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Category Archives: Dagstine 2010
Tales of the Talisman: Volume 6, Issue 2… (Now Available!)
Now Available for Purchase:
featuring Lawrence Dagstine
Tales of the Talisman: Volume 6, Issue 2…
www.talesofthetalisman.com
With stories and poetry by: Martin Turton, Thom Gabaldon, Aurelio Rico Lopez III, Lawrence Dagstine, John Grey, roibeard Ui-neill, Patrick Thomas, TJ McIntyre, Daniel C. Smith, Deborah P. Kolodji, W. Gregory Stewart, Jean Davis, Richard Harland, and MORE!
Previous Issues with Lawrence R. Dagstine:
Categories: Author Appearances, Chilling Tales, Collectible Magazines, Covers, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dagstine 2011, Dark Fiction, Fantasy Magazines, Fiction, Fiction Appearances, General News, Genre Markets, Horror, Horror Fiction, Horror Magazines, Horror Stories, Lawrence Dagstine, Magazines, Monsters, Novelettes, Print Magazines, Publication Credits, Publications, Publishing Credits, Pulp Magazines, Quarterly Magazines, Science Fiction Magazines, Speculative Fiction Magazines, Tales of the Talisman, The Small Press, Vampire Fiction, Vampires Tags: Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dagstine 2011, Genre Magazines, Horror, Horror Novelettes, Lawrence Dagstine, Magazines, Novelettes, Tales of the Talisman, Vampire Fiction, Vampires
Free SF Serial: "Orphan's Prey pt. 4" by Lawrence Dagstine
*Science Fiction Serial – New Installment – First Draft*
ORPHAN'S PREY #4
Last Time (part #3): https://lawrencedagstine.com/2010/09/02/free-sf-serial-orphans-prey-pt-3-lawrence-dagstine/
For a reptile such emotions were not like him; then again, perhaps he did not try hard enough to show emotion. Along with his predictions in the weather, and for as long as he could remember, he had experienced premonitions instead. If the premonition seemed genuine, his chest unit would emit a strange glow, and he would utter a warning of disaster to the rest of the tribe. Very rarely did the Vendragon take him seriously, and very rarely did they act on it. His forebodings were never specific, the calamity either absurd or nameless, so it was unusual that he did not speak of any premonition in the days or hours before Arim—a most treasured farmhand assisting their nascent culture in advancing agriculturally—was attacked and fell from that high cliff. And never in his wildest dreams, he thought, could he predict that, even now, the two orphans he searched endlessly for might bring with them a terrible but ancient disaster.
Lawrence R. Dagstine
Blake discovered that there is a point beyond which another blow to the spirit is almost meaningless because it cannot be felt. Helping his sister cope with the jaw-dropping size of the storm—though the gravity of its suddenness was what was most startling—no shelter from the wind-driven onslaught in sight, and instilling a renewed sense of faith and meaning in the importance of survival, the boy led the way through the wastes as any adult leader would. This was not the same frightened little cherub from two days earlier. This was not the same eavesdropping eight-year-old who cowered only in the safest corner of an overturned transport, as shadow monsters with an insatiable taste for fluid waited for their next meal. No, this was a child who finally came to the realization that, in this unnatural environment, the odds were stacked greatly against him. He had no choice but to push on, even if it meant dragging those he loved dearly along with him; his sister obviously loaned him some of that inspiration and courage in order for this sparkling change to take place.
The fast-approaching clouds, with their thunderbolts and swirling snows pulverizing the landscape, looked like an entity unto itself. During the late night scramble, above the four-thousand-foot high stretches of sand and rock, the children progressed hurriedly through a dark expanse of steep ridges and intertwining cliffs, upward rather than down across the valley floors. Blake assured his sister that the higher you were, the safer it was. So Chandler had told him. Long after the bluffs were in complete shadows, Chelsea had watched the rapidly changing weather with a solemn look on her face. One minute it was one season, the next it was entirely the opposite. It went from hot to cold and cold to hot, to just plain damp and icy again. It was uncanny, especially at this height.
"Fog thickens and encircles the thunderheads first," Blake pointed out from atop a thin ledge. They both stopped for a quick breather. "Or maybe the other way around. Sorry, sis. I'm kinda tired now." He nodded toward the sky. "Streamers."
"Streamers?" The girl was confused.
"Yup. See them?"
"I suppose," Chelsea said, though she still didn't know what he was talking about. Practically gasping for air, she'd run so far and fast that she could barely concentrate on the present moment. Fearful of the climate, and being lost on account of her brother, she also felt displaced. "What about it?"
"Think of them as a main storm body within another storm body."
"Then they should be carrying warning features."
"Maybe. Chandler wouldn't have thought so," the boy admitted. "Oh, and see those big dark masses over there?" His finger was outstretched and pointing. "They're the real soldiers, carrying the big muscle, all the moisture and all the winds. If they want to, they can regroup, break out the lightning and hail, and really kick ass"—he paused, shaking his head gently in awe—"and with more power," he went on, "than you can believe possible. More energy released, too!"
Chelsea nodded. "I see."
"Moisture inside the fog cloud condenses with the help of little specks of mud and dust," the boy added, "and as it rises in an updraft it turns to ice. Then maybe it comes down, builds up more moisture, and goes up again, swirling around and forming more ice. Up and down, back and forth, growing and getting harder all the time. That's how you get hailstones the size of pterodactyl eggs."
Chelsea was smiling lightly. "I told you, bro. Pterodactyls are extinct."
"Oh, well, the hail's still big."
"I bet." Outside, the girl continued listening quietly, her eyes on the distant horizon; inside, she was growing impatient. "Chandler taught you this?"
"Yep, he sure did. And those big ol' fog clouds aren't static either. Somewhere inside they boil and churn. Like you said, enormous magnetic forces are at work"—he paused again, this time to show off his necklace as it slowly drifted away from the collar of his shirt by some invisible force—"updrafts, downdrafts, sudden cooling, sudden warming, generating enough electricity to light a whole solar city for a few nights. Come on, look at the rope around my neck, sis. You know there's some evil at work here." He tucked the chain back in; the way he'd explained it sounded like it was a good thing.
Chelsea snapped. "Did it ever occur to you that actually looking for a place to hide in the rock face might be an option, rather than a weather report?"
"Huh?" Now it was Blake who was confused.
"You really want to know what's happening out there, little brother?"
"Hey, how come—"
"No, let me finish!" The girl was fuming. "Because this place isn't cool one bit, and that's what you're making it out to be. Neither is it rad or awesome. I know your ego is fragile, Blake, but every so often you need to be kicked in the noggin. Repeat after me: IT'S OKAY TO BE SCARED!!" There was a stunning silence as they just stood there, long and heavy raindrops sopping their clothes. "Mom and Dad aren't here. The Keeper isn't here. The Vendragon are a no-show. The planet itself is unpredictable. Chandler is dead. Even the friggin' information bank on my wrist got wet; damn thing is on the fritz!" She smacked the top of it. "All you can do is talk about how amazing and deadly the climate is? Seriously, I don't think it gets any more selfish and immature than that!"
After five long days, Blake's shyness suddenly reappeared. For a brief minute his thoughts went back to the time spent aboard the Juniper, then his body loosened and he reached around to rub the back of his neck. He walked up to the top of the ledge, watching the storm-crazed heavens; he was in such a trance he would have probably walked straight off it, so long as he didn't have to be around his sister. The moons of Ragnarok were much farther now, and the night continued closing in. The mix of rain and snow got harder. The air got colder. The lower parts of the land became darker. New stars appeared in the clear sections of sky but eventually those patches, too, were blotted out as the clouds merged and continued their relentless advance.
Some of the showers and hail that evening were mere dustings which held on the chilled ground and rocky ledges. In other high places the winds dropped as much as five or six inches which, here and there, accumulated in small drifts. He could only imagine the shape of the marshlands, the lower valleys, and the much flatter plains.
Finally the girl swallowed her awful tongue and approached him. "Hey, listen, I'm… I'm sorry, kiddo." She suddenly felt terrible for the way she acted. "Being lost like this would pretty much drive any girl stir-crazy," she carried on in a low but silly voice. "The weather doesn't help any either."
The boy did not say anything.
"Come on, Blake. You know how much I worry about you. What if this storm caused us to get separated? What if you got terribly ill? What if—"
"Stop!" Blake narrowed his eyes in hurt, but did not turn around. "Why'd you mention Mom and Dad?"
"Huh? Oh, that… It was spur of the moment. You know, a passing reference?"
"So that gives you the right to preach?"
"I was scared," Chelsea admitted. "My nerves got the better of me. I'm soaked to the bone, I'm numb with cold, and I thought you were fooling around. It felt like it wasn't the right time for bullshit."
The boy went silent again.
"Blake, please!"
He crossed his arms and ignored her. Now his thoughts went back to another time and place, even long before the freighter. Mother. Father. Other family. He was so young; it was all so hazy. But there were some memories. Vague instances that were not really detailed, but they were better than no memories at all. And there they were again, playing itself out amidst the hard driving rain like some mental hologram.
Blake's parents had been wannabe out-colonists from the start. They were like any other family of their generation, saving up their earnings while looking toward the future—in their time, to look ahead was the only way to think—often waiting with prolonged anticipation to see what a new planet in a new solar system would bring. Jeremiah Prittengayle, a business savvy engineer by trade, dealt in matter transference and rockets. He believed that the urge to visit the world of your choice, or what could eventually become the fruits of your new origins, was buried deep in every human's heart. To communicate with alien races, to explore and inhabit lands many light years away was something to be appreciated. It was an escape from orthodox living and remedial technology in a Great World Society; some called the lifestyle homogenous. But, being by nature a self-contained man, he had never asked how other family members felt about it—most of Blake's aunts and uncles lived in the same block as him—nor would he have cared what their answers might be.
As too perfect as it might have been, and for as little time as he experienced it, Blake wanted to be back in that society now. Anything was better than Ragnarok. Perhaps that's why he talked about the weather so much. To take his mind off things like Earth, Mom and Dad, Aunt Rachel, Grace and Steven, Grandpa Jack and his funny metal leg, apple pie and real friends, other kid's laughter. He remembered his father most from his shaving emulsion, which gave off a peculiar but interesting scent. His superficial-in-a-good-way attitude second.
He suddenly wept. But it was a good weeping.
There had always been insight into his family: his great-grandfather's journals which, unfortunately, he had left behind on the Juniper. He wondered if the diaries were still there, tucked between the metal frame and mattress of his bunk, or if some other youngster had come along and found it. Would the new child have thrown it away? If he lay down to read it, what would he have thought afterwards?
Of his mother, Courtney Prittengayle, he remembered her soothing voice and the way she embraced him. She gave the best hugs. The soft teddy bear kind. Both she and Rachel had been the daughters of a once-famous geologist. Though the man had died well before his birth, Blake recognized who he and Chelsea inherited their instinct and desire to adapt from, and when and how to use it.
He remembered being a toddler in the backseat of her father's ship, vacationing one year in the icy plains of Europa. He must have been about two-and-a-half. Chelsea was probably about his age now. His mother had skills as a navigator and pilot; so did Rachel. Looking back, she flew the sleek white craft with precision, something he was sure that, as an adoring mother, she did many things. She'd glance over her shoulder and smile at him, and he'd laugh back. That feeling of events gaining the upper hand was always with her, but she knew when to push it aside, settle down, and study her surroundings.
"Honey, look, a wilderness!" She pointed downward.
Blake's father peered out from his side. "Oh yeah, look at that. Real trees. They must be rooted somewhere in the ice." He turned around to face the children. "Look kids, a forest on Europa. Isn't it breathtaking? Maybe one day when you grow up both of you will visit a sphere just like this. Who knows, maybe you'll even live on one. Wouldn't that be exciting?"
The boy nodded cheerfully at the time.
Chelsea was awestruck. She had opened her eyes as wide as possible, then stuck her forehead and freckled nose against the special glass. "Awesome! Do you see that, little brother?" She tugged his shirt to the point of wrinkles. "Do you see the sculptures and waterfalls? It's beautiful!"
"Wowww!" The boy sat up on his knees, amazed, then giggled. "Beautiful!"
"Baby, sit down and put your belt back on," his mother ordered.
"Yes, Mommy."
"Come now. You too, Chelsea."
Blake had lifted his head as far as his neck would stretch. He just managed the tip of his mother's shoulder; he never quite understood what went on in the front seat. He had seen a visual system come down with elaborate keys. Some were heat-operated, others you just had to blink commands. They were topographical maps, as Chelsea had told him, and even his father had a virtual one open on his lap. The contours crowded close on the atlas like holographic shapes and symbols. It indicated oceanic rifts and icy basins, steep mountainous slopes or sheer cliffs; but the reality of their exploration were the rock faces dropping into darkness, bottomless canyons into which the sun would penetrate only for short hours or even minutes a day, rocky slopes too steep for a human to stand on. Like Ragnarok, these seemed features of another world; they were features of another world. In north-facing crevices and hollows, the last Jupiter year's freeze-over held.
"Looks like we won't be able to bring her down there," his mother said.
"Should we take her back to the rough country?"
"We may have to, dear."
"Mommy," Blake muttered.
"Oh, almost forgot, darling. Oxygen." His mother handed his father a special mask. "You too, Chelsea. And give your brother one." She already wore her own, and her voice was muffled. "The atmosphere is dense in this area. We'll be up about twenty thousand, and the deep pockets can sneak up on you."
"Mommy," Blake repeated. "I have to pee."
The boy had eventually put on the mask without another word.
From this height, any basins or frozen lakes they passed looked small indeed, toy representations of the real thing; a child's model platform suddenly came to mind. There was the wintry stream that was supposed to feed the lake, and there were its countless tributaries and dry ice cracks, some gleaming faintly with heat-generated water, some flowing now but easy enough to pick out from the way they extended across the landscape like branches from a tree.
Where they were now, thousands of feet above the highest ranges, the view was breathtaking. More sheer slopes and more steep cliffs, some snow-blanketed, others mostly ice-covered, with indentations stretching to the poles as far as visibility went. It was through this unknown, tangled mass of blue and white, Blake thought, that his parents and others like them had found their lonely way.
His father tapped his mother on the shoulder. "Look, Courtney, there's the air tower. The hotels and shops must be just beneath it." He turned slightly and hollered, "Hey guys, keep your masks on. We're almost there."
From the distance, much of it looked like a metallic ski resort. "This is so cool," Chelsea said.
"Honey, you think checking in early will be a problem?"
"Nah, shouldn't be," the man said. "We can always come back."
Beside him, the woman seemed to be waiting for some kind of signal. "Maintain this altitude, but swing back over the basin again," she said, throwing some control switches. At once the horizon shifted as they began a wavering turn.
As the wind currents moved slowly beneath them, Blake caught the gleam of standing water near the top of a high canyon. They were coming over the tower now, and although the boy had no idea what his parents might be looking for, he searched carefully every slope, every gorge, every steep drop-off.
That was until they collided with an air pocket.
The sudden force ripped through the hull of the craft; invisible, but the power was tremendous. Chelsea's mask flew off and, though strapped in tight, reached for her throat and fell into a state of oxygen-deprived unconsciousness.
His father turned around. "Chelsea? Chelsea! Omigod, Courtney. You have to bring her down now!" He saw the girl's head tilted to the side.
The boy grabbed the armrests in fear.
"I…I can't!" his mother cried. "Nothing's working. What's going on?"
"Blake, whatever you do… DON'T MOVE!" The man had shouted it to the boy with the utmost urgency.
"Jeremiah, we're going down. Fast!" There was confusion; it was hard to understand anything over the inrush of wind, which came from the rear.
"Blake, listen to me. Stay still!"
The boy suddenly stopped and shook his head in silence. He tried to go back and remember some more but saw nothing that could explain the optical illusion he had seen while in the air. That and the crash. Was there even a crash? Were his parents even dead? It was so long ago.
Reality had brought him down to that sodden cliff on Ragnarok so fast and so cruel again, he didn't know what to say. There was so much he wanted to understand, but he never got around to reconsidering the past. Upon their return home, Rachel had disappeared from their lives, too. He was abandoned by other surviving family and, along with his sister, thrust aboard a ship for orphans, forced to just… deal.
Finally he heard someone say DON'T MOVE again, and with the same insistent tone his father had used. He turned around in the pouring rain and saw his sister at the opposite end of the cliff. Frightened, she was backed into a corner by a large and terrifying beast. It had jumped down from a much higher ledge and almost pounced her. The creature was feline, but it only had one eye. It looked like some kind of saber-toothed Cyclops cat; Blake didn't know how else to describe it. It stood at least eight feet long and four feet wide, very powerful, with a large ivory horn in the top of its head. From its sides were long and thin tentacles, three to each and six in all, with fine and sharp pincers at the tips. The animal raised a giant claw and dug it into the ground with force, causing an upheaval of wet snow and mud. It made its presence felt between the children; it had noticed the girl first but still left about ten feet open for them both.
Blake motioned with his hands from behind and said extra-softly, "Chelsea, don't move." He slipped off his satchel and searched for some perma-flares. When he saw that he wasn't the one carrying them, he searched for something else.
The girl stared past the animal at him in fright. "Please, hurry," she indicated quietly and carefully, then went back to trembling in her corner.
The giant cat displayed its massively long fangs and gave off a monstrous roar. Chelsea put her hands to her ears and held them there. It roared and slammed the ground again, then proceeded slowly toward her. The tentacles at its sides began to viciously click and snap. The colossal eye widened and loomed in on her, while Blake emptied his bags and looked for something—anything he could use as a weapon.
Seconds later he remembered where he had left the crystal-tipped spear with the attached laser cutter. It was leaning against the rock wall, just within reach. He slid across the mud-spattered floor and retrieved it, standing and shouting from the far left side now, "Hey you! Yeah you, ya big ol' pussycat! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?" He tightened his grip around the base of the weapon, as the enormous beast turned its giant pupil and sharp fangs toward him. "Get away from my sister!"
"Blake, you don't have enough room!" Chelsea shouted once she was clear of the ledge; she had maneuvered about fifteen feet. "Get out of there. Now!"
"Keep climbin', sis. I'll take care of this mean ol' cat. Just go!"
"Blake, don't be an idiot!"
The animal started backing him up in a corner—it was either that or face it on the thin ledge—and snarled angrily. The boy made small pokes and jabs at it. Instinctively, the cat responded by opening its mouth, cringing its long-whiskered face, and taking quick swipes. Blake was short and slim enough to pull his body back from the razor-sharp talons that were now swinging right to left and left to right.
Moments later the cat took two steps back and stood up on its hind legs. It roared ferociously and raised an angry paw that overshadowed the child's face. Blake stood on the balls of his feet and, using as much leverage as he could muster, dug the now-heated tip of the spear into the underbelly of the animal. The cat bellowed in pain, then swung its massive frame back and forth until the weapon broke like a twig. Blake fell backwards to the ground. The cat's paw descended with a mighty thud, tearing up earth and hurling fragments of rock aside. The boy lay watching beneath the rubble, as the salivating animal opened its mouth wide and came in for the kill.
Categories: Adventure Tale, Adventure Tales, Archives, Barren Worlds, Blog Updates, Cat's Eye Nebula, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dark Fantasy, Dark Fiction, Fantasy, Fiction, Free Fiction, Giant Lizards, Lawrence Dagstine, Orphan's Prey, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Literature, Surprising Stories, White Tigers Tags: Adventure Stories, Cat's Eye Nebula, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Free Fiction, Free Science Fiction, Free Serials, Free Writing, Genre Fiction, Genre Stories, Giant Lizards, Lawrence Dagstine 2010: novellas, Lawrence Dagstine: Free Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: Orphan's Prey, Novellas, Orphan's Prey, Orphan's Prey by Lawrence Dagstine, Orphan's Prey Part Four, Orphan's Prey: Lawrence Dagstine, Orphans, Other Worlds, Ragnarok, Science Fiction, Science Fiction and Fantasy, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Fiction and Fantasy Serials, Science Fiction Literature, Science Fiction Writing, Serialized Fiction, White Tigers
Einstein's Pocket Watch, July to September 2010…
You can now find me for a second time in what has become a very popular and free webzine for writers of poetry, inspirational stories, Christian and Experimental Fiction, Science Fiction and Fantasy, Christian Science Fiction, literary, and more or less stories that are uplifting. NO horror pieces. Friend and editor Rob Crandall presents: Einstein's Pocket Watch. Rather than genre this time, I have a mainstream piece. It's a wonderful blog webzine. Do check it out.
Einstein's Pocket Watch – July to Sept. 2010
2nd Appearances – Mainstream – Edited by Rob Crandall
Fiction & Poetry in link below:
FREE READS – CLICK HERE:
http://peafant.wordpress.com/
Photography: "From Train Site On World Wide Web"
Other New Entries: "Magazines"
Categories: 400 Publishing Credits, Author Appearances, Authors, Bimonthly Publications, Blog Updates, Blog Webzines, Blogs, Christian Science Fiction, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, e-publications, Existentialism, Experimental Fiction, Fantasy, Fiction, Fiction Appearances, Free Fiction, Gay/Lesbian Fiction, General News, Genre Markets, Lawrence Dagstine, Literary Fiction, Literary Magazines, Mainstream Literature, New Releases, Online Magazines, Photography, Poetry, Publications, Publishing, Religious Fiction, Romance, Satire, Short Stories, Webzines, Writing Tags: Bimonthly Webzines, Blog Updates, Blog Webzines, Blogs, Christian Fiction, Christian Stories, Christianity, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dagstine: Einstein's Pocket Watch, Einstein's Pocket Watch, Einstein's Pocket Watch: Lawrence Dagstine, Experimental, Fiction Appearances, Free Reads, Gay/Lesbian Fiction, General News, Genre Markets, Haiku, Kellegher's Career, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Einstein's Pocket Watch, Lawrence Dagstine: Mainstream Fiction, Literary, Literary Pieces Mainstream Pieces, Mainstream, New Releases, Poetry, Religious Fiction, Reviews Bimonthly Webzines, Rob Crandall, Romance, Satire, Short Stories, Stories, The Written Word, Uplifting Stories, Webzines
Free SF Serial: "Orphan's Prey pt. 3" – Lawrence Dagstine
Science Fiction Serial Part 3
First Draft – Follow it from the beginning…
Orphan's Prey 1: https://lawrencedagstine.com/2010/04/20/free-sf-serial-orphans-prey-pt-1-by-lawrence-dagstine/
Orphan's Prey 2: https://lawrencedagstine.com/2010/06/10/free-sf-serials-orphans-prey-pt-2-by-lawrence-dagstine/
Who are the Vendragon?
So self-assured, she was, only hours earlier. So brave and self-confident. So virtuous and independent at the right moments, yet obviously weak during others.
She suddenly found herself pressing her hands to the sides of her head—she'd never done something like this in front of her brother—almost sick with discomfort. She saw the expression on the boy's face, then her own, only in her mind's eye, weak, scared, unprotected, and she realized once more that they were just small children, incapable of much, and just how alone they really were.
ORPHAN'S PREY
Lawrence Dagstine
A rather large, muscular, adobe-colored lizard was awakened that same night by what sounded like distant explosions. From behind the controls of his land scout, the startled iguana with the reddish-brown leather armor and twaddle-speaking tongue realized it was thunder reverberating among the low cumulus that was some hundreds of miles wide. There was the pitter-patter of rain pellets on the vehicle's front looking glass and hood. A break in the drought? No, couldn't be; Ragnarok should only be so lucky this time of year. All the water in the universe couldn't fix that recurrent problem, only toss it a band-aid. Hence the greenhouses, pipelines, and special sprinkler system back at the city. Fog clouds approaching? Maybe. It was a more logical bet. In sandy, mountainous regions like this, a heavy thunderstorm or methane-mixed hail shower could be an isolated occurrence or a signal that a new front was moving in—or yet another unwanted season. Whichever it was, the lizard was glad he was snug inside his tracker rather than camped out in a dry marsh or deep desert valley where the storm was picking up speed and strength. As for how bad conditions would get, he'd just have to wait and see.
"Fog billows?" asked a similar life form from a standard operating panel in the rear. Unlike the front of the vehicle, there were no visual systems or radar maps or even a looking glass to peer out of. Compared to his much taller partner, this reptile's armor was grayish steel, the portions of scaly flesh that was visible a mustard tone.
The tongue-tied lizard at the wheel of the land scout looked at his weather gauge. "With precipitation like this"—when he talked his mouth didn't always move but, rather, an electronic chest unit with a flashing orb flickered—"what else could it be?"
"The way you study natural features," his friend remarked, "I would have thought something more exciting. Whatever your definition of exciting is. You know, Koral, I'm quite surprised you never applied for an Earth visa. You show a certain kind of enthusiasm for your work."
Their vernacular wasn't perfect, the interpretive English and back and forth chitchat a bit skidded; but the chest units helped immensely with vocabulary and pronunciation.
"You mean neurotic?" Koral's tongue lashed out in slight irritation.
"Mmm, that's the word. A human term, too. I'd bet my green farm that Earth scientists would have adored you."
"Funny, Bakkra," he laughed. "I don't know whether to pat you on the gills for your clever perceptions of me—because I am mostly used to your cynicism—or just go ahead and collect my winnings now. Heh! And here I thought only the man-droid was able to understand me." There was a brief pause. "Speaking of which, the synthetic one has not returned or communicated back with our lovely package."
"He's a robot. Robots are late, too, you know."
"Not this robot. I was the one the manufacturers hunted down and finally sold to. I was the one guiding him through the wastes."
"You seem concerned, and tired. Should we call off the search?"
"No. Not yet."
"They're that important to you, huh?"
"Yes. That important." Koral leaned back in his metal chair and let the ravaging elements unfold before him, while keeping a close eye on the overhead gauges and monitor for something else.
Lightning flashed some more. The alignment of the bolts, shooting outward from the cumulus in all directions, reminded the lizard of the storm chasing he undertook in his youth; after three hundred and sixty years, one begins to feel old but still take pleasure in the eccentricities of the past.
Thunderstorms in the wastelands of Ragnarok were forever awesome displays of limitless power, he thought, sometimes releasing energy many times greater than the atomic explosion range. Hailstorms derived of methane were a whole other story. Still, he knew if you were close to either one, or became trapped in the very center of a fog cloud, there was about them a personal quality. It was dramatic and inescapable. It was terrifying but vivid, as if every sudden flash, every strong gust of wind, and every simultaneous explosion that crackled and boomed were seeking you out; after all, it really sought no one else. The lightning came in multitudes and blinded you. The thunder wreaked havoc on your ears and deafened you. The ice-cold rains came down heavily and drowned you. And on the open plains, the sand-filled wastes, and in hanging valleys of crystal and rock, there was no place to take refuge.
The snow, which frequently becomes spot blizzards with reckless currents of air beyond gale force, could also be merciless and astonishing in its ferocity. Large, lazy flakes drifting down at first, touching the ground and melting instantly. But in minutes the fall becomes thicker, more rigid, and the wind-whipped mess pummels the landscape. The temperature drops rapidly. Marshes and gullies turn in the twinkling of an eye to great streams of half-frozen mud, which then later break apart from those very same winds and become torrents, rushing steeply downhill unintended, catching up loose rocks, Yurga bush, even boulders. Other times, the mud is uplifted and snatched from their channels, as if by some godly hand. Then it is flung into the air with impending force, thus turning it into hail during its whirl around the cloud formations and falling with a shrapnel effect down upon lower elevations of land. In the midst of the mud particles, an unscented methane composite, laid bare to Ragnarok's wrath and planetary nature to do whatever mixing and mashing it likes. Once it falls back down again, hardened and in hail form, it wreaks of the most terrible odor, which can be inhaled up to hundreds of miles away.
Koral always remembered the cloud masses beginning somewhere in the high mountains, never the desert regions or marshlands, and in an almost tentative fashion. Always the highest escarpments, always the greatest plateaus. Perhaps that was what made the seasonal irregularities so peculiar, so unrelenting in their expansive devastation. And you never expected a season to change so fast or, unintentionally, drive through one. Not unless it was closely monitored or regarded from a distance.
From within the land scout, and up along a high altitude, the now-dozing lizard found such an effect magical. A swirling, shifting pattern of light, eventually graying, then dulling and, finally, obscuring. Precipitation from some disturbance in the planet's magnetic field eventually conjured up the surrounding fog—yes, that had to be it—but he couldn't be certain. Neither could his people. It was just another mystery of the planet, passed down from generation to generation, and his hypothesis was open to much conjecture. Sometimes there was a break; usually there wasn't. Sometimes it revealed uncharted peaks, gorges and canyons, and the Vendragon Township far below, often untouched by the gathering clouds and coming storm.
At times he found such atmospheric wonder indescribable. He often used worlds populated by humans as a comparison: where Earth's seasons changed over the course of months, the cycles on Ragnarok could change within minutes if not mere seconds. He used these comparisons in his teachings. The Vendragon, whose society already flourished in ways early human colonies had, achieved much knowledge and experience from it. They took it with them wherever they went; though formally a tribal race, that and available technology became a handed down tradition.
Finally the lizard's thoughts were interrupted by a voice on the overhead speaker. "Hey, storm chaser! Come in, chaser! What are you chasing after now? Over."
"Apparently little boys and girls," Bakkra hollered from the back. "Ain't that right, Koral?"
The man-sized iguana turned and shot his mustard-colored friend a filthy glance. "Do you mind?" His chest unit flared bright red.
The speaker chimed again: "Check. Fog clouds reach you yet? Over."
"Affirmative," he answered. "Unpredictable weather surrounding just about everything. All within close proximity of the vehicle, at least, otherwise cloud-to-ground. Too soon to tell. Just beginning. Over."
"I'm sure the young ones are all right," the speaker crooned; the voice on the other side tried to be reassuring.
"What makes you think I was worried about that? Over."
"Have any of our friends made an appearance?" An intense silence followed.
Bakkra was about to say something smart when Koral turned and shushed him. "The man-droid has still not reported back, and no," he said. "No activity or other signs of life in the region. Over."
"Oh, well, still armor yourself. This storm system reading is immense from our side. We're going to catch it for good and for sure, and there's an airstream behind it. First snow and ice, then rain and wind, heavy at times. Even at your elevation."
"Trust me. We've already felt the thunder."
"Thunder is nothing." The communicator cut off for what seemed like two, maybe three seconds, followed by unusual static. "We may lose… you if… you go any… higher," the voice continued brokenly. "You been feeling tremors? Over."
"Negative." Koral flipped a few switches on the overhead panel and fixed the glitch. "Unless there's something I don't already know or you're not telling me. Over."
"Hmm, well, we're still sending two extra rovers your way. Over."
"Helpful, Ooglad, but Bakkra and I are all right. Over."
"Listen, Koral, I know it's just a random search, and this cloud build-up is like all the other occasions, but let's be honest here, you can use all the help you can get." A brief pause, and then: "Small stuff, under four on the quake register, with sand-shocks set well outside your perimeter. But why turn down a free assist? Over."
"Thanks, Ooglad, but no thanks. Out." Koral switched off the communicator.
Bakkra was the one with the smug look now. "What did you do that for? You'd have to be mad to turn down a rescue and assist in conditions like this."
"We don't need it. We'll just stay the night. The storm will pass, like those before it."
"For all you know those children might already be dead! Your droid's bleeper would have picked them up kilometers ago. This, my friend, is just suicide!"
"Really, Bakkra? How so?" Koral leaned back in his seat once more. "Does this also mean I'm forcing you to commit suicide with me? Because I do occasionally entertain the thought."
"I guarantee you these children are already worm food or some other kind of beast droppings!"
"I say you're wrong." The lizard was terribly amused. "For once in your pathetic existence, don't be such a coward. Part of our race's survival depends on these two kids. We've weathered fog clouds before, and knowing how Ooglad thinks, he'll most likely still send out that extra patrol regardless of what I say. He's crazy and neurotic, too."
"You're right," Bakkra said. "For once you are very right. That young reptile is paranoid and foolish like you. But I am not." Gathering his things, he went on, "I don't plan on staying here with you. So, if you will not wait for the assist and accept it, then I will. They'll give me a ride back to the city, while you stay out in the hail to wither and die."
He was prepared to slide open the door and exit the vehicle when Koral jumped up and stopped him. "Oh no, my friend. You are not leaving this tracker." The lizard made his presence felt; the air suddenly became hostile and serious. "Not while I am in charge. I say we weather the storm, investigate these hills and cliffs, and that is final!"
"Let go of the door, Koral. Things could get messy in a very confined space."
Lightning flashed just outside; the crackling sound was ear-piercing. Koral shook it off. Then he released his massive-sized hand from the door's grip. "Go ahead," he said. "I'd ask you to be reasonable but I think you and I both know we are beyond that now."
The mustard-toned reptile reconsidered. "The only reason you are being this way is because of what happened to Arim. You're scared you'll have to live through a repeat." There was a brief silence, significant, and followed by what seemed like an even more emotional reawakening. "Your puny brain might not realize it, because it's crammed deep inside your subconscious—yes, one of your human terms—waiting for the chance to be exposed, waiting for the opportunity to be expressed, and aired in permanent relief." Then Bakkra put his things down and took two steps back. "There is a cause to your neuroses, Koral. I see this. Ooglad sees this. The whole tribe sees this! They worry about you. They can see right through your armor, the pain you are suffering, the empty feelings you sometimes emit. You leave the camps and city grounds to study the conditions out here, bury yourself in your research. This is your means of escape. But because Arim perished and you suffer does not mean others need suffer as well."
Koral did not reply. Instead, he returned to the front of the vehicle, strapped himself back into his metal chair, and peered silently out of the looking glass.
Bakkra went on, "I will not go. I will return to my station. This is a very strong storm formation we are dealing with here. Hopefully, your instincts are right this time. I also pray you will not be blinded by pride again. This stubbornness needs to subside."
Koral blocked the rest of what he had to say out and stared up at the overhead panels in dismay. Eventually he closed his eyes and, with the ease of long practice in strange places, went immediately off to dozing again. In a few hours he would see what effects of the storm he could find, and if the children or the man-droid had left a trail for him. This time he was prepared. He had a carry-along machine, lightweight with a strap, which detected alien life forms.
He continued to ignore Bakkra's petty banter through the night. He continued to be aware of feeling kinship with the environment and, oddly enough, with the fog clouds. It was a feeling he found impossible to shake. Pensively he looked back at the fateful actions that led up to the Arim tragedy. It was so long ago, uneventful to say the least. How could the thoughts still persist? Were they really bottled up inside of him? It was his first interspecies "coop", as most out-colony settlers called it in those days. The boy was too young. Sixteen in Earth years. For every hour the lizard was out there searching for the two orphans he probably thought of Arim and the accident that befell him twice as much, only unconsciously.
Categories: Adventure Tale, Adventure Tales, Archives, Authors, Barren Worlds, Blog Updates, Blog Webzines, Blogs, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dark Fantasy, Fantasy, Fiction, Free Fiction, Giant Lizards, Lawrence Dagstine, Novellas, Orphan's Prey, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Media, Serials, Surprising Stories, Themed Stories, Writing Tags: Adventure Tales, Bimonthly Serials, Cat's Eye Nebula, Christian Science Fiction, Dagstine, Fantasy, Fiction, Fiction Installments, Free Fiction, Free Reads, Free Serials, Free Stories, Genre Fiction, Genre Stories, Giant Lizards, Interplanetary Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Orphan's Prey, Lawrence Dagstine: Science Fiction Blogs, Lawrence Dagstine: Science Fiction Serials, Lord of the Flies, Novellas, Orphan's Prey, Orphan's Prey by Lawrence Dagstine, Orphan's Prey Part Three, Orphans, Ragnarok, Science Fiction, Science Fiction and Fantasy, Science Fiction Excerpts, Science Fiction Media, Science Fiction Novellas, Science Fiction Serials, Science Fiction Stories, Serialized Fiction, Serialized Installments, Serialized Science Fiction, Speculative Fiction Stories, Surprising Stories, Survival Tales, Vendragon, Young Adult Science Fiction
OG's Speculative Fiction #25, Summer 2010… (appearances)
You can now find my 400th publishing credit in the webzine/free PDF Download/Lulu Magazine… OG's Speculative Fiction, edited on a monthly to bimonthly basis by Seth Crossman. Issue #25. It wasn't that long ago that I graced the pages of Issue #23. This issue has wonderful artwork, a supernova or planet burning up, I believe. You can download the issue in PDF format direct to your computers. Other fiction and poetry in this issue includes a story by Desmond Warzel. This is my third time at the long-running "Opinion Guy."
OG's SPECULATIVE FICTION #25 – The Opinion Guy
Lawrence Dagstine – PDF Download – 3rd Appearance
Also check out my last issue…
Main Homepage:
www.theopinionguy.com
http://theopinionguy.com/2010/07/ogs-speculative-fiction-issue-25/
Previous Issues w. Lawrence Dagstine:
https://lawrencedagstine.com/2010/03/25/ogs-speculative-fiction-march-2010-2nd-acceptances/
Categories: 400 Publishing Credits, Adventure Tale, Adventure Tales, Alternate History, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Blog Webzines, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, e-publications, Electronic Magazines, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Feature Authors, Fiction, Fiction Appearances, Free Fiction, Genre Markets, Golden Acorn Press, Hard Science, Hard Science Fiction, Historical Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Historical Weird Tales, Lawrence Dagstine, Magazines, Neo-Victorian Fiction, OG's Speculative Fiction, Parallel Universes, PDF Downloads, PDF Magazines, Prolific, Prolific Authors, Publication Credits, Publications, Publishing Credits, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Magazines, Short Stories, Speculative Fiction Magazines, Steampunk, Steampunk Tales, Surprising Stories, The Opinion Guy, The Small Press, Time Travel, Webzines, Weird Tales Tags: Alternate History, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Desmond Warzel, Fairy Tales, Genre Magazines, Golden Acorn Press, Golden Acorn Press: Lawrence Dagstine, Hard SF, Historical Fantasy, Historical Science Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Golden Acorn Press, Lawrence Dagstine: OG's Speculative Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: Short Stories, Lawrence Dagstine: Speculative Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: The Opinion Guy, Neo-Victorian Science Fiction, OG's Speculative Fiction, OG'S Speculative Fiction #25: Lawrence Dagstine, Portals, Robert S. King, Science Fiction, Seth Crossman, Short Stories, Sociological SF, Speculative Fiction Magazines, Steampunk, Steampunk Literature, The Opinion Guy, The Opinion Guy: Lawrence Dagstine, Time Travel, Time Travel Stories, Weird Science Fiction, www.theopinionguy.com
Lawrence Dagstine: "Masters of the Universe 2010…"
The birthday of all birthdays approaches. Three. And this year's theme is actually the very expensive, 30th Anniversary re-release of some funky figures I grew up to in the very early 1980s. He-man and the Masters of the Universe: Adult Collector Series. These are for my son, but I'd be lying if I didn't say I had a little fun with them myself (he he). The artwork and detail is out of this world, done by the Four Horsemen, and if you have an action figure or toy news blog, please feel free to use these pics. I was most surprised by how expensive they were. First off, they sell out in less than 24 hours all the time on Mattel's main homepage… So your only shots are places like eBay or Amazon if you want to own these high-end figures. Next, when I say high-end, I mean it. The 2010 Masters of the Universe line-up runs between $25.00 and $80.00 per figure on average; with $35.00 to $60.00 being that in-between number with S&H. Are they worth it? Yes and no (I also managed to pick up a 2002 Castle Grayskull MINT in the box. Some of the more memorable characters are even more awesome-looking than when they first came out in 1982. Characters like He-Man, Man-at-Arms, Trap-Jaw, and Moss Man included. And they include better weapons and equipment, too.
Word, yo. It all good... Later we go to Mr. B's for a Nickel and Shiznit!
It should be noted that I didn't pick up Skeletor but, rather, Scareglow instead.
No hard feelings, Skeletor. I'll give a little description of the figures further down.
Sorry, Skeletor... but Scareglow looked wayyy cooler than your candy ass.
So with the castle and the average forty-fifty dollar action figure I ended up spending close to $700.00 in He-man related toys. Why spend so much, you ask? Well, while I agree they are for my son and I'm reliving my childhood through him, and hope one day that he might want to repeat the process… It wasn't just a birthday celebration or bunch of gifts I just "had to own!" Yes, I do collect my own Doctor Who and Star Wars action figures. Yes, I have Matchbox/Hot Wheels cars. Yes, I have baseball cards made of chrome. Oh, and don't even get me started on Transformers, Thundercats, Smurfs, G.I.Joe, and some now-old school 8-bit NES games. These toys were a celebration to welcome my son into my home as I now have custody (visitation rights) of him 7 to 8 days a month. In the event a weekend lands with a Monday as a holiday, there's your eighth day. So I have my kid for lots of cartoon fun (and the park outdoors) one week a month. Which means more to me than my writing, so yes, along with a new bed directly across from mine, makes $700.00 seem all the more worth it.
2002 Castle Grayskull - MIB; with Action Chip/Sound Effects
2002 Castle Grayskull - Back of box/castle interior view
Other gifts included a Superman "Through the Ages" gift set, a 13″ tall Cyberman, a pair of Iron Man sneakers, and a 2010 AT-AT Imperial Walker. But let's concentrate on the Masters of the Universe line-up for now.
Scareglow - Skeletor's Henchman from another dimension
Beast Man - Skeletor's Original Henchman with realistic paint job
Tri-Klops - Skeletor's Henchman who can see through one eye
Trap-Jaw - Skeletor's iron-mouthed, claw-armed henchman - RARE! $50 and up!
The He-man adult series also comes in nice collectible boxes
It appears I've picked up an unequal amount of good guys versus bad guys. Maybe that's because the bad guys always looked cooler. I've also picked up the whole 130-episode television series, which lasted four years in the early 80s — they tried to bring it back in 2002, but failed — and they were the basis of my childhood and fantasies growing up. It's now time to introduce it to another generation, just as some parents from Generation X are introducing Star Wars and Transformers to their young ones. Who knows, maybe the 80s culture will always be with us. Why? Because the 80s into the early 90s were probably one of the coolest periods for things in general. And not just toys. Though cheesy to some today, you had your clothes, music, movies (ala Empire Strikes Back, Predator, Terminator, and Aliens), comics, graphic novels, and even science fiction, fantasy and horror novels when it was at its height. There is a man by the name of Stephen King we can thank for that. Anyway, on to some more action figure pics.
He-man in Battle Armor - paint job just like the day he premiered
Faker - The evil He-man which Tri-Klops & Skeletor put back together.
Wun-Dar - Savage ancestor of He-man; great grandfather - VERY RARE
Moss Man - authentic green fur and he smells like a Christmas Tree
Man-E-Faces - Good guy robot from the 2002 collection with three faces
Now before I go, get a load of this… Not only did they make the new figures look just like the older figures, only with superior paint jobs — once again, the Four Horsemen are responsible for these figures — but one of them included a ring. The ring you see below I used to own and wear almost thirty years ago. The Castle Grayskull Ring. Every detail has been repeated. I don't know what's funnier, the way it looks since I lost it in the early eighties and the fact that I still remember it, or when I was running around second grade with it on, raising my hand to the sky, shouting, "I HAVE THE POWER!" Actually, what's probably hilarious is the ring still fits my ring finger, and I wore it outdoors by mistake one day, not realizing I had it on. Nevertheless, when I was young I loved that He-man ring, and I'm glad to have an exact duplicate of it back. It sits on my writing desk, and believe it or not, it even gives me a little inspiration when it comes to penning horror stories. I fiddle around, put it on, or sometimes just stare at it. Oh yeah, I also picked up the NEW Webstor figure.
The Castle Grayskull Ring - Memories that still fit almost 30 years later.
Castle Grayskull put together w. The whole gang saying goodbye.
Once again, there's nothing wrong with reliving your childhood or passing it on to the next generation. And it's things like this which helped inspire me to become the one thing I do most these days. Being a genre writer.
With that said, everybody say goodbye. Until next time. BYE BYE. Bye everyone. See ya.
Categories: Action Figures, Blog Updates, Blogs, Cool Stuff, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Fantasy, General News, Horror Merchandise, Lawrence Dagstine, Limited Editions, Masters of the Universe, Merch, Monsters, New Releases, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Collections, Science Fiction Media, Science Fiction Merch, Science Fiction Merchandise, Science Fiction Television, Toys & Collectibles Tags: 1980's Cartoons, Action Figures, Beast Man, Birthday Gifts, Cartoons, Castle Grayskull, Christmas Gifts, Collectibles, Cool Stuff, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, eBay: Toys & Collectibles, Eternia, Evil Lyn, Faker, General News, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Action Figures, Lawrence Dagstine: Masters of the Universe, Lawrence Dagstine: Toys & Collectibles, Limited Edition Action Figures, Limited Editions, Man-at-Arms, Man-E-Faces, Masters of the Universe, Masters of the Universe 2010, Masters of the Universe Classics, Masters of the Universe: Action Figures, Masters of the Universe: Castle Grayskull, Masters of the Universe: Exclusives, Masters of the Universe: Lawrence Dagstine, Masters of the Universe: Wun-Dar, Mattel, Mattel Toys, MattyCollector.com, Mer-Man, Moss Man, Orko, Prince Adam, Rare Action Figures, Scareglow, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Merch, Teela, Toy News, Toys, Toys & Collectibles, Trap Jaw, Tri-Klops, Webstor, Wun-Dar
Silver Moon, Bloody Bullets… (Werewolf Anthology!)
It appears I've not only been shortlisted but accepted by a half-dozen or more print anthologies by various presses with themes over the next twelve months. Some of these themes range from werewolves and vampires to dark speculative fiction and the Apocalypse. One of these anthologies, and it's a pretty thick one at that, is by the fairly new Pill Hill Press (www.pillhillpress.com). I'm not quite sure, but I think I'm headlining a 25-author anthology of tales about these furry, fanged beasts who come out whenever there is a full moon. I even recognize a few names, like Rob Rosen, Scott Sandridge, and Matthew Dent. Still, this is a MUST HAVE Collection!
SILVER MOON, BLOODY BULLETS
Werewolf Anthology – Pill Hill Press
DIRECT ORDERS (or Amazon):
http://www.pillhillpress.com/books.html
On AMAZON – Eligible for FREE Super Saver Shipping:
http://www.amazon.com/Silver-Moon-Bloody-Bullets-Anthology/dp/0984261095/ref=sr_1_fkmr1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1277958012&sr=8-2-fkmr1
Edited by Jessica A. Weiss
Werewolves… Werewolves… Werewolves… MORE Werewolves…!
Well over 110,000 words worth of Werewolves
Just check the "Books & Anthos" section; or click on the picture/link
The Adopted–Lawrence R. Dagstine
The Beast Within–Frank Summers
Rise of the Animal–Carl Hose
Twin Moons–Christopher Jacobsmeyer
Grandma, What Big Teeth You Have– Rob Rosen
Exodus–Jessy Marie Roberts
Running With The Pack-Mark Souza
Shilak's Gift–Scott Sandridge
Roadkill–D. Nathan Hilliard
Forces of Evil–Edward Mckeown
Blood Drops and Mercury–Stephanie Morrell
Arcadia–Donald Jacob Uitvlugt
The Mystery of St. Mary's Morgue–Matthew Dent
The Werewolf Spell–Kiki Howell
The Trojan Plushy–David Bernstein
The Bane of Existence–Marianne Halbert
Caffeine Fix–Fiona Titchenell
The In Crowd–Patricia Puckett
Uninvited–Kelly Metz
By The Cycle Of The Moon–Dylan J. Morgan
Runaway–J.Leigh Bailey
Once Upon A Crime–Jay Raven
Azieran: The Templar's Chalice–Christopher Heath
Without Remorse–Ben Langhinrichs
Springing The Wolf–Dale Carothers
Author's Note: Available on Kindle and all other digital readers come Late September 2010.
Categories: Anthologies, Author Appearances, Book Releases, Books, Chilling Tales, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dark Fiction, Extreme Horror, Feature Authors, Fiction, Fiction Appearances, Fresh Blood, Fresh Blood: Lawrence Dagstine, Horror, Horror Anthologies, Horror Collections, Horror Fiction, Horror Stories, Lawrence Dagstine, Monsters, Pill Hill Press, Print Anthologies, Publication Credits, Publications, Publishers, Publishing Credits, Short Stories, Supernatural Tales, Themed Anthologies, Werewolf Fiction, Werewolves Tags: Anthologies, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Fangs, Full Moons, Genre Anthologies, Genre Stories, Horror Anthologies, Horror Fiction, Jessica Weiss, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Horror Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: Werewolves, Lycanthropes, Lycanthropy, Pill Hill Press Anthologies, Print Anthologies, Short Stories, Silver Bullets, Silver Moon Bloody Bullets, The Wolfman, Themed Anthologies, Werewolf Anthologies, Werewolf Books, Werewolf Stories, Werewolves, www.pillhillpress.com
OG's Speculative Fiction, Mid-Late 2010… (3rd Acceptance!)
A couple of weeks ago I grabbed my third acceptance to the long running speculative fiction/science fiction magazine on the Web — available as a free PDF Download to read and eventually purchase on LULU as a magazine for cons — The Opinion Guy (aka OG's Speculative Fiction). This would be my second acceptance in one year to them, and they've featured some very talented and familiar names in the science fiction arena. Both short stories and poetry. Matter of fact, this third credit comes right after my 2nd, and bolstered me up to the 400 credit mark. Editor is Seth Crossman, and he also provides an Internet site full of informative articles.
Lawrence Dagstine RETURNS to OG's Speculative Fiction
Third Acceptance – Click on the link(s) for some free reading in PDF format
Previous Dagstine Stories:
Categories: Alternate History, Alternate Perceptions, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Covers, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dagstine 2011, e-publications, e-Zines, Electronic Magazines, Experimental SF, Feature Authors, Fiction, Forthcoming Fiction, Forthcoming Magazines, Free Fiction, Genre Markets, Golden Acorn Press, Hard Science, Hard Science Fiction, Historical Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Historical Weird Tales, Lawrence Dagstine, Magazines, Non-Fiction, OG's Speculative Fiction, Parallel Universes, PDF Downloads, PDF Magazines, Prolific, Prolific Authors, Publication Credits, Publications, Publishing Credits, Science Fact, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Essays, Science Fiction Magazines, Science Fiction Media, Science Fiction Reviews, Semi-Pro, Short Stories, Speculative Fiction Magazines, Steampunk, Steampunk Tales, Surprising Stories, The Small Press, Time Travel, Upcoming Releases, Webzines Tags: 400 Publishing Credits, Alternate History, Alternate Perceptions, Alternate Realities, Bimonthly Science Fiction Magazines, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dagstine 2011, e-publications, Fairy Tales, Fantasy, Forthcoming Fiction, Free Fiction, Hard Science Fiction, Hard SF, Historical Fantasy, Historical Fiction, Historical Weird Tales, Internet Articles, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Alternate History, Lawrence Dagstine: Forthcoming Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: OG's Speculative Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: Speculative Fiction Author, Lawrence Dagstine: Speculative Fiction Magazines, Lawrence Dagstine: The Opinion Guy, OG's Speculative Fiction: Lawrence Dagstine, Online Articles, Parallel Universes, PDF Downloads, PDF Publications, Portals, Science Fact, Science Fiction, Science Fiction and Fantasy, Science Fiction Magazines, Science Fiction Publications, Science Fiction Webzines, Seth Crossman, SF Adventure, SF Poetry, Short Stories, Speculative Fiction Magazines, Speculative Poetry, Steampunk, The Opinion Guy: Lawrence Dagstine, Time Travel, Victorian Fiction, Web Publications, Webzines, Wormholes, www.theopinionguy.com
Steampunk Tales #7: "Town of Crows 2" – (eBooks & Kindle)
Holy Moly, the Scarecrows are back!! Steampunk horror, Neo-Victorian literature, and pulp adventure and mayhem during the post-Civil War. A tale with a twist. An invasion of epic proportion! A novelette! Characters we care about, and an unexpected plotline. Hundreds of pages worth of Penny Dreadfuls for your pocket: PDF Format, iPad and iPhone, Mobipocket, and through Amazon Kindle! Featuring more than 500+ pages of fiction. Only $1.99 in most formats (Kindle prices go for about $4.99 to $5.99).
THIS TIME THE SCARECROWS AREN'T PLAYING
AND A CIVIL WAR SECRET SHALL BE LEARNED.
Lawrence Dagstine & His Killer Scarecrows in Steampunk Tales… Again!
Get it on Amazon Kindle, iPad or iPhone, PDF, or click: "eBooks & Kindle."
STEAMPUNK TALES – 7 (own both issues)
For Amazon Kindle
BACK BY POPULAR DEMAND…. SERIALIZED SCARECROWS IN 1870…
Available for iPhone/iPod Touch, MobiPocket eBook for most smart phones, Amazon Kindle and as a DRM free Adobe Acrobat (.pdf) download! Steampunk Tales is available to everyone!
Emulating the style of the pulp adventure magazines of the 1920s and '30s, Steampunk Tales contains first-run, original fiction written by an A+ list of award-winning authors. Issue 7 contains 8 stories, most running between 4,300 to 11,000 words, for an unbelievable price.
Only $1.99 in most formats (except Kindle)!
Tales in Issue 7 include:
1. Mask of Tezcatlipoca, Part 4 by G. D. Falksen
2. The Sacrifices of Automated Tabulation by Richard Farnsworth
3. A Town of Crows, Part 2 by Lawrence R. Dagstine
4. Unbelieving Jaxx, Part 2 by John F. Montagne
5. Mist and Shadow by Arkwright
6. Lonely Light, Part 2 by Karl Custer
7. The Trials of Professor Sinister; Extracts from the Traveling Diary of Matalaine Morningside, Part 2 by Larry C. Kay
8. Sideways, Part 4 by Andrew Singleton
Original cover painting by the amazing Adam Smith!
Other New Entries: "eBooks & Kindle"
Categories: 400 Publishing Credits, Alternate History, Amazon, Amazon Kindle, Authors, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Digital Applications, Digital Books, Digital Magazines, Digital Releases, Digital Stories, e-publications, eBooks, eBooks & Kindle, Electronic Books, Electronic Magazines, Fiction, Fiction Appearances, Genre Markets, Halloween, Historical Fiction, Historical Horror, Historical Weird Tales, Horror, Horror Fiction, Horror Stories, iPad, iPhone, iPod Touch, Kindle, Lawrence Dagstine, Magazines, Mobipocket, Monsters, Neo-Victorian Fiction, New Releases, Novelettes, PDF Downloads, PDF Magazines, Penny Dreadfuls, Prolific, Prolific Authors, Publication Credits, Publications, Publishing Credits, Pulp Magazines, Scarecrows, Science Fiction Blogs, Serials, Speculative Fiction History, Steampunk, Steampunk Blogs, Steampunk Culture, Steampunk Horror, Steampunk Tales, The Small Press, Themed Magazines, Themed Stories, Victorian Horror, Weird Fiction, Weird Tales Tags: Airships, Alternate History, Amazon Kindle, Arkwright, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Digital Fiction, Digital Horror, Digital Publications, Digital Releases, Digital Stories, eBooks, eBooks & Kindle, G.D. Falksen, Halloween, Historical Horror, Historical Weird Tales, Horror, iPad, iPhone, iPhone Stories, Killer Scarecrows, Kindle, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Digital Stories, Lawrence Dagstine: eBooks, Lawrence Dagstine: eBooks & Kindle, Lawrence Dagstine: Kindle, Lawrence Dagstine: Steampunk Tales #6, Lawrence Dagstine: Steampunk Tales #7, Neo-Victorian Horror, New Releases, Novelettes, PDF Downloads, Penny Dreadfuls, Pulp Adventure, Scarecrows, Serials, Steampunk, Steampunk Blogs, Steampunk Culture, Steampunk Horror, Steampunk MTV, Steampunk Tales, Steampunk Tales #6, Steampunk Tales #7, Steampunk Tales: A Town of Crows, Steampunk Tales: Lawrence Dagstine, Steampunk: Dagstine, The Civil War, Weird Fiction, Weird Tales, www.steampunktales.com
Free SF Serials: "Orphan's Prey pt. 2" by Lawrence Dagstine
Lawrence Dagstine's Bimonthly Serial – Don't Miss Out! Part One link below:
https://lawrencedagstine.com/2010/04/20/free-sf-serial-orphans-prey-pt-1-by-lawrence-dagstine/
"Vendragons live in the grassier regions—probably further north. They rely on our knowledge of agriculture. Supposedly, they thrive off it."
"Yeah, but couldn't we still head in that direction? I mean, somethin' made that smoke."
"Oh, Blake! It's much too far. We should wait for a scouting vessel." She started to undo the knots in her hair. "Go back to sleep. I'll take first watch. Besides, the distance of these plains are farther than you think. And who knows what manner of beast created those rings. For all we know it might be the same kind of creature that attacked us, burning carcasses and picking on flesh."
The boy went scared and silent.
She hoped she spoke with conviction, but after what they'd been through, it disturbed her to know that her brother's thoughts had been running so close to hers.
They settled down by the fire, and before long their breathing grew slower and deeper. After a while, Chelsea couldn't stay up any longer. Eyelids falling, she reached for her brother's swollen hand. Normally he'd have snatched it away, but he didn't now. A veil of mist drifted over the moons that scattered the night sky, and the children slept…
Orphan's Prey – Part Two
by Lawrence R. Dagstine
Chelsea woke in the twin lights of dawn and reached for her brother. He wasn't there. She quickly looked around her, then scrambled to her feet. "Blake? Blake! Where are you?" For a terrifying moment she thought he had set off by himself had gone on about those smoke rings and the Vendragon for a good hour. But then she saw him, a dozen or so yards from where the fire had been, staring out across the desert. In the faint light, with his red vest and tan khakis, he looked taller and older.
Displeased, Chelsea clenched her hands into fists and plodded over. "Blake Prittengayle! What are you doing?"
He didn't move but kept staring ahead as if in a trance. "Looks like some abominable wasteland, don't it," he said, without looking up at her.
"Abominable?" Chelsea vested a short laugh. "I can't believe you know what that word means. Come on." She led him back to the campsite. He moved like a tiny sleepwalker, then he started to shiver. She lowered him to the ground and cradled his head in her lap, just as their mother used to. After a while his shivering stopped.
"Chandler told me what that word meant," he muttered under his tongue.
"Did he now?"
"Uh-huh. Also, the air smells funny. The weather's gonna change seasons again soon. The air is salty, like there's somethin' big on the way. Chandler called it pre-cip… pre-cipi…"
"Precipitation?"
"Yeah, that's it!"
"Blake, what were you thinking of running off like that?"
He slowly got to his feet. "I don't wanna live on Ragnarok. We don't belong here!" His eyes were serious, then he faced the distant mountains. He remembered the out-colony stories he had heard at the sanctuary from those who were older, those who had gone walkabout with their siblings or cousins on foreign worlds, only to take part in alien ceremonies or have relatives sacrificed in accordance to them. One boy, eleven, who he shared bunks with, had returned to the freighter after four months of living on nothing but insects. A salvage team had found him naked, soiled from head to toe and huddled up in the corner of some old cave in the side of a cliff. He came back without his twin brother or his two older sisters. There was no trace of the adopting species, no documentation. The only thing the boy had to remember them by was a photographic imprint locked into a small handcrafted identification bracelet.
"I don't wanna end up like Louie," he finally said.
"Louie?" Chelsea was silent for a moment. "Oh, yeah… Louie Peder. The other kids used to make fun of him. They used to call him Stinky, because he never bathed or washed. But after he came back from that extrasolar rock, after his sisters and brother went missing, he just wasn't right again. He stopped talking. Kids stopped making fun of him. They stopped bothering with him altogether."
"Hey, let's go south! Back to the transmat station, where the Keeper let us down. Plus the air's not as salty there."
"But the freighter is no longer above the planet," Chelsea tried to explain.
"So, maybe it'll come back when it finds out what happened to us. The Keeper has rescued stranded kids before."
"Blake, there is no way I am going back through those crystalline wastes. And there is no way I am going to risk both our lives going back near those giant stones in the bluffs. That's where we first spotted those monsters."
"Ahh, Chelsea, please!" The boy practically begged. "We have plenty of daylight to guide us, and lots of rest!"
"And what about your hand? Last I looked your knuckles were almost flattened, all black and blue."
The boy held his hand up for her to see. "Look! All better. I don't even need a bandage."
She had known it was coming, especially since the talk the night before about the smoke rings and the northern part of the planet. "That terminus could be anywhere from a couple of hundred miles to a whole thousand behind us. We never kept track. We were inside the vehicle the whole time. It took almost three days to get where we are now, and using a durable transport." A brief pause. "I know you're not that stupid. There's no point in even checking our rations. We'd surely die of hunger and thirst."
"No nutrient packs or water?" the boy sulked.
"No nutrient packs, I'm afraid. And not really enough water, to be honest."
"We could die of hunger and thirst the other way, too, sis. Or we could get the rover's touchpad working again. Least while it's still sunny."
"Idiot! You mean the navigational router? Not even the best mechanic in the Cat's Eye could get that infernal taxi and its low-tech components to run again. Don't you remember what that thing did to it?"
There was a moment of significant silence as the memory flashed back.
The girl braided and unbraided her hair. She was intelligent—so was the boy when he wanted to be, eager and far beyond his years—but her life as an orphan had done nothing to qualify her to make this sort of decision. So why would Blake be any different? Deep down she was scared like him, only less easily at times to show it. All she knew in this strange world was that she had to protect her brother, no matter what the cost. "Okay, suppose," she said slowly, "we stay here one more night, find some kind of cave or shelter in the vicinity of these hills. After all, I think I noticed some cliffsides. We have plenty of flares. We can find some use from all this Yurga brush. Give your hand another day to heal, maybe collect some herbs or plantlife and make weapons out of the crystals. If a scouting vessel doesn't come by tomorrow morning, then we might as well head back to the transmat. Hope that the Keeper or Koral are there waiting for us."
Blake nodded. "Fine."
But no rescue came. They spent another night in the bluffs, sitting beside the fire again, waiting and hoping. They examined the flora they had collected, separated what could be used as food or an ingredient and what could not. Wrist encyclopedias helped them achieve this function. As handy as the schooling devices were, there was only so much memory it could hold and only so much knowledge it could provide. That whole day picking, and straight into the night, Chelsea was frightened the monsters would come back—out of all worries, that remained her constant—while Blake complained that the air got chillier at times and smelled saltier. Whenever she looked down at her wrist, she tried to pull up info about the planet and its meteorological phases, its orbit, and other asymmetries. Nothing. No factual data relating to the worlds in the surrounding nebula. Not even an out-of-place singularity in which she could barter for a clue. Whenever she tried to be smarter than the device, punch in a successful tag or keyword, she got nothing. There was absolutely zilch on the tornado creatures—she had figured as much—and nothing even remotely resourceful on the Vendragon. With its miniature data core, it was pretty much only good for geological referencing: rocks, minerals, botany. Blake's was slightly bigger but malfunctioning because he wore his on the hand that got injured.
In the early morning hours of their fourth day, toting extra satchels of herbs and shrubbery, they set out to walk to the south. The now longed-for terminus of their dreaming which lay beyond a ridiculous amount of horizons, and an expanse of miles they could not possibly fathom, they walked. They carried with them spears which they had carved and built by hand: part jagged-edged crystal, part disposable laser cutter. But even with the lighted, armor-piercing weapons, from all paths the odds were still too overwhelming. They were not stacked in their favor this day just like the rest; it was a merciful thing they didn't realize that they had about as much chance of getting to their destination as a soldier ant crossing the cold, terra-formed wastes of New Sedna.
In the late afternoon they arrived back at the scene of the incident, only along a much higher tract of land; the rover was just over some dry sandy hillocks. Had they been mindlessly walking in circles? Regardless, Chelsea stood on her tippy toes to look over the rocks. The moment she saw the monoliths her anxiety level rose again. Blake began to set aside a couple of water canisters, some wireless provisions, and the weapons they had put together the night before. Then they approached the edge of the nearest ridge and peeked down. They lay quietly on their stomachs and just watched. There were no signs of life, but Chelsea still remarked in a low voice, "We shouldn't be backtracking let alone stopping here. Not even briefly. Those things live here. I just know it."
"Oh, come on, sis," Blake said. "You knew we had to come back this way, and I still think we should go down there and disconnect that touchpad, otherwise look for some kind of communicator."
"Again, what good will an inoperable router do us?"
"If we get it working it'll lead us in the right direction. Duh!"
"Is it worth sacrificing your life for? Oh, you can be so stubborn at times, little one. Scared one minute yet outwardly brave the next. No, bro, as your older sister this is where I put my foot down." She grabbed his wrist with force and, as he pulled away, she fell backwards in the dirt. His encyclopedia unit detached easily and was now in her hand. "Blake, get back here this instant!" He started running downward along the dust and crystal-lined ridge, handmade spear in tow. The pulverized vehicle was less than a quarter-mile away. "Blake, please, don't!" Hesitant to raise her voice any louder, she hurried after him.
Back at the wreckage, the boy stood quietly facing the rover. A single tear fell from his eye; moments later more followed. Chelsea finally caught up with him; so did the terrible memories of days past. Together they turned their attention to the upended vehicle, the broken glass, and the headless driver, whose lanky frame was still sticking a few feet out. Much of his synthetic tubing was shriveled up, the plastics and operating fluids dried out from prolonged exposure to the heat. The girl wrinkled her nose, while continuously stealing glances over her shoulder. Unlike before, the monoliths now interested her. She wondered what had caused such tall and magnificent bricks to melt from within.
"He ought to be buried," Blake said.
"Chandler was a machine."
"Doesn't matter. He was still encoded with feelings. That makes him just as human as us—and he was my friend!" The boy wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "He deserves a funeral. Even in a place like this."
"Yes, but how?" The body was too heavy to carry back up the trail, and the ground at the site of the accident happened to be hard. "Listen, if it makes you feel any better, I'll make a pulley out of what's left of the truck's door. Seems durable enough." She looked up at the sky. "The suns are currently with us. It's that or nothing, kiddo."
Blake gave a nod of approval. Then he went to the vehicle to retrieve the touchpad and scavenge for items his sister might have otherwise overlooked or considered worthless. Afterwards he had to admit reluctantly that she was right: the corpse was heavy. Panting and straining, they heaved Chandler's remains onto the top of the blue-tinted door. In the end, they raised the zyranium stretcher along a ramp and atop a high flat-surfaced boulder. So flat it resembled a slab in midair. Once it was clear of the ground, Chelsea crossed her fingers and hoped that the strange alien creatures who walked by wind and shadow wouldn't mistreat the rest of the body.
The boy didn't want to chance it. "Burn it," he said, swallowing hard.
"Are you sure?" Chelsea asked.
"Yeah, I'm sure."
The girl approached the boulder, leaned up against it, stood on the balls of her feet and raised the spear in her left hand. The laser cutter at the tip of the weapon worked in conjunction with the lime crystals and ignited Chandler's dismembered form. Then she returned to her brother's side, and together they watched the flames. A few minutes later she climbed into the back of the rover again and checked the power cells. The solar reserves were exhausted. Looking up, however, she noticed a small bulb on one of the contorted operating panels. A distress beacon—the silent kind. It was glowing green. Perhaps Chandler knew the moment they were attacked to throw it on. Perhaps help was already on the way. She parted a smile.
Perhaps there was hope yet.
Outside the boy was packing the router all snug in his satchel. He deposited its energy cubes in his vest pocket. Hopefully it could be fixed. Hopefully he'd be the one to mend it, and, if so, put it to good use later on in their travels. Then he stared back up at the burning body. He remembered Chandler's singsong kindness: the ancient stories of wonder and the furtive bites of jerky and candy that caused intoxicating laughter. What he did next was partly instinctive, reminiscent of his days aboard the Juniper. He began to pray and hymn; it was the special prayer which, according to keepers and lonely orphans, would exorcise a new home or planet of its evil spirits and bad elements. Just like the one that caused Chandler's death.
The girl came back and watched her brother. She felt torn in two; as if half of her was standing dry-eyed beside a spread-open coffin intoning an Earth requiem, while the other half was dancing around gaily and celebrating life.
The boy's harmonious devotion ebbed and flowed between the smooth cadences of what the Keeper had taught him of religion. When they were residents of the Juniper, the children had a much simpler name for it. They called it Faith Class.
Chelsea patted her brother on the shoulder and, giving him as much time alone as he needed, went to inspect the monoliths. She raised her arm to the first and largest of the great green stones and punched a few buttons on her wrist encyclopedia. When Blake had finished, he'd gotten off his knees and caught up with her. "What's up?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing," she replied without looking back. Her tone was matter-of-fact.
"Looks like somethin' to me," the boy said nosily.
"Just surveying, really." Chelsea remained unconcerned, but her intuition would have told another story. "See this? According to my cyclopedia this is some form of granite with an igneous outer layer but an internal heating source." She held her wrist out for her brother to see; Blake shrugged his shoulders. "I've never seen anything like it in text cards or disks."
"You mean like volcanoes?"
"Kind of, I suppose. Also, these blocks have their own magnetic fields—small, mind you; practically dwarf-sized—but given their geological shape over time they probably act as nothing more than a wind receptor or miniature power conductor." When she leaned in closer the key drive containing her life essence flipped out of her shirt and clung to the great stone. "See what I mean?"
"Whoa!" The boy was taken aback; he, too, felt the rope around his neck being tugged and pulled. "You think they have somethin' to do with this planet's crazy weather system?"
"Maybe. Magnetic properties are very common among these types of stones: Earth, Mars, Ganymede, Titan, Upsilon, Epsilon, Centauri, Andromeda—they're all over. Scientists and colonies from across the stars have proclaimed they even have the ability to metaphysically heal the sick." The girl was confident she was on to something. "But all the suns and moons in the Cat's Eye," she went on, "all the heat generated in Ragnarok's core couldn't cause melting of this magnitude. I just know it. No, this was a very different kind of combustion. Or at least something along those lines. A very powerful force from within, and that force absorbed the special properties these stones give off and used it to burst free."
"So somethin' lived inside this big rock, huh?" Blake looked up at the tall stone and rapped the side of it. He counted twenty more within a few yards of where he was standing.
"Or slept," Chelsea said. "If you want my opinion, they might even be some kind of age-old resting chamber or husk."
"The Vendragon?"
"Nah, couldn't be."
"Bigger?" The boy's eyes widened. "Worse?"
"Yes." Chelsea went back to her wrist and ran another analysis. "And very much alive."
After she finished scrounging around for more data, she shut the device off and flipped the top panel shut. She stepped back from the monolith and observed it some more. For a moment it reminded her of an extraterrestrial Stonehenge, an ancient Earth supposedly known for its magnetic and metaphysical properties. Then she pretended it was a giant sandstone coffin; the eerie comparison caused a sudden shiver to run up her spine. She soon realized that anything else than what she'd discovered so far was just a mystery or worthless knowledge.
Blake was already halfway up the trail. "Come on, sis! We've got a lot of walking ahead of us."
Chelsea eventually caught up. "Oh, here," she said, going into her knapsack and tossing something his way.
"What's this?" Blake had never seen anything like it; the interior was paper.
"When I went back I found it in Chandler's overhead compartment," she said. "I know how close you were to him. Thought you might want it. It's a book."
"What's a book?"
"It's an antiquity. The contents are paper. They don't make paper anymore. Not for centuries."
"What's an antiquity?"
"Old objects of worth, numbskull." Chelsea rolled her eyes and laughed. "Books were the things used for entertainment or learning purposes long before touchpads and wrist encyclopedias became necessary. They were meant for the imagination."
Blake thumbed through the pages. "It has words in it."
"So do wrist encyclopedias."
The front cover read: Lord of the Flies
The boy grinned. "Thanks. I'll treasure it with my life."
He led the way south into the dry wastes and ridges of sand, crystal, and sprinkled garnet. He didn't look back, but the girl glanced more than once over her shoulder at the rover and flat-surfaced boulder in the glare of the two suns. In the hours before the double sunset they covered perhaps twenty miles. Chelsea was happy with it. So long as they were far away from the site of the wreckage by the time the primary sun disappeared over the horizon. That's all that mattered to her.
They found a good place to camp among a cluster of Yurga stalks which rose like pallid ghosts around a depression. There, in this quiet place, other washed out trees and herbs were strewn about. They laid out their provisions, pre-programmed a half-dozen flares and made a giant circle of flames as their fire, then each ate jerky and wuava fruit. With twilight came the stars—millions of them, literally dotting every section of the colored sky. Compared to the bluffs, the wastes were beautiful by moonlight—fourteen moons, upon first count—and the children were settling down contentedly in the warmth of the glowing embers. Here and there the boy went into his satchel and fiddled with the router. But it was obvious he could not get the touchpad working, no matter how hard he tried. The girl, on the other hand, sat thinking about the Juniper, and how she too missed the voices of the kids now. She could hardly believe how far they journeyed. She could hardly believe they were going into their fifth day on this enormous planet.
With the flames crackling in all directions, the children heard a metallic clatter in the distance and saw a light inching across the skyline. It was some time before they realized that it was a rover coming up through the wastes.
They also shared the most unusual feeling that they were being watched.
The girl's voice was uncertain. "If we ran quickly, do you think we'd catch it?"
The boy said nothing at first, strangely sniffing the air. Very carefully he kicked sand and ash over the fires, extinguishing every single glimmer of flame that surrounded them. His behavior was very weird. After a time the light moved on in the direction of the bluffs. Then, finally, he nodded to his sister. "Koral?"
Chelsea, hardly seeable, shrugged her shoulders. "Can't be sure." There was a moment of silence as they stared past each other in the darkness. "It's late," she whispered. "I really don't want to take any chances if we don't have to. Go ahead. Make another fire."
The boy smelled the air again, then ran up the rocky ridge behind him. "Salty," he said. "I knew it. Look!" Not one, but two immense fog clouds were moving across the desert fast. Almost like airborne sandstorms. "Bad weather's on the way, sis. Pretty low-cast, too."
"Smells like methane if you ask me," Chelsea remarked curiously. After a while, the stench had become so unbearable she had to pinch her nostrils.
"It's in the snow that travels over the endless sands," Blake pointed out, "and the snow falls within the fog. Never outside it. Chandler told me all about it. It's an atmospheric phe-nom…phe-nom-e…"
"Phenomenon?"
"Yeah, that's the word!"
"You make that sound as if it's a good thing."
"No, it really isn't." The boy looked to the plains and darkened horizon. "We need to take cover fast, sis. Real fast." His voice was full of worry.
With the helpful glare of one or more moons, Chelsea could notice the same in his eyes. "What if there isn't enough time? What if we can't find a cave or some rocks quick enough?" She panicked.
A rather large, muscular, adobe-colored lizard was awakened that same night by what sounded like distant explosions. From behind the controls of his land scout, the startled iguana with the reddish-brown leather armor and twaddle-speaking tongue realized it was thunder reverberating among the low cumulus that was some hundreds of miles wide. There was the pitter-patter of rain pellets on the vehicle's front looking glass and hood. A break in the drought? Nah, couldn't be; Ragnarok should only be so lucky this time of year. All the water in the universe couldn't fix that recurrent problem, only toss it a band-aid. Hence the greenhouses, pipelines, and special sprinkler system back at the city. Fog clouds approaching? Maybe. It was a more logical bet. In sandy, mountainous regions like this, a heavy thunderstorm or methane-mixed hail shower could be an isolated occurrence or a signal that a new front was moving in—or yet another unwanted season. Whichever it was, the lizard was glad he was snug inside his tracker rather than camped out in a dry marsh or deep desert valley where the storm was picking up speed and strength. As for how bad conditions would get, he'd just have to wait and see.
Author's Note: First Draft
Categories: Adventure Tale, Adventure Tales, Archives, Authors, Barren Worlds, Blog Webzines, Blogs, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Fantasy, Fiction, Free Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine, Novellas, Orphan's Prey, Science Fact, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Media, Serials, Short Story Writing, Surprising Stories, Themed Stories, Writing Tags: Adventure Tales, Bimonthly Science Fiction, Bimonthly Serials, Cat's Eye Nebula, Children's Science Fiction, Christian Science Fiction, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Fantasy, Fantasy Fiction, Fiction Installments, Free Fiction, Free Novellas, Free Reads, Free Science Fiction, Free Serials, Free Stories, Giant Lizards, Hard SF, Hubble Space Telescope, Interplanetary SF, Interplanetary Stories, Interplanetary Travel, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Free Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: Free Serials, Lawrence Dagstine: Novellas, Lawrence Dagstine: Orphan's Prey, Lawrence Dagstine: Science Fiction Blogs, Lawrence Dagstine: Science Fiction Literature, Lawrence Dagstine: Science Fiction Serials, Lord of the Flies, NASA, Novellas, Orphan's Prey, Orphan's Prey Part One, Orphan's Prey Part Two, Orphans, Planets, Ragnarok, Science Fact, Science Fiction, Science Fiction and Fantasy, Science Fiction and Fantasy Serials, Science Fiction Authors, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction for Kids, Science Fiction Literature, Science Fiction Media, Science Fiction Novellas, Science Fiction Readings, Science Fiction Serials, Serialized Fiction, Serialized Installments, Serialized Science Fiction, Serials, Space Exploration, Speculative Fiction Stories, Stories, Young Adult Science Fiction
M-Brane SF #17, June-July 2010… (Now Available!)
It's finally summer, folks, and I'm back for what is my third appearance with a weird SF/alternate history tale of sorts to M-BRANE SF. Edited by Christopher Fletcher, M-Brane Scifi is not just an electronic monthly, a speculative magazine dedicated to the pulps. It's available in PDF format for only $1.00 per issue ($12.00 annually); you can download it to your Amazon Kindles and other e-readers. Christopher Fletcher also provides a daily blog site, complete with news, reviews, and insight on subjects of science fiction and science fact. Hard SF, Sociological SF, Space Opera, Cyberpunk, Alternate History, authors new and old can all be found at M-BRANE SF.
M-BRANE SF – Third Appearance – Early Summer 2010
Issue #17 – Edited by Christopher Fletcher
featuring Lawrence R. Dagstine
ORDER THE PDF MAGAZINE w. LAWRENCE DAGSTINE – Only $1.00
www.mbranesf.blogspot.com
Issue Line-up: Edd Howarth, Aaron Polson, Lawrence Dagstine, Jason Sizemore, Joe Jablonski, Charles A. Muir, Margaret Karmazin.
Previous Issues available as compilation print mags on LULU (www.lulu.com)
M-Brane SF Issue #9 — October 2009
M-Brane SF – Issue #2 — March 2009
Other New Entries: "Magazines" – PDF Downloads
Categories: 400 Publishing Credits, Alternate History, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Author Appearances, Blogs, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, e-publications, e-Zines, Electronic Magazines, Fairy Tales, Fiction, Fiction Appearances, Genre Markets, Hard Science, Hard Science Fiction, Historical Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine, M-BRANE SF, Magazines, PDF Downloads, PDF Magazines, Publication Credits, Publications, Publishing Credits, Pulp Magazines, Science Fact, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Magazines, Science Fiction Media, Science Fiction Reviews, Short Stories, Speculative Fiction Magazines, Steampunk, Steampunk Culture, The Golden Age, Themed Stories, Time Travel Tags: Alternate History, Christopher Fletcher, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Electronic Magazines, Electronic Publications, Hard Science Fiction, Hard SF, Harlan Ellison, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Alternate History, Lawrence Dagstine: M-Brane SF, Lawrence Dagstine: Science Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: Science Fiction Literature, Lawrence Dagstine: Short Stories, M-Brane, M-Brane Science Fiction, M-Brane SF #17, M-Brane SF: Lawrence Dagstine, New Science Fiction, PDF Downloads, PDF Magazines, Samuel Delany, Science Fact, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Authors, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Monthly, Science Fiction News, Science Fiction Pulps, Science Fiction Stories, Science Fiction Tales, Short Stories, Ursula K. LeGuin, Weird Science Fiction, Weird SF, www.mbranesf.blogspot.com
Lawrence Dagstine: "400 Publishing Credits…"
"The world only exists in your eyes. You can make it as big or as small as you want."
"You don't write because you want to say something, you write because you have something to say."
"All good writing is swimming under water and holding your breath."
— F. Scott Fitzgerald.
Short Stories * Novelettes * Digital Stories
Magazines – Periodicals – Webzines – Anthologies – Kindle
Other New Entries: "The Dude" – Biography
Author's Note: F. Scott Fitzgerald… The Great Gatsby… One of my ten favorite authors.
Categories: 400 Publishing Credits, Accomplishing Goals, Authors, Celebrations, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dagstine 2011, Digital Books, Digital Magazines, Digital Releases, Digital Stories, eBooks, eBooks & Kindle, Fantasy, Fiction, Freelancing, Fresh Blood, Fresh Blood: Lawrence Dagstine, Fresh Blood: Tales from the Speculative Graveyard, General News, Historical Weird Tales, Horror, KGB Bar, Lawrence Dagstine, Magazines, Non-Fiction, Novelettes, Print Anthologies, Print Magazines, Print Zines, Prolific, Prolific Authors, Publication Credits, Publishing, Publishing Credits, Pulp Magazines, Romance, Sam's Dot Publishing, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Blogs, Short Stories, Steampunk, The Small Press, Writing, Writing Fiction, Writing Life, Written Media, Written Word Tags: 400 Publishing Credits, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dagstine 2011, eBooks & Kindle, F. Scott Fitzgerald, Fantasy, General News, Genre Writers: Lawrence Dagstine, Horror, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: 400 Publishing Credits, Magazines, Novelettes, Print Appearances, Prolific Authors, Prolific Authors: Lawrence Dagstine, Publication Credits, Published Authors, Science Fiction, Short Stories, Short Story Writers: Lawrence Dagstine, Speculative Fiction Writers: Lawrence Dagstine, The Great Gatsby, The Writing Life, The Written Word, Webzines, Writing, Writing Fiction
Einstein's Pocket Watch, September 2010 (2nd Acceptance!)
I'll be coming for a second time to what, over the last year or so, has become a very popular and free webzine for writers of poetry, inspirational stories, Christian Fiction, Experimental Fiction, Some Science Fiction and Fantasy, Christian Science Fiction, and more or less stories that are uplifting. NO horror. Rob Crandall's: Einstein's Pocket Watch. This would be my 2nd upcoming appearance to the webzine, but with a mainstream/literary piece this time. I was in the first issue, and I'll be back again September 2010. It's a wonderful blog webzine. Check it out.
Einstein's Pocket Watch – Coming September 2010
I've also gotten 2nd acceptances to "Shelter of Daylight" and 3rd acceptances to OG's Speculative Fiction. I'll try and post those over the next two, three weeks.
Other New Entries: "Magazines" – Webzines
Categories: 400 Publishing Credits, Authors, Blog Updates, Blog Webzines, Blogs, Christian Science Fiction, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, e-publications, e-Zines, Einstein's Pocket Watch, Electronic Magazines, Experimental Fiction, Fiction, Forthcoming Fiction, Free Fiction, General News, Genre Markets, Lawrence Dagstine, Literary Fiction, Literary Magazines, Mainstream Literature, Publication Credits, Publishing Credits, Quarterly Webzines, Religious Fiction, Romance, Satire, Science Fiction, Short Stories, Short Story Writing, Themed Webzines, Upcoming Releases, Webzines Tags: Bimonthly Webzines, Christian Fiction, Christian Poetry, Christian Science Fiction, Christian Webzines, Christine Publications, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Einstein, Einstein's Pocket Watch, Experimental Fiction, Fiction, Inspirational Stories, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Einstein's Pocket Watch, Lawrence Dagstine: Mainstream Stories, Lawrence Dagstine: Short Stories, Lawrence Dagstine: Webzines, Literary Fiction, Mainstream, Mainstream Fiction, Mainstream Literature, Poetry, Poetry publications, Poetry Webzines, Quarterly Magazines, Quarterly Webzines, Rob Crandall, Short Stories, Spirituality, Webzines
Withersin Magazine, Spring 2010… (Reminder Post!)
This is a reminder post for what is clearly one of the best designed Horror Digests on the market. I believe it's available in a few bookstores in the lit. journal section, so there's distribution to my knowledge. It might be available at The Horror Mall, too. Or you can just order direct from their homepage. But at close to 300 pages, you get not one, not two, but THREE ISSUES in ONE! I have a piece in the most recently released edition: Withersin – Arsenic. It's a bit on the pricey side, but well worth it. If you're a fan of horror, you're missing out. Their interviews, reviews, and non-fiction articles get five stars automatically. Their artwork is award-winning. Get your copy today.
WITHERSIN MAGAZINE: Early Spring 2010
*Turpentine – Iodine – Arsenic*
And remember, each thick-filled issue is actually THREE issues in one!
ORDER WITHERSIN w. LAWRENCE DAGSTINE:
www.withersin.com
Edited by Misty Gersley
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Silver Moon, Bloody Bullets Anthology… (Coming Soon!)
NEW ANTHOLOGY COMING IN A FEW WEEKS!!
THEME: Werewolves… 25 Authors!!
An Anthology of Werewolf Tails
Yes, that would be correct… "Tails", not tales.
Cover Art and Ordering Info coming soon.
Intended Author Line Up:
www.pillhillpress.com
Other New Entries: "Books & Anthos" – Coming Soon!
Artwork: "Van Helsing Werewolf" by Blog America.
Categories: Anthologies, Book Premieres, Book Releases, Books, Chilling Tales, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Dark Fiction, Extreme Horror, Feature Authors, Fiction, Fiction Appearances, Forthcoming Anthologies, Forthcoming Fiction, Fresh Blood, Fresh Blood: Lawrence Dagstine, Horror, Horror Anthologies, Horror Collections, Horror Fiction, Horror Stories, Lawrence Dagstine, Monsters, Pill Hill Press, Print Anthologies, Prolific, Prolific Authors, Publication Credits, Publications, Publishers, Publishing Credits, Short Stories, Supernatural Tales, Themed Anthologies, Werewolf Fiction, Werewolves Tags: Anthologies, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Full Moons, Genre Anthologies, Genre Stories, Horror, Horror Anthologies, Horror Fiction, Horror Stories, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Anthologies, Lawrence Dagstine: Feature Author, Lawrence Dagstine: Horror Anthologies, Lawrence Dagstine: Short Stories, Lawrence Dagstine: Werewolves, Pill Hill Press, Pill Hill Press Anthologies, Print Anthologies, Short Stories, Silver Bullets, Silver Moon Bloody Bullets, Supernatural Tales, The Wolfman, Themed Stories, Van Helsing, Van Helsing Werewolf, Werewolf Anthologies, Werewolf Stories, Werewolves, www.pillhillpress.com
Visitation Rights, Amazon Kindle… (Reminder Post!)
Many of you have probably been wondering where the heck I've been, blogging two, three times per month. Well, lately I'm going through a very hectic divorce. Yes, I've split up and moved away from my now ex-significant other. We shared four wonderful years together as a couple, gave birth to a scifi nut for a toddler, but with a 70% divorce rate in the United States, hey, sometimes these things are not meant to last. On June 10th (and maybe beyond), it's all about who gets the custody and visitation and when and where (I'll probably get the kid on the weekends). But New York Court can be a dragging process when it comes to this. I'd like to thank all of my friends I grew up with in Manhattan, my friends in Brooklyn, all of my very supportive friends–all 2,500 of you–on Facebook, for cheering me up, for being there for me. Even though there is more legal stuff ahead, a lot of you took the teary moments and depression away. I'd like to also thank you for your privacy concerning all these family matters at this time. Sometimes love is not meant forever. What this does mean, however, is I need to get my ass writing more when all this is over. I have a roof over my head. It's a room… cozy… $500 a month with utilities (I know peeps), and for a Native New Yorker and Bohemian like myself it will suit me just fine. I feel as if I'll get more work done now. Perhaps better work, as I'll be able to concentrate. Oddly enough though, the way the visitation proceedings are playing out—minus the paranormal elements, of course—they're roughly 70% similar to my first Amazon Kindle title: Visitation Rights.
VISITATION RIGHTS: by Lawrence Dagstine
for Amazon Kindle and most other Digital Readers/Platforms
Sometimes very small fragments of art imitate life…
…and sometimes very small fragments of life imitate art.
Damnation Books – Direct Link:
http://www.damnationbooks.com/book.php?isbn=9781615720088
Other Amazon Kindle & eBook Titles by Dagstine:
https://lawrencedagstine.com/ebooks-kindle-dagstine/
ISBN 10: 1-61572-008-1
Categories: Amazon, Amazon Kindle, Blog Updates, Blogs, Dagstine, Dagstine 2009, Dagstine 2010, Damnation Books, Damnation e-Books, Digital Books, Digital Releases, Digital Stories, eBooks, eBooks & Kindle, Electronic Books, eReaders, Fiction, Fictionwise, General News, Ghost Stories, Horror, Horror Fiction, Horror Stories, Kindle, Kindle 2, Lawrence Dagstine, Paranormal, Paranormal Stories, Publications, Short Stories, Supernatural Tales, The Small Press, Themed Stories, Visitation Rights, Weird Fiction, Weird Tales Tags: Amazon Kindle: Visitation Rights, Courtroom Dramas, Courtroom Stories, Custody, Dagstine 2009, Dagstine 2010, Damnation Books, Damnation Books: Lawrence Dagstine, Damnation Books: Visitation Rights, Digital Books, Digital Releases, Digital Stories, Divorce, eBooks, eBooks & Kindle, Family Court, Ghost Stories, Horror, Horror Stories, iPad, Kindle, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Visitation Rights, Mobipocket, Paranormal Stories, Sony eReader: Lawrence Dagstine, Speculative Fiction Stories, Visitation Rights, Visitation Rights by Lawrence Dagstine, Visitation Rights: Lawrence Dagstine, www.damnationbooks.com
Cover of Darkness, May 2010… (Now Available!)
Nurses and babysitters taking care of vampires and werewolves during The Great Depression? President Herbert Hoover striking financial aid deals with monsters? Compassion for a vampire child from another era? Who came first? The monsters or the humans? The year is 1930… and Lawrence Dagstine is just one of your Feature Authors for a very weird novelette. It all takes place in the latest issue of Sam's Dot Publishing's digest-sized magazine, Cover of Darkness. Edited by Tyree Campbell. Published semi-annually.
A Time And Place For Monsters – 1930
Written by Lawrence Dagstine
Weaver of the Historical Weird Tale…
COVER OF DARKNESS – MAY 2010
Order Lawrence Dagstine's novelette in Cover of Darkness:
http://www.genremall.com/anthologiesr.htm#coverofdarkness0510
Sam's Dot Publishing Main Homepage (updated monthly):
www.samsdotpublishing.com
Also featuring Novelette-length work by Lawrence Dagstine:
COVER OF DARKNESS – NOVEMBER 2009
Get both issues for a discounted postage price at The Genre Mall.
Other Authors & Poets: Mark Anthony Brennan, Tyree Campbell, Virginia Mohlere, Jonathan Wolf, Edward Cox, Ferrel D. Moore, Marc Colten, Lawrence Dagstine, W.K. Tucker, Jennifer Sparlin, Hillary Bartholomew, Eric Obame, Thom Olausson, Marge B. Simon, Peter Layton, K.S. Hardy, Cathy Buburuz, Gary Every, Ash Krafton, and finally, W.C. Roberts.
Categories: Chilling Tales, Cover of Darkness, Covers, Dagstine, Dagstine 2009, Dagstine 2010, Dark Fantasy, Dark Fiction, Feature Authors, Fiction, Genre Markets, Halloween Tales, Historical Horror, Historical Weird Tales, Horror, Horror Anthologies, Horror Art, Horror Digests, Horror Fiction, Horror Journals, Horror Magazines, Horror Stories, Lawrence Dagstine, Magazines, Monsters, Novelettes, Paranormal Stories, Print Magazines, Print Zines, Publication Credits, Publications, Publishing Credits, Pulp Magazines, Sam's Dot Publishing, Semi-Annual Magazines, Speculative Fiction Magazines, Supernatural Tales, Surprising Stories, The Great Depression, The Small Press, Themed Magazines, Themed Stories, Urban Fantasy, Vampire Fiction, Vampires, Weird Fiction, Weird Tales, Werewolves, Zombies Tags: Cover of Darkness Magazine, Cover of Darkness May 2010, Cover of Darkness November 2009, Dagstine, Dark Fantasy, Dark Tales, Feature Authors, Genre Fiction, Genre Magazines, Genre Stories, Ghouls, Historical Horror, Historical Weird Tales, Horror, Horror Digests, Horror Fiction, Horror Magazines, Horror Novelettes, Horror Stories, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Cover of Darkness, Lawrence Dagstine: Horror Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: Monsters, Lawrence Dagstine: Novelettes, Lawrence Dagstine: Sam's Dot Publishing, Lawrence Dagstine: The Great Depression, Lawrence Dagstine: Vampire Stories, Monster Hospitals, Monsters, Novelettes, Nurses, Print Horror Magazines, Sam's Dot Publishing: Cover of Darkness, Sam's Dot Publishing: Lawrence Dagstine, Semi-Annual Magazines, The Great Depression, The Great Depression Stories, Vampire Fiction, Vampire Literature, Vampire Stories, Vampires, Weird Fiction, Weird Tales, Werewolves, Zombies
M-Brane Science Fiction, Summer 2010… (3rd Acceptance!)
In about a month or so I'll be returning for a third time with a weird SF/alternate history tale of sorts to M-BRANE SF. Edited by Christopher Fletcher, M-Brane Science Fiction is not just a monthly, speculative magazine dedicated to the pulps in PDF format. It's also only $1.00 per electronic issue ($12.00 per year), and you can download it to your Amazon Kindles and other digital readers. Christopher Fletcher provides a daily blog site, complete with hardcore news, reviews, and insight on subjects of science fiction and science fact. Hard SF, Sociological SF, Cyberpunk, Alternate History, authors new and old can all be found at M-BRANE SF. A LULU version is also offered, I believe.
M-BRANE SF – Third Acceptance (summer 2010)
COMING SOON – SO STAY TUNED!
Categories: Alternate History, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Blogs, Dagstine, Dagstine 2010, Digital Stories, e-publications, Fiction, Forthcoming Fiction, General News, Genre Markets, Hard Science, Hard Science Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine, M-BRANE SF, Magazines, Neo-Victorian Fiction, Parallel Universes, PDF Downloads, PDF Magazines, Publication Credits, Publications, Publishing Credits, Pulp Magazines, Science Fact, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Magazines, Science Fiction Media, Science Fiction Reviews, Short Stories, Speculative Fiction Magazines, Steampunk, Steampunk Culture, Steampunk Tales, The Golden Age, Time Travel, Upcoming Releases Tags: Alternate History, Dagstine, Dagstine 2009, Forthcoming Science Fiction, Hard Science, Hard Science Fiction, Hard SF, Lawrence Dagstine, Lawrence Dagstine: Alternate History, Lawrence Dagstine: M-Brane SF, Lawrence Dagstine: Science Fiction, Lawrence Dagstine: Short Stories, M-Brane Science Fiction, M-BRANE SF, Neo-Victorian Science Fiction, PDF Downloads, PDF Magazines, Science Fact, Science Fiction, Science Fiction Blogs, Science Fiction Media, Science Fiction Stories, Short Stories, www.mbranesf.blogspot.com
Free SF Serial: "Orphan's Prey pt. 1" – by Lawrence Dagstine
Science fiction meets interplanetary horror, in this 30th century survivalist's fable about two orphans stranded on the most fantastic yet dangerous world, the benefits and perils of alien cultures meeting and clashing, being reunited with the past, and a most unique and dark breed of alien vampire. Lord of the Flies meets the movie Pitch Black meets Living Amongst the Lizards. Welcome to Ragnarok, the largest planet in the Cat's Eye Nebula, the largest world in the known universe. Meet Chelsea and Blake (our protagonists), as we embark on a new bimonthly series of free serialized science fiction. What are life servers? Who are the Vendragon? What are the Docengard? An adventure awaits you, in the first installment of Orphan's Prey, here on… Ragnarok! First draft, first run. A novella in entirety. Enjoy!
Science Fiction Serial Part One
The planet was a phenomenon. A livable, breathable phenomenon. The jagged-edged terrain lay sedated to immobility by the heat of twin stars by day, and cold methane hails and monstrous storms by night. From the vehicle looking glass, the land consisted of desert islands in a yellow sand-like mist that stretched to infinity. The sky was radiant, directly overhead tangerine with purple, and although the air was chill, the primary sun was already beginning to warm the pre-dawn.
"Sometimes on mornings like this," the driver said, "I pretend that I'm the only artificial intelligence on Ragnarok. But"—he smiled with sudden brilliance—"I like it better like this, with a few other inhabitants, preferably young and small. Oh, by the way, I'm Chandler."
Suddenly, without warning, the overhead transceiver came to life. A voice was speaking what sounded to Chelsea and Blake like gibberish, and Chandler smiled. "That's Koral. He's a Vendragon. You know, the people you were told about before coming here? Always erratic, that one. He takes a little getting used to." The children listened for a few moments. "The high pressure system—real high—moving hundreds of degrees faster than what you Earthlings are used to, that's our direction from him and the colony. We've got a fog cloud ahead of us, which is Koral's way of saying we'll be surrounded by irregular precipitation and possible danger. Good old weather lizard that he is. But we should be safe in here. This baby stores double-solar oomph, and the alloy is wind-resistant."
"Oomph? What's that?" Blake asked.
Chandler nodded up. "The collector panels on the roof."
"When do we stop?"
Chandler pointed to an overhead visual system. "Here." He pressed a red circle on the touchpad. Surrounding it, the lowest of the two suns lighted the mountaintops, glazed them, turning any visible snow to clear pink, accentuating the shadows of the canyons and valleys and whatever else reside beneath. "We want to be here. You must understand, this planet is very big. We go through four seasons every run; it takes more than eighteen seasons to get across the entire northern hemisphere."
Blake dropped his bottom lip in surprise, then looked across at his sister, who had begun nodding off.
"The weather here is fierce and uncanny," he continued, "but in the center of that brutality is a place filled with great sunshine, grassy knolls, colorful landscapes, and the most awesome valleys you can run and play in."
"Did you hear that, Chelsea? Maybe things won't be that bad after all." The little boy crowed from his metal chair.
Chelsea was tired. Her gaze was wandering vaguely, and after a few minutes she closed her eyes again as her lips curved in the faintest of smiles. She found it hard to follow the A.I.'s rambling words about such a magnificent sphere, but there was still something in them which evoked a sense of unease.
Chandler rambled on. Chelsea sat trying to think coherently, to feel any kind of enthusiasm, but nothing moved in her. Eventually Blake stopped crooning and fell asleep himself. Chelsea's numbed brain began to come to life again, and she realized that what she had learned made no difference to the situation. They were never returning to Earth. They were never returning to the orphan ship, Juniper. Perhaps it was stupid not to realize that it made a frightening difference. After all, if it had, she might have been better prepared for the web of mystery, terror, and danger that was to entrap them.
By the time they exited the fog cloud it was almost midday. The only moving thing was the large zyranium-shelled rover, churning in a cocoon of dust along the now weather-beaten track between the desert islands and the terminus from which they were picked up. Mud and bacteria-bottomed channels filled the marshlike gaps in-between. In the driver's seat the A.I. was alert, optimistic, crossing territories and watching for signs of life. In the back, seated amongst the luggage and other provisions, the children lay dozing, oblivious to their current surroundings. The eight-year-old—bright, resourceful, full of energy—slept soundly. Wisps of red hair covered one of his eyes. As he breathed, a silky strand would fly up in the air and come back down upon his forehead lightly. Like his sister, his nose turned up slightly at the end, a spray of freckles across it, his mouth thin, the cheeks half-plump and rosy. His eyes were wide, a deep blue; his sister's were hazel.
Fourteen-year-old Chelsea Prittengayle's facial gestures were more refined, however, more serious. More brooding. Other times they were exaggerated: surprise or puzzlement, pleasure or anxiety, the typical moody or unsatisfied-with-anything teenager. Whatever emotion she felt, her face would either show it much too emphatically or much too hesitantly. Compared to Blake's ruddiness, her chin was smaller, the eyes and ears narrower, her body bonier, her tresses and bangs splayed purple and pink at the tips. She was also more restless, dreaming.
Chelsea dreamed that she was standing again, as she had stood only three days ago, aboard the Juniper, holding her brother tightly by the hand and listening to her Sanctuary Keeper. "It's a wonderful chance," the nun figure said, "for you both, and you'll be able to stay together. No more foster planets, just a brave new world. An exciting one. Ragnarok is one of the biggest out-colony territories in the Cat's Eye Nebula, and the Vendragon are a fine species. Matter of fact, it might be the biggest planet in the known universe. So much room to move around. I'm sure you'll be happy there."
Chelsea faced the floor. "Yes, ma'am," she said.
"But what if we don't like it?" Blake stomped his feet and whined. "What if it's just like the others? I don't wanna go. I don't wanna leave my friends again!"
"Blake, calm down." His sister knelt beside him. "Really, it's all right. You know the drill."
The Keeper waved a soothing hand. "No, no. He's right. Here"—she picked up two hexagonal-shaped chips from a servicing tray beside her, walked across the grated floor to a processing machine, then inserted them into place—"in the event you grow bored of your new home." She brought up the two children's molecular profiles on screen. "Now give me your hands." She confirmed their print data.
"What are you doing?" Chelsea asked.
"You'll see." Seconds later she was finished. She removed the two chips from the grooves in the console and attached titanium-alloyed ropes to them. "Wear these key drives as necklaces, but whatever you do don't lose them. They hold within them an embodiment of your memories, your metaphysical structure, who you are, and what you may eventually become capable of. They hold your souls, your very essences. If you are ever in danger, if you are ever bored, you need only crush them into fine grain, and you will cease to exist in this form and be free from a life unwanted."
Chelsea held hers up in front of her eye; Blake quickly put his around his neck. "So this is us," she muttered. "Everything about us is in this small chip."
"The information on it can be accessed from any life server. But, at the same time, I would be cautious. It can be tampered with."
"I still wish we didn't have to go," Blake said.
The Keeper nodded in agreement. "It's a rush, I know. The funding for your kind isn't there either. But the Vendragon want you right away, before the seasons on their side of the planet change again, and a special transport's coming for you."
Chelsea picked up her knapsack. "Why do they want us, and yet our own kind doesn't?"
"Now, now. That's a silly way to think." The Keeper was programmed to be sympathetic, but she realized she could not hold the truth from them. "Foster humans have become an expenditure for a very stressed and careworn Earth. There are less than twenty-three thousand of you left, all within sanctuary care or already placed in homes many light years away. Some siblings don't have the luxury of being housed together. Hopefully, both of your journeys will finally end here. You are an asset to these other races because of your youth, your empathic ways. The knowledge and traits you possess can grow with you. Creatures like the Vendragon see human children as role models."
Blake cried. "Oh, Keeper," he said, running to hug her. "I'm gonna miss you. An awful lot!"
"And I will miss you, child." She embraced them as if they were her own. Then she led both of them down to the craft's transmat. "Now before you leave, is there anything either of you would like to ask? Anything at all?"
Teary-eyed, Blake stepped back and shifted from foot to foot. Chelsea, in a voice she hardly recognized as her own, said: "Our parents. Our real ones. Suppose they come back from Earth. How will they find us?"
"My child"—the nun's voice was gentle—"if your parents are indeed alive, and if they do ever come back, we'll send a salvage team for you."
"Promise?"
The Keeper parted a half-smile. "Promise."
The dream blurred. The one thing that stood out from the whirlwind of goodbyes with the other children was the nun's last minute reminder—"Oh, and Chelsea! See that you look after your brother!" Then they were waving from behind the protective glass of the particle disseminator, just one section of missionary freighter which had been their home on and off for five years, since she was nine and Blake three. The transmat beamed them down to the terminus. From this steel transfer point the rover waited, then headed out on the extremely long drive to the Vendragon Township via the listless wastes.
"Yes, sir. Ragnarok! No ball in the universe quite like it," the A.I. boasted. "Lots and lots of room to run and play."
At first the children had been in awe of Chandler, the synthetic man who was driving. He was the planet's tour guide and taxi driver. He was built tall and rangy, pleasurable and amusing, and he understood the many wonders of human behavior. Juvenile behavior. The only weird thing about him was that his body smelled of coolant.
After getting to know him, the children were taking turns riding up front, and he was feeding them processed nuts and jerky. He told them of the great herds of reptilian creatures that once drifted over the plains and the thousand-year-old walking cacti, which kept the Vendragon on the move in a never-ending battle for food and water. He educated them on the Docengard—the gangling, clumsy predecessors to Ragnarok, and how, for centuries, they lived in the rocks alone, yet the earlier species regarded them as something of mystics. By the end of the first day's ride they were best friends, and the children loved the voyage through the tired yellow landscape old as time itself. They saw spiky clumps of Yurga, a sweet white medicinal herb, smooth sculptured garnet trees, bloated potato patches and vegetated mist swamps, and smoke rings rising gray and black over the lime crystal bluffs. It was a fantastic environment, one that was full of desolation yet color, different yet utterly surreal; surely gods must have shaped it. It was all exciting and new, but in the bluffs an incident happened that Chelsea wanted to forget.
On the morning of the second day's ride, when a breeze was blowing over the blazing desert sands, Chelsea had seen shadowy columns of air circling the vehicle. The silhouetted tornadoes had no real substance to them, neither any real shape nor form. At first, the dozen or so that were out there did not scare her. Matter of fact, she didn't think much of them. For a brief moment she took her necklace out of her shirt. Curiously, she held the key drive up. Then, after a minute or two, she tucked it back in. With some extra speed and a waving of hands from Chandler and Blake, they were now setting out on what seemed like the final stages of their journey. For a while the girl sat very still, her eyes on the Yurga-plastered trail, her lips pressed tightly together. The rover made a weird humming sound, and it vibrated to the point of nausea.
At midday, when the children were asleep in the back of the vehicle, Chandler was tempted to pull over for a much-needed recharge, but he knew that if the fog clouds or other storm-ravaging elements returned, it would hold them up and transform the ground into a sea of impassable mud. So he drove on through the heat, watching for rifts in the trail. The temperature in the bluffs was well over a hundred degrees. They were three-quarters of the way through the landscape, one of the deepest desert regions on the planet, made up of miles and miles of sand and crystalline escarpment. The road, still rugged in some areas, was following a gully down through a crack in the plateau, twisting and turning between grotesque blocks of melted green granite—monolithic play-bricks scattered along a dried up riverbed or marsh.
It happened without warning. One second they were skirting a boulder half the size of a building, the next, the shadowy tornado came swirling around a bend, a ten-foot column of viciously dark spinning air. It hit the rover head on, knocked the vehicle into a skid, and smashed it against an outcrop of crystal. "What was that?" Chelsea's heart rose out of her chest and into her throat. "What's going on?" Her seatbelt snapped and, as the vehicle upended, she fell back into the luggage, causing two rows of holding canisters to collapse on her head.
The tornado, seemingly alive, came back for seconds.
"Damn!" Chandler fiddled with the clutch, but it was bent and stuck. He quickly glanced through the looking glass in front of him. "Such power! Don't worry, I'll get you kids out of here."
Blake was frightened. "It's one of those big reptile monsters," he shouted, as one of the large jagged-edged crystals pierced the vehicle's interior.
"Can't be, son. They're extinct."
Chelsea managed to pull herself out from under the baggage. "It was the wind," she muttered, her forehead bleeding slightly. "The black things swirling in the wind caught us."
Blake huddled up in a corner with his sister. "I wanna go home, Chelsea," he cried, as the tornado came back for more. "I want the Keeper. I want my Mommy!"
"Okay, both of you need to calm down. Just stay in back of the vehicle. I'll get you out of here, now—"
The A.I. was shouting some miscellaneous warnings when a large spear-tipped crystal burst through the front looking glass and caught him on the base of the neck and cut off his vocal functions. Silver paint and white oil splattered everywhere. The children screamed hysterically, as manufacturing fluid sprayed across their faces and drenched their clothes. Chandler's eyes rolled in back of his head. He lifted a weary hand and grabbed the area where his larynx used to be. Outside, the tornado stopped moving. The tall phantom-like creature stood atop the shadier part of the monolith closest to the rover, sniffing the air. Seconds later it flew off, spun its way back to the paralyzed vehicle, tore through what was left of the front looking glass, and ripped the A.I.'s convulsing head off. Fleshy upper body connector tubes and other plastics fluttered everywhere, leaking more white oil and fluids. The tornado extended a claw-shaped appendage and tore out Chandler's mechanical heart, then attempted to absorb the spraying juices. Frustrated that the A.I. was not digestible, it gave off an ear-piercing howl, swirled in a backward motion, and disappeared from the rover with Chandler's head.
Shaking uncontrollably, Chelsea hugged Blake. She dare not let go, as a few more metal boxes fell. There followed a significant period of silence; she did not even blink. After what seemed like many hours, she finally whispered, "Stay still."
"No, Chelsea. Don't!" Blake cried frantically but quietly.
"I'm not going anywhere. I just want to look." They continued to talk in short whispers.
"But, but—"
"Shhh." Chelsea lifted her head slowly and peeked out from the rover's backend. At first, everything looked quiet. The same barren wastes, the same gargantuan stones, the same lime crystal formations, the same patches of Yurga root sprouting here and there. But then her eyes moved to the far left. There it was—the ravenous tornado creature. It whirled playfully up the gully with Chandler's head in tow, leaving the crushed rover on its side, its enormous tires spinning slowly to a halt. Her eyes then focused on the other dozen or so monoliths in back of them. Her heart leaped again. Silhouettes with razor-sharp claws—not spinning, not moving—stood atop the shadowy parts of the high ledges. Hauntingly, each one seemed to stare back at her, right through the vehicle's shell, right through her very soul; she grabbed her necklace out of force of habit. They reminded her of vultures, hungry and in wait for their next meal. After a few more minutes, the dust settled and the suns beat down harder. The tornado creatures vanished. Everything was very quiet again.
"Blake!" The girl's voice was frightened. "You okay?"
The boy was matter-of-fact. "Uh-huh. But my left arm is stuck under this darned metal crate. And I can't feel my fingers."
"Anything broken?"
"I…I don't think so," Blake said. "What was it, sis?"
Chelsea shrugged her shoulders. "A whirling devil or something, I suppose." She used her feet to push the heavy box of provisions aside. Then she eased the other toppled luggage away from his fingers as gently as she could, and he pulled his bruised hand away from the piled up chaos. "Probably native to the region," she went on, "and we just happened to shortcut through its habitat."
"Do you think that was the Vendragon?"
"No. It was something else, something far creepier. More dangerous."
"The Keeper showed me learning disks. The Vendragon have lizardy features, sort of like iguanas. They're a scaly, dry-skinned race. Their bodies don't give off perspiration like we do because of their arid surroundings and Ragnarok's two suns. She also said they're humanoid in more ways than one, more than we think. Can we continue this biology lesson elsewhere?"
Blake nodded, then pushed himself against the escape hatch. "It won't budge," he said, then looked back at his sister. "I'm scared, Chelsea."
"Yeah, I know. Me, too, brother." She felt the impacted metal. "Let me have a go at it."
She managed the door open and helped Blake down from the half-crushed vehicle, and they stood gazing at the wreckage. The headless A.I. was sprawled halfway out of the driver's seat, his flittering tubes and empty chest open to the hot-winded air. "Man, only a giant could have done this," Blake said after inspecting the damage. "Poor Chandler. He was cool. Maybe we can use the spare power cells stored in the rover to reenergize him or somethin', help guide us the rest of the way."
"I don't think that's possible," Chelsea explained. She kept looking over her shoulder. "And I don't think we should stay out here any longer than we have to. It's going to get dark soon."
"Surely the Township isn't too far now, huh, sis?"
"Yeah, surely…" Chelsea retrieved her knapsack and Blake's in a hurry. She looked for any lightweight supplies—digital nightspecs, perma-flares, laser cutters or first aid blocks—and pre-processed rations she could find. Anything that might come in handy, anything that might aid in their survival. "Here, catch!"
Blake walked back to the front of the vehicle. He didn't understand much about artificial intelligences. Even headless, he thought for a moment that Chandler was only injured or out of battery power; then he saw the remnants of fluid seeping from his shoulders, and the peculiar angle of his synthetic shape. "Chandler's not growing another face, is he?" His eyes opened wide and, like his sister, his fingers moved to the key drive hanging low around his neck. "Does he at least have a soul?"
"Blake," Chelsea whispered. "Chandler's gone."
Some time later they sat on a rocky cliff while the environment turned from yellow and green to a dusk brown and deep tangerine. Chelsea had decided to get as far away from the wreck as possible, but she never left the trail. Chandler had been in constant communication with Koral. A scouting rover, she told herself, was bound to come sooner or later, and for the moment they had plenty of sunshine and plenty of food and water. Blake was falling asleep; the boy was worn out, and his hand swelled something awful. Every so often Chelsea got some irrational fear inside of her and steeled herself to kneel beside her brother, listening for a flutter of a heartbeat, making sure that he still had his soul on him. Only when his body began to rest comfortably did she kiss his forehead and lay down beside him.
"Mother and Father aren't here," she said, running her hand through his flimsy hair. "Neither is the Keeper. It's my job to look after you, little brother."
Without realizing just how many hours of daylight Ragnarok was subject to, Chelsea too closed her eyes the moment her muscles stopped tensing and the tornado creature left her thoughts. The first sun slid behind the rim of the gully, then eventually dissolved over the bluffs; the sky turned orange, with the occasional streak of red marking their spot in the universe. Then the second, slightly larger sun disappeared over the tip of the escarpment. The desert wastes, the misty, bubbly swamps that separated them like islands, and the crystalline plateau vanished under a blanket of purple and black, touched up with a satellite-tinged glow. A breeze swirled the planet's dusts and, in the face of the twilight, the girl shivered.
Chelsea was awakened by the wind's intensity; the monster from earlier played with her mind once more. Afraid, she shook her brother out of slumber. "Blake. Blake, get up." She glanced around her. "It looks like we're here for the night… However long that is."
Blake barely opened one eye. "So?"
"So I think those whirling demons can't take too much daylight. When I saw them, they always seemed to stand in very little sun or take to the shadows."
"Then we'll build a fire." Blake was very self-possessed. "You took perma-flares from the rover, didn't you?" Seconds later, he sat up.
"Yeah, but when was the last time you and I went camping?"
"Titan." Blake smiled.
"How could you possibly remember that? You were only two. You mean you actually have a vivid memory of Me, Mom and Dad on our trip to Saturn?"
Chelsea pinched his cheek. Then she went into her knapsack and handed him a flare. "Remember how to program a spark, too?"
A short while later the children sat close to the blazing fire, listening to the flip-flap-flip of the two-headed air marmot, the long sad wail of the desert dolphin, and the surreal pitter-patter of marsh insects. They weren't exactly frightened of these animals; but the front row seat was a far cry from the virtual zoos and jungles back on Earth.
"You think that wind creature was a pterodactyl?" Blake asked out of the blue.
Huddled closely around the flames, Chelsea answered, "No, silly. It definitely wasn't a pterodactyl. Pterodactyls are long extinct. From all worlds." A moment of silence followed.
Then the boy began to fidget. "Chelsea, what's this Ragnarok place really like?" He almost wanted to cry again. "Chandler had told me so much. What do we do now? How are we gonna survive?"
"I don't know, Blake. But I reckon we'll be OK. So long as you stay with me at all times. We must never split up, never lose sight of each other. Not even for a second."
The boy fiddled with the key drive around his neck. "If something bad happens to one of us, should we give each other permission now to—um, well, you know—"
"Crush the chips and let our souls go free?" Chelsea grasped her own necklace tightly. "Let's hope we don't have to. And if Mom and Dad are still alive, if they're still out there somewhere, they wouldn't want us giving up without a fight."
The boy picked up a garnet tree branch and stirred the fire. "Maybe if the Vendragon find us, they'll let us use their life server."
Chelsea grimaced. "Yeah, sure. Maybe."
The boy said, "Remember those smoke rings we saw on the way? You reckon they came from the Township?"
She shook her head. "Vendragons live in the grassier regions—probably further north. They rely on our knowledge of agriculture. Supposedly, they thrive off it."
They settled down by the fire, and before long their breathing grew slower and deeper. After a while, Chelsea couldn't stay up any longer. Eyelids falling, she reached for her brother's swollen hand. Normally he'd have snatched it away, but he didn't now. A veil of mist drifted over the moons that scattered the night sky, and the children slept.
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Shelter of Daylight #3, April 2010… (Now Available!)
You can now find me in the thick and fairly new Anthology-Magazine, SHELTER OF DAYLIGHT. Issue #3. Published on a bi-annual basis by Sam's Dot Publishing, and I must confess, with this new year, their cover art and printer/print quality has improved greatly! For this issue I have a science fiction story, and there is a slew of other great authors. Edited by Tyree Campbell and available in a super-glossy, perfect-bound format. Just click on the links or the cover art below. Cheers, Lawrence.
SHELTER OF DAYLIGHT Science Fiction & Fantasy – April 2010
Published semi-annually by Sam's Dot Publishing:
Sam's Dot Publishing – Main Homepage:
ORDER THIS ISSUE (or subscribe):
http://www.genremall.com/zinesr.htm#shelter
Other Great Magazines – The Genre Mall
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Author Line-up: Tom Humphrey, Greer Woodward, Tyree Campbell, Lawrence Barker, Ursula Warnecke, Kisa Rupp, Keith Graham, Maria Alberto, David Tallerman, Molly Schwanz, Jared Millet, Robin Mayhall, Lawrence R. Dagstine, Michael D. Sonnier, Shane Nelson, John Marfink, Jaime Lee Moyer, Anne Brennan, Marge Simon, K.S. Hardy, WC Roberts, J.L. Opskar, and Amelia B. Winkler.
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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl