Zilthar du Holstier

Hi there, it's been quite some time since I posted anything. I just wrote a background for a potential D&D character and I was so happy with it that I wanted to post it here. Enjoy!
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Brand Haversack was beginning to doze while sitting at the antique desk situated in the middle of one of the many guest rooms located in Castle Holstier, the home of the Count Holstier who ruled the small, nearby village in the name of the Lords of Waterdeep.

The Count had commissioned Brand to update the family’s history. The Count’s grandfather had been the last one to do so nearly 500 years ago. Brand had the three thick volumes stacked in front of him, though he had been forbidden to crack any of them open before he finished interviewing the living family members.

Which is what he was waiting for presently. The youngest son, whose name Brand was not given, was over an hour late for their appointment. Once that interview was over, Brand could begin the rest of his research into the more recent family history.

The bard hadn’t heard anyone enter, maybe he had finally fallen asleep, or maybe the youngster was just that stealthy. Anyway, Brand was startled when the young elf said, “Hello bard, my father has told me that you have been commissioned to document our family’s history.”

Brand quickly sat up and pretended to organize the papers in front of him to distract from his dozing. He replied, “Yes, and well met! My name is Brand Haversack. Poet, philosopher, and historian extraordinaire! I’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.”

The young elf eyed the bard skeptically, but gave no indication of understanding the dig or any interest in furthering the conversation. He simply stood in the doorway and gazed idly around the room.

Brand gestured to the chair across from him where the youngster’s two older brothers, two older sisters, mother, father, six uncles, and four aunts had sat before him. The bard said, “Please sit… uh… well, your father refused to give me your name. We can start there and you can tell me about yourself.”

Something about the elf’s demeanor changed at the mention of his father, and not in a more pleasant way. The elf sat down gruffly, making it obvious to Brand that he didn’t want to be there. He said nothing.

Brand bit the inside of his cheek to brace his already low patience and said, “Your father hasn’t told me anything about you. He apparently wants me to learn from you without any prior biases. So, let’s start with the basics. What is your name? Tell me about yourself.”

Brand dipped his quill and prepared to write as the young man began speaking, “Well, my name is Zilthar du Holstier, youngest son of Cranthar du Holstier. I will turn one hundred and fourteen next Mirtul. I don’t really know what else to say about myself that might interest you.”

Brand sighed inwardly. He’d met all kind’s during the past few weeks, but getting anything out of this kid was going to be harder than getting gold out of a dragon. He said, “Well, start at the beginning, Zilthar. Tell me of your upbringing.”

Zilthar’s gaze became unfocused as his mind reached into his past. He said, “Well, I was born right here in this castle. As you have probably already heard, my mother died during my birth.” Brand had heard that, but wrote it down again anyway. Zilthar continued, “My education started here, of course. My father’s sister, Murandiel, was the one who raised me and taught me the basics before I was sent to Courassier Preparatory School in Waterdeep. While there, I lived in our family’s villa in the North Ward with my aunt.”

The young elf paused and Brand knew that there was more to the story. He prodded, “What happened during school?”

Worry crossed Zilthar’s face, but Brand didn’t understand why. The young elf said, “It’s not what happened, it’s what didn’t happen. What never happens in my life.”

Brand had to admit that his curiosity was piqued. With bated breath, he said, “What didn’t happen?”

Zilthar glanced towards the open door. Without hesitation, Brand jumped up and quietly closed the door and returned to his seat. The young elf still hesitated, so Brand said, “Whatever you say within these walls will stay here, young Zilthar. Not everything that your family, or yourself, tells me will go into print.”

That seemed to satisfy the elf, who said, “I didn’t see my father or brothers for nearly two decades during my schooling. Even my aunt became distant during the last few years. I was alone more than not. I hardly had any friends at school. You probably heard about what happened in my grandfather’s day,” Brand hadn’t yet and made a mental note to come back to that, “the other nobles’ children certainly remember it. No one wanted to be friends with the boy from House Pariah.”

Instead of digging into the details of whatever happened to House Holstier, Brand pressed on into Zilthar’s life by saying, “That must have been lonely. What happened after your schooling was done?”

Zilthar’s gaze grew distant again as he searched his memories. He said, “My father wanted me to become a wizard, you see. Standard noble children requirements, of course, one great warrior, one great cleric, and one great wizard. I was not and still am not interested in the magical arts.”

Brand realized he was sitting on the edge of his seat, eager to hear more. He asked, “What did you do?”

Zilthar, defiance in his voice, said, “I ran away, of course.” He paused and Brand saw that he felt foolish as he said, “Not in a childish way with a hobo sack full of cookies or anything like that. I meant that I left Waterdeep with a meager amount of equipment, I didn’t want my father saying that I owed him anything by taking a large amount of money from our coffers. I traveled to Silverymoon in search of Dove Falconhand. I had heard many stories of her adventures and ideals and I felt a close connection with those ideals myself.”

The young elf looked sheepish when he said, “Of course, she wasn’t in Silverymoon and I couldn’t get any information from anyone in the city about her. They probably thought I was some sort of spy. It was pure foolishness, of course. Even if she had been there, it wasn’t as if the great Dove Falconhand would meet with a lowly elf-child with stars in his eyes.”

Zilthar looked up, dreamy-eyed and said, “It would have been the highlight of my life to have met her.”
The young elf blinked away his dreams and said, “Well, I was out of money by that point and signed on with some caravans heading south and west towards Triboar. As happens too often near the Evermoors, the caravan never made it to its destination. We were attacked by a horde of trolls a day out of Olostin’s Hold. I was knocked out early in the battle, so I don’t know what happened to my compatriots exactly, but was told by those who saved me that nothing of the caravan remained except my broken body discovered beneath the wreckage of one of the wagons. They said that I had been dragged there, probably by one of the other caravan guards.”

Brand’s heart was pounding, he was intrigued, this interview was already more exciting than any of the others. Zilthar continued, “I awoke, what I was told was two weeks later, in the High Forest as the prisoner and guest of the Uthgardt tribe called the Tree Ghosts. Normally, they would have killed me as they found me, but their shaman had had a vision just two nights before of finding a lone survivor of a troll raid. That survivor was me.”

Brand found himself stunned by the revelations that Zilthar was sharing with him. He was still taking copious notes. The elf continued, “The shaman kept me in his tent as I recovered. His vision told him to keep me alive, but not what to do with me afterwards.

“Anyway, I lived with the Tree Ghosts for the next few weeks. They put me to work repairing tents, gathering food, things like that. To be honest, I don’t exactly know how long I was there. One night, the shaman woke me up in the middle of the night and told me that he had been inspired by a dream to bring me to their ancestral mound for a test. We left the camp immediately and walked for a few hours.”

Zilthar paused here and looked Brand in the eyes as he said, “You’re not going to believe this next part. Sometimes, I have trouble believing it myself. As dawn approached we arrived at the largest tree that I have ever seen in my life. ‘This is the Grandfather Tree,’ the shaman told me. ‘It will test you and if you pass, it will bring you enlightenment.’”

The young elf closed his eyes and said, “I can’t really explain what happened next. The shaman led me to the tree and left me there. I had what I can only describe as a hallucinogenic vision of sorts. I couldn’t describe it to you and do it justice, but suffice to say, it was an enlightening experience and led me to my goddess, Mielikki and the path of the ranger.”

Brand nodded with sudden understanding, he’d known many rangers in his own life and the link between Zilthar’s desire to meet Dove Falconhand and the rest of his story made sense. Zilthar continued, “When I awoke from my vision, the shaman was gone. I knew then that I would not be welcomed back with the Tree Ghost tribe, and had to find my own way. The vision I had had contained hints of what I was to do, so I left the grove surrounding the Grandfather Tree and found my equipment piled neatly there. I took it and left that sacred place with a light heart and hope for the future.

“I lived for the next few years in the High Forest. I spent some time with the elves, centaur, and fey of the forest and learned the skills of a ranger from them and on my own. I struggled and prospered and struggled some more, but it was a worthwhile experience to be sure.”

Zilthar sighed and remained silent for a few moments. Brand finished catching up with his notes and asked, “What happened then?”

The young ranger’s face betrayed his irritation with himself when he said, “Then suddenly I became homesick. To this day, I don’t know why, but I just had to get home. The trek took me a couple of months. I traveled south through the High Forest towards Unicorn Run. To be honest, a not so small part of me hoped to come across Mielikki, though I know that would have been quite a rare event. Once I arrived at the river, I built a raft from fallen logs and driftwood. I rode the river as far as Secomber, then traveled across the land back here. It was a pretty uneventful journey, though I was anxious about the aftermath of my return.”

Brand sensed another hesitation from Zilthar and waited for the young elf to continue as he made some additions to his notes. Finally, Zilthar said, “When I got home, nothing happened. My father, who hadn’t seen me in decades and hadn’t had news of me in some years, didn’t make any fuss about my return or my absence. It was all very anticlimactic. I took over responsibility for the gardens and farms and defense of the village from my eldest brother so that he could attend court in Waterdeep and here we are five years later.”

The bard hesitated here. He saw many paths he could take from here. He could dig further into some of Zilthar’s adventures, which would mostly be for his own personal entertainment. Or, he could end the interview and move on, an act that his employer would most certainly approve of. Or, and this was the path he wanted to take on most, he could encourage this young, bored, and mostly ignored ranger to make a change in his life, to go out and find adventure, to make the world a better place.

Zilthar and Brand stared almost solemnly at each other for a few moments. Brand felt like he understood Zilthar. His own adventuring days were over, of course, but he recognized the wanderlust and dissatisfaction within the young ranger. Not able to stand it any further, the bard said, “So, when do you leave?”

Confused, Zilthar asked, “What do you mean? Is that your way of dismissing me?”

Brand chuckled and shook his head. He said, “No, young ranger, it is my way of pushing you in the direction you want to go anyway. When are you leaving this castle? When will you restart the life you so desperately want?”

Brand could practically see the gears turning in Zilthar’s head. The young ranger said, “By Mielikki, you’re right. I’ve just been waiting for an excuse or something to make my exit and see more of the world.”

The bard smiled and said, “That is what I gathered from your story and demeanor. Your father will likely sack me for it, but I must encourage you to follow your heart.”

Zilthar quickly stood and said, “My father will not know of your encouragement, dear Brand, and I say ‘dear’ without any hint of irony or sarcasm. You have shown me what my heart has been trying to tell me since I returned home. I do not belong here and want to see what is out there for me. Thank you!”

Without another word, the young ranger darted out of the room, leaving the door wide open behind him.

Brand chuckled again and organized his notes. He sure hoped that the Count Holstier didn’t hear about his involvement in his youngest son’s departure. His own adventuring days were over and he needed this commission to buy food and lodging for the foreseeable future and Harping did not pay as well as one would have guessed.

Re: Your Brains

 Wowee, it's been a while since I posted here. At work, we've organized a little #writers-retreat Slack room where some of us have been posting our work and writing challenges. This week, I posted a writing challenge for everyone. Some of you might be familiar with Chuck Wendig and his Flash Fiction Friday challenges. I did this one a few years ago, hit that shuffle button on your favorite music player/app and whatever song you land on is the title for your story. So, I did that again today and got "Re: Your Brains" by Jonathan Coulton. So, here goes!

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I sat down at my desk and saw a memo on it and picked it up. I chuckled a bit as I saw the memo was titled, “Re: Your Brains” like that old Jonathan Coulton song. Man, my dad loved that song. It did seem like a strange title for a memo, though. Then, as I read the memo, I had the weirdest sense of deja vu. I felt like I had read this same memo before, though I didn’t know how that could be possible.

I glanced across the aisle to where my coworker Kyle was sitting. He saw me looking and smiled and waved. I saw a piece of paper sitting on his desk that I assumed was the same memo, but it didn't seem as if he'd read it. If he had, he would probably have been as freaked out as I was. It was a weird memo to say the least. Well, maybe he wouldn’t freak out. Kyle was nice, but a little vapid. I’m actually not sure how he got a job at a think tank. Now that I think about it, it was probably nepotism. To be honest, I didn’t know Kyle that well. I awkwardly waved back to him.

As I’ve hinted at, I work at a think tank for one of the biggest neurological research hospitals. You see and hear some weird stuff at these types of companies. For example, just last week, a headless chicken ran down the aisle between Kyle and my cubes. There are still blood stains on the carpet from where the neurologist tackled the chicken right outside of my cube. They're replacing the carpet next week. I don’t know what happened to the chicken afterwards.

Even at a neurological think tank, you don't ever expect to get a memo titled, "Re: Your Brains" and even if you did, you wouldn’t expect to have it tell you that your company has been given legal rights over your brains when you die. The memo was unclear as to what claims the company had to the other parts of your body, but it was hard to focus on that bit at the moment.

How does a company get legal claims on someone's brain matter you might ask? Well, being a neurological research think tank, the researchers need a lot of brains to study, both alive and dead. I've done some of the studies, the living ones obviously. They pay you a bit extra and all you really have to do is wear ridiculous contraptions on your head while they ask you all sorts of random, off the wall questions. It’s kind of boring, but the extra money is nice. I used it to lease a new car. It’s blue, I think. That’s funny, I can’t seem to remember what color my car is. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s blue. Or maybe green? Anyway, I had to get a hard top because they were out of convertibles, but it’s only a two year lease, so I’ll get a convertible when the lease runs out.

I'm getting off track, sorry. The point is, they need lots of brains and supplies are limited, especially for dead brains. Apparently not everyone wants people to experiment on their brains after they die. I know that I wouldn’t want that. Sure, harvest my organs to save some lives and whatnot, but my brain is not going into some lab when I die. Who knows what kind of inhumane experiments these scientists have concocted.

So, supplies were an issue and when some lawyers for the company found that out, they thought it would be a slam dunk to get the government to award the company the employees’ brains for use in their experiments after they die. Apparently, some numbskulls in the government thought that anyone working for a "think tank" ought to have known that having their brains harvested when they die was a known risk when taking the job. I can tell you that I never had that thought cross my mind when I took the job. Given a few months and probably millions of dollars, it's now codified into law. Representative government at work, folks.

Anyway, back to the deja vu for a minute. I have the feeling that this has definitely happened before, but I don't know how that's possible since the law was just passed last week. It was last week, right? Yeah, it was last week, the law passed on the same day that I bought my red car, September 18th, 2034.

I idly glanced at the calendar on my computer and saw that it said November 11th, 2037. That is weird because the memo in my hand dated September 25th, 2034. How could it have been three years since the law was passed? No, my computer must be wrong somehow. I got a two year lease on my orange car and it’s sitting out there in the parking lot right now, I just drove it into work this morning. I remember because I had to have the top up because it was raining pretty hard. I can barely see the windows from my cube, but I do see that the sun is shining. I thought it was supposed to rain all day.

I shrugged to myself as I glanced over to Kyle again and saw that his smile was empty and hollow and he seemed to sit as still as a statue. Then I saw that the blood on the carpet from the headless chicken was gone. Something about this whole situation was off. I dropped the memo on the ground as I jumped out of my chair to go over to his cube to shake him out of his stupor. Just as I was about to leave my cube, I heard a terrible grinding sound.

I looked up to the ceiling and watched with horror and amazement as it began to slowly melt towards me. I screamed and the world lost focus for a moment, and then…

I sat down at my desk and saw a memo on it and picked it up. I chuckled a bit as I saw the memo was titled, “Re: Your Brains” like that old Jonathan Coulton song. Man, my mom loved that song. It did seem like a strange title for a memo, though. Then, as I read the memo, I had the weirdest sense of deja vu.

The End of a Long Journey

It's been a while since I posted anything that I've written, or anything at all on here. Chuck Wendig, who's Flash Fiction Friday Challenges I've written for in the past, put out this challenge. I immediately thought of my Necromancer's apprentice, Max, who I've written about before. This entry comes in at 1,433 words and is called "The End of a Long Journey". I hope you enjoy it.

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Max knew he was getting close to his master's tower as the forest got quieter and quieter. The normal denizens of the forest here knew that a powerful wizard lived in the spire and, as such, stayed away from it most of the time. He sighed with relief. He'd been away for over four months and it hadn't been an easy journey. Max felt like he'd earned a little respite for the last few miles.

He trudged up into the foothills of the northernmost reaches of the Bortan Mountains. It was getting dark, but Max didn't want to stop for the night when he was so close to his home. Thinking of his home reminded him that he'd been Alacast the Necromancer's apprentice for just over five years. It had been a great five years. Max learned so much, not just about Necromancy, but about how to be a wizard.

Finally, he reached the top of a hill and saw his master's simple black spire coming up out of the forest below him. He picked up the pace and was at the door within minutes. Max spoke the magic entrance words at the door of the tower and entered. The first floor was where his master kept all of his protection. Several undead minions stirred as Max entered, but they quickly recognized him as a friend. He walked right by them to the stairs in the back and went up to the second floor. The floor was dark, unlike the entrance. Max tried to navigate his way to the stairs upward, but almost immediately stubbed his foot on something, nearly dropping his pack in the process. He cursed and hopped back, running into something else behind him.

He sighed and muttered an illumination cantrip, lighting up the room around him. He noticed that the room was not at all like he remembered it. All the same furnishings were there, but they'd been haphazardly rearranged. Shrugging to himself, he wound his way through the jumble to the stairs. These stairs wound their way up the outer wall of the tower. He reached the third floor, where his own rooms were. Max was tempted to enter his rooms and sleep before reporting to his master, but he knew that probably wasn't the wisest course of action.

He sighed again and continued up the stairs to the top of the tower. He reached his master's chamber and rapped on the door. "Enter, Max," he heard his master say through the door.

Max opened the door and entered. His master looked up from the book he was studying and said, "Well?"

Max smiled and said, "I have it, master. I have the Amethyst Crystal Ball you desired."

Alacast rose excitedly and walked over to where Max stood. He reached his hands out, waiting. Max kneeled down and placed his pack gently on the floor to rummage through the bag. He pulled out a purplish orb the size of his own head. He stood and placed the orb in his master's hands.

Just as he was releasing the orb, his master sneezed and dropped the orb. Mune, the goddess of luck, must have been with Max because he managed to catch the orb before it could smash into pieces. Alacast and Max just stared at each other with looks of utter surprise on their faces. "How did you ever manage to catch that?" Alacast asked. "I think that, besides myself, you might be the clumsiest man on the entire planet of Uroth."

Max nodded and shrugged. "I don't know, master. I just don't know."

Alacast let out a little chortle. "Well, let's take it to the ceremony room, Max. I'm sure that you're eager to rest from your long journey."

Max carefully put the orb back into his pack and followed his master down the stairs. Alacast said, "Tell me of your journey, Max. It must have been quite the adventure."

Max replied, "Oh, it was indeed. You were correct that the Wizards' Guild in Bortan City had one Amethyst Crystal Ball in its possession, however, they were unwilling to sell it. They were, however, interested in a trade. There was an item they sought that was lost in the Delrool swamps. So, I hired a group of adventurers and we recovered the item. It was some sort of staff. I tried identifying it, but it didn't seem to like that."

Alacast paused on the stairs and said, "It didn't like that? What do you mean?"

Max shrugged, "I could sense that it was a moderately powerful item, of course, but it seemed to have a sort of sentience of its own."

Alacast turned and headed down further. He said, "Interesting. It would have likely spoken to you, had it been a truly intelligent item. I've read about semi-sentient items before, but I have never had any experience with any myself. Anything else?"

"Well, I got to know the adventurers really well," Max repled as they reached the second floor.

Alacast stopped, glancing back at Max. "You want to leave me to go on adventures with these people?" He made a placating gesture and continued, "It wouldn't be uncommon for apprentices of your age to want to leave their studies and see the world a bit. If that's what you want, I would support you and welcome you back when you were ready to return."

Max shook his head, "Oh, it's not that, master. I am very happy here with you. It's just..."

Alacast nodded, knowingly. "Ah, what's her name?"

Max blushed, not knowing he had been that obvious. "Rixi. She's an elf."

Alacast chuckled and continued down the stairs. The two of them didn't speak as they passed down to the first floor. The minions stirred again, but this time they eagerly approached Alacast and Max. Alacast smiled at them, "Ah, my pets. All is well, you all are doing a fantastic job."

The minions grunted and moved back to their places as Alacast and Max passed to the basement stairs. Alacast asked slyly, "So, should I be expecting a young elf maiden to visit my tower in the near future?"

Max blushed again and shook his head. "I don't think so, master. They're off questing. They were going to use the gold I paid them to book passage to Faald Island."

Alacast whistled, "Heading to the frozen north, eh? An old acquaintance of mine lives there. Or did, I haven't kept up with my correspondence the past few years."

The two of them reached the ceremony chamber in the basement. The room was dark until Alacast spoke a command word that set the dozen braziers around the room ablaze. Max saw Alacast's pet rats scurry from the corners of the room towards them. Alacast reached into his pocket and pulled out an old piece of bread. He tossed it into a corner and the rats ran over to fight over the snack.

Alacast motioned to the pedestal that was meant for the orb. Max set his pack on the stone slab in the center of the room and carefully removed the Amethyst Crystal Ball. He placed it on the pedestal. As he stepped back, he felt something squish beneath his right foot. He heard a squeak and then felt pain as one of the rats bit his foot after he stepped on its tail. Max hopped around in pain and ran into the pedestal, knocking the orb from its perch. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Max and Alacast watched the orb fall to the ground and explode into a million little Amethyst shards.

Max sank to his knees, in despair. Alacast shook his head as he walked over to his apprentice and placed a reassuring hand on Max's shoulder. "It's alright, Max. As you might know, Amethyst crystals are a component of several powerful spells."

Max let out a deep sigh and said, "But you needed that orb to commune with the dead."

Alacast shrugged and said, "There are other Amethyst Crystal Balls out there. In fact, I've heard rumors of one with the Druids of Mirewood."

Max's face fell into his hands as he contemplated the journey he would soon be taking. The Mirewood was on the continent of Darel, more than three times further than he'd already travelled to retrieve the first orb. Assuming all went well, he might be gone for over a year, longer if the druids needed convincing as the Wizards' Guild had. However, his master needed the orb, so he said, "I'll set out tomorrow, master."

Know It All

I haven't written on here in over three years. Heck, I haven't written in over three years. While that feels like a personal failure, it's also indicative of how busy my life has been. Anyways, I had the idea for this story on Monday and I've written and re-written it all week. I just had to get it out there. I hope you like it. Maybe there will be more on here, but I make no promises. :)


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A male of the Homo neanderthalensis species looked up from flattening the tall grasses to make his bed for the night. The flash of light he saw in the sky was pretty, but didn't hold the man's attention for long.

Nearly 250,000 years later, early in the year 1610, an Italian astronomer named Galileo Galilei was watching the planet Jupiter, looking for evidence of more moons orbiting the large gas giant. Suddenly, a small circular shadow began transiting the large planet. Galileo looked up from his telescope perplexed. The object was too large to be a moon of Jupiter and it was not in the plane of the rest of the moons he had already discovered. He looked back in the telescope and followed the object. After the object finished its transition in front of Jupiter, Galileo followed it. He could see it more clearly without the brightness of Jupiter behind it. It looked like a tiny moon, but was much closer than Jupiter. Galileo abandoned his exploration of Jupiter and tracked the object over the next few days. He traced its orbit over the next few weeks and ran and reran his calculations, but kept returning to the same conclusion. He had discovered a new satellite of Earth!

Just over three hundred years later, an R-7 rocket launched from a remote part of the Kazakh SSR. Aboard was humanity's first object to be launched into space. Eyes around the world watched in wonder, excitement and worry. Little did humanity know that they were not the only ones watching.

A decade later, a rocket launched from Cape Canaveral, Florida carrying three men destined to land on the moon. Once more, eyes all around the world watched this historic event. At a small communications relay station in Montana, Sergeant Robert Reed was watching the launch on his little black and white television as he listened for comm traffic. He heard a faint voice on his headphones. Shaking his head at being interrupted, he turned up the transmission and listened. The voice was repeating, "Stay tuned for an important transmission."

Robert cocked his head to the side. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but there was something odd about the voice. He checked the frequency to make sure he was on the appropriate military frequency. He said into the microphone, "Unknown caller, please verify your identity and location."

He waited, but the voice kept repeating the same message over and over. He shook his head again, and picked up his phone. It was a direct line to NORAD command. "Sergeant Reed, this better be good. We're watching history here," said the voice on the other side.

"I know, sir," Robert said to his commanding officer, Lieutenant Thompson. "I've got a weird transmission on the line. It's a strange voice that simply repeats, 'Stay tuned for an important transmission.' I don't know what to make of it, sir."

"You've got a direction and signal strength, Reed?" Thompson asked.

Shaking his head as his own stupidity for forgetting that, he said, "Hold on, sir. I'll get that for you."

He rotated some dials and inspected the results on his set. Shaking his head, he repeated the steps and got the same results. Into the phone, he said, "Uh, this doesn't make sense, sir. The instruments say that it's coming from straight above me and the range calculations are inconclusive."

Lieutenant Thompson wasn't listening though. The television in front of him had changed from a reporter talking in Florida to an image of a man in a white lab coat smiling. The picture was clearer than anything he'd ever seen before. The man started speaking, "Greetings humanity. My name is Frederick Malta and I am from a future that will no longer exist. My team and I live in the year 2122. We've spent the last twenty years assembling the probe we call Know-It-All. I don't know what you call it, but to you it's been nothing but a small natural satellite orbiting the Earth every six hours or so."

The man laughed a little and said, "It's kind of funny to think that I've spent my entire adult life working on a project that would guarantee that I won't ever exist. You see, the point of the Know-It-All probe was to send it back 250,000 years into the past and record all activity on Earth until such time that humanity was ready to consume the data that the probe was collecting. Although Know-It-All was designed to look like a small natural satellite, there was a small chance that it's existence would change the history of your timeline in some way as to be different from our history. We programmed the probe to watch for an event that signified the beginnings of humanity's exploration of space. In my history, that would have been the launching of the Apollo 11 mission to land men on the Moon. If you all named the mission something else, I would understand. Not everything would play out the same when we introduced a change to the timeline you all live in by sending Know-It-All back in time. Heck, maybe you haven't even sent men into space and have chosen to send robot explorers in your stead.

"But I digress. I'm sure that your leaders have begun to wonder where all of this is going. My hope would be that this event would be one of unification instead of division. In our history, the beginnings of space exploration were in the middle of a global struggle called The Cold War. It was a high tension time for the entire planet. I want the people of the Earth to know that the knowledge contained within the Know-It-All probe is not meant for one culture or nation, but for all of humanity to share and learn from. All data in the probe has been replicated six times and will be sent to what we called North America, South America, Europe, Asia, Africa and Australia. I apologize for not being able to send the data to all nations, but even with our relatively advanced technology we still have limitations.

"In addition to the recordings of the last 250,000 years, we've included documentation, such that it is, of our history. We also have documentation of our technological achievements in the hopes that it speeds your technological evolution. Although it's not an official goal of this project, I do hope that you all repeat our project and send your own Know-It-All probe into the past.

"So, that brings me to the end of my little speech. The Know-It-All probe will split into pieces and enter your atmosphere within the next eight hours. We can't guarantee exactly where the pieces will land, but you can be assured that the contents inside will remain intact. Good luck to you all."

The transmission cut off and returned to the reporter who was staring blankly at the camera.

Two weeks later President Richard Nixon and Premier Alexei Kosygin stood in front of the assembled United Nations delegates and shook hands. Both leaders pledged a new era of cooperation and collaboration. The applause took ten minutes to die down.

Sixty years later, at the Frederick Malta launch facility located in the Azores, a technician was inspecting the rocket housing the Know-It-All 2 probe. He smiled at his little contribution to this historical achievement as he worked. He also reminisced at the stories his parents would tell of the tension and worry of the Cold War that ended late in 1969. What must it have been like back then? Today, the Azores, among many other places in the world, participated in the global government instead of a national government. How did humanity ever survive any other way? He wrapped up his inspection left the rocket. He looked back and smiled once more. It was a good time to be alive.

Just over 65 million years ago, a Velociraptor looked up from the Gallimimus corpse it was consuming just in time to see a flash of light in the sky. It meant nothing to the dinosaur as it went back to its meal.

Story: Perfect Match

After several months, I finally managed to write a story! This is another Chuck Wendig flash fiction challenge. This one was to get a random plot and write a story from that. I'll keep what my result was until the end. I wouldn't want it to spoil anything.

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Mike double checked the form to join FindYourMatch.com. Satisfied that he'd filled out the form without embellishments, he hit the submit button. He sat back and wondered when, or if, he'd get a response when his computer signalled that he had an email.

Expecting a welcome message from the dating site, he leaned forward and opened his inbox. That email was there, but in addition was an email saying he had a message in his FindYourMatch mailbox. A wave of excitement tore through Mike as he went back to his browser and refreshed the page. Sure enough, there was a message from a woman with the simple title of "Interested in meeting". Another wave of excitement, this time mixed with nervousness, hit him. He clicked the link waited eagerly for the page to load.

He was greeted by an image of a woman in a flight suit standing by a fighter jet. The image told him that she was a pretty brunnette of average height that is or was in the military as a pilot. Her message was short and to the point. Her name is Pam, and she read his bio and was interested in a meet up tonight.

He fired off a message back to tell her he was interested in meeting. Before he could even sit back again, he got a reply telling him where to meet her. He looked at his watch and jumped up. He didn't have much time to get ready if he was to make it on time.

When he arrived, he saw someone who looked like Pam talking to the hostess and walked over. "Pam?"

She glanced at her watch and nodded. "Ah, five minutes early, excellent." She looked up at him and smiled. Mike thought she had a beautiful smile. She held her hand out and said, "It's nice to meet you, Michael."

Mike cursed himself for putting his full name on his profile. The only person who called him Michael was his mother. He took her hand and shook it, smiling back at her. "Everyone calls me Mike, actually."

Pam frowned and said, "Well, Mike, it's customary to put your preferred name into your profile." She made a wave of dismissal. "Never mind. Our table is ready, shall we?"

Mike nodded and followed Pam and the hostess to their table. They looked over the menu in awkward silence for a few moments before Mike said, "I just signed up for FindYourMatch today, so I was a little surprised to get your message."

"I have an alert for when a man in my area signs up that meets certain criteria. It is more efficient than sifting through old and out of date profiles," Pam replied.

Mike nodded. "That makes sense. I didn't know you could do that alert thing."

Their waiter arrived then and asked, "Are you ready to order?"

"Typically, you're supposed to ask for our drink orders first," Pam said. "However, I am ready to order my meal. How about you, Mike?"

Mike nodded and they ordered their meals and drinks. As Pam was ordering, Mike looked her over and decided there was something he really liked about her, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

The waiter left and Mike said, "So, are you a pilot? In your profile pic, you are standing next to some sort of fighter."

Pam smiled and Mike thought again that she had a beautiful smile. "Yeah, that one is a ZF-132. It was fun to fly, but probably won't make it to production."

"What does that mean? I've never heard of that model," Mike replied.

"You'll likely never hear of it. It failed several tests regarding safety, operability and performance." Seeing that Mike was still confused, she added, "I'm a test pilot for the USAF."

"Oh, that must be dangerous," Mike said, concern in his voice.

Pam laughed, "It's not as bad as in, say, 1950, but it can be dangerous. Fortunately, we haven't lost a pilot since I joined the 412th a few years ago." She looked down at the table. "The silverware isn't placed correctly. The fork goes on the left and the knife on the right."

Mike noted that his silverware was misplaced and corrected it, too. He looked back up at Pam and said, "I'm glad we could meet up for a date-"

"You're mistaken, Mike, this is just an informal meet up, not a date," Pam interrupted.

Mike was taken aback a little, but continued, "Err, as I was saying, I'm glad we could meet up on such short notice. I'm having a good time."

Their meals came and Mike told Pam about being a college math teacher. Then, Pam told Mike more about being a test pilot. They ordered dessert and another round of drinks. At closing time, the waiter brought them their bills.

Mike reached for both checks and said, "I can cover these."

Pam quickly scooped up her bill and shook her head. "Maybe on the first date, Mike, but it wouldn't be proper for you to pay for my meal at an informal meeting of friends."

"So, you're saying that we're going to have a first date?" Mike asked with a smile on his face.

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Have you been able to guess the scenario?  My scenario was:

The story starts when your protagonist joins an online dating site.

Another character is a test pilot who wants everything done by the rules.

Story: The Necromancer's Apprentice

This story is another Chuck Wendig Flash Fiction challenge.  It's a fun one, I hope you enjoy it!

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Max sat amongst the dead, whistling to himself.  He counted them one more time to make sure he had collected the twelve bodies his master had asked for.  He nodded with satisfaction when he saw that he'd gotten enough.

Max reflected how happy he was with his current role as a Necromancer's apprentice.  He'd tried other occupations, of course, but none of them gave him the job satisfaction that this one did.

He laughed as he thought about his tenure as an apprentice in the Thieves' Guild.  When the authorities brought down the whole guild, the rest of the thieves had pegged him as a mole, but he had just accidentally led the authorities back to the hideout after stealing the mayor's "Key to the City".  Who knew that the key didn't actually unlock any doors?

Then there was the time that he tried to join the Druidic Order.  The look on those Druid's faces was priceless when he walked into a society meeting wearing the chain mail he'd found on a dead bugbear.  He still found their dislike of metal armor silly.

Max walked over to the cabinet that held the spell components that his master would use to raise the corpses.  He pulled out a little of this and a bottle of that and placed them on the ceremonial table in the middle of the room.  Next, he grabbed the large cauldron and placed it on the table.

Laying out the spell components reminded him of his tenure as a cleric's apprentice in the Church of Slinne, the Goddess of Life.  He was still making payments to pay for the repairs caused by the fire he accidentally started with the ceremonial torches.

Now, though, he'd definitely found his niche.  He'd been with his master for almost a year now.  It was Max's longest term of employment by at least three months.

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of something gnawing on bone.  Max looked over at the bodies and saw one of his master's pet rats chewing on the femur of one of the more decomposed bodies.  He ran over and shooed the creature away, shaking his head.  He didn't know why his master kept those creatures around.

They did remind him of the time he apprenticed for a Ranger in the Hundart Forest.  The Ranger's companion, a very large wolverine named Scrappy, had never liked him.  His apprenticeship ended abruptly when he accidentally lit the creature's tail on fire.  It was also how he got the scars on his thigh.  Wolverine claws could do a lot of damage.  Good thing his former master had had a healing spell prepared at the time.

He heard his current master coming down the stone stairway and quickly finished organizing the table the way he knew his master liked.

"Good evening, Max," his master, Alacast, said as he approached the table.  "Is everything ready?"

"Oh, yes sir," Max excitedly answered.  "We've got twelve corpses of varying levels of decay all ready to be risen."

Alacast spent a moment looking over the dead.  "No trouble in the cemetery?"

That question reminded Max of how he'd met Alacast.  The Necromancer had sent his previous apprentice to the graveyard where Max had been working as a gravedigger's apprentice.  He'd interrupted the apprentice as he was robbing a grave.  Max had offered to help him dig up the body, but the apprentice had refused.  As Max leaned against the gravestone to watch the apprentice work, the stone shifted and fell into the grave, crushing the apprentice.  Alacast's magic had alerted him to his apprentice's demise and he'd hurried to the cemetery.  When he arrived a few minutes later and saw what had happened, he offered Max the apprenticeship.  Gravedigger work hadn't been for him, so he accepted.

Back in the present, Max answered, "No, sir.  The gravedigger was passed out drunk again."

His master nodded and returned to the table and began the chant that would raise the corpses into undead.  Max stood behind his master watching intently as he chanted.  Max knew that this spell would take some time, so he leaned back against the wall.

What Max hadn't realized was that it wasn't the wall right behind him, but rather a lit brazier.  The brazier fell over, knocking down the one next to it and so on until the dozen braziers around the room had all fallen over.  Max cursed himself when he saw that several of the corpses had caught fire.

Alacast stopped chanting and glanced over his shoulder at Max.  Sheepishly, Max said, "Sorry, master."

The Necromancer turned and knocked over the cauldron on the table in front of him, spilling the contents onto the remainder of the bodies that hadn't been burning but were now being eaten away by the acidic contents of the cauldron.

The two of them glanced at each other and broke out laughing.  Alacast, between chortles, said, "This is why we work well together, Max.  Birds of a feather are we.  At least they were already dead."

Max smiled and nodded.  He said, "I'll get the mess cleaned up, master, and fetch you a dozen new bodies."

Story - The Balance of Magic

It's been a very long time since I've written a story, much less published one on my blog.  This story is part of my Uroth world, but far in the future compared to the other Uroth stories I've posted.  It's part of a bigger story line that I have in mind, but haven't written yet.  I hope you enjoy it!

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Beret sighed as he shifted his pack from one should to the other.  It wasn't a far walk from his small farm to town, but he had a lot to pick up and it would have been nice if his mule had been in a mood to make the trek with him.  Since his mule hadn't wanted to even stand up for him, he just decided to go on his own.

A sound from behind him made Beret turn and stare in fascination as a strange looking wagon rolled by him into the town square.  The first thing that he noticed about the wagon was that it didn't have a team of animals pulling it.  A man sat on a bench at the front of the wagon.  He was dressed in a funny looking garment that covered his entire body and was holding a wheel that seemed to guide the wagon to the left or right.

Beret scratched his head, trying to figure out what made the wagon move.  The driver saw him standing there and waved.  "Come to the town square, friend, and we will explain the marvels of this wagon and many others!"

Beret hesitated, but then shrugged to himself and followed.  The blacksmith shop would still be there after he saw whatever the driver had to show.  His hesitation became moot when he saw the blacksmith emerge from his shop and follow Beret and the wagon into the square.

The wagon stopped in the center of the square and the driver disappeared within through a door behind his bench.  Beret looked around the square and saw that most of the small town was turning out to see the spectacle.  The blacksmith, his name was Moost, stopped next to Beret.  "Good morrow, Beret.  Do you know what's going on?"

The farmer shook his head.  "The driver said that he would explain how the wagon moved without a team, so I followed him here."

Moost's face turned dark.  "Must be some sort of wicked magic," the blacksmith growled.

The blacksmith was twenty years older than Beret, born near the end of the Great Magic War.  As such, he'd grown up hearing war stories from his father.  Beret didn't know or care much about the war himself.  Moost's generation still feared and hated magic.

Beret's attention returned to the wagon as everyone in the square jumped when a gap appeared in the roof of the wagon and the two sides of the wagon slid down and out to form a stage nearly twice the area that the wagon had occupied.  Beret saw the driver and another man, this one wearing the elaborate robes of a mage, standing on the stage.

Moost growled under his breath said, "Mage".

Beret saw many others grimacing.  The mood in the square quickly turned from one of curiosity into hostility.  Moost bent down and started to pull a cobblestone from the road when the driver's voice rang out over the square.

"Ladied and gentlemen!  I understand your reactions to seeing my mage friend, Trianon.  The Great Magic War is still fresh on many minds around Uroth.  That is why we have come.  If you can hold off lynching us for a few moments, we are here to show you that not all magic is evil."

Beret heard hisses and grumbles in the audience.  Moost stood up with the cobblestone, but held it in his hand rather than throwing it.  The driver continued, "My name is Everet.  Trianon and I are travelling the length and breadth of Kalath, showing people the wonders of Applied Sorcery, or as it's known in some circles, Mechanical Sorcery.  Our goal is not to sell you anything, though we wouldn't turn away your gold if you see something you like."

He sent another genuine smile towards the crowd.  The crowd didn't seem as likely to riot against him and Beret knew why as he couldn't help but like this man.  Everet continued, "Our goal, instead, is to educate the masses about the large scale benefits of Applied Sorcery.  As you folks have demonstrated, there is a growing trend of distrust for magic ever since the Great Magic War.  We believe that the best way to counteract this unfortunate turn of events is to show people that magic can be used for so much good."

Everet pointed down to the wagon beneath his feet as he continued speaking.  "A great example is this self-propelled wagon.  It has many benefits that ordinary team-driven wagons cannot provide.  One, no animals to feed or hurt themselves during your journey.  Two, this wagon, on good roads, can move faster than any creature could pull a wagon safely.  Three, the mechanism that drives this wagon does not have a weight limit.  You could load this wagon full of the heaviest metal and still achieve the same speeds as if it were empty."

Beret glanced around the crowd and saw that they were as entranced as he was.  His own rickety wagonette was pulled by the most ornery mule that ever lived.  He often chose to walk to town, as he did today, instead of bothering to hitch up the wagon and drive to town.  The benefits of the self-propelled wagon were obvious to all.

The townsfolk all listened to Everet speak and Trianon demonstrate other equally remarkable gadgets for the next hour.  Beret lingered in the square as the rest of the townsfolk dispersed.  Some people approached the wagon and bought the little trinkets they saw.  Eventually, Beret was the only one left in the square.  Everet and Trianon were organizing their wares in preparation to leave when Beret finally got up the nerve to approach them.

As he approached, he heard shuffling behind him.  He turned and saw Moost with his stone hefting it for a throw.  Thinking quickly, Beret threw his pack at Moost, ruining his throw and making the stone fly wide of its mark.

Moost growled at Beret and charged him.  Beret closed his eyes and prepared for the impact with the much larger man.  A few moments later, he opened his eyes to see Moost, a panicked look on his face, hovering over him suspended in mid-air.  Beret glanced over his shoulder and saw Everet and Trainon with big smiles on their faces.

Everet walked over and stood in front of Moost.  He said, "We don't want any trouble, blacksmith.  We mean you no harm, but we will defend ourselves.  If you leave now, we'll think nothing more of this incident.  Do you understand?"  He waited a moment, then sighed.  "You can move your head."

Moost nodded quickly.  Everet signalled Trianon and Moost fell to the ground.  The blacksmith quickly got up and ran to his shop without looking back.

Everet put a hand on Beret's shoulder.  "Well met!  You were the one I saw on the road into town, are you not?"

Beret was somehow not surprised that Everet remembered him.  He seemed like the kind of person to remember everyone he's ever met.  "Well met, Everet.  I am indeed.  My name is Beret."

He smiled to himself and said, "Welcome, Beret.  What can I do for you today?  Are you interested in buying some tool to help your farm?"

Beret also wasn't surprised that Everet could guess his occupation.  He had the look of a farmer with the clothes to match.  He shook his head, "No, I don't think that I could afford any of your wares, but that is indeed what brings me to your cart."

For the first time, Beret saw the confidence on Everet's face disappear.  "I'm afraid that I'm not following you, Beret."

"Well, Everet, I don't have much to show for a lifetime of farming.  I barely scrape up enough food and money from my farm to pay for my own way.  Not enough to make any woman interested in struggling along with me at any rate.  As such, I was wondering if you'd be interested in a proposition?"

"I'm listening, Beret," Everet responded.

"One of my neighbors with a larger farm has offered to take me on as a hand and buy my property from me.  The only reason that I haven't done so is that having my own land is marginally better than working someone else's.  Your arrival gives me another option," Beret said.  "I'd like to do what you do, Everet.  I'm not a natural salesman, like you are, but if you can find me a partner that is, I'd like to travel Kalath and spread the same message that you have here."

Everet's winning smile returned to his face.  He waved the mage over.  "Trianon, my friend, I do believe that we have a convert."

Story: The Cause

I wrote another story this week for one of Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenges.  This one was similar to last week's in that you randomly picked from three buckets of story elements to create your story.  I would have been happy to write in almost any of the genres, and I got cyberpunk.  I love William Gibson, so this pleased me immensely.  For setting, I got Wal-Mart.  Meh, I would have liked any of the other settings, but this would work.  For the element to include, I got a robot.  That would work beautifully with cyberpunk.

My first draft of the story was over 1300 words, which is way over the 1000 word limit.  It was hard to pare down to 1000 words, but I'm coming in at 992 words now.  I had to remove a part of the story that I really liked, but I think that the story is still as good without it.

I hope you enjoy my attempt at cyberpunk, Wal-Mart and robots.

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Gibson sat down at a public terminal in the library section of Wal-Mart.  He glanced around to make sure that no security robots were around before plugging his neural adapter into the connector and transferred his consciousness into the terminal.

Inside, he took a moment to get his bearings.  As with most public terminals, viruses and other malware were prevalent.  He ignored those as they couldn't harm him.  He was on the lookout for either an AI or another user connected to this terminal.

Satisfied that he was alone, he began unpacking the tools that he would use for The Cause.  First, he constructed a worker factory.  Workers would free him up for more important tasks.  Then, he built a firewall factory.  The firewall factory would build pieces of firewall code that Gibson had customized to defend this terminal from outside influence while allowing the traffic that he wanted to flow.

Workers started emerging from the factory and he sent them to clean the terminal.  With the firewall factory finished, he began assembling his firewall as his workers began to tear down the terminal's firewall.

Suddenly, several workers were vaporized and Gibson realized he'd forgotten to disable the terminal's antivirus program.  He cursed himself as he couldn't afford any delays.  Antivirus programs were a joke nowadays, but they were still better than leaving a system free to any virus from the 21st century still lurking around.  Also, they could still identify and kill processes trying to overtly seize a machine.  That's what the worker processes would look like to the program.

Gibson left the firewall and went back to his tools.  He pulled out what looked like an tablet computer and punched some keys and told the terminal's OS to disable the antivirus program.  The tablet made the terminal think that he was an administrator, it complied.

He chided himself for forgetting such an easy step and went back to the firewall.  He knew that he had to hurry because the network security AIs would soon detect his firewall and try to retake control of the terminal.  A human couldn't control an AI and they could easily eject him from the machine if he didn't have his defenses up.  An AI wasn't as clever and adaptive as a human, but they made up for that by being faster.

The firewall work was finished before long, which was good, because a moment later a network security AI hit his firewall, trying to access the terminal.  He shored up the port it was trying to access and sent workers to the firewall to maintain it as the AI would start trying to break it down soon.

Gibson took the tablet computer out and opened an unsecured connection to the security terminal of the Wal-Mart.  The security terminal controlled the security robots.  The plan was to destroy every Wal-Mart, worldwide, from the inside in order to try to break the megacorporation's oppressive control of the world's culture and economy.  The security robots would be Wal-Mart's downfall.  If The Cause could break Wal-Mart, it could free the people of the Earth.

He found the security terminal and ordered his workers to start building a secure tunnel to it.  They opened a port in the firewall and began constructing the tunnel as Gibson pinged the security robots.

Panic set in as Gibson realized that one of the security robots was heading his way.  The network security AI must have sent it to physically check out the terminal.  The defenses would have to hold in his absence.

He removed the neural adapter and shoved it into his backpack.  He moved to another terminal as he gripped the EMP gun he had stashed in his backpack.  He pretended to work on the terminal as he waited for the robot.

He didn't have to wait long.  The robot rounded the corner and said, "Greetings, Wal-Mart shopper.  Is there anyone using this terminal?"  The robot was pointing at where Gibson had been sitting before.

"You just missed him," Gibson said, his grip on the EMP tightening.  He used his other hand to point, and said, "He went off towards the bathroom."

The robot looked down at Gibson.  "The security cameras tell me a different story, citizen.  They..."

The robot stopped speaking when Gibson pulled his gun out.  It tried to raise its own weapon, but Gibson had the advantage of being ready.  He fired and the robot crumpled to the ground.  He didn't have much time now, so he quickly plugged back in.

His found that defenses were holding, but there were now three AIs trying to break down the firewall.  He quickly sent all of his workers there and went to complete the tunnel himself.

Once the tunnel was finished, he entered the security terminal.  Luckily, there wasn't an AI there.  They were probably all at his firewall by now.  Soon, it wouldn't matter.  He pulled a small cage out of his tools.  It housed a virus that The Cause wrote just for this occasion.  The virus would take control of the security terminal and order the security robots to destroy the store.

As he released the virus he felt a breach open in his firewall.  He left the virus to its business and hurried back to the tunnel, only to find he was too late.  Two AIs were in the tunnel heading his way.  Trapped, he knew that he was dead.  He couldn't be harmed by an AI if his consciousness was still in the terminal he was physically connected too, but if the tunnel collapsed, his consciousness wouldn't make it back to his brain.

He glanced back to the security terminal and saw that the virus had taken control and had disconnected the terminal from the rest of the network.  The Cause had won in this store.  As the tunnel collapsed around him, Gibson smiled.  He'd done his part to save humanity.

Story: Geology Addiction

Today's story is another one of Chuck Wendig's Flash Fiction Challenges.  I started writing this on Friday, but got stuck on the ending.  I finished it up this morning and it ended up being 998 words, just shy of the 1000 word limit.

The trick of this challenge was to randomly select a word from three sets of words that he provided.  I first got Dystopian, which I liked a lot.  Then I got Geology.  That one stumped me quite a bit, at first.  Finally, I got Addiction.  That I was all right with.  I hope you like the results.

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Carl could still hear the sounds of voices and motorcycles outside of the dumpster he was hiding in.  Two of the members of the Federal Protection Force had already opened the lid and hadn't spotted him, so he was sure they wouldn't find him today.  Of course, they have been searching for him for over an hour, so they were being admirably persistent.  If you could admire anyone in that organization.

He reflected on how he'd gotten into this situation.  Everyone knew that practicing any sort of earth science was against the law, but Carl couldn't help himself.  He was addicted to geology.  He found it fascinating how the Earth worked and how different minerals were formed.  Living in the Hawaiian Federation would have been a geologist's dream, if you could have been one in the modern world.  He'd gotten careless and went out to Mauna Kea three times this week and had finally been spotted by a patrol.  They'd chased him, but he'd made it to his motorcycle and gotten to Hilo before they could catch him. It was too close of a call, he'd have to be more careful next time.

It struck him, not for the first time, that the government's ban against the earth sciences was an unfair and old fashioned idea.  History wasn't his strong suit, but it had been over one hundred years since the ecological disasters of the early twenty-first century.  People who studied the earth wouldn't make the same mistakes as their counterparts from the century before, would they?

How anyone studying the earth sciences had even caused the disasters in the first place still confused him.  Of course, he was only an amateur scientist, so perhaps he didn't have the insight that his predecessors had.  Before, he'd always assumed that the government had everyone's best interests at heart about this since the laws were enacted during the height of the crises, but now he was doubting that more every day.

Things weren't all bad, though.  News agencies were starting to report that the environment was improving around the world and that people would likely be able to return to the large continents within his lifetime.  It made him wonder what it was like to live on a large landmass.  To have the freedom to roam.  To be somewhere where you knew that there wasn't another human being within kilometers of you.  People were so crowded in Hawaii that you couldn't be alone unless you went up to the volcanoes.  That was part of the appeal of geology to Carl.

Carl realized that the sounds of the patrols had gone away.  Cautiously, he uncovered himself from the trash around him and slowly lifted the lid of the dumpster.  He breathed a sigh of relief, not to mention fresh air, when he saw that the coast was clear.  He crawled out of the dumpster and headed home.

He managed to get home without encountering another patrol, which was good since he was out past curfew.  When he entered his house, he found his wife waiting for him.  She looked angry.  "You were out at the volcano again, weren't you?"  She sniffed him and said, "You almost got caught this time too, didn't you?"

Carl sheepishly replied, "Yes to both questions.  I got away though and hid my bike on the west side of town.  It should be fine until we can go get it in the morning."

Marsha's expression didn't change.  "Did you at least remove the plates?  Or should I be expecting them to break through the door at any moment?"

"No to worry, my dear, we're safe in that regard," he replied.  "If you don't mind, I'd like to remove these smelly clothes and have a shower."

Carl started to step around his wife when he heard the sounds of engines outside.  He froze in a panic as the front door flew in with four Federals right behind it, guns first.  Two of them grabbed Carl, the third pushed Marsha back with his gun at her head and the fourth put a cowl over Carl's head as the first two bound his hands behind his back.

He was pushed outside and into a vehicle before he could say anything.  "What's going on?  Where are you taking me?"

A gruff voice said, "Shut up.  You've violated Federal Laws and will be punished.  Speak again at your own peril."

Carl didn't know what that meant, but everyone heard stories about people who went into Federal custody.  They typically didn't come back.  He was forced to bide his time and see what would happen, since there wasn't much he could do anyway.

After what seemed like hours, the vehicle stopped.  Carl was pulled out of the vehicle and pushed around for a while until he was pushed into a chair.  The cowl was pulled off of his head and he blinked against the bright light that was shining in his face.  A few moments later, his eyes adjusted somewhat.  He sensed, rather than saw, two figures on the other side of the light.  "What's this all about?" he asked.

"Mr. Walters, you've been caught practicing forbidden sciences.  We've found your motorcycle laden with ill-gotten volcanic rock and our search team has found the geology lab you've been hiding in your home," one of the voices said.

The other voice said, "You know that practicing geology is a crime in the Hawaiian Federation.  You are guilty of this crime.  Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"I haven't done anything wrong.  Science helps us understand the Earth better.  Maybe if people had understood the Earth better, we wouldn't have had the..."

Carl suddenly felt an intense pain in his chest and looked down to see the end of a blade sticking out of it.  A man walked around from behind him.  As Carl died, he heard, "You were too smart for your own good, Carl.  Can't have those ideas floating around."

Story: The Day the Saucers Came

This is another of Chuck Wendig's flash fiction challenges.  I hope that you enjoy it!

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Everyone else remembers it as the day the saucers came, but I remember it as the day a man in a suit shot my father.  First, let me back up a couple of days.  It all started Friday afternoon.  My mother was in the kitchen and I was in the living room, reading.  My father came in the front door and I heard him cuss.  This was surprising to me, since he rarely swore.  I looked over and saw a large bird fly into the house through the open door.  My cat, Onyx, jumped off of my lap and started jumping at the bird, trying to catch it.  She chased the bird into the kitchen and I hear several crashing noises, coupled with the shouts of my mother.

I jumped up and ran into the kitchen to see a lot of shattered glass on the floor.  Onyx was on top of the bird, laying amongst the ruined dishes.  I grabbed a nearby kitchen towel and stole Onyx's prize from her.  The bird was badly injured and I carried it towards the front door.  My father saw me coming and said, "Darn bird.  Startled the heck out of me."

I could tell that he was making an effort not to cuss now, which put a smirk on my face.  The smirk faded as I said, "I don't think that the bird is going to make it, Dad.  Can you take care of it?"

He nodded and took the towel from me.  He opened it up a little and I heard him cuss again, under his breath.  "What's wrong now?" I asked.

"This is one of Mr. Trundel's racing pigeons," he said.  "He's not going to be happy about this.  Well, he's out of town until Monday.  I'll leave him a note."

My father left with the towel and bird and I went to go help my mother clean up the mess my cat had made.  She had already broken out the broom and dustpan.  I took them from her with an apologetic smile.  I swept up the broken dishes and tossed the bits into the trash can.  It was full, so I took the trash out.

The rest of that day and the weekend went by without any further incident and I'd totally forgotten about it all until Monday.  That morning was similarly uneventful, and it wasn't until after my father got home from work that things got interesting again.

The excitement started when the UPS man came to the door.  I answered it and signed for the medium sized box he delivered.  The box had my mom's name on it, so I called up the stairs for her.  She was in the kitchen, so I brought her the box.  She was so excited for what was in the box that she called out to my father who was changing into casual clothes after work.

"Simon, they've arrived!  The saucers have come!" she yelled down the hall towards their bedroom.

I rolled my eyes.  At that age, I didn't understand how a little thing like teacup saucers could make someone so happy.  Another knock came at the door, so I went back down to the entry way to answer it.

It was Mr. Trundel, our neighbor, standing on the other side of the door this time.  He must have just gotten home from work, too, as he was wearing a very nice tailored suit.  I knew that he was a business man of some sort.  "Is your father home?" he asked.

I nodded and said, "I'll go let him know you're here."

I ran up the stairs two at a time, as was my habit when I was younger.  My father was in the kitchen with my mother, who was unboxing her saucers.  "Mr. Trundel is here, Dad.  He's waiting at the front door."

My father nodded and walked out of the kitchen.  My mother said, "These are replacements for the saucers that your cat broke a few days ago."

Suddenly, I felt a strong surge of anxiety.  "Oh, no, that's the day that Onyx killed one of Mr. Trundel's birds!"

I heard a funny popping sound coming from the entry way.  I ran to the top of the stairs and saw Mr. Trundel lowering a peculiar looking gun.  I looked in horror at my father who appeared to be covered with strange blue and green spots.  It took me a moment to realize that the gun had been a paintball gun.  "That's for Frenchy," Mr. Trundel said.  Without another word, he turned and walked back towards his house.

My dad turned to me and we both started laughing uncontrollably.

Story: Star Trek: Spock's Dream

It's been a while since I posted anything here, so I figured it was time to post a story that I've been working on for a while.  It's my first attempt at the Star Trek universe (that I'm willing to share, anyway).  I hope you enjoy it!  I will tell you that it is in the "Alternate Timeline" that started with the most recent Star Trek movie, maybe a month or two after the end of the movie.

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"Ambassador Spock, you are the most troublesome Vulcan that I've ever had the pleasure of working with," Admiral Pike said to the aging Vulcan standing in front of his desk.  "Why do you insist on doing your own thing when the Federation is doing what's best for what remains of your people?"

"With all due respect, Admiral, I feel that I am acting in the best interests of my people and the Federation.  Unification of my people with the Romulan people has long been a dream of mine, shared with many Romulans and Vulcans," Spock responded.  "Meeting with them to discuss this isn't violating any laws, oaths or orders."

Pike sighed.  The Vulcan from a future that would never happen was undoubtedly a great asset to the Federation, though he was also turning out to be hard to keep reigned in.  "From your debriefing after the Nero incident, you gave us a pretty detailed 'history' of the Federation that was supposed to happen.  You told us that we would eventually ally ourselves with the Klingons, not the Romulans.  In light of our weakened state, we're actively working on forging this alliance right now."

It was Spock's turn to sigh, which surprised Pike.  He said, "Admiral, that alliance wouldn't happen for roughly thirty-five Earth years from now.  The situations of both the Klingon Empire and the Federation were very different than they are now.  They were motivated in that timeline by internal and external forces that simply do not apply now and will not likely develop in this timeline."

"You'll remember that the Klingons experienced significant losses during the Nero incident as well, Ambassador," Pike replied.  "Since they are weakened as well, we're hoping that they will be open to these talks."

Spock shook his head, and said, "Admiral, I have personally known many Klingons and worked closely with their people for many years.  At this point in their history, they are not going to be open to negotiations.  It is far more likely that they have already replaced most of the lost ships and are building up extra forces.  Their purpose in coming to the negotiating table is to appear weakened so that when they strike, it will be from a position of complete advantage and surprise."

Pike grimaced, realizing that what Spock said was also a quite likely scenario.  "What about your Romulan friends, then, Spock?  We've had several reports of incursions into the Neutral Zone over the past few weeks."

"They are doing what Romulans of this era do best, Admiral," Spock said.  "They are testing us, provoking us, and spying on us.  They have no real interest in expansion into Federation territory.  They are still quite isolationist, but in the timeline that I come from, they would soon have a short lived alliance with the Klingons.  I was hoping that an alliance could be forged with the Federation, instead."

Pike checked his notes on Spock's debriefing and said, "Yes, it looks like that alliance gave the Klingons the cloaking device and the Romulans some territory and many starship designs and prototypes."

Spock nodded, "The Federation never really knew the terms of the alliance, but it was clear that it benefited both sides greatly.  If we could negotiate similar terms, the Federation might be put on equal footing with our currently hostile neighbors instead of giving the Klingons yet another advantage."

"Yes, the Breen, Cardassians, Chalnoth, Gorn, Tholians, among others have been raiding our borders ever since the incident.  We've begun rebuilding the fleet, but these things take time and I'm afraid that we don't have enough of it."  Pike looked up at Spock, his jaw clenched.  "At this time, I can't authorize you to continue your negotiations.  However, I am not restricting your movements either.  Do you understand?"

A thin smile showed on Spock's lips.  Pike was again surprised by any expression on a Vulcan's face.  "Of course, I understand, Admiral.  I am also quite familiar with the human ability to, 'bend the rules'."

A smile showed on Pike's face after the Vulcan turned his back to him.  He watched Spock leave his office, then said, "Bend the rules."  Chuckling, he picked up his communicator and dialed in a particular frequency, then said, "Victor Delta Foxtrot."  He then put the communicator down and went back to his normal work routine.

In orbit around Earth, a small Vulcan craft named Surak was preparing to leave orbit.  The ship housed twenty-four young Vulcans who, before the Nero incident, had been living on Romulus keeping the hope of reunification of the two races alive.  "We have unofficial permission to continue with our mission," Spock announced when he arrived on the command deck.

Tal'dek, the oldest of the other Vulcans, seated in the pilot's seat, said, "Unofficial permission?  This is a curious phrase."

Spock sat in the captain's chair and said, "One thing that you will all learn about humans is that although they like to make rules, they also have the knack of knowing when the rules need to be broken."

Tal'dek shook his head and said, "Curious.  Our course is to Romulus, then?"

Spock replied, "Yes, as fast as this ship can take us."

Surak left Earth's orbit and passed by the planet's moon.  As it passed, a ship, painted black and without any markings or light emitting from its surface, left orbit of the satellite and followed the Vulcan ship.  Both ships jumped into warp.

Several hours later, aboard the Surak, Tal'dek took not of the readings on his tactical display.  He said, "Spock, there are four vessels on an intercept course with us."

"Are they in visual range?" Spock asked.

Tal'dek shook his head.  "No, but they are coming from the direction of Klingon space.  Their energy signatures do not match any Klingon design we have on record, but neither do they match any Federation vessel or typical Romulan signatures."

"Let's go to yellow alert, raise our shields and hail them," Spock replied without any hesitation.

Tal'dek keyed in the commands.  A few moments later, he replied, "We are not receiving any response."

"Send our status back to the nearest Federation outpost and forward to the Romulan Star Empire," Spock said.  "We shall also go to red alert and arm our weapons.  Prepare for battle."

Four sleek ships, in formation, approached the small vessel and the lead vessel fired two warning shots at Surak.  Tal'dek said, "They claim to be from the Klingon Empire.  They are demanding our immediate and unconditional surrender.  They have mentioned you by name, Spock."

Spock was silent for a moment, then said, "The only logical course of action is to surrender.  All stop, but keep our weapons and shields at the ready."

The five vessels came out of warp.  The four Klingon vessels remained in formation in front of Surak.  Tal'dek's console beeped at him and he said, "I'm picking up some weapons fire coming from behind the four vessels, but there doesn't seem to be a ship there."

The black vessel that had followed Surak from Earth opened fire on the Klingon vessels from behind them.  It scored several hits on the lead vessel with both phasers and photon torpedoes.  The Klingons' formation quickly dispersed and they circled back to where the weapons fire originated from.  The black vessel, from a different location entirely, fired on the lead vessel again, disabling its engines.  Tel'dak relayed this information to Spock who ordered Surak to join in the fight.

The three remaining Klingon vessels formed a new, loose formation that gave them weapons coverage of much of the space around them, but the black vessel was more agile and kept slipping into and out of the Klingons' blindspots.  It fired repeatedly at the Klingons from locations in the shifting blindspots.  Soon, with the aid of Surak, the shields were disabled on two of the remaining Klingon vessels and the weapons of the third were offline.

Spock ordered Surak to warp, the Klingons did not give pursuit.  Spock said, "Hail the hidden vessel."

Tel'dak did so and said, "They are responding with audio only."

Spock nodded and said, "Unidentified vessel, thank you for your assistance.  I would ask you to identify yourselves."

"I would prefer to keep that information to myself, Ambassador Spock," came the reply.  "You may call me Captain Romulus.  We had hoped that you wouldn't need our assistance, but we couldn't stand by and let you be captured by the Klingon Empire."

"I must ask you, Captain Romulus, do you plan to follow us all the way to Romulus?" Spock asked.

"I must refrain from answering that at this time, Ambassador.  Just know that we are here to help troublesome Vulcans in the event that any plans become unraveled."

Spock smiled and immediately knew who sent these mysterious strangers.  "Very well," he said.  "We will not look for you except in our time of need."

Tal'dek said, "They have cut the transmission, Spock.  Likely because we have entered the Neutral Zone."

Story: Crooked Tree

I'm doing another Flash Fiction challenge by Chuck Wendig.  This story totally evolved from what I had first imagined, but I really like where it went and I hope you like it too.

Edit: Added the picture hosted on Chuck's site.  FYI, the image is Copyright Chuck Wendig and I claim no rights to the image.

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My mother always tells me not to play by the crooked tree, but I can't help myself.  I think that the tree is very interesting to look at and fun to play around and climb on.  She says that the tree is cursed and I don't know what she means by that, but I'm sure that the tree means well.

I know that the tree is dying, but every spring it still grows new leaves and last year a bird had a nest in it.  My father says that the tree will fall all the way down soon.  That makes me sad.  I will miss the tree when it's gone.  The tree is my best friend.

My mother won't go near the tree and refuses to let my father mow that part of the backyard.  She says that the tree is on the edge of our property anyway, so it's fine that the grass is long there.  I like the long grass and shrubs that grow near the tree.  Sometimes I hide in them when I feel like being alone.  My mother is always very cross with me when she finds me hiding from her there.

My father sometimes tries to get mother to let him cut down the tree.  He says that the bad memories will go with the tree.  I don't know what bad memories they are talking about, I only ever remember the tree fondly.  She always refuses, but I don't really know why.  If I didn't like the tree as much as she doesn't, I would let my father take it away.  I'm always happier when he takes the darkness away at night.  I don't like the darkness and he's happy to make it go away for me.  My mother might be happier if she let my father take the tree away.

I'm happy that the tree is still there.  I often wonder why the tree is so crooked, none of the other trees are crooked like that one.  I asked my father about why it was crooked.  He looked very sad and said that something bad happened ten years ago.  I wonder why he is so sad, but I don't ask him about it because I don't like it when people are sad.  I gave him a big hug and that made him happy again.

Yesterday, I heard my parents talking about the tree when they thought I wasn't listening.  They were talking about a ten year old boy named Bobby who got hurt when the tree became crooked.  I felt sad for that boy and wondered if I knew him.  My name is Bobby and it would be nice to know another boy named Bobby.  Maybe he could play with me and my crooked tree.

Story: Lovely Hypocrite?

I've decided to try one of Chuck Wendig's Flash Friday challenges.  This week's challenge was to go to use a random sentence generator to generate your first or last sentence in your story.  I got "Will the company suffer the lovely hypocrite?"  I figured that I could work with that, so I wrote the following story.  I hope that you enjoy it!

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"Will the company suffer the lovely hypocrite?" General Mitchell asked. It was clear from his tone that he would not suffer my presence any longer.  Asking the rest of the company showed that he was sure of their answer.  "He has defied my command and has tried to sow dissent into our ranks.  Would you keep him in our honorable company?"

The company responded with growls and many men shouting, "No!"  Their anger didn't intimidate me.  I was in the right and didn't need to fear any immediate violence from them.  The code of conduct amongst the mech companies would prevent anyone from hurting me, for now.  Instead, they would just exile me from the city to roam the wastes.  People survived out there, but just barely.

Mitchell let the growls and yells settle down before speaking again.  "It is decided.  Rex Waters, you will be exiled in the heat of the day tomorrow."  He pointed to two men who grabbed my arms.  "You two take him to his quarters and lock him in.  Stand guard until someone relieves you."

I considered fighting, but I quickly dismissed the idea.  The entirety of the mech company surrounded me and I would be quickly overwhelmed.  They would hurt me, if I started a fight.  I needed to bide my time for an opportunity to escape to present itself.

The men guided me back to my quarters.  Without a word, they pushed me inside.  One of them pulled a pistol out and held me in the corner while the other ransacked my quarters.  Further hope fled as they found my service pistol and the two backups I had hidden.  Smiling at me, they pocketed my guns and left the room.  I heard the door lock.  "At least they didn't take what little money I have," I said to myself.

Knowing that I would need as much rest as I could get, I laid down on my bed.  I must have fallen asleep, as I was awoken by voices in the hallway outside of my room.  I quietly crept close to the door and listened.

"...come to relieve you," one of the voices said.  I recognized the voice of Sergeant Clost, the left gunner of the mech I commanded.

"I doubt the general would send two of Waters' subordinates to relieve us.  Go away before we lock you up with your former commander," one of the guards replied.

Corporal Winters, my right gunner, laughed.  "That bastard is getting what he deserves.  We said as much to the general when he offered us the opportunity to push the traitor out of the gates tomorrow."

Clost chimed in, "I look forward to pushing that backstabber out into the wastes."

The four of them laughed for a moment.  The same guard said, "Welch, you wait here with Clost.  I'll go with Winters to verify that they're legit."

I heard some footsteps, then what sounded like a scuffle and two loud thumps.  A moment later, the door opened.  I saw Winters standing there smiling at me and the bodies of the guards lying in the hallway.

"Move over, Colonel," Winters said, "we need to hide these two before anyone else comes to join them in their fate."

I sidled over so that Winters and Clost could drag the guards into my quarters.  Clost said, "I don't envy the headaches these two will have in the morning."

Winters laughed and added, "Not to mention the beating they'll get from the general when he finds out about this."

They dropped the bodies unceremoniously on the floor, turned to me and saluted sharply.  I smiled for the first time since my confrontation with General Mitchell.  Returning the salute, I said, "So, you're looking forward to pushing me out of the gates?"

The two exchanged amused glances.  Clost said, "The general did offer us that chance, sir."

Winters remarked, "And we did tell him that.  I wish we could see the look on his face when he figures out what happened."

I smiled back at them and said, "Do you two have a plan, or do I have to do everything around here?"

They chuckled.  Winters said, "You are the commanding officer, sir.  We're just a couple of grunts following our commander into battle.  What are your orders, sir?"

I retrieved my weapons from the guards.  Once that was done, I said, "Let's go get our mech and show the general how strong our convictions are.  If the general thinks I'm going let him overthrow the civilian government of the city, he has another think coming."

We raced towards the armory where the mechs were stored.  Since it was night, we didn't run into anyone in the halls and the armory was deserted.  We stopped in front of my mech and I was surprised at how relieved I was to see it.  A mech soldier spends most of his time in his mech.  It was like home to me and I hadn't known if I would see it again.

We mounted up as quickly as possible, but someone came in as we were finishing our pre-mission checklist.  Winters quickly aimed the right arm of the mech and fired one 50 caliber round.  The man's torso exploded into red mist as the round tore through him.

"Well, so much for secrecy," I said as I got the mech moving.  "We'll have company soon, gents, let's get out of here."

I ran the mech through the armory doors and into the same courtyard where I had been condemned earlier.  Clost aimed his arm of the mech back towards the armory and launched a few missiles into the building.  We cheered as I directed the mech to jump the wall of the compound to the sounds of secondary explosions.  The excitement of fighting for a just cause was a welcome change to our previous role of oppressing the people of the city we were supposed to protect.

Story a Week 43 - Foresight

 I know that it's been a while since I've put a story out here.  Oh well.  Gotta push forward and continue writing.  I hope that you all forgive my absence.

Here's a new story.  This might be a standalone, or not.  I'm not sure at this point.

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"Who are you and why did your people attack us?"

Jack Freeman sighed.  His interrogator had been yelling the same question at him for hours.  He didn't seem to believe, or want to believe the answer.  Jack repeated himself one more time, "My name is Jack Freeman.  I am an agent of the Nuclear Facility Decommission Agency of the government of the United States.  We are acting within our agency's charter."

The man finally lost his temper.  He yelled, "The United States is dead!  We've been running things in Monticello on our own for over a year without so much a peep from Washington, much less from St. Paul."

Jack just shrugged as a reply.  That didn't seem to improve the interrogator's mood.  He grabbed Jack by the front of his uniform and picked him up out of the chair.  Jack was a little intimidated, but didn't show it.  The man growled in his face, "Let's just say that you're telling the truth.  That the US government is still operating somewhere in the Rocky Mountains.  So what?  You don't have any authority here anymore.  The President was pretty clear about that during his speech on Doomsday."

Jack found that the people scattered around the country had different names for what had happened to the world just over a year ago.  The official government name for it was Day 0.  Everything after has been a day by day struggle to contain the anarchy around the country and to keep the government functioning.  People around the country also had a strangely varying interpretation of the President's Day 0 speech.  The President said, in what Jack saw as direct and clear terms, that the US government would move the capitol to Colorado Springs, with most of the operations run out of Cheyenne Mountain.  He said that the government would suspend most civilian services for an indeterminate period, but that it was not renouncing its authority over the people of the United States.  Apparently, most people didn't see it that way.

The man dropped Jack roughly into the chair.  Jack calmly said, "The President is still alive and still the authority of the entire United States as it was on Day 0.  We have every right to come here and decommission the nuclear plant here."

The man, who had turned his back on Jack, quickly rounded and punched him squarely in the jaw.  "You can't do that!  The nuclear plant is the only thing keeping this town alive!  We sell energy to some of the surrounding communities in exchange for food.  We're one of the biggest towns left in this part of the state."

The man's reaction wasn't uncommon.  When the NFDA ran into resistance at a nuclear power plant, it was often the life blood of the community.  Jack even felt bad about that, but these people didn't have the resources to keep the plant running safely.  The agency was created, with several others, under the National Foresight Act.  The purpose of the act was to try to prevent further ecological and infrastructure harm that would be caused by misused or mistreated facilities.  Nuclear facilities were high on the list for decommissioning since they could cause widespread radiation if something went wrong.

Jack ignored his throbbing chin and said, "Listen, we know that this will be hard for you all, but it would be much, much worse if the plant had a meltdown.  The effects of a meltdown wouldn't be contained to your little town either.  The cloud of radiation would spread all over the Midwest and the jet stream would spread it all the way to the Atlantic coast.  We just can't allow that."

The man's attitude quickly turned from one of anger to desperation.  He was practically pleading when he said, "But we're taking good care of the plant!  Most of the employees that worked here before are still living in town.  We haven't had any trouble with anything at all."

Jack knew that the crisis here was coming to a resolution.  He said, "I've heard that story everywhere I've gone.  Believe me that I know that you all are taking good care of the plant right now.  However, what happens in a year or two when an essential part breaks or an essential computer fails?  You people can't manufacture those parts here locally."

The man sighed and nodded.  "I guess that you are right about that.  But what will we do?  How will our town survive?"

Jack was about to explain how the government compensates towns that cooperate when he heard a quiet, and peculiar sound outside the door.  The man didn't seem to hear it.  Since Jack recognized the sound, he said instead, "Your people will find a way.  People are resourceful.  Unfortunately for you, though, you won't live to see that."

The man didn't seem to understand.  His look of confusion was quickly replaced by fear as the door came flying into the room and three armed men rushed in.  The lead soldier shot the man once in the forehead.

Another soldier pulled out a knife and cut the bonds that were holding Jack's hands together behind his back.  Jack stood and stretched his arms and said, "It's a good thing that you guys came when you did.  I was about to have to give that fool the care package."

The four of them laughed for a moment.  The lead soldier said, "Well, we'll get this one cheap for a change."

Jack nodded and chuckled.  He asked, "Is the rest of the facility secure now?"

The others nodded.  Jack said, "In that case, let's go shutdown and disable the reactor."