Tag: odd prompts (Page 27 of 29)

Get Off My Lawn

August 14, 2020 / fionagreywrites

Char strolled down the lane past her neighbors’ estates, market basket in hand. Her smile was pleasant without inviting undue attention or encouraging conversation. Full skirts ended precisely six inches above sensible flat boots perfect for the day’s damp, cobbled streets. A starched apron wound around her waist, ready to dry dishes or children’s tears alike. She was the picture of a perfect Octanian housewife.

A cloth draped over her wicker basket protected a long loaf of bread, some fruit, and a soft, mild cheese from flying pests. It also concealed a small blaster and detection equipment. Long red hair tucked under a proper babuskha hid her comms earpiece, while the broach on her left shoulder that marked her as a married woman in this county was, in fact, a disguised microphone.

Of course Char looked the very image of a local housewife. A newcomer who didn’t fit in perfectly would draw far more attention.

“Signal coming from nearby,” she said without moving her lips. “Definitely northwest.”

Her earpiece crackled. Sheer discipline kept her expression pleasant as she nodded to a trio of giggling adolescent girls passing by.

“Sorry.” Max Butler’s voice sounded in her ear. “The calibration was off.”

Char suppressed a snort and did not reply. Her walk was a hair too slow as she used peripheral vision to study the three houses to the left. Each had a long, winding lane, with the stone houses clumped close together and fields of grain adjacent in different directions.

“Narrowed to the Feldmans, the Gallos, or the Oglethorpes,” Max said. “Funny place for a weapons dealer.”

She did snort that time, but only because no one was around.

“Can you think of a reason to get closer and scan the silos?”

Char stopped at the fence and checked in her basket, pretending to look annoyed. “I can make cakes to take around.”

“You’re in visual range,” Max said. “What’s going on? You look like you forgot something.”

“Yeah, greehda,” Char said, calling him the name of the local ratlike pest that feasted on grain if not protected by the ubiquitous silos. “We’re out of eggs. Heading back to the market. I’m not spending winter on this planet.”

She turned around with a dramatic sigh and headed back. It gave her an excuse to study the houses again. Each had been built close to the others for protection and defense during the original planet colonization ninety years ago. The silos were kept close to the houses due to raiders, a long frozen season, and vicious predators that had objected to the newcomers.

No one had seen the arkhnad predators in the local Octanian area for more than three decades, but Char had seen the antlers hanging on the local town hall wall. They must have been thirteen feet across. When she’d expressed amazement, a grizzled toothless man croaked a laugh and told her the rack was from a baby. She’d noticed he was missing most of his left hand as he stumped away.

But there were no predators in this area now. The weapons dealer they sought was stirring up trouble, fomenting rebellion for an economic takeover. Had the last purchase not gone beyond small arms into a level of technology not usually seen on Octania, his work might have gone unnoticed until the rebels had sufficient firepower to blast the entire colony.

Three children raced past her, and she gave them an indulgent smile. Children were protected here, unlike most colonies where they were put to work as soon as possible. It was an artifact of the days when arkhnad and giant buzzards roamed freely. Char didn’t expect the attitude would last much longer, especially not after the grumblings about labor shortages down at the town hall.

These three were somewhere between five and seven, just at the age where they’d been granted freedom to run outside freely without fear of being carried off. Their cries were joyous, and all three slid barefoot on the damp grass without care for their clothing.

Char continued a few steps on, then spun at a shout.

“I told you kids to stay off my lawn!” Stubby Mr Oglethorpe had been one of the loudest complainers about children at the town hall meeting. Then, he’d been grumbling about wasting food on useless hands. He’d only quieted after someone else had pulled him aside. Now, he was red-faced and panting after his run from the house’s main entrance, waving a box in his hand.

Char’s eyes widened ever so slightly. “Max, situation.” Then, louder, she called to the children, imploring them to leave Mr Oglethorpe alone. She worked her free hand under the loaf of bread.

The three boys shrieked with laughter and ignored both of the adults.

“I said, get off the lawn!” Mr Oglethorpe pressed a button on the metal box. A silver antennae rose and beeped, followed by an explosion. Char barely kept her footing sixty feet away.

She blinked away dust. Miniature heat-seeking missiles erupted from what used to be his grain silo, heading straight for suddenly silent boys. They clawed at the ground, trying to get up from where blast had knocked them, slipping on the damp grass.

Char dropped her basket, revealing a blaster. She fired three times, her cybernetic implant the only reason the blaster was even remotely fast enough to short-circuit the missiles.

The boys screamed as hot metal dropped from the sky, inert. One of the missiles rolled toward the boys, whose shrieks had turned to high-pitched terror and tears. They ran, still screaming. All three gave her a wide berth as she stood there, feet planted apart and blaster in hand.

Char’s fourth shot stunned Mr Oglethorpe and left him motionless but alive in the yard. “Of all the ways to find out.”

She coughed over the trails of smoke left behind by the zapped missiles. “Max, my cover’s blown. Requesting immediate extract. Heading toward you.” Their own grain silo concealed a shuttle.

Char coughed again, and reached for the basket. “Oglethorpe. Weapons dealer was definitely Oglethorpe.”

“Copy. Heading your way for planetary extract in two minutes. Command is tracking Oglethorpe as weapons dealer. Grid authorities are already dispatched.” The earpiece shrilled again, and Char let herself wince this time as she headed for the safehouse at double speed.

Max’s voice was hesitant in her ear. She could hear the whine of the shuttle in the background. “You grabbed the food, right? That cheese…”

“Greedy greedha,” Char grumbled. “I’m not new to this. Of course I brought the cheese.”

***

On this week’s Odd Prompts, nother Mike challenged me with “As the kids cut across his lawn again, Mr. Oglethorpe unleashed his latest purchase, heat-seeking missiles. He grinned and muttered, “I told you to get off my lawn!””

My prompt went to Jim and Anne: “At a restaurant, you order calamari. The cloche is lifted, and a talking squid named Calamari gives your table a personalized standup comedy routine.”

Mother

August 11, 2020 / fionagreywrites

Nima stared at the light flickering through the rippled glass of the mashrabiya, wondering why the sunlight gleaming through the windows always seemed to dance above the alcove’s polished wooden floor.

“Come to lessons now, Nima-jaan,” Parvaneh called. Nima turned away from the outside view and walked to her seat a few feet away. The inner room had been set up as a classroom, but her sisters and brother had already passed onto more advanced training. Only Nima was left.

She didn’t mind. Lessons with her mother were usually interesting, flittering between topics like the butterfly Parvaneh was named after, each stop brief and exquisite before moving on in an oscillation of learning. Even the mathematics wasn’t terrible, because Nima could watch her mother’s hennaed hands under loose garb that swung with her movements. Each slender line was precise and graceful against the archaic blackboard, formulas chalked with a series of clicks and whooshes.

Nima hoped she could make such hypnotic movements someday.

Today, however, the undulating light could not be ignored. Nima found her eyes drawn to the glinting sparkles scattered across the room from the stained glass, wondering if the yellow shimmers were like the fireflies she had learned of last week.

Or, when mixed with the reds and oranges…like fire itself, burning hot and quick, puffs of smoke and ash left behind with a faint pop, more felt than heard.

She blinked, and caught her mother’s odd, fixed smile. “Che khub.”

“What’s good, madar?” Nima tore her gaze away from where she’d imagined flame. “I’m sorry. I got distracted by the lights.”

“I was beginning to worry.” Parvaneh’s eyes glinted, and Nima blinked again to clear her own. Surely the flicker of light she caught in her mother’s eyes was a reflection of the stained glass. Eyes did not crackle with the sound of a fire that needed tending.

“I don’t understand.” Nima stared at her mother’s hands with wide, dry eyes and licked her lips. Surely henna tattoos did not move of their own accord. A trick of the light, of ancient and distorted melted grains of sand.

Parvaneh smiled, and Nima thought she had never seen such sharp, wicked teeth. “You have found your fire, of course.”

Her eyes dragged back to the window. Of the colors the mashrabiya had shone in this morning, only the colors of fire remained. Dull reds had turned brilliant, oranges shone the colors of forged metal, blues white-hot and bursting, interspersed with the black of char. The lines of the stained glass blurred. Fire erupted from her hands. Nima screamed in fear and pain.

Her scream cut off as Nima realized there was no pain. Her jaw clacked shut, hard, so hard her head rattled. Then wild glee erupted from her throat, a fountain of flame spurting alongside her laughter.

“I’m a dragon!” She told her mother, whose eyes were now the gold of molten metal. Nima began to dance, extra swagger in her wiggles. She spun in circles, and did not meet the wooden floor again. A giggle of fire escaped as Nima tap-danced on air.

“No, darling,” Parvaneh said. Her smile was indulgent. “We are jinn. Have I taught you nothing?”

***

This week, Leigh Kimmel challenged me with one I struggled with. It’s just been a long week. I finally went with the intent, rather than literal inspiration. Which is probably more the point anyway, but sometimes my brain melts.
* “Pane of peculiar-looking glass from a ruined monastery reputed to have harboured devil-worship set up in modern house at edge of wild country. Landscape looks vaguely and unplaceably wrong through it. It has some unknown time-distorting quality, and comes from a primal, lost civilisation. Finally, hideous things in other world seen through it.“
My prompt went to Cedar Sanderson: “A dragonfly buzzes by your windshield. You blink, and realize those last three letters did not belong.“

Sanctuary

August 1, 2020 / fionagreywrites

This continues the story of Lady Death. Find Part 1 here, although I have plans for significant rewrites. There’s also a ridiculously long Part 2 here that introduces two new characters, but you can get the gist on who they are below without reading the second part. Which…probably says more than I’d prefer about part two.

“When I called you Lady Death, I did not anticipate I would be your first victim.” The words were a harsh growl from under a coarse, woven hood. The mottled fabric blended well against the local stone. Charlotte started. She hadn’t seen the figure waiting for her in the tunnel.

The spaceport bazaar had an eclectic mix of native and foreign items, including its construction. Charlotte had found it bewildering at first, but had come to enjoy finding pieces of home over the past week as familiar points of reference in a sea of change. Kallina had sent her out to get the marketing each day, shooing her down the ramp and into the unknown with a few coins and a small bag.

“Best form of acculturation is to plunge right in,” the older woman had said with a smile. Charlotte had taken the warren’s maze of impromptu tents and fluctuating performers as a challenge. Now, she wondered whether he had done the same.

This tunnel was seldom traversed, a spot of breathing room for a young woman unused to the press of crowds, and cool in the summer heat. It was the perfect spot for someone to catch her alone, and Butler had already tried once to drag her away from the spaceport’s sanctuary and back to her family.

Her jaw tightened at the lesson to be more aware of her surroundings. Perhaps she would survive to implement it in the future. His presence could not bode well for her future.

Charlotte backed away from Butler until her shoulders met an unyielding barrier. “You left a week ago. The spaceport guards are looking for you.”

“Are they?” Butler smiled, and took a step forward. His teeth shone whitely against olive skin, barred in a predatory smile.

She swallowed and flattened a hand against the bumpy wall, her heart racing. Shaky, newfound confidence steadily flowed away, seeping into the cold stone behind her.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself to these guards, so they might have an idea of where to start looking.” His voice drawled with slow contempt. Butler took another step forward, his black leather boot kicking up a puff of pale dust.

She shrank her shoulders toward her chest but kept her back stiff against the bazaar wall. Rough stone snagged on her unfamiliar garb and scraped her back where the short top ended too soon. Charlotte was acutely aware of how much skin she had on display, and much a slattern she must appear to Butler. She held her chin high. “I won’t go with you.”

His face lost its cocky smile. He ran a hand over his face, and even in the tunnel’s dim light, she could see it was covered in bruises, cuts, and flecks of dried blood. Peering closer under the hood, Charlotte could see inky shadows under his eyes.

She wrinkled her forehead. “What in cowpoxia happened to you?” The question blurted out before she could stop herself.

His arm snapped out, carved leather gauntlets stiff against her bare forearm. His grip was iron on her wrist.

“You owe me, Lady Charlotte.”

Swallowing hard, she jutted her chin up farther and met his malted whiskey eyes. “I go by Charlie now.”

He snorted and released her arm with a push. “Whatever you want to call yourself, redheaded witch. You still owe me.”

She rubbed her wrist, frowning at the red marks he’d left behind. The busker’s steady plinking from the end of the tunnel was no longer enough to make the day feel light and carefree. Charlotte turned to head for the spaceport crowd, seeking safety. She caught her footing as she tried to stop without smashing into the looming Butler now blocking her path.

“I owe you nothing.” Her words were cold and haughty. It was the best imitation of her mother that she could muster, the one she and her sisters used to emulate in hushed whispers, before breaking into giggles with ever more dramatic imitations.

Butler snorted again. “Do you not recall the man I saved you from in the library?”

“You did your job,” Charlotte snapped. She resisted the urge to stomp her foot for emphasis, false calm already gone.

He barred his teeth at her and pulled back the hood with a snarl. Her eyes widened at the sight of a jagged rope burn around his neck, vivid crimson.

Charlotte covered her open mouth with both hands, the market bag Kallina had given her rough against her lips. Her eyes tracked a trail of dried blood from a cut above his ear that had trickled down to run under his linen shirt collar. “They tried to kill you.”

Butler clenched a hand on his sword hilt. “Your powers of observation are exceptional.”

An animated couple passed between them, the woman of the pair covered in a filmy material Charlotte had never seen before. It rustled as she passed, the swish almost hidden by their boisterous conversation. Charlotte used the moment to back away from Butler, her head swimming with confusion.

He slumped against the wall, his free hand rubbing his jaw where a purpled bruise hid under dark stubble. “The Families say I deserve it. They already convened and passed judgment. Everyone was already there for the trial, except me.”

“But you did your job. You protected me.” Charlotte shook her head several times, still unable to comprehend how Butler had earned punishment.

“And you’re the witness I couldn’t retrieve,” Butler said. “The biased witness.”

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin again at his words. She could feel her face flush with embarrassment. “I was not dishonored.”

“It does not matter. I headed back afoot to admit my failure. Your own father pronounced my sentence from horseback and rode off while I yet fought for my life.”

“A road ambush? As if you were some landless bandit?” She winced as her voice ended on a high squeak.

Butler shrugged, the fabric of his cloak rippling as he moved. “I was better off fighting my way out of an ambush than in the great hall with the whole court surrounding me. Besides, I’d won my position easily.”

She started to reach out, and clenched her fist around her empty marketing bag before her hand could do more than twitch. Her fingers spasmed as she crushed the cloth. This man had saved her, yes, but had also tried to kidnap her. He did not deserve her sympathy for how her family had treated him.

“I said you’d be the death of some poor man, and you nearly were.”

Charlotte felt trapped. Butler had been outcast because she’d wandered alone into a place she shouldn’t, and had run away rather than returning. By the rules of the society she knew, his desperate situation was indeed entirely her fault.

She firmed her jaw again, tension shooting down her neck. “I am no longer the Lady Charlotte Merikh. I cannot help your situation even if I come back with you. And I will not return, to be shunned, shackled, or murdered as an example of what not to do.”

“Good girl, Charlie,” a voice said from behind her. “Well said. So, Butler. What, exactly, do you want with my ward?” Kallina held her white and black blaster in a steady hand as she moved, and beckoned Charlotte to move back up the tunnel toward her with the other. Kallina stopped several yards away from Butler.

“Corporal Bleuvins is on her way,” she told Charlotte without looking at her. “The couple that passed you let me know you might be in trouble.”

Relief ran through Charlotte’s chest in a wave. She hurried toward Kallina, careful to keep to the side of the tunnel.

“He’s desperate,” she told her guardian.

The Wyvern’s pilot pressed her lips together in a thin, crimson line. “Desperate men are unpredictable. Remember that, Charlie.”

“It’s my fault,” she said in a whisper as she crept to a stop beside the woman. She got the sense that Kallina would have rolled her eyes at the words, had she been less disciplined.

“That’s this planet talking, Lady Charlotte, not the Charlie I’m starting to see peeking out. Charlie has a personality.”

Charlotte bit her lip and breathed in, unsure how to respond but feeling as if she’d not breathed deeply in days. The scent of orange blossoms from Kallina’s perfume imbued a false sense of calm, she knew.

Butler still stood, quiet and open-palmed, at the end of the tunnel. “I didn’t have to let her go. I could have taken her as I saw you approach.”

The pilot flushed and raised her voice. “I asked you what you want, Butler.”

“I want the sanctuary of legend,” the man said. Leather creaked as he took a step forward.

Kallina stood frozen, her blaster still aimed at him. Long seconds passed, the clangs and shouts of the bazaar a jovial background that contrasted with the tension Charlotte could feel in her stomach.

“Sanctuary is sacred here, Butler,” Kallina said in a shaky voice. Her grip tightened on the blaster until her knuckles were white. “It comes with obligations on both sides. Do you understand?”

“No,” he said. “No one’s told me what it entails. I found nothing in forbidden books, other than it exists. Will swearing no harm to you and your ward until I learn the obligations suffice?”

She lowered the blaster and pressed a button. A faint buzzing Charlotte hadn’t consciously heard ceased, and with the stillness came tension escaping both her gut and the tunnel.

Kallina holstered her weapon in the sheath attached to her thigh. “I accept your claim to sanctuary.”

Butler nodded a single time at her, his dark hair askew, and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Thank you, Lady Pilot.”

She blew out a breath and gave him a look Charlotte was coming to know well. Every time Kallina warned her from her own personally hard-earned lessons, in fact. “Yeah, well. Come with me, kid. You look like you haven’t fed in days.”

Charlotte followed both of them, uncertain whether she was pleased or disappointed. The already warm late morning sun made her shiver as she passed out of the tunnel. A grizzled, toothless vendor laughed at her reaction, and she scrambled to bump her way through the crowd.

Corporal Bleuvins had joined the group by the time Charlotte caught up. “I hear he’s on our side now,” the petite woman said. She adjusted her hat, held up by blonde braids. “I wonder if he’ll be able to adapt.”

Charlotte coughed and bit her tongue rather than responding. The scent of grilled meat marinated in yogurt and herbs caught her attention, and her mouth watered. The red-faced woman running the grill pit turned skewers with an expert hand, while her daughters took orders from the noontime rush. Their father lurked in the background, slapping dough against a hot oven wall and regularly grunting his displeasure when the girls flirted too long with customers.

They joined the line and sat with their food several minutes later. Butler devoured his before the rest were half finished, and Kallina shoved a large square of flaky, nut-filled pastry at him. Honey oozed out onto the square of paper it rested upon.

Charlotte nearly choked on her meat skewer at his moan of pleasure. He licked his fingers clear of the stickiness and let out a sign. “I’ve not tasted anything like that since I was a child.”

Her cheeks bulged with food, but he caught the wordless noise she made in her throat.

Butler grinned at her disbelief. “It was considered weak for the household guards to indulge.”

“You’re young for your position,” Kallina said. She frowned at him and ripped off a piece of bread. Dipping it in yogurt sauce, she continued to stare at him. “You were a full Butler? Defeated your predecessor in combat?”

“Aye,” Butler said. “And my probable successor is dead upon the road where he attacked me, hidden behind the bush like a bandit himself.”

“Huh,” she said, and shoved the bread into her mouth. A few moments later, Kallina propped her head on one hand, her elbow on the rickety wooden table provided for shop patrons. “What were you called as a child?”

His face went still. “My name is Butler now.”

Corporal Bleuvins leaned forward. “It can still be your name. Most people have two names. Mine’s Elise.”

Butler’s mouth twisted as he studied the women. Charlotte thought he looked uncomfortable under their direct gazes. Glancing down at his hands, he muttered a single word. “Max.”

“Well, then, Max Butler, I welcome you to the spaceport and accept your claim of sanctuary.” Corporal Bleuvins extended a hand over the table. He jolted backward before tentatively reaching out with his own.

Women simply did not touch strange men here. Charlotte made a note to practice later, so she wouldn’t show her own reaction when it came time for her own handshake.

The group threw away their discards in a nearby bin. Corporal Bleuvins kept up a steady inconsequential chatter with Max as Kallina and Charlotte trailed them through the spaceport.

“What is that?” Max Butler asked. He stared at an enormous spacecraft with sleek lines and odd pods. They reminded Charlotte of the blaster, and she felt an odd tingling energy, just as she had in the tunnel.

“That’s The Writing Desk,” Corporal Bleuvins answered. “Raven class Army fighting ship. They’re here to refuel and recruit. You interested? They don’t get many from this planet.”

“I know nothing but fighting,” Max said. “But I’m aware I know very little of this world.”

He gestured to the electric lights and smooth-walled buildings, foreign to eyes born on this planet. Charlotte found herself studying the landscape again and nodding. Even the acrid scent of spaceship fuel remained alien to a nose used to horses and farmland.

“Other than the books in the forbidden section of the library that I wasn’t supposed to read. And those were antiques from the colony founding.”

“Might find a bond with the ship’s captain if you want to have a chat,” the corporal said, and pushed her hat back again. “He named the ship after some ancient author.”

“Bit of an odd duck, that one,” Kallina chimed in with a laugh. “Whipsmart, of course.”

“Army’s always looking for good men,” Bleuvins said. She looked back at Charlotte for a moment, blue eyes locked onto green. “And women, come to that.”

***

Leigh Kimmel challenged me in this week’s Odd Prompts. “In Alice in Wonderland, the Mad Hatter asks “How is a raven like a writing desk?” Meanwhile, Edgar Allan Poe is writing “The Raven,” with its famous line “Quoth the raven, Nevermore.””

My prompt went to Anne and Jim. “The essence of noir: A man with a slouched fedora and hands shoved in overcoat pockets walks down a road, aware he’s being followed. Streetlights flicker into darkness as he walks by.“

Kittens in a Case

July 26, 2020 / fionagreywrites

Char Merikh, once the noble Lady Charlotte of the planet Society, now sometimes known as Lady Death, was covered in mud.

Literally. She’d streaked the mud in irregular patterns across her face, wound fresh greenery through her hair, and kept her movements slow and steady as she stalked her prey. She’d been in the field for fourteen hours, and was down to one remaining target.

One rather resilient target, who wouldn’t cooperate by being as easy as the rest. Char had begun suspecting his identity after the rest had been eliminated after three hours. She grinned as a figure crossed her scope’s view, careful not to show shining white teeth that could give her current position away.

She fired, and the figure below spun and fell, pulling on a rope as he went down. Branches, dirt, and twigs showered Char a moment later as something fell out of the tree above her.

Coughing at the debris, Char rolled over. She took a moment to study the dust motes floating above her, sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. Getting to her feet, she saw she was caged by a wooden trap wound with vines, and pulled her knife to begin dismantling it.

“Winner, Char, but with qualifications,” Winston Boyd droned. His boots were silent in the forest as he walked toward Char. “That was a masterful trap, and would bring the enemy down on you.”

“I’d killed them all,” Char protested, hacking vines binding two branches at the corner of the trap.

Winston frowned from beneath his drillmaster’s hat. “You think you did. What if he’d had friends? Or allies in the area? What about how the rest of your squad got killed and you had no backup?”

She kicked the branch out of the way with a booted foot and ducked underneath to join her trainer in the grassy clearing. The mud on her face itched.

“Thanks for that, by the way,” a new voice said. A man strode up the rise, a splotch of bright green paint on his side. Dark hair floated in waves above a chiseled face covered in stubble. “I could have sworn you were on the other side of the training field. Thought I was going to win this one.”

She shrugged without explaining and grinned. “Good to see you, Butler.”

It wasn’t often she saw anyone from her home planet, and Max Butler had been instrumental in how she left. She’d learned immense fieldcraft from him, but wasn’t about to give away how he’d fallen for her decoy.

“As usual. You’re the death of me.” Max had been the one to give her the Lady Death moniker. He elbow-bumped her as he drew closer and gave the faint smile that was all he was known for expressing when happy.

Winston drew himself up into a perfect training pose. “Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, drillmaster!” Max and Char snapped out the words automatically as they both straightened.

The man glared at both of them, his jaw clenched underneath his hat. “Kids these days. Trying to keep you alive. Do I get any thanks for it?”

“Just last week, drillmaster,” Char said, still at attention. “Alis came back from her first assignment and bought you a drink in thanks. Very nice whiskey, if I recall. All the way from Mars.”

Butler nodded. “A few days before that, Georgg. Blubbered about some martial arts move you’d shown him that you knew would be useful on his first assignment. Said it saved his life.”

Winston tilted his hat back. “Shut up, you nitwits. Get to debrief. Then report to my office. You have an assignment. Let’s go!” His voice snapped in the air. Char could feel her spine straighten at his tone.

“I’ve missed this,” Char said several minutes later as she and Max jogged toward the base and debrief.

He turned his head and raised an eyebrow.

She lifted a shoulder and gave him a lopsided smile as their feet thudded on the dirt path under the shadowed treeline. “Not the Army stupidity. But training for this sort of fieldwork is a nice change of pace. Keeps up the skill set. You know how it goes.”

“Getting tired of fancy dress?” The last time she’d seen Max, she’d been in heels and a red silk dress, while he’d been in a tuxedo. Their skills brought them the special assignments, and they’d both been after the same target.

“Different than the Army I expected,” Char replied. They crested the hill and the base came into view, still half a mile away. They ran in silence, but she hadn’t expected an answer from the taciturn man beside her.

He pulled away to greet the guards as they jogged closer, and she tried not to think about how her view now included the broad shoulders and distinct biceps she sometimes glimpsed in dreams.

***

A week later, Char strolled through a swanky restaurant wearing an emerald green dress that highlighted her cascade of flaming red hair. The dress exposed her toned arms but fell below her knees, allowing her to run if she needed to. Diamonds dangled from her ears in long drops. The left was her tracker for Command, the right her comms unit.

She controlled her expression to match the room’s artificially bored faces. Money meant boredom on Hexagon Station, a socially enforced lack of concern that extended even as heinous business deals were conducted by Hex’s elite in this very room. Hushed voices meant her high heels clicked on the tile floor, drawing more attention than Char preferred.

But then, today’s job would only work if she drew the right attention.

The maître-d’ turned and paused, a good twenty feet ahead of her in his black suit. She could see the concealed impatience in his eyes, but refused to hurry her steps. It would be abnormal for the woman Char was emulating to rush, and so she did not either. Her skills laid predominantly in mimicry and infiltration.

While she walked, Char was conscious of the silver purse in her hand, one that looked remarkably like a miniature metal briefcase. She casually held it so that everyone in the room could see it as she clicked her way toward the man in the black suit. He held a chair for her on a raised platform, next to the window panes that provided a view of the planet below.

The view was even more preposterously expensive than the restaurant. She’d heard few bothered with the scenery, though, just as the food was better at the rapid-cook diner two hubs over. The point was to be on display.

She set the silver briefcase on the table atop the white damask tablecloth. An unfortunate but necessary breach of etiquette, she knew.

As usual, the exhibition made her skin crawl. Might as well paint a target on your back. She ignored the diners’ stares and local protocol, instead gazing at the planet below. The windows would let her know before anyone approached, though she’d surely struggle to remove her gaze from the swirled blues and greens below.

“Madam.” The waiter bowed as he left her drink beside her, meeting her gaze in the reflective glass. She winked at him, relieved to see Max Butler already in position. Turning around would have acknowledged a menial, however, and so she returned to the view, covertly studying the people seated nearby.

Ten minutes later, her shoulders were tightening with tension from inaction. Her contact was late. Unless he was the man in the corner with the charcoal suit. Char withheld a frown. He wouldn’t have been her first guess, but perhaps he was older than he looked in the reflection.

Time for a test. She picked up her wine glass and sipped the nonalcoholic crimson berry juice, setting it down in a different location. If the man in the suit was the one, Max had inadvertently blocked a clear view of the silver case when he’d set her drink down.

Just as she’d decided it wasn’t the man in the suit, he rose and approached. “May I join you?”

The man reached into an inner suit pocket as he took a single step onto the dais. Her eyes fell on a matching miniature silver briefcase he removed and placed on the table in front of hers.

Char’s ruby lips broadened into a practiced, welcoming smile. “I thought you’d never ask.”

***

Less than five minutes later, she was glad she’d practiced running in four-inch heels. Klaxons blared amidst the screams while smoke and debris wreaked havoc. Even the previously blasé diners had reacted to the explosion and automated security measures with screams, heading in random and unexpected directions. No one wanted to be in the room if the glass gave way, even with the metal protective coverings that rolled down the walls to cover the swirling view.

Max gripped her elbow with bruising strength. “Left!” he snapped, and they turned, dodging a confused waiter, still holding a tray of scallops in a bubbling butter sauce. He shoved her ahead of him with a hand at the small of her back. “Door at the back, go!”

Clanging metal sounded behind her, followed by a grunt of pain. She kept running without looking back. She’d grabbed both cases in the chaos. The dead drop had gone badly enough without Char accidentally taking the wrong case, and her contact wasn’t in any shape to complain.

She bit her lip and hit the door with her shoulder at a full run. Max would catch up. He always did.

She needed him to, because otherwise, protocol demanded that she leave him behind.

***

Back at the landing dock, Char didn’t bother changing out of the fancy dress. She tossed the cases on a folded-down table and slipped into the cushioned pilot’s seat. Gearing up the craft for departure was a process of long habit, her hands flying over buttons and switches. It was a small but fancy spaceship, one suitable for the socialite she’d pretended to be. Owned by the Army, the switches had been retrofitted to enable consistent muscle memory by all military members.

Max would make it before the ship’s AI was ready.

She bit her lip again and hoped her wish would be true.

Having gotten the process started, she rose and went to the table where both briefcases rested, each slightly larger than her hand. The scratch atop the edge told her which was hers. Cracking the first open, she found only the burner comms unit, her poisonous lipstick, and the untraceable payment chit, all as expected.

Char reached for the second case and hesitated. She’d no idea what to expect from the tech she’d been assigned to pick up. It was supposed to be some sort of AI, and far more likely after the setup at the restaurant that the second case contained a trap. Perhaps she should wait for Butler, who was taking his sweet time.

She jolted back as the silver case opened on its own.

Inside the briefcase nestled a minute, yawning black kitten, the tip of its tail trailing a touch of white. It flexed its paws, and tiny claws emerged to scar the inner case’s velvet lining. She stared, fascinated, as the kitten raised its tail and leaned its head downward in a stretch known to anyone who’d ever encountered a cat.

“Well, I don’t know if you’ll like space, but my contact definitely ripped me off. So much for the vaunted tech I was supposed to get.” She reached out a hand and touched soft fur. “You look like someone picked you up and dipped you in ink.”

The kitten bumped her fingers with a hand. “That’s why I’m Squid,” he said.

Char let out a startled shriek. “You’re the AI?”

“Artificial intelligence unit prototype 4207,” Squid replied. “I like my name better.”

“Huh.” She reached out a finger. “You okay if I pet you?”

Squid nodded and licked her finger. “Bond with you.”

A series of beeps and the sound of hydraulic hissing had Char on her feet. “Stay quiet.”

Boots rang as someone walked up the ramp.

She unclipped her decorative silver necklace. The disguised one-time stunner wasn’t her first choice of weapon, but it would do.

“Still don’t know if those were your contact’s friends or enemies,” Max said as he walked in, sporting a black eye. His waiter’s suit was speckled with blood. He stared down at the kitten and coughed. “Guess we got ripped off, eh? Cute little guy, though. We could use a spacecat.”

“Pretty sure it’s ‘enemies’ since my contact is now rather dead,” Char said dryly. “Time to go, Butler. Before they shut down the port.”

Squid yawned. “I want to learn to fly the ship.”

The look on Max’s face was worth all those restless dreams he’d caused her over the past week, Char decided.

***

For week 30 of Odd Prompts, nother Mike challenged me to explain why a kitten was in a briefcase. I had a lot of fun tossing around ideas with The Guy on this one – a cowboy whose briefcase is the glove compartment of his truck, a football player who brings his kitten to practice – but ultimately tied it to Lady Death.

My prompt went to Anne and Jim Guglik, and I can’t wait to see how they explain the Newgrange Passage Tombs’ lonely wraiths.

Love, with a Side of Sugar

July 22, 2020 / fionagreywrites

Laura stared out the window from where she sprawled in the rocking chair, not caring that curtains blocked the view. One leg was carelessly thrown over the hard wooden edge, exposing a run in her pantyhose. Her shoeless foot was numb.

Dylan had made the chair for her before he deployed. A promise, he’d said, his grin shining white teeth bright against the dark stubble he always grew while on leave.

The house was cold, belying the bright sunlight that seeped around the edges of the window, bright halo against neutral paint. So cold, too empty, a house where silence now reigned.

There had been voices in the background at first, voices she ignored. Voices that insisted she do things, bringing food she ignored.

Silence broken only when Laura was forced to move, wooden rockers creaking against the floor. A wooden laminate floor Dylan had installed. Another promise, this one tied to kissable lips and laughter as they’d pushed aside the tools and –

A tear escaped down her face, a soundless sob wracking her stiff body, jolting at the pain. Laura hadn’t let go of the soft triangle, heavy folded cloth since they’d handed it to her. She could feel the seams of the flag pressing against her stomach through her thin black dress. She hugged it closer.

A grateful nation, the anonymous face above the gloves had said. She’d heard broken promises, flinched away from offers of assistance.

The door opened behind her. She wrapped her body around the flag and hoped whoever was here to bother her would go away. Like her husband had, gone a month before returning in the most dreaded manner possible, the door to this house opening on practiced, uniformed condolences.

“Enough of this.” Sharp words to meet sharp noises, her mother-in-law’s heels clicking firmly against the wooden floor. A pointed nose and a grey bun greeted Laura’s uncaring gaze.

“Artemesia.” Her voice was hoarse, strained from internal screaming. She watched with dull eyes as the woman sat primly on the couch.

“You aren’t the only one, you know.”

“I know.” Laura turned her head back to the window. She couldn’t find the energy to tell Dylan’s mother to go away.

“I brought you something.”

She didn’t move. “I’ll look at it later.”

“No,” Artemesia said. There was steel behind that single word. “Tomorrow I leave. Today you look at this.”

Her foot dropped down to the floor with a thump. “What is it?”

Thin, speckled hands pushed a worn, stained book into her lap. “I never shared his favorite cookie recipe. The one I always sent when he deployed.”

Shuddering, Laura tried to push the book back into her mother-in-law’s hands, the cover hard against her fingers. “No. You wouldn’t share when it mattered.”

“A mother’s right.” The words dropped harshly in the dim room.

“Why didn’t you just tell me which cookbook?”

A sad smile. “I made edits.”

The book sat there, taunting her with memories of Thanksgiving. She hadn’t known it was possible to resent a cookbook before, but Laura knew now. The rage caught in her swollen throat.

“I’ve marked the page,” Artemesia said.

Laura stared at the cover’s white and red letters without reading them, tracing the edge of the cover with a single cold finger. She gulped a breath as she opened the book. Vanilla sugar wafted up as she flipped through the pages.

Between the pages of the old recipe book rested a patch that made her fingers reluctant to move. The stripes she and Artemesia had been supposed to pin on Dylan’s uniform when he returned. The ingredients list and instructions were heavily marked with half-legible handwriting, notes on adjusting temperature and various additions.

The words blurred as her eyes watered, tears streaking wetly down her face.

“Stains and sugar make the love real,” Artemesia said. “You think I can’t tell you have more than yourself to care for now? I want my grandchild to know their daddy. Even if it’s only through his favorite treat.”

***

I’m exploring social media again. Find me on Facebook here, if you’re so inclined.

This week on Odd Prompts, Cedar Sanderson asked me to identify what was between the pages of the recipe book. I challenged Leigh Kimmel to explain the cancellation of dragon season.

Turtle Talk

July 15, 2020 / fionagreywrites

“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.

Of Hoaxes and Business Plans

July 4, 2020 / fionagreywrites

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.

Consequences

June 28, 2020 / fionagreywrites

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

June 23, 2020 / fionagreywrites

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

June 20, 2020 / fionagreywrites

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.

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