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Well, I had figured this was going to be a rough week, and it's turning out to be one. I actually made it all the way to work before I realized I had forgotten to pack my laptop. So no story time today. But while I was driving, I roughed out a really juicy scene in my head. Because that's what I do. When I don't have a whole story, I just write scenes. Put two or more people together, and give them a problem. Because stories are about problems. Your first paragraph states the problem, and the rest of the story solves it. That's the theory, anyway. I'll have something for you tomorrow.

Blog KenGreen

Here's another weird story about love. When I started this challenge,thought I'd be writing military science fiction. Instead, I keep cranking out interspecies romance. So here's today's dose. I have no idea what tomorrow will bring.

BLOOD ON THE FLOOR
By Ken Green
I walked into my apartment, and saw blood.
“Welcome home, Colleen.” The foyer said. Management had upgraded the Jarvis system, and now it talks. So now, New Manhattan, the city that never sleeps, never shuts up, either.
“Jarvis, did Tabitha bring a date home?”
“Yes. Miss Tabitha has a houseguest.”
Great. When we moved in together, I had thought that having a feleen roommate would be fun. And it mostly is. Tabs is my best friend. We work together, go out for drinks, we’re always laughing, I love her.
But every seven months, she goes into heat, and spends a week being a horny sociopath. So, she takes a mandatory week off, and goes man hunting. So I followed the blood trail to my kitchen. That’s where I found her latest victim, sitting at my table, eating the leftovers I had saved for breakfast.
“You’re wearing my bathrobe.” I told him.
“Oh, hi,” he said, half standing and extending his hand as if I was going to shake it, “I’m Mike…”
“I don’t want to know your name,” I said. Normally, I’m a lot friendlier, but I had just worked a double shift. In heels. I was tired, my feet ached, and he was eating my chicken vindaloo. Besides, I was pretty sure I knew where that hand had been recently. I didn’t want to touch it. He sat back down.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “Your roommate…”
“Take it off.” I told him.
“But I’m not wearing anything under it.”
“I don’t care.” I said, “Trust me, you have absolutely nothing I’m interested in. Take the robe off. Now.”
He stood, faced me and obeyed. I could see why Tabs wanted him. He had a really nice body, if you like that sort of thing. I saw the navy tattoo on his bicep, which explained why he was in such good shape. No surprise there. Tabs has a thing for sailors.
I turned the chair around.
“Sit down.” I told him. “No, the other way. I need to see your back” I surveyed the damage. Tabs had outdone herself. His back looked like a plowed field.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
“Well, she didn’t go deep, but you’re going to have some impressive scars.”
“Cool,” he said. What an idiot.
“How old are you, kid?’ I had to ask.
“Nineteen, Mam.”
Mam. That’s so adorable. I really wanted to slap him. “Did Tabitha have you sign a waiver?”
“Yeah, I thought it was a joke, but…”
“But now you know better.” After the first incident, I had dragged Tabitha to a lawyer and had him draw one up. I make her keep some in her purse. Yes, I’m paranoid.
I got to work cleaning his wounds. He winced when I sprayed him with disinfectant. “And I thought navy boys were tough.” I kidded him. I gave his back a coat of dermaspray, then moved on to his shoulder. Tabs is a biter, especially when you find her happy spot.
“Okay,” I told him, “The bleeding is stopped, and the damage to your back is superficial.” I hoped. “But you have four deep puncture wounds on your shoulder. I can put a synthskin patch on them, but you need to see a real doctor as soon as you get back to your ship. You need antibiotics. I have no idea what you two had for dinner, but I know she doesn’t floss.”
“You keep a lot of medical supplies in your kitchen,” he observed.
“Yeah. And now you know why. How are you feeling, Mike? Are you dizzy, a little weak, maybe?”
“I feel fine, Mam.”
Yeah. I bet you do. I went to the fridge. “Tell me the truth, Mike. Don’t try to impress me. You’ve lost a lot of blood. Are you dizzy? I don’t want you passing out in the corridor.” I looked in the fridge, found the bottle of orange juice I was saving for Sunday. I really didn’t want to give it to him, but everything else I had was diet.
“Here,” I said, “Drink this. You need the sugar.” It broke my heart to hand him that bottle. It was real orange juice. But he needed it more than I did.
“I feel fine, really,” he told me.
“Drink it anyway. I need to sleep soon, and I won’t be able to if I’m worrying about you.”
From behind, I heard a long, luxurious yawn. Tabitha walked into the kitchen, naked as the day she was born. Of course, she’s covered in fur, so ‘naked’ is a relative term in her case. She opened the fridge, pulled out a herring, and ate it. She turned, noticed Mike, and frowned.
“You’re still here, Steve.”
“Mike,” we both corrected her.
“Whatever. I’ve already had my orgasms. I’m done with you. Go away. And take your crap with you. Anything you leave will be thrown out.” She stood, waiting.
Mike was speechless.
I was not. “Tabitha, you’re being very cruel.”
Her brow furrowed. “Oh. Is this the part where I say nice words, and sound like I care about his feelings?”
“Yes, just like we’ve practiced. Please.”
She leaned forward, looked Mike in the eyes and said, “Philip, it was really nice meeting you. I had a lovely time, and really enjoyed the expensive drinks and food you bought me. You were a surprisingly adequate sexual partner, given the fact that you are human. Please go away now, as I have grown tired of your presence.”
“Tabitha…” I started.
“Never mind,” Mike said, “I get the message.” He stood. “I’ll just collect my clothes and let you two get on with…whatever you do.”
Tabitha had already returned to the fridge, and was eating pretty much everything in it. I watched Mike get dressed, then walked him to the door.
“Thanks for the first aid,” he said.
“Listen. I was serious about the antibiotics. Go see a doctor. You could get a really bad infection if you don’t.”
“Will I get in trouble?” he asked.
“Well, last I heard, the navy doesn’t give out medals for sex-related injuries. But getting yelled at or pulling extra duty, is better than losing an arm. So promise me you’ll see a doctor.”
Okay, I’ll see a doctor.”
“Is he gone yet?” Tabs yelled from the kitchen, “I want to make fun of him, but I don’t want to seem insensitive!”
“Wow,” Mike said, “She really is a…”
“Please forgive her,” I pleaded, “She’s a very sweet girl, most of the time. It’s just her biology. It makes her crazy.”
“You’re a lot nicer than I thought you were at first. Maybe we could…”
“Good night, Mike,” I smiled and put my hand on his undamaged shoulder. I watched him walk away, then locked the door.
“You owe me a bathrobe,” I told her, returning to the kitchen.
“I thought you Buddhists didn’t care about possessions,” she told me. It’s true, as a Reformed New Buddhist, I should be free of such attachments. But dammit, it’s nice to have nice things. Nothing I own stays nice for long, because I live with, essentially, a bipedal cat with opposable thumbs, and the ethics of a drunk frat girl.
I prayed for serenity and compassion, which made me feel more virtuous about being pissed off. Religion is complicated, and I’m probably doing it wrong.
“Thank you for showing me the transient nature of material things.” I hissed at her.
“Well, you’re welcome, Little Miss Cranky Pants. Get over here. Somebody needs a hug.”
“No,” I said, “We are not hugging. I’m still angry with you.”
“No, you aren’t.” She wrapped her arms around me. “Because you’re my funny little tree monkey, and you love me.” She nuzzled me, rubbing her scent glands on my hair, reminding me exactly who I belonged to.
I tried to resist, but soon surrendered to her hug. I buried my face in her soft furry chest, and breathed her in. Because she was right, I do love her. Against all laws of probability and logic, feleen pheromones work on humans, and for some reason I’ll never know, Tabitha’s work amazingly well on me. When I’m in the same room as her, I have no more free will than a salmon swimming home. We are both slaves to our biology.
“We can try doing that thing again,” she whispered.
“No, we can’t.” I whispered back, “You’ll hurt me.”
“But I miss my little cuddle monkey.”
“You’ll have her back next week, when you’re not crazy anymore. Besides, we’ll need to buy new sheets. I’m sure the bedroom looks like a crime scene.”
“I’m sorry I ruin all your things,” she said.
“They’re just things. They don’t matter.” I rubbed my face in her fur and basked in her warmth. She is where I find my serenity. I’ve never felt safer, or more loved, than I do when I’m in her arms.
“You should get some sleep.” She whispered, and let me go.
“Yeah.” I wandered to our bedroom, tried not to look at the carnage. I found a sleepshirt and headed for the shower. I got cleaned up and ready for bed, then went to the living room. Tabs had already unfolded the couch and was putting sheets and blankets and pillows on it. When I saw that, I almost cried. Showing that much consideration, in the middle of her heat, was a huge thing for her.
She tucked me in. “I love you, Colleen.”
I reached up to rub her soft, velvety ears. I pulled her closer, and kissed her. I admit it, I’m a xenophile. I know most people think what we do is weird, or strange, or even wrong. But for some reason I’ll never know, it makes perfect sense to me.
She turned the lights off and quietly padded away on her big kitty feet. In the darkness, I could hear her licking Mike’s blood off the floor. She can’t help herself, she’s a natural carnivore. Blood is like candy to her. That kind of thing used to make me gag, but I’ve learned to accept them. I lay bundled up, thinking about what we would do Sunday, my next day off. She’d be out of her heat by then, and I’d have my big, fun cuddle buddy back. Smiling, I drifted off to sleep.

KenGreen Blog Blogs Member Public

Today's offering is more exploratory text, trying to find the next story

HALF PAST LONELY
By Ken Green
“The meek shall inherit the earth. The rest of us are going to the stars.”
Cahaya saw those words every time she entered the cockpit, and they still made her smile. The ship’s previous owner has carved them into the bulkhead, probably with a jackknife. Cahaya had considered painting over them, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. It was her daily reminder to be optimistic, and, as the captain and sole crewmember of a gypsy space freighter, she needed all the optimism she could summon. The Starchaser was a sixty-year-old ore carrier, and had seen a lot of rough use. She was held together mostly by duct tape and good intentions.
Cahaya gave a kick to propel herself, did a spin, and pushed against the headliner to deposit herself in the command seat. Strapping in, she brought up the message display. Prices of commodities scrolled across the screen. She gazed at them with mild interest. She already knew where she was going. Behind her, in the cargo bay, she had ninety tons of mining equipment, and two tons of weed. The rockcrawlers on Ceres would pay plenty for both.
The screen flashed red. “Mayday, Mayday, Mayday,” the speakers spoke, “This is the navy cutter Victory, and we are in need of assistance.”

And now I'm almost out out of time. Time to shut this thing down and wish you a good day. I have no idea what next weeks story is going to be, but I'll try to make it a good one. Thank you for reading, and for putting up with my crap. Have a great weekend. You all deserve one.

Page 8 Blog KenGreen

I think I've finally hit the bottom, as far as ideas go. I actually started writing a story based on a song. But not just any song, but "All I want to do is make love to you," by Heart. If you're not familiar with it, the song is about a woman who goes out driving, picks up a hitch hiker, and takes him to a motel. There, they make magic sweet, sweet love, because he's really good at banging, I guess. So she leaves him, never to see him again.

Years later, she's running an errand or whatever with her young son, and they run into the guy. She tearfully confesses that the kid is the product of their magic night of melodic sweet lovemaking. And she's all "Boohoo, don't judge me, I love my husband, but he's sterile, and we wanted a baby, boohoo, boohoo."

(It's actually a very pretty song. Heart is awesome. Ann and Nancy Wilson could sing an arrest warrant, and make it sound beautiful. But I still think it's a stupid song. But I put it on my YouTube playlist anyway.)

The song was a hit, and it still gets airplay sometimes. So I've been hearing it for years. And every time I heard it, I think, "Somebody could make a story out of that song." Because I have a keen eye for the glaringly obvious.

So I've had that thought dormant floating in the back of the primordial swamp I'm using for a mind for years. Then, last Monday, I presented one of my stories at my writing group (I gave them 'Flytrap', a kind of cute Science Fiction story I wrote). When we got to the critique, one comment I got was "I liked the story, but I don't know much about science fiction." So I interpreted that as "I would have liked this story better if it wasn't science fiction."

So I thought, "Maybe I should try writing mainstream."

Yesterday morning, 4:00 am, I'm staring at a blank screen, and said, "Let's do this."

I started plotting the story out. I decided the woman was a waitress married to a disabled war veteran(Because the way America treats it's veterans is a scandal. We send poor men to fight and die to make rich men richer. Then we throw them away. One way, we will reap the whirlwind, whatever that means).

So she's driving her beat-up old car on a dark, rainy night, trying not to cry, because she's hating herself for what she's about to do. Because she loves her husband, and the thought of betraying him breaks her heart. But she really, really, really wants a baby. And they can't adopt one, because they're poor, because she has a crappy job, and Capitalism is a rigged game, so she can't get in vitro, because fertility clinics don't take food stamps.

So she picks this guy up. I decided he's a student, returning to M.I.T. After spring break. He was riding his motorcycle, it went off the road, and it's trashed, but he's unhurt. So they go to a motel, they make magical love all night long, in many interesting positions, and it's all sweet and romantic blah.

She leaves, and tries to forget him, but can't. She can't forgive herself. But she gets on with her life as best she can. Years pass. The guy finds her, sees the kid, knows it's his and decides to be a twat about it. He's all "You used me," and "That kid is fifty percent mine," and "I'm going to sue!" Because he's rich now, having invented a new way to send people spam or something.

And she's all "Boohoo, don't take my baby, boohoo, I'm sorry, I'm so sad, all I've ever wanted is to be loved, why are you doing this?"

And he's all, "I'm doing this because I'm rich, and can do anything I want."

And then I got bored, and decided I didn't want to write this stupid thing. (Oh, this is ironic. I'm playing YouTube while typing this, and the song just came up. No kidding. It just did.)

Anyway, I was working on this because it was the only idea I had, and the first rule of quick and dirty writing is to write whatever idea you have, no matter how stupid it is.

But I really don't want to write it. I don't think the universe wants me to write it, either, because whenever I started working on it, something would happen to interrupt me. And it's not something I'd want to read, which is a strong indicator that I'm not the person who should be writing it.

But somebody should write it. Because there's an awesomely crappy story there. Seriously, I think somebody could squeeze a novel out of this thing.

So I'm setting it free. Anybody who wants to pick this dog up, and teach it how to walk, is welcome to it.

This is how far I got:

The rain pelted the windshield as Gena drove, trying not to cry. Crying makes you ugly. No man is going to want you if you’re crying. Her eyes strained in the darkness. The country road was unlit, and on this moonless night, she could barely see the road in the driving rain.
A figure stepped out of the shadows and into her headlights. She moved her foot to the brake, and stopped the car. Her heart raced as she watched him approach. God forgive me, I’m really going to do this. He was wearing a helmet and a motorcycle jacket. But not a biker jacket One of those fashion jackets. Looks Italian. Expensive.
As he got closer, she made her decision. She put the car in park, and reach over to unlock the passenger door.
He opened it, leaned in, and said, “Thanks for stopping.”
She smiled, tried not to look terrified, and asked, “Do you need a ride?”
“Yeah,” he said, “My bike went off the road.”
“Oh, my God, are you okay?” He didn’t look hurt…
“Yeah, I’m fine. I think the bike’s a write off, though.”
“That’s shame,” she said, sizing him up. He looks like a nice guy, doesn’t seem crazy or anything. “Get in. You’ll catch your death out there.”
“Are you sure?” he asked, “I’m a little muddy.”
“Don’t worry about it. This poor old car has seen worse.”
“I guess it has,” he said, looking at the cracked dashboard of the old beater, as he sat down and closed the door.
The dome light turned off, and they were in darkness.
“So where are you headed?” she asked, sounding cheery. She put the car in drive, got back on the road.
“Back to school. MIT.” He said.
“Oh. That’s a good school, right? I mean, you have to be smart to get into MIT, right?” Smart is good.
“Yeah, it’s pretty prestigious.”
“I guess you’re like, what, a scientist or something, right?”
“Actually, I’m an engineering major.”
“Oh. Well that pretty much the same thing, right? You need to be smart to be an engineer, you have to be good at math and stuff.”
“I’m not sure where you’re going with this,” he said, puzzled.
“Oh, nowhere, just making conversation. Just saying you must be awful smart. But you look strong, too. I mean you look healthy. You’re in pretty good health, right? You don’t have any weird health problems?”
“Yeah, I’m pretty healthy, I guess…”
“That’s good,” she said, “Health is very important.”
The rain stopped. They drove along the country road towards town. She slowed the car, and stopped at a motel.
“Why are we stopping here?” he asked.
“I thought,” she lowered her head, unable to look at him,” I thought…you’ve been travelling for, I don’t know how long, maybe you would like to rest for a while. With me.”
“Is this why you picked me up? To drive me to a motel?”
“I already have a room,” she said, her voice soft, “We could just go and…lie down. Together”
“I don’t know…”
“Please,” she said, “All I need is this…one act of kindness. Please just…be with me. Until the morning. Just give me a few hours of your time. That’s all I ask.”
Show me your hand,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“Just show me your hand.”
She offered him her hand.
“No, the left one.”
She turned to him and extended her left hand. He held it up so he could see it in the light from the motel sign. In the pale light, he saw the dent on her ring finger, left be her wedding ring.
“You’re married,” he said.
“What difference does that make?” she asked.
“What happened?” he asked, “Did you have a fight with you husband, are you doing this for revenge?”
“I…please, don’t ask me anything. Don’t judge me. I have a need, and I’m asking you to help me.”
“This is wrong,” he said.
“Okay, okay, I get it. You’re a nice guy. You’re a decent man. But right now, I don’t need a decent man. I just need a man.”
“Then go find somebody else. This is wrong.”
“Please,” she said, taking his hand, “Do me this kindness. I’ll make it nice for you. I’ll do anything you want. Just be with me till the morning.”.

Blog KenGreen

It's another Sunday morning, and I don't have this week's story yet. The good news that I'm not terrified by that thought anymore. I actually feel a degree of confidence that I can make stories, having already made a few.I didn't actually make one yesterday, but I did the exploratory text below:

DAWNDEW
By Ken Green
“Oh, no.” Dawndew said, watching the monitor screen. The enemy had broken the security code, and were cycling the airlock. Soon, the boarding party would enter the ship.
Her employer’s instructions were clear and specific. As he climbed into the last escape pod, Captain ClickHissClick had ordered her to wait till the enemy ship had docked and the intruders were aboard. All she had to do was push the big red self-destruct button, and the fusion reactor two decks below would go critical, killing everybody aboard.
Including her.
“Can’t I escape with you?” she had asked, eyeing the escape pod’s roomy interior.
“Sorry, no,” ClickHissClick had answered, “Regulations. You understand.”
One by one, the boarders entered the ship. When they disappeared from view, she switched cameras. They were in the main corridor, coming toward her. She could hear their boots echoing as they marched, fierce and huge in their battle armor, carrying really big guns, probably laser rifles.
She drew her own sidearm from its hip holster and regarded it. It looked so small compared the cannons they had.
“This is so not fair,” she muttered.
Her little green hand hovered over the big red button. One push, and it would all be over, after an agonizing death. Her hand trembled. Tears streamed down her cheeks. Mentally, he reviewed the terms of her employment contract.
“No,” she said, “Not like this. It isn’t even my war.”
She closed the safety cover over the big red button, and turned to face the door. A small circle of flame appeared, and soon became a line. They were cutting their way in.
“Fine,” she said, “If I am to die, it will be on terms that I choose.” She raised her gun, sighted it on the door, braced herself, and put on her war face.
“Come and get it, you alien freaks. I’m serving death with a really big…spoon.”
The armored door fell and clattered to the deck.
She closed eyes, turned her head, and pulled the trigger.
“For Verdia!” was her battle cry. The gun bucked in her hand, again and again, making a horrible loud noise that she didn’t like at all. Then it stopped.
“Am I dead?” she wondered aloud, “Did I get them all?”
She opened one eye. She saw two intruders, their weapons leveled at her. She opened the other, and view did not improve at all. There were two more intruders, and they had her surrounded. She looked at her gun. It looked all wonky, with the slidey thing in the wrong position.
She raised a hand. “Okay, my gun has malfunctioned. Just give a minute, I’ll repair it, and we can resume the firefight. I’ll be killing you all as soon as…”
One of the intruders stepped forward and took the gun from her hand.
“Oh, thank you!” she said, smiling, “That’s very helpful. You guys are the best. I don’t know why the Calamarians say such terrible things about you…”
He gripped the gun by barrel and smacked her in the face with the butt. She fell to the deck, unconscious.
#
“Bored,” she said, swinging her feet, “Bored, bored.” They had sat her up in a chair that was too tall and handcuffed her to a table that was too big. Her feet didn’t reach the floor, and she was bored.
She heard a door open behind her. A man walked around the table and sat down. Her eyes widened. He’s human! That was not in my contract. I wonder how many of them I killed? They must be really pissed. I am in so much trouble.
The man leaned back in his chair.
“I know exactly two things about you. One: you’re not a Calamarian. Two: You are no soldier. So what, I’d like to know, were you doing on a Calamari warship?”
She fidgeted with the handcuffs. “I signed a non-disclosure agreement.”
He leaned forward. “Your employers are all dead. I think you can consider any contract you had with them to be null and void. While you’re at it, you can consider yourself a prisoner of war. So If you’re willing to cooperate, I’m willing to listen. And I’ve got all day.”
She considered. “If I tell you what I know, will you spare my life?”
“I’m not going to kill you. You’re a prisoner. Besides, you look like a kid. How old are you, anyway?”
“Very well, we have a deal. Answers in exchange for my life. I have seen fourteen summers,” she said, with some pride.
“Fourteen summers, that’s great. What is that in Earth years?”
“I have no idea,” she said, “What’s an ‘Earth’?”
“Fair enough. Here’s another question: What are you?”
“Well, duh,” she said, “Green skin, blond hair, I’m Verdian. You humans don’t get out much, do you?”
His eyebrows raised. “How much do you know about humans?”
“Only that you’re too big, and you smell like meat eaters…” her eyes went wide with fear, “You promised that you wouldn’t kill me! Please don’t eat me.”
“I’m not going to kill you, and I’m not going kill you. We have rules about that.”
She relaxed, and then tensed up again “Oh, no,” she said, “You’re going to sex me, aren’t you?”
“What? What are you saying?”
“You’re human! You’re going to make me do sex!” she started crying, “Because humans have sex with everything! Look at you! You’re all big and you’re going to sex me, and eat me and kill me, and it’s not fair! I’m just an independent contractor, please don’t sex me!” She put her head on the table and sobbed.
“I’m not going to sex you, or eat you, or kill you! We don’t do that!”
She dared to look up. “Really? Do you promise? Please?”
“I promise. Here. As a show of good faith, I’ll uncuff you. I’ll take the cuffs off, and you calm down. Do we have a deal?”
She nodded, “Okay, deal.”
“Great,” he unlocked the handcuffs. She rubbed her wrists.
“Okay,” he said, “Next question. How is it that you speak perfect English?”
“Oh, that’s easy. I’ve been monitoring your communications. Ever since you entered the system.”
“You learned English in a month?”
She shrugged. “I’m Verdian. Verdia is like, the most invaded planet in the galaxy. We have a knack for language.”
“Did you learn how to speak Calamarian?”
“Well, yeah, I had to. I was working for them.”
“And what were you doing for them, exactly?” he asked.
“I’m a communications technician. I operated and maintained their radios, sent coded messages…”
“You didn’t happen to write down the Calamarian code keys, did you?”
“No, of course not. That would have been against regulations…”
“Oh, that’s too bad…” He lamented.
“…so I memorized them instead.”.

KenGreen Blog

In today' s thrilling installment, Dawndew's interrogation turns into a job interview

He leaned forward in his chair. “That’s interesting. So you know the Calamarian codes and communication protocols. And you’re currently unemployed. Would you consider an offer of employment?”
She frowned. “I’d like to, I really would, but…I also signed a non-compete clause.”
“Your former employers abandoned you in a war zone, and left you to die,” he pointed out, “And you’re locked in my brig, and I’m the man who decides what and when and if you get to eat. In light of these facts, I think you should reconsider your previous agreements.”
“What happens if I don’t?” she asked.
“You’ll spend the next several months locked in a storeroom, only to be turned over to Star Force intelligence. For all I know, they’ll dissect you.”
“And if I say yes?” she asked.
“You won’t be locked in a storeroom, you’ll have something to do, and I won’t hand you over to be dissected. Deal?”
She smiled, extended her hand, and said, “Deal. Your terms are acceptable. I’m your girl. Can we discuss back pay?”
“No.”
“Can I have my gun back?”
“Absolutely not.”
“I don’t know why you’re being so cocky. That fight could have gone differently. If my gun hadn’t malfunctioned…”
“It didn’t malfunction. It ran out of bullets. You really don’t know anything about guns, do you?”
She shrugged. “I’m Verdian. We don’t have guns on Verdia. Maybe that’s why we keep getting invaded…”
“Food for thought. Could we get back on topic?”
“Absolutely. Show me a contract, and I will sign it.” She said, smiling.
“I…don’t have a contract.”
She pondered that. “But, we need a contract, to define our working relationship. Do you have a lawyer on this ship?”
“No.”
She sighed. “Fine. We’ll do this the old-fashioned way.” She hopped down from the chair and walked to his side of the table.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
“Turn your chair. Turn and face me,” she instructed.
“Why?”
“So I can work for you. Just do it.”
He skootched his chair around.
She knelt before him, put her hands on his knee, and bowed her head.
“What are you doing?” he asked, alarmed, “Are you about to sex me? I thought we weren’t…”
“Hush,” she said, “This is a sacred act.” She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and said, “With my hands, heart, and mind, I vow to serve only thee.”
“Okay,” he said, “This just got weird. Stop being weird. That’s an order…”
“With my hands, heart, and mind, I vow to serve only thee,” she repeated, sounding annoyed.
“What are you doing?” he asked, sound perplexed.
“With my hands, heart, and…” she looked at him, “Put your hand on the back of my head.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.” She bowed her head. He placed his hand on it.
“With my hands, heart, and mind, I vow to serve only thee. Now you say, ‘I will protect and provide, as long as you serve me’.”
“Why are you…”
“With my hands, heart, and mind, I vow to serve only thee.”
“Fine. ‘I will protect and provide, as long as you serve me’. Are we done now?”
The door flew open. “What the hell is going on?” First Mate Calista asked, clearly not amused.
“Who’s that?” Dawndew asked.
“That’s my first mate,” He said.
“Your mate? Oh!” Dawndew stood, turned to Calista, knelt, took her hand, and kissed it. “My lady, I am honored to serve thee.”
“Huh?” Calista asked. “What just happened? Who the hell are you?”
“I am Dawndew, M’Lady, your servant.”
Calista looked to the captain. “Tom, what did you do?”
“I think I hired a comm tech. Or I adopted her. Or we’re all married now. It happened so fast…”
Calista’s eyes narrowed. She looked down at her new servant. “Why are you wearing a tankini?”
“M’Lady, if my garments offend thee…”
“Stop calling me ‘M’Lady,” she paused, “Actually, don’t. I think I’m starting to like it. But you need some proper clothes. Follow me, we’ll figure something out.”
Dawndew smiled and turned to the captain. “By your leave?”
“Huh? Yeah, go, I give you my…leave,” he dismissed her, bewildered.

KenGreen Blog - Page 8

Okay, it's Tuesday, and no actual story yet. I wrote more exploratory text yesterday, and I'm starting to question the value of writing exploratory text. But it's the only thing that seems to work, even though I'm not sure it works. Anyway, this is what I have:

Calista left the interrogation room, and Dawndew followed. In the corridor, they ran into LT. Hayes.
“Look out, Calista. The prisoner is escaping!” he joked.
“She’s not a prisoner anymore.” Calista corrected him, “She’s…working for us now.”
“Oh, okay,” he squatted down to Dawndew’s level, “I’m sorry I hit you.”
Dawndew nodded. “It was war. You were a worthy opponent.”
Hayes laughed, “Yeah, so were you, Slugger. I’m Stan Hayes. What’s your name?”
“I am Dawndew, honored crewmate,” she smiled.
“Dondoo?” he glanced at Calista.
Calista glanced down to the girl. “We’re going to call you ‘Dawn’, if that’s okay.”
Dawn nodded. “If it pleases M’Lady.”
“M’Lady?” Hayes laughed.
“And don’t you forget it,” Calista said, “Come on, Dawn. Let’s get you settled.”
They walked along the corridor, meeting other crewmembers. Eventually, they reached a sleepshelf near the engine room. Calista drew the curtain aside.
“This one is unoccupied. Welcome to your bunk. There’s a cubbyhole, if you…own anything.”
Dawn peered at the sleeping space. “M’Lady, will I not be sleeping at the foot of your bed, so that you may rest your feet on me?”
“What?! No, you…actually, that sounds kind of nice…No, you absolutely will not. That’s just weird. You will sleep here. Alone. Do you understand me?”
Dawn bowed her head. “M’Lady, I have offended thee. Great is my shame.”
“No, no, Sweetie, stop doing that. Look at me. Did the Calamari…abuse you?”
“No, M’Lady. They mostly treated me with indifference.”
“Well, good. I guess.” Calista frowned. “Listen, Dawn, if anybody tries… if anybody asks…” She squatted down, “Listen to me, Dawn. Your body belongs to you, and to nobody else. If anybody, and I mean anybody tries…” Calista noticed that her hands were shaking.
“M’Lady! It hurts my heart that I have angered you. Please punish me, that I may learn better ways.”
“Stop it!” Calista shouted, “Stop being so… medieval, or whatever! Just stop! It was cute at first, but…”
“I’m sorry, M’…”
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry all the time. Just…Nobody has the right to abuse you. If anybody tries, you come to me. Do you understand?”
“Yes, M’Lady,” Dawn said.
“Stellar. Now, what are you going to wear?”
“I have an idea.” Dawn pulled the sheet from the bunk.
#
“Captain. I just heard the funniest rumor,” Second Mate Nasir said, not a hint of humor inn his voice, “Rumor has it that we’re recruiting children now.”
Captain Skilling looked up from his desk.
“Have a seat, Nas,” he gestured to one, “You obviously have something to say.”
Nasir sat down, put his elbows on the captain’s desk, and tented his fingers.
“It may interest you,” he said, “That Chrisallah has put aside a special level of Hell specifically for those exploit children.”
“Nope,” Skilling shook his head, “That fact does not interest me at all. Do you have anything else?”
“I’m not kidding, Cap. I did not sign on to become a skin trader. If you’re thinking…”
“Nas! I’m not looking to sell her, how could you even think…”
“Then what are your intentions? Sir.”
“The girl has skills. She could be useful.”
Nasir leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I’m listening.”
“She broke our comm codes, Nas. The unbreakable codes the Navy gave us. Let that sink in.”
“What good is that?” Nas asked.
“Think about it. If she broke those codes, maybe she can break the navy’s other codes.”
“You want to spy on our client?”
“Our current client. This war won’t last forever, and our arrangement won’t either. The day after the Calamarians sign a treaty, the navy will go right back to hunting us. And when they do, we’ll be ready for a change.”
“As good as that sounds, I question the morality of…”
“Maybe this will change your mind.” Skilling handed him a datapad.
“What is this?” Nasir asked.
“That is everything I’ve been able to find out,” Skilling said, “About the legal status of Verdians. As far as I can tell, they have none. The Codominion does not recognize them as a member species. That girl has fewer legal protections than a housecat, or a food animal. As far as the law is concerned, she’s nothing more than a biological sample.”
“That can’t be right. She’s clearly sentient…”

Okay, maybe I can make this into a story exploring the idea of sentience, whatever that is. Check back in 24. Maybe something good will happen.

KenGreen Blog Public Member Blogs - Page 8

New story today! I found an ending for the diner scene. Enjoy.

TRUST
By Ken Green
I picked up the napkin dispenser, checked my lipstick in its reflection.
“There’s mirrors in the bathroom, Clair.” Squirt said.
“Bathrooms are deathtraps, kid.” I said, “No escapable windows, usually only one exit. Have I taught you nothing? What do you think about this color?”
Squirt squinted at me. “I don’t think zombies care what you look like.”
“Well, I’m not asking a zombie, am I? Give me your honest opinion. What do you think about this lip color?”
Squirt considered. “I think it looks whorish. But not whorish enough. Why the sudden interest in your appearance?”
“I don’t know, maybe I want to be pretty when I die.” I dug further into the purse, found some eyeliner. “Are you sure you don’t want a makeover?”
“Getting bored, Clair.”
I dropped the eyeliner, went through the dead woman’s wallet, “Oh, look. Her high school ID. Charmaine. That’s a pretty name. What do you think of Charmaine?”
“You want to name me after a hooker? No thanks. Can we go now?”
“Yeah, fine. No, wait.” There was something else in the purse, heavy and shiny. A .32 automatic, chrome plated. I pulled it out, careful to point away from the kid.
“Do you see this?” I asked. “This is just vulgar. A handgun is a machine designed for killing people. Trying to make it pretty is just…offensive.”
“I like the pink grips.” Squirt said. I’m pretty sure she was just saying it to be contrary. We had been getting on each other’s nerves lately.
“Then it will be my gift to you.”
“Really?” she asked.
“Sure thing, kid,” I popped the clip out and pocketed it.
“Clair!” Squirt protested.
“Safety first, safety always. Who looks out for you?” I slid the gun across the table. “Put it in your backpack. At the bottom.”
I grabbed my shotgun, slid out of the booth, stepped over Charmaine’s corpse. “She went to my school. She was a senior.”
“And had such a promising career,” Squirt said, dropping the gun into her Hello Kitty bag.
“Don’t mock the dead. We need to respect the dead.”
“Yes, ‘Because we can’t do anything else for them’, got it.” Squirt recited.
“Well, at least I taught you one thing.”
We shouldered our back packs and left the diner. I still hadn’t found a sling for the shotgun, so I carried the damn thing. I hardly noticed its weight anymore. Maybe I’m getting stronger.
Blinking in the afternoon sun, I realized we weren’t alone. In the parking lot, a man stood, a rifle at his side.
“Get behind me, Squirt.” I ordered, but she was already there. Good girl. I brought the shotgun to bear, and he put a hand up.
“Wait,” he said, “There’s no need for that. I just want to talk.”
I considered. “You want to talk? Do you need the gun for that?”
“What about yours?” he asked.
“Drop the rifle,” I instructed, “No, put it down gently.” It looked like a really nice piece, and it would shame to mess it up. Besides, I’m not sure how safe it is to drop a gun.
“Are you going to drop yours?” he asked.
“Sure thing. But you go first.”
He held the rifle out, bent his knees, and lowered it to the concrete. Then he stood.
“Okay,” I said, “Take one step towards me. Just one.”
He complied. That put him about ten feet from me. Just where I wanted him.
“Alright,” he said, “I’m disarmed. So put your gun down, too.”
“Mister, you really don’t know how an apocalypse works, do you?”
The look on his face was priceless.
“Come on!” he protested, “You promised…”
“Did not. I only implied. You said you wanted to talk, start talking.”
He sighed. “This is no way for people to live. Roving bands, living on the remains of civilization, we’re better than this. We can be better. We can rebuild.”
I lowered my gun a little. “What are you talking about?”
“I have a farm, a safe place. It’s not big, but it’s a start. It could be a community, a new beginning. Think about it, a roof over your head, a safe place to sleep, three meals a day…”
“Sounds cozy,” I said, “What do we do when the zombies find us?”
“I’ve already started working on the defenses. I’m fortifying the house, working on an alarm system. I even have a generator. We could have electricity! But that’s not the important part. I can keep you safe. I could be like a father to you. To both of you.”
I thought about it. It sounded good. I tried to imagine the luxury on being able to close my eyes and go to sleep without worrying, knowing that an adult was watching over me. Of waking up, and not being terrified. A safe place for Squirt to grow up. An end to the fear.
I lowered my shotgun. It hung at my side.
“A father? Really?” I asked, “We can be a family?”
“Yeah,” he said, “We’ll be a family.”
“Will you be my new daddy?” I asked, in my little-girl voice.
“I’ll be your daddy,” he said, his voice all breathy.
“I hated my daddy.” I said, raising my gun.
He reached behind himself, but I shot first, and I shot only. Of all of mankind’s achievements, 00 buckshot has got to be in the top ten. It blew a glorious hole in his belly, and he went down like a SMU coed, painting me with overspray.
“Why?” he gasped, “I meant what I said.”
“Yeah, Maybe. Or maybe you have a basement full of girls. I’ll never know.”
I sat on the curb and patted the spot next to me. Squirt sat and we shared a bottle of water while we watched him die. Finishing him would have been kinder, but kindness was a luxury. When the bottle was empty and his eyes went glassy, I stood.
“Let’s see what he was packing.” I said.
“Oh, gross,” Squirt said.
“Huh? What?” and then I got it, and laughed. “Get your mind out of the gutter!” But I couldn’t really be mad at her. It was pretty funny.
I rolled him and found his backup piece, a glock in a playboy holster.
“See this?” I asked, showing her the gun, “This is a proper gun.”
“Can I have it?”
“Absolutely not. It’s too heavy for you.” I clipped it in place. It felt good in the small of my back.
“How did you know?” she asked, “That he was going…”
“I didn’t,” I said, “I just didn’t like the guy. Look! He has car keys!” I jingled them.
“No, Clair,” Squirt shook her head, “No. Not again.”
“Oh, don’t be such a baby. I think I’m getting the hang of driving.” I pushed the button on the fob and his truck chirped. Sweet.
“Great,” Squirt said, “Drive me to a helmet store.”

End.