It was morning when he reached the mountain citadel, and the glaring sun gave the stone and ice a blue glow. The monastery was built from the same rock as the surrounding peaks, and unless you knew where and what to look for, you’d never find it. Many brave wanderers had gone searching for it and found only their deaths on the unforgiving slopes. But it was a sword that cut both ways, the pilgrim figured. The monks must be starved for news of the outside world. He adjusted his pack. He was going to sell them so many encyclopedias.
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It was dark by the time he reached the abandoned factory. He found a dry patch of ground, set down his backpack and pulled out his lamp. The heavy-duty contractor’s lamp lit the space in a harsh LED glare. It was the lynchpin of his arsenal. He took a quick look around, then launched the Shadowhuntr app on his phone. He was in the top five on the combination ARG and urban exploration toolkit. Tonight’s raid would take him over the top. But he became so engrossed in checking his standings he never noticed the creature creeping up behind him.
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The young witch sits down in her living room and sets to work. There is a candle-topped skull on an end table and a stack of tomes are piled on the floor. The space is otherwise modern and comfortable. She is a thoroughly modern witch who crafts her spells in a text editor instead of a cauldron. The rules are the same. She just uses new tools. She pauses when her laptop screen shuts itself, and an unseen yet fuzzy presence makes itself known in her lap. Another immutable rule of witchcraft is that the cat will always cause trouble.
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She leaned out the window and sighed. She looked out through the cool darkness into the neon-soaked alleys of the city, searching for something that she couldn’t name. She wouldn’t say she was unhappy. Her days were filled with light and joy. But at night, she sat up instead of sleeping. She was missing something in her soul, and the lack of it was the missing stair her mind tripped over in the dark. She got dressed and headed out into the city. Somewhere in the night was a missing piece of her. She went to go and find it.
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Translocation is an exact science. That’s the whole point. You get in the pod, you flip the switch, and here becomes there. The technology bends the laws of physics to shave years off of interstellar journeys. But as the pod rematerializes, she realizes something is wrong. The process isn’t going as smoothly as usual. She feels a lurch in her stomach, and the pod falls the last ten meters to land on the broken tiles of the trans-port floor. She emerges into ruins, stranded with the puzzle of what happened to the thriving space colony she was sent to inspect.
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The little packet boat moved through the old canal at a slow and steady pace. Walls of cyclopean stone blocks hemmed in both sides, and leaning towers loomed above them, as though giants watching their progress. The ruined waterway was still traversable, but it was filled with hidden dangers and old ghosts. The three-man crew kept their wits about them and eyes sharp for fallen blocks in the water and ambushes on the levee. As they emerged back onto a wider stretch of river they muttered a prayer of thanks to the forgotten builders and set their sail for home.
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We were retracting one of the pods from the ocean surface, and it was nearly at the top when it jammed. Most people think that it’s the turbines that keep the city flying. But if they’re the city’s heart, the pods are the nose and mouth. They bring in water and air and expelling exhaust. We’d choke without them. As I clipped on my harness to take a look, my buddy handed me something. “Just in case,” he said. I looked from the orange life preserver to the water hundred s of meters below and had to admire his optimism.
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“What’s a ‘domesticated cactus?’” The boy asked, looking curiously at the display. The old woman behind the counter chuckled and pulled a little ball cactus from the shelf behind her. “They’re genetically modified. See? No thorns.” She petted it like a cat. The boy reached out a tentative hand. The cactus was soft and cool to the touch. “Cacti have thorns for protection, but sometimes we’re better off letting people in.” She handed him the pot. “ Here, it’s on the house.” He kept the cactus on his desk for years, and it eventually became the symbol of the disarmament movement.
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Something went wrong with the summoning. The dragon felt the call of magic pull it through dimensions, then the spell snapped, and it emerged into a gale. The dragon struggled to stay aloft in the howling wind and freezing rain but fell towards a strange city. Inside the bakery, Indigo heard a thump. They looked up to see a little dragon pressed against the window. They brought the dragon inside to dry off. Unsure of what it ate, Indigo grabbed a handful of sultanas and offered them to the creature. To the little dragon’s eyes, the fruit sparkled like gold.
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Welcome to Nostalgia Pilots! This week, we’re taking a break and presenting some outtakes from the first ten episodes of G Gundam! These are goofs, tangents, or other material cut for time or space. Enjoy, and we’ll be back next week with more Nostalgia Pilots!
Hugh J. O'Donnell 