The Intergalactic Exploits of Nah Lonely Part 2

Welcome to installment two of the The Intergalactic Exploits of Nah Lonely! Will this be the last we see of Nah? Will there be a part 3? You can read part 2 and then tell me!
Never, has a story time entry been revamped and redesigned soooooooo many times before its post. Originally planned as a three part miniseries to occur over the weekend, the Exploits of Nah Lonely were forced to undergo a number of revisions. Why so much revising you ask? Well, being away from my portal to the Sub-Etha net for a few days made it difficult to post. Unable to get online I was left to reread Nah's exploits and ultimately molded two stories into one, to show appreciation for your patience reader. Will there be another story or follow up for Nah Lonely? You tell me!

This weeks submissions were:
Setting: Deep Space
Genre: Steam punk
Characters: Space Bears
Teenage Martian monkeys
Protagonist: Nah Lonely: Space pirate/privateer
Antagonist: Galactic Federation Ship Capt. Jimmy Timbuk Perk
　
　

　

The Intergalactic Exploits of Nah Lonely

Part 2

After getting back to the Raven, it didn’t take long to see that wryly old grizzly had been completely serious. The semi polished girders and flooring of the engine room, were now a mess of wires and pipes; all culminating into some sort of phallic protrusion, imbedded just above the opening of my combustidium burner.
I feel violated and angry; but I can’t. If this prototype engine can really do what its suppose to and the Federation knows it exists, I’ve gotta run before I get tagged with it. I pick up a pail of combustidium and shovel three scoopfuls into the burner; that should be more than enough fuel to get me into the Sol system.
Leaving the engine room, I make my way through the worn but maintained corridors of my precious ship. She may not be the latest model or the most retro fitted, but she has saved my life more times than I can count. The reassuring thrum of her inner machinery at work starts to spread forward from the engine room; with the fresh batch of fuel, she’s waking up and powering on.
Inside the cockpit I find another unexpected addition; a large red button has been installed amongst the levers that control my astro train. Leave it to Space Bears to harness the greatest travel advancement in a giant cliché.
Whether or not I’m going to do this mission is irrelevant, one way or another I gotta start moving. I grasp the drive rod and shift it to locomotion, before releasing the wheel lock. With a slight turn of the stack valve, steam begins to escape the exterior towers and the Raven begins to exit the landing bay and approach the launch pad.
I flip the three switches on my transistor and rotate the dial to the planet’s traffic control station. The speakers crackle while the frequencies located. I take the microphone from its housing on the transistor, depress the on button and make contact.
“This is Centennial Raven, requesting launch clearance on pad 1138.”
“Centennial Raven, this is Krrrrylk traffic control, you are clear for launch on pad 1138.”
“Thank you control.”
Once the ship is settled nicely on the landing pad, I reset the wheel lock and shift the drive rod to the take off position. The engine quits creating forward motion and focuses solely upon pushing all steam out of the smoke stacks and into the helinium canopy. I turn the stack valve until its fully open, feeding more steam out of the towers. Slowly, she begins to lift. The climb starts fairly slow, like a newly filled dirigible. With the ground receding below, I need but wait to achieve necessary altitude.
As she advances to the necessary height, I tighten the stack valve, until her ascension stops and we are only hovering. With take off achieved, I shift the drive rod to the flight position; the mechanisms in the canopy and smoke stack shift; with no further steam being pumped that direction the canopy separates and folds out; giving the Raven her wings. The redirected steam finds its way to the main propulsion drive and begins to power the system. The conical engine protruding from the rear of the ship, begins to spin and while she slowly starts to fall, forward motion is achieved. While the speed increases until the ship reaches a necessary velocity to perpetually orbit the planet; then with a final loosening of the stack valve, the Centennial Raven achieves just enough force to break the orbit of the planet, and uses the celestial bodies own gravity, to sling shot the ship into space.
Now, to the nearest worm hole gate; with any luck I can jump from this system, before this sublimation drive, gets me into any trouble. The biggest problem is the nearest gate, the Centari Gate will provide me with a direct shot to the Sol gate; too bad both of them are federation controlled and operated. Technically, I can use it. I have all necessary licenses and credentials, to operate within the federation as a privateer; and unless my old buddy Perk is on guard duty at either of them I shouldn’t run into any problems. But do I really want to do this mission? I suppose I should make my decision quick; the sooner I act the less chance of anyone catching wind of it. Ah, what the hell; I haven’t been to earth in a while.
I fly the Raven into line behind the other warp travelers. A single Pan Galactical dreadnaught guards the entrance; momentarily detaining every passer by, long enough to check their credentials. It seems like a good sign; no ones being rerouted or captured.
Moment of truth; before I have a chance to rotate the transistors dial to the necessary frequency, the federation auto tunes it for me.
The speakers crackle, “Centennial Raven, Please transfer operating licenses and credentials now.”
“Transfer pending,” I respond; before flipping the transmitter switch, sending digitized forms of my operating parameters across the sub-etha net.
There’s a pause.
“Nah Lonely, during our routine, pre warp travel, scan of your vessel; you have been found harboring, stolen Federation property! You are ordered to power down your ship and await boarding!”
“You scanned my ship? On what grounds! This is illegal!”
“Negative Nah Lonely. The Federation has recently passed new addendums, decreeing that any vessels intending to navigate Pan Galactical Controlled regions, forfeit any and all rights to privacy in said vessel. Again, you are ordered to power down your ship, Nah Lonely!”
Well ain’t that a bitch; you avoid Federation space for awhile and the bastards go all megalomaniac. And I love how, they call the drive, “federation property” that reeks of a treason charge.
“Nah Lonely! Your continued ignoring of our Federation orders, will not be tolerated. The PNGSS Headhunter, is preparing to fire tractor beams at you; resist and be…”
CLICK
“DI-DI-DI-DI-Dum-Dum-Dum-Da-Da-Da-DI-DI,” I really don’t care what the Federation has to say to me; and for what I’m about to pull I need some relaxing tunes.
Opening the steam valve to max, I slam the accelerator forward and pull back on the stabilizer. The Raven, easily shoots out of the tractor beam lock and barrels into the worm hole gate.
Safe from pursuit at the moment, because of the physics in worm hole travel, I know the security won’t last. The federation will be waiting for me at the other gate and I’d hate to stand them up, but you don’t fly through unsanctioned worm holes without picking up a few tricks. I will pop out of this light tunnel, long before its intended exit, and then as long as I keep a low profile, I should make it to earth undetected.

“Da-Da-Da-DI-DI-DI…”

CLICK
“WAH-WAW-WAH-WAW-WAH!” Now there’s a fancy trick, even the transitors bulbs are flashing red.
“WAW! CENTENNIAL RAVEN! YOU ARE OPERATING INSIDE OF FEDERATION CONTROLLED SUB-SPACE WITHOUT PERMISSION AND WITH STOLEN CONTRABAND! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST BY THE PAN GALACTICAL FEDERATION AND OUR ORDERED TO SURRENDER UPON REENTRY TO REGULAR SPACE! WAH-WAW-WAH-WAW-WAH-WAW!”
I try to rotate the dial, to a less annoying station. No luck; don’t know how they did it, but seems the Federations learned how to jam communications within sub-space. Well that’s a shame.
Pulling free my Zap-Tess-4000, I aim it at my radio and fire a blast of electrical plasma at it. The federation can’t jam something that’s a smoldering heap. It’s really such a shame.
Now I just wait; I light my self a cigarette to enjoy the solace. I push the ash tray compartment, located just south of the new red button, and to my dismay nothing happens.
Again I poke, and again nothing happens.
I punch, continued nothing.
I kick and I quit.
I hate space bears.
The molten pile of my radio will have to make do as my butt can, for now.
After a few, fuel conserving adjustments to the controls I return to the task at hand of watching for my exit. The problem most people have with wormholes is the assumption they have but one exit; wherever they end. For someone looking for exact transport this is true, but to someone familiar with the stars, some one who knows their way around the galaxy, wormholes can provide a less exact means of transport any where in the universe. Simply ride out on one of the light rays that composes the fabric of sub-space and find yourself anywhere between your two connecting worm hole gates.
Sure it’s dangerous ‘cuz you could always smash into a planet, or star, or asteroid, or ship, or any number of other debris, but there is certainly a reason why its not common practice. I’m gonna find me one of these light rays that will deposit me right inside the earth atmosphere, or at least close to earth…
These green ones are looking promising. Pressing the stabilizer down, I jam the accelerator to a stop. I cross my fingers as I embark on the most important step of prematurely exiting a worm hole; getting lucky.
For moment, there is nothing but verdant. As the emerald radiance begins to waver, darkness and streaking lights begin to define. As I renter the real space, I pull back on the stabilizer with all of my might; hoping to avoid the screen of asteroids directly ahead of me. Though the ship is no where near the speed of light anymore, its velocity is still far beyond an acceptable level to be controlled by a human. The ship continues to arc, but not drastically enough. Her left wing slams against an asteroid, shattering the stabilizing fin, and making the task of landing very difficult. Still her arc continues, liberating her from the impending doom of asteroids, and careening directly for Mars.
I battle with the controls, trying to slow my damaged ship down. The effort pays off; control is returned, speed is reduced, and now I can avoid Mars and head to earth. The worm hole didn’t put me exactly where I would have liked, but I’m not dead so that’s good.
While passing by Deimos, another problem presents itself. A group of space marauders, launch from the moons surface, in single person steam pods. Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t be a problem, but as it stands I’ve got diminished maneuvering capabilities. Before I can even power up the first chain gun, they reveal their intentions; the six pods hit me with magnetic toe lines and break back toward the moon, with my damage ship intow.
I gun the accelerator but its too late; they’ve already shorted it out with one of their toe lines. Well, this is great; once I get stuck on that planet, I can’t get off until I fix the broken wing.
They disengaged their lines about ten feet from the surface, dropping my astro train rather hard. With their cargo safely deposited; my abductors land their pods and make their way for my entry door. Their banana yellow space suits, tell me exactly who I’m dealing with; another example of humanities ignorance at work; it’s a gang of teenage Martian monkeys.
Not to say all Martian monkeys are teenagers, but this particular gang looks young and hijacking injured ships is a common practice for adolescent Martian monkeys.
How do I even want to handle this? I can’t waste my time here; I’m wanted by the federation and I’m right inside their hometurff. But does that really give me a right to waste a bunch of angry kids? No, I can’t.
Navigating my way from the cockpit, I make the journey to the ships entrance hatch; pausing briefly to mount a Breath-O-rator over my face, before opening the hatch and preparing to handle the situation out side.
The door grinds open to reveal all six disgruntle youths facing my entry way with their hands behind their backs.
I step forward and start to speak; “All right you kids! You’ve had your fun, no go on and get out of here.”
Their response is to reveal what they were hiding behind their backs’.
When the last handful of monkey feces pelts my face, the poo flingers erupt in laughter, hoping up and down, while pointing and laughing. After they finished their hysterics, the ring leader shouted, “cowabunga!” before leading his posse back to their pods and stranding me.
As I continued to stand in my entry, covered in Martian monkey doo, looking over the barren surface of Demios; I made the mistake of wondering how things could get worse.
The thought had barely materialized when a response made itself known. The ridiculous discus bridge, with its stupid giant engines, entered the atmosphere and loomed above my Raven.
A powerful PA system on the frigate, erupted with sound to address me specifically.
“Nah…Lonely…” the irritatingly brazen, buffoon spoke, “THIS IS….Captain……Jimmy…Timbuk………….Perk.”
I hate him so much.
“Of the…Pan….Galactical…….Federation.”
If only I could shoot out his PA the way I shot my radio; then I wouldn’t have to listen to him anymore.
“I AM…placing YOU…under arrest…for….smuggling and…piracy….and….treason. YOU MUST…Surrender…your….SELF….Immediately.”
Screw this. I’m not hanging around to listen to this imbecile. I close my entry hatch and throw my shit covered Breath-O-rator to the ground. I can still hear that annoying voice as I make my way to the cockpit.
“I………..will USE….any……force…….that’s….necessary…..to…..detain….you…..if I………….mUST!”
I look at the intrusive red cliché in my cockpit and light myself a new smoke.
“Well….anything is better than listening to that idiot….into the breach!” I yell; while pressing the red button.
Instantly, the entirety of the Centennial Raven became gaseous and vanished in a puff of steam, leaving the Captain of the Cumulus, rather confused about what to do next.


***To be concluded?***

By: Michael Wilshire

The Intergalactic Exploits of Nah Lonely

This weeks submissions were:
Setting: Deep Space
Genre: Steam punk
Characters: Space Bears
                  Teenage Martian monkeys
Protagonist: Nah Lonely: Space pirate/privateer
Antagonist: Galactic Federation Ship Capt. Jimmy Timbuk Perk
　
So, I know what I said about not revisiting characters and stories with this story time experiment. Well, I’m adding an addendum to that, because I found myself having a lot of fun with this particular story; and decided to make it a miniseries! Don’t worry, you won’t have to wait a week for the next part, I’m simply posting the first part now and the next part over Friday and Saturday respectively: think of it like a short running cereal! The reason for this being I have learned a lesson; I will stop trying to bend universal rules to my whim and I accept that the chaos of Thursdays can not be harnessed; as such from now on story time entries are guaranteed for Fridays and no longer Thursdays; not to say they might not make it up on Thursday, but no more guarantee of it. Immediately following this weeks entry submissions for next weeks entry will be open, but be sure to check back on Friday and Saturday to find out what’s become of our Marauding Space Privateer, Nah Lonely!

The Intergalactic Exploits of Nah Lonely

The Dive was solid, but aged. The castilium iron of its construction seemed to have finally began to succumb under the unyielding barrage of moisture provided by the climate, its own broken pressure valves and even its clientele. The evidence was apparent everywhere, like a spreading batch of leprosy across the establishment: rust. I mean hell, even the booth I’m sittin’ in’s covered with rust. But what are you gonna do? The universe is a hard place. You either turn yourself into a well polished cog, and jump into the ever grinding machine that is the oppression of the Pan Galactical Federation: or you spin free, and try to create your own perpetual motion; the only problem is, its pretty dirty being free. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself. That’s what keeps me sitting in this booth; drinking this liquid that’s got way too much shit floating in it to just be whiskey, while giving it my best damn effort to keep this cigarette lit in this awful humidity.
The client will show. And when he does, it’ll be worth it. If the cargo is half as valuable as he says it is, this little cog will be able to have his very own, secluded self, clean, freedom.
As I look around at the various patrons littering the establishment, I grow slightly uneasy. There are faces I recognize and faces I don’t. There’s fellow free spinning cogs I’ve had altercations with in the past, and number I hope to avoid in the future. I give up on this sorry excuse for a drink, and reach my hand under my duster and into my lapels pocket, freeing the watch I carried in there. it’s a relic of an antique; originally constructed on earth, its not what one would consider the most efficient interstellar time keeper, but it reminds me of home. Besides, it’s not that hard to translate different species measure of time, into something equivalent to what this does. Unfortunately, according to this my clients about twenty minutes late. Then again, maybe he’s here and I just don’t know it. I don’t have a name, a species, or any description of what to go off, except location, right down to this booth, and time, which had already passed.
I slip my watch back into its pocket, and slowly brush my hand against my Zap-Tess-4000, in its shoulder holster; reaffirming its ease of access. With that confidence, I can wait a little longer.


hiiissssssss.
GONK!

I look to the entrance, toward the sound of the latest ruckus to enter the bar.


Hiiiissssss.
GONK!

Now this is interesting, here we have something you don’t see everyday. A patron upwards of eight hundred pounds; wearing some form of white insulated space suit, with a matching bowl of a helmet, completely obscuring its contents; and piston driven prosthetic left leg.

Hiiiiissss.
GONK!

Never seen him before

HiiiiSSS.
GONK!!

Probably the client.

HIIISSSS.
GONK!!!

HIIIISSSS!
CLANK!
pssssssssssssshhhhh.

“Nah Lonely?” a muffled rasp of a voice, asked me from beneath the indiscernible bowl.
I tip down the tip of my hat, obscuring my face before I respond,“Well, you see; that really depends on whose asking?”

HIIISSS.
GONK!
pppsssssshhhhh.klang.pssssssssss.

It sat down opposite of me at the table.
“I’m here to discuss a business deal with Mr. Lonely.”
“I’m listening,” I told him, while discarding the failed remains of my cigarrette into my supposed whiskey.
“You see, Mr. Lonely, my associates and I have a very sensitive package that must be delivered with the utmost of care and discretion.”
“Define discretion.”
“We would like to avoid any Federation interference.”
“Uh-huh; and why’s that?”
“Let’s just say, for the sake of existence, this package can’t fall into their hands.”
“Now, see; it’s the whole cloak and dagger debacle about this operation that makes me wonder, why the hell was I contacted?”
“My associates and I have heard you have no love loss for the Federation, and you have experience with the planet the package is intended for.”
“It’s true, I’m not a fan of the Federation; there a bunch of ignorant tyrants, but that doesn’t mean I’m looking for a fight with them.”
“Your reputation precedes you Mr. Lonely; this is another, reason we choose you; the Pan Galactical Federation, must be avoided at all costs for this operation.”
“You finally said the magic “C” word my friend; exactly, how much are you and your associates looking to spend on this little operation?”
“We can offer you eight hundred thousand somollions, for your service.”
The intel was right, I could definitely buy my own corner of freedom with that.
“That’s a hefty sum, my friend. Where exactly is the package going? You said I’m familiar with it’s destination?”
“Yes, your destination is the planet, earth; more specifically the village of Kodiak in Alaska.”
And there’s the damn catch, “Earth? You want me to avoid confrontation with Federation, and fly right into one of there most heavily guarded territories? Are you high? I told you I’m not looking for a fight with them; I don’t give slug of Ganellia about and freedom causes; I’m just trying to make a buck my friend.”
“That’s all we are offering you Mr. Lonely; the opportunity to make a lot of bucks as it were.”
They’ve always gotta hit ya were it hurts the pocket book. I can’t do this job; I don’t even know what I’m hauling. Captain Perk of P.G.F.S.S. Cumulus already despises me; imagine if he caught me sneaking a bomb or something onto earth! There’s no way, I’d walk away from it.
“Look Mr. Piston Leg; I appreciate that you and your colleagues thought of me, but the fact of the matter is I’m not going to be able to accept the job,” as I finish declining his offer, I begin to rise: only to be pushed back into my seat by the giant, powerful hand of my companion sitting opposite of me.
“Listen Mr. Lonely, this is not exactly an offer you can refuse. Tell me what you know of space travel.”
“Excuse me?”
“What is the fastest way to travel?”
“Worm hole gates.”
“Exactly! Such things are naturally occurring in the universe; they can accelerate you to the speed of light and deposit you anywhere, they naturally are; but what if there was an even more accurate and faster way to travel? What if a ship or vehicle, could be transported anywhere within the universe?”
Now, this coot has got my attention again. Talking about a means of travel all life has lusted for sense first inventing the wheel.
“I’d say it could be one of the greatest discovery’s in all of history.”
“Exactly Mr. Lonely! But only if it was developed correctly. I want you to imagine if the Federation developed or had access to such technology, do you still think it would be so great?”
“Well, probably not. It could give them the strategic advantage over any civilization outside of their jurisdiction.”
“You are completely correct Mr. Lonely. Now tell me, are you familiar with the Alaskan Village of Kodiak?”
“No I am not; but I assume that it’s cold.”
“HAHAHA! Indeed it is Mr. Lonely, indeed it is. Now, you must understand that the Village of Kodiak is not acknowledged by the Pan Galactical Federation as having membership, nor representation in the Federation; rather it is a sovereign nation within a Federation controlled planet.”
Oh boy. I don’t remember any sovereign nations on earth with eight hundred pound humans; I have a feeling I know where this is going and there’s gonna be know way to refuse.
“And what exactly inhabits this nation?”
My guest moved his massive, gloved paws to the front visor of his fish bowl helmet and raised the visor, to reveal his face. A face that looked as native to earth has my own; as I stared into large monocle which had clearly been installed to replace a lost left eye, I couldn’t help but find myself disgusted at the atrocities against nature my kind had committed before space travel. Terrified of exploring the unknown for themselves, experimenting on creatures which had no business to make that evolutionary bound when they did, strapping them in on the earliest astro trains, and firing them into the dark abyss of space.
Space Bears. Why did it have to be Space Bears.
“You see Mr. Lonely; it is my fellow Conscious brothers and sisters in that village; those whom have never been allowed to fulfill their only mission in life and explore the stars.”
“Your gonna appeal to that deep seeded guilt I harbor for being human, aren’t you?”
“No Mr. Lonely; I simply plan to appeal to you as one sentient being to another. Tell me, do you know what sublimation is?”
“What does the act of a solid transitioning directly to gas have to do with anything?”
“It has to do with everything! The package you will be delivering to my earth locked brethren, is a prototype sublimation drive!”
“A what?”
The bear leaned in very close to me and began to speak very softly, “It’s an engine that can instantly sublimates the ship and all of its occupants; while maintain their general molecular form; this is where it gets tricky; while everything is in a gaseous state, but still maintaining a semi familiar molecular structure, the entire vehicle can slip through abnormalities of space and time to reappear at a location which contains a similar mass to the ship while in its gaseous forms, in accordance with the transitive properties of existence.”
“It turns you into a gas and then it switches you with other gases anywhere in the universe?”
“Essentially yes.”
“Then why don’t you use it reach your friends?”
“Ah, well you see; the engine is a prototype, and as such we can’t really utilize it yet.”
“That doesn’t make sense? Your sending an untested engine to your people as their salvation?”
“Alas, it is our only choice. The Pan Galactical Federation, has received intel of the technology we have developed and are currently actively pursuing any and all known space bears. Hence the discretion of my attire,” he told me; while lowering his visor again.
“What if it doesn’t work? What if I take it to your people and you’ve got something wrong and then the federation gets a hold of it?”
“They will have to go through much more bureaucracy to invade a sovereign territory; those of us not on our home planet are being pursued as deserters.”
“I still don’t understand why you just don’t use the drive to pop in and snag your brethren and then pop out with them. Why this whole big to do?”
“Again, all of my kind currently not on earth are wanted for treason; it would be suicide for us to attempt any such rescue; you’re a disenfranchised privateer; you won’t be expected. And besides if you wish to try out the engine you may.”
“Sorry papa bear; I’m not gonna take my time to install this hot commodity on my ship, then have to uninstall it upon delivery.”
“You won’t have to take time for anything; my associates have been installing the engine on your ship while we’ve discussed the details; think of it as our collateral. However you arrive at earth, be it conventional combustidium steam power, or by sublimation, you will simply turn over your ships to the inhabitants of Kodiak Village; they will then transfer you your eight hundred thousand soma lions as well as a new astro train.”
“Are you kidding me? That’s ridiculous! I’m not doing any of that! I need at least half my fee upfront and I will never give up the Centennial Raven!”
“I’m afraid this is not up for negotiation, Nah Lonely; the modifications are already done. Refuse and be responsible for the down fall of free space as we know it.”
Why did it have to be space bears?

***

To Be Continued

***

By: Michael Wilshire

Chapter 6 (of ITCOMVGROWP)

It's another Thursday here at Story Time! I've decided to do things a little differently this week. Again I only recieved one suggestion for a story; so I asked myself, what gives? Are people not enjoying the short stories as much as they enjoyed the chapters of the book? Well I'm giving you the chance to make the decisions readers! Instead of writing another short story this week, I decided to give you another chapter of In the Case of Mathematics vs. Gods, Religions and Other Worldly Philosophies. That's right folks, this is the opening of the second act in the book and its an exclusive just for you! This does not mean I will be going back to posting a chapter a week again; I simply wanted to give the audience a sneek peek of what lays ahead. Tell me what you think in the comment section, here or on facebook and be sure to follow the blog if you're not already.
What I'm really looking for this week is an idea where to go from here; if y'all want more short stories, I'm giving you the ultimatum of breaking our previous records for suggestions; that means I need at least two (or one request each from two seperate people). Until the previous record is broken, you can expect rants, thoughts and tangents to start occupying these Thursday posts. Maybe that's what you want; maybe it isnt; maybe you should tell me your opinion on the matter? Anyway, I will quit wasting time.

Act ii

Chapter 6

(Chorus)

With players gathered and die cast

The time has come for our pawns to advance

Rio remembered a time (about a week ago), when Achilles little performance would have summoned nearly every available unit of the Las Vegas police department; however, the new sheriff’s of Las Vegas (deputized by the no longer hiding mob running the town) didn’t really care about a guy who cut up some monsters. The crowd which witnessed the act still maintained interest in the Greek, and expressed it by continuing to follow him.
They had waited patiently, as Achilles rinsed the fury blood off his body in the nearest of the casino’s fountains; obediently following him without any command, when he remained silent and began to walk down the road, toward the nearest “Come Back Soon” sign.
The tailing entourage made up for their hosts’ muteness; talking about what they witnessed, watching it again on their cell phones, flagging other people down and reenacting the events for them. They maintained a distance from the armored man; for their fear of Achilles was only surmounted by their interest in him. Occasionally a new comer who hadn’t witnessed the events themselves, would shout, “Kill something else!” only to find their request met with continued hush.
They were nearly out of the city, coming up on the final casino near the outskirts when Rio realized how unpromising the prospect of this quest would be, if it were done in silence; naturally he decided to rectify the situation.
“Aaaaaaaaah man, am I parched! Are you parched? Cuz I’m pretty damn parched. How bout we stop for a drink?”
Achilles continued walking.
“Come on man! Just oooooone drink! My treat!” he added trying to sweeten the deal.
The crowd cheered, but Achilles was unfazed.
Rio turned to face the audience, “Well I ugh…actually meant for him…ah but what the hell! Somewhere’s gotta have a happy hour right now!”
The crowd cheered louder.
Rio ran to catch up to Achilles, “What do you say hero? The people have spoken!”
“No.”
The crowd’s noise digressed to booing at the prospect of no free alcohol; the protest was quickly silenced by a glance shot from Achilles, capable of freezing a gorgon.
“Awe come on! Your fans were so excited! Just one drink, then questing, yeah?” he smiled his most charming smile.
An unseen voice in the crowd spoke in Achilles silence, “What are you questing for?”
Rio turned around, more than willing to talk to anyone who wanted to listen; “You know I’m not sure on all the details. All I know is we’re looking for some fr…” was the extent of his sentence before Achilles hand clasped over his mouth.
“Don’t tell people what we are doing, you idiot!” he said, removing his hand from Rio’s face.
“Why not?”
Achilles looked from the walking herd of inebriation, back toward the demigod he accompanied; responding, “Safety issues.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look can we discuss this later?”
“Hell no! If I’m in mortal danger I damn well want to know about it!”
“At the present moment you are not…however…” Achilles glance shifted back toward their audience, “ugh…look, how about we get that drink.”
The crowd’s excitement erupted.

***

The line said to separate fear and paranoia, is a fine one: Pan was neither sure what signified the line, nor where the difference between the sides lay; but she felt certain she had become a resident on the paranoid side. Nearly a week had passed sense the events at the courthouse, and she still refused to step from the sanctuary of her home.
She was convinced, if her boss had been disintegrated for defending her mathematical proof, a fate much worse was waiting for her, being the actual discoverer. This fear, diluted her into believing she was safe at home; mostly because nothing had happened to her there and largely because of her newly developed astraphobia (which stemmed not from a fear of the “good” lightning, which struck ill advised golfers, but the “bad” boss killing lighting, she knew the gods had waiting for her).
Reality was threatening to challenge Pan’s fears, for her food supply was running low. Faced with the choice to stay home and starve or go outside and be vaporized, Pan began to consider the pros and cons: If she stayed home, her life would last until starving to death; if she left her home, she may be able to get food, but would probably be atomized by divine light, dying quickly. Both choices shared morbid ends; yet if the end must be morbid, she decided it should be quick. The decision, in no way, made the actual task of leaving any easier.
Fear is fear, and the feeling rooting her home was not that. Pan felt as if there was something she must know before she ventured forth; a piece of information she must have that could resolve any of her uncertainties. The feeling consumed her; perhaps if she turned on the news she could find this elusive factoid.
Locally, things were running as smoothly as possible. The only excitement for the day, coming from a riot some centaurs caused. Her city was having a relatively quiet day with the living, breathing myths of yore. World news revealed, no one from earth had defeated any of the Olympian generals yet, but polling showed Odysseus to be the most challenged. The top story belonged to National news and occurred in Las Vegas. Sources (confirmed by video) had reported a man, single handedly slewing four furies.
Pan found the images brutal, but none the less impressive.
“And who would be there to congratulate this impressive gladiator?” pressed the anchorwoman, “none other than near-do-well Hollywood bad boy, Rio Dythrab,” the video switched to the notorious partier, emerging from the crowd, applauding the hero.
The images on Pan’s television caused the muscles in her face to fail for the second time in a week. She paused the channel to take a closer look at the man on screen. He had Rio’s hair, his smile, he even had the flask she’d given him on their one year anniversary, just visible in his left pocket, under a gaudy horn hanging from his belt (that only he could successfully make look attractive). It was definitely her ex; she resumed the news.
“And what is the son of the famous Dareia Dythrab doing with this warrior? Sources indicate the duo is on some sort of quest. What they’re after and where they are going is still unknown, but more details to come when we receive them.”

The information Pan had witnessed was still attempting to process in her mind, when two men and a horse came barreling through her wall and into her television. Screaming, she snatched her can of mace from the coffee table and began to unload with reckless abandon toward the commotion. As the can’s stream began to spittle; Pan reexamined her target and noticed, rather than it being two men and a horse as originally thought, there was actually one man (with a swollen red face, coughing uncontrollably) who received the brunt of her attack and a completely unscathed centaur. The centaur used the distraction the non lethal deterrent provided, to forcefully kick the mace victim through another of Pan’s walls.

The creature smiled and winked at her, saying, “Thanks sweets,” before galloping through its newly created exit.

Pan stared after the beast for a moment, and began to truly appreciate her disdain for feelings.

***

Back in Las Vegas, Rio and Achilles’ party had just arrived at a bar.
“BARKEEP! A round for everyone! And put it on my tab!”
The bartender, all too familiar with Rio, was happy to oblige.
Achilles led the boisterous youth to the bar, in an effort to distance their conversation from wandering ears.
“You are currently not in mortal danger; however, the more people you tell about the quest the more arduous it will become. There are forces that will kill you, simply to prevent the rise of a new Olympian.”
“I see…I didn’t know that; Athena never mentioned it.”
“Of course she didn’t! Athena assumed you would be bright enough to figure that much out on your own. I know better. I understand you have to be force fed information to understand basic principles; and that’s why I am here, to hold your hand and make sure you don’t get yourself killed, being a moron.”
“Hey…”
“Look, it’s still not safe to elaborate anymore here. We need to slip away from this crowd and leave on our own.”
“Alright, let me cause a distraction.”
“That’s not what I meant…” Achilles attempted to protest, but was cut short by Rio’s climbing onto the bar.
“Ladies and gentlemen!” he bellowed, clinking a beer bottle against the minotaur horn on his belt, “Three rounds of jelloshots for my loyal followers!!!”
Rio decided, cheering meant consent and dropped behind the bar next to the bartender, “After these rounds of shots, go ahead and close my tab; but be sure to tip yourself its total.”
“Yes Sir!”
Shifting his attention back to his guide, “How’s that? Once those start getting served we can slip out the side exit,” his grin saying he’d implored similar ruses before.
Rather than pass the time in silence with Achilles; Rio advanced on the waitress loading a tray with shots. They parted ways when her tray was full, but not before she handed him a napkin with her phone number on it.
The lady killer, made his way out from behind the bar and back to his companion, “Drinks are heading out; now’s our chance.”
By the time the second round was being served Rio and Achilles were nearly out of the casino; and with the coming of the third round, came the realization the duo was absent and the groups’ acceptance of lacking motivation to find them.
With the number of journeyers reduced back to two, Achilles was still remaining silent.
“Soooooooooo….” pressed Rio, “Who would want me dead? Another god?”
Feeling comfortable to speak, but still uninterested in small talk, Achilles responded, “No, all of the Olympians agreed with your ascension. The dangers lie with the children of earth.”
“The monsters and stuff? But why?”
“Let’s just say they aren’t particularly fond of the gods right now and will try to take a shot at Olympus whenever possible.”
“Um…okay…”
Achilles felt the conversation had ended and chose not to respond to Rio’s directionless thought.
Realizing the ancient hero had no further interest in the previous topic, the god-to-be tried a new direction, “What’s the deal with you Achilles? What brings you back and why to my aid?”
“I’ve ‘been back,’ as you put it, for centuries. I was chosen, along with five other heroes to be generals of the Olympian army. As for the fortune of helping you, the gods asked me and I accepted.”
“Why? You don’t really seem excited about it.”
“Why? You know who I am; even though I fought in a war, centuries before your society began to rise. My legend has transcended centuries, civilizations and gods! My name is immortal and I have accepted this quest to ensure its longevity. Trust me, I would much rather be in the coliseum, battling your modern warriors; but I have the opportunity to raise a god. That is what will be remembered. The details of our journey are erroneous; but with its success, my name will live on.”
“I still don’t see the point. Those people back there, they didn’t believe you were you; so why care about the fame?”
“It doesn’t matter if they know me personally; but even they knew my name and my story. When I finally pass on my name will remain, and I will do all I can to assure it sees the end of time.”
“That seems really pessimistic.”
“I say it’s realistic. I know how society works; what we do in life has little effect on anything, but if done right, it will be remembered throughout history.”
“I guess…I never really thought of it like that.”
The conversation ended and silence remained until they were outside the city. Achilles stopped and looked at Rio; unsure of what he should be doing, he took the opportunity to light a cigarette.
“What are you waiting for?”
“I don’t know…what am I waiting for?”
“Do you plan to walk through miles of desert?”
“Honestly, I’d prefer not to.”
“Then use your horn!”
“That just summons that Custard thing.”
“His name is Custo and he’s a griffin, not a dessert!”
“Okay Custo…I still don’t see a point? I’ve got you for protection right now.”
“You really are completely clueless. We can use him for transportation!”
“huh?”
“We sit on its back and it will fly us to a destination!”
“Oh no, that doesn’t sound like a good idea at all. Can’t we just steal a car or something?”
“Steal a car? Do you see many cars on the road? And what do we do after we find one; take the highway to the fruit of ambrosia?”
“That sounds good to me.”
“They grow on an island!”
“Ah. Well, we could rent a helicopter.”
“We cannot tell people about the quest!”
“Come on, I doubt that anyone renting helicopters is going to run and tell a satyr what we are doing.”

Its just so happens, a satyr had found Las Vegas rather entertaining and thus decided to make the city its home. This same satyr had recognized Achilles during his little show, and had decided to follow the hero, in hopes of learning what mischief Olympus was up too. The creature had been successful in remaining hidden and following, even after the massive crowd was abandoned; sniggering to itself over Rio’s particular diction in this argument.

“Just call the griffin.”

“But I don’t want to ride on a creepy cat-bird!”

“It’s our best option: Call the damn griffin!”

Rio removed the horn from his belt and looked at it suspiciously; after a long drag of his cigarette he said to Achilles, “I get this sneaking feeling you don’t like me much.”

“I simply want this quest done.”

“I think, things will run a lot smoother if we get along, so let’s figure out the issue and address it.”

“The ‘issue’ is simple; I am Achilles, the greatest hero ever and I’m stuck babysitting an imbecile god want to be!”

“Well, I definitely see how that could suck.”

Achilles was surprised to find a chuckle escape, “Yes, yes it certainly does.”

“And a laugh! We are making progress! Well, here’s my deal; I don’t know what the hell’s going on. It seems there’s an awful lot I’m not being told, but I’m just going with it. That said, if you feel I’m being a pain in the ass about something, just let me know.”

“Rio, you are being a pain in the ass about the griffin.”

Rio appreciated the candid statement, and expressed his feelings by laughter. Achilles, who spoke the sentence, was pleased with the honesty of the situation and decided to partake in a laugh as well.

The son of Dionysus, composed himself through deep pull of smoke, “Alright, alright I will call the damn bird; but if it keeps giving me that freaky eye…we may have to discuss a new deal,” pressing the horn against his lips, he blew with all of his might, for which the horn expressed no response.

Looking to the sky, Rio could see his efforts were not in vain, because the griffin sailed through the air and landed beside its master; making some form of purring or cooing only capable by a griffin. The bird was still unnerving with its stare.

“Damnit. You wanna drive?” he asked Achilles.

In a single fluid motion, the warrior leaped from the ground and rested on the back of the griffin. In a much less graceful attempt, Rio scrambled up the creatures side and unsteadily onto its back, directly behind Achilles.

“Um….what do I hold onto?”

“The loose skin with fur on it. Never grab the feathers.”

Rio grabbed two large tufts, turning his knuckles white. In an attempt to settle the greenhorn’s fear, Achilles turned to him and said, “Just so you know; Custo will never let you fall.”

“Oh…”was as far Rio was able to articulate a coherent sentence, before transitioning to screaming profanities as Custo launched off the ground and through the air.

At this point the satyr tag along, realized he could pursue no farther and was forced to make a decision on how to proceed with the information he gathered. His comprehension of the situation was limited, but he knew if Olympus was involved, there would be plenty of mischief to be had. A tribe of minotaur who had claimed the Nevada desert as home, would be the ideal recipients of his data. Minotaur were brash and aggressive, but they were still higher on the children of earth food chain then satyrs; if he gave them the information, they would definitely spread the word and start the gears of war. Mischief would be had and the satyr would safely watch.

By: Michael Wilshire

Cudda the Annihilator

Welcome to another enthralling installment of Story Time. This weeks submission was over facebook and asked for a yarn about a cat named Cudda, whom brings upon the zombie apocalypse! Now I'd like to remind readers that immediately following this post submissions for next weeks story will be open. Be sure to post your suggestions here or on my facebook (the link on the far right of your screen). Don't forget that multiple submissions are encouraged as I will attempt to mold them into one! I'm going to go ahead and keep the intro short this week so, be sure to follow the blog if you enjoy it!

Cudda the Annihilator

"MEEEEEEEEEEEEOOYYYYYYYYAAAAAAWWWWWNNNNNN," the nest of golden tufts rang out from the window sill of the bathroom, just as the earliest rays of sun began to rise through the eastern horizon. Pointed ears, which framed a whiskered face, emerged from the heap of fur; followed, slowly by legs and a tail, which a moment before had been a single, unidentifiable mass. As its gaping maw released another, "meeeeeeeeeeeooooyaaaaaaawn," the feline looked out the window at the world out side.

Soon, yes very soon, she thought, while leaping from the sill and into the empty bath basin below.

Her ears perked toward the doorway connecting her fortress to the hallway, the male primate approaches.

As he hurriedly entered the restroom his eyes caught sight of its current occupant.

"In or out cat?"

Ignorant humanoid; you dare issue commands to me?

HEr eyes' remained trained upon the intruder.

"Alright then," he replied while shutting the door, then proceeding to sit on the toilet.

What? What are you doing?

The rhetorical question was quickly answered as a vile smell penetrated the room.

Oh, you heathen!

The cat continued to stand in the tub, eyes glaring at the human whom shared it abode; indignation emanating from every fiber of its being.

"Well, I warned ya'."

Once the human had finished their business he opened the door to the rest of the house. A golden streak shot forth from the tub and towards the escape, pausing only to bite the heel of its captor.

"OW! Damn cat!"

Foolish monkey! Soon you will learn the might of Cudda! Now, for the next stage of my plan.

She made her way through the animal door in the kitchen, leading to the backyard of the property. The harvest moon approaches, if it is to rise red, I must move my plans forward with post haste. A right turn past the garage, quick hop onto the dumpster, followed by a bound to the woodpile. Taking a moment, to lay down and lick her hind legs for a moment, the ever clever Cudda surveyed the area, to assure no spectators were around to witness where else she was going. Confident she was alone, the tangle of gold fur slowly made her way down the open spaces of timber, until locating the rodent burrow at the bottom which had been long vacant of its original tenants.

The feline coursed its way through the subterranean lattices of its acquired fortress, until the tunnel deposited her in a much larger cavern located below the dwelling of its humanoids. The bones of its fallen sacrifices littered the floor of its secret cave; skulls of reptiles, birds, rodents and even small canines were systematically lined around the edge of her fortress.

Yes, the time is nigh; with the sacrifice of a young frightened rodent tonight, I shall assure the crimson nature of the harvest moon, which is necessary for my plan to work.

A soulless purr escaped the beast, wallowing in the remains of its victims.

"SQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEE!!"

The high pitched shriek rang through living room of the house.

"What the hell?" a surprised human exclaimed, stumbling their way from the bedroom to locate the source of the disturbance.

"SQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQWWWWWWWWWWWWWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

A crippled bunny was located within the treacherous claws of Cudda.

"Your not even gonna bring in a dead one? Damn cat!"

No human, you shall witness the moment your race was rendered obsolete.

"SQQQWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWE...."

The cry cut short as Cudda bit down upon the neck of its victim.

"Well that's just great! Your getting blood all over the floor!"

"ppuuuuuuuuuurrrrr," the herald of the end, responded to the humans protest.

"Gimme that damn thing," the human said, reaching for the slain mammal.

"HIIIIIIISSSSSS!" the cat responded, with the rabbits neck still in his mouth. Before the human could be offended by the cat's response, Cudda lept from the ground and onto his neck, driving her claws deep into his shoulder and neck.

"AAAGGGH!!!!" he screamed flailing about, but the effort was in vain, for the feline had already fled its perch and shot outside, while the bleeding man continued to thrash in consternation.

"I'm gonna kill your god damn satan cat!"

"No your not! Quit being mean to her!" responded a female from behind closed doors.

"Mean? I'm mean? She just attacked me for no reason!"

"Clearly your lying!"

Meanwhile, in its cadaverous cavern, the sinister Cudda was busy peeling the flesh from its fallen victim.

With the blood of the human under my claws, I now have the final offerings to bring about the crimson harvest! And with its coming I shall release a plague upon the twofeets' and prepare the world for the arrival of my lord and master Beelzekitty! HAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA!

"Well look who decided to come home tonight," the man spat as the cat entered the home.

"Oh my god really? She's been gone all day and as soon as she comes home your gonna start in on her! No wonder she hates you!" the female retorted for the four legged beast, incapable of verbal articulation.

Foolish primates. I hate both of you equally, however...the cat paused the thought while leaping upon the females lap and snuggling up...there are benefits to gaining the trust of sum.

"I don't wonder why she hates me! That cat is evil!"

"It's a cat! It can't be evil!"

"Oh what a load of horse crap! That damn things probably the reason the moons red tonight! Everything its killed!"

"The cat is the reason the moons red? ARe you serious right now? Do you realize how delusional you sound?"

"puuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuurrrrrrr," went an amused Cudda.

The following morning began quite chaotic.

"A pigeon! You brought a damn pigeon into the house!"

Under the claws of the golden harbinger, was a pigeon in the height of panic.

"Your damn devil cat brought a pigeon into the house!" he bellowed to the female of the home.

"Ewwwwww!" she responded from an unseen corner, "is it dead?"

"I don't..." his response cut short as the mighty Cudda raised a blood splattered paw, and brought it down in a crushing blow upon the birds neck.

"Um....yeah I think it is!"

"Well get it out of the house!"

"Of course..." as he reached down to procure the felled avian, the sinister Cudda struck like lighting, swiping its right paw across the face of its foe.

Surprised, the man fell back, at a loss of words.

Victory is mine! The cat thought to itself as it bound across the sprawled human, claws claiming flesh with every step, before shooting out the door.

In a muffled string of profanities and curses the man rose, and picked up the dead pigeon from his living room floor. Carrying the corpse outside, he deposited it in the trash can and determined to himself to kill that cat the next time they met. But the sly Cudda remained in its subterranean base for the remainder of the day, waiting for the plague to begin.

Dinner came and went, but there was still no sign of the cat.

"What did you do to Cudda?"

"Nothing! That damn thing attacked me again and I haven't seen it sense."

"Quit scaring my cat!"

"Look, I haven't done anything mean to that damn cat! It just wants to kill me!"

"Seriously? Your still on this? I'm gonna call the psych ward on you if you keep prattling such nonsense."

"It's not nonsense!"

"Yes it is! Now take out the trash and go find my cat!"

As he made his way outside, with trash bag in hand the male human of the home, heard an odd rumbling in the garbage receptacle.

"OH I see! You went after that dead pigeon and got stuck in the trash can didn't you, you stupid cat?"

Upon opening the lid of the trash bin, he found his assumption had been grossly wrong; for no sooner was the seal removed, than a dead pigeon came hurling from the discarded contents of the basket; beak and feet tearing into the face of the unsuspecting man.

"OH GOD OH GOD! GET IT OFF GET IT OFF!!!!!" he screamed as the bird tore at his head.

Falling to the ground the avian finally relented its attack. Laying in a subtly growing puddle of his own blood the human male recognized a familiar golden blur which seemed to appear from nowhere. His breaths were fleeting, as the cat approached. When the two were staring eye to eye, the man's life finally escaped him; but then his change began. His incisors began to sharpen, his ears became pointed, his five O'clock shadow grew into some semblance of whiskers and his flesh seemed must more decayed than a mere moment before.

"Bbbbbbbbbrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnssssssssssssss"

"Did you find my cat?" came a muffled voice from the house.

By: Michael Wilshire

Alright folks submissions are open!