsar rifles at the mobs of shouting Zora.

The Voratene, generally only about half his height, looked especially squat in their brown uniforms.  He could tell they were barely mature because they didn’t have as large or as many warts on their heads as the older ones.

Perado’s cry joined the noise as he surged into the crowd.  Others grabbed at him as he broke through the front of it.

A searing blow in his upper left arm sent a convulsive charge through his body.  He fell back, and others caught him as they hollered at the troops.  Multiple hands supported him as he collapsed and wound up sitting on the flagstones.

A matronly woman of ruddy complexion kneeled beside him.  “Stay there.  You’re lucky they’re using low charges, and it wasn’t a lethal hit.”

As much as he wanted to stagger to his feet, he couldn’t.  “Why won’t they let us search for survivors?”

“They want to reclaim the humans first, see if any are alive.  Of course they hope the liberator is among them.”

“The vermin!”  The throbbing in his arm, where a trickle of blood left a blue trail down his sleeve, was insignificant compared to the agony in his heart.  “More of us will perish if we don’t get them out of there!”

“We know, but … the Voratene refuse.”

By the time the stunning effect of the charge relinquished enough for him to stand again, the Voratene retrieved the bodies and started moving out.  The excavator craft dispersed to sift throughout the rubble, and Perado surged ahead with the others to dig by hand.

There was nothing recognizable about his home.  It was even difficult to determine if he was the correct distance down the division.  But he began turning over blocks and tossing away mangled household items, calling Ervina’s name throughout.

After what felt like an eternity, he shoved one block over and uncovered shimmering green fabric.

Crying her name again, he pushed another block away.  The fabric was stained blue.

The soreness of his hands and weariness in his body did little to slow his frantic work.  Block by block he dug down to the body of his wife.  Her graceful form was now broken and twisted, the flattering outfit more blue than green.  When he was finally able to pull her out from the debris, Perado collapsed again and clutched her in his arms.

* * *

Funerals were supposed to help provide comfort to the living, but the mass service Perado attended the next day offered no consolation.  He felt the condolences he offered to others, but their commiseration meant nothing to him.

When finally he was alone at the patch of ground where Ervina’s ashes were buried, he kneeled and placed his hand on the beryl marker over her remains.

“I’m sorry you were a Voratene subject for the rest of your life.”

His fingers curled into a fist.

The troops had done nothing to assist the Zora, leaving them to cope with the carnage the Voratene created.  The wound they caused from their invasion long ago had become like a scar to him, a blemish that one simply grew accustomed to.

But now they’d reopened that wound … and made it worse.  And he wasn’t going to let them get away with it.

Those murderers, so confident they were superior and more valuable than any residents of the other worlds, were rattled by one rumor:  Among the humans was a liberator who would bring about the end of their regime.

This prophesied liberator they sought for could be on any populated planet, or any ship in space.  When the Voratene didn’t have a lead to follow, they resorted to occasional intrusions like yesterday in the hope of uncovering him accidentally.

If the liberator had been among those humans they downed with a sonic blast, they would have heralded his termination over all the reports.  But it must have been a group of people hiding out for different nefarious purposes.  The Voratene’s silence only condemned them more.

“But I promise you will not have died in vain,” he murmured to the marker.

He would begin with his career.  He would track down the itineraries of all their air and space craft.  He would locate projects of resistance.  He would betray the Voratene’s movements to them, enabling them to intercept shipments and create accidents for the enemy ships.

From there he would be forced to leave Dea, to disappear into the universe by way of a path he would have to discover when that time descended.  But he would be armed with all he’d learned and use it against the Voratene, until either he or they were vanquished.

In their eagerness to track down this liberator, they’d created him.  He, Perado, would see to it the Voratene regime fell, and thanks to their focus on the liberator, they’d never see or hear him coming.

After all, it was because of them he had nothing left to lose.


Here is my contribution for this month’s #BlogBattle, and the word this time is Scar.  Be sure to check into all the other stories!

Against the Odds

“You mean it’s … terminal?”  Anwen’s arms tightened around her three-year old daughter as she cast a glance at her husband Dermot.  The girl cradled against her squeaked, so she loosened her embrace.

The doctor sat on the front of his desk instead of behind it.  He’d drawn a screen across the window to soften the light, but the towering mountains that crisscrossed much of the planet Hin still cast their silhouettes through the filter.  He clasped his hands together and inhaled deeply before replying.

“The disorder does atrophy the muscles before moving into the internal organs.  So … yes, I’m sorry to say that’s usually the case.”

“Usually?”  Dermot’s voice was hoarse, but Anwen appreciated how he otherwise appeared calm.  “What’s the exception?”

“Your daughter does have one chance, but it all hinges upon if she’s an appropriate match to the donor.”

“Match?  What donor?”  Anwen stroked her fingers through the child’s dark curls.  The motion soothed Rejali, who relaxed against her chest.

Why did their eighth child, whom they called their miracle baby because most people their age didn’t bear offspring, now face a life-threatening illness?  Little Rejali was as beautiful and healthy as any baby could be when she was born.

But over a year ago she complained about stiffness and soreness, and her coordination worsened.  She became less active.  The local doctors couldn’t figure it out, so they sought the help of specialists.

Luckily for them, they didn’t have to leave Hin to find those experts.  The native Trepetti had been agreeable to human colonization, so this was one of the more heavily settled planets.  Many resources were already here.

The doctor leaned forward.  “Rej’s condition is extremely rare.  It only manifests in children born to … parents in their fifties.  And even among that small number, very few are afflicted.  So this isn’t an inherited disease where we could just harvest pluripotent cells and reprogram them to repair her defective cells.”

“But you can cure her with somebody else’s cells?”  Dermot’s gaze was locked on the doctor.

“Maybe.  Any form of transplant carries certain risks, especially the chance a patient’s immune system will reject them.  That chance is lessened the better the recipient’s DNA matches the genetic makeup of the donor.”

“So how do you find a donor?”  Anwen hugged her delicate child again.

“The cells already exist.  Our facility maintains a backlog from a … particular donor.”

Dermot frowned.  “How particular?”

“You’ve heard of this … historical figure.  The fact he was genetically engineered does make some people hesitant to receive his line of cellular therapy.”

She drew in a sharp breath and cast a glance at her husband before returning her attention to the doctor.  “Cells from centuries ago are still available?”

“We’ve maintained production from his line because it provides great efficacy at treating certain disorders, and Rej will need that level of potency … if they match well enough.”

Anwen’s heart fluttered as Dermot asked, “How does his engineering play into the treatment?”

The doctor shrugged.  “The fact he was designed with enhanced physical prowess is why his line works so effectively with some of our toughest cases.  But that’s as far as it goes.”

Her gaze remained locked on him.  “If Rej does turn out to be a match, how well will this treatment work?”

“That depends on how close the match is.”  His head tilted.  “If she shares only minimal parameters for the therapy, she’ll be able to get around and live a protected life that goes well into adulthood.  The more characteristics she shares with him, the more her life would be completely normal, extending all the way to old age.”

Dermot sat up straighter.  “Then let’s get this started.”

*** Two Years Later ***

“Let’s go to the top this time!” Rejali always used the local Trepetti language with her friend, and grasped Preeta’s hand to tug her back toward the unfinished rock wall.

Preeta giggled and lumbered slightly to keep up.  Since her short legs and long arms made her walk with her knuckles, being pulled by one hand made her scamper funny.  Trepetti build also included folds of tawny skin that stretched from wrists to ankles, although it was concealed beneath the loose garments they wore.

That physical characteristic gave them an ability to glide, which meant one of Preeta’s favorite games involved learning that activity.  Rejali couldn’t glide, but still liked to see how far she could jump.

Preeta always encouraged her.  “Bet you can’t go as high as me!”

“Maybe one day.”  Rejali let go of her friend so they both could scramble up the side of the wall that looked like uneven stairs.  “But not today!”

“Me first!”

“You’re always first!”  But really, she didn’t mind.  Watching Preeta jump into the air to see how far she could soar helped Rejali figure out how to make the leap herself, even though she wasn’t Trepetti.

Today wasn’t a work day, which was why the men who were building the wall weren’t around.  Mama had left with Preeta’s mother to run errands in town.  Going to the Trepetti town was fun sometimes, but the spring weather was so warm today.  The friends convinced their mothers to let them stay in the community where Rejali’s family lived.  After all, her brother was home to watch them.

He’d allowed them to go to the wall to play because he could see it from their house.  So surely he’d seen all the other jumps they’d made already, going a little higher each time.  Hopefully he’d see how high she could go this round.

Although … as she strolled with bare feet a few paces along the top, it seemed higher than it looked from the ground.  She already knew it was as tall as Papa’s shoulders, but standing up here was different from when he gave her a ride on his back.

Rejali stopped and glanced over at her friend.  Preeta was also looking at the green grass striped with blue beneath them, and her smile had faded.  She reached up with one hand and dragged short fingers through the brown, bristly hair that grew from her scalp down her neck.

Preeta’s voice grew softer.  “I never jumped from this high.”

“Ah, you can do it.”  Rejali kept her own voice level even though she could have easily sounded like Preeta.  “Your people fly off the mountains.”

Her friend cast a sideways glance at her.  “Your people call it falling with style.”

The reminder made Rejali smile, partly because it helped her confidence return, at least a little bit.  “That’s what we’ve been doing the whole time.  We got practice lower down.  Now we can do it from up here.”

“Well….”  Preeta looked at the grass again, and her grin returned.  “You’re right.  Let’s do it!”

Her friend took a step away so she could spread her arms.  Her blue garments fluttered as the skin unfolded from her sides.  She made a small hop, and then flung herself upward and forward.

The skin bulged and stretched as she sailed downward, and forward several meters.  Her landing was marked by a soft thump and she staggered a little.  Lucky Trepetti….

“I did it!”  Preeta spun around to face the wall.  “I even flew farther this time!”

“I knew you could!”  Rejali shifted from one foot to the other.  Goodness, this wall was high.  She’d never be able to match the distance Preeta covered, but maybe she could stick the landing better.  All she had to do was fall with style.

She took a deep breath and murmured, “Here goes.”

With a small hop, she flung herself upward and forward.  She spread her arms and legs because she liked Preeta’s jumping style.  And for a perfect instant she was suspended between the lavender sky above and the grassy ground below, a ring of mountains providing silent witness.

Mama’s screech reached her ears.

Rejali flinched.  The unplanned motion knocked her off balance, and she landed on her left foot first.  Pain jolted up that leg even as her right foot struck the ground at the wrong angle.  She tumbled to the left and landed on the grass that barely cushioned the ground.

For a few seconds she couldn’t draw in any air.  Both Preeta and Mama called her name, and her ankle throbbed with every beat of her heart.  Just as panic started to flicker, she sucked in a thin wisp of air.

Mama dropped to her knees beside her.  “Rej!  Don’t move yet!  Are you hurt anywhere?”

She managed another breath, but her voice was still thin.  “My ankle.”

Rejali pointed toward her left foot as her throat tightened and eyes misted.  No, she wasn’t going to cry in front of Preeta.

While Mama placed her hands over the injured ankle, her friend’s mom came to a halt on her other side.  “Do you need my help?”

Pain jolted from her ankle again as Mama felt around it.  A yelp escaped through Rejali’s gritted teeth, and the tears that welled only frustrated her more.

Mama released a loud breath before she replied, “Thank you, but at least it looks twisted and not broken.”  Her gaze returned to Rejali’s face.  “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”  Her voice still squeaked.  “Maybe.  I couldn’t breathe.”  She dragged her arm across her nose so it wouldn’t drip.

“I’m surprised it’s not worse.”  Mama stroked her fingers once through Rejali’s curls as she glanced toward Preeta’s mother.  “Thank heaven, she’ll be all right.”

“I thought humans were too delicate for such heights,” Preeta’s mom replied.  “Such a relief it’s not more serious.  I’m sorry, Anwen.  We’ll have a discussion with Preeta.”

That could only lead to boring grownup talk, and Rejali looked over at her friend.  Preeta stood beside her mother, eyes wide.

“It’s not your fault.”  Rejali’s ankle continued to throb, and her voice remained squeaky.  “I wanted to go on top.”

Preeta’s head tilted to one side.  “I thought you could do it.”

And Rejali would have, too, if Mama hadn’t broken her concentration.  She remembered those days of feeling weak, when just walking was a challenge.  When her strength finally began to return a little each day, she pushed herself to the limit because it helped her grow stronger.  After all, life was much more fun this way.

After a round of farewells, Preeta and her mom left, and Mama scooped Rejali up in her arms to carry her.

“I can walk.”  She squirmed.

“You’ll be limping for a while.”  Mama switched to speaking Esperanto as her arms tightened.  “Rejali, you must stop being such a daredevil.”

She was in trouble when Mama called her that instead of Rej.

“The doctors said keep trying harder things.”  She also switched to their common language.

Mama exhaled, and carried her toward the house.  “They didn’t say to try and break your neck.”  Her voice dropped to a grumble.  “So this is what happens with the most perfect match they’d ever seen.”

Rejali frowned.  “What match?”

“You’re still too young to understand.  Just remember, you can run and play like all the other children now, so you don’t need to push anymore.  We’ll take care of that ankle when we get home – and find out what your brother’s been up to instead of keeping an eye on you.”

She didn’t want to cry in front of him, either.  Rejali pressed her lips together and tried to ignore her sore ankle.  Was Mama right?  Now that she was no longer so tender, should she stop trying to see how far she could go with her reclaimed strength?

That didn’t sound like any fun.



So here is this month’s contribution to #BlogBattle, and the word this time is Tender.  Don’t miss out — be sure to check in on the other submissions!

Facing the Unknown

“Don’t worry about me.”  Whit hoped his forced smile appeared relaxed.  “I’m too old and stringy for them to decide to serve mankind.”

The deadpan expressions of his fellow crewmembers betrayed how nervous everybody was … including him.  It wasn’t every day that an alien species tried to communicate with them.

Except for the past five days, that is.  When one of their interstellar ships came within visual range of a vessel not belonging to their fleet, word spread like wildfire.  At least, that was the way his late wife Sunny would have described it, since as a historian she liked using those obscure phrases.

Within hours after encountering the first craft, a second one showed up.  The first vessel departed, and the second one – twice as large as any in the fleet – proceeded to play something of a cat-and-mouse game with the ships.

“They’ve finished going belly-up again and are making their final approach.” The technician was probably the only one whose attention wasn’t focused on Whit.

Whenever it approached, the craft would roll enough to show its underside.  This mystified the crew for the first couple of days.  When one of the agriculturalists pointed out it reminded her of a dog rolling on its back to show submission, the idea proved intriguing.

After the first couple of days, what appeared to be robots began crawling about a specific area on the hull of the alien craft.  They built a tubular extension, mere meters in diameter and about ten meters long, matching the configuration of the portals on the fleet ships.

“How is their alignment with our portal?” the captain asked the technician.

“Their trajectory is immaculate.”

Yesterday, the aliens sent shockwaves through the fleet by communicating with all the ships.

Once upon a time humanity believed a fallacy that intelligence denoted benevolence.  Experience, which Whit had plenty of, proved no correlation between the two.  When the fleet received text in the universal code they used, all the specialists admitted the aliens were first to figure out how to communicate.

The language use was stilted, but the message was an invitation.  Assuming the interface they’d constructed was adequate, would the humans like to send over representatives and begin establishing an accord?

“Almost there….” the technician murmured.

The ship shuddered slightly, but nobody would have spilled any drinks if they’d decided to send off Whit with a toast.  Considering the vessel was a behemoth, the minor rattle made its navigators’ piloting skills quite impressive.

That still wasn’t proof against the theory they wanted to discover if humans were tasty.

“You’ll never be alone, Whit.”  The captain placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed.  “I know it sure feels that way to someone about to make history, but our prayers are with you.”

Make history?  His wife would have liked to witness this, but his status as a widower was one of the reasons he volunteered to possibly make the menu.

“Thank you.”  It seemed prudent to keep any further entree cracks to himself.  “I’ll just try not to screw things up.”

Well wishes followed him into the airlock.  The door behind him closed as he stepped across the cargo area used for passenger transfers.  Multicolored lights above the next doorway flickered, displaying how much breathable air filled the alien pod.

Seemed like a good reminder to draw a deep breath and calm his nerves….

Despite his age, or rather, because of his experience, he participated on one of the committees that discussed how to respond to the invitation.  If they sent somebody, that person should meet certain parameters:  Older, although not elderly and frail; no dependent family; and widower, which also implied male.

Upon his realization he fit the profile, Whit volunteered … which was another criteria they established.

All the lights above the door flashed to green, and the polymer panel retracted into the wall.

His heart began thumping against his chest and his stomach rolled.  He’d been in plenty of tight spots before, but meeting aliens for the first time still presented a handicap.  He might not be able to read their expressions as well as he did with his fellow man.  For all he knew, blowing a raspberry was a friendly greeting.

When Sunny passed away less than a year ago, he hadn’t expected it.  She’d always been spunky and vivacious, laughing at his jokes when others might groan.  One morning when she awakened, she complained for the first time in her life about feeling too tired to arise.

He signaled for a doctor to report to their quarters, and then Sunny assured him she felt better.  Immediately afterward she drew her last breath.

So little warning….

This open doorway was no competition for the despair that descended upon him then, but it reminded him of that loss.  For many months he’d coped with the first occasion of all events that now passed without her.  The first year was supposed to be the hardest….

Whit drew another deep breath.  If his wife still lived, somebody else would be standing in his place.  And precisely because he missed her was one reason he decided to volunteer for this role.

It wasn’t death that frightened him.  It was exactly how he got there that proved a bit worrisome.  And then there was the matter of keeping the fleet safe.

He passed through the doorway.  Lights all over the wall and ceiling flashed on, startling him.  Whit proceeded at a saunter as he slipped into his practiced scrutiny.

The instruments and panels presented a bizarre blend of familiar and enigmatic.  Geometry prevailed, with round tubes and rectangular frames bordered by lights of differing colors.  Some seemed to be purely for illumination, while others formed incomprehensible configurations that occasionally cascaded vertically against their backdrops.

It seemed prudent to continue heeding his mother’s advice and keep his hands to himself.

His soft footfalls on the textured floor were the only sound to reverberate through the pod.  Since the air had been provided from his ship, no aroma stood out … which itself seemed odd.  Shouldn’t it at least have, as Sunny would have called it, that new car smell?

His heart jolted again when a band of blue light, surrounding a screen or window at the end of the pod, flashed on.  Its luminescence pulsated as a shield lowered … revealing another being standing behind it.

He immediately noted the characteristics they shared:  bipedal, although the lower frame of the window concealed what was below its waist, with two arms and one head.  Its clothing appeared to be draped about its form, and was accented with swirling green and yellow designs.

Its broad, ruddy face was lined with plump wrinkles, reminding him of an overripe bell pepper.  The eyes were dark, the nose flat, and thin lips stretched from cheek to cheek.

The being raised its hands, each with five fingers, palms forward.

Was it possible?  Were the actions of showing their belly and raising hands really universal expressions of meaning no harm?

Whit mirrored the alien’s stance.  The corners of its mouth curled upward but the lips didn’t part.

He smiled back, also refraining from teeth disclosure.  It felt as forced as his earlier attempt to fake ease.  This was no time to reflect on those enduring alien probe jokes.

The being spoke.  Its mouth moved in an understandable way, but the speech that transmitted into the pod was undecipherable.

A screen below the window vertically scrolled the code used by the fleet:

Welcome.  We do not recognize ***** the ***** people we discovered.  ***** are small.  Why are ***** here?

Whit returned his attention to the alien that stood a full head shorter, and would have wondered what profanity had just been used if their original invitation hadn’t displayed the same stuttering.  They did appear to have problems with the pronoun you, but other gaps weren’t as obvious.

Lord knew what all got lost in the translator, but assuming it worked for both languages, he might as well answer the question.

“We have been traveling for generations.  You are the first … other people … we have met.”  Ah, maybe that explained one of the stutters.  “We found you by chance.”

The readout cooperated with spelling out an estimation of what it translated.  His associate’s expression, a deepening of the wrinkles, revealed little of how well his statements had been received.  After a few seconds passed, the being returned its attention to him.

Why do ***** travel?

This was starting to feel like an interrogation, which didn’t surprise him.  After all, his fleet was the trespassers, and perhaps these friendly aliens were just as wary of them.

That answer was long and complicated.  “How much do you like long stories?”

Its wrinkles deepened again, and then its head bobbed once.

***** are strangers.  Why are ***** here?

Well, he couldn’t argue with that.  Whit drew a deep breath, sorted his thoughts, and then tried to explain.  How well would the translator cope with the concepts of suppression and coercion and war … or defiance and liberation and compassion?

With his experience in giving reports, and marriage to a historian filling in any gaps he might have otherwise, his explanation sounded cogent to him.  The readout confirmed it looked like he used some profanity.

His associate’s wrinkles pulsed throughout the monologue, and then it gazed at him again.

***** left ***** problems?

Even without missing words, that question wasn’t as simple as it sounded.  Thoroughness and accuracy were still important to him, so he didn’t want his reply to sound misleading.  But if he told the truth, would that somehow condemn all of humanity to an end they’d been avoiding?

He had spoken the truth for too long to change that now.

“No.  Some of them came with us.  We are not … perfect.  Having to rely on each other in the confines of space has kept the worst of our behavior at bay, but lies and theft and even murder are still part of our behavior.”

Not only did its wrinkles pulse, the alien’s eyes bulged slightly.  After a couple of seconds, it looked at Whit … and smiled.

For all he knew, it was pleased to have some new recipes to try out.

Before people can be strong, must ***** know weakness.

Whit stared at the readout.  Despite most of the words being present, he still wasn’t certain what that meant.  Did the alien just declare it was now confident its species was strong enough to run weak humans out of this part of the galaxy … or worse?

All his decades as a crime investigator welled inside him.  If he just screwed things up, it was up to him to keep the people on the ship – including his children and grandchildren – safe.  They might have to make a run for it, and leave him behind….

I will tell about us.

Whit stared at his associate’s face despite not figuring out the cues.  “What do you mean?”

***** we share.  It is my turn.

The readout appeared to be sprinkled with profanity again, but he followed a narrative about geological turmoil and deception and seeking.  Interesting … sharing its own tribulations stirred a sense of trust in him.

“I suppose nobody is perfect.”

The alien smiled.

They discussed a few more matters about expectations and the future, and then agreed to withdraw to their own people and arrange another meeting.  As he returned to the ship, he noticed a slight trembling in his fingers.  Adrenaline aftereffects….

The crew’s greeting was hearty.

“Everything looked well from this end,” the captain said.  “But how would you describe it?”

The smile that sprang to his lips was spurred by more than relief.  Even though Sunny wasn’t here to share this event, she would have been pleased their descendants might actually benefit from it.  He heard her laughter in his mind’s ear.



Here is my contribution this month to #BlogBattle, and this time the word is Interface.  Lots of possibilities with that one, so be sure to catch the other submissions!

Common Ground

“But what will happen to humanity if it’s dispersed across numerous planetary systems?”  Oma wasn’t sure if it was the idea that unsettled her, or the simple fact that for the first time in her life she was walking on solid ground and breathing a natural atmosphere.

She wasn’t even sure why she had been selected to be part of this committee.  Yes, she was the captain of the first interstellar ship to make contact with an alien species … except the humans were the outsiders in this part of the universe, which technically made them the aliens….

“It’s not so different from being divided among eight ships.”  Her son-in-law, Jeron, smirked as he glanced toward her and shrugged.

Jeron and Kirati had convinced her to accompany them to an outside patio – for lack of a better word – as part of taking a momentary break from their consultation with the Bavphet.  The outdoor terrace overlooked a range of multiple islands stretched in a crooked line across a turquoise ocean.

“And this is what our ancestors hoped for.”  Kirati smiled as she swirled her drink, a pale blue, luminescent tea native to this planet.  Oma had never met her before yesterday since they were from different ships, but quickly learned the svelte history keeper was game to sample any cuisine verified safe for human consumption.

Oma gave them credit for convincing her to step outside the multifaceted building constructed from stone that reminded her of obsidian – or rather, of pictures she’d seen of obsidian.  She’d spent her whole life of nearly fifty years on a spaceship.  And while she appreciated the agricultural tracts maintained by keepers like Jeron, the lack of containment and airlocks on the planet’s surface proved to be a bit disconcerting….

“It was one of many possibilities.”  She leveled her gaze on Kirati.  “They also knew they might never find a planet that would sustain them.”

Jeron raised his dun arms toward the azure sky.  “And yet, look.”  He turned in a slow circle.  “The parameters for life seem to be universal.  Yes, oxygen and nitrogen levels vary a bit, but the elemental cycles are still present.”

Kirati’s green eyes stayed locked on her face.  “I don’t believe it’s coincidence we stumbled upon the Bavphet when we did.”

“Yes, finding this interplanetary alliance is fortuitous.”  Oma didn’t shift her focus.  “But we haven’t even seen the other available worlds.  Leastways, not it real life.  And you of all people should be aware of potential cultural conflicts, history keeper.”

Kirati smiled and shifted her attention to Jeron.  “You’re right.  She’s tenacious.”

Oma frowned at him, somewhat in jest.  “Sowing discord instead of crops?”

“Far from it.”  He grinned.  “I was pointing out what a dedicated captain you are.”

“Your viewpoint is in the minority.”  Kirati sipped from her tea, and then leaned against a knotty tree, one of several dotting the rosy flagstone.  “Our ancestors anticipated such an attitude, which is why they established keepers to perpetuate a fascination for the ecology of Earth and the desire to return to that lifestyle.”

“I understand most people embrace that desire.”  Considering her associates were around twenty years younger than her, Oma could grasp why they didn’t share the security she felt on board a ship.

Jeron shrugged.  “But that doesn’t make you obsolete.”

“Quite the contrary.”  Kirati nodded.  “Those who feel more space-bound would be ideal for shuttling between the colonies.  You would in essence be the glue that helps hold humanity together.”

She locked her gaze on the young woman again.  As a captain, she was accustomed to remaining calm even though this discussion caused her stomach to flutter.

“You’re talking as though we’ve already decided to merge with the natives of all the available planets.”

Kirati tilted her head to one side.  “I know you resist the idea … but you’ve got to admit there is no other alternative.”

“These Bavphet are technological geniuses.  They solved our communication barrier, for crying out loud.  They’ve already unified the sciences of other worlds, allowing the systems to live independently while working with each other.  They can help us rebuild our ships, modernize our equipment–”

“Forgive me, Captain.”  Jeron clasped his hands together.  “But you are ignoring the fact humanity – and the flora and fauna we brought with us – really isn’t designed for long-term space habitation.  Despite technology and medicine, we face challenges to keep surviving in ways that won’t erase our very humanity.”

She knew when her oldest daughter brought this guy home that he didn’t allow rank to intimidate him, and his reference to her rank signaled he was keeping this discussion on the professional level.

Somehow, that didn’t sit right with her.

“Our adaptability is a herald of humanity.  That’s how we made it this far.”

“And this is far enough.”  Kirati raised her glass.  “It’s time to return to terra firma, generally speaking.”

“Is that why you brought me out here?  To convince me to favor colonization on the available planets?  It sounds like my opinion is already outnumbered.”

Jeron drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled before replying.  “Oma, you’re right.  It’s inevitable that colonization will take place.  And it’s inevitable conflicts will arise with the natives.  They’re accustomed to interacting with each other, but not to living with each other.”

“And that’s where you come in.”  Kirati nodded.  “We’re considering several planets, not just a planet, because it lessens the socio-political strain for the inhabitants of this sector.”

“Your concerns are completely valid.”  Jeron folded his arms over his chest.  “And that’s why we need somebody like you to remain on neutral ground.”  He tilted his head and smirked.  “Or rather, neutral space.”

Was this supposed to be some kind of joke?  She was a captain of an interstellar ship, not a counselor or arbitrator.  Their suggestion made as much sense as the court’s appointing her to participate in this committee….

Hmm, everybody knew she resisted the idea of colonization.  And it wasn’t just the big picture that disconcerted her.  Humanity mingling with various aliens … natives … whatever … meant she had something more personal at stake.

“You’re threatening to break up my family.”  Oma locked her gaze on his face.

His mouth shifted into that smile her daughter claimed was one of the aspects she found appealing about him.  “It’s true we’re thinking Dea sounds like a nice planet to settle on.  But it’s not like we’re encouraging all her siblings to move in with us.”

She glanced toward Kirati, who had the good sense to examine a bug-like creature on one of the tree’s chartreuse leaves, perhaps wondering if it cooked up as a tasty treat.

“It would be the best of both worlds for you, or rather, world and space.”  He nodded.  “You can visit any time.  And rest assured, if you ever tire of flying among the stars, you’re welcome to land with us.”

Oma had to shift her gaze to the ocean for a few seconds.  Waves crashed against the craggy islands, expending most of their energy on the barrier that protected the shoreline.  By the time they reached the pebbly beach below where she and her associates stood, the pulsing water lapped among the stones.

Maybe it would all work out….

Her attention returned to Jeron.  “You’re trying to put ideas into my head.”

His smile broadened.  “I know better than to confront you directly.”


Here is this month’s contribution to #BlogBattle, and this time the word is Merge.  Be sure to check out the other submissions and discover how these stories come together to serve the noble purpose of writing encouragement!

Skin Deep

“You will not find a more potent hypnotic,” Samiya purred as she offered Rhys the open jar.

He reached for it, but she slipped it back toward her chest.  Her full, burgundy lips curled in a demure smile, and her coffee irises seemed to glow from a hidden ember.  Rhys had trouble determining her age, and that enigma only confirmed her identity.

“I can’t examine it?”

“Look.  Do not touch.”  Again she extended her arm, slender and reminiscent of silky chocolate.  “Mere contact is enough to trigger an altered state.”

The drab, patinous powder filled two-thirds of the pint jar.  It was unremarkable compared to the dried plants and animal parts that hung from the beams of – for lack of a better term – her hut.  Constructed from canvas and hide and lumber and mud brick, it was a syncretism of modern and ancient architecture, blending into the arid landscape.

Her shop of horrors, located beyond sight from the town, was close enough for wayfarers to stumble upon.  Even now children played nearby in the cool of morning, their shouts muffled but clear.

And his investigating partner, Kazim, hid nearby, waiting for the quarry they truly sought.  Although native to this country, he determined Rhys should be the one to contact Samiya.  She would be less suspicious of him since he looked like just another khawarja, white guy, and was good at coming across as a witless wonder.

Kazim had a way with words.

“Hypnosis has its limitations.”  His gaze returned to her face, and in spite of himself admired her even, sculpted features framed in coiled, black tresses.  “You can’t, for instance, compel a pacifist to kill.”

Her lids lowered and lips pouted.  “What is it you desire?”

“I need complete control.”

The satisfaction of her smile made Mona Lisa look grumpy.  “Then you find what you seek.  All you need do is adjust the dosage.  A pinch renders the subject susceptible to suggestion.  A handful will make him submit to any whim.  Any more than that will cause unconsciousness.”

“How long until it takes effect?”

“A matter of seconds.”  Samiya tilted her head, which seemed to accentuate the gracefulness of her neck.  “This is my own recipe, perfected only recently.”

“Did your husband help you develop it?”

Her smile became impish, like a little girl caught lurking outside the boy’s locker room.  Her free hand glided from her shoulder to the wrist, and the tips of her delicate fingers rippled over an ornate bracelet of gold and shimmering stones.

“I have no husband.”

Despite the sultriness of her action, his acuity snapped into high gear.  That bracelet was not what it appeared.

She’d just summoned the husband she denied.  Okie-doke, two could play at that game.

“Oh, come now.”  Rhys shrugged as he rubbed the back of his neck, enabling him to tap the alert button on the communication device lodged behind his ear.  “Surely a sweetie like you needs more than some noxious potions to keep the wolves at bay?”

Her smile implied that whoever claimed flattery would get you nowhere had never tried it.  “The men around here know what is good for them.  They want their children to explore the hills and gather herbs they can sell me.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Poverty is a taskmaster.  But I control that condition, which makes me their ultimate master.”

Her admission was as startling as a used-car salesman proclaiming he peddled lemons.  Then again, that boldness was probably bolstered by expectation of her husband’s arrival.

“But what about your customers from beyond these borders?”

The curtain in the doorway rustled, and since Kazim hadn’t alerted him their quarry was on the way, Rhys only glanced toward the disturbance.  A local boy, maybe around ten years old, focused on Samiya as he stepped inside, perhaps hoping to sell her herbs.  Rhys returned his attention to the woman.

His subconscious twitched.

His gaze shot back to the lad, who glared at him with amber, swirling eyes and slit pupils.

Knickers – she hadn’t summoned her husband, but her son.

The preternatural offspring sprang forward, hissing, and at a height above Rhys’s head.  With a similar but lower spring, Rhys slammed into the wall behind the woman.  A Zulu-style shield hanging where he collided crashed to the floor of packed earth.

The boy landed on the spot Rhys just vacated.  With a rumble reminiscent of a crocodile’s growl, he raised a dagger probably in his clutches since entering the hut.

Rhys snatched the shield with his left hand, and with the right drew a pulser – like a pistol that fired charges – from his pocket.  He’d rather not shoot–

Gritty powder struck the left side of his face, a tangible reminder Samiya was nearby, and adept at flinging contents in jars.  A greenish cloud stung his eyes and an acrid aroma burned his nostrils.  He stopped inhaling, although the damage was already done.

His head swam.

Kazim burst through the doorway, pulser drawn.  And – like any good man upon spying a woman and a child – hesitated.

The boy spun around and lunged in a low tackle toward his new prey.

A peep cracked from Kazim’s pulser as a wad of light hurtled just over the boy’s shoulder.  The projectile flashed as it struck the wall between Rhys and Samiya.  The so-called lad nearly succeeded in slashing Kazim as he struck, but the man deflected the blow with an arm sweep and kick.

His knees wobbled as Rhys hurled the shield toward their attacker.  He tried to aim low enough to disable the boy, but the room seemed to spin around him and he struggled to avoid falling forward from his own momentum.

As the shield struck the assailant’s head, blood splattered toward Kazim as Rhys dropped to his knees.  No, he hadn’t meant to throw with that much force … and because it was impossible for a mere human to execute, he’d betrayed his identity.

He collapsed to the floor.

Traitor!” Samiya screeched, and from the corner of his bleary vision he spied her lunge toward him, a larger knife in her grip.

A flash of light struck her as a peep cracked from Kazim’s position.  Rhys’s vision darkened but he believed he heard her strike the wall.

Well, that went poorly was his final, conscious thought.


“Don’t sit up too fast.”  Kazim’s baritone voice seemed to emanate from the acacia trees that surrounded them.

Rhys welcomed the warning since the world still felt like it was spinning faster than usual.  He preferred to not leap to his feet, ready to defend himself.

“Oh … what a night.”  As he propped up on elbows from his supine position, he noted they were nowhere near the hut, but in a dusty field dotted by trees.

His heart dropped when he spied only Kazim step closer to him.  No prisoners.  There was no question Samiya’s son didn’t survive the blow to the head, but he’d hoped his partner would be able to detain the woman.

Rhys inched into sitting up.  “Where’s Samiya?”

“I had plenty of time to dispose of the bodies.”  Kazim folded his arms, his left wrist bandaged with white cloth.  “You’ve been out for hours.”

“That doesn’t exactly answer my question.”  He had a nagging suspicion that if Kazim told him to go roll in rhinoceros dung, he might just do it, and not to symbolically express his opinion of how this takedown went.

“I don’t know if she turned the knife on herself or just cut herself accidentally, but she was already dying when I got to her.  That blade was poisoned.”

“Looks like it was lucky for you her son’s knife wasn’t spiked, also.”

Kazim shrugged.  “It might be lucky for you they’re both dead.  If word got out who you really are, your career as a Tracker will get cut short.”

Rhys pressed his fingers against his temple and rubbed, hoping that would make the spinning slow enough for him to stand.  “Finding our target will be harder with her out of the picture … and I really wish I hadn’t wasted his son.”

Kazim raised an eyebrow as a corner of his mouth curled up.  “You’re a hopeless optimist.  That creature would have never turned to our side.”

“Stranger things have happened.”  Nope, the world still seemed to have somewhere to go and was in a hurry to get there.  “And I’m not just speaking from personal experience.”

“Speaking of personal experience, this whole fiasco is going to be a truckload of fun to explain to the elders.”

Was it focusing on Kazim that helped to steady the swoon … or contemplating the reality of what his associate just said?  Maybe he’d rather go roll in rhino excrement….

“And you claim I’m the one who’s always the optimist.”


Here is my contribution to this month’s #BlogBattle, and the word this round is Hypnotic.  Be sure to check out the other stories!

We Come in Pieces

Bliss ran from hilltop to valley, and through fields and woods.  When she finally lingered near a stream to catch her breath and sip a drink, she cursed the Martians.

Well, the aliens weren’t really from Mars, but many people called them that.

The name game started when some busybodies suggested that calling them aliens was, well, alienating.  But after the attacks began, they got referred to in lots of other epithets.  Folks less inclined to swearing than Bliss was usually refrained from such monikers, but while she kneeled near the stream, she pretty much labeled them everything but Martians.

Wishing she had a light jacket to throw over her tee shirt, she surveyed the currently quiet forest around her.  Patches of smaller brush, guilty of lashing her bare arms and slapping against her jeans, were scattered throughout taller trees still sporting yellow and crimson leaves.

A sneeze from only thirty yards away prompted her to snatch the .45 pistol tucked into her belt at the small of her back.

Bliss swore under her breath as she aimed at the area the sound must have come from.  She had only five shots left, and these *#@%ing Martians were capable of splintering into eight components….

“Don’t shoot!”  The man who walked out from behind a tree swollen enough to conceal him held his hands up in the air.

Bliss lowered the pistol enough to keep him out of direct aim.  “Keep your distance!”

“I have been this whole time.”  His button-down shirt and khaki slacks looked as smudged as her own clothing, and he appeared to be wearing a daypack.

“You mean you’ve been following me?”

“Well, yes, there’s safety in numbers, you know.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”  At least imitating humans was not a feature of these fiends, but she couldn’t assume his motives were entirely altruistic.  “The Martians seem to like swooping in on groups to maximize their harvest.”

“Just two people don’t make a group.  My name’s Brandon, by the way.”

Bliss wasn’t in the mood to introduce herself.  “Unless you’re loaded for bear, I don’t need your help.”

“I was thinking more along the lines we could combine our resources.”  He began to slowly lower his hands.  “For one thing, I’ve got a little food.”

That was one of the oldest tricks in the book.  “I doubt you have enough for both of us.”

“It’s no banquet, but it could stretch berries and roots.”  He reached for his back pocket, so she raised the pistol.  “Easy there, I just need to wipe my nose before it drips.  Bad first impression.”

He pulled a white handkerchief from behind his hip.  It made her think of a surrender flag, and wasn’t sure if that should make her feel relieved or worried.

She waited for him to finish blowing his nose.  “How did you wind up bringing food?”

“I was in a pharmacy hoping to find some marbles that were out of stock in the other store when the Martians attacked the town.  Grabbed some bean dip and granola bars before making my break.”

She lowered the pistol again.  “Why were you following me?”

“I saw you take off after you gunned down an arm and a leg.  I know shooting them only slows them down, but creating an alliance with somebody who’s armed seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Why did you wait until now to make your presence known?”

A small smirk twisted his lips.  “I had trouble keeping up with you.  Did you run track in high school?”

Bliss shrugged as she returned the pistol to her belt, but still berated herself for never checking her rear flank.  “At least it seems we outran them.  Too bad you didn’t grab any ammo while you were at it.”

Brandon sneezed again, and wiped his nose with the hanky before replying.  “Ammo is probably even harder to find than marbles these days.”

“You sick?”

“Just allergies.  They’re always worse in the fall.  So, shall we form our own militia?”

“I suppose.”  She shrugged again while nodding for him to step closer.  “I just wish the scatter-brained politicians hadn’t pulled our troops out prematurely.  They could’ve at least slowed down a lot more Martians.”

“Well, if you like conspiracy theories, I heard a story they escaped from a lab.”  He strolled toward her.  “Being visited by aliens was supposed to distract us from the supply chain disruption, inflation, and spending bills.”

“Or it’s another crisis to take advantage of.”

Brandon tilted his head as he halted a few feet from her.  “Hey, you got a point there–”

A snap came from behind the tree.

Bleep, he didn’t check his rear flank, either.  Too drained to sprint away at the pace she’d held earlier, Bliss yanked the pistol back out.

The Martian darted into view, and for a second it was reminiscent of a child’s incorrect drawing of a spider.  It had a head and a torso and two legs, but sported four arms.  And then it did that creepy thing.

The body parts disjointed, and a head, a torso, two legs and four arms dispersed into a jagged line and scrambled toward them.

Bliss hesitated, wanting to be sure she got off an accurate shot.  Her new comrade grabbed a nearby limb and gripped it near his head.

“I shoot a part, and then we run for it!” she hissed.

“Oh no, I think this branch triggered my allergies–”

The head was at the front of the charge, and closer to Brandon.  Afraid she might hit him, she didn’t fire as it launched into the air and toward his face.

He should have been able to bat it away like a baseball, but instead, he sneezed.  His swing completely missed the head.

It bounced off his chest and rolled back on the ground.  And then Bliss couldn’t believe what she saw next.

As the head moaned in a high pitch, it and all the other parts ceased their advance and started writhing.  In the next few seconds the color of its skin darkened from a pale pink to a septic green.  The eyes of the head rolled back, the cheeks sunk in, and then everything became still.

They stared at the remains for a few seconds before he murmured, “What happened?”

Laughter rippled in her chest but didn’t break to the surface.  “Wow!  That was like War of the Worlds on steroids!”

His brow furrowed.  “Maybe I’m asymptomatic.”

“I don’t care.”  Bliss grabbed his hand.  “Let’s go Brandon!  We’ve got to let everybody know we might have a way to make these aliens something to sneeze at!”


So here is my contribution to #BlogBattle this month, and the word this time is Scattered.  As you can see, I decided to just have some fun with it….

Have some fun checking out all the other submissions!