Story: Centuries Woman

Centuries Woman

 

 

 

Ellen. She decided that she would be called Ellen this time. No real reason, she just hadn't used that name before. She studied her new body in the 3-way mirror, it was in perfect condition. As always she would have to live with it as it got older and her breasts sagged but right now they stayed where they were supposed to.

She rubbed her flat tummy and then turned around to admire the firmness of the buttocks, and the curves were to die for. Yes, this body would do quite well. The auburn hair on her head was silky and softly fell across her shoulders, in contrast to the gray stringy hair she had grown used to. This might be one of the best bodies she had ever gotten from the process.

A whole new life, but starting the with a nice piggy bank she had accumulated over the past two hundred years, she had plans to make. Still naked, she left the spacious bathroom and entered the expansive main room and crossed the bar that separated the kitchen. She took one of the bottles from the wine chiller next to the fridge and then she took a glass from the cabinet above the bar.

She poured the red liquid slowly, thinking of her next move. Should she buy an island and spend her new youth on the beach, living it up? It would get old after a while, it usually did. Two hundred years of work and play hadn't really amounted to more than a nice fortune. Ellen, she thought, was kind of a boring name, come to think of it.

It was hard to remember her first life. It hadn't lasted very long. Life was brutal and short for many in those days of the frontier. Native Indians had raided the town, burned the barns and taken off with horses, cattle, whiskey and some of the girls. Rosa, she had been called Rosa back then, remembered seeing her father killed and scalped before someone grabbed her from behind.

She had lost her doll when she was forced down on her belly, the attackers had their way with her for a long time. All she could do was stare at her doll and try not to see past it to the lump that had once been her father. She was left for dead, and Rosa was dead, because her next memory was waking up and looking totally different.

She named herself Ruth. She found herself adopted by a tobacco merchant and his wife. She attended a good school, something Rosa never really got to do. Ruth would become a nurse for the US Army before the British came and sacked Washington DC. She had been evacuated on a ship but before the ship really reached the sea a British ship had taken it.

The prisoners aboard the ship weren't released until a week later. Ruth treated those who became sick as best she could, even the British crew that had captured them. Some of the other Americans grumbled that these men had barely fed them in all that time and why was she helping them? What else could she do?

She found herself in Georgia and penniless. Ruth took the first position she was offered and rode in a carriage all the way to a plantation. The War of 1812 and the War with the Creek nation were over, so it must have been 1815. Her employer was called Master Jones, he owned rice fields and a few dozen slaves.

On arrival the foreman of the plantation said he had caught one of the slaves, a young male, stealing a piglet. The boy said the piglet had escaped through a small hole in the fence and he was just trying to catch Master's pig to return it.

The boy had been wounded trying to catch the pig, his leg was bleeding. Ruth walked right through the men trying to decide what to do with the possible thief and started tending the wound. The boy was as shocked as the men were.

“Where is the piglet now?” Master Jones asked

“I put it back in the pen, sir” the foreman answered “What do you want me to do about the thief?”

Just then a loud squealing pig ran by.

“You can fix the fence on the pen.” he told the foreman, slightly amused. Then he turned to the boy “Think you can catch the runaway again?”

Her employer wasn't angry. Even if he saw the slaves as property, he knew how valuable and expensive they were with the ban on importing slaves. “You'll have to forgive the foreman, he's recently back from fighting the Creeks and the British. So he's a bit rough around the edges.”

“You probably would say I'm too soft around the edges.” Ruth had answered.

Ruth married the son of Master Jones, but became upset and withdrawn after years of being unable to bear him a child. Finally they adopted, then they adopted again. They ended up with two sons and two daughters. The last two had been a package deal, they were real brother and sister, their parents had been unable to care for them.

When the War Between The States began, Ruth was a kindly grandmother who sat in a rocking chair on the back porch keeping the company of slaves. Her husband had long since agreed to keep the slave families intact and to teach them reading and writing. Runaway slaves from other places were often hidden there until they could be brought to the coast and put on a boat to the north.

After the war she had placed much of her assets in property far from the plantations, she bought land in the cities. She was sure the value would increase, someone had to rebuild what General Sherman had destroyed. He might have been fighting for the Union, but he was a devil nonetheless.

A newfangled trust and a paper company assured that her property was safely invested. She had planned to leave it to her children and grandchildren but she fell in front of a train. When she awoke in a new, young body she was in shock for a while, just sitting against a tree in the woods. Her old body and the clothes it had worn were nowhere to be found.

She found the satchel she had been carrying though, in it was a thin summer dress and sandals she had bought for her granddaughter Cecilia. It fit well enough. The satchel also contained all the documents and the shares for the paper company, meaning all that property and investment. All she needed was a new name.

Samantha, she called herself, had it rough for a little while. She was always scared that she would be arrested for stealing her own company. No one else had known about it, so she was safe. After a while she began to feel more like a real person.

Blond hair. Where had that come from? The blue-eyed yellow-haired girl looking back from the mirror contrasted so much with the old Ruth. How could she have become a different person? That was followed by an emotional roller-coaster, euphoria, depression and lots of alcohol.

Samantha had been the adjustment period. Of course, she didn't know if it would happen again. She was young and didn't really dwell on that. She wasn't going to test it and tempt fate, that was for sure.

It all seemed to go well until at a rooftop party to celebrate the turn of the century Samantha fell off the top of a tall building.

Anna was next. She had already set up the identity in advance, she would be Samantha's niece for the purpose of reclaiming the fortune she had saved up to then. She could hardly believe that she had been given another life. She started to wonder if there was purpose? Was there something she was supposed to do?

Anna would move west. St. Louis was her home for a while, but she found no real point there. After a short time she moved on and on, traveling all over. Her money was well-invested and she still owned many commercial properties that were giving her a big income. She never lacked for male companionship if she wanted it.

Her traveling and partying took a toll on her and she settled down outside of the cities, on a mountain ranch. Occasionally she and a single older gentleman from down the hill would spend time together like two lonely souls.

Anna would die in an accident with a horse just before the outbreak of World War 2. That is when she became Lisa, moving to a nameless private island in the Caribbean for some time to be alone and figure out what she wanted to do with her new life. That's when she found the German sailor washed up on the beach, she nursed him back to health and he became the man in her life. Whether she liked it or not.

It was two years before US sailors dropped by the island and arrested Heinz. Lisa was pretty broken by then and she had actually fallen for the abusive man. There had been plenty of nights where he was gentle and she chose to dwell on those. She sold the island and moved to the desert, became an alcoholic again (there was a pattern, almost) and painted as a hobby.

Anna lasted until some time during the Vietnam War. When she saw herself in the mirror again, she was blond again. She just called herself Mary and was surprised by the large bosom on this body, maybe she could become a model or go into show business. She could self-finance a film without any real problem.

Instead she had gone to college. It was something that she had thought of but hadn't done since Ruth became a nurse, and that wasn't really the same as college. As Mary her personality became a little more conservative, she was into reading literature. When she met Alexander she knew there was something between them.

They married after college and within a decade he was a broke drunk and she was an abused wife. Her fortune, thankfully, had been hidden far from his ability to find it. She left him and moved across the country to one of her properties and tried to forget him. Mary found a new man to fulfill her needs and he was a former Marine sniper, who was well prepared when Alexander showed up. Stan was locked up for murder and Mary was a free woman again.

She moved to Florida and became a real estate agent, as her public face. Mary spent time with several men and an occasional woman, but she never fell for anyone. In her later years she wondered again if there was a point to her lives. Why was this happening? She started making all kinds of plans, trying to see if any of them hit a nerve but other than laughing out loud to the idea of “world domination”, nothing struck her.

It was now the internet age and she looked in vain for other people to claimed to be like her, a few did but they all turned out to be obvious nutcases. With everything well prepared in advance, Mary took her own life by jumping from a tall building.

Now she was Ellen. World domination didn't seem funny now. It made as much sense as anything else she's been through. She finished her wine, it was time to put on some clothes and meet the mercenary she wanted to hire. Time to put her billions to good use in a chaotic world while the money was still worth something.

They would start in the poorest third world country and spread out from there. Mary had bought the salvage company and won the rights to tear up a couple of naval vessels, but she had plans for those and the Navy liaison who was sent to make sure the dismantling too. He was young and fit, hence the new body, she would have no trouble seducing him and keeping him quiet afterward.

Ellen smiled as she slid into the restaurant booth across from the man who was representing the mercenary organization. “We're supposed to be dating.” she told him, reaching out and feeling his biceps that were stretching the short sleeve of the black t-shirt.

“I agree with the terms as set forth from your side.” she told him quietly as she held the stubbly cheek and pulled him toward her lips. Stopping short she whispered into his ear “I will be a very grateful queen...”

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Story: The Storm World

The Storm World

by Floyd Looney

*Public domain image

The ship rose and fell as the waves became larger, flooding the top deck of the ship with freezing water and sometimes ice. The four deckhands grabbed onto something just before every hit by instinct. Even wearing several layers with a waterproof outer layer did not keep out the mind-numbing cold, only working did that.

Securing the stack of seven-hundred pound cages, call pots, meant climbing all over it, and hanging on for dear life when the ship hits one of the heaving waves of seawater. The radar and weather radio also indicated a storm was brewing and there was no way the Bravado was going to be able to avoid it. It had swelled up out of nowhere, Captain Harry Philman had been shocked to see how fast it developed.

He ordered the deckhands to secure everything and then get inside. They would have to ride out the storm. It looked strong on the LCD screen but thankfully also pretty small. The squall was going to pack a punch, no doubt, but they had made it through storms like this before.

When the four deckhands were off the deck and inside safely, Captain Philman said a silent thanks to God. The winds outside and the tides were throwing icy water over the deck at twelve second intervals, no one should have to go outside if it was not absolutely necessary.

Three days out of Dutch Harbor and the Bravado had caught no red king crabs on this run. The season for this delicacy would be over in less than a week. It was frustrating because the Captain was also the ship owner and it cost a lot of money to run. Money that came out of his pocket.

“Captain. Here's some coffee and grub.” The youngest of the crew aid handing over the meal and tankard of hot coffee. Jett Janson was the greenhorn and he was only looking to get about 2% of the haul after expenses and the Captain got his cut. It would really be less than 1% of the value of the catch. The young man had taken to the job like a professional and worked as hard as the other hands.

It was soon in the dead of night. The ships lights meant that much of the sea was obscured but once in a while, on calm nights, Philman would turn some of them off and look at the stars. He would look for the same stars that seamen had looked for ages ago.

This was not such a night. This night was a roller-coaster ride. He doubted any of his hands were getting much sleep. That meant they would be slower and less-aware tomorrow when they went back to work baiting and dropping the pots into the ocean. Sometimes he might asleep at the wheel but this night kept him on his toes.

The Bravado was trying to turn to port for some reason. Something might be affecting the rudder, he decided, but keeping the ship from being hit in the side was getting tougher. The weather radar showed they were at the center of the storm, this was the worst part. He felt like the entire ship was going airborne at the crest of every wave.

Suddenly the darkness outside was pierced by a purple light. This light grew larger and stronger. At first the Captain thought it might be another ship and was prepared to call them on the radio, but the radio did not work. He hadn't noticed when the radio chatter had died.

There right in front of the ship was a large bluish-purple ball of light, like a plasma. The Captain furiously tried to turn the ship to avoid it, but it seemed to be pulled toward the light. Philman had no idea what that was and he did not want to find out.

Suddenly the whole ship was surrounded and all he could see through his eyelids was that purple light, even with his hands over his face. Then it went away. The storm went away too, the boat was barely even creaking, there was no noise. The electronics were dead except for some lights. The sea outside seemed calm too.

At first Captain Harry Philman went back to the galley and sleepers to find all four hands sound asleep. He was confused how they could have slept through all of that. Then he opened the hatch and stepped outside. The clear night sky above was dark, but tinged maroon. The sea as calm as a mountain lake and to his right he saw land.

Impossible.

But there it was, all the same.

A large beach sloping out of the water and up towards something. It was dark but there could have been a forest up there. Closer to the ship, though, was a large rocky outcropping that must have went straight up more than fifty meters.

It was also not cold at all. There was no way they were still off the coast of the Aleutian Island chain of Alaska. There was also no way they could be anywhere else. A storm isn't going to push one across the Pacific ocean into Asia.

Philman went back inside. He could not comprehend what he had seen. It just didn't make any sense.

He started making breakfast. There was enough food to feed this motley army generously for several more days. He would have to think about cutting the rations after this meal if they could not figure out where they were. The radio, radar and GPS were totally out of order.

The smell of coffee, biscuits, bacon and eggs woke up the weary crew. He knew they probably hadn't got enough sleep, but they would all have to go to shore and investigate. The Captain waited until everyone was at the table and eating before he told them anything.

“It is dark as night out there but I have to assume that daylight will be here soon.” He said, Derrick looked at his watch and looked confused. The Captain continued, “The GPS, radio and radar are all out and we aren't in Alaskan waters any more.”

They looked at each other. Joshua, with the bushy beard spoke up. “What do you mean we aren't in Alaska?”

Jett Janson ran onto the bridge and looked outside. He slowly walked back to the table like he had seen a ghost. “It's warm in there and the sky is red. Where are we?”

The last comment was directed at the Captain, who answered. “That is what we need to determine. We're going to take the dinghy to that island or whatever, where we will try and find any house or clue as to our location.”

There are many islands off Alaska that are not populated. The older deckhands knew there was a good chance they would find nothing, or maybe an abandoned camp. They still thought they were in or near Alaska. The Captain then motioned for them to follow and led them outside.

“Where in the name of hell are we?” Derrick asked, forgetting that he held a mug of coffee. In front of them was a red sky, it was getting brighter and brighter red. There was an island and there seemed to be vegetation of some type on the horizon but it was too far to be distinguished. The rock outcrop looked alien, almost too sheer. They had all seen ice a bit like that, but this was rock.

“There was a bright blue and purple light, it surrounded the ship. Then we were here.” Captain Harry Philman told them.

Derrick, Joshua and Cory started walking all the way around the ship, taking stock of everything they saw in different directions. The Captain and Jett Janson followed them at a slower pace.

“I wonder where we are?” The greenhorn asked, rubbing his hairless chin.

“Not in Alaska or Kansas, any more, Toto.” The Captain joked.

The three other men came back to them.

“We should go and check it out, you two should stay here.” Foreman Derrick said.

The Captain shook his head. “I'm not sure we should split up.”

Derrick wasn't going to listen. He pointed at the possible vegetation.“Someone is staying with the ship but not alone. The three of us will go up there and look around and come back. Then we can decide what to do next.”

The dinghy was lowered to the water from the Bravado. Derrick, Joshua and Cory climbed aboard and tried to start the engine but failed. They used the two oars inside to paddle their way to the huge beach, maybe a hundred yards from the boat. Once they arrived they pulled it ashore and began walking up the slight incline toward the distant horizon under the red sky.

Jett had fetched his binoculars and he watched the men walk. He had a bad feeling. Philman had the young man also go and get two rifles, one for each of them. The sky was still red. A morning reddish sky shouldn't be so uniformly red and it should not last so long. The thought that the sky might really be red was likely the cause of his bad feeling.

Soon enough the men were on the horizon. They were outlined in the red sky, the vegetation he thought he had seen was no more than knee-high. Not a forest after all. The three men just stood there, they were talking to each other. He wished the walkie talkies had worked, he wanted to know what they were seeing.

When the three men returned and got their dinghy into the water, he breathed a deep sigh of relief, they hadn't been eaten or anything. By what, he had no idea. When they reached the boat they tied the dinghy to the ladder and climbed back on board.

“Well? What did you see?” he asked. The three kept looking at each other until Derrick finally said something.

“We saw domes. Many domes, made of red-packed dirt,. A whole village down in a small valley and we saw the locals.” Derrick explained.

“People. So we can find out where we are and get home.” The Captain replied, clearly relieved. He didn't understand the calm sea and the red sky, but it could all be a fluke if they could get home.

Joshua shook his head and said, “They aren't human.”

“They looked like ants.” Cory said, “Segmented bodies and everything.”

“Except they are obviously a sentient civilization. They have houses, stoves, we saw them using nets in a small river to catch fish.” Derrick was telling them. “This is not Earth.”

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I have no idea if there will be a part 2.

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Short Story: Road to Torik

Road to Torik

A fantasy interlude

         

"Wassail-Bout" artist: Mary A. Hallock-Foote

 

Braccus lifted the pint toward the ceiling, not minding the drops that sloshed out over the rim. It was getting late and they had to leave early the next morning.

“Odin's mercy on us if we aren't able to stand up in the morning!” Braccus exclaimed to his traveling companions. “The ale has flowed swiftly this night, but we haven't quite reached our destination. This is no time for us to get that drunk, not yet.”

Meritor, the short-beard, nodded his agreement. Being the smallest among the four travelers he was the easiest sloshed. Then he looked toward the surly manager of the Ale House and inquired, “Would you, kind sir, have accommodations for weary travelers this night?”

The man put down the jug he was cleaning on the table in front of him and said, “I don't have rooms but there's a loft for ya' up theres if you want it. I changed the hay out this morning.”

Braccus pulled Kaster to his feet. “Sorry, friend, but this party is over. There'll be ale enough when this journey is over.”

Meritor looked over at Hodkins who was eying him with an evil grin. He wasn't about to try and lift the larger man to his feet, no doubt Hodkins was planning something should he be so foolish. Hodkins was the trouble-maker of the group, Meritor told himself, best just to avoid him. When he turned toward the stair, he heard Hodkins chuckle as if he had won something.

Meritor carried his recursive bow up to the loft and found him a nice corner, where he could put his back to the wall and keep a knife handy. The three larger men climbed up, with some grumbling, before falling in heaps. Within minutes the loft was full of loud snoring. Meritor would hardly sleep this night.

Torik. Was this town they were traveling to really worth all this trouble? The Prince had given them this assignment, so there must be something to it. He said they would find trouble and that the town needed them. In all fairness, the Prince had told them quite little. Still, the future king was trustworthy and had been so since they all first met years ago.

They were the heroes of Archlandia and they wouldn't have become such without the information they were given by the Prince. The King was a bit daft and of dimming faculties, but his son went into the shadows to make sure things got done. Of course, if something went wrong they were on their own and the Prince probably couldn't save their rumps.

So the next morning the three burly men with swords and the smaller man with his bow climbed onto their horses to continue their journey.

“Torik, the peppercorn capital of Archlandia! Where the sneezing never ends!” Hodkins exclaimed as he pointed them forward. Sort of an encouragement, Meritor told himself while shaking his head at the antics of the big man in bearskin fur.

Four missions the prince had set them on. Four! Three of these had turned out well, one of those involved a fight against a troll and another against a monstrous sea creature. Meritor hoped to never see the sea again. Once, though, a band of thieves had surrounded them and forced them to leave the Kings Wood of Scrantonshire. Soldiers had to be sent in and from all accounts, the toll was a bit high.

The four horses moved at a careful moderate pace through the uneven trail covered with ruts that could break their legs. The King desired real roads to be built but there were very few, for it was quite expensive. The road to Torik was not important enough to have more than an unmaintained trail such as this.

In front of them, in a sunny spot in the middle of the road, a dwarf was standing and waving his arms as if they might not see him. “Please, good sirs! Please, have a little mercy on one such as I!”

Braccus sat up in his saddle. “What seems to be the problem, dwarf?”

The dwarf bowed very formally before speaking again. “My name is Malwart. My mistress, employer, has been kidnapped by bad men. They are holding her in a cave on that hillside and says if I do not pay them twenty silvers they will cut her throat. Please help me. We are poor, we have nothing.”

Braccus was thinking about it. Even from behind him Meritor always knew when Braccus was thinking. His head would tilt down, his mouth tighten and his belly grumble barely audibly.

“We are on a mission. This is not our problem.” Meritor said, knowing full well that they were about to go looking for a cave. The three brutes never backed down from a fight, excepting what happened at Scrantonshire and he would never bring that up if he wanted to keep his head attached.

Finally Braccus made up his mind. He lifted his sword into the sky, so did Hodkins and Kaster and they yelled as if rushing into battle. Meritor rolled his eyes and sighed. He was already turning his horse when the other three took off at a gallop. Meritor followed.

The cave was downhill, surrounded on three sides by high rocky ridges. Like a horseshoe.

“This is a trap.” Meritor told them. Ignored, as usual. “This is obviously a trap.”

Braccus stared down at the dark cave. There was no telling what was in there, possibly an old woman in peril, possibly armed orcs or a dragon. Once they rode down into that, they would have no escape except back up the hill where Meritor planned to stay and cover them with his bow.

The dwarf finally caught up with them. “That's the cave! That is where my mistress, er... employer, is being held for ransom!”

“No sign of a guard.” Kaster noted.

“No sign of anything at all.” Braccus admitted.

“Might be hiding on the ridges somewhere, get at us from above maybe?” Hodkins said.

Now they at least try to be sensible. Still, there was no way they would not be looking into that cave now. Meritor had already resigned himself to this.

“Oh, please please, help us.” Malwort, the dwarf told them. Jumping up and down pathetically.

“Should we?” Braccus asked the other two brutes.

“We should!” Kaster answered.

“I think so.” Hodkins chimed in.

Then all three kicked their horses into gear and sailed down the incline toward the cave. Meritor was already pulled the arrow in his bow back to cover his compatriots. The dwarf had disappeared. Something about that bugged Meritor, he couldn't quite remember what he had known earlier. Once he pulled the bow back he was all business and other worries were forgotten.

Then from behind him he heard the movement of shrubbery. Then the mocking high-pitched laughter of the dwarf, Malwort. He turned to look but he already knew. Yes, this had been a trap. The dwarf and several orcs surrounded him.

“I knew it.” Meritor said trying to get off at least one arrow. Then something hit him in the back of the head and the lights went out.

Just as they were reaching the cave Braccus heard loud, throaty roars from up the hill. Looking back he saw a bunch of large, gray-skinned orcs with clubs as large as himself running toward them.

“So it was a trap.” Kaster said, amused.

“The small man was right, who would have guessed?” Hodkins replied as they all sat on their horses and waited for the orcs to close the distance. No sense getting their mounts tired when you could let the enemy wear themselves out running and screaming while waving giant clubs.

Braccus pulled his sword as the orcs closed in and the other two men followed suit. The dwarf on the hillside, seeing how calm the men were, was starting to have second thoughts about the enterprise. When he saw the men slay the first few orcs, he turned and ran toward where he had tied up his own pony.

“Must get to Torik! Find safety with Lord Jasper!” The dwarf named Malwort was telling himself.

As the sound of the small horse trotting faded, Meritor laughed. He had laid there as if asleep with his hands bound. The poor didn't know they were going to the same place as his hiding spot. Meritor found this quite funny for a moment, until the pain in the back of his head returned. Find out who sent the dwarf to waylay them and then kill them both, he told himself, good plan. Ouch.

It didn't take long to slay the orcs. As big as they were these creatures were very stupid and all three of the men had experience against them. There was nothing in the cave, no surprise.

“That dwarf tricked us.” Hodkins said.

“Well, it was obviously a trap that needed sprung.” Braccus said. “We can deal with the dwarf later, for now we have to collect Meritor and be on our way. The sun is already above us, half the day is gone.”

“Very true.” Kaster said.

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False Dragon of Torik Second Part

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Another Freebie Post

Alder's World, part one: Mass 17

Pushing past the boundaries of chartered territory, Lieutenant Commander Samuel Alder and the crew of the League of Planet's deep space research vessel, "The Duster" encounter a mysterious proto-planetary disc and become embroiled in a struggle for survival that challenges the role of humans in a universe more wonderful, more spectacular and more terrifying than they ever imagined.

and of course it's FREE.

---

Better World: Fractured Era Series, book one

 The last humans spent centuries searching for a new Earth. Now they face extinction.
For three hundred years, arks have carried the last remnants of humanity through dark space. The ships are old, failing, and every colonist must do their duty to ensure the fleet's survival. 

Not a bad story. Very unnecessary to show that the main character, Maeve, is a lesbian because it adds nothing to the story. 

And of course it's FREE.

Cover & Title

I have 31 stories that I have published on this blog. I am going to put them into a ebook but I don't have a title or a cover. I guess the cover doesn't need to be fancy, maybe white text on a blank black background.

If anyone has an idea for a title, feel free to comment.

Short Story: Missile

 

 Missile

I just lay there, spread out on the floor in front of the fan. It was just too hot to get anything done, even though I had a list of chores. It was sweltering, all I was wearing was underwear and I was still covered in sweat. The air from the fan hitting this perspiration felt good, I had to admit, but that was less than half of me at any given time.

-beep-

I turned my head toward the sound. My little notebook was set with reminders and I was supposed to be watering the peach trees at that point. Poor peach trees out in the sun, poor little peaches getting cooked before they are even ripe. Poor me for having to save them in this heat.

I rolled over with a grunt and located a pair of shorts and sandals. After getting them on I walked out the back door. I grabbed the watering hose and dropped it, it was blisteringly hot. Everything was too hot! I hit the knob on the faucet and the water flowed, it would soon cool off the hose enough for me to pick it up.

I pull the hose to the peach trees and begin spraying them down from top to bottom, I wanted as many leaves as possible to feel like it was raining. This might be a waste of precious water but I felt like the trees enjoyed it. Finally I began to fill up the little depression we had dug around the base of the trees.

After I was done I assumed my location in front of the fan. Just as I got comfortable another beep from my notebook alerted me. I glance in that direction to see that I had mail.

“Open mail.” I say to the ceiling. The computer opened the mail and displayed it. The story I had sent in was rejected. I sighed. There was no way that my story wasn't better than the one they had on their site today. None. Such is life for a noob like me.

-beep-

I see my next chore. I groaned before I finally stand up. I had to open the large, heavy door at the end of the hall. It was carefully balanced to be easy to open and shut, although it weighed about two tons. After I entered the other side I turned on the lights, a tight spiral staircase descended more than two hundred feet below.

I put my head on the palm scanner and then allowed the retina scan to see my iris. After the computer was completely sure that I was indeed me, the metal door unlocked. I ignored the small control room and went out another door and down some small metal steps. Once I was at the bottom I crossed underneath the intercontinental ballistic missile and checked the gauges on the fueling system.

It only took two minutes to confirm that everything looked perfectly in order. The fuel line pressure was exactly zero, because nothing was supposed to be happening. I opened an access panel and turned a primer knob a few times to flush the fuel line assembly. The pressure gauge hit 0.2 before it dropped again after I stopped.

Nothing wrong with it. Just another boring, routine system check. I looked up at the missile, the top of its 122-foot structure was shrouded in darkness. It sat there quietly, innocently not hurting anyone despite being a mass-killing machine.

The Sabre-3 Missile carried six independently targeted stealth warheads and could reach anywhere on Earth or in orbit out to 290 miles in altitude. It could take out the new Chinese Shingyan space station and five of their cities all by itself. If it were called upon to do so. Even with the heightened tensions in the Spratleys and the Taiwan Straights, there was really no reason it had to be used.

More than likely it would never be fired. History suggests that one day it would all be dismantled, the nuclear material buried deep in Nevada somewhere. Out of the many thousands of nuclear weapons built in the world, many had been decommissioned or put away from active duty. In human history atomic weapons had only been used five times, after all.

Almost two centuries in existence and only used “in anger” five times. Each time the world was shocked into not wanting to use the terrible instruments ever again, but keeping them ready just in case “they” saw weakness and attacked.

In three weeks the technicians would show up to inspect and make sure the missile would operate perfectly if needed. This was an annual thing. Like a ritual of some kind, maybe for the Church of Self-Immolation. Militarily it was outdated but, then again, they still used bayonets. In the modern battlefield this missile and its would be lucky to reach their targets. Anti-missile technology would alost assure they were destroyed around the time they reached orbit.

Then again maybe it is only a weapon of mutual destruction for a country like China that can called a “peer competitor”. Maybe this weapon would work fine against one of the lesser tyrannical nations, but history shows we don't pay them much attention until they get nukes at which point they are “safe”.

It's enough to make one cynical.

I start the long climb back to the surface after doing all of the checks. Just then I see red flashes of light and the two-ton door was slammed shut. The deafening alarm finally reached my ears or finally registered. I turn around and get back to the tiny control room. I see the terminals are already on and the launch sequence was ready.

I put my palm on the scanner and the missile was soon being fueled automatically. The six warheads were being programmed with target coordinates. The missile itself was being fed it's trajectory and launch vectors.

It dawned on me that I had nothing to do with any of this. My job was over. It also occurred to me that the enemy, whoever it was, probably knew exactly where this missile silo was located. The thought didn't bother me because we had the most advanced anti-missile technology of them all.

Unless the Shenyang space station had taken out our early warning and defense satellites. Surely they could not take them all down. I couldn't escape my little prison until the launch was complete, maybe I would have time to reach the hover-car and escape any return fire. Or I might actually be safer here.

With an astounding noise and bright flame the missile rose from the bottom of the silo, seemingly in slow motion at first. The little windows of the control room looking into the launch tube looked like the sun was pouring in for a moment. After the smoke cleared there really was some diffused sunlight from way up top.

I wasn't in any hurry as I climbed the stairs and palmed the scanner. The door opened for me this time and I was on the surface. The cabin was still there, I picked up the notebook computer and turned the fan off. Then I walked outside and pulled a couple of the peaches from the trees before I turned toward my hover-car.

The roaring of the missile was dying down to background noise. The line of smoke into the sky was fading, there were a few more missile trails on the horizon. For some reason I was totally at peace and I felt no worries as I climbed into the vehicle. Whether it was the end of the world or whether the territory being fought over was won or lost, it just did not matter to me.

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Kkotjebi The Unwanted -part 2

Kkotjebi 

part two

The local food warehouse is controlled and guarded by the military. Even the soldiers aren't looking too well-fed these days, she noticed. They were not use to being challenged and had a long history of pushing the masses around and abusing them. When times are hard they literally rob farmers of their livelihood as if it was their own. Her mother had intimated that her father had been a soldier who had raped her.

She walked right up to the gate and the guard outside still ignored her, one of the guards inside had noticed her though.

“Open the gates and open the warehouse.” The girl told the guards who just looked at each other. Then the outside guard gave her a light push.

“Go away.” he said.

The girl put her her hands on her hips. “I'm not going away yet.”

The soldiers went back to ignoring her. She felt the power rising inside of her. The strength of the anger and the hate made her smile. The nearest soldier stepped back when he saw the look on her face.

Then the guards were thrown back by the force of a blast-like wind that knocked down the fence and crushed the facade of the warehouse. A crowd had gathered and they had gasped and some sobbed when the power erupted from her.

“There is food! Lot's of food! Why are people starving when there is so much food?” she yelled to the crowd. “The government is lying. The government is letting us starve!”

Some soldiers were arriving from the other side of the warehouse. An open-bed army truck was arriving from the local barracks.

“You! You soldiers! Distribute this food to everyone in the province who needs it!” she ordered. The soldiers hadn't seen what happened and they ignored her. The crowd was being ordered to step back and they complied so quickly he was suspicious. Then the officer noticed the little girl and started toward her to tell her to scram when she pointed at the two and half ton truck and it went flying into the air as if kicked by a dragon.

He watched it recede and land more than a mile away. Then he looked back to the girl who had a creepy smile on her face.

“Distribute the food in the province, or I start doing that to soldiers.” She said and all of the soldiers tightened their grips on their guns threateningly. She laughed at them. They could not hurt her if they tried and if they threatened the crowd she would annihilate them.

“We'll be arrested and killed if we give the food away!” the officer said. Everything in this sad country was motivated by fear and greed. People would turn in their neighbors for not having the proper reverence to Dear Leader, even knowing how harsh the punishment was.


The soldiers were skinny but the crowd was gaunt and emaciated. Nobody was getting enough to eat these days, not that the command economy had ever worked well. They were afraid of being shot and their families being sent to the camps if they distributed the rice to the starving masses.

“You no longer have to be afraid of the fat man.” She told them. “You should be afraid of me.”

As she said this she balled up her hands into fists and the wind picked up and thunder sounded. The soldiers looked up and around.

“Put down your guns!” She told them. “From now on you are not to oppress the people, you will serve the people. You will make amends for the abuse that the army has carried out. This is how you will be forgiven. Otherwise...”

Lightening struck the top of the warehouse. The soldiers scrambled. She looked back to the officer and he flinched.

“You make sure this food goes to the people. I will hold you accountable!”

Then she continued on her journey toward the capitol city. The dirt road she followed soon led to a paved highway, two-lanes wide. It was cracked and not in good repair but it was one of the best roads n the country. This was one of the main roads to the capitol.

Soon enough she was entering another province. The girl stopped at a farm where she was well treated and she learned about the local situation. Soldiers from a nearby barracks had come by and stole from all the farmers routinely but the soldiers also sold fuel from their vehicles and things. Times were harsh enough for soldiers to be desperate. In a country where most of the resources were put into the military this was a really bad sign.

Meanwhile the propaganda continued. The fat man had forced the soldiers and others to build a ski resort and a water park even though the country was in such a state.

The fat man had to die.

He was probably sleeping in a different secure location every night and was surrounded by the most trusted guards. Still, she would find him and kill him for what he did to this country. Not that it was all his fault, for his father and grandfather had done the same thing. The whole system had to die.

A small group of soldiers arrived the following day at the farm while the girl had been preparing to depart. She listened to them threaten and cajole the elderly farmer and his wife, demanding food and grabbing a piglet to take with them.

“No!” The girl told them. The soldiers pointed their guns at her and then started laughing at this petulant child. She looked at their vehicle a typical UAZ and made it flip end over end down the dirt road. The four soldiers seemed shocked by this.

“Leave these people alone. Don't make me come back. ” She told them and then began to walk back toward the main road without looking back.

Soon enough the rumors of the little girl began to spread, most laughed them off. The military received a report that the girl was on her way to the capitol city on foot. The report said she had flung a vehicle a quarter of a kilometer without even touching it.

Back on the main road the girl soon found herself blocked by two large trucks, a smaller vehicle and an armored personnel carrier. In front of these were about two-dozen soldiers, they were already shouldering their guns. There were also a few officers present shouting orders.

“Show time.” She thought to herself. She raised both hands up, palms forward as if surrendering. Of course she had found that her palms projected the power better during her journey. She placed a barrier between herself and the roadblock and then flung the vehicles away one by one. The smallest, then the two trucks. She saw three people scramble to get out of the APC and let them before flinging it. It soared for at least a full kilometer.

The soldiers began firing but the barrier held firm. Then she moved the barrier forward and the line of soldiers were pushed along by it, they moved to stay ahead of it after being hit by it a couple of times. Finally one of the officers took off running and the men followed.

She knew they would bring out the big guns now. This did not bother her, this was all practice as far as she was concerned. She had a mission and she would carry it out. The power inside of her was getting ever stronger. If it continued to get stronger long enough, she knew she would also become afraid of it eventually.

Story: Kkotjebi

  Kkotjebi

("The Unwanted")

Mama collected grass to sell in the market, she wrapped up huge bundles and carried them on her back and under her arms. I hardly remember her face under all the accumulated dirt since the last time it rained enough to wash it off. She doesn't take me with her for fear that the local authorities will take me away and put me into the hands of the local people's committee.

They collect the homeless children not because they care about them, but just to gather them and keep them from possibly defecting. It was about control and saving face for the leaders of the government more than anything else. It's not like the local people's committee has the desire or ability to keep the kids from running away, they don't have the resources to feed us either.

I know what the illegal market looks like, though. I know that those selling things spread blankets on the ground and put their meager goods on them. Some of them are selling their allotted rations while some have connections and sell what they can wheedle from their comrades.

My mother is barely able to walk and talk, she is so malnourished. She is becoming skin and bones, I can feel them as we embrace under the tree behind the bushes where we sleep at night. I know that this is an injustice but I am a small child, I have no power to change anything.

Once, when she had more energy, I should have ran away. She would have been better off without another mouth to feed. Now I am the one who is pulling most of the grass that she ambles off to the market to sell. I know that we will boil grass to eat as always if she cannot make enough to buy a bit of rice. I see how weak she is and I know that one day soon, she will stop living.

Propaganda posters line the walls near the market, some of them show farmers with an abundance of food. More food in their illustrated hands than most people saw in a year. These posters were lies, of course, all of them were lies. Nobody believes them any more. Nobody believes that the rest of the world is worse off than we are.

Mother was a child when the Arduous March happened. A great famine that left many dead of starvation. A time when even the well-connected cadres found that their rations were not being delivered. The ones who trusted the government the most were the hardest hit, the ones who traded illegally had some small chance.

Mother told me that millions had died. She said that piles of bodies were simply burnt in fields because there wasn't anyone able to dig mass graves. Even the cruel local army units, normally the best fed people, had no energy. It was much worse then, she told me, though I can hardy fathom how that is possible.

One day a foreign reporter came. He secretly interviewed my mother, he seemed shocked to hear she was in her early twenties. The reporter seemed to know that if he were caught, my mother could be executed for talking to him. Then he turned the camera around, there was a small screen like a television and he showed us pictures of his country.

I could only cry when I watched the pictures of supermarkets, little girls with nice dresses and toys, these were things I never had. I felt the hatred well up in me, it was strong. I was weak but it was strong, I nurtured this strength. I wanted this strength. I felt this strength and something changed me.

Mother had the opposite reaction. She abandoned any hope. She refused to get up and I picked the grass alone. She didn't want to go sell it, I was afraid I would be caught by the soldiers of the Ministry of People's Security. I wanted to try. I wanted to help my mother eat something.

I carried as much as I could. Almost as much grass as my mother usually carried. Seeing the propaganda posters rose the anger inside me, it was warm and comforting. The woman wanted to pay less than regularly because I was a child and my complaints would get me in more trouble than her. I noticed the patch of ground next to her was empty.

I inquired about the person who usually sold things next to her. She looked around but the soldiers were far away. She told me that the other woman had been suspected of listening to a foreign radio station and had been taken away during the night. It was possible she could be executed and her whole family could be sent to the work camps.

I felt like I was shaking. My body shivering. Where had this energy come from, I did not know. This rising hate and anger was making me stronger. I spent everything I had gotten on a pittance of rice, wrapped inside of a piece of old newspaper. I would give this to my mother. For some reason I was feeling strong, and I wanted to tell mother how to feel strong too.

She was asleep. I try to wake her up. I have rice, I tell her, get up and eat. I wanted to tell her I knew a secret power. She did not respond to anything I said or the shaking or when I hit her arm or when I cried and picked up her head and held it to my chest.

I screamed in my grief, my anger, my hate. The tree that had sheltered us exploded into flying splinters.

That was when I knew what I was going to do. I could not dig a hole so I picked up the broken branches and covered my mothers body. I boiled the rice and ate it myself. I had to go north, I would find a main road to the capitol city. I would use my power and I would explode the fat tyrant that had done this to us.

From that moment on I abandoned my name. Now I would only be Kkotjebi. The Unwanted.

People were not allowed to travel far without governments permission. Very few owned a vehicle anyway and many villages had no roads leading to them. I would not allow anything to stop me, I knew my power was getting stronger. Nobody was going to be able to stop me.
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