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Drabble: Buried Alive

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The hero opened his eyes to the sound of dirt hitting the lid of the coffin. He was in total darkness, buried alive. He’d have to act quickly.

Above ground, a group of men watched the unmarked grave.

“It’s been four minutes. Maybe this time?” said a man with a shovel.

“Not today, you fiend!” the hero shouted and burst through the loose soil. Someone shouted, “Time!” An assistant fired a tranquilizer gun into the man’s chest. He flopped over. “Okay, let’s get him set up for the next run.”

“Man,” a trainer said. “The Olympics sure have gotten weird.”

Author’s Note:  This drabble was originally published to the Drabblecast forums.  It appeared in audio on The Dribblecast, read by Rish Outfield.  You can listen to his version HERE.

Donations For Life

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He found a likely corner and put on the little red hat. It was kind of a cliche, but people expected it. He set up the bucket and rang the bell. Somewhere time ticked by. One more coin, he promised himself. Then, he could get out of the cold. Someone tried to dip their hand in the bucket. He couldn’t have that, So he ran out and jumped on the thief’s head. There was a satisfying bop. Somewhere, a chime rang. That made a hundred coins. Which meant an extra life. The Save a Princess Foundation was finally getting somewhere.

Fiction: The Space War

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The Space War began twenty-five light years from Earth. Mankind had never actually managed to figure out a way past the speed of light, so our exploration of the stars progressed slowly, with whole generations losing contact with home just to set foot on the soil of distant worlds. The first dozen or so missions visited dead, Mars-like worlds, and the general public lost interest in deep space exploration. Then, the Hawking IV craft was lost.

The initial reaction was one of puzzlement and sadness at the tragedy, though no one could confirm what, exactly, the tragedy was from sifting through the quarter-century old data. The Hawking V was sent to continue the mission, with special cameras designed to record everything the crew saw. Before it too was destroyed, it sent back murky, unfocused footage of an attacking space craft.

There was a tightly controlled panic in Mission Command. The enemy craft had been too quick to film, and overwhelmingly powerful. The Hawking wasn’t able to gather much data before it was destroyed, but two things were clear: We weren’t alone in the universe, and the company wasn’t friendly. The distance between stars made communication with our own ships nearly impossible. Finding a way to speak with the aliens was out of the question. Eventually, they decided that war was the only option.

The carefully released information caused a predictable wave of chaos and fear, but in the wake of the riots, mankind showed a resolve it never had before. All of humanity banded together, buried their differences, and worked together to protect themselves. The next few decades saw huge advances in scientific achievement. Humanity built a great fleet of warships that would travel far out into space, and face our unknown enemy. Outposts were built, and we made ourselves ready for the coming conflict. More ships were mysteriously lost.

Finally, there was the ultimate breakthrough. A team of scientists developed a method of time-travel that would allow troops and armaments to seem to go faster than the speed of light. The next fleet could arrive as soon as it left, or even before it was built! The war could be over in months instead of years. The generals in command agreed to the plan. Earth and its neighbors were nearly stripped bare to provide resources for it. If mankind was safe at last, the cost would be worth the price.

After ten years of work, the scientists unveiled their finished time machine. The ship was sleek and fast. It was outfitted with bleeding edge weapons technology. Due to the stresses of time travel, the ship was unmanned. It launched to its destination, and transmitted instantaneous data back to Command. There was a ship at the coordinates. The generals and scientists were ecstatic. When they saw the vessel clearly, however, their joy turned to shock. The vessel had Hawking IV, IDSA stenciled in bright white letters on the side. For they had met the enemy…

 

Fiction: The Freelance Hunters in “The Gold Equations”

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Thanks again to everyone who gave a review or spread the word about Glory’s Gauntlet.  Here’s a brand-new short story featuring our not-quite-noble heroes!

The Gold Equations

With a final howl of rage and pain, the beast died on the tip of Incisor. When it fell limp, Joachim pulled the magical spear from the thing’s heart, and stared down at it. He watched the still form and weathered the rush of emotion and sensation he always felt after a battle. The Filcher did not seem quite so monstrous now, clearly visible under the torchlight. It was not a creature made for fighting.

It was a chimera, a monster created by magic from the parts of several beings. It had the mottled wings of an owl, patterned in gray, brown and black. Its teeth and claws had a rodent-like quality, for climbing and gnawing through any obstacles. It had the delicate limbs and body structure of a great cat, and the face and hands were distinctly humanoid.

The creature had never spoken, but Joachim could sense the intelligence in it. The Filcher was something of a local legend. As the name implied, it was a tool created for the purpose of sneaking into villages or country estates and stealing valuables. Over the years, many attempts had been made to track down and kill the beast, but even sightings of it had been rare enough that it was still considered a myth by most. One nobleman, the Duke Hideikon, was so certain he was plagued by the beast that he had hired the Freelance Hunters to bring back the creature’s head. But the small retainer he had offered was nothing compared to what they found in the beast’s underground lair.

They had tracked it though fens and swamps to a chamber hollowed out beneath a pair of huge, skeletal trees. The tiny entrance was nearly impossible to spot, but Glory moved the earth with her magic, and Bingo had secured a rope. Joachim had climbed down and finished the beast. His surprise at finding such a huge space under the swamp was nothing compared to what filled it.

Everywhere Joachim shone his torch, the flame was reflected in gleaming gold. Coins of every denomination had once been scrupulously piled against the cave walls, but their sheer number had collapsed them into massive heaps. There were other precious things as well: Statutes and carvings, bits of gleaming dress armor, paintings rotting and mildewed in gilt frames, an armory’s worth of ceremonial swords and daggers inlaid with silver, and a small pile of gems, in an endless variety of color, cut and clarity. And in the center of the room, a skeleton in tattered robes. Glory stood over it, making notes. She had the faraway look in her eye that told Joachim that she was examining the corpse with a wizard’s sight.

“Judging by the amount of residual ley connections between the corpse and the chimera, I think we can assume he was its creator,” she said.

“Can you figure what offed the sparker?” Bingo asked. He paused in his inspection of the cave. The space was a hollow of earth and rock, probably not all-together naturally formed. It was nearly invisible, and almost dry when the Filcher was using it as a lair, but they had widened the entrance, and a steady stream of water and mud had begun to collect in the basin.

“I think he was killed by his own creation. Look at the rough treatment of the clothing. The chimera stripped him of anything valuable and then continued with its programming.”

“Wait,” Joachim said. He had never been quick to grasp the workings of magic. “Are you saying this was a mage-made creature?” Glory sighed and dusted off her hands on her coat.

“Obviously. Just look at it. It was clearly a creature stitched together for the purpose of creating a perfect thief. And the bastard used a Hillfolk to do it. I’m almost sad I didn’t get my hands on him myself. This is the grossest misuse of magic.”

“So he flashes up this side-show attraction, trains it to prig, and then gets owned by his own monster? Is that even legit?” Bingo asked.

“I’m no expert in Chimerstry, but from what little I’ve studied, I’d have thought it impossible. Chimeras aren’t technically alive. They’re basically golems made out of different animal parts and patched together with healing magic. So most would be programmed not to harm their creators, but this one obviously had some very specific programming as well.”

“Such as, ‘Defend the horde from anyone who enters?'” offered Joachim.

“Quite so. And when he came to collect the treasure the Filcher stole, it must have been unable to resolve the contradiction and went berserk. Foolish, really.”

“But his loss is our gain, right?” Joachim said, rubbing his hands together in excitement. There was enough treasure here to set all three of them up for life!” His companions shared an embarrassed look.

“Joachim, I don’t think you’ve considered the Gold Equations,” Glory said. A new fall of mud and earth splashed to the cave floor, as if to punctuate her sentence. Monsters and traps brought many would-be adventurers to an early end, but nothing killed one surer than greed.

“A treasure hunter can only leave with as much as he can carry safely,” he said, as though quoting from a shared text. “Of course, but look at it all! We can’t just leave it here!” Glory brushed some mud from her sleeve and fixed him with a hard look.

“How do you expect to get it out of here, then? Our only exit is up a long rope tied to a dead tree.”

Bingo pulled a foot-long sword with a saw-like blade out of his pack and handed it to the wizard. Then he took the warrior aside.

“Joachim, We’ve been out here bug-hunting for a week. Going crow-wise back to the apple-sellers will take at least to days. The rainy season’s coming on, and we Jemmied the area but good getting down here. We’re out of time, mate.” He splashed his boots in the ankle high water to emphasize his point.

“But there has to be another entrance. The filcher got this much treasure in, after all,” Joachim protested.

“A kennuck a time adds up over forty years. It busts me, too. If there was another seeker out of here, I would’ve Palled it.” Glory carefully handed the short sword over to Joachim. The blade was glowing white hot. Raindrops sizzled where they struck it. He stared at it for a moment before starting to work freeing the head from the Filcher’s neck.

“Alright, what about magic, Glory? Can we shrink it all down, maybe? Or make it lighter than air?” Glory rolled her eyes behind his back.

“That’s not really an option. First of all, Gold is an element. That’s much more difficult to alter than a compound substance.”

“What, like Earth and Fire?” She sighed.

“It’s a different kind of element. You know what, never mind. I could do it, but we don’t have the time, and besides, the gold would be worthless afterwards.”

“Why?” The idea of worthless gold had no place in Joachim’s head.

“Alchemy, man! She wasn’t the first magician to try and get rich quick through magic. It’s not exactly honest, but turning base metals into valuable ones is one of the cornerstones of the discipline. Bankers started looking for the signs, and an honest one wont touch so much as a coin if there is magic on it.”

“But, gold is gold, isn’t it?”

“Would you trust coins a magician gave you?” He didn’t have to think about that one.

“I see your point, but we’ve got a few minutes, surely?”

“This place was kept dry by spells tied to the Filcher. Now that it’s dead, everything’s gone unstable, and water will go the path of least resistance.”

“You mean, we’re about to be flooded down here.” He sighed, and went back to work removing the head from the Filcher’s shoulders.

“Exactly. How’s that head, coming. We can carry that out, at least.” He finished chopping the head off of the monster and shoved it into a sack. At least their reward would cover the trip’s expenses.

The earth was dripping and sliding all around them, now. Piles of treasure were swallowed up one after another, and Joachim found himself unable to do a thing to stop them. He let his companions, being much shorter than himself, climb up the rope out first. The mud was up to his waist by the time he started his own escape. He heard the groan of roots slipping in the mud under his weight, smelled the damp rushing of water and soil. He felt his dirty hands slip on the wet rope several times. It was as harrowing an escape as he had ever attempted in his days as a mercenary, and by the time he reached the surface as was back in the storm with the other Freelance Hunters, there was nothing left but a watery sink hole beneath a pair of dead oaks.

Joachim stared down at the hole for a long time, knowing it was impossible to go back, but unable to leave the treasure behind.

“There was enough down there to live a soft for a dozen lifetimes,” he said. Bingo came up beside him and clapped him on the back. It was a long reach for the Hillfolk.

“Like you’d be able to settle down,” he smirked. That got him to smile, at least.

“Maybe,” he admitted.

“You win some, you lose some,” Glory said. “Those are just the way the Gold Equations play out. You can’t spend what you drown trying to carry. We completed the mission, and we’ll be set for a little while when we get back to the Duke. He’ll show us his gratitude, and I have a few things I can look up when we get back to the city. It wasn’t a total waste.”

“True, but there was an entire fortune down there,” Joachim muttered petulantly.

“I wouldn’t say an entire one,” Bingo said. He reached into his jacket and with a flourish like a stage conjurer, produced an emerald the size of an apple. “I pulled this while you and the wizard were debating the Gold Equations.” He winked.

While the Duke was not as quite as generous with his gratitude as they hoped, the Freelance Hunters still managed to winter very comfortably that year. When they passed by his estates the next spring, the swamp was completely unrecognizable, and they could not find the site of the Filcher’s nest. To this day it has never been found, but it remains a topic of local interest, and occasionally an old coin is discovered in a stream or under a field. They are considered practically magical by the villagers, and are said to change the fate of whoever finds one.

Fiction: The Peter Jackson Version of this Drabble is 100 pages long.

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Yesterday morning, this wizard came up and carved a rune on my front door, square in the center. I thought we were just having a pleasant conversation and BAM! My door is advertising or something now. Of course, I have no idea what it says. I’ve tried everything to get rid of it. I tried cleaning it, painting over it, I even pulled the door down and hung a new one. The stupid thing just reappeared. I was at my wits end. That is, until a party of dwarves showed up this morning, offering ‘discount rune removal services.’ Goddam wizards.

Fiction: The Least Unicorn, A Freelance Hunters Adventure

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The Freelance Hunters came to the village of Corn Hall looking for a unicorn. Rumors of the beast had flooded every tavern in Elanterra, it seemed, and all three of them were hunting the beast for a different reason.

“I’ve heard unicorns have razor-sharp hooves, and their horns can rend the strongest armor!” Joachim said, brandishing his fearsome spear Incisor. “they will battle anyone unworthy of them to the death!”

“Just don’t go busting its forehead lance too much. It’s worth mad loot on the slack,” said Bingo, their tracker.

“You two are not going to kill that noble and beautiful creature!” said Glory the magician. “Unicorns are one of the rarest cryptids on the island. If I can study one, or better yet, capture it alive, I’ll be the toast of the Academy!”

“I’ve heard only a fair maiden can capture one. What are our chances, Glory?” Joachim asked. She thumped him on the back of the leg with her staff in reply. When they finally reached the town, they found a festival atmosphere, complete with pantomime unicorns, booths selling every kind of food with corn in it imaginable, and all manner of charms and tokens for sale, each one ‘guaranteed’ to help catch the beast. Joachim gleefully consumed a prodigious amount of the local corn whiskey, and the other two hired a local fellow by the name of Finnegan to act as guide. They left the fair well alone, and headed out into the fields the next morning.

At first, signs of the beast were slim. Finnegan knew the area well, but he was a corn farmer, not a tracker, and it was difficult for Bingo to pick up much of anything, until they found the track. It was deep, and not more than two hours old. The hunt was on.

They went two more days, always frustratingly close to the creature, but it was tireless, and seemed to slip away every time they got close. They caught a glimpse of it when they stopped to rest on the second night, just a shadow against the stars. It had to have been the largest equine any of them had ever seen, and the horn poked straight from the top of its head. They renewed their efforts. Bingo set some traps and breaks in the forest. The unicorn could avoid them, but before long, they had it cornered in a little glade in the woods, sheltered by rises on all sides.

The Freelance Hunters descended into the valley. The beast was there, drinking from a brook that trickled between two boulders. Late afternoon sunlight drifted through the high branches, filling the glade with majesty and awe. And then the creature looked up and stared at them. The hunters stared back. Neither moved for a long time.

“Glory,” Joachim said at last. “There isn’t any magic here, right? This isn’t an illusion or anything?”

“Nope.”

“And you all see it too, it’s not just me?”

“Nope.”

“So it’s really…” He trailed off.

“A huge white horse,” Glory began

“With an ear of corn fixed to his head,” Bingo finished. All three of them turned to look at their guide. He grinned sheepishly.

“The village had a bumper crop, last year,” He said, as though this explained everything.

“So? Joachim asked, adjusting the grip on his spear.

“So we sold so much corn, the price went through the floor! Corn’s just about the only thing we grow out here, and with corn being almost worthless, the village needed money. The town elder came up with a plan, though. When he was a boy, the Corn Hall was threatened by a manticore that came down from the mountains. Monster slayers came from all over to slay it. So…”

“So you invented another monster.” Glory said.

“The elder thought the whole thing up! Bronco down there is the fastest horse for miles around. We didn’t think anyone would be able to catch him.” The Freelance Hunters returned to the village of Corn Hall that evening. They did not stop at the fair or playhouse. They made a brief visit to the Elder’s house, so that they could show him a few more uses for an ear of corn. The story of that visit is occasionally recounted by a few of the more risque troubadours in the area. After that, there were no more monster sightings in Corn Hall for many, many years.

Fiction: The Decision

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This story was written for NPR’s Three Minute Fiction Contest round nine.  The prompt was to write a story about a real or fictional US President.  I didn’t place, but I hope you enjoy it.

I looked up. “How sure are we?” My eyes swept the room. The whole cabinet was exhausted. Everyone here already knew the answer. I wouldn’t have woken them up at 2AM for a hoax, nor would I have them sleep through history. But the question had to be asked. The director of NASA cleared his throat.

“Well, 95% certain, Mr. President. We confirmed as well as we could, but would have had to contact teams in other nations.” A 5% chance that these images were fakes, that the data was not what it indicated. A wide enough margin to make me a laughing-stock if I choose wrong.

“I see. And you’re certain the data is contained?”

“It is for now, Mr. President. No one else in the hemisphere has the tech to find it, but we have a rapidly closing window before the sun sets in Asia and Europe. We have maybe a six hour head start on China.”

“Alright. What are your opinions?” I looked around the room again. The Secretary of Defense, in her prim blue uniformed skirt spoke first.

“If this is genuine, we cannot be assured of peaceful contact,” she said. The Secretary of State scowled under his bushy mustache.

“But we cannot assume they are hostile. We may only provoke a war,” he said. “We may also insult our allies if we aren’t careful.” He was right of course. We had front row seats to this show, and every other world power would complain they weren’t consulted. I would, if the situation were reversed. Now all the Secretaries were talking at once. The Secretary of the Interior was concerned about possible resource contamination, and the Homeland Security Chief was insisting that there would be riots, at least across the Bible Belt and most major cities. He was probably right, too. I thought of a thousand dominoes. Each one a problem, potentially a catastrophe. And each of them would fall based on what happened in this room in the next five minutes. This was the defining moment of my administration, and everyone in the room knew it.

“It’s a hoax,” said the Vice President. “You move forward with this, and you are going to make Carter look like Lincoln. Let it go, John. Let some other world leader make an ass of themselves on the morning news.” I could, of course. I could step back, and by doing nothing, let the cup pass from my lips. I could let history happen somewhere else, and say, ‘I wasn’t sure.’ And history would forgive me for it.

But I already knew that I couldn’t. This was America. Americans were the first men on the Moon, the first people on Mars. We were explorers. It was our duty, my duty, to lead. I shook my head.

“How soon can you get an Orion prepped?” I asked the NASA chief.

“Uh, it’s incredibly complicated, Mr. President. Setting the safety systems alone…”

“You have five hours. Pick a team of your three best people. Vince, I want your pick of a diplomat to go with them, just in case. Georgette, name a military advisor, too. Have their names on my desk in an hour, and get them to Houston by 10AM. I don’t think this is a fake, and I don’t think it’s hostile, but I’m not going to take chances. Press conference at 6AM. The rest of you, get reports to me on the potential fallout. None of us expected this, but we’ll be making first contact with that ship, wherever it came from.”

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