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Ray Bradbury once gave the following advice to an aspiring writer:

I don't know for a fact that Bradbury ever actually said that, or if somebody else just made that up. And I really don't care either way. Because, as an aspiring fiction writer, I feel that the whole concept of truth is highly overrated. Either way, it sounds like a challenge. So I'm going to attempt it here.

I'm challenging myself to write fifty-two stories. And I'm doing it here, in case anybody wants to watch. Because there's no point in making up a story if there's nobody to tell it to.

I don't know how this is going to turn out. I don't even know how many words I can cram into a blog post. So the first few posts, maybe even the first few weeks, are going to be very experimental in nature. I can't promise you that everything I write here is going to be entertaining, or useful, or even coherent. I don't know that this blog won't mutate into something completely different.

All I know is, I get to post here once and only once a day. So I guess I'd better make every post a good one. If you want to come along for the ride, I guess you can subscribe to this thread or something. Like I said, I'm not real clear on how this all works, or if it's going to at all.

The following is my first experiment: I'm going to see if I can paste a story from Word:

GIMMIE SHELTER

Gogs crammed her hands deeper into her jacket pockets. It was a cold day in the park, with the wind coming off the lake. And Wire was late.
†Crazy bastard,†She muttered to herself, †Dragging me up here to freeze. Why can†t we meet in the tube like normal people? All this trouble for a lousy datastick. When did I become his gorram mule, anyway?†Gogs didn†t like being on the upper deck, with its wide promenades and brightly lit shops. It was too clean, too open up here.
She felt exposed.
And this Winter thing was just stupid. New Manhattan was a skywheel, a huge closed environment with climate control. There was no reason for it ever to be hot or cold. But some idiot on the planning committee decided the uppers deserved an authentic New York experience, whatever that was.
But even worse than that were the families. Empty headed mid-levels would bring their stupid kids to the stupid park to play stupid games. Running around, screaming their heads off, laughing like the idiots they were. A ball came rolling at her, and a toddler was chasing it. Gogs stepped forward and gave the ball a vicious kick that sent it sailing back over the little brat†s head. The toddler stopped, looked at Gogs, laughed, and ran back after the damned ball.
†Enjoy it while it lasts, kid.†She said to the empty, too-clean air. †Live it up. When you stop being cute, and your parents get bored and throw you away, you†ll learn what the real world is.â€
†Damn, girl. You almost took that kid†s head off.†Oh, look. Wire showed up. He was wearing his fake dreads again. Sometime ago, he had decided he was Jamaican, and was celebrating his heritage.
Gogs turned and smiled her bitter smile. †Well, maybe next time I†ll try harder. You†re late.â€
†Somebody was tailing me. I had to lose him.†He moved closer and pressed the datastick into her hand. †Just get this to the Dutchman. Fast. I think it†s hotter than he let on.â€
†Whatever.†Gogs said. †The sooner I†m back in the Under, the happier I†ll be.â€
†I thought you were immune to happiness.†He said, and walked off.
That stung. †I†m happyâ€Ã

Blog KenGreen

In yesterday's thrilling installment we saw Gogs, a young data thief, flee her home in New Manhattan by stowing away on a space freighter.

I'm sorry that the text looks so weird. When I paste my story, everything gets shoved to the left.
Anyway, what follows is the next installment of the Stowaway Saga.

STOWAWAY

A few days later, out past the asteroid belt, the big freighter docked with a smaller one.
“Permission to board?” Trinkit said, standing in the airlock. She was wearing her best red tankini, which contrasted nicely with her green complexion and blond ponytail.
“Yeah, sure.” Captain Sarlak waved her in. “Why are you Verdians always so formal?”
“That’s just the way we’re raised, I guess.” Trinkit took a shallow breath. Sarlak employed a lot of fernals, so her ship always smelled like sulfur.
“Funny green girl.” Sarlak nodded. “I like you.”
Trinkit handed Sarlak a heavy duffle bag. Sarlak unzipped it, took a good whiff, and smiled.
“You girls are so good to me.” She said. “Send Allurica my thanks.”
“I’ll do that.” Trinkit said. “And if you could send Allurica her payment…”
“Always business with you.” Sarlak was still smiling. “As it should be. Wait here.” Sarlak handed the bag back and walked away.
Trinkit stood in the corridor. Suddenly, she heard a ruckus. She reached down casually to touch the gun hanging on her hip. She had dealt with Sarlak before, but it’s always good to be cautious. Space is full of unsavory characters. Trinkit knew this, because she was one of them. Her communicator beeped. She looked at it. Allurica had sent a text, saying that she had received payment. So Trinkit dropped the bag, and turned to leave.
And then the ruckus came around the corner. Eddie, one of Sarlak’s fernal enforcers, was half dragging, half carrying a young human girl. She was a skinny little thing, with short purple hair, wearing a plaid work shirt and black jeans. Eddie was naked, because there’s no point in putting clothes on a fernal. Their jagged, stony skin just shreds them. They can’t even wear hats, because of their antlers.
“Let me go!” Gogs cried.
“Whatcha doing, Eddie?” Trinkit asked, keeping her voice casual.
Eddie held up his victim.
“Stowaway!” Eddie shouted happily. “Throw out airlock!”
“Help me!” The child cried out. “He’s going to kill me!”
Trinkit shrugged. “You know, Eddie, I could take that thing off your hands…”
Eddies eyes narrowed. “How much you pay?”
“Wait.” Trinkit said. “Who said anything about…”
“You want human, you pay for human!” Eddie demanded. “Eddie not stupid!”
“I see that now.” Trinkit said, nodding. “Okay, Eddie. I’ll tell you what. I’ll pay you a kilocredit.”
“No!” Eddie shouted. “You pay Eddie two Kilocredits!”
“Wait.” The girl said. “You can’t sell me…”
“Shut up, Kid.” Trinkit said. “Eddie, I don’t have two thousand credits. Let’s compromise. I’ll pay you five hundred credits!”
A slow grin crawled across Eddie’s face. “Done!” He slapped the money out of Trinkit’s hand, and threw the kid to the floor.
“Stupid Verdian!” Eddie shouted joyfully. “Five is more than two!”
Trinkit grabbed the child’s arm, and protested. “Eddie, you cheated me!”
Eddie threw back his head and laughed a braying laugh. “No take backs! Eddie fooled you good!”
“Yeah, Eddie.” Trinkit said ruefully. “You really screwed me.” Then she whispered, “Get in the airlock, Kid. Quick!”
“Wait.” The kid said. “Where are you taking me…”
Trinkit shoved the girl into the airlock, then slammed the panel to close it.
“You bought me?!” the child protested. “You can’t do that!”
“I just saved your life, you little idiot!” Trinkit shouted, “Why are you complaining?”
“You can’t buy people! It’s…”
The lock cycled, and Trinkit pushed her new purchase into the cargo hold of the Wicked Lady. “Welcome to your new home.” She whispered.
Gogs took a look around. The dimly lit cargo bay was stacked with pallets of bales of polywrapped God-knows-what. The air was filled with a sweet, pungent stench.
“What is all this?” Gogs asked.
“Agricultural products.” Trinkit said quickly.
Gogs took a cautious whiff. “Herbs?” she asked.
“Yeah, sure,” Trinkit nodded. “Herbs.” then she looked up and shouted, “Alli! I’m back!”
“Are you okay?” came a voice from above. “You sound worried!”
“Everything’s fine!” Trinkit shouted. “No worries! Our business is done here, so we can go now!” Trinkit whispered to the kid. “Grab on to something.”
The ship surged as the docking clamps released, and again when the M-Drive engaged.
“Okay, kid, we’re going up to the bridge. Whatever happens, let me do the talking.”
The sound of footsteps on the ladder echoed in the cargo bay.
“Why is there a human child on my ship?” Allurica asked as she approached the two.
Trinkit smiled her biggest smile. “Allurica! Funny story….”
“Oh, good.” Allurica said. “There’s a story.” She folded her arms. “I like stories.”
“Why is she blue?” The girl asked, looking at Allurica.
“Because I’m a Cyan, child. My people are not known for their patience.” Allurica turned her attention back to Trinkit. “Again, I ask. Why is this human here?”
“I had to do it, Alli.” Trinkit said. “Eddie was going to space her!”
“Ah.” Allurica nodded sagely. “But you were able to convince Eddie to make this child his gift to you. Is that what happened?” Allurica smiled.
“Well,” Trinkit explained, “Not exactly a gift…”
“How much?” Allurica asked. She wasn’t even pretending to smile anymore.
“Oh, Alli.” Trinkit said. “Can you really put a price on a life?”
“I don’t think so. But, apparently, you can.” Allurica said. “And I’m just dying to know what that price was.”
Trinkit cringed. “Oh, Alli. Please don’t be mad. I had to give him two K.”
Alluricas eyes went wide with anger. “Two K? Did I hear that correctly? You spent two thousand credits of my money on this, this…” Allurica turned away. She was too angry to even look at Trinkit.
“I had to!” Trinkit shouted, “He was going to…”
“Wait a minute,” the girl said, turning to Trinkit, “You only paid…”
“Shut up!” Trinkit hissed.
Allurica collected herself and turned back to face the two. “Okay,” She said, “That money is gone, and it isn’t coming back.” She was speaking in a deliberate, controlled voice. “There has to be a way we can salvage this situation.” She turned her attention to the girl.
“Alright, child.” She stopped herself, took a breath. “Do you have a name?”
“My friends call me Gogs.” She said, “Because I wear these.” She pointed at the brass goggles she had on her head.
“Lovely.” Allurica nodded. “Tell me, Gogs, how do you intend to repay your debt to me?”
Gogs thought about it. “Maybe I could work my debt off?”
Allurica nodded. “I like that you’re showing initiative. And willingness to accept responsibility. But I already have Trinkit for that. Besides, you’re a child, and that makes it kind of gross. No offense intended.”
“That’s not what meant. I can fix things.” Gogs said. “I’m wicked good at fixing things.”
“Good.” Allurica nodded. “That’s interesting. Gogs, do you think you could maybe fix my hyperdrive?”
Gogs had never even seen a hyperdrive. “Well, I can take a look at it…”
Allurica smiled. “I would love that.” She turned to Trinkit. “Trinkit, please take Gogs to the engine room and show her the hyperdrive. Will you do that for me, Trinkit?”
“Yeah, sure Alli.” Trinkit said. “Let’s go, Gogs.” She started to lead the way.
“Oh.” Allurica said. “And, Trinkit?”
Trinkit stopped. “Yes, Alli?”
“While you two are at it, I’ll be in our quarters, rethinking our partnership agreement.”
“Okay, Alli…”
“And one more thing.” Allurica said, turning her attention to Gogs. “You have exactly fifty-two hours to fix my hyperdrive.”
“Why?” Gogs asked. “What happens in fifty-two hours?”
“That’s how long it will take us to get to Paradise City.” Allurica explained. “If my hyperdrive isn’t working by then, I will sell you to a brothel.” She smiled and walked away.
Trinkit showed Gogs the way to the engine room. There, she handed Gogs a repair manual.
Gogs asked, “She wouldn’t really do that, would she? Allurica wouldn’t really sell me to a brothel.”
Trinkit handed Gogs a toolbox. “You should get started.”
Over the next two days, Gogs worked her way through all the trouble shooting guides. She traced every circuit, cleaned every contact, and checked every clearance.
Nothing helped.
Trinkit brought Gogs her meals, and she ate them alone, sitting on the deck. Allurica had set a countdown timer on the bulkhead and Gogs watched it tick the minutes of her life away.
An hour from disaster, Trinkit came down in a fluffy bathrobe and her bunny slippers to bring her some coffee.
“How’s it going, Sweetie?” Trinkit asked, concerned.
Gog’s hands were shaking with fatigue, and her vision was blurry, but she said, “I think I’ve found the problem!”
“That’s great, Kid.” Trinkit sipped the coffee.
“Yeah.” Gogs said vaguely. “I’ve taken that machine apart and put it back together three times, and I finally found this.” She held up a component. “It’s the initiator. It was all corroded. I cleaned it up the best I could with an emery board and some WD-40. It might be good for one more jump, but you really need to get a replacement.”
“Yeah.” Trinkit reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and pulled one out. “I’ve got one right here.”
Gogs staggered backwards and stared in unbelief. “You knew what the problem was this whole time?”
“Yeah.” Trinkit said, putting the coffee mug on the fusion unit. “I bought this thing weeks ago.”
“But,” Gogs sobbed, “Why? Why did you let me go through all this?”
“What do you mean?” Trinkit asked innocently.
“I’ve been awake for the last…I don’t know how many hours! You could have given me the solution two days ago!” Gogs stared in incomprehension.
“Sure.” Trinkit said. “And if I had done that, you would have learned nothing. But now, you know how to fix a hyperdrive.”
Gogs sagged to the floor and started to cry.
“There, there.” Trinkit said, snapping the new initiator into place. “We should get you cleaned up. You’re a bit of a mess.”
Gogs sighed.
“Just don’t tell Allurica that I helped you.” Trinkit said. “She likes to think she’s in charge. It’s important to her.” And she left the engine room.
When the timer had run down to the last thirty minutes, Allurica entered the engine room. She was dressed for business, in a white silk top, and black slacks.
“Well?” She asked.
Gogs reached up and flipped a switch. The drive hummed to life, and started to emit a thrumming sound.
Allurica smiled. “That’s a sound I like to hear. Have you run the diagnostics?
Gogs nodded. “It won’t give you any trouble now. It’ll get you to the outer colonies, if that’s where you’re going.”
“Good job.” Allurica nodded. “I knew you could do it.”
“You did?” Gogs asked, and turned the machine off again.
Allurica reached out to brush the hair from Gogs’ eyes. “Of course. You’re a woman. And thus, you are capable of amazing things. You just needed the proper motivation.” She smiled.
Gogs considered this. “Does this mean I’m free to go now?”
“Go?” Allurica looked puzzled. “Where would you go?”
“But…” Gogs protested. “I did what you wanted…”
“Yes.” Allurica smiled warmly. “And you did a wonderful job. In fact, I’m appointing you my chief engineer. This ship is your home now. Welcome to the crew.”
“But...” Gogs butted, “You can’t just…”
“Sweet child, you wouldn’t last a day in Paradise City.” Allurica said. “Releasing you into the wild would be an act of cruelty.” Her eyes surveyed the rest of the engine room. “Besides, you have a lot of work to do.” She said.
Gogs sagged. “More work?” She asked.
Allurica chuckled. “Child, the Wicked Lady is a sixty-year-old freighter. There is always more work. But not right now. Get some rest. And take a shower. You smell like a Fernal.”
Gogs was still too wired to sleep, so she wandered to the galley. Trinkit was in there, making some breakfast.
“Give me your clothes.” Trinkit said, “I’m doing a load of laundry.”
“But…” Gogs started to say.
“Follow me.” Trinkit said. She led Gogs to the fresher. The fluffy bathrobe was hanging on a hook. “Throw your clothes out the door. Take a nice, hot shower. You’ve earned one.” She stepped out into the corridor.
Gogs stripped and threw the clothes out as instructed. Then she took a long shower, making sure to use up the hot water. It took a lot of soap to get the smell of sulfur out of her hair. She emerged from the fresher wearing Trinkit’s bathrobe and bunny slippers. Trinkit met her in the corridor.
“Hey, Cutie,” Trinkit said with a sweet smile. “Let’s get some food in you.”
A little later, at the breakfast table, Gogs asked, “So where’s the dragon lady?”
“Don’t call her that.” Trinkit chided gently. “Allurica is really nice when she’s not pissed off. She’s out shopping.”
“So why aren’t you out shopping?” Gogs asked, spooning more syntheggs into her bowl.
Trinkit shrugged. “I’m confined to the ship till further notice.”
“Really?” Gogs asked.
Trinkit sighed. “Allurica feels that I take excessive liberties with her money. And she’s right. So today is laundry day.”
“I’m sorry I got you into trouble.” Gogs said.
Trinkit took a deep breath. “You’re worth it. And this will blow over by the time we hit the next port. Then we can go out and buy you some clothes.”
“What’s wrong with my clothes?” Gogs asked. “I like my clothes.”
Trinkit narrowed her eyes. “You only have six garments, and not one of them flatters you. Next port of call, I’m buying you some girl clothes.”
Gogs yawned. “Can we talk about this later?”
“Yeah.” Trinkit stood up. “Let’s find a place for you to sleep.”
They set up a bunk in the tool cage.
“We could decorate this place!” Trinkit said, excited.
“No, please. Don’t.” Gogs said. She had a nightmarish image of pink walls covered with unicorn stickers.
“We could hang some curtains.” Trinkit said, “Pink ones, with white holdbacks. What do think about that?”
“I think I need to sleep.” Gogs said, climbing onto her cot. She closed her eyes and passed out.

KenGreen Blog Blogs Member Public

And now, brace yourself for the thrilling conclusion to the Stowaway Saga:
WORKING PASSAGE

“I can’t believe I’m on an asteroid, and you won’t even let me leave the ship.” Gogs bitched.
“You’re not missing much.” Trinkit countered. “Ceres isn’t much to look at.” She wiped sweat from her brow. It was laundry day, and they couldn’t open the windows, so the humidity on the ship was getting pretty high.
“But Paradise City is right…there.” Gogs said, looking out the viewport. They were parked next to one of the pressure domes. It was maddening.
“Paradise City is a cesspool.” Trinkit said. “Nothing but asteroid miners and saloons. Nothing to shop for but shovels and misery.”
“Well,” Gogs said, “If it’s such a pit, why are we even here?”
“Because,” Trinkit said, “Miners like weed, and they pay in gold dust.”
“It’s driving me nuts,” Gogs said, “Being cooped up in here. If we could just get out for an hour…”
“You’re a fifteen-year-old girl.” Trinkit said, with an edge in her voice. “Those rockhoppers would cut my throat for a shot at you.”
“Like anybody would want me.” Gogs scoffed. “I look like a boy.” She added softly.
“You think they would treat a boy better? Some of those primates haven’t seen meat in years. Besides, shut up. You’re adorable. That’s why you need to be protected.” Trinkit handed Gogs the laundry basket. They headed for the engine room.
“Is it really that bad out there?” Gogs asked.
“Welcome to the universe, Sweetie. Anything that’s not trying to kill you just hasn’t noticed you yet.”
They rigged a drying rack over the fusion unit and draped the wet clothes on it.
“Why are we even doing this?” Gogs asked.
Trinkit shrugged. “Allurica won’t buy me a proper dryer. So I improvise.”
“She’s so mean.” Gogs said. “Why do you stay with her?”
“She’s not mean, she just doesn’t warm up to people as quickly as I do. Give her time. She’ll come around.”
#
Allurica came back in a good mood, because she had a fat contract that would fill her hold with legal cargo. She even had gifts. She brought Gogs some tee shirts and scants, some jeans, and a new flannel shirt.
“Did I get the sizes right?” Allurica asked.
“Yeah, these are great. Thank you.” Gogs said.
“Did you get me anything?” Trinkit asked hopefully.
“You,” Allurica said, arching an eyebrow, “Are still on probation. Perhaps you should take some time to enjoy the many gifts you have purchased for yourself lately.”
“Well…” Trinkit walked away. “I guess I’ll go start dinner then. It’s my turn.”
Uncomfortable silence ensued.
Gogs said, “I guess I should go help her.”
Allurica smiled. “Let her sulk a little first. She’s been a real princess lately.”
Gogs took a long look at Allurica. “You two have a really complicated relationship, don’t you?”
Allurica sighed. “Well, child, you gotta do something to keep the magic alive.”
“How did you two even get together?” Gogs asked.
“She was a passenger.” Allurica said. “And she never left.”

#
The next port was Marathon City, a skywheel orbiting Titan. Orina was off probation, so she took Gogs shopping while Allurica went to meet with a freight broker. They were up on the inner decks, the nice section, where the marble floors, bright lights, and fancy shops were. They made their way through the crowds of other shoppers, chatting about nothing in particular, until they ran into a naval officer.
“Trinkit!” The tall, square-jawed Heinlander said, smiling. “I didn’t know you were in port!”
“Oh, hello, Captain Pohl.” Trinkit said. “Nice to see you.”
He nodded. “Would you be available tonight? I’d like to book a session, if possible.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Captain.” Trinkit said, smiling. “I’ve retired from the trade. I’m not on the market anymore.”
“That is a pity.” He said, frowning. Then he brightened up. “What about your little friend there?”
Trinkit went a little pale, and put herself between Gogs and the captain. “Oh, captain, she’s not available, either. She’s just a young thing, after all.”
“Oh.” The captain said. “Well, it was nice seeing you again. We had some good times together.” He walked away.
“Yeah, sure we did.” Trinkit said to his retreating back.
“He seemed nice.” Gogs said.
“He’s a pig, just like the rest of them.” Trinkit said. “Let’s get moving.” She started walking again. Gogs followed her.
“So,” Gogs said, offhand, “When do I go on the market?”
“Never.” Trinkit answered quickly.
“Why not?” Gogs laughed, “Don’t you think I’m pretty enough?”
“I said never!” Trinkit shouted and turned to Gogs so fast she knocked her off her feet.
“What is your problem, lady?!” Gogs demanded.
“Oh, Gogs, I’m so sorry.” She said, helping Gogs back up. “Promise me you won’t go into the trade.”
“Get a grip, you lunatic.” Gogs said. “I was just kidding!”
“Well, I’m not.” Trinkit said, her eyes welling up. “So promise.”
“What’s the big deal?” Gogs asked. “You survived it…”
“Yeah.” Trinkit said. “And I knew a lot of girls that didn’t.” Her voice was trembling. “Please, Gogs. Promise me. That’s not the life I want for you.”
Gogs could see how upset Trinkit was getting. “Okay, Trink, I promise. I won’t go into the trade. I don’t even want to. I was just being stupid.”
“Don’t even joke about it anymore.” Trinkit said, blinking back tears. “In fact, that’s a new rule.”
“Okay, Trink.” Gogs put her hand on Trinkit’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. I made a bad joke. I was being stupid.” At times like this, managing Trinkit’s emotions was more work than tracing microcircuits. Gogs knew she had to lighten the mood, or face the waterworks. “Come on, Trink, which store are we going to next?”
Trinkit sighed. “I don’t feel like shopping anymore. Let’s go back to the ship.”
That’s when Gogs fully realized how badly she had screwed up. “But Trink! We were having such a nice time! Let’s just pretend I didn’t say anything. I’ll… let you buy me something pink!”
“No.” Trinkit said. “We’re going back to the ship. I need to talk to Allurica.”
“Please, Trink.” Gogs pleaded. “I said I’m sorry. Let’s just look at the pretty stores. You like that.
Trinkit took Gogs by the hand, and they walked back to the ship. When they got there, Trinkit said, “Go to the engine room. Go fix something.”
“But everything’s fixed already.” It really was. Gogs was a mechanical prodigy, and she’d had a lot of time on her hands.
“Then go there and break something, so you can fix it.” Trinkit said. “Just go to your room.”
By now, Gogs wanted to cry. “Trink, I said I’m sorry! I’ve said it a hundred times! Why are you still mad at me?”
“I’m not mad.” Trinkit said sadly, “I need to think. And I need to talk to Allurica. Please go to your room.”
Gogs went the engine room. There still wasn’t anything to fix, so she went to the tool cage and sat on her bunk. It wasn’t fair. All she did was say one stupid thing, and it ruined the whole day. She hugged her pillow and seethed at herself. Overhead, she could hear Trinkit pacing the upper deck. Then she heard voices. She moved next to the vent, but Allurica and Trinkit were speaking in Verdian, so Gogs couldn’t understand what they were saying.
After far too long, she heard footsteps coming down the ladder. Allurica walked into the engine room, entered the tool cage, and sat on the bunk next to Gogs. She didn’t look happy.
“So, what?” Gogs asked, “Am I in trouble now?”
“No, Child.” Allurica said, her voice emotionless. “Quite the opposite, in fact. We’ve decided to set you free.”
“What?!” Gogs was shocked. “We have one little fight, and you just throw me away? This is bullshit! I said I’m sorry! What else does she want from me?”
“This isn’t punishment, child. This is kindness. We’re saving your life.” Allurica paused. “The things we do, the places we go, they aren’t safe. This is no life for you. It was wrong of us to keep you.”
“Don’t do this.” Gogs begged. “Don’t send me away. I have nowhere to go.”
“There’s a Neomormon mission on Hadley. “Allurica said, looking away. “They’re good people. They’ll take you in, give you a proper home. They’ll keep you safe.”
“Don’t do this!” Gogs sobbed, “I’ll be good, I’ll do anything you want! Please let me stay.”
Allurica stood up. “It’s already been decided. I’m sorry, child.”
“Wait a minute.” Gogs said, suddenly suspicious. “Does Trinkit even know you’re doing this?”
“Of course she knows.” Allurica said. “This was her idea. She’s crying her eyes out, but she knows this has to happen.”
Gogs leapt to her feet. “Yeah? Well if she thinks this is such a good idea, she can tell me herself!” She stormed over to the ladder, and shouted, “Trinkit! Get down here! Now!”
“I don’t want to!” Trinkit called down.
“Trinkit!” Gogs screamed, “Come down here this instant!”
Trinkit climbed down the ladder. “You said I wouldn’t have to talk to her.”
“It appears I was mistaken.” Allurica said. “Besides, she’s raised a valid point. She deserves this courtesy.”
Trinkit just stood there, still on the ladder, facing the bulkhead.
“What the hell, Trink?” Gogs asked sadly, “How can you do this?”
Trinkit scrunched her eyes closed and clutched the ladder even harder. “Can’t you see this is for your own good?”
“Face me, you gorram coward!” Gogs roared, “Look me in the eyes, and tell me you want me to leave!”
“I can’t!” Trinkit shouted. “Oh, Gogs, I don’t ever want you to leave!” She threw her arms around Gogs and started boo hooing all over her.
Allurica sighed.
Trinkit said, “I’ve changed my mind, Alli! I want her to stay! I want her to stay forever!”
“Yes.” Allurica said, folding her arms. “Imagine my surprise.”
“Please say you’ll stay with us, Gogs.” Trinkit pleaded.
Alluricas eyes rolled.
“I’m not going anywhere, Trink. You’re never getting rid of me.” Gogs pledged.
Allurica yawned. “That’s great, kid.” She handed Gogs a clipboard and a pen. “If you’ll just sign there on the bottom, you two can get back to crying all over each other.”
“What is this?” Gogs asked, looking at the paper.
“Oh, it’s just a standard labor contract.” Allurica assured her. “Nothing to be concerned about.”
“This is a contract for indentured servitude.” Gogs pointed out.
“Oh, that’s just standard legalese.” Allurica said. “Strictly a formality.”
“Sign it, Gogs.” Trinkit urged. “Then we can be a family!”
“But…” Gogs read further, “…a period not to exceed ‘freaking forever’? Is that even legal?”
“I love you, Gogs.” Trinkit said, pleading with her big, big puppy-dog eyes.
“I…love you too, Trink.” Gogs said, and realized she meant it. “What the hell,” she said, and signed the contract. “I’m yours forever.”
Trinkit hugged Gogs so hard she could barely breath, and the happy waterworks started. Gogs turned her eyes to Allurica.
“Oh, and I…” Gogs started to say.
“It’s okay, kid. You don’t have to love me.” Allurica said, bemused. “Just keep my ship running, and I’ll grudgingly tolerate your existence.”
“Deal.” Gogs agreed. “A little help here?”
“Okay, Trinks.” Allurica said, petting Trinkit’s hair. “Let’s not squeeze all the stuffing out of the poor girl. She may want to use her lungs someday.” She gently eased Trinkit’s arms off Gogs and onto herself. Trinkit buried her face in Alluricas tits, and sobbed softly. Allurica stroked Trinkit’s hair.
“Yes, yes.” Allurica said softly, “It’s been a very emotional day.” She kissed Trinkit on the top of her head. “But we’re all here, and we’re all safe, and we all love you. Do think you might want to go take a little nap now?”
Trinkit nodded, disengaged, and started up the ladder.
“I’ll be up there to tuck you in soon, Sweetie!” Allurica called up to her. Then she looked down at her blouse. It was soaked with tears and snot.
“This is real silk.” She told Gogs. “I can’t tell you how many blouses she’s ruined.”
“Thank you for letting me stay …and thank you for my life.” Gogs said. “I should have said that weeks ago. I know I haven’t been…”
Allurica put up a hand to silence her. “I think we’ve bonded enough for one day. I find this sort of thing exhausting. If you want to make yourself useful, you can go to the galley and make a pot of tea for Trinks. She’ll like that.”
Gogs crossed her arms. “Make tea?” she scoffed, “What am I, your slave now?”
Allurica held up the contract. “Yes, Child. That’s exactly what you are.”
“Well,” Gogs put her hands on her hips and said, “As long as we understand each other.”
Allurica squinted at her. “I think we’re starting to.”
Gogs turned and sauntered towards the galley. “How does M’Lady take her tea?” she asked, over her shoulder.
“Hot, and sweet!” Allurica called out, climbing the ladder, “That’s how I always give it to her.”
“Oh, gross!” Gogs called back. “I don’t need to hear about your personal life!”
“Then I suggest you buy some earplugs.” Allurica said. “This is a spaceship, after all.”.

Blog KenGreen

Okay, if you've read this far (And I honestly don't know that anybody is reading this at all), then you have survived the first of my 52 stories project. I have the next story ready, but I think I'll save it for Monday. Right now, I want to take a little time to talk about my process. I do something I call 'exploratory writing', in which I get two characters in a room, and get them to talk to each other, and that's how I learn about the characters. Here's an example:


Gogs adjusted the magnification on her multi-vis goggles. The magnadrive had been acting skitzy all week, and she had finally traced the fault to the control unit. At 300X, she saw the gap on the circuit board.
“Got you, you little bastard.” She muttered under her breath. The Wicked Lady was a sixty-year-old freighter, and keeping her running was a full time job. Gogs stabbed the fault with her circuit pen, and screwed down the cover.
From down below came the sound of the cargo ramp opening. Gogs climbed down the ladder to the cargo bay, her work boots echoing in the emptiness. Allurica had parked the scoot and handed Gogs a bag of groceries.
“Hey, Kid.” Allurica smiled. “I picked up some synthosteaks. I figure we can grill them on the fuser.”
Gogs arched an eyebrow. “Did you forget I’m a vegan?”
Allurica frowned and read a label. “They’re algae. Algae’s a vegetable, isn’t it?”
Gogs shrugged. “Yeah, I guess. Did you get any hot pocs?”
Allurica grimaced. “No. I thought I’d make us a nice dinner. I got some taters, some veg paste…”
“Fancy.” Gogs said.
Allurica narrowed her eyes. “Hey. I’m making an effort here. You could do likewise and feign some appreciation.” She started walking towards the galley.
“Sorry,” Gogs said, following. “I’ve just been cooped up all day. If I could just get out for a while…”
“Nice try.” Allurica said, yanking the galley door open. “I’m not going to risk you getting scooped up by skin traders. I paid good money for you…”
“Trinkit bought me.” Gogs corrected.
“Yeah. With my money.” Allurica set her bag on the counter. “And without my consent. So, the way I figure it, you owe me double.”
“Is that how Cyans do math?” Gogs asked.
“Hey!” Allurica spun to face her. “Don’t be racist. Or specsist. I’m not raising you to be a Heinlander.”
“You realize,” Gogs said, “That that very statement…”
“Shut up and help me stow these groceries.” Allurica interrupted. “I’m getting bored with this conversation.”
Gogs obeyed. With Allurica, there was a very thin border between bored and pissed off. Gogs had crossed that line enough times to know it when she saw it. They put the food away in silence.
When they were done, Allurica put her hand on Gog’s shoulder. “Next jump puts us in the outer colonies. I figure we’ll be safe there. We can take a week off, do some sightseeing.”
Gogs unwrapped the steaks, and dropped them on a reasonably clean plate. “So what’s there to see in the outers?”
“Well,” Allurica thought about it, “There’s Sailor’s Rest. A barely developed world with sugar sand beaches and skies as blue as…well, me, actually.”
Gogs gave Allurica a long look. She really was a lovely shade of blue. Then again, all Cyans were beautiful. Didn’t seem fair.
“Sounds nice.” Gogs said. “When do we leave?”
“As soon as I get a decent cargo.” Allurica said, gathering some plates and flatware. “I’m seeing a broker tomorrow. By the way, where’s my damned wife?”
“Sleeping beauty?” Gogs rolled her eyes. “As far as I can tell, she’s been in your cabin all day. What did you two do last night?”
“Well, Honey,” Allurica said with a big smile, “When two mommies love each other very much…”
“Eww!” Gogs couldn’t cover her ears, because she was still carrying the steaks. “Please forget I asked.” They made it to the engine room. Gogs dropped the steaks on the fuser, and they started to sizzle.
“What do we do with the taters?” Allurica asked.
Gogs thought about it, reached up, and ripped some thermofoil off an overhead duct. She wrapped the foil around the taters and stuffed the bundle between two heat pipes.
Allurica glanced up at the vandalized duct. “Is that an important part of the ship?”
“That depends.” Gogs said, as she squeezed the veg paste out of its tube and onto the fuser. “Were you planning to have children?” She flipped the steaks and pushed the paste around with her spatula.
“Fair enough.” Allurica shrugged.
“That smells…wonderful.” Trinkit said, as she walked in, wearing her nightie and some bunny slippers. The pink lace was a nice contrast to her green skin.
“Oh, look.” Allurica said. “It…is… alive.”
Trinkit smiled a sleepy smile and gave Allurica a sleepy kiss. She turned to Gogs and hugged her. “Hi, Cutie,” She nuzzled a bit, and ran her green fingers through Gogs hair. “Your roots are growing out. We should dye them again. Do you want to stick with the purple?”
“I like purple.” Gogs said, annoyed.
“And you look fabulous.” Trinkit kissed her on the cheek. “Even though you insist on dressing like a lumberjack. When’s breakfast?”
“Twelve hours ago, you lazy little slut.” Allurica said, “This is dinner.”
“Oh, good.” Trinkit yawned. “I’m hungry.” She wandered off.
“Seriously.” Gogs said, watching her walk away. “What did you do to her?”
Allurica shrugged. “I must have pushed her happy button too hard. Maybe it’s stuck.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not touching it. I don’t work on software.”.

Blog KenGreen

The problem with exploratory writing is problem with all exploration: a lot of the paths you take won't take you anywhere. Like today's sample below. I don't know that I'll ever use any of this material in an actual story. I certainly can't use the ripoff Star Wars force-choke. So why did I write it? For the same reason weightlifters do cardio. It's exercise.
ANNA
By Ken Green
“There ain’t no justice,” Old Dan said, sipping the beer he’d been nursing all afternoon, “In this world, or any other.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Young Dan said, from across the table.
Anna sighed. The only thing more boring than grownups was grownup discussing politics. She had wiped every table in the barroom, other than the one the Dans were using, and she needed a break. Not from the work, but from the monotony. In all her fifteen years, she had never heard either of them say anything of interest.
She tossed her rag into the sink and slipped out the back door and into the sunlight. Little Mira was directly above, blazing down with her white dwarf intensity, trying to bake Anna even browner than she already was. Big Mira, the red giant, and already sulked over the horizon.
Anna leaned against the taverns clapboard wall, and surrendered to Mira’s heat. At least it was quiet, out in the light.
Until it wasn’t. The ground shook with a sonic boom as a ship settled down in the town square. Anna made her way around the building, and peered around the corner The shuttle wasn’t due till end of month, and nobody visited this craphole planet for laughs.
The ship was a marine transport, and the squad was spilling out of it. What could they want? And they weren’t alone. A robed figure emerged from the transport.
No. Anna bolted back around the corner. She’d been careful, like her mamma always told her. She’d never used her gift, this weren’t no kind of fair. She’d been so careful…she could feel the soft touches of tendrils at the corners of her mind…
No! She took off running, fast as she could, down the road out of town.
#
Lieutenant Chomsky squinted at the crowd of yokels that had gathered. “It’s bad enough I have to share air with a nocturne,” he thought, “Having to look at these primates is just icing on the cake.”
“She’s getting away.” The nocturne spoke, in her dry, lifeless voice. She lifted her cold, gray arm and pointed. “There.”
Chomsky turned to see a young girl run away. The kid had some decent legs, she had already gone about fifty meters.
Corporal Sanchez was tracking with her pulse rifle. “Shall I bag the little freak, Lieutenant?” she asked.
“Stand down, Sanchez.” Chomsky ordered. He wasn’t going to let one of his troops kill an innocent girl.
Not when he could do it himself.
He drew his sidearm. The targeting screen on his retina activated and zoomed so the girl’s retreating back filled his view. He smiled. It would be so easy to squeeze the trigger and blow the girls heart out of her chest. Too easy.
“You call it, Sanchez.” Chomsky said, “Lobotomy, or hysterectomy?”
“Lieutenant!” the nocturne protested, “Your orders were quite specific…”
“Shut up.” Chomsky lowered his point of aim and squeezed. The gun barked, sending a sabot round downrange. It hit the girl’s right foot, tearing half of it away. The girl fell, clutching her ruined foot.
Chomsky took his time sauntering to his downed quarry. If you don’t savor the little pleasures that life offers, what’s the point of living at all?
She lay there on her side, in the dirt. Both hands were clamped on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding through direct pressure and sheer force of will. Her teeth were clenched and her body was shaking, but she didn’t utter a sound.
“I have to say,” Chomsky said, “You are one tough little bitch. Not that it did you any good, but, kudos.”
The corpsman descended on her and went to work. He cut off the remains of her shoe and applied a tourniquet. Then he ripped open her shirt and slapped a monitor on her, and gave her a shot to knock her out.
“Why?” the girl asked, as her body relaxed, “I didn’t do anything…”
“No, child,” The nocturne said sadly, “But you will.”

#
“Wake, up Six Inch.”
Anna woke up. She was in a hospital bed. Her wrists were cuffed to the rails.
Chomsky was looming over her.
“My name is Anna.” She told him.
“Anna is a people name.” He corrected her, “You aren’t people. Are you, Six Inch?”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” she asked, “What does it mean?”
“It’s from an old Earth system of measurement.” He grinned, maliciously, “Six inches is …half a foot!” he pulled the sheet away to show Anna her ruined foot.
Anna glanced down at the truncated appendage. She was mildly surprised that she wasn’t more upset. Maybe they had shot her up with some kind of anti-anxiety drug or something. Who knows what makes the Codo doctors laugh?
“You waited all morning to spring that joke on me?” Anna asked, “You’re pathetic, Chomsky.”
His eyes went wide with terror. “How do you know my name?” he asked, bringing his hands to his head as if he could block a telepathic assault with his fists.
“Oh, I’ll know more than that before I’m done with you.” She said, trying to sound scary, but ruining the effect by laughing, “It’s written on your uniform, Dumbass!”
Enraged, he reached for Anna’s throat. “Mutie bitch, I’ll snap your skinny neck!”
“Step away from her.” The nocturne had entered, bringing the chill of the grave with her.
Chomsky looked up and sneered. “I don’t take orders from…” he made a choking sound, and staggered backwards.
“Your breathing privileges are suspended, Lieutenant.” The nocturne informed him. She turned her attention back to Anna. “Observe, child. I had hoped to begin your training in a more formal manner. But I think you’ll find this instructive.”
Chomsky was trying to claw at his own throat, like that was going to help.
“Please,” Anna pleaded, horrified. “Please, Mam, let him go.”
The nocturne tilted her head. “Curious. This man has mutilated you, bound you to a bed, and would violate your mind and body for his own amusement. And, knowing this, you would choose to show him mercy.”
“Yes.” Anna said, weakly, “Please, Mam.”
“Very well,” the nocturne made a dismissive gesture. Chomsky’s body seized as every muscle he possessed contracted, snapping bones, and tearing tendons in the process. He fell into a heap of agonized death.
“Let this be your first lesson.” The nocturne continued, “In this universe, there is no mercy.” She reached up with her cold gray hands to pull the hood away from her face.
Anna’s jaw dropped in stunned recognition. “Mama?” she asked.
End.

KenGreen Blog

New week, new story. We're leaving the cold reaches of space to visit a warm tropical island. Don't forget your sunscreen
EXILE TO PARADISE, PT 1
Cold.
So cold.
Olivia’s eyes opened. She was slowly sinking into the darkness below. Already, she could feel the pressure of the water. Soon, it would crush the air out of her, and she would drown.
“No, not like this.” She thought. “I can’t die now, fifteen years is not enough. I have plans. I’m going to be somebody. I’m going to be famous. I’m going to matter.”
Still, the darkness dragged her down, and beckoned her to give up.
She looked up to see the sunlight on the surface, so far away. So impossibly far.
She kicked off her stolen boots, and started swimming for the surface. Her jeans and jacket weighed her down, but she didn’t have time to lose them. Kicking her way to the light, so painfully slow. Already, her lungs were aching.
“Just a little further,” she told herself, “You’re almost there.” She clawed at the water, reaching for the light.
A shadow passed over her. A boat? A hand came at her, grabbed her collar, and hauled her up like she was a kitten. She was dropped onto a wooden deck, blinded by the unfiltered sunlight.
“Throw it back,” A coarse voice joked. “Too small, for sure.”
The next sound was a meaty slap. “Keep your tongue in your head, Jim. Nobody needs to hear your nonsense.”
Olivia got her hands underneath her, tried to push herself up. She vomited seawater and gasped for air.
“Where do figure he came from?” A third, deeper, voice asked.
“Well, that is a puzzle.” The raspy voice opined.
Olivia managed to sit up with her back against the mast. Mast?
“This is a sailboat.” Olivia said. “I’m on a sailboat…” She was a little dazed.
“Well, for sure, it’s a sailboat. What were you expecting?”
“Shut up, Jim.” Deep voice said. He was the biggest man Olivia had ever seen. He had fierce tattoos and kind eyes. He wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.
“Wow,” she said, staring at his face, “That’s a lot of ink.”
“I’m Māori, boy.” He said. “What are you?”
“I’m…” she was still piecing things together. “I’m lost.”
Raspy Voice came into view. “Get away from him, you sodomite. I want some answers.” He squatted down and peered into Olivia’s eyes. He was cracked and leathery from too many years of sun and wind. “Red hair, green eyes, I figure you’re Irish.” He grabbed her hand. “But you’re no slave. You ain’t worked a day in your life. I figure we have a young gentleman here.”
“They all think I’m a boy.” She figured out. Forgive her, she’s had a rough day.
“That doesn’t explain where he came from.” Deep Voice stood up and scanned the sea. “There’s no wreckage. If he’s shipwrecked, he’s a hell of a swimmer.”
“So what’s your story, your lordship?” Raspy asked, all sarcastic. “Where’s your ship then?”
“I was flying from Detroit to Nashville …” Olivia started to explain.
“Flying?” Jim asked, “Are you an angel, then? Did your wings fall off?”
“He’s no angel, just a damned liar.” Raspy said. “Probably a thief as well. Throw him back. Let the sea have its prize”
“No! Please!” Olivia shouted.
Deep grabbed Raspy by the shoulder. “We ain’t throwing him nowhere. We’ll take him to shore and send him on his way. That’s the least a Christian can do.”
Raspy wasn’t convinced. “This is my boat, and I can’t abide a liar…”
“He ain’t a liar, he just has water on the brain.” Deep said. “Let him dry out, and he’ll start making sense.” He sat next to Olivia and glowered at Raspy.
“Thank you.” Olivia said, “And thank you for fishing me out.”
“Don’t see how I could have done otherwise.” Deep said. He handed her a bottle. She pulled out the cork and took a sip. It was brandy. She gagged at the taste and recorked the bottle.
They sat in silence as the wind took them to shore. Olivia watched as they tied the boat to the pier and started unloading the day’s haul of fish. Deep helped her disembark, and they stood on the pier. She looked at the harbor town and was puzzled. All the buildings were wood and stone, like in some Robin Hood movie or something. There weren’t any cars!
“What is this place?” She asked. “Is this…Canada?”
“This is the Duchy of Killington.” Deep said, handing her a small pouch. “Take this to ease your journey. I’m sorry it isn’t more.”
“In sooth, good sir, tis nary but kindness you’ve shown me. I shan’t forget this boon.” She clapped her hand over her mouth. “Why am I talking like that?” She wondered. “What is wrong with me?”
Deep smiled and went to help with the unloading. Olivia looked in the pouch. There was a small handful of coins. She pulled one out and examined it. It was thick, heavy, silver, and not Canadian. Weird.
“Ello, Guvnor.” A girl not much older than Oliva appeared at her side. “Fancy some company, do yah?” she was wearing a low cut dress that was mostly ruffles and bows.
Olivia dropped the coin back into the pouch and stuffed the pouch into her pocket. “No, thanks, I think I’ll pass.”
“Oh, don’t be shy, Squire.” The girl stepped in front of Olivia. “We can go someplace private.” She pressed herself against Olivia.
“That…really won’t be necessary.” Oliva said, trying to sidestep.
“You’re right, Squire. We can just duck down the alley for a quick one, if you like…” The girl sidestepped with Oliva, not giving up.
“I really don’t want to, could you just leave me alone?” Olivia asked.
“Come on, Squire, you’re hurting my pride.” She pouted. “Give Darla a chance. I can see that you like me.” She reached down to stroke Olivia’s crotch. “Waitaminute…” she said, looking puzzled, “You’re a girl!” Darla objected.
“Yes,” Olivia said, “In sooth, or whatever.”
“Of all the rotten cheats…” Darla complained. “Why are you dressed like a boy? If the vicar sees you, he’ll hang you for a witch!”
“Why?” Olivia asked, “Where I come from, lots of girls dress like this.”
“Where you come from. Where’s that, Squire?” Darla asked.
“I’m from Detroit.” Olivia said.
“I ain’t never heard tell of such a place.” Darla crossed her arms.
“Motown? It’s in Michigan…”
“Never in my born days…” Darla objected.
“You have to have heard of Michigan.” Olivia said, “It’s a state. As in the United States? Of America?”
Darla’s jaw dropped. She was gob smacked. “You’ve been to the Americas?”
“Well,” Oliva said, “Just the one, actually…”
“I heard that the Americas are full of savages with copper skin who wear nothing but feathers!” Darla exclaimed.
“Yeah.” Olivia said. “I’ve never met anybody like that.”
“Oh.” Darla was crestfallen. “I figure that was just a traveler’s tale then.”
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said, “I’ve disappointed you twice today already.”
“No worries, Love, but I meant what I said about the clothes. If the vicar sees you, he’ll hang you for sure.” She kissed Olivia on the cheek. “So be careful. Boy or girl, you’re too pretty for the gallows. I’d be sad to see you die.” She walked away.
Olivia watched Darla walk off and considered her options. Going to the town seemed foolish, as town was where the vicar lived, and Olivia had no desire to mount the gallows. Going the other way led to the castle. Olivia had never seen a real live castle before, because there aren’t many castles in Detroit. Besides, it was a nice, sunny day, perfect for a walk in the country. Whatever crazy country this was.
So she walked along the rutted road, wishing for some shoes. Her socks offered scant protection from the flagstones. When she got to the castle she saw a sign. It read: “Boy wanted: inquire within”.
“Well,” Olivia said to nobody in particular, “If they want a boy, I’ll just give them one.”
She strode through the gates, bold as day. A lackey stopped her.
“Oy! Where do you think you’re goin’, my fine lad?” The lackey was joined by a minion, and they both gazed at her suspiciously.
“What do we have here, Jacob?” The minion asked.
“A vagabond, clear as day, Martin.” The lackey answered. “Probably a footpad as well, don’t you think.”
Martin shrugged. “I see him more as a cutpurse. Or a swindler. Mind you, he could be an assassin…”
“I’m a boy!” Olivia shouted, throwing her arms wide. Then, pitching her voice lower, “I mean, I’m a boy. The sign outside said you wanted one, and here I am.” She tucked her thumbs into her belt, and struck a heroic pose. “I’m a young, strapping boy, perched on the brink of manhood, and I seek honest, manly employment, for a fair and decent wage.”
Martin and Jacob stood there unblinking, as if mesmerized.
“Well, that’s alright then,” Jacob said, turning to Martin. “Take him to Malivio.”
“Why do I have to do it?” Martin asked.
“Because you’re a minion,” Jacob explained, “And minions does as they are told. So hop to it before I put a boot in your arse.”
“Fair enough,” Martin nodded. “Come along, you. Malivio will sort you out.”
“Why?” Olivia asked, suddenly nervous. “Who is this Malivio?”
“He’s the task master.” Martin said, taking Olivia’s arm, “He’s the one what decides if you get the job or not.”
Martin steered Olivia up a steep and narrow stairway, to Malivio’s office.
Malivio stood there with folded arms. He was tall, thin, and pale like a vampire. But the scary kind of vampire, not the pansy kind that wears glitter.
“Mar-tin.” He said, pronouncing the name as if it were a foul curse. “What have you brought me?”
“He’s the new boy,” Martin said, stepping back, “He wants to be, anyhow. Shall I give him the boot, then?”
“You are dismissed, Martin.” Malivio’s voice droned with menace. “Be gone from my sight.”
Martin bolted from the room.
“So, Boy,” He addressed Olivia. “Did your parents have the kindness to bless you with a name?”
“I’m Olive…” She caught herself, and pitched her voice lower again, “I’m Oliver, sir.”
“Hmm.” He hmmed. “Tell me, Oliver. Do you know your letters?”
“Letters?” Olivia considered the question. “Yes, sir. All twenty-six of them.”
“Impressive.” He said, sounding unimpressed. He picked a bible off his desk and handed it to Olivia. “Open that to a random page and read it to me.”
She complied. The print was hard to make out, but she managed and read till he told her to stop.
“That’s enough.” He said. “You can read the lord’s word, and you didn’t burst into flames. Therefore, you are neither a dullard nor a demon. If you are a scoundrel, you’ll be found out soon enough, and your dying screams could prove amusing. Welcome to house Killington.”
“Does that mean I have the job?” Olivia asked.
“Yes.” He said, sounding even more bored than before. “Have that worm Martin show you to the seamstress. You’ll need some proper clothing. You are dismissed.”
Olivia backed out of the room, only too happy to leave Malivio’s presence. There was something creepy about him.
Martin showed Olivia to the sewing room, but the seamstress was nowhere to be found.
“That’s a lucky break,” Olivia said to herself. She grabbed a red tunic and a pair of yellow tights and slipped behind a screen. She was stuffing a sock into the tights when Martin came back and said, “Follow me, Oliver. His Grace wants to see you.”
“His who wants to what?” Olivia asked.
Martin clapped his hand on Olivia’s shoulder. “You’re going to see the Duke. So you show him some proper respect. You don’t talk till he asks you something, and when you do, you call him ‘Your Grace’. Can you remember that?”
“I think I can…” Olivia said.
“Good.” Martin said, pulling his bangs back to show his forehead. “Maybe you won’t get one of these then.” He showed Olivia an old scar left by a signet ring.
“He hits you?” Olivia asked, horrified. What kind of monster was she working for?
“He’ll do more than that if you don’t give him his proper respect. You forgot your hat.” He grabbed one off a shelf and put it on her head. “Let’s go. We don’t keep the duke waiting.”
They climbed more steps on the way to the duke’s chambers. With every step Olivia grew more anxious. Who was this cruel master? Would he lash out at her like he had at Martin? What had she gotten herself into? She envisioned a tyrant, more beast than man. She hesitated at the chamber door.
“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.” She said to Martin. “I’m thinking unemployment might be a better option for me at this time…”
Martin shoved her through the doorway. She went sprawling and found herself at the duke’s feet.
“Ah.” Malivio’s voice said, “May I present Oliver, your new page.”
“Well. He’s certainly no acrobat, is he?” The duke’s voice was deep and resonant.
Olivia struggled to her feet. “Sorry, sir, I mean Your Grace,” she said, ducking the expected blow. She was careful not to look him in the eye, which gave her time to admire his broad, manly chest. And his broad, manly shoulders which led to his broad, manly arms…
“Look at me, boy.” Duke Killington commanded.
Olivia looked up. “Hummina.” She said, not able to stop herself, because the duke was the most gorgeous slab of man meat she had ever seen.
Killington’s brow furrowed. “Malivio assures me you are articulate, and well spoken. Are you actually capable of speech?”
“Oh, Your Grace,” Olivia replied, “I’ll say anything you want.”
“Yes.” Killington’s brow grew more furrowed. “There’s something unusual about you…”
“Is it my eyes?” She asked breathlessly. Then she came to her senses, and said, in her Oliver voice, “Oh, no, Your Grace, there’s nothing unusual about me. I’m just a strapping young man, chock full of ‘Y’ chromosomes, ready and eager for whatever task you have for me.”
“Very well,” Killington said, handing her an envelope. “Take this letter, and deliver it to Lady Veranda. I’m courting her, and she’s resisting my efforts. Go and show her the error of her ways.”
Olivia took the envelope. “I’ll do it, your Grace. I won’t let you down.”
She scurried from the room.
“Martin!” she whispered, “How do I find the Lady Veranda?”
“Her chateau is on the other side of town. You’d better hurry.”
As she made her way through the town, she ran into a strange old woman.
“What are you playing at, girl?” the old woman cackled, “All gussied up in boy clothes. And in the duke’s livery, no less! If the vicar sees you…”
“Please, don’t raise an alarm!” Olivia pleaded. “This is the only job I could find.”
“You’re a making a fool out my lord duke, you are,” the hag said, “And that gives me a chuckle, it surely does. Here, I’ll help you with your disguise.” She reached into a pouch, and threw a pinch of dust at Olivia’s face.
Olivia coughed. “What did you do that for? How’s that supposed to help me?” she asked.
“Oh, you’ll see,” The old woman cackled. “It’ll work like magic.”.

KenGreen Blog

Another day, another post. I'm not getting any comments, so I don't know if anybody is reading this. If you are, say something. I'm getting lonely here. Well, that's enough self pity. Here's some more story.
EXILE TO PARADISE, PART TWO

Olivia took her leave of the strange witch woman, and was halfway to Lady Veranda’s chateau when she ran into Darla again.
“Hello, Guvnor! Fancy some company…Oh, it’s you, the boy-girl.” Darla said.
“I do have a name, you know.” Olivia replied.
Darla shrugged. “Do you? You never told it to me.”
“Oh, you’re right. I’m Olivia.” She said, “Well, I’m being Oliver right now, but…”
“Well, maybe when you decide who you are, you and me can have a nice chat. Till then…” Darla sneezed. There was a strange light in her eyes. “Oh, Squire! You are a sight to see!”
“Wait, What…?” Oliva asked.
Darla was transfixed. She was looking at Olivia the way a dog looks at a pork chop. She circled around Olivia, to see her from every angle.
“I know it ain’t right, and I know it ain’t Christian,” Darla said, as if in a trance, “But I must say, you do cut a fine figure of a man.”
“Well, thank you, Darla, but I really need to go…” Olivia said.
“Go?” Darla protested, “But you just got here! So long have I waited for one special love, to think it would arrive in such a beautiful package…”
“Yeah, that’s great, Darla,” Olivia said, stepping away, “…but I really must leave!” she broke into a run, and bounded down the path.
“Call me!” Darla cried to Olivia’s retreating back.
Soon, Olivia reached the chateau. At the gate, there was a discrete sign that read: “Welcome to House Davenport-unless you work for that muttonhead Duke Killington, in which case, bugger off.”
Olivia pondered the sign. “Davenport? I’m courting a woman named Veranda Davenport? What kind of crazy name is that?”
“A name that you will speak in a more respectful tone, unless you want a good thrashing.” A footman emerged from the gate, already rolling up his sleeves.
Olivia struck her heroic pose and said. “I am Oliver, and I have…”
“You work for Killington, that’s as plain as day, since you’re wearing his colors. The lady don’t want to hear anything you have to say, and neither do I.” The footman towered over Olivia and glowered at her.
“Be that as it might…be, I’m here on orders from my duke…” Olivia stammered. She didn’t fancy a beating.
“The best thing you could do is turn yourself around go back to your fine duke, and…” The footman sneezed, and shook his head as if to clear it. He staggered back a step.
“Are you alright?” Olivia asked.
“I… you’re from house Killington?” the footman seemed disoriented.
“Yes.” Olivia said. “And I have business with your Lady Veranda.”
“Well, come on in, then. My name’s Chad.” Chad looked at Olivia with a strange light in his eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you, Chad.” Olivia said, a little confused. “If you could just show me to Lady Veranda…”
“Yeah, sure.” Chad said. “Come on Oliver. I was thinking, when you’re done, maybe we could hang out some time.”
“That sounds really nice, Chad.” Olivia agreed, “But for now…”
“Oh, right!” Chad led the way and Olivia followed him to the chamber of Lady Veranda.
Chad parted the curtain, and Olivia entered. The chamber was hung with green and silver tapestries, and perfume filled the air. Lady Veranda was playing her harpsicord, but slammed the cover shut when she saw Olivia.
“Who let you in here?!” the lady screeched, her ample bosom heaving with rage. “Which one of my idiot servants permitted this Killington filth into my home?” Even in her anger, Lady Veranda was a ravishing beauty. She strode like a lioness to look down upon poor Olivia.
“I have a letter…” Olivia said weakly, holding up the envelope.
Lady Veranda was in no mood to read. She slapped the letter out of Olivia’s hand, grabbed the collar of Olivia’s tunic, and said, “Listen to me, you little pipsqueak. You march right back to your duke, and tell him, ah…ah…” She turned her head and sneezed.
When she turned her head back, there was a strange light in her eyes.
“Oh, crap.” Olivia said.
“Good heavens,” the lady said, taking a long look at Olivia’s face. “I must thank the duke for sending me such fine example of…come, boy. Sit with me.” She took Olivia by the hand and dragged her to the couch. Olivia sat down, and Veranda more or less draped herself next to her.
“Have you come to woo me, boy?” Veranda asked, softly. She leaned closer to Olivia, providing a good view of her milky white breasts.
“Yes, M’Lady.” Olivia stammered. “On behalf of my Duke Killington…”
Veranda put her finger to Olivia’s lips. “Let us not speak of Killington.” She said, breathlessly. “Woo me, boy. Speak to me from your manly heart.”
“M’Lady,” Olivia struggled to make something up, “Your eyes are as fair as a summer’s day…”
“Oh! Enough words already! You have won me!” Veranda pulled Olivia to her, and kissed her with wild abandon. Olivia tried to resist, but Veranda’s lust was a thing like a force of nature, and would not be denied. Finally, Veranda relented.
“M’Lady!” Olivia cried, gasping for air, “This cannot be! The duke would have my head!”
“I think I should like to take your head.” Veranda said, her voice low and throaty. “No, not just the head. I want all of you.” She slid off the couch and onto her knees. Soon, her face was in Olivia’s crotch. “Use me, boy. Make me your whore.”
“Please, M’Lady, don’t…” Olivia pleaded.
But Veranda was a lady, and would not be denied. She slid her hand under Olivia’s codpiece, and looked confused.
“Wait,” Veranda said, “This isn’t right…” She withdrew her hand. “Don’t you like me, boy?”
“M’Lady,” Olivia stammered.
“GET OUT OF HERE!” Veranda screamed, rising to her feet.
Olivia leapt to her feet, ran from the room, down the stairs, across the courtyard, and through the gate. And she kept running till she was out of breath.
“Olivia, what’s wrong?” Darla asked. She was having a slow day.
“Darla,” Olivia said, “Stay back. I’ve got…”
“Magic dust, I know,” Darla said, “I figured it out soon as you left. I’m sorry I tried to make out with you.”
“Oh, Darla I’m in so much trouble…” Olivia said.
“Yeah.” Darla said, looking over Olivia’s shoulder, “You really are.”
“I just went to deliver a stupid letter, and everything has gone terribly wrong. I’ve failed the duke, and now Lady Veranda hates me!” Olivia whined.
“That’s some hard luck, for sure it is.” Darla sympathized.
“This has been the worst day ever!” Olivia exclaimed.
“Oh, Honey, it breaks my heart to see you so sad.” Darla said, looking past Olivia. “And it’s about to get a whole lot worse.”
“What do you mean…” A hand clamped onto Olivia’s shoulder and spun her around. She was face to face with a pinch-faced man wearing a clerical collar and a pitiless expression.
“Olivia,” Darla said, “Meet the vicar.”
“Oh, no.” Olivia said.
“Oh, yes.” The vicar said.
“Olivia,” Darla said, “I kept telling you, Sweetie. You need to stop wearing boy clothes. It’s not natural, and people don’t like it. Leastwise stuck-up pricks like the vicar here.”
The vicar turned his attention to Darla. “If you keep talking to the prisoner, you may find yourself sharing the gallows with her.”
Darla laughed. “If you hang me, who’ll give you your morning propers?”
“Be gone from my sight, you harlot!” The vicar bellowed.
“Oh, you’ll pay for that,” Darla said, sauntering off, “From now on, I’m charging you double.”
“Well,” the vicar said, “It looks like you’ll be hanging alone then.”
“Oh, no I won’t.” Olivia smiled. “You’re going to let me go.”
“And why would I do that, you foul spawn of Satan?” the vicar asked.
“Because I have a clever plan.” Oliva shook her hair vigorously, trying to get magic dust on the vicar.
He looked unimpressed. “Was that it? Was that your clever plan?”
“Yeah.” Olivia said, “Because you like me now.”
The vicar considered this.
“No,” He said, “I really don’t.”
“Sure you do.” Olivia told him. “You want to kiss me and stuff.”
“I honestly don’t.” he informed her.
“I mustn’t have gotten enough on you. Here,” she rubbed her fingers on her face, trying to collect some dust. Then she started rubbing her fingers on the vicar’s face.
“Stop that at once.” He said, “It’s incredibly annoying.”
“Why isn’t it working?” Olivia asked sadly.
“Whatever you’re attempting, it’s doomed to fail. The power of Christ protects me from such deviltry.”
“Well…” Olivia objected. “That’s… just not fair!”
“Perhaps it isn’t.” the vicar said, “But that’s the way it is. Guards!”
The guards came and hustled Olivia off to the town dungeon. They took away her page clothes and made her wear an ugly old prison dress. Then they threw her in a cell, and slammed the door.
“You have a visitor, you pervert.” A guard told her.
“What now?” She moaned.
Duke Killington stood at the bars. “Oliver, of all the servants I’ve ever had, you have proven to be the greatest disappointment…”
“Oh, shut up!” Olivia shouted.
“How dare you speak to me in that manner!” He roared, “If you were a man…”
“Yeah, yeah, if I were a man, you’d come in here and punch my lights out, because you would still be bigger and stronger than me! Big deal! Do you think that makes you better than I am? It doesn’t! It just makes you a big, mean boy!”
“Where is she?” Lady Veranda stormed towards the cell. “Where is the foul deceiver?”
Olivia sighed. “Oh, good. You’re both here.”
“I’m going to enjoy watching you hang.” Veranda said.
“I’ve instructed the hangman not to tie her legs.” Killington said, “Watching her kick the air should prove quite amusing.”
“That’s brilliant!” Veranda marveled.
“Look at you,” Olivia said, her voice dripping with disgust, “You two deserve each other.”
“What do you mean?” they both asked.
“You’re standing there, salivating over how much fun you’ll have watching me die!” Oliva exclaimed.
“She’s right.” Veranda nodded. “We do like the same things…”
“You…” Olivia pointed an accusing finger at the duke, “Are nothing more a than a bully who hits his employees…”
“You actually hit them?” Olivia asked.
“Oh, yes.” Killington admitted, “I do it all the time.”
“I’ve always wanted to do that!” Veranda exclaimed in awe. “Could you come to my chateau, and hit some of mine?”
“I’ll come ‘round in the morning, and thrash the lot of them!” Killington vowed.
“I love you!” Veranda shouted.
“Marry me!” Killington proposed.
“Of course I’ll marry you!” And they made out, right there on the dungeon floor, because rich people are just disgusting.
When they were done, Olivia asked, “Does this mean you’re not going to hang me?”
“Hang you?” Veranda asked. “What a stupid idea! Why on earth would I hang my maid of honor?”
“But, Darling,” Killington objected, “We have to hang somebody, we’ve already built the scaffold.”
Veranda had the best idea ever. “Let’s hang that stupid vicar!” she said.
“Brilliant!” Killington marveled. “I’ve always hated that squirrely little twerp!”
So they let Olivia out of the cell, and they had a big, big wedding, and an even bigger, bigger reception, and everybody had fun except the vicar, who was dead, and who cares, you didn’t like him anyway.
Since the vicar was dead, they didn’t need a church anymore, so they turned it into a tavern and put Olivia in charge. Olivia hired Darla as a bartender, so Darla wouldn’t have to give blowjobs to strangers anymore, because that’s not a very nice way to make a living.
At the end of every work day Olivia and Darla would wipe off the tables, sweep the floors, and head upstairs. Olivia never made it to Memphis, and never got to be the famous singer she’d wanted to be, but it was a pretty nice life anyway, because she got to spend every day with her new best friend.

The end.

KenGreen Blog Public Member Blogs

Today, I bring you another story.

ANNA
By Ken Green
“There ain’t no justice to be found,” Old Dan said, sipping the beer he’d been nursing all afternoon, “In this world, or any other.”
“Ain’t that the truth.” Young Dan said, from across the table.
Anna sighed. The only thing more boring than grownups was grownups discussing politics. Those beer-soaked fossils had been at it all day. She had wiped every table in the barroom, other than the one the Dans were using, and she needed a break. Not from the work, but from the monotony. In all her born years, she had never heard either of them say anything of interest.
She tossed her rag into the sink and slipped out the back door and into the sunlight. Little Mira was directly above, blazing down with her white dwarf intensity, trying to bake Anna even browner than she already was. Big Mira, the red giant, had already sulked over the horizon.
Anna leaned against the taverns clapboard wall, and surrendered to Mira’s heat. At least it was quiet, out in the light.
Until it wasn’t. The ground shook with a sonic boom as a ship settled down in the town square. Anna made her way around the building, and peered around the corner The shuttle wasn’t due till end of month, and nobody visited this craphole of a planet for laughs.
The ship was an orbital transport, with a big gold BGH logo emblazoned on its side. Bureau of Genetic Hygiene. Freak hunters. A squad of soldiers stepped off the ramp, followed by a hooded figure. A menschenjagger.
Anna had heard tales of such creatures, unliving weapons created in Codominion laboratories from the corpses of enemies. Things that had once been human, stripped of love, compassion, of any trace of kindness, left with nothing but intellect and pain. She marveled at the arrogance of the Codominion. It takes a special kind of madness to create a demon and put a leash on it. As she watched, it started to turn towards her, as if sniffing the air.
No. Anna bolted back around the corner. She’d been careful, like her mama always told her. Back when the world made sense. Back when Mama was alive.
Anna had never used her gift, never even once. She’d been so careful…she could feel the soft touches like tendrils at the corners of her mind…
No! She took off running, fast as she could, down the road out of town.
#
Lieutenant Chomsky squinted at the crowd of townsfolk that had gathered. It’s bad enough I have to babysit this abomination, having to look at these yokels is just icing on the cake.
“She’s getting away.” The menschenjagger spoke, in her dry, lifeless voice. She lifted her cold, gray arm and pointed. “There.”
Chomsky turned to see a young girl run away. The kid had some legs on her, she had already gone about fifty meters.
Corporal Sanchez was tracking with her pulse rifle. “Shall I bag the little freak, Lieutenant?” she asked.
“Stand down, Sanchez.” Chomsky ordered. He wasn’t going to let one of his troops kill an innocent girl.
Not when he could do it himself.
He drew his sidearm. The targeting screen on his retina activated and zoomed so the girl’s retreating back filled his view. He smiled. It would be so easy to squeeze the trigger and blow the girls heart out of her chest. Too easy.
“You call it, Sanchez.” Chomsky said, “Lobotomy, or hysterectomy?”
“Lieutenant!” the menschenjagger protested, “Your orders were quite specific…”
“Shut up, freak. I know my orders.” Chomsky lowered his point of aim and squeezed. The gun barked, sending a sabot round downrange. It hit the girl’s right foot, tearing half of it away. The girl fell, clutching her ruined appendage.
Chomsky took his time sauntering to his downed quarry. If you don’t savor the little pleasures that life offers, what’s the point of living at all?
She lay there on her side, in the dirt. Both hands were clamped on the wound, trying to stop the bleeding through direct pressure and sheer force of will. Her teeth were clenched and her body was shaking, but she didn’t utter a sound.
“I have to say,” Chomsky said, “You are one tough little bitch. Not that it did you any good, but, kudos.”
The corpsman descended on her and went to work. He cut off the remains of her shoe and applied a tourniquet. Then he ripped open her shirt and slapped a monitor on her, and gave her a shot to knock her out.
“Why?” the girl asked, as her body relaxed, “I didn’t do anything…”
“No, child,” The menschenjagger said sadly, “But you will.”

#
“Wake, up Six Inch.”
Anna woke up in a medibay. Her wrists were cuffed to the rails.
Chomsky was looming over her.
“My name is Anna.” she told him.
“Anna is a human name.” he corrected her, “You aren’t human, are you, Six Inch?”
“Why do you keep calling me that?” she asked, “What does it mean?”
“It’s from an old Earth system of measurement,” he grinned, maliciously, “Six inches is …half a foot!” he pulled the sheet away to show Anna her ruined foot.
Anna glanced down at the truncated appendage. She was mildly surprised that she wasn’t more upset. Must be shock. Or the drugs. Who knows what they shot me up with?
“You waited all morning to spring that joke on me?” Anna asked, “You’re pathetic, Chomsky.”
His eyes went wide with terror. “How do you know my name?” he asked, bringing his hands to his head as if he could block a telepathic assault with his fists.
“Oh, I’ll know more than that before I’m done with you.” she said, trying to sound scary, but ruining the effect by laughing, “It’s written on your uniform, Dumbass!”
Enraged, he reached for Anna’s throat. “Mutie bitch, I’ll snap your skinny neck!”
“You will step away from her.” the menschenjagger had entered, bringing the chill of the grave with her.
Chomsky looked up and sneered. “I don’t take orders from…” he made a choking sound, and staggered backwards.
“Your breathing privileges are suspended, Lieutenant.” The menschenjagger informed him. She turned her attention back to Anna. “Observe, child. I had hoped to begin your training in a more formal manner. But I think you’ll find this instructive.”
Chomsky was trying to claw at his own throat, like that was going to help.
“Please,” Anna pleaded, horrified. “Please, Mam, let him go.”
The menschenjagger tilted her head. “Curious. This man has mutilated you, taken you from your home, bound you, and would kill you without remorse. Yet, knowing this, you would grant him mercy.”
“Yes.” Anna said, weakly, “Please, Mam.”
“Very well,” the menschenjagger made a dismissive gesture. Chomsky’s body seized as every muscle he possessed contracted, snapping bones, and tearing tendons in the process. He fell into a heap of agonized death.
“Let this be your first lesson.” the menschenjagger continued, “In this universe, there is no mercy.” she reached up with her cold gray hands to pull the hood away from her face.
Anna’s jaw dropped in stunned recognition. “Mama?” she asked.
“Your mother is dead,” the dead thing replied, undoing the cuffs.
“Oh, Mama, it is you!” Anna threw her arms around her mother’s corpse.
“You’re wasting time with sentiment,” it said softly. It didn’t hug her back, but it didn’t push her away.
“You’re so cold…” Anna said.
“As cold as the grave,” the dead woman whispered. “Your mother loved you, Anna. More than you can know,” in that tiny fleeting moment, there was warmth in her voice, and then it was gone.
“This is irrelevant,” it said, “Your training must begin.”
“What are you talking about, Mama?” Anna cried, “We have to get you out of here.”
“Irrelevant. The woman you speak to no longer exists.”
“That’s a lie!” Anna cradled her mother’s head in her hands, “You’re still in there. You’re still in there, and I’m going to find you.”
“Your mother is dead…”
Anna gestured towards Chomsky’s corpse. “Look, Mama. You did that. He was going to hurt me, and you stopped him. You’re still protecting me. You’re still my mother, and I still need you.”
It stood inert, as if running a difficult calculation. Slowly, it turned its head.
“Anna needs me,” it stated, “Anna must be protected.”
“Help me up, Mama.”
With inhuman strength, Mama scooped her daughter up in her arms and lifted her from the medibay. The room trembled as the M-drive engaged.
“Are we on a ship?” Anna asked.
“The H.S. Pasteur, bound for Trylanor, by way of Cyan,” Mama recited.
“Can you get us to an escape pod?”
Mama carried Anna out into the corridor. There were no guards posted. Who expects a crippled woman to run away?
They made it to the escape deck, where Sanchez barred their way.
“Hey, freak!” she called, “You’re going the wrong way! And why are you carrying…”
“You will not harm Anna.” Mama informed her.
“What are you…” her eyes went wide with terror, “Oh, crap…” her eyes rolled up in her head, and she sagged to the floor.
“You’re going to have to teach me that trick.” Anna said.
Mamma staggered, “It costs a great deal of energy. Mother grows weak. Can you walk?”
Anna put her good foot down, and together they hobbled into the pod. Anna punched the release, and the pod surged from the ship.
An indicator lit up, showing that the distress beacon was functioning.
“Oh, no.” Anna moaned. “I didn’t think of that. They’ll be able to follow the signal.”
“No,” Mother said, “No one will follow. I love you, Anna,” she turned to face the rear viewport, and stared at the ship. It began to glow a dull red, then orange, then briefly was a white-hot flare that quickly faded. There was no ship.
“How…” Anna gasped.
Mother’s body sagged. “The fusion plant…hydrogen plasma, as hot as a sun, barely contained by a magnetic field,” she strained to speak, each word was agony, “Magnetic energy…can be manipulated at a distance, provided one can pay the cost…”
“Rest, Mother, save your strength.”
“No need anymore. Anna is safe. I’ve used my last reserves. Soon, I truly will be a dead woman.”
“No!” Anna cried, “I won’t lose you twice. Take my strength.”
“I gave you life, Daughter. I will not take it back.”
“Mother, I beg you…”
“My mind is made up. Do not ask me again.”
“Fine,” Anna said, “I will not ask again.” She seized her mother’s hands and dug deep into her soul for the dormant power that lay waiting there. Love and rage, grief and joy, pain and ecstasy twisted to form whirlpools of mad, untamed life force that flowed from her and to her mother. Her arms burned with the agony of ten times a hundred times a thousand times a million electrical shocks, and still she held on.
“Stop this, Anna. Do not die for me. I forbid it!”
“Shut up, Mom!” Anna howled, “I’m saving you if it kills us both!”
Mother resisted, trying to tear her hands free, but Anna refused to let go. They fought, as only a mother and daughter can, hating and loving each other at the same time. Eventually, Anna’s strength waned, and her mother broke her grip. They flew apart and lie at opposite ends of the pod, unable to move, like broken dolls, weaker than kittens, but both now alive.
Mother spoke first. “That was a terrible risk you took, Daughter. When my energy returns, I shall be quite cross with you.”
“Good,” Anna said, “You have something to live for then.”
“I have everything to live for,” Mother said, “I have you.” As her strength returned she gazed at the front viewport. Planet Cyan grew ever larger. She asked the pods computer for library data.
“It’s a frontier world, largely undeveloped,” she read, “We can lose ourselves in its equatorial jungles. We can make a life there.”
Anna nodded. “You can instruct me. We can gather others like us, and we can train them.”
“Train them for what, my love?” Mother asked.
“The day of reckoning, of course. The day we bring justice to those who have hurt us. The day we rain hell on the BGH and the rest of the Codominion. The day humanity dies.”

End.