Writer of Fantasy. Wielder of Red Pens.

Author: fionagreywrites (Page 27 of 31)

Turtle Talk

“Your hand’s all sweaty,” Brian said. He disentangled his hand and wiped it across his t-shirt.

“It’s ninety degrees and eighty-five percent humidity. You try holding hands and not sweating.” Jenna surreptitiously took the opportunity to wipe her own hand against her shorts.

“I saw that.”

She stuck out her tongue at him. “I’m going up the hill.”

“Grass looks pretty slick. I’ll stick with the path.”

She headed up the hill. It wasn’t much of a shortcut, but the path wound around the long way. Enough others had thought the same that the grass was worn to dust. Toward the top, she paused as a dark, shining oval caught her attention.

“What’s up?” Brian was already waiting for her.

“Found a turtle. Hang on, I want to Insta this. Such a cute little guy.”

“Weirdo.”

The turtle on the trail cautiously extended its neck, peering at Jenna, and then opened its mouth. “No!”

Jenna froze, half-bent over the reptile, her phone two feet away. “Brian. The turtle.”

“What about it?” Brian stuffed his hands in his pockets.  

“Talked.”

“You’re darn tootin’, I talked.” The turtle glared at Jenna. “I’m trying to lay some eggs here.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Um, okay. I’ll back off. I’m sorry.” Jenna stuffed her phone back in her pocket. “See, I won’t –“

“And I don’t need help getting back to the water. Don’t you dare pick me up!” The turtle turned her back on Jenna and yanked her head into her shell.

“Wasn’t planning on it!” She backed away, hands in the air.

“Three times already today! Three! And four yesterday! Helpful humans! I wish you all to the mud!”

Jenna turned and slid down the dry grass back onto the path to where Brian waited. “Whew.”

Brian looked at her with indulgence in his eyes. “Talked, huh?”

“Back off, humans!” A tiny, indignant voice carried down after her.

Brian looked at her with his mouth agape.

Jenna shrugged. “Told you. Cranky, pregnant, talking turtle.”

This week, Cedar Sanderson prompted me with “The turtle on the trail cautiously extended its neck, peering at you (character), and then opened its mouth to say_________________.” I knew what I wanted to write, but another wildlife-inspired story came pouring out before I could capture the cranky turtle. I’m also glad I didn’t try to mix those two tales. That was a truly terrible idea.

My prompt went to Leigh Kimmel: “A prairie storm, with rolling thunder, ominous clouds, and flickering lightning. And in that flash of light, you see…”

Join the Odd Prompters! It’s both easy and fun.

Eliminating the Future

I perched along the lower branches of the tree I preferred to sleep in, holding onto the limb above while reaching down with my free hand. My eyes skimmed over the forest greenery, following a robin joining a flock of angry, screeching birds attacking a falcon to drive it off.

I could tell by feel and weight that all my weaponry was in place, of course, but it never hurts to check. And let’s be frank, the ritual is calming. Boot knife, there, my fingers grazing over the hilt before moving up to ensure the leather sheath that dangled from around my neck remained in place.

I gave the trunk of the tree a wistful pat, triple checked the location for enemies, and hopped down. Can’t come back too often, but it’s the most comfortable one I’ve found. Sleeping in trees is ridiculous and uncomfortable. It’s also more secure since they haven’t learned to expect us to be there yet.

Yet. The day they do will be a bad day. I’m not sure what the next step is after that.

I miss my shotgun. I miss Drew’s crossbow, too. It’s not like he needs it anymore, but he’d landed on it and there was no coming back from that crunching, snapping noise. It was more terrible than his screaming. I didn’t bother to take a look after they carried him off. Pretty sure they’d left it as a trap, anyway. Bait.

This is what we are reduced to. Traipsing through the woods, searching for berries and edible greens, hoping the snares will bring protein and not the enemy’s sharp eye and subsequent numbers.

I could have been safe, back in Ohio, after they realized the threat and put up the blockades. But my parents had called the day before, and when the line went dead and they didn’t pick up, well. I got in my car and drove to Pennsylvania to find out what was wrong.

Should’ve known, since 911 and the emergency lines didn’t answer, but I thought the number not in service message meant the lines were overwhelmed. Maybe a natural disaster. Western PA – that’s right, pronounced “pee-ay” – doesn’t get a ton of tornadoes, but they’re bad when they hit.

Besides, Mom and Dad were getting up there, and it had been a while. Why not do a spontaneous weekend visit?

Instead I wound up finding a blood trail, the house destroyed, the few neighbors remaining unwilling to open their doors and completely incoherent. I’d tried the cops again, on my cell while heading toward the woods, following dried maroonish-brown stains splashed over the winter-dead grass.

I try not to think about what happened next.

It helps that I don’t remember it clearly. Just blood, and fire, and fur. Ashes in the air, charcoal streaking my face.

I hate that I was that dumb, that oblivious. I hate that I think of this every day. That I was just too late to save them. That I didn’t get out while I could.

It wasn’t always like this. As a kid, I used to think they were cute. Nicknamed them Sam and Charlie, even. The neighbors would try to trap them. Use a golf ball, the guy two houses down said; they think it’s a mushroom. Works every time. But the cages were never big enough to get the adults, only the babies. And we called it humane, because we let them live.

Maybe we should have thought about what we were doing more. Taking away their babies every year for years on end. Eliminating their future.

Nobody saw it coming.

I look back at years of mealy garden tomatoes, thinking about whether we missed their message when every single red-ripened fruit had a single bite in it. Or the hole they dug in the ground, waiting right at the end of the sled run.

Good thing Mom always made us stop sledding when we got too close. No matter how much we tried to hide it, she could see when the tracks got too close from the back window. Though I sometimes wonder if we’d have gotten off more lightly had we let them screech and claw at us a bit then.

Maybe we’d have learned.

I don’t expect to see home again, nor do I expect to make it much longer. They’re whittling us down one by one, and hunger takes care of the rest.

Don’t try to tell me groundhogs don’t get bigger than a rabbit. I know they’re tiny in Ohio, but these ones, geez. Four feet long if not bigger. It was always hard to tell the exact length, because they ran as soon as they heard you.

We thought they were scared of us, you see. Until the day they stopped running.

Of Hoaxes and Business Plans

Dear Ms. Nessa Lochland,

Congratulations on completing your online M.S. degree in Business Administration from Stellar Online University. Attached you will find a letter certifying your graduation. Please contact the Registrar’s Office via our website to request an official transcript.

Your diploma will be sent by international mail to the address we have on file. Please contact us immediately by replying to this email if an update is required.

Again, congratulations and best wishes in your future endeavors. We are proud to call you a graduate of SOU, and cannot wait to see the impact you make upon the world.

Aut viam inveniam aut faciam!

Regards,
Rike Williams, Dean
Office of Student Services
Fisherman School of Business
College of Business Administration and Strategy
Stellar Online University

“What a relief,” Nessa said after she finished reading the email aloud to her mother. She shifted her headset with a lazy nudge of her chin against the wall. “That thesis was such a pain. I hate dictation software. And I’m not sure my advisor even had time to look at the last revisions.”

Her mother’s voice crackled through the long-distance connection. “So proud of you, dear. Your father would be, too. I wish he were around to see this.”

“Me too, Mom. Me, too.” Nessa settled into her nest of fresh bracken and gazed up at the ceiling of speckled granite. The scent of Scots pine from the Caledonian Forest wafted up to tickle her nose. “I told you about my local tourism revitalization plan?”

“Ye-esss…” Static crackled on the line again, and Nessa almost missed her mother’s next words. “I just wonder if it’s worth the exposure.”

“People are more accepting now.” Nessa hoped her words were true. Her livelihood depended on it. So did her life.

“Well, I still wish you’d come join me in Tahiti instead. Sun, sand, even a few hotties your age splashing around. I need grandbabies.”

Nessa laughed. “Retirement suits you.”

“No one believed anymore.” Ethel’s voice became sad. “And it wasn’t the same without your dad. He was like you. Lived for the fun of it.”

“That’s why this area needs some shaking up, Mom. Let me get my plans up and running first, then I’ll come visit you. Some of the younger cousins can handle the day-to-day business for a while.”

Her mother sighed. Nessa scrunched her eyes shut and suppressed her own frustrated exhale. Any additional discussion would just lead to a fight.

“I’ve got to go, Mom. Big day tomorrow. The bank’s approved the loan. Tons of paperwork to do.” The degree had mattered less than the skills to put together a proper business plan.

“There’s an idea. Sure I can’t convince you to become a banker?” She heard the quaver in her mother’s voice. “Running a small business is so risky.”

Unspoken were the fears of bringing danger back to Lake Inverness. Not just danger, but hunters, like those who had killed her father that horrid day, a decade earlier.

“I’m sure,” Nessa said. “Love you. Bye.” She hung up before Ethel could chime in with anything else.

“Alexa, turn off the lights.” Nessa rolled over and laid her head down in the sudden darkness. Her eyes remained open. “This is for you, Dad.”

Her voice echoed oddly as it bounced off the irregular cavern walls. She could have sworn it sounded just like his belly-aching laugh.

***

“Right,” Nessa said to her younger cousin Cynthia. “You know the drill. I go swimming, then let myself be seen by the tour boat. You use the boat company’s social media to make it go viral.”

“You think this will work?” Cynthia asked. “Does the world believe in us anymore? They won’t think it’s just a special effect?”

“I have to try.” Her dad would have had so much fun with this. His mischievous streak was never malicious, but he’d lived for the moments when he could mess with the tourists. “I miss Dad.”

“I wish Uncle Frank was still around to see this,” Cynthia said, bobbing her large head with a fond grin. “I can just picture him doing something ridiculous. Doggie-paddling along with a ridiculous Hawaiian shirt and a straw hat, pretending he doesn’t see a boat full of gawking drunk tourists. Then pretending he’s been caught flatfooted. Or maybe offer them mimosas. He’d have loved the attention.”

Nessa blinked back swelling tears. “For that, you get employee of the month.”

The glare she received contained some epic side-eye. “I’m your only employee.”

“It’s not automatic. Don’t get cocky. I have plenty of humans to choose from, too.”

Cynthia adjusted her headset and turned back toward her computer. “They don’t know who their boss really is yet, so they don’t count. Are you doing this or not?”

“Yeah. Just nervous. I want to boost local business, not bring down the army upon us.”

“There aren’t many of us left,” Cynthia said, twisting her head backward. Her yellow eyes were narrow and annoyed. “And you just bought half the local vacation rentals and the boat tour business with Uncle Frank’s insurance settlement and a bank loan.”

“That I did.”

“I assumed you’d accounted for this. Made contingency plans.”

“Sure, but –“

“Then get over your stage fright and get out there.” Cynthia turned away again. “Smile pretty for the cameras!”

“Fine, fine.” Nessa grumbled to herself on her way down to the cave’s entrance. “This had better work. I don’t want to live in Tahiti with Mom. The water’s too clear. Too warm. And saline makes my skin itch.”

Her feet hit the smooth pebbles that meant the shoreline was close and poked her head out of the cave’s concealed entrance. Seeing no one, Nessa ventured a few feet out, staying hidden in the earthy vegetation. It smelled delicious, but this was no time to snack.

She planted all four feet and took a huge breath, expanding her ribcage until it hurt, repeating it in hopes of calming her overanxious heartbeat.

“Find a way or make one.” She’d chosen her business school based solely on its motto, thinking it a sign. “My people are dying because we cannot afford sanctuary.”

A noise in the distance had her tilting her head. “It’s time.” She whispered the words into the air and headed toward the lake. “Stay with me, Dad.”

The water lapped cool and dark against her legs. It felt right, as did the clouds above. Yes, this was home. There would be no permanent vacation in Tahiti for her, even if her business venture failed.

Nessa saw fingers pointing and gaping human maws as she drew alongside the boat. Most people seemed to be shocked silent, with a few screams. A young boy jumped up and down, trying to climb the railing. The boat’s engine sputtered and died with a puff of diesel smoke.

She raised her long neck out of the water and above the deck, resting her oval head on the railing. The humans backed away, leaving about a six foot gap. Nessa put on her best nervous smile.

She hoped she wouldn’t have to dive away from a terrified crowd. Too much tooth display and there came the army, the hunters that had taken her father’s laugh out of this world, who hungered for the next trophy.

“Hi, guys! Who wants a selfie with the Loch Ness Monster?”

***

“Physical newspapers?” Cynthia asked. “What am I doing all this social media stuff for, then?”

“To make sure they see that grin as harmless and friendly,” Nessa retorted.

Her cousin gave her a dubious look. “It’s been a month. Think we’re good.”

“Keep an eye out anyway. I don’t want to not see something coming because we got lazy.”

“Mmm-hmm. Sure thing, boss.”

Nessa blushed, her thick skin turning blue rather than its usual stony grey. “Fine. I’m also vain enough to want hard copies. Maybe frame them for our business offices.”

Cynthia snorted and headed for the back room. “You do you. I’m getting coffee. Then I’ll get back to watching for monster hunters.”

She spread out the papers and read over the headlines.

“IT’S NESSA, NOT NESSIE”: LONELY MONSTER SPEAKS

COMPLEX HOAX IN SCOTLAND’S HIGHLANDS

IS BIGFOOT NEXT? ANCIENT PLESIOSAUR DISCOVERED ALIVE

LOCAL TOURISM BOOMS AS LOCH NESS MONSTER EMERGES FROM HIDING

BUSINESS SCHOOL CLAIMS NESSIE AS ALUMNA

“My plan is working, Dad. Local business is up, so they’ll protect us for the prosperity alone. We can afford our own security, too, and we’re harder to kill with everyone watching.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears, hot against her face in the cool cavern.

She could have sworn she felt a warm, familiar snort of approval.

The snort she’d missed every day for ten years.

In this week’s Odd Prompts challenge, Becky Jones challenged me to explain what happens after the Loch Ness Monster reveals herself. My prompt went to Nother Mike: “Oh, no! The coffeepot has been stolen!”

Writing Cat wishes her fellow Americans a happy Independence Day.

Lady Death, Continued (1)

Lady Charlotte’s story begins with The Invitation. Although I will probably do a full rewrite of that story to make it a better introduction, the rest poured out below. Presented without edits and open for feedback.

Charlotte had only been running for ten minutes, but her feet already hurt. Her ribcage ached with unaccustomed exertion, straining against corset restrictions on piddly options such as breathing. She wished Yelena hadn’t laced it so tight.

Were those noises behind her shouts? Had she been noticed as missing already?

She didn’t know exactly what would happen to a girl in her situation, caught by two men alone and out at night unescorted, but she could guess. The best option would probably be loss of social standing as her entire family experienced the collective shaming, followed by a quick marriage to the hatchet-faced man.

There had been a maid exiled from her household’s manor when she was very young. Charlotte remembered only sobs and screams, a pleading but unintelligible voice. The tutor had whisked the girls away, allowing them to indulge in cakes and shushing questions. All she’d learned was not to ask why.

She ignored the burning in her chest and kept going. The stone path was hard on her feet, cold and wet in flimsy slippers, but hours of walking the land was to her benefit now. The light markers illuminated the drive just enough to keep animal predators away, even if it made her easier to find by humans.

A boxed lantern flickered, larger than the rest, and she halted, unable to see beyond the fire’s glow for several moments. The road dipped into rutted dirt below her, and her stomach jolted at the sight. She lifted her skirts and jumped into the road, turning toward the electric glow on her left.

She spared a single moment for a glimpse back toward her old life, a manor hidden behind a winding stone path, lit only by firelight. Charlotte Merikh straightened her shoulders and kept walking. She couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over her face as she headed toward the Spaceport.

***

Charlotte stared at her feet under the light of the pink moon, wondering how there could be so much pain but not so swollen they overflowed her shoes. Ridiculous, velvet shoes with soles so thin they were nearly nonexistent, and she couldn’t make herself run in them anymore.

She’d had no idea how far electric light could travel. The spaceport had seemed so close.

She turned, and the horse was nearly upon her. Screaming, she tried to get out of the way and tripped backward. Only now, as the hooves came within an inch of her head, did she hear the cart’s bells.

“Whoa!” The man’s voice came from behind the hanging lantern. Charlotte struggled to get up, ready to run again on aching feet. She stared at the too-close hooves. This was a plow horse, broken to wagon, not a prancing carriage horse useless for anything but fancy dress balls.

“You’re not looking for me,” she blurted out, then clapped a hand over her mouth.

The man laughed. “No, but I wish I’d seen you sooner. Wasn’t expecting anyone to be standing in the middle of the road. Clyde there, he doesn’t like nights much. Doesn’t see so well. Took him a second to react. Did you not hear the bells?”

“I do apologize. I didn’t mean to startle your horse. But could I get a ride, sir?” she asked politely. Charlotte bit her lip, wondering if she’d just made a huge mistake.

She could hear the sudden intake of breath from six feet away, even if she couldn’t see past the lantern properly.

A long pause came before the man cleared his throat. “You know what you are asking, taking a ride with a male stranger at night as an unmarried girl. Are you claiming Spaceport sanctuary?”

The words dropped slowly into the night. Charlotte considered them, tilting her head.

“I don’t know what that means exactly, sir, but I was headed to the Spaceport hoping for sanctuary. I cannot go back. I will accept your offer.”

The man let out a shuddering breath. “Offer made and extended, now accepted. Climb aboard. I hear bells in the distance behind us, so we’d best get a move on.”

She scrambled up to the box seat, leaving a careful distance between them.

“My name is Joel. I’m taking some trade goods to the Spaceport. My sister awaits.”

She turned her head to study his profile, now backlit from this angle by the lantern. “Your sister lives there?”

He laughed softly and clucked to his horse. “She’s a spaceship pilot. I bring her fancywork that she can sell on other worlds that machine produce everything.”

Charlotte didn’t understand what he meant, but found his voice soothing. The weight of the evening settled over her, and she found herself yawning.

“Miss?” Joel reached across the box seat and shook her arm briefly before pulling back. “I’m sorry, but you didn’t give me your name.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said with a yawn. “I am called Charlotte. I must have nodded off.”

“We’re getting close.” His voice was tense. “Can you reach the cart behind you? Look for a white square.”

She twisted and squinted into the darkness. “I think so. Yes. I can’t see anything, though.”

“Can you feel fabric? If so, grab the top layer.”

Charlotte felt soft fabric, the bumps of embroidery familiar under her fingertips. She pulled it into her lap.

“Miss Charlotte, you’re going to want to hide that hair.” His voice was tense and grim, no longer soothing.

She straightened and frowned, then unfolded the finely woven fabric with a frown and draped it over her hair. She tucked the trailing ends around her neck. “I only ever even heard of red hair being an issue this afternoon.”

Joel called to the horse again, urging him faster. “Sit tight, Miss Charlotte. We’ll be there in a few minutes. Try not to stare.”

She pulled the makeshift hood down to shadow her eyes, unsure she could hide her expression. Surely the place that managed to create electric light would be full of other wonders. How could she not stare?

As Joel’s cart cleared the forest road, she bit her lip and drew her eyebrows together, confused. The Spaceport had electric lights, certainly. A double fence allowed for uniformed men to check the entrants into the port without allowing them fully inside. The inner fence was solid, though the cream paint was dirty at the bottom from scuffed dirt.

On the solid inner wall, colorful shapes overlapped in several organized rectangles. Charlotte supposed these must be tapestries, though she didn’t know why the outdoors would need wall hangings to stay warm. The aroma of fried dough mixed with an oily, burnt smell she didn’t recognize.

The outer fence was made of sturdy wire woven into a diamond pattern, and had a collection of people such as she’d never seen. A small horde of ragged children, eagerly running toward the horse and cart, offering to hold the horse for a coin. Joel shooed them away with a few curt words, not pausing even as they ran so closely Charlotte feared they’d be run over by the cart’s metal wheels.

Emaciated men sat by the port entrance and held out bowls with skeletal hands, their shoulders slumped in defeat and necks bowed. Charlotte didn’t understand why they didn’t ask for succor at any of the nearby manors, when work was plentiful year-round. Anyone was entitled to ask for a few day’s wages under guesting rights without deciding to stay.

The women were what drew her eyes the most, staring with an open mouth and wide eyes, drawing the scarf tighter around her head and neck with suddenly frantic hands. Women with skirts so short they showed the entire bottom portion of their legs, women without bodices. Women who clung to the wire fence, which must be far stronger than it looked to support their weight. They spoke directly to men, beckoning with inviting hands and flipping loose hair over their shoulders.

“These are the ones Society rejects, Lady Charlotte,” Joel said quietly, as the horse drew the cart closer to the entrance. “The ones who tried to leave and couldn’t.”

She looked at him, glad for a distraction. “Did the Spaceport not let them in?” She swung a foot out, tapped a still-damp slipper against the footboard, and glanced over her shoulder. A lantern shone in the darkness, a glowing dot at least half a mile away. Perhaps she should take her chances with the carriage rapidly approaching.

“The Spaceport is the only way out,” Joel said. “It’s hard to leave what you’ve always known. I’m one of the few to live a little in both worlds, and don’t think I could fully choose either. They turned back because they thought this life was better than the unknown.”

She studied the huddled figures surrounding the fence. The children had mobbed around a ball, while the men were oblivious. The women avoided looking at the cart, focusing all their efforts on the uniformed spaceport men. Charlotte wondered whether they were ashamed to look at a local man, or if Joel wasn’t wealthy enough to attract their interest.

“That won’t be my fate,” Charlotte said. Her voice was determined.

“Good,” Joel said. He slowed Clyde and the cart rolled to a stop inside the gate. “Keep that in mind. You’re going to have a long evening.”

***

“Charlotte Penelope Merikh,” she repeated for what must have been the tenth time. “Daughter of Lucinda and Fedor Merikh.”

She stifled a yawn, and realized she was still wearing her gloves. They felt glued to her hands, and she bit down on the fingertips one by one to start pulling them off.

“Of Merikh Manor, Stirling Province, Kairos Domain?” The blonde man had a pencil-thin mustache that drooped over his mouth when he talked.

“Yes,” she mumbled around a mouthful of fabric. “As I told you repeatedly over what must be more than a candlemark. I claim sanctuary.”

Joel had told her to say those words just before they’d pulled up to the gate and stopped inside for Joel’s cart to be inspected. As soon as he’d told the officer the Lady Charlotte was claiming sanctuary, a swarm of uniformed men had surrounded the wagon and pulled her into a room for questioning. She’d heard shouts behind her as she’d been escorted away.

She thought she’d spotted a woman, even, but hadn’t been sure in all the chaos. Sanctuary wasn’t free, after all, and she would need to find employment that didn’t include being one of the gateside women. Perhaps she could learn to inspect carts.

Behind her, the door opened, and she started at the noise. She jumped again as a woman’s voice spoke firmly from behind her chair. “Peter, lay off. You’re scaring the girl. She’s confirmed her identity.”

“We haven’t done DNA yet.” The man looked up and pushed back his chair, but did not rise.

“She’s clearly a native of this planet. Spaceport has always offered sanctuary to those who choose a different way of life.” Charlotte felt the woman place her hands on the back of her chair. “Let me talk to her and make sure she understands before we proceed, will you?”

Peter leaned back in his chair for a moment, his mustache drooping further. He dropped back to all four legs with a bang and a snort.

Charlotte narrowed her eyes but refused to show anything else on her face. Her society training had been good for a bland expression of politeness. He’d been trying to scare her, she realized now, but she didn’t know why. Did he think she would be like one of the gate women, and give him favors?

He loomed, leaning forward, and Charlotte doubled down on not letting this man see how much he frightened her. The woman cleared her throat. He glared above Charlotte’s head, shoved his way around the table, and banged out the door.

“Well,” the woman said. “At least the petty bureaucrat is out of the way. Don’t worry, his shift change is coming and I’ll make sure someone else handles your paperwork.”

She shook her head, looking down at curls come undone. All Yelena’s work, gone. Charlotte realized she’d likely never see her again, and bit her lip. She was tired, and her brain wanted to wander off on tangents. Then sleep, sleep for days.

“Why did he want to scare me?” She blinked. Charlotte hadn’t intended to say those words.

The woman sighed, walked around the table, and flipped the chair around so the back was facing toward Charlotte. She sat, one leg to each side, and nodded at Charlotte’s wide eyes.

“Yes, that was deliberate. You’ve got a long way to go if you want this to work. I don’t have tea for you, but I can answer questions.” She was perhaps ten years older than Charlotte, dressed in dark pants with pockets, with short, dark red curls that ended at her jawline.

Charlotte nodded, and straightened. “Who are you? Why are you here? What exactly does claiming sanctuary mean?”

“Oh, little dove, you claimed sanctuary without even knowing what it meant? No wonder my brother sent me here.”

Charlotte’s head snapped up at the familiar endearment. “You’re from here? Wait – you’re Joel’s sister?”

The woman smiled, her lips quirking up only on one side. “What did he tell you?”

She frowned. “That you were a spaceship pilot. He was bringing you fancywork, scarves and the like. I didn’t understand everything he said.”

The redheaded woman studied her. “I am Kallina. And yes, Joel is my brother. Yes, I am from this planet. A spaceship is the vehicle – carriage – that travels between planets.”

“I know what a spaceship is,” Charlotte hurried to interject. “It’s what brought us here to colonize.”

“It’s very loud, very crowded, and boring and exhilarating at the same time.” Kallina’s eyes looked through Charlotte for a few moments, and a real smile showed in the crinkles around her hazel eyes.

She came back to the room and looked directly into Charlotte’s green eyes. “A pilot is the person who, um, drives the spaceship carriage. I make sure nothing goes wrong. I follow the path. I transport goods, and sometimes people.”

“Are there roads in space?” Charlotte asked, curious.

Kallina laughed. “Not as such.” She leaned her head on a hand, tilting it. “I think I see why you wanted out of this place.”

“I did ask why you were helping me.” Charlotte wasn’t sure what was happening, but she felt her stomach clench in anticipation. It might have been hope fluttering as well.

Kallina closed her eyes. “Because once, I was very like you. Eager to learn, full of questions no one would answer. Never understanding why everything I did or said was inappropriate. Always getting into trouble, always watched because my hair happened to be the wrong shade. Always longing for something more.”

She opened her eyes and looked directly at Charlotte again. “Does that sound familiar?”

Charlotte released a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, and tossed her gloves on the table. “You left.”

“Aye,” Kallina said. “I left. It was hard. Sometimes dangerous. Nearly always confusing. It’s like learning another language, but without anyone teaching you the basics. You can’t trust what you see, or what you do, because no matter what it is, it means different things to different people.”

Charlotte looked away. “Why are you telling me this?”

The older woman leaned forward. “Every original colony planet automatically belongs to the Consortium. That’s the group of countries that funded the first colonization. It’s basically an interplanetary citizenship.”

She chewed on her lip. It was starting to hurt, but it kept her awake and thinking. “So I’m a citizen.”

“Only if you want it.” Kallina slumped over her chair back and put her chin on her hands. “You decide you don’t, you lose access to the port without an escort.”

“My family won’t take me back.” The words were soft but firm in the small room.

The older woman shut her eyes again. “No, they won’t. And then life gets much harder. Maybe you probably become one of the gateside women, which you’re smart enough to have already figured out you don’t want. And you’re classy enough and determined enough to know you don’t want that to happen to you.”

“What does citizenship mean?” Charlotte crossed her arms, pulling Joel’s scarf tighter around her shoulders. “I don’t really have any skills to earn a living.”

“It means a passport off this planet, access to education, and the freedom to choose your own path.” Kallina stretched, a languid action juxtaposed against her earlier efficient movements. “Both my crew decided to settle down recently. With each other, blast it, so I lost them both at once.”

“You’re saying you have room for me?” Her breath caught at the idea of leaving Society, but her body deflated as hope faded. “As I said earlier, I don’t have any skills that would be useful on a spaceship.”

“I have room for you, and I’ll train you on what you need to know. Room, board, and wages. I’ll help you sell your outfit so you have some – ah – pin money. If you can do needlework and still want to, I’ll sell your fancywork and you can have most of the profits.” Kallina’s eyes pinned Charlotte’s. “Does that sound fair?”

“More than fair,” she said. “Only, I’m not sure I’m ready for this.”

Kallina smiled, her eyes tinged with sadness. “If you keep waiting to be ready, you never will be.”

***

The older woman turned back into her efficient self as soon as she opened the door and began yelling for the bureaucrat to return. The odious idiot had vanished, and Charlotte watched an affable man jogging lightly down the hall, laughing when he saw Kallina.

“Should have known it was you making such a fuss.” Charlotte was relieved to see his light brown mustache was less foppish. Already this man seemed more reasonable.

He settled into the chair with only a raised eyebrow at Kallina’s possessive stance behind Charlotte’s chair.

“She’s exhausted, Allen. And I know you remember how confused and sheltered I was when I got here.”

He gestured at the paperwork the other man had left on the desk. “I’m not questioning your right to be here. I’m wondering why Peter didn’t even mark identity confirmation. He’s got nerve, that one.”

The next two hours were a blur. Charlotte found herself dragging a pen through innumerous forms and answering questions at Allen’s direction. He seemed unreasonably happy about filling out papers, which her family’s steward had always detested. Allen held up a box and a flash blinded her briefly. While still blinking the dots away, she found herself presented with a plastic chit.

“It’s still warm,” she murmured. The chit was octagonal, pale blue with black letters. A gold square had squiggles and a button on it.

Kallina laughed. “Slide that cover back over the gold section and press the button underneath. The flash you saw painted your portrait in an instant.”

A holographic picture of Charlotte blinked into evidence above the plastic. “Oh! Is that me?” Her eyes widened in wonder for a few seconds. Then she looked closer, and scowled at the image. “I look terrible.”

Allen and Kallina both burst out laughing.

“Welcome to the world of bureaucracy,” Allen said. “No one ever likes their image.”

Charlotte only yawned, and Kallina gave a contrite twist of her face.

“Do you need anything else, Allen? I want her in a bunk yesterday.”

“Just the oath to activate her status.” The room grew silent.

Allen cleared his throat. “Are you awake enough to pay attention?”

She nodded, trying to straighten into posture her mother would be proud to see.

“The oath doesn’t automatically make you give up your family, or even your planet. You could live here at the spaceport as a merchant if you wanted. This oath basically says you’ll follow the law and be a good citizen. You’ll be quizzed on how to be a good citizen when you reach the age of majority.”

Green eyes met hazel as Charlotte sought Kallina, immobile in her corner within the sterile room. “But I’m sixteen now.”

“Consortium says it’s eighteen. Fourteen to go off planet with a sponsor vouching for you until you reach your majority. I’m the sponsor.” She brought her leg up and propped a boot against the wall.

“It’s a big deal. Kallina takes all responsibility for your actions as your sponsor.” Allen’s eyes were concerned.

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Charlotte said. “I’m sure I’ll make mistakes.”

Allen lifted a uniformed shoulder. “Fewer if you know someone else will pay the price along with you, we’ve found.”

Kallina cleared her throat from the corner. “I wouldn’t offer if I thought you were an intentional troublemaker.”

Charlotte drew her brows together in a frown. “What else am I committing myself to with this oath?”

“You only need to swear the oath to get access to space, because the Consortium provides the access. You might like another planet on Kallina’s route better and decide to settle there. If you stay landside, you probably won’t need to ever swear another oath.”

“That seems acceptable.”

Allen nodded, his chin propped over folded hands. “It’ll be all right. We do this all the time, Charlotte.”

She blinked. It was the first time any outsider had ever referred to her without her title. “I’m no longer Lady Charlotte.”

Allen drummed his fingers on the table. “I hadn’t thought to cover that part. No, there’s no official nobility in the Consortium.”

Kallina crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. “There’s rank and status, but it’s mostly earned in space. Every planet is different. Tends to be structured similarly to where the home core population came from.”

“I’m just not used to it,” Charlotte said. “That’s all. I still want to do this.”

“Good,” Kallina said, and dropped her boot down to plant both feet on the scuffed tile floor. “I got the impression you hated being Lady Charlotte anyway.”

Exhaustion swept over her, and sputtered out as laughter that didn’t stop until she hiccupped. “I need a new name.”

“Let’s try out some nicknames before you make it official,” Kallina said dryly. “And get this oath over with, eh?”

Allen held up a restraining hand. “Charlotte, in two years, if you pass your test, you gain full citizenship and rights like voting. But it also binds you to something greater. If the Consortium of Planets ever comes into conflict with Society, you’re saying that you will side with the Consortium. Do you understand?” His voice lacked its previous joviality.

“Is that likely?”

“No,” Kallina said. “Society as a planet wants nothing to do with technology, and it’s unwelcoming to outsiders. It’s not profitable for most trade. They only let the spaceport stay open because it’s required by interplanetary law. And also they don’t have the technology to force them out.”

Allen pointed a finger. “Shush, you. They trade more than the elders here are willing to admit to their populations. But no, Charlotte, Kallina is right. It’s not likely.”

“So one oath now gets me off Society and into space.”

“Under guardianship, yes.” Allen shifted his weight. “If you were of majority age, you’d study here on the planet until you passed a probationary test or decided to stay. They’re supposed to have sponsors too, usually the ship’s captain.”

“I get a trial run. Then in two years, I pass a test and take another oath, or settle onto another planet.” Charlotte pushed long auburn locks behind her shoulders.

“In two years,” Kallina started. She stared at the ground for a long moment, kicking the toe of one boot against the floor.

She looked back up, and the older woman’s twisted half smile did not reach bleak eyes. “In two years, you will not be the same person. This is a whole new life, a new identity. This gives you time to be sure.”

“Some people never make the final leap,” Allen said into the awkward, empty silence that followed.

Charlotte studied Kallina’s tense posture, propped against the wall with her head bowed. Each muscle was frozen so tightly the older woman did not even appear to breathe.

“I think,” Charlotte said slowly, as Kallina’s head rose with each word. “I will welcome a new identity.”

***

Charlotte opened her eyes the next morning, and immediately winced away from the unfamiliar electric light as it sensed her movement and blinked on. It was impossible to tell whether she had slept through the daylight that had just begun when Kallina had introduced her to the Wyvern.  

If last night had been a dream, it would be both nightmare and wondertale. She recognized few scents or noises, and if she’d not been so exhausted, doubted she’d have slept.

Didn’t the elders warn against making decisions directly after emotional shock? Hadn’t she had a series of surprises yesterday? Finding out her hair made others perceive her as wanton, turning sixteen and becoming eligible for marriage, the attack by the deranged man in the library, running away.

Becoming a probationary citizen in the Consortium, a concept she barely understood. Charlotte still wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea, but the idea of a trial period had reassured her that she could change her mind.

She may not have liked life on Society, or the family’s expectations of her, but she was also familiar with it. She knew what those expectations were, knew who was trustworthy. Was Kallina as much a planetary kinswoman as she claimed? But her brother had given her succor, and the officials here treated the woman well.

She shoved back the tangled sheets that had wrapped around her legs. Enough lazing about. It was time to figure out how to cleanse oneself on a spaceship. Would it be different on the ground than in the air?

The metal floor was chill against her bare feet. She moved to the door she thought was the compact relief area she’d been shown how to use last night and found a closet. Opening the door next to it, she discovered what she’d expected. Charlotte also sniffed a tube of what smelled like cleansing paste for teeth, but was unsure on how to use any of the other facilities. She would have to ask the Kallina.

Her borrowed sleeping shift stopped at midthigh, shorter than anything else she had ever worn before. Her dress from last night was missing, along with her much-abused slippers. Bare legs made her movements awkward, peeking around the door to see if Kallina was in sight before scurrying into the common area. If only she could stay behind convenient furniture, but there was little in this area.

She cleared her throat as she approached the hooded head facing away from her at the kitchen’s eating section. The hooded figure froze at the noise, then set down a steaming cup on the table.

“Kallina, I would like to thank you again for taking me in. I’m afraid I don’t know how to use –“

She let out an undignified squeak as the person turned around and stood. “Butler?”

The bearded man raised a hand in salute, taking her disheveled, sleep-tousled state in with a sweeping glance of deep-set eyes. He lifted his gaze to meet hers with a raised eyebrow. “Lady Death.”

Charlotte was suddenly absurdly conscious of her bare knees, but stood firm, her jaw quavering with attempted resolve. She had taken on a new life, and would not bow to expectations from the last. She straightened her shoulders and crossed her arms, sure the heat across her face had manifested crimson.

“What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

The Hannock’s Butler leaned back against the kitchen table and tossed his hood back. “I only remain the family’s butler if I bring you back, I’m afraid. Sneaking in was difficult, but not impossible.”

“What have you done with Kallina?” She could not abide it if her new friend and protector had been hurt.

He looked shocked. “I am here because I am still protecting you, and you think I would harm another woman? From what I observed, she came to your aid. I waited to enter the ship until she left. I’m sure she will think you changed your mind and went home, where you belong.”

“Bringing me back will not protect me, Butler.” She was certain of that, as certain as she was that Butler must have made it over the double fence while she was still in the stuffy office section.

“Honor demands I bring you back, Lady Death.” He swept a hand over dark, wavy hair longer on top than on bottom, and his jaw squared under the short beard.

“That is not my name,” Charlotte bit out, her fists clenched.

“Oh, but it is.” He pushed off the table and took a step toward her. “When I said you’d be the death of some poor man, I did not mean it literally. Nor did I mean myself. Yet here we are.”

She rolled her eyes, pretending to arrogance she did not have, and stood her ground as he moved forward. “I don’t understand.”

“A Butler loses his position either through honorable retirement at a distinguished age, when he is formally challenged by a trainee, or when he fails in his duties. Only the first is generally survivable.” His mouth thinned against a tanned face.

Charlotte lost her internal battle and took a step back at the anger in his dark eyes. “I didn’t know.”

He stopped and threw up his hands. “I don’t know how you didn’t know. Your manor didn’t train you properly. Put on some proper clothes. We’re leaving. I will take you home and away from – from whatever you think you are doing.”

She put her hands on her hips without thinking, then wrapped her arms around herself again. “No. This is about your honor, not mine.”

“It will be much easier to simply walk out if you are properly garbed and cooperative, Lady Death, but do not think I will hesitate to take you with me in a sack if I must.” His voice was a growl, and a vein at his temple twitched.

She took another step back. Butler wasn’t the helpful protector from last night right now. It wasn’t quite as terrifying as one of Father’s towering rages, but this was not a man she particularly wanted to cross.

“I am not going anywhere.” Charlotte mumbled the words, dragging them out of her mouth one at a time. Fear always made it hard for her to speak.

“He is, though,” Kallina said, from off to the side. She held an odd, bulbous object in her hand, made of dark and shining metal. It was pointed at Butler. “Little dove, did this man hurt you?”

“I’m fine,” Charlotte said, wondering if the strange object in the other woman’s hands was a weapon. She couldn’t see visible bolts or quarrels.

Butler laughed, incredulous, and slapped his chest. “Lady Death here can handle herself. As can you, it seems.” He nodded at Kallina and her object. “I would not harm her, only restore her to her rightful family.”

“I believe that’s different after Charlotte accepted spaceport sanctuary.” Kallina bit out the words.

Butler raised an eyebrow. “That changes things. If you would be so kind, I shall be leaving now. It appears I need to seek new orders.”

“Don’t come back,” Kallina said. She backed up a pace and circled around him, away from the entrance ramp, so she was between Charlotte and the butler. “As you said. Leave. Now.”

The man held up his hands in surrender, but continued to grin. White teeth shone against his dark skin and beard as he backed down the entrance ramp with both women following several feet behind. Butler pulled his hood up and stepped onto the ground. “I do love a good challenge.”

Kallina took one hand off the weapon and hit a white button. The ramp began to close with a hissing sound. A blue button made a zinging, electric sound. “Locked and secured. The green button is to open the ramp. Don’t press the red button unless it’s an emergency.”

“Do we call the constables?” Charlotte asked. “I thought he was you at first. I don’t know how he got in. I’m glad you’re here.”

“You’re babbling. I called the guards when I saw the ramp open. I would never leave the Wyvern unsecured, especially not with you sleeping. Didn’t seem likely you’d gone for a walk.”

Charlotte gave a tentative smile. “I don’t know where my clothes are.”

Kallina pushed a button on the shiny object and put it in one of her many pockets. She picked up a cloth bag from the ground and headed for the kitchen. “I got some supplies for the week, but we’ll need more.”

Scowling, Kallina dumped the butler’s drink into a basin. “Helped himself, he did. Right. I can put all this away in a few minutes. Let’s go get you some clothes before the guards show. They won’t be fast enough to catch him, but guards always show up at the worst time possible.”

Charlotte followed her out of the room and down the hallway toward the living quarters.

Kallina banged open a cupboard and dug around. “These will do for now. Your dress is in the cleaner. We can talk about what to do with it later.”

“Trousers?” Charlotte asked. “Oh. I suppose…I’ve never…”

The older woman gave her usual half-grin. “You’re about to be awash in ‘I’ve never done that befores,’ little dove. Or should I say, Lady Death? You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

Charlotte wondered if her legs would still feel naked with limbs visible, even though the pants were so large she would need a belt to keep them up.

“Pull the tabs on the sides to tighten them up. There’s a shirt there, too.” Kallina gave her a gentle push. “Get going. We don’t have much time. And maybe don’t mention the blaster when we tell the guards why he left, all right?”

“Blasher,” Charlotte said under her breath after the door was shut. “Blaster? Blazer?” She shrugged off the sleeping shift and folded it, delaying the moment when she would first put on the unfamiliar clothes.

She’d never thought to wear anything but skirts, even when they annoyed her. She gulped. If her mind was so closed to this, she wasn’t going to handle space very well, now was she? This life she had chosen would be filled with far more terrifying decisions than what she wore.

The tabs weren’t enough to make the pants fit well, but at least she didn’t need a belt. She did have to roll up the long legs, though. The shirt was a tight bodice style that provided support, but was far snugger than she had expected. She looked down. Perhaps she could wear the sleep shift over it. A full two inches of her skin showed a pale streak marred by her bellybutton.

A knock on the door came before she did more than reach for the oversized shift. “Charlotte? The guard would like to talk to you about what happened now.”

Her steps out on bare feet were tentative, her arms crossed across her stomach so the guard could not see. Gratitude washed over her that the pants were not as close-fitting as Kallina’s.

“Oh,” Charlotte said. “You’re a woman.” She didn’t drop her arms, wondering if the shaming would be worse from a woman.

“That I am,” the tiny blonde agreed. “Not the best posting in the galaxy for a woman, but then they also don’t bother giving me gate duty because no one from here would listen. So I’ve an easier job than most. If you count talking to prostitutes every day easier.”

“This is Corporal Bleuvins, Charlotte,” Kallina said. “Treat her just as you would a manor’s Butler or province constable. She’s earned her position just as they have.” She walked over to a cupboard.

“And harder for that,” the petite woman said. “None of those ogres knew how to handle an opponent so much smaller in fighting classes, but that just meant they tried to sit on me instead.”

“I didn’t know women could do this,” Charlotte said, her eyes wide at the idea of fighting alongside men  . She jumped as Kallina draped a jacket over her shoulders.

“It’s not an easy life, but if you’re interested, I can talk to you about it,” Corporal Bleuvins said.

“Would you really?” Charlotte said. “I think I’d like to know more. I like the idea of being able to take care of myself.”

“Sure,” the woman said briskly. “But first, let’s get on with what happened here. Attempted kidnapping is no joke.”

***

Joel stood at the bottom of the ramp and grinned at his sister. “Surprise. Got an escort over from your friend.”

The nicer of the bureaucrats from last night, Allen, waved from the firepit area. “Wanted to see how our Charlotte was doing. Heard there was a fuss. Local bloke tried to kidnap her?”

“And we’ve spent the past hour trying to convince her that’s in fact wrong to force people to go somewhere against their will,” Kallina said in an exasperated tone. She crossed the rest of the way down and gave her brother a quick hug. “This is Corporal Bleuvins, who’s probably given up hope.”

The short blonde shrugged and stuck her thumbs in her utility belt. “I might try again tomorrow. We’ll step up patrols in the area, make sure he doesn’t try again.”

Charlotte came down, but stayed on the ramp. “I understand it’s wrong by the laws I now adhere to, but he’s not sworn himself to the same code. It’s a death sentence for him if he doesn’t come back with me.”

“And one for you if he gets you,” Joel said. “I was worried about it getting that far.” He turned to his cart and hefted a pale wooden box to his shoulder.

Kallina came and picked one up as well. “We’ll go to the base bazaar and get lunch after this. Allen, will you join us?”

“Can’t, I’m afraid, duty calls and all that. But perhaps a few moments with Miss Charlotte?”

She blinked at the unfamiliar honorific, but came and sat next to him anyway. Her jacket was far too warm for this sort of sunny day, but she did not remove it. “What is that title you called me?”

“Ah, just means – heh. It means lady, but a young one. Guess you got your title back after all.”

She looked away and propped a slim foot on the metal fire ring. “No, I think not.”

“Are you doing all right?”

“I have much to learn,” Charlotte said. “About everything. How to dress, how to act, how to speak. I wish to do this as quickly as possible.”

“Well, you’re in good hands.” Allen leaned back in his chair. “Have you decided on a nickname to test out yet?”

“I was never permitted one,” she admitted. “I don’t know where to start.”

“Most people start with their base name. Some people call me Al, for instance, but I don’t really like it much. If you don’t like what people call you, don’t respond. They’ll figure it out.”

“Charlotte. So – char? Like charred ashes?” She leaned forward and poked the cold fire with a stick resting there for exactly that purpose.

“Only if you plan to take up arson. There’s also Lotte, or Lottie.”

“If I’d been a boy, I’d have been Charles,” she mused. “Is ‘Charlie’ too unusual?”

“I don’t believe there are rules when it comes to nicknames.” He tipped his uniform hat to her. “Pleased to meet you, Charlie.”

Footsteps and voices became evident in the background as the siblings bickered their way down the ramp.

“Ah, there you are,” Allen said. “I’m afraid I have to get on. Before I go, may I present to you Miss Charlie?”

Joel looked like he’d swallowed a frog. Kallina burst out laughing.

***

Consequences

The thin blond woman in a suit entered the room. Simon knew she had to be more deadly than she looked. Yeah, there it was. He spotted her weapon underneath the suit blazer when she turned to close the door. FBI agents went through a lot of different training. Maybe she’d been brought in to put him at ease, get him talking.

Or break him. This was an interrogation, after all.

The woman crossed to where he sat, chained at the table. He waited for her to say something while she set up her recorder. Not that she needed it. There must be at least three more agents observing behind that two-way glass, not to mention the cameras.

 Sitting, the woman adjusted her skirt before she finally spoke. “Agent Jamie Simmons, interrogating Simon Pursleh Adams. Mr Adams, would you please confirm for the recorder that you have waived your right to counsel?”

“I know my rights,” Simon said. “I don’t need a lawyer.”

“Right then. Mr Adams –“

“Simon.”

“Fine. Simon, tell me where Johnny Salvaro is.” Agent Simmons leaned back in her chair like she had all the time in the world, her limbs loose as she studied him. Just like she’d studied him from behind the mirror, probably. He ran his eyes over her neck, following the trail of a delicate necklace that ended in a long, rectangular bar.

“I don’t know,” he said. Simon mirrored her posture, as best he could with his hands chained to the table.

“Based upon your actions, it looks like you do, Simon.” She let out a smile and crossed her legs. “The base is locked down until we find him. Why don’t you save us the trouble? I’m sure we can come to a mutually beneficial agreement.”

“Is anyone ever going to ask me anything else?”

“What would you suggest we ask, Simon?” Her voice was smooth honey, poured hot into perfectly brewed tea. Yeah, she was an interrogator, all right.

“Maybe how all this started.” He realized with a jolt that he wanted to tell his side of the story. Someone ought to know.

Agent Simmons leaned forward, her head tilted to one side, hands clasped in front of her. “Then tell me how this started, Simon.” Her voice purred, and he felt a flush.

“It was all back in 2020,” he began.

Early in 2020, when everybody was in quarantine. It’d been a week or two, and everyone was still scared, but starting to get bored, too. And Johnny had been coding the whole time. He saw opportunities, that kid did. Seventeen years old and a bioengineering prodigy.

A mastermind with one friend in the world, named Simon, who was better at handling money and people. I protected him from the bullies, so Johnny reached out to see if I’d be willing to break quarantine for a good reason. And that reason was genius, too, just like Johnny.

But he was not quite as great at coding. Brilliant, yeah, but you have to understand, the portal discovery, that was all an accident. He didn’t mean to do it. Most people don’t get that. He’s not real coherent in the interviews.

Johnny was trying to merge bioengineering techniques with code, y’see. Make it so that everyone stuck in their homes would be able to experience the places they couldn’t visit in real life.

Johnny laughed at the idea of watching a video. Laughed every time another museum put up a recording of someone walking around. All those VR headsets used to really crack him up. He wanted the experience to be real. Indistinguishable from reality. Not looking like a dork with a headset on. Johnny knew what being a target was like, and that was a prime example.

Just think of the possibilities, he used to say. The blind to see again, the experience of travel without the hassle of TSA and visas. How many people wait until retirement to travel, then realize they can’t for one reason or another? Don’t wait, he’d say. Make it so you don’t have to wait.

After everything those kids did to him, growing up, it’s amazing he didn’t want to burn down the world. But instead he saw potential.

Don’t ask me to explain the portals. The math is way beyond me. Suffice to say, when Johnny tested it and found himself actually at the Louvre, he knew he had an invention on his hands that would change the world. Change everything.

He was so excited, he forgot to tell me. That’s right, Johnny forgot to tell his damn business partner. Because I’d gone home for the night. Ironic, isn’t it?

Nor did he make a business decision. He just uploaded the code. Made it open source. Anyone could edit it, if they understood what it did, and there weren’t many of those. But anyone could also use it, and that didn’t require much of anything at all. Just a little metal wire, injected into your hand, and he released the specs for that, too.

Funny thing was, once the code was released, it was like the whole world paused. You can travel anywhere in the blink of an eye, and it was like everyone was suddenly okay with staying home after all. Maybe it was that people didn’t believe at first, but it was like the opportunity meant people figured they’d get around to it later instead.

The world changed overnight, and everyone got lazy. Who’d have thought?

Oh, but there was interest from the shadows, governments twitching at the implications. Governments wanting Johnny to come work for them, whether he wanted to or not.

The code got pulled down, then reposted. It was back to the early days of the internet, where censorship routed around blockages and information wanted to be free. Hell, they had kiosks at the malls to inject you with the biomech wire, like they used to do pierced ears, only the apparatus went in your finger and hurt more.

Even as it proliferated, it still stayed pretty quiet for a while. Maybe a year or so. Fourteen months. Long enough for Johnny to start hiding from the attention.

And then came the chaos.

Whole economic sectors exploded. Truckers were put out of business, not by the slow-moving automation they feared but was never quite ready, but by code and a shining silver hole in the universe controlled by your phone. Delivery industries were revolutionized. Doctors came to you again, concierge style, while travel agents tried to help you plan your trip rather than book it for you.

Highways grew over with grass and weeds, even as the car companies tried to produce their own personal versions of the portals. Instant transit, from a trusted brand. Some of the hotels just gave up. Why bother, when you can zap yourself home in a few seconds? Others tried to create portal stations, a safe place to step into for a small fee. Most of those went under, too, but at least they tried.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Crime skyrocketed. Murder, theft, everything. The terrorist attacks just kept coming, because we lost all ways to predict targets. But the ability to transit whole armies, each soldier with his own portal? Everything broke down. There’s no way to enforce the law. What was left of the governments had to figure out how to protect nuclear weapons. And don’t get me started on the drug trafficking, sheesh. Or worse. The cartels – I try not to think of all the people who disappeared.

The guilt that comes with having been a part of it doesn’t go away. I’m well aware of the terrible things that happened.

And that generated new economic sectors. Portal safe rooms. Personal bubbles. How to digitize your entire life when anything could be stolen. The size limit made it hard to protect anything bigger than a human.

Johnny said something about the biomechanical limits. He’s always been the only one who really understood the tech.

Personal bubble shields became ubiquitous, and you kept everything you owned in them with you. Rich people hired poor people to form a collective shield with their personal bubbles, trying get around the biomech limits, but it didn’t work. Too many gaps, and a portal could still get through.

As you can see, Johnny wasn’t so great at thinking about consequences.

Everything went digital. Johnny had invented what he had originally tried to achieve, too. Holographic, interactive representations of everything. Nobody knows who has the original Monets after all the crazed art thefts of the first early years, but does it matter anymore when anyone can download a high-fidelity scan and have it for their own?

That one, I at least got him to monetize.

But then we started seeing people mess with the code. Malicious hacking. Malware, ransomware. The portals were too useful to stop using, even after people started showing up bloody, or in bloody pieces.

People paid out the nose to make sure they could keep what they had left. You lose digital, you lose even the illusion that you can own things without them getting stolen by who knows who. It’s such a cat and mouse game of trying to protect your family memories, of being able to travel safely.

The government got involved. Tried to restrict the tech. It was way too late, and they were hanging by a shred of legitimacy anyway. Security was a promise they couldn’t keep.

I lost my taste for it pretty quickly, sold my shares. Tried to think of a place where portals wouldn’t work.

Damn good thing it doesn’t work off planet, right? Or so they hope, since the rich folks are trying to get off planet. Take up farming on Mars, or some such. They made huge investments in the space program. First ship launches tomorrow.

Johnny used to tell me the portal tech was matched to our geomagnetic field, somehow. Our biology, our home planet, combined with code. So none of those folks who disappeared wound up on Venus, at least. Probably at the bottom of the Mariana Trench, I figure.

You ask me, I think he figured out how to get off planet using the portal. Those rich folks, they’re gonna get to Mars, and Johnny will be waiting to greet them with a great big smile, still talking about potential.

So yeah, I was trying to smuggle a gun onto the base. Not because Johnny’s there like you think, but because I’m one of those rich folks now. I’m set for life. I want to get to Mars.

But he’s still my best friend. He trusts me. And if he’s there like I think, well. He won’t be for long.

I don’t think he means any harm, Agent Simmons. Not intentionally. But I really don’t want to see what he comes up with next.

***

This week, Cedar Sanderson challenged me to fill in the blank: “When portals are invented and you can go anywhere you want in the blink of an eye, ____________ will happen.

My prompt submission went to debut author Becky Jones. “A visceral memory (yours or fictional as you prefer), brought to mind by a scent, taste, song, etc.

Join the Odd Prompts crew! Submit a writing prompt to oddprompts@gmail.com. There’s no commitment, no genre restrictions, and no word limit. It doesn’t even have to be the written word, just an expression of creativity.

Sometimes, It’s Just Not Your Day

Celia walked through the woods, grumbling about everything. The humidity made her shorts cling oddly to her legs, and the sun flickering through the leaves only gave her a headache. The path was muddier than the lack of recent rain had indicated, and her new sneakers were ruined. She’d stepped on a rock funny half a mile back, and every step with her left foot twinged up her ankle, which served her right for wearing sneakers rather than boots in the woods. And she wasn’t sure she’d gotten that last turn right, either. Everything in this direction looked generic and familiar, in a vague way that wasn’t specific enough to be sure.

She didn’t care. Her boss had cut her hours again, that pesky cat clawed her leg and ran to hide in the basement when Celia yowled a protest, she’d burned dinner four nights in a row, and her boyfriend had drifted off in the past few weeks without even bothering to properly dump her.

A clearing appeared, and Celia knew she was lost after all. A tree had fallen, huge majesty now dark with internal rot. It blocked the path, but opened up an entrance to a hidden grove, shining with gentle sunlight.

A grove that held a miniature field of tiny wild strawberries, untouched by hungry wildlife and so ripe her mouth watered at the sight. The berries dangled from the vines, lush and ready to burst, while tiny white and yellow flowers promised more prizes if she returned. The sweet scent washed over her in a wave as a breeze cooled her sticky body, and Celia knew there was no more resistance.

Five minutes later, she’d stained her only white t-shirt with berry juice, because her hands just weren’t big enough. Well, this was why she didn’t wear white often.

It was worth it. The taste exploded on her tongue, sweet and tart simultaneously. Celia let out a whoop.

“About time this week started getting better,” she told a distant honeybee. It ignored her, but as her eyes followed, her pleasure received a jolt of adrenaline.

She froze. Was that a wasp nest? It was swollen and grotesque, a giant grey lump caught between the branches of an enormous tree even larger than the one blocking the path. Why, it must be larger than her neighbor’s Saint Bernard.

Celia slowly started to stand up, still clutching a shirt full of miniscule strawberries. The pollinators certainly liked the berry patch, but now she knew why the wildlife had left this grove of temptation alone.

Her eyes didn’t leave the nest as it began to quiver. Celia felt her ankle twinge as she stood up, and wondered how far wasps would chase her.

A tiny, elfin face popped out of an entrance cleverly hidden by the natural bumps of the wasp nest. “There you are! I was wondering when you were coming to tea. I’ll be right – down – “

The miniature woman let out a disproportionately loud gasp and clutched her cheeks with delicate hands. “My winery! What have you done! Thief! Stop, thief!”

For this week’s Odd Prompt challenge, I asked Leigh Kimmel to explore alien condescension. Cedar Sanderson challenged me to explain the tiny, elfin face in the wasp nest.

Darkness Rises

Arne motioned to the herd of waist-high schoolchildren and wondered what Nori had been thinking to set up a tour for eight-year-olds. An archeological dig wasn’t a place for kids, no matter that they were digging in the dirt.

Half the little brats would try to walk off with artifacts. The rest were pushing and shoving sufficient that at least one would end up in one of the trenches before the day was out.

He made sure he kept his groan strictly mental as he counted off the numbers for the fourth time. It had only been five minutes since Nori had dumped the tour on him, claiming she needed to finish a translation.

Twenty-one. That’s all of them. He shut the door behind the last of the giggling fuzzy hats below and plastered a smile on his face. Just the same as if they were adults. Explain the dig. Answer their questions, no matter how stupid.

After all, you never knew who might become fascinated enough to talk up the site to their parents. Or who might have rich parents, inclined to donate funds and keep the team going for another season.

He flipped through the slides on autopilot.

“…first, we do a background study, to see where burials and other artifacts could be likely…new uses of existing technologies for remote sensing have helped see disturbances in the dirt without excavating…”

Arne loved that image. The scan showed the burial mound in a dark circle, a Viking longboat shining white in the middle.

They didn’t know yet how well-preserved it would be, after centuries spent forgotten in a farmer’s field under oats and barley. Viktor had started the excavation recently, but he was focusing on the nearby grave mound first.

The process was always slow going. No one wanted to miss anything, even though this team always made sure to relook at the spoils pile. Some called the team slow. Arne preferred the term thorough.

“Yes, that does mean it tells us where to dig, very good!” He stretched his fake smile farther and wondered if Nori had wished him to the depths of Helheim with this tour.

“…different methods and technologies are used to tell us how old things are, from geological sediment to carbon dating to pollen…we also start with a guess based on what we know of the area, history, and people.

“Yes, we do sometimes find swords, and even axes. It’s very exciting when we do, but mostly we find things like combs and jewelry. What people were buried with tells us a lot about them. Great question…now, initial findings can help us narrow the time period…”

Arne’s face was starting to hurt. “So what we’re really trying to do is understand the people who came before us, because it helps us see where we came from. Would you like to see the site now?”

Nori rushed in, shaking head and hands in his direction as the chittering and giggling rose in the small exhibition area. “I’ll take them. Go see Viktor. Kids, this way please!” Her voice was unnaturally high pitched.

Arne stared after the miniature trampling herd of tiny feet and jackets. He’d never seen her unnerved. Nori was the definition of unflappable. She kept all the organization going, from securing finances for next season to making sure everyone remembered to eat every night.

He grabbed his jacket and headed to see Viktor.

Arne found Viktor in the trench, gloved hands clasped uncaring and heedless behind dark curls, studying the latest find. “Wild, isn’t it? I’ve never seen an upright burial before. Male, I think, probably around twenty-five or so.”

The remains were still half-buried in the grave mound, bone shining almost red in the sun’s bright light. It looked particularly macabre since Viktor had left the eye sockets and mouth filled with dirt to preserve the shape.

Arne grunted, and repressed a shudder. He remained above the excavated area but crouched to study the skull, distorted by the blow that had likely killed the man hundreds of years ago. “Legend tells us being buried upright is a bad sign.”

Viktor twisted backward, his hands still firmly attached to his head as he made eye contact. “You’re not saying you believe in draugr, do you? The vicious undead, the corpse-pale?”

Crap. “I’m saying the people who lived here may have thought a greedy, angry man would come back for some reason. What else was found at the site?”

Arne kept his face passive and hoped science would cover him from Viktor’s future mockery. He could picture his granny in the wooden rocking chair where she’d told him dark legends to excite a young boy, shaking her head at his affected disbelief.

“Janna did a scan. We think there’s a sword, some blobs that might be ornamentation or jewelry. Lots, so he was probably important. I think there’s a dagger, too, but Janna thinks it’s a fancy pair of scissors. And something that looks remarkably like an AK-47.”

“Sorry, a what?” Arne thought Viktor must be having him on. Again.

Viktor shrugged with a laugh, his movements smooth and muscular under a casual, dirt-streaked sweater. “Obviously something’s rusted in a rather unique way. We’ll find out what it really is soon enough.”

Arne stood from his crouch and ran a hand through his hair. “Wasn’t there a stone? A marker? Did we get the runes translated yet?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen it. I need to get moving if we’re going to protect this find. There’s not much daylight left.” Viktor picked up a tool and started brushing dirt away from the skull with callused hands. “Nori finished the translation while you were with those kids, I think.”

Arne bit his lip, unwilling to shame Nori. Perhaps she had simply been excited about the discovery. “I’ll go check with her, then.”

Viktor didn’t bother to answer as Arne jogged back toward the research room. He threw the wooden door open with more force than anticipated and blinked to adjust his eyes to the dark room. Voices had stopped at his entrance.

“Oh, it’s you,” Nori said. “I got the kids out. I was just telling Janna, we have to shut this site down. Maybe get a priest to visit.”

Janna looked up, her thin fingers clasped so hard her knuckles shone white. “We must get off site before darkness,” she whispered.

“The runes on the stone,” Nori started, and stopped. She covered her eyes with a hand. “We should not have removed it. It kept him safely inside. He will come tonight.”

Arne rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. “I grew up on these stories too. But draugr? They cannot be real. We are scientists.”

“I met your granny before she passed,” Janna hissed at him, her hands now fisted at her sides. “That time you took us all home for a decent meal. Before we hired Nori to make sure we all ate. She told you to beware. She told you the stories because she saw you could not keep away from disturbing the ancestors.”

Nori and Arne both looked at her in surprise, identical wide eyes and slightly open mouths.

Janna’s energy flitted out of her like a deflating balloon. “Do what you like. I am leaving before the darkness rises.”

“You mean when dark falls?” Nori asked. “It’s almost the solstice. Darkness won’t come for another month.”

“I mean what I said,” Janna replied with dignity. “Look to yourselves, if you do not wish to go mad or be killed.” She turned toward the exit.

A fierce series of taps came from outside as she reached the wooden door. An agonized scream came, followed by more tap-tapping.

She gulped. “What was that? What is that horrid smell?”

Draugr,” Arne said. He reached over Janna’s shoulders and lowered the old-fashioned bar on the door. “I believe the scan showed he was buried with several weapons.”

“Viktor didn’t believe the scan,” Janna said. She wiped away a tear. “He’s dead now, isn’t he?”

Arne didn’t answer. “He protects his weapons from our excavation, because draugr are greedy. Out there is an angry, undead Viking, with a modern weapon and a grudge.”

“They can turn to mist,” Nori said, backing away from the door. She sat on the stone floor, her blue eyes wide and scared. “We cannot stay here.”

“We cannot go outside,” Arne said gently. “He probably sees us as grave robbers.”

“I’ll call for help.” Janna was breathing in odd, ragged gasps as she dug in her satchel for her cell phone.

“Who would you invite to join us?” Arne asked. “Do you have a priest on speed-dial? Internet in the middle of a farmer’s field?”

The tapping noise continued. Arne spread his hands. “I am afraid, my friends, that on this solstice, darkness rose with the draugr.

“For our sins,” Nori whimpered. Janna joined her on the floor, the two women huddled together.

Leaning against the wall of the research building, Arne wished he has listened to his granny and left the dead alone.

Writing Cat thinks we need something lighter now, thanks.

This post is a late add to Week 24’s Odd Prompts challenge. I couldn’t get the spare prompt idea of “While uncovering the grave of a viking king, they found jewelry, a sword, and an AK-47 that can be dated back to era” out of my head.

Take Me to Your Wilderness

Jim shifted his backpack and wondered if he should have picked the shaded, forest trail instead of the off-grid hike in the Tetons. The bag would be just as heavy, but it might not be glued to his skin and two layers of clothing with sweat.

“Quit whining,” he said to a nearby bird. The black-billed magpie cheeped loudly at him, an angry puff of fat black and white feathers protecting the waist-high pine it sat inside. He laughed, and tipped his boonie hat to the bird for its impudence.

The sun had seemed friendly this morning along the rim, and worth the scramble up the side of the mountain to get to the top. It wasn’t a real trail, and he was just fine with that. Five days into his two week vacation, and he hadn’t seen a person in three. Sheer, solitary bliss, it was.

Jim wished it hadn’t taken two days just to drive here, but oh, was it worth it. Why, right after he’d gotten here, he’d seen a great blue heron stalk and gulp down a fish, He’d wanted wilderness, and he’d gotten it, from the mantled crest feathers to the look in the bird’s eye as she exulted in her success.

He’d be okay with skipping the wolf packs and bears, though. That might be too much adventure for a city lawyer looking to regain his rural roots. He grunted at realizing how soft he’d gotten since he’d gone off to school.

Sun or not, that boulder up ahead looked perfect to sit on and eat lunch. It’d be worth the clamber, if it was doable.

It was, he discovered, just barely. He’d been an idiot and forgotten to take his backpack off, nearly overbalancing. Those were city habits for you, acting like someone was going to walk along and steal it. He’d scraped up his arm and hand pretty good with a desperate grab, but he’d succeeded.

He stood atop his rock and caught his breath. The view was unbelievable. Hills filled with green grass, cornflower blue and yellow wildflowers, and grey speckled stone contrasted against the deep greenish-black of pine and white rock. Jagged mountaintops stretched in multiple directions. A sparkling river wound its way below, near the forest line on the other side, vegetation deepening the shades of green nearest the water. He grinned, still enthralled with the view.

Jim was content. Until he looked down.

A bright yellow measuring tape marred his view. On his rock. Meaning that somebody else had been here before.

A Stanley, at least, so whatever idiot was fool enough to bring a measuring tape into the wilderness had good taste. Until he was dumb enough to litter. Heavy backpack or no, there was no reason for that.

Jim grimaced, and sat down with his legs dangling over the side of the boulder. Carefully, this time. Getting hurt out here would take a helicopter to get out, and that assumed he could get ahold of anyone.

He dug in his bag for his lunch of pre-wrapped salami and hard yellow cheese that he’d been able to keep mostly cold thanks to river water. He had dehydrated food for a hot meal this evening, and had succeeded in campfire biscuits this morning. One of the leftovers didn’t sound bad.

He nudged the Stanley measuring tape with his sausage and frowned. He’d take it with him when he left. It was the right thing to do.

Jim had unwrapped the sausage and taken a bite when he heard the crackle of a radio.

“No,” he mumbled around a mouthful of food. “No. Seriously, please, no. I hate the city, I need this break. No people.”

“That’s all right, mate,” a crackling voice said from closer than he’d expected. Jim turned his head. The Stanley was talking.

“We thought leaving the radios in beautiful places was intuitive to initiate contact. We’d just about given up on this planet. Thought maybe there wasn’t life on it after all.”

He was pretty sure he felt his eyes bulging out. There’s no way there was a hidden camera, all the way out here. But what else could this be, but a prank?

“Anyway, we’re not really people, just like you requested. We’ll be down in a jiffy now that we know there’s life. Just stay right where you are, okay?”

Jim groaned, and wished devoutly for one of those grizzlies he hadn’t wanted earlier.

On Odd Prompts this week, Cedar Sanderson challenged me to explain the yellow Stanley measuring tape atop a boulder three days into the wilderness. My prompt to Kat Ross was to explain the Easter Island moai statues.

The Invitation

Charlotte Merikh studied her invitation to Hannock Manor in a delicate, glove-covered hand as her family’s carriage jolted off the main road and onto the long drive. Copper ink on thick cream paper, no doubt handwritten by a secretary chosen exclusively for his calligraphy skills. She rolled her eyes, bored already, even if it was her first Society event.

“Come now, darling. You mustn’t let anyone else see you express any signs of displeasure. Once we get inside, it must be your best face forward.” Lucinda Merikh gestured to her own elegant visage, an empty, perfect smile blooming in the lantern’s dim glow.

Her mother’s reprimand was sincere, Charlotte knew. Blue eyes in a pale face remained guileless, unable to see beyond Society status. Unable to conceive of anything grander than finding her youngest daughter the same sort of dull, arrogant, witless sots the elder three girls had married just the year before.

Unable to see how much Charlotte hated the idea of being forced into the role of a bland Society wife, silent and supportive through her selected spouse’s myriad affairs, dulled by obligatory apologetic presents and presence at events exactly like this one, obediently selling her own daughters to the highest bidder merely because it was asked.

Unable to see the stars, hovering just out of reach for any born on the planet Society, doomed by ancient collective decision to a life of intentional technological refusal. Never mind that they’d all gotten here through technology in the first place. It was part of the required teachings, even if it was glossed over as fast as possible, with no details.

Charlotte slid the carriage window open and gazed upward at the shining galaxy above. Her former tutor Ned had told her that particular shining streak in the sky was their ancestral home. He’d disappeared shortly after, so it must be true.

At least Ned had left her a few books on the mysterious technology that allowed humans to travel to the stars. She wasn’t sure if that was intentional or a sign of how quickly he’d been hustled from their manor. Mostly, she wished he’d been around to explain all the things that made no sense.

On Society, archaic torchlight ruled the evenings and nights. It flickered inside the carriage as they passed a set of light markers in their glass cases, continuing the carriage’s slow journey toward the ancient manor house. She blinked, her night vision temporarily blinded by orange flames, abruptly brought back to the velvet-cushioned, horse-drawn carriage.

“Do shut the window, Charlotte,” Lucinda snapped. “You’ll get windblown. Yelena spent a full hour on your hair.”

With a pout, Charlotte slid the window closed. The precise curled hairstyle appropriate for an unmarried Society girl of her age and status took far more time than she normally was willing to stand. Tonight, her mother had insisted, claiming her daughter’s bright red locks already signified wild and inappropriate behavior.

Charlotte had been so surprised by the news that she’d stopped arguing and let Yelena ready her for the ball. She’d rarely bothered to study the Society rules her sisters delighted in understanding every twisted nuance, racing outside with her horse or reading in the library instead. It might explain why she’d been rebuked more often for the same childhood delights than her sisters, who shared their mother’s dishwater blonde hair. Perhaps it hadn’t been that she’d gotten caught more often after all, but that eyes had been watching her for unseemly comportment.

Yelena had seen her confusion, but had only a single unwatched moment to whisper in her ear. The moment had been seized, and near-immediately lost, without clarification. “You’re sixteen now,” the maid’s low voice had hissed.

She had shrugged in the looking glass, uncomprehending, wishing for a book to distract herself, and brighter light to read by. Someday, she’d sworn to herself, before she was married to some awful old man she didn’t know, she’d go to view the wonders of the Spaceport. Just to glimpse what could have been, had she been born on a different world, to a different family.

Just because the Society rejected the technology didn’t mean she had to hate it. Perhaps she would sit outside the Spaceport and use the bright electric lights to read a book.

Charlotte sighed. Even her ideas were heretical, and unlikely to boot. She shook off the sense of foreboding. Sixteen only meant she’d reached marriageable age and was finally allowed into polite company for spousal marketing. Perhaps her first ball wouldn’t be as terrible as her sister’s delighted descriptions had sounded.

Perhaps she’d learn to enjoy arranging dinner parties and flowers, or managing a household where duties rarely changed. Or the polite conversational topics that were mind-numbing fictions as best. Perhaps her curls would stay tamed, someday neatly arranged into the upswept braids of a proper married Society woman, and she would bring her mother as much status as the triplets’ glamorous triple wedding.

Charlotte bit her lower lip. It seemed unlikely. She enjoyed the wild and complicated walitzina dance, fixing her sister’s broken toys, and horseback riding. She read voraciously, eager to consume information proper Society ladies pretended did not exist. These activities were all far more suitable for the brothers she’d never had, according to her father.

The words had been repeated so often, she even thought them with her father’s inflection.

“Stop chewing on your face,” Lucinda said. The carriage came to a slow halt. Charlotte let her lower lip go with a start. Her mother leaned forward. “On second thought, that brings a delightful shade of rose to your lips. Don’t let anyone see you do it, obviously.”

“Of course,” Charlotte murmured, staring once more at the ostentatious invitation. Her voice was bleak, and she was sure she was pale enough to highlight a dusting of freckles by the way Lucinda frowned at her.

There was no more dawdling as the carriage door opened, and a footman proffered a helpful hand. Charlotte pasted an empty smile onto her face and accepted assistance she didn’t need.

There was nothing else for her but this world. It was time to play her part, time to face the rest of an exceedingly dull Society life.

Each step down the carriage steps and onto the stone courtyard tiles felt like a tiny spike driven into her soul.

***

Even Charlotte’s despair couldn’t stop her wonder at the grand manor, ancient stone shining pale in the numerous courtyard torches. Shadows clouded the details of the arched doorways and oriel windows. Crenellated walkways and ornate chimneys rose to peaked towers, only visible thanks to Society’s largest moon shining pale pink and full.

Lucinda cleared her throat pointedly. Charlotte jerked her head downward and met the anonymous footman’s patient eyes. He escorted her across the courtyard, her mother’s clacking footsteps a precise chaperonage distance behind her. He bowed and presented her to the butler just inside the carved, wooden double doors, then turned to await the next guest.

Light shone from lanterns with mirrored backings, boosting the ambient glow. The portcullis chains were evident just behind the stone pillars inside, ready to be dropped at a moment’s notice. The gate would be closed once all guests arrived, as was tradition. Host responsibilities demanded ostentatious displays of security.

“Invitation, please, Lady Charlotte?” Each Society household’s Butler gave up his given name when he took on the full role and title, after years of training and generations of household protection. The Merikh’s Butler had secretly told her his name had once been Devon because his lack of name frightened her as a young girl. She’d later learned he could have been exiled from the community if she’d told anyone he shared.

This bearded stranger was nothing like her Devon. Dressed in dark leathers, the Hannock’s Butler tonight maintained dual duties of household protector and barrier to entry. Charlotte met his piercing, dark eyes and gulped, clutching her invitation in her gloved hand. She knew he would have studied a painting of her already, to make sure no one had stolen her invitation and attempted unauthorized entrance. Dropping her eyes, her gaze stuck on the gleaming silver hilt of his sword, faceted and smooth with long use.

“Lady Charlotte?” The Butler held out his right hand, his left dropping to the sword hilt. She pulled her eyes away and held out the invitation, grimacing at the creases her grip had left in the expensive paper. Her mother made an odd sound behind her, which Charlotte recognized from long experience as a suppressed sigh.

The Butler took the invitation and confirmed its legitimacy with a nod. “Lady Charlotte. Lady Merikh. Welcome to Hannock Manor.”

Lucinda swept past the Butler without even a nod. Charlotte paused, seeing several shadows cross the wall as people she hadn’t realized were behind them moved away.

“Never fear, Lady Charlotte. There is no known threat to the ball this evening, but my brothers and I keep watch.” The Butler nodded at her, and gestured to the room behind him.

She could feel her mother’s impatience. “Thank you, Butler,” she said softly. Gathering long green silk skirts, she swept into the room.

Long training with her mother and sisters was the only thing that kept her head held high as jeweled, haughty heads turned to assess the new entrant to the stone room. Condescension was as thick as the mingled scent of oil-burning lanterns and perfume.

One elderly matron, hat precariously perched atop braided grey hair, sniffed with derision and deliberately turned her head away. The rest took their cues from her, Charlotte judged, as conversation broke out again.

A blond with the same curled style and a deep blue gown headed toward her. Her demeanor and dress were picture-perfect, in the books Charlotte was approved to read but hid under her bed instead. The girl came to a halt with a flourish. “I’m Azure,” she announced.

“Charlotte.” She fidgeted with a ring, and stilled her hands. “Is this your first ball also?”

“Yes, but of course I’ve already offers.” The girl smirked and looked down her nose at the redhead.

She thought this was a remarkable feat, since Azure was at least four inches shorter than Charlotte herself. “That’s nice.”

Azure was misnamed. Her hazel eyes bulged as her throat convulsed several times. “Well. Well. Clearly, you aren’t competition. Nice! What a redheaded nonsense answer.”

Charlotte watched the other girl flounce away. “Hmm.” She didn’t miss the company, but the sideways glances from catty women and predatory men had an unexpected dimension of inevitability.

She turned and walked toward the Barnhardts, who lived one manor over from her family’s. At least the elderly patriarch and his wife would give her a pretext at polite conversation, rather than how awkwardly she stood alone now.

An hour later, Charlotte’s jaw was sore from clenching it, her feet hurt, and her face ached from pretending to smile. She’d been patronized by older women, who murmured to her that they understood how difficult it must be, facing her disadvantage as a redhead. Why had her mother not prepared her sooner for such talk?

The men were even worse. Boys barely past light fuzz and spots sneered at her with expectant eyes, while older men who’d worn out their first, second, or even third wives with childbearing asked questions she didn’t understand and laughed at her confusion. One middle-aged man with a pointed nose and dark hair had licked his lips and looked at her body in ways that made her stomach twist. She wished for nothing more than a thick blanket to hide behind and a mug of strong, honeyed tea.

A cough drew her attention. She turned from the punch bowl she’d lingered near to find Butler watching her. The security men were circulating the room now that the portcullises were down at each entrance, ensuring honor was maintained even amongst the vicious verbal jabs that could so easily escalate beyond mere words.

He jerked his head in a short movement, barely perceptible. She looked, and saw a discrete path behind a long drapery of saffron velvet. Charlotte blinked, and tried to look grateful, but Butler was already gone, moving to intercept a spat between two young men about a horse.

She slipped behind the curtain and sighed with relief. The lights were dim here, and the perfume thinner. Charlotte wandered the hallway, wondering if this led to the kitchens. She’d been unable to do more than nibble a few treats before her mother’s reproving eye tightened her belly, but the night was overwhelming to her senses. Perhaps some food would help sustain her, and most kitchens would slip a girl a small loaf without question.

Her stomach flipped as she trailed fingertips across the cool stone. Perhaps she wasn’t considered a girl anymore. Had that been what Yelena was trying to tell her earlier today?

Her fingers grazed over the edge of stone and met empty air. Charlotte barely noticed, her mouth agape. Dark shelves held thousands of books, even going to a second story. A fire blazed at the end of the empty room, safely ensconced in stone and behind decorative ironworks. A spiral stair led to the second floor, and extended to what looked like an additional room with a closed wooden door. Exquisite glass lanterns shone at regular intervals from between bookcases.

She wandered through the selection of tomes, noting the organizational system absently as she went. She’d known the Hannocks were rich, but some of these books had such great age, they must have come from first landing! Society had been only a colony at first, in need of many skills, but agriculture had won out as technology had broken down and trade routes had been slow to develop.

Drawing near the fire, she luxuriated in the warmth. It wasn’t quite the blanket she’d wanted, but books made the evening better. Charlotte drew her skirts up in one hand and placed the other on the spiral stair’s railing. She’d never seen a staircase like this before, with one side so narrow only her toes would fit. Each step was taken with great precision, and she was glad no one was here to witness her unseemly flash of ankle.

Upstairs, she started to continue the book survey before pausing. The dark wooden doors drew her attention. Studded with metal beyond the strength of most internal doors, she wondered what in a library would need extra fortification. An ornate metal latch kept the door closed, but looked a more recent addition than the hinges.

Charlotte studied the metal swirls, made to emulate leaves. A flower bloomed in metal, inviting an outreached hand to clasp it and pull. She accepted its implicit invitation, cold iron warming against her skin, unsurprised to find the door immobile.

She let go with a disappointed sigh, and heard a faint scrape. Hand still in midair, she reached out and tugged on the flower harder. Another noise rewarded her, and she grasped the long petals with both hands, leaning all her weight on the handle.

Metal squealed, and something inside the door gave way. The door itself opened soundlessly as she pulled, red-orange rust spilling onto the wooden floor.

Panting, Charlotte straightened and brushed off her dress. She stepped inside the room. It was filled with books, but her eyes were fixed on the view through the oriel window. Each step echoed in her head, her heartbeat thudding in her ears as she slowly moved forward.

The glow of the spaceport filled the window, filled the room. Blue-tinged lights cast a cool calm across her face, newly-hated red hair gleaming with electric curls. Her dress turned to teal, the geometric embroidered trim at the hem muted by the strange beams.

Charlotte could not look away, even as her shin barked into the wooden window seat. The forest on the drive to the manor courtyard was so thick it must have hidden the view. She could see over the trees now. Vehicles moved with speed she had trouble believing, massive even at this distance. Fire blazed white-hot from one of them, and she caught her breath in fear before it vanished.

She rested a hand against the rippled glass, entranced.

“I meant for you to catch your breath in the hall, not break into the forbidden room,” a voice said behind her.

Charlotte recognized the Butler’s voice, but kept her eyes trained on the Spaceport. If this were to be her last glimpse, she would soak in every second. “Must I go?”

“If you wish to avoid answering questions about whether the ‘redheaded bookworm’ has absconded to get into trouble, yes.” He sounded amused.

“That can only be my mother.” Charlotte wondered if she’d be able to remember this exact shade of blue years from now, when she needed to sustain herself.

“Come, Lady Death,” the Butler said.

She turned, already longing for another glimpse of electric lights. “What did you call me?”

His lips twitched. “Lady Charlotte may be your real title, but your last name means death. It suits your spirit more. You’ll be the death of some poor man.”

Charlotte blinked. “Anything’s better than my real name – oh!”

The man with the pointed face who had scared her earlier slinked in behind the Butler. His eyes were dark, and a glass of amber liquid dangled from his hand. “Private party?”

“A retrieval, m’lord.” The Butler turned to keep his body between the two, facing the man who scared her more than ever.

Charlotte wondered if he’d hoped to trap her here, alone, and shuddered at the thought. “Yes, I’d like to rejoin the ballroom now.” She was proud that her voice did not waver.

“I’d like to join something,” the man snarled. He closed the door behind him.

The Butler’s shoulders flexed. “Window seat, Lady Death.”

“I don’t understa-“

“Go!”

Charlotte turned back to the seat set into the oriel window, unsure what to do. She lifted the cushion, and saw what looked like a lid. A trap door? She pulled up on the hook, and saw a narrow staircase.

Much undignified scrambling later, Charlotte scraped her hands against an exceptionally dark stone room that didn’t seem to have an exit. She hadn’t shut the trap door behind her, not wanting to waste time, and the faint blue glow kept her from panicking entirely.

Butler wouldn’t have sent her into a room with no exit, would he? She craned her neck upward, wishing she knew what was going on between the two men. Surely the Butler would win.

A thud came from overhead, and she squeaked. Redoubling her efforts, she touched a rough spot in the stone and pressed her fingers into it until she thought her fingertips would bleed. Stone cracked open, spilling her onto the wet lawn.

Charlotte ran, not knowing where to go, in dancing slippers soaked through. The doors were sealed against her, the horses safely locked in the barn. No one sane stayed out at night, even though no one had seen a sabertooth since the early settlement days. Carriage bells kept them away, but she did not have a bell, nor would it work against the pointed-faced man. And so she ran to the only place she could think of that might have safety against predators of man and beast alike.

The Spaceport would save her, with its terrifying blue glow. It must, because Charlotte Merikh could see no other options.

Last week, on Odd Prompts, Cedar Sanderson did very cool things with my prompt of an encoded quilt. Leigh Kimmel gave me a prompt that just wouldn’t let go: Something is seen at the oriel window of a forbidden room in an ancient manor house.

I still have more stories I want to tell based on this prompt, which tickled my dark and flinty gothic heart. This version went in a different direction than I anticipated, but – I think – in a good way. I think it might become a thing, because Lady Death really wants her story to be told.

It’s not like I have anything else I’m working on…or a day job that’s nuts…right?

Do Not Feed the Wildlife

“Hey, Sparkles.” The muffled voice came from across the room.

“I told you not to call me that,” Jenna said with a grimace. She didn’t move, or even look up from her ancient, beige computer.

“Whatever. I need your help.”

Grumbling under her breath, Jenna pushed back a chair with an earsplitting squeal as the metal leg scraped over worn floor. Locating khakis and sturdy shoes sprouting from underneath a desk across the room, she saw a plethora of wires where a torso should be.

“What did you do, Glen?” I am so not fixing that disaster, she added mentally.

“I wanted Dr Hort’s desk now that he’s retired. And I screwed it up,” the legs-and-wire bundle responded. His knee rose and the wires shifted. “I unplugged stuff that shouldn’t be unplugged.”

Jenna tapped a booted foot on the linoleum, happy to see Glen get some comeuppance after months of refusing to call her by her real name. Interning at Fish and Game hadn’t been what she’d expected. In retrospect, being surprised by the amount of bureaucracy at a government organization shouldn’t have been shocking.

She pursed her lips, reluctant to ask. “So what do you need me for?”

The wires parted and thick glass lenses appeared, brown eyes behind them pleading. “Turns out one of his computers ran the automated fish counter software.”

“I didn’t see the software failure alerts.” She frowned again, holding in an unprofessional laugh. If Glen had bothered to ask her – but he never did, did he?

“Yeah, well, I changed it so they came to me. But you’re gonna have to go to the ladder and get a manual estimate for the day. I’ve got to fix this and it’ll be a while.”

“Only if you promise to use my real name for the rest of the summer.”

The eyes grew sad before disappearing behind tangled wire again. “Fine. Jen.”

Jenna snarled on her way out the door.

“Don’t get eaten!” Glen yelled. She slammed the door on the rest of his words.

Her mood lightened as she went to her truck and grabbed her backpack. Stepping onto the path beside the fish ladder, she took a moment to relish being outside, in the sunlight. Her face broke into a grin. “This is more like it.”

She hiked for about fifteen minutes before settling into the shade. The rock ramp had been built from natural materials local to the area, with an eye to making it blend with the surrounding environment. Water overflowed the weirs as the pools overflowed, white streams against crystal-clear pools.

Pausing about halfway up the fish ladder, she perched on a comfortable, speckled boulder. She was unsure of the best observation spot, since Glen rarely let her go into the field. Jenna pulled a notebook from her backpack and dangled her feet over the edge of the fish ladder.

She glanced at a nearby curious squirrel with bulging cheeks. “Hope I remember all the fish types from training.” His tail fluttered at the sound of her voice.

The next half an hour was fairly uneventful. The squirrel continued to keep her company as she ticked off species and numbers transiting the fish ladder. “Steelhead…I think that’s a smallmouth bass…salmon, probably sockeye…ooo, a couple walleye there. Wonder if they’re a mated pair.”

The squirrel chittered his boredom at her. Jenna stuck her tongue out. “Hey, this is my job. Calm down. I’m still not giving you any food.”

“Trout…steelhead again…octopus…” Jenna’s pen scratched against her notebook. “Octopus?”

She closed her eyes and reopened them. The octopus was not only still there, limbs showing steady movement against the churning water, it had a passenger. Six tentacles climbed the rocks carefully from the lower pool, adhering suckers against a slippery path. The remaining two tentacles formed a backpack of sorts, where a squid nestled, its own tentacles dangling and shining against the octopus’ flickering camouflage.

“What’s a cephalopod pair like that doing all the way out here?” The squirrel squeaked and lifted his bushy tail, then ran up a tree, finally abandoning her. “No one’s going to believe this,” Jenna called after the tiny rodent.

She pulled out her cell phone and snapped a few pictures of the octopus climbing into the pool, settling the squid down carefully, and stretching out some limbs before settling into the pool for a rest. A bulbous eye caught her gaze, and Jenna lowered her phone, transfixed.

“Excuse me,” a voice said from the pool below her. “I know it’s a public place, but I’d rather you deleted those photos.”

Jenna choked on absolutely nothing and began coughing. Her phone slipped out of nerveless fingers and landed with a splash below.

A curling limb covered in suction cups rose above the edge of her boulder handed the slab of smooth metal and glass to her., water droplets dripping from the edges “Well, that solves that problem, doesn’t it?” The octopus’ beak moved in what might have been a smile as he tucked his tentacles underneath himself.

“Ah. Thank you for returning my phone,” Jenna said, feeling faint. “I didn’t know octopi could talk.”

“Oh, well.” A lazy wave of an arm gestured to the pool. The squid swirled around the pool, splashing. “They can’t. Not really. Super smart, but not that smart. You know how it goes.”

Jenna struggled for words. “Oh, of course.” Perhaps she was dehydrated.

“No, I mean, I’m a kraken,” the cephalopod continued. “That’s why I can talk. I’m James.”

A tentacle reached out to her hand, suckers tasting her arm briefly and releasing her after a brief and unnerving silent handshake. She coughed again. “I’m Jenna.”

“My parents don’t know how far George and I decided to go hiking today. They’re really active on social media, so if those pictures got out, I’d be in a ton of trouble. Grounded and restricted to the ocean for the next five years, probably.”

Her voice sounded eerily like a strangled cat. “Wouldn’t want that, obviously.”

The cephalopod bobbed his head, bouncing on tentacles. “So thanks. I’m sorry if your phone doesn’t work anymore.”

She nodded, wondering if Glen had set her up somehow.

James uncurled himself. “We’re just gonna chill here for a little bit, okay? Then go home.”

He scampered down the speckled boulder, camouflage rippling through dappled greys and blacks. “It was nice to meet you!”

“Bye.” Jenna’s voice was indistinct against the sounds of splashing water between the ladder’s pools.

A head popped back up briefly, a tentacle on each side just below protuberant eyes, beak twitching as if he was sniffing the air. “Hey – you got any snacks?”

This week, Becky Jones challenged me with “The fish counter spotted the baby kraken as it made its way up the fish ladder.My prompt went to nother Mike: “The moon looked like it had another crater, which grew as the moon waxed larger. And then…I can’t wait to see what he does with it.

Want to join the Odd Prompts crew? Send in a prompt to oddprompts@gmail.com by Tuesday, and receive one of your own. Don’t like commitment? Check out the spares to see if any pique your interest!

« Older posts Newer posts »

© 2025 Fiona Grey Writes

Theme by Anders NorenUp ↑