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New story today! This offering is pretty rough and raw, and probably has a dozen plot holes, and twice as many other flaws. So why am I publishing it? Because it's already Tuesday, and I have anxiety about this challenge. This one comes with a content warning, because one of the characters is a terrible person, who does terrible things. So this isn't one of my happy/fun/dumb funny stories. Because If I keep giving you the same thing all the time, I fear you'll get bored. So here it is.

THE LETTER
By Ken Green
“The post has arrived, sirs.” Patel said, as he did every morning at 9:00 am. Like every other morning, Clive received a bundle of letters, bound by a ribbon. Like every other morning, Geoffrey received none. Like every other morning, Clive shot Geffrey his devil-may-care grin, and said, “Good heavens, old chap, it’s as if when you came to India, the whole of England forgot you.”
“Yes,” Geoffrey said, “Quite.”
Geoffrey eyed Clive’s stack of letters. It was especially thick that morning.
“I say, old chap,” Geoffrey said, “I think I’d like to buy one of your letters.”
Clive arched an eyebrow. “Are you serious? What a preposterous notion.”
“Is it?” Geoffrey asked, “You have so many letters, surely you could spare one. I’ll give you five pounds.”
“Five pounds for a letter?” Clive laughed, “You must be mad. If you’re truly that lonely, you should let me take you to the village some night. The women here…”
Geoffrey held up his hand. “I have no wish to hear of your exploits with the natives. I only want a letter.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a five-pound note. “Do we have a deal?”
Clive tossed the stack onto Geoffrey’s desk. “Pick one you like.”
Geoffrey untied the bundle and flipped through the stack, reading each return address. He selected one, smiled, and slipped it into his pocket. Then he neatly reassembled the stack, placed the fiver on top, retied the ribbon, and tossed it back.
Clive slid the note from the ribbon and held it up as if it were a thing of wonder.
“Last night,” he said, “I had a pair of sisters for a rupee. With this, you have paid for two years’ worth of whoring.”
“Clive, I’ve already said I don’t wish to hear…” Geoffrey objected.
“Surely, of all God’s many inventions,” Clive waxed, “The greatest is poverty. The degradations a woman will endure for …”
“Enough!” Geoffrey shouted. “Honestly, I don’t know which is worse, your excesses, or the pride you take in them. Have you no regard for these people?”
“People,” Clive scoffed, “They’re little more than savages. “Isn’t that right, Patel?”
“If sir says it, it must be true,” Patel said, his face betraying no emotion.
“For God’s sake, Clive…”
“If you’re going to be tiresome,” Clive said, “We might as well get to work. The East India Company will not run itself, after all.”
They spent the rest of the day working in silence, writing reports and filling out requisition forms, all for the greater glory of God, Britain, and Money, in whatever order of importance one may wish to arrange them. They knocked off a four pm sharp. Instead of taking tea with Clive, as was his usual custom, Geoffrey chose to take a walk. He had a letter to read.
#
Geoffrey left the colonial office building, blinking in the sunlight. He began to sweat in the summer heat, but the heat seemed somehow cleansing. He walked toward the perimeter of the compound.
“Do not stray too far, sir,” Patel said, appearing at his side, “There are reports of a tiger in the area.”
“Patel,” Geoffrey said, “I’m so sorry about the things Clive said earlier.”
“Why would you apologize for another man’s words?” Patel asked, “You are a kind man. We all know that.”
“But the way he treats you all, and the things he says…They’re repulsive.”
“And yet we endure. If you will permit, I will leave you to your thoughts. It is a lovely day for a walk. Just stay close to the compound. Do not tempt the tiger.” Patel walked away.
Geoffrey walked along the perimeter fence. Glancing back at the building, he could see Clive, taking his tea, attended by servants. He turned away and drew the letter from his pocket. Again, he read the return address:
Josephina Short
Earl’s Court, London
Written in a neat, precise, but undeniably feminine hand, those five words seemed to cast a spell on him. Who are you, Josephina? Why has Clive never told me about you? Back in school, he regaled me with tales of every conquest he ever made. Why has he kept you a secret?
He held the envelope up to his nose. Even after travelling so many miles, it still held the faint scent of rose perfume. He turned the letter over, looked at the seal. He started to slip his thumbnail under the flap, but hesitated. It seemed like such an intimate act. He stared at his hand in disbelief. It was shaking.
Why shouldn’t I open it? I’ve certainly paid for the privilege. My God, I sound like Clive. This is wrong. If I do this, I’m no better than he is. I should give the letter back to him. I have no right to read this. And yet…
Hands still shaking, he ripped the letter open. It read:

My Dearest Clive:

It is with greatest joy that I accept your proposal for marriage. I have booked passage on the ship that will bring me to you. It seems strange to marry a man I have never met, but I swear I will do everything I can to be a good wife. I have kept myself clean and pure for you, and look forward to our life of wedded bliss.

Your soon to be wife,
Josephina

Geoffrey was stunned. Clive was to be married? Unbelievable! For as long as they had known each other, Clive had been a rake. Gambling, drinking, whoring, Geoffrey had always seemed consumed with an unending quest for the lowest of pleasures. The thought of him settling down with a wife seemed less likely than him growing wings.
Geoffrey read the letter again and again. Poor Josephina, so innocent and dutiful, a wide-eyed innocent, what kind of life could she expect with a man like Clive. Would she change him, or would he just treat her as another captive servant, to abuse for his pleasure? The thought was unbearable.
The sun dipped near the horizon. Time to return. Dinner would be soon.
#
Geoffrey entered the dining hall. Clive was already seated, and was staring at one of the servants.
“Good evening, Clive.” Geoffrey said.
“Yes,” Clive said dismissively, now pointing at the girl, “Is that one new? I don’t remember seeing her before.”
Geoffrey glanced. “Yes, that’s Vinaya, Patel’s daughter.”
“She’s…exquisite…” Clive said, mesmerized.
Geoffrey took another look. Vinaya was lovely, there was no doubt. A girl perched on the brink of womanhood, she already had finely sculpted features. She would grow to be an amazing beauty.
“Look at the way she moves,” Clive said, entranced, “She’s as graceful as a ballerina.”
Vinaya noticed them looking at them, smiled, then shyly looked away.
“Yes, she’s a lovely young girl,” Geoffrey said. There was something unsettling about Clive’s manner.
“Could you imagine what it would be like,” Clive asked, “To have such a creature as that?”
“She’s a child, Clive.”
“Yes.” Clive gestured to her. She brought them drinks. Clive stared unabashedly at her, crawling from feature to feature, as is he were taking inventory. He dismissed her with gesture, and watched her walk away. There was a predatory look in his eyes.
Other servants brought their meal.
“So, Geoffrey,” Clive said, as if suddenly remembering he had a dinner companion, “Did you have a chance to read my letter today?”
“It’s my letter now.” Geoffrey corrected him, “And yes, I’ve read it.”
“Well?” Clive chuckled, “Whatever did it say?”
“That,” Geoffrey said, buttering his toast, “Is none of your business.”
“Of course it’s my bloody business. It was addressed to me.”
“Yes, but you sold the right to know its contents. At a handsome price, I might add.”
“Now see here, good fellow,” Clive said suddenly angry, “This joke has gone on long enough. What did the damned letter say?”
Geoffrey smiled. There was something delightful in seeing Clive so frustrated. Geoffrey couldn’t recall a time when Clive didn’t get what he wanted. The expression on his face was priceless.
“I will tell you nothing.” Geoffrey said.
Face red, Clive reached into a pocket. “Here’s your five, and another to keep it company.” He threw the notes on the table, and held his hand out. “Now give me my letter.”
“It’s my letter, and it’s not for sale at any price,” Geoffrey said, “Ask me tomorrow, when we go hunting. I may be in a different mood at that time.”
Clive took his money back. “You’re certainly being mysterious tonight. Very well, have your jest. But tomorrow…”
“Let’s talk about something else.” Geoffrey proposed, “Do you have plans for this evening? Surely you won’t be going out tomcatting tonight, will you?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Clive laughed, “You don’t know what you’re missing. Being white in India is like being a god. I can do anything. You would be amazed at the degradations a poor woman will endure to earn a few coins.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Geoffrey said, having lost his appetite, “I will leave you to them,” he stood. “Try not to expend all your vitality. Save something for tomorrow’s hunt. We set out at dawn.”
#
At dawn, Patel helped Geoffrey saddle the horses. He arranged the rifles and bags on the pack horse.
Red eyed, Clive staggered from the mansion and mounted his steed.
“Sirs,” Patel said, “Are you sure this is well advised? The tiger…”
Clive drew back his horse’s reins, as if to strike Patel with them. “Silence, you insolent cur. It’ll be a dark day when a British man takes orders from a wog. Let’s ride.”
Clive and Geoffrey rode from the compound and to the highlands. They found a suitable spot and dismounted.
“I’ll get the rifles,” Geoffrey said.
“Yes, be a good fellow, and do that.” Clive said, yawning.
“I take it you had a rough night.” Geoffrey observed.
“Yes,” Clive said, a devilish grin crawling across his face, “But a most rewarding one. Do you remember that poor bastard that was killed in that accident last month?”
“Yes, of course I remember. His name was…”
“I visited his widow last night. She’s penniless, you know. She was quite entertaining.”
“How nice for you,” Geoffrey said, tasting bile.
“She sold me her daughter’s virginity for six rupees,” Clive grinned, “I do so love this country.”
Geoffrey drew his rifle from its scabbard. “How old was this girl, Clive?” he asked, keeping his voice calm.
“Twelve, fourteen, who cares?” Clive reveled, “I’m not sure what I enjoyed more, the pain in her eyes, or hearing her mother cry in the next room.”
Despite the warm morning sun, Geoffrey felt cold inside. “Is that a story you’ll share with Josephina?”
Clive threw his head back and laughed. “Is that the letter you bought? No wonder you’ve been acting so strange. How is the old girl?”
“She seems eager to meet you.” Geoffrey said, loading his rifle.
“Well, of course she is. I understand she’s quite lovely.”
“I imagine you’ll miss your nights of whoring, once you’re married.” Geoffrey said.
“Miss them?” Geoffrey laughed, “Why on earth would I give them up?”
“Because you will be married,” Geoffrey said, “Do you not think Josephina would object to your activities?”
“Not to my face, she won’t, unless she wants to taste the back of my hand.” Geoffrey said, “Can I have my rifle now?”
“No,” Geoffrey said, “But I will give you a bullet.”
Geoffrey fired a single shot. Clive fell to his knees.
Staring in disbelief at his ruined abdomen, he asked, “Have you gone mad? You’ll hang for this.”
“I don’t think I will,” Geoffrey said. “There’s a tiger in the area, and the breeze will carry the scent of your blood for miles. If the tiger doesn’t find you, wild dogs will. In this wilderness, I doubt that anyone will ever find your corpse.”
“But,” Clive asked, gasping for breath, “Why?”
“For Josephina, for Vinaya, for all the women you haven’t met yet, and as some small justice for the ones you have,” Geoffrey said, “And for you. Because you’re wrong. We are not gods. We cannot simply do as we please, with no fear of consequences. We all must answer for our deeds, if not in this world, then the next.”
Clive gurgled and fell backwards. “Please,” he said, “Finish me. The pain…”
“I can’t, Clive. Your wound is mortal. No force on earth will save you. But you have a chance at salvation. It might take you hours to die. I’m hoping you’ll spend that time reflecting on your deeds, and praying for forgiveness.”
“You have gone mad…” Clive gasped.
“Perhaps I have. But don’t worry about Josephina. I intend to meet her at the station and explain the situation as gently as I can. After a decent interval of mourning, I will ask her to marry me. Perhaps in time, she’ll grow to love me. Even if she never does, I swear to you I will treat her like princess. I suspect that even a loveless marriage to me would be a kinder fate than she would have had with you.”
“Geoffrey…” Clive gasped, “…so cold…” his eyes rolled back in his head.
Geoffrey regarded the thing that had once been his friend. He had seen death before, but it never seemed to lose its horror. He mounted his horse and rode back toward the compound. He had many reports to fill out.

#

End.

Blog KenGreen

Another beginningSICK DAY
By Ken Green
Somebody was pounding on my door. Not just knocking politely, but beating on it like it owed them money. It was really annoying. I was supposed to be resting. I had the flu, and couldn’t go to school. I had a fever, my head hurt, I felt like throwing up, and some idiot was pounding on my door. I got out of bed, put my puppy slippers on, and trudged to the door. I would have stomped or stormed, but I didn’t have the energy. So I trudged instead.
“Go away, you child molester!” I yelled at the door. There was a pause, and then the pounding resumed. Annoying.
I stood on tippy toes to peer through the peep hole. There was a kid out there, younger than me. I opened the door.
“What do you want?” I asked the child standing there. She was a toddler, maybe, I don’t know, three or four years old, wearing her garanimals, her jet black hair in braids.
“I need your help.” The kid said.
“I’m not detecting today.” I told her. “I have the flu.”
“But I need your help.” She said.
“Why me?” I asked.
She produced a business card. “Because you’re Kathy Keen, Mistress of Mysteries, Goddess of Gumshoeing, Dominatrix of Detection.”
“Let me see that card.” I said.
She turned the card so I could read it. Sure enough, that’s what it said. When did I get business cards printed? I didn’t remember doing that.
“Fine,” I said, “That’s who I am, and what I do. But I can’t help you. I’m sick. I’m supposed to be resting.”
“Crime never takes a sick day.” The toddler intoned, “Your services are needed, and the need is dire.”
I felt a little dizzy. She seemed surprisingly eloquent for a toddler. But I couldn’t argue with logic like that. “Fine. What’s the problem?” I asked her.
“Admiral Mittens is missing.” She told me.
“An admiral. Shouldn’t you be talking to NCIS? Or the FBI?”
“Admiral Mittens is my cat.” She said, “Follow me.” She turned and walked away, not looking back.
I followed. How could I not? I’m Kathy Keen, and a pet was in danger. She led me down my driveway, along the sidewalk, to a storm drain.
“He’s down there.” She pointed.

KenGreen Blog Blogs Member Public

Today I'm giving you "Sick Day", a truly horrible story. I had thought about holding it back as a reserve story, a sort of back up if I found myself blocked and unable to write in some future week. But I'm not going to do that, because that would go against the purpose of the 52 challenge. I'm doing this challenge to learn how to write fast and dirty, to crank out words, scenes and stories, and get them out of my head. That's why the things I give you aren't finely crafted, polished gems of literary merit. I don't even know what literary merit is.

Who am I kidding? I don't even know where to put my commas.

No, really. In my writing group, every Monday night, I present current story, and Nancy takes her red pen out, and circles my commas. She really hates exclamation points, too.

But back to the story. Like I said, the story below is not a good one. But it's what oozed out the last time I squeezed my brain. I don't know why I write things like this. I don't know if it's a catharsis, or I'm writing it to feel something, or if there there's something broken in my brain. All I know is, I don't want to carry this story anymore, and this is how I get rid of it.

So here it is.

SICK DAY
By Ken Green
Somebody was pounding on my door. Not just knocking politely, but beating on it like it owed them money. It was really annoying. I was supposed to be resting. I had the flu, and couldn’t go to school. I had a fever, my head hurt, I felt like throwing up, and some idiot was pounding on my door. I got out of bed, put my puppy slippers on, and trudged to the door. I would have stomped or stormed, but I didn’t have the energy. So I trudged instead.
“Go away, you child molester!” I yelled at the door. There was a pause, and then the pounding resumed. Annoying.
I stood on tippy toes to peer through the peep hole. There was a kid out there, younger than me. I opened the door.
“What do you want?” I asked the child standing there. She was a toddler, maybe, I don’t know, three or four years old, wearing her garanimals, her jet black hair in braids.
“I need your help.” The kid said.
“I’m not detecting today.” I told her. “I have the flu.”
“But I need your help.” She said.
“Why me?” I asked.
She produced a business card. “Because you’re Kathy Keen, Mistress of Mysteries, Goddess of Gumshoeing, Dominatrix of Detection.”
“Let me see that card.” I said.
She turned the card so I could read it. Sure enough, that’s what it said. When did I get business cards printed? I didn’t remember doing that.
“Fine,” I said, “That’s who I am, and what I do. But I can’t help you. I’m sick. I’m supposed to be resting.”
“Crime never takes a sick day.” The toddler intoned, “Your services are needed, and the need is dire.”
I felt a little dizzy. She seemed surprisingly eloquent for a toddler. But I couldn’t argue with logic like that. “Fine. What’s the problem?” I asked her.
“Admiral Mittens is missing.” She told me.
“An admiral. Shouldn’t you be talking to NCIS? Or the FBI?”
“Admiral Mittens is my cat.” She said, “Follow me.” She turned and walked away, not looking back.
I followed. How could I not? I’m Kathy Keen, and a pet was in danger. She led me down my driveway, along the sidewalk, to a storm drain.
“He’s down there.” She pointed.
I peered through the narrow opening. Sure enough, there was a cat down there, crying. But how to get him out? There was a manhole cover, but it was far too heavy to lift. If I only had a lever…I turned back towards the house.
“Where are you going?” my client asked.
“I need a tool.” I told her, wondering what I could use. Of course! By the fireplace there was a fire poker thingie. I went and got it, and then returned. After a bit of struggle, I got the cover off.
Looking into the darkness, I saw wet leaves, broken bottles, and other junk. But no cat. Where had he buggered off to?
“I’m going in.” I informed my client.
“Find me.” She said.
I sat at the edge of the hole, my feet dangling. I didn’t want to do this. It looked squishy down there. But Admiral Mittens was down there, somewhere, alone and scared. I was needed. I lowered myself down.
I lost my grip. I fell, landed on my hands and knees. The tunnel floor was wet with dirty, gritty water. I stood, wiping my hands on my bathrobe. Looking up, the manhole seemed impossibly far away. How had I misjudged the distance so badly? The fire poker clattered to the ground next to me. I tucked it into my belt and peered into the darkness.
“Admiral Mittens?” I called out, “Where did you go?”
I heard a soft kitty cry in the darkness ahead. Arms outstretched to feel the walls, I followed the sound. The half-light gave way to quarter-light, which gave way to eighth-light. And still I walked. The tunnel descended, turned left and right. I heard a hiss, but not the hiss of a cat. Something far larger, more menacing, ancient. Something moving.
“Who’s there?” I asked the darkness. In the faintest glimmer of light, more felt than seen, I saw it. An enormous albino alligator.
“Stay back,” I warned it, drawing the poker from my belt, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then we are in agreement,” The alligator said, “For I have no wish to be hurt.” He extended a foot to me. It had a shard of glass sticking out of it. “You could help me instead.”
“You poor thing,” I said, taking a step toward him, “Wait. If I help you, how do I know you won’t bite me?”
“Is there no trust in this world? Every friendship begins with a leap of faith.”
“Okay,” I said, “But I’m watching you.” I grasped the shard and pulled it out. Surprisingly, there was no resistance. It just slid out.
“It must be awful,” I said, looking around, “Living down here all alone.”
“Yes, I am often lonely. But no anymore. For you will join me, and be my queen forever.”
“That’s a flattering offer,” I said, “But I must decline. I have a mission to complete.”
“If you will not live by my side, then you can die in my belly!” He shouted, and snapped at me.
I swung my poker, but it passed right through him. “You’re not even real!” I shouted.
“Maybe not, but at least I’m not a killer!”
“I didn’t kill it!”
“Maybe not, but did you stop him from killing her?”
“You have no right to accuse me.” I said, “I will not be judged by an imaginary reptile.”
He disappeared in a puff of logic. In his place stood my client.
“You’re not real, either, are you?” I asked her.
“I’m as real as the pain you’re working so hard to ignore.” She told me.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked her.
“Because you can’t hide forever, Christine.”
“You have the wrong girl. I’m not Christine. I’m Kathy Keen, mistress of mysteries…”
“Kathy Keen is somebody you made up. She’s a mask you wear when you want to play dress-up. But no more. You’ll die. He’ll kill you.”
“Maybe that’s for the best. At least that, way, the pain will stop.”
“That is no way to talk. Kathy Keen is no quitter.”
“But I’m so tired, and I hurt so bad…”
“It’s not much further. You have to do this.”
I walked.
There it was, wrapped up in a dish towel.
“Don’t make me look at it.” I begged.
“Pick me up.” She said, “Carry me to the light.”
I bent down to lift the dead wet thing. I cradled it in my arms.
“I sorry,” I said, “I’m so, so sorry.”
Ahead, there was a light. It was the culvert where the storm sewer dumped into Pebble Creek, in the park.
“Maybe I should here,” I said, “Maybe this is where I belong. Maybe I should die here.”
“If you die here, he’ll just go find another girl. Go. End this.”
“What will they do to me?” I asked.
“I don’t know. But it has to be better than what you’re used to.”
I emerged from the tunnel. With the last of my strength, I climbed out of the culvert. People found me. They gathered and stared like I was a monster or something. The police arrived and asked me questions. Then I was in an ambulance and I didn’t know where I was going, but I’m so, so tired.

Page 7 Blog KenGreen

Okay, I think I'm done writing horrible sad stories for at least a while. At least I hope so. Today's offering is a lot more cheery. And it makes this my first three-story week. Which tells me that either I'm turning into a story making machine, or my definition of 'story' is way too liberal. You decide. Here is my latest wretched scribble.

FLYTRAP
By Ken Green

“Look, ‘Joy,” Wavelet said, “A falling star!”
Waterjoy turned her eyes skyward, dropping the net they were mending. There was a light in the midday sky, but it was no meteor. It was falling too slowly. And it was coming their way.
“That’s no falling star.” She said, “That’s a skyship.”
Wavelet gasped “But skyships are just fairy stories, aren’t they?”
“Don’t blaspheme, kid. The temple stories are lessons. The teach us greater truths.”
“But, if the stories are true there might be men on thing!”
“Yes, we must warn them.”
The women ran.

#
First Mate Chuck Smith gripped the control stick his manly hand, guiding the ship on its final descent. Peering through the windshield, he said, “I can see why the star charts list this planet as “Paradise Island. These beaches are magnificent.”
“No,” Captain Jones said, stroking the manly stubble on his lantern jaw, “Those beaches are magnificent.” He pointed at two women, clad in primitive native tankinis, that had just crested the nearest dune.
#
“Go away! Go away! You’re in terrible danger!” Waterjoy and Wavelet jumped up and down, trying to wave the ship off. It landed anyway.
“They don’t understand us.” Wavelet despaired, “What can we do?”
“They’re not doomed yet.” Waterjoy said. “As long as they don’t leave their ship. The legends say that to breath our air is death to them. We have to make them understand.”
She ran to the ship. Wavelet followed.
#
“Look, they’re doing some kind of welcoming dance.” Smith said, “How charming!”
“Yeah, look at the charms on the tall one. If she jumps any harder, she’ll put an eye out. Let’s go make…first contact.”
They strode manly strides to the airlock.
#
“Stay in your ship! You cannot come out!” The women waved their hands, making go-away gestures. The outer door shifted, and air hissed out.
“What happens now?” Wavelet asked.
“The sacred songs tell us they will call us ‘sweetheart’, and stare at our boobs.” Waterjoy said.
The door slid open. The men stepped out into the bright sunshine.
“Greetings on behalf of the Star League.” Captain Jones said, “My name is…”
“You must go.” Waterjoy implored, “You are in terrible danger.”
“Listen, Sweetheart,” Jones said, to Waterjoy’s boobs, “We are in no danger. We ran a bioscan before we opened the door.”
“But your presence will anger the air spirits…”
Smith sneezed.
“Doll, whatever your cockamamie primitive screwball religion tells you, we know what we’re doing.” Jones said, “So how about you give that pretty little mouth of yours a rest, and listen to what I have to say?”
“As you wish, honored guest,” Water joy said, with little enthusiasm.
“That’s better,” Jones said, “Me and Smith, as far as we can tell, are the initial survey team for this planet. You two are clearly human, but from what we’ve seen, you’ve regressed to a stone age level of technology, possibly early iron age.”
“What do you mean, we ‘regressed’?” Wavelet asked.
“My best guess is, you are descendants of a lost colony, probably from the first empire. Our orbital scans showed no evidence of roads, cities, seaports…”
“We have villages, farms, and temples,” Wavelet pointed out.
“And you say that with pride, which just makes it even sadder. The good news is, with your perfect climate, this world is perfect for colonization.”
“But,” Waterjoy interjected, “This world has no need for colonists. It already has an indigenous population. Us. And we really like it here.”
“Well, you needn’t worry about being displaced, if that’s your concern.” Jones coughed. “No matter how advanced a society is, there will always be a need for servants. And, being women, you two will be fully entitled to seventy percent the salary a man would make.”
“Seventy percent.” Waterjoy nodded, “My, that is a generous offer.”
“Captain,” Smith said, “I don’t feel so good. I’m getting woozy.”
“Pull yourself together, man!” Jones turned and tried to give Smith a manly punch on the arm, but he lost his balance and fell down instead.
Waterjoy turned to Wavelet. “It’s time. Run to the temple. Tell them we have special guests.”
Wavelet ran.
“What’s happening to us?” Jones asked.
Waterjoy bent down to say, “Oh, you’re dying. We tried to warn you, but our cockamamie primitive screwball religion was no match for your advanced scientific knowledge. But you were right about one thing. We are descendants of a first empire colony. But our culture didn’t regress. We just adapted.”
“Adapted?” Jones asked, “To what?”
“The air spirits. I imagine you would call them something else, but they’re invisible things that live in the air, and they kill men. Oddly, they don’t affect women.”
“So your whole planet is populated only by women?”
“Yes. That’s why we’ve kept it so pretty. We live in harmony with nature.”
“But…how do you… make new people?”
“That is a simple matter. When a woman feels she is ready, she goes to the temple and petitions for maternity. If the priestess finds her worthy, the rite is performed, and nine months later, a baby happens.”
“But…how… does that work?”
“I know not the mysteries. But you can ask the priestess when she arrives. She’ll be here soon. She’ll harvest your swimmers, whatever that means.”
“But…I don’t understand…”
“Rest now,” Waterjoy said, “Your journey has ended. I’m sorry that you have to die, but know that your daughters will be loved and will have a place in this world.”
Jones died, as did Smith. Waterjoy sat with them, heart heavy. She heard footsteps approaching and stood to greet the priestess.
“Mother Priestess,” she said, bowing, “I fear I waited too long before sending for you. They have ceased.”
Mother Priestess knelt and touched the still-warm corpses. “No, child, you did fine. They are still viable.” She turned to Wavelet. “Assist me, girl.”
The three women performed the rite of extraction. The Sacred Chalice was filled the Holy Seed, sealed with the Foil of Purity, and returned to the Briefcase of Carrying Stuff.
“What do we do with the bodies?” Wavelet asked.
“These vessels are of no consequence now.” Mother Priestess said, “Wait until low tide, and drag them to the water’s edge. They will feed the fishes which so generously nourish us. It is the order of things.”
She stood and turned to the ship. “As for this relic, we shall build a new temple upon it. Its medical equipment will be of great use.”
She turned to Waterjoy. “Tell me, child, how many summers have you seen?”
“Three and twenty, Mother Priestess.” Waterjoy said.
“You appear to be in excellent health. Do you think you are ready to join the circle of mothers?”
“Motherhood?” Waterjoy considered, “I fear I lack the wisdom. I pray the Goddess would guide me…”
The priestess nodded. “You answer shows both humility and piety. Come to the temple tomorrow. You will be assessed. Who knows? Perhaps your daughter is waiting in this case.”
“Oh, Mother Priestess!” Waterjoy exclaimed, “Nothing would make me happier. But I am fearful.”
“As was I, when my journey began. But know that the others will guide you. There is a great store of knowledge in the village.”
“I’m going to be an aunt!” Wavelet said.

Blog KenGreen

Well, this one went south very, very quickly. If you have any self-respect at all, you probably won't want to read what's below. Or you'll read it and regret having done so. It's that bad. But the sun is rising, an eventually my wife is going to drag her fat ass out of bed and want to go shopping or something, so I'm running out of time. So Here is today's offering. It's really bad. Don't read it. And after you've read it, don't say I didn't warn you.

SPACE TEENS ARE GO!
By Ken Green
“We have a sensor contact.” Science Officer Sophia said, staring into her lookatron screen, “Bearing sixty degrees.”
Captain Jake gripped the arms of his command chair, frantically scanned the view screen. “Sixty degrees? Where’s that?” he asked, a manly panic in his voice.
Sophia rolled her eyes. “It’s on our two o’clock.”
“Two o’clock?”
Sophia stood, tugged the hem of her Star Force uniform mini dress, walked to the command chair, and pointed. “It’s ahead of us, and to the right, you dumbass.”
“You shouldn’t talk to the captain like that.” Communications officer Tiffany said, filing her nails, “It’s insub…insub…”
“Insubordinate.” Sophia said, “For God’s sake, how can you be a communications officer if you can’t even speak properly? How did you even get that job?”
“I’m a pretty blond with big tits,” Tiffany answered, “You’re only here because you’re ethnic.”
“I still don’t see the contact.” Captain Jake said.
“It’s the lens flare next to all the other lens flares,” Sophia said, “Oh look, it’s a Jerkonian battle cruiser.”
“Jerkonians? Oh, no!” Tiffany swooned.
“Red alert!” Captain Jake shouted, “Shields up! What’s the other thing?”
“Prepare to fire.” Sophia prompted.
“Yeah, do that!” Captain Jake shouted.
“The Jerkonian ship is hailing us.” Tiffany said. “I’ll put it on speakerphone.”
The viewscreen was filled with the image of a pudgy middle-aged man wearing a jumpsuit.
“Doctor Ambiguous!” Captain Jake gasped.
“Who is Doctor Ambiguous?” Helmsman Kip asked.
“Our archenemy,” Sophia told him. “The archest of our archenemies.”
“What should I do, Captain?” Kip asked.
“Evasive maneuvers!” Captain Jake ordered, “Fire the hadron torpedoes! Full spread!”
“Did you hear that, Tiffany?” Sophia asked, “Full spread. I bet that’s how you got your job.”
“The journey of the faithful begins on one’s knees.” Tiffany said, “I’m not ashamed of what I’ve done.”
Kip pushed buttons, flopped switches, and solved Sudoku puzzles, but the ship did not move.
“It’s no good, Captain!” Kip wailed. “We’re caught in some kind of tractor beam!”
“Oh my gosh,” Tiffany moaned, “We are at his mercy! What will he do to us?”
“I think he’ll split us up,” Sophia theorized, “To torture us one by one. He’ll start with you, Tiffany. He’s always show a…special interest in you. He’ll have his infernal servants strip you, their sharp claws tearing the garments from your tender flesh. Then they will bind your arms and legs to some kind of horrible art deco torture frame.”
“Oh, that sounds horrible.” Tiffany said, her voice low and throaty, “What will he do next?”.

KenGreen Blog

Okay, this story came about because I saw a Facebook post asking for UFO stories. As usual, I was despairing because I had no idea what to write for this weeks story. So I saw the post, and thought, "Why not? I've never written a UFO story. Of course, that's probably because I have no interest in UFO stories, and I think they are mostly stupid. The again, 'mostly stupid' is pretty much the literary niche I seem to be carving out for myself, so I might as well get started. So I took both hands, and squeezed my brain, and this is what leaked out.
LIGHTS IN THE SKY
By Ken Green
Kathy put the blinker on and turned the steering wheel, guiding her car off the road and onto the shoulder.
“Is this a good spot?” she asked.
Owen consulted his notes. “These reports are sketchy, but, as far as I can tell, we’re very close to the sites of the most recent sightings.”
“That’s great,” Kathy said, smiling to herself, “Maybe we’ll get lucky tonight.” Because I’m ready, Owen, and if you would stop looking at your stupid notes and notice me, maybe we could give up this Mulder and Scully nonsense, and act like a couple of normal teenagers.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Owen scolded, “This is science.”
“Of course,” Kathy agreed, “Yay, science.”
“Did you pack the video camera?” Owen asked.
“Yes. And the tripod, and the tape recorder, and everything else on the list. I even packed us some snacks. And some breakfast.”
“It looks like you brought your whole house with you,” he said, glancing at the backseat, “What is all that junk?”
“I brought some blankets and pillows. We’re in the mountains, and sky is clear. It’s going to be a cold night. We might want to…cuddle or something.”
“Kathy, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. This is a scientific expedition, not some kind of slumber party.”
I’m going to die a virgin.
“I’m sorry, Owen, I just thought, maybe, if the aliens don’t show up, we could…”
“The aliens are going to show up.” Owen insisted.
“Of course they are.” Kathy undid her seatbelt and stepped out of the car, “I’ll go set up the tripod.”
She walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk. If I was a cheerleader, and he was a quarterback, he’d have me bent over the fender and halfway to happytown by now. But no, he’s reviewing his notes, and I’m setting up his equipment for him. Dear God, why was I born a nerd? I’d better hope the aliens do show up. At least they’ll want to probe me.
She shook her head at the thought, and gazed at the sunset. “It’s so beautiful here,” she whispered.
“Huh?” Owen asked. He had gotten out of the car and was watching Kathy work.
“The sunset. Look at it.”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen sunsets. They happen every day.”
“Yeah, but…look at it. The sunset, the light on the valley, there’s so much beauty here. Why aren’t you willing to see it?”
“Those are natural phenomena, easily explained. There’s no mystery here. We’re here to see aliens.”
That’s funny, I’m starting to suspect that I’ve already met one.
“You’re right,” Kathy conceded, “Well, the camera is set up. Nothing is going to happen until nightfall. We might as well eat dinner.”
#
“These sandwiches were a good idea.” Owen said, while eating one.
Wow. I can do something right. Who would have guessed?
“Thank you,” Kathy said, “Have some coffee.” She passed him the thermos.
“I don’t like coffee.” Owen said.
“It’ll help us stay awake. You wouldn’t want to miss your alien encounter because you fell asleep would you?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Of course not. So drink some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”
He took a sip. “Yuck. It’s bitter.”
That’s because I made it with my tears of frustration, you sexless robot. Of course it’s bitter. It’s coffee. I think I’m starting to hate you.
#
“Owen, wake up.” Kathy whispered, “I think I see something.”
“Huh? What? Where?”
She pointed.
“That’s not a UFO, that’s the International Space Station,” Owen said.
“No,” Kathy said patiently, “The ISS is on a ninety-two-minute orbit, and it slipped over the horizon ten minutes ago.”
Owen stared at Kathy, his face a portrait of surprise.
“That’s right, Owen. I can look things up on Wikipedia too, despite having a uterus.”
“Then,” Owen said, “It’s probably just a commercial airliner…”
“I don’t think it is, because it’s moving in an expanding spiral search pattern. And it will pass directly over us on the next arc. So stop looking at me like I’m your goddamned trained monkey that just learned how to talk, and go turn your stupid video camera on. The show is about to start.”
She turned from him to the open car trunk. Reaching in, she withdrew a gun.
“What’s that?” he asked, panic in his voice.
“It’s a flare gun, you idiot,” she held it up for him to see, “I bought it at Walmart. I also picked up a cute nightie, and shoplifted a box of condoms, in case you developed an interest in biology. But I see now that was just wishful thinking.”
“What has gotten into you?” He asked.
“Nothing!” she yelled, “Nothing has gotten into me, and it’s really starting to be a problem.”
The blinking, glowing light passed overhead.
She raised the gun.
“No!” Owen cried, “Wait!”
“I’m done waiting. I would have let you take third base. Hell, you could have had home plate. I would have given you everything I had, everything I am, if you would have just shown a little interest. But now, I don’t care what happens anymore.”
She pointed the gun at the heavens, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud boom. The unseen projectile arced skyward, and exploded. The pulsing light in the sky altered course. It began its descent.
Kathy, Owen, and the entire clearing were bathed in an unearthly light. As more lights switched on, the object above them revealed itself in all its enormity. It looked as if Liberace and Elton John had had sex and gave birth to a chandelier designed by M. C. Escher in an angry collaboration with Lady Gaga.
“What have you done?” Owen wailed.
“All I know is, I hope they probe you. I’m going to beg them to let me watch.”
A blinding beam of light engulfed them, and they were drawn into the ship. They were deposited into a dark chamber of unknowable dimensions.
A shadowy figure stood in the shadows, regarding them with pitiless unblinking eyes.
“Greetings,” Owen said, a tremor in his voice, “On behalf of the population of Earth, I…”
As Owen spoke, the alien hovered to him. It gestured with its grey, six-fingered hand, and Owen fell silent, his head lolling to the side.
“Please,” Kathy gasped, “Don’t hurt him.”
“He is not harmed. He is an asshat, and is irrelevant. It is only you that matters.”
“Me?” Kathy asked, stunned, “Why do I matter?”
“Because, Kathy Keen, of all the people we have contacted, you alone understand what I am saying.”
“Why wouldn’t I understand you?” Kathy asked, “You’re speaking perfect English.”
“No, Kathy Keen of Earth. I am not speaking at all.”
Kathy’s eyes widened as she digested the thought. It was true. The space creature had not uttered a sound, and yet she could hear its thoughts. But it was more than hearing…
“Permit me to show you my world.” It said.
Her mind was filled with crystalline visions of unimaginable beauty. Living cities of light, shifting prismatic planes of unnamable colors, infinite choruses of souls singing in perfect celestial harmonies. Tears streamed down her face.
“It’s so… beautiful.” She gasped and sobbed, “So…perfect. How can you even stand to look at us? We are so small, so petty. Everything I’ve known, everything I’ve ever thought, or felt, it all pales to nothing, I am nothing…”
“You are wrong, Kathy Keen. You are so much more than you can imagine. Within you dwells potential that will one day dwarf the universe.”
The chorus changed its tune. Note after note, wave after wave of pure love washed over and through her, dissolving her and re-forming her over and over again in its golden, forgiving light. Infinite emotion swept her along eternal galleries, rising, ever rising…
“There’s so much,” she gasped. “So much you have shown me. I don’t know how much more I can see.”
The visions relented. Exhausted, in body, mind and soul, Kathy fell. The alien caught her, gently lowered her to the ground in the leafy clearing beside the car.
She gazed deeply into the eyes of the creature holding her.
“Will I ever see you again?” she whispered.
“Yes, Kathy Keen, although I cannot say when, or in what form I will appear. But know this: you are loved by billions.”
“I’m not getting laid today, am I?” she asked.
“No, Kathy Keen, that would be creepy and weird. I must leave you now. This is but the first of many contacts we will have.”
And it was gone.
Kathy rolled to her side. In the pale dawn light, she saw Owen, lying in a heap, snoring. She smiled. You’ll never know what you missed. She turned off the video camera and placed it in the back seat of the car. She folded the tripod and tidied up the camp in preparation for the drive home.
She lifted the thermos to her lips and gazed at the sunrise. So much beauty. So much beauty in every moment, how rarely do we bother to see it.
Owen stirred. “What happened?” he asked.
“You fell asleep, you silly thing.” She bent down to tousle his hair.
“I remember seeing lights.” He said.
“Yes, there were many lights, it was amazing. Come on, we need to get moving. My dad will kill me if I don’t get home before he wakes up.”
#
As she drove the car, Owen reviewed the video footage.
“Nothing,” he said, peering at the small screen, “Nothing but static.”
“Are you really surprised?” Kathy asked, “I mean, that’s the sort of thing they do, isn’t it?”
“I guess you’re right,” he conceded. “Damn. We’ll probably never get another chance to observe them again, either.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, looking away and smiling, “There’s a whole universe of possibilities out there. You shouldn’t give up hope so easily.”

End.

KenGreen Blog - Page 7

While I was surfing Facebook, I saw a post from about some webzine called 'Jouth' that publishes Science Fiction or something.
Anyway, the post was a request for story submissions. So I figured, 'Why not?'. If I'm going to call myself a writer, I might as well start collecting rejection letters. So I sent a re-edited version of my "Lights in the Sky" story, in which I took out most of the sexual references. Will they publish it? Who knows? I guess we'll find out together

LIGHTS IN THE SKY
By Ken Green
Kathy put the blinker on and turned the steering wheel, guiding her car off the road and onto the shoulder.
“Is this a good spot?” she asked.
Owen consulted his notes. “These reports are sketchy, but, as far as I can tell, we’re very close to the sites of the most recent sightings.”
“That’s great,” Kathy said, smiling to herself, “Maybe we’ll get lucky tonight.” Because I’m ready, Owen, and if you would stop looking at your stupid notes and notice me, maybe we could give up this Mulder and Scully nonsense, and act like a couple of normal teenagers.
“Luck has nothing to do with it.” Owen scolded, “This is science.”
“Of course,” Kathy agreed, “Yay, science.”
“Did you pack the video camera?” Owen asked.
“Yes. And the tripod, and the tape recorder, and everything else on the list. I even packed us some snacks. And some breakfast.”
“It looks like you brought your whole house with you,” he said, glancing at the backseat, “What is all that junk?”
“I brought some blankets and pillows. We’re in the mountains, and sky is clear. It’s going to be a cold night. We might want to…cuddle or something.”
“Kathy, I don’t think you’re taking this seriously. This is a scientific expedition, not some kind of slumber party.”
“I’m sorry, Owen, I just thought, maybe, if the aliens don’t show up, we could…”
“The aliens are going to show up.” Owen insisted.
“Of course they are.” Kathy undid her seatbelt and stepped out of the car, “I’ll go set up the tripod.”
She walked to the back of the car and opened the trunk, and gazed at the sunset. “It’s so beautiful here,” she whispered.
“Huh?” Owen asked. He had gotten out of the car and was watching Kathy work.
“The sunset. Look at it.”
He shrugged. “I’ve seen sunsets. They happen every day.”
“Yeah, but…look at it. The sunset, the light on the valley, there’s so much beauty here. Why aren’t you willing to see it?”
“Those are natural phenomena, easily explained. There’s no mystery here. We’re here to see aliens.”
That’s funny, I’m starting to suspect that I’ve already met one.
“You’re right,” Kathy conceded, “Well, the camera is set up. Nothing is going to happen until nightfall. We might as well eat dinner.”
#
“These sandwiches were a good idea.” Owen said, while eating one.
Wow. I can do something right. Who would have guessed?
“Thank you,” Kathy said, “Have some coffee.” She passed him the thermos.
“I don’t like coffee.” Owen said.
“It’ll help us stay awake. You wouldn’t want to miss your alien encounter because you fell asleep would you?”
“No, I guess not.”
“Of course not. So drink some coffee. It’s going to be a long night.”
He took a sip. “Yuck. It’s bitter.”
#
“Owen, wake up.” Kathy whispered, “I think I see something.”
“Huh? What? Where?”
She pointed.
“That’s not a UFO, that’s the International Space Station,” Owen said.
“No,” Kathy said patiently, “The ISS is on a ninety-two-minute orbit, and it slipped over the horizon ten minutes ago.”
Owen stared at Kathy, his face a portrait of surprise.
“That’s right, Owen. I can look things up on Wikipedia too, despite having a two X chromosomes.”
“Then,” Owen said, “It’s probably just a commercial airliner…”
“I don’t think it is, because it’s moving in an expanding spiral search pattern. And it will pass directly over us on the next arc. So go turn your stupid video camera on. The show is about to start.”
She turned from him to the open car trunk. Reaching in, she withdrew a gun.
“What’s that?” he asked, panic in his voice.
“It’s a flare gun, you idiot,” she held it up for him to see, “I bought it at Walmart.
The blinking, glowing light passed overhead.
She raised the gun.
“No!” Owen cried, “Wait!”
“I’m done waiting.”
She pointed the gun at the heavens, and pulled the trigger. There was a loud boom. The unseen projectile arced skyward, and exploded. The pulsing light in the sky altered course. It began its descent.
Kathy, Owen, and the entire clearing were bathed in an unearthly light. As more lights switched on, the object above them revealed itself in all its enormity. It looked as if Liberace and Elton John gave birth to a chandelier designed by M. C. Escher in an angry collaboration with Lady Gaga.
“What have you done?” Owen wailed.
“You wanted aliens, didn’t you? I think I found some.”
A blinding beam of light engulfed them, and they were drawn into the ship, and deposited into a dark chamber of unknowable dimensions.
A shadowy figure stood in the shadows, regarding them with pitiless unblinking eyes.
“Greetings,” Owen said, a tremor in his voice, “On behalf of the population of Earth, I…”
As Owen spoke, the alien hovered to him. It gestured with its grey, six-fingered hand, and Owen fell silent, his head lolling to the side.
“Please,” Kathy gasped, “Don’t hurt him.”
“He is not harmed. He is an asshat, and is irrelevant. It is only you that matters.”
“Me?” Kathy asked, stunned, “Why do I matter?”
“Because, Kathy Keen, of all the people we have contacted, you alone understand what I am saying.”
“Why wouldn’t I understand you?” Kathy asked, “You’re speaking perfect English.”
“No, Kathy Keen of Earth. I am not speaking at all.”
Kathy’s eyes widened as she processed the thought. It was true. The space creature had not uttered a sound, and yet she could hear its thoughts. But it was more than hearing…
“Permit me to show you my world.” It said.
Her mind was filled with crystalline visions of unimaginable beauty. Living cities of light, shifting prismatic planes of unnamable colors, infinite choruses of souls singing in perfect celestial harmonies. Tears streamed down her face.
“It’s so… beautiful.” She sobbed, “So…perfect. How can you even stand to look at us? We are so small, so petty. Everything I’ve known, everything I’ve ever thought, or felt, it all pales to nothing, I am nothing…”
“You are wrong, Kathy Keen. You are so much more than you can imagine. Within you dwells potential that will one day dwarf the universe.”
The chorus changed its tune. Note after note, wave after wave of pure love washed over and through her, dissolving her and re-forming her over and over again in its golden, forgiving light. Infinite emotion swept her along eternal galleries, rising, ever rising…
“There’s so much,” she gasped. “So much you have shown me. I don’t know how much more I can see.”
The visions relented. Exhausted, in body, mind and soul, Kathy fell. The alien caught her, gently lowered her to the ground in the leafy clearing beside the car.
She gazed deeply into the eyes of the creature holding her.
“Will I ever see you again?” she whispered.
“Yes, Kathy Keen, although I cannot say when, or in what form I will appear. But know this: you are loved by billions. I must leave you now. This is but the first of many contacts we will have.”
And it was gone.
Kathy rolled to her side. In the pale dawn light, she saw Owen, lying in a heap, snoring. She smiled. You’ll never know what you missed. She turned off the video camera and placed it in the back seat of the car. She folded the tripod and tidied up the camp in preparation for the drive home.
She lifted the thermos to her lips and gazed at the sunrise. So much beauty. So much beauty in every moment, how rarely do we bother to see it. Why?
Owen stirred. “What happened?” he asked.
“You fell asleep, you silly thing.” She bent down to tousle his hair.
“I remember seeing lights.” He said.
“Yes, there were many lights, it was amazing. Come on, we need to get moving. My dad will kill me if I don’t get home before he wakes up.”
#
As she drove the car, Owen reviewed the video footage.
“Nothing,” he said, peering at the small screen, “Nothing but static.”
“Are you really surprised?” Kathy asked, “I mean, that’s the sort of thing they do, isn’t it?”
“I guess you’re right,” he conceded. “Damn. We’ll probably never get another chance to observe them again, either.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” she said, looking away and smiling, “There’s a whole universe of possibilities out there. You shouldn’t give up hope so easily.”
I didn't submit this story out of any illusion that it's some kind of literary masterpiece. I sent it as an experiment, to see what would happen. I really don't think it's a very good story, but I have no reason to think that 'Jouth' is a very good webzine. So maybe the stupid thing will get published. Jouth pays a penny a word, so it might be worth $14.00. I may be losing my amateur status soon.

KenGreen Blog Public Member Blogs - Page 7

I'm starting to suspect that I'm way too in love with 1960's SciFi cliches. Here, I'm ripping off "Forbidden Planet", because I don't have a better idea.

Altair IV was a sullen looking planet, and it filled the viewscreen. From the bridge of the Vespucci, Captain Cabot studied its cratered surface. What secrets did it hide?
Science Officer Mikelo Antono peered deeply into his sciencescope. “Captain,” he said, his voice deep and sure, “I’m detecting energy emissions in the northwest quadrant.”
Cabot’s heavy brow furrowed. His full, sensuous lips formed the question, “What kind of energy emissions?”
Antono stood fully erect and pointed at the viewscreen for no obvious reason. “They are electrical in nature, cycling at sixty hertz, and they seem to be coming from that structure!”
Cabot’s manly chest swelled. He turned to Lieutenant Calliope Bravo, his communications officer.
“Open a channel, Lieutenant,” he ordered, “Hail them.”
“Yes, Captain,” she said, breathlessly, her delicate hands pushing buttons and flipping switches, the synthvelour of her Star League uniform minidress straining against the heavy breasts that rose and fell with every breath she took.
“This is the scout ship Vespucci, hailing anyone listening,” she purred into the long cylindrical microphone perched inches from her glossy, full lips, “Please respond.”
The response was immediate. On the viewscreen, the planetscape was replaced by the image of a distinguished-looking gentleman. His greying hair had shocks of white at his temples. He wore stately robes of silk, and an angry expression.
“Vespucci, your presence is neither needed nor desired. Leave orbit and this system immediately!” he said.
Cabot gripped the arms of his command chair. “Sir, I am Captain Cabot. We are here on the authority of the star league…”
“I care nothing of you, your ship, or your wretched Star League. My experiments have reached a critical juncture, and I have no time for such trivial concerns!”
Cabot clenched his manly lantern jaw. Rage stormed across his face like a stormy storm of rage.
“Sir,” Antolo interrupted, “If I could direct your attention,” he pointed at the viewscreen. Among the many craters lie ruins of a settlement, and the carcass of a destroyed spaceship.
“Magnify!” Cabot ordered, “Center the image on that point, and magnify twenty times!”
The image shifted. The destroyed ship’s name was clearly visible.
“The Zuntar,” Cabot gasped, “So this is where she wound up. After all these years, the mystery will be solved. Prepare to land.”
“You cannot!” The man on the viewscreen shouted, “I forbid it!”
“You sound like a man with something to hide,” Cabot said, sneering, “Take us down, helmsman.”
“This is your last warning,” the man said, “Do not come down here if you value your lives! You will find nothing but death.” The image was replaced by static as the transmission ended.
Cabot turned from the viewscreen. “Arrogant fool thinks he can threaten Star Force officers? Antolo, find out who that clown is. I’ll assemble a security team. We’re going to pay him a visit whether he likes it or not.”

#
As the airlock cycled, Antolo said, “Captain, I have assembled all the pertinent data regarding the Zuntar”
“Good, work, man!” Cabot clapped him on the shoulder, “What does Wikipedia have to say?”
“The Zuntar was a colony ship, with a crew of two hundred, and a cargo of one thousand colonists. It was lost and presumed destroyed twelve years ago.”
“Yes, yes,” Cabot said, “Everybody knows that. What else is there?”
“Our mystery man is Doctor Mordant. He’s a cultural anthropologist?”
Cabot frowned. “Why would an anthropologist join a colony ship? Why would they take him? A colony needs farmers, machinists, people with useful skills, not scholars.”
“I don’t know yet, Captain,” Antolo said, “All I know is, he didn’t board alone. He has, or had, a wife and a daughter.”
“We’ll find out soon enough,” Cabot said, turning to his security team, “Evans, Carlson, stay sharp. For all we know, this guy could be a psycho.”
“Don’t worry, Cap,” Evans said, “We can handle some pencil-necked academic. All we need to do is find him, and lean on him a bit. We’ll have him singing like a canary.”
The airlock door opened to a desolate gray landscape. Wind howled through ruins of hastily built and even more hastily destroyed buildings. The crew grew somber as they regarded the wreckage of the Zuntar.
“My God,” Calliope gasped, “What could have done that?”
“It wasn’t a core explosion,” Cabot said, “The damage is nowhere near the engine room.”
“I’m not sure it was an explosion at all.” Antolo said.
“Of course it was,” Cabot said, “What else could tear a ship in half?”
“I don’t know, but it just doesn’t look right. An explosion would have shredded this ship. But it looks like it was pulled apart.”
“Captain!” Carlson interrupted them, “We think we found something. There’s one structure that isn’t destroyed.”
Carlson led them to an unimpressive cubical structure, featureless except for a blank steel door. Beside it was a panel with a single button.
“Huh.” Cabot mused, “It doesn’t even have a lock.”
“Why would it?” Antolo asked, “For all we know, Mordant is the only resident on this God-forsaken planet.”
Cabot pushed the button. The door opened, to reveal an elevator. They all piled in.
“Going down, I guess.” Cabot said, and pushed the ‘down’ button. They descended. Banal music played from hidden speakers.

I'm having doubts again. I'm wondering if this whole fast and dirty approach to writing is the best way to go. This is going to a difficult week, because I'm in overtime again, which means I have fewer hours available to devote to writing. It may be rough going for a while.