BLAR24 3RN5

 

The figure kept going through Ed's mind like a snatch of forgotten song. Why had it popped out of the dusty archives? What did it mean?

White-bearded dwarf Hecabano came into their third-floor condo. "You'll never guess what's in the squirrel trap, Master Ed."

"An armadillo."

"Close. Three sparrows. All of them went in before one of them tripped the bait tray and dropped the door shut."

Ed had some initial success carting the nest raiders off to a golf course. Lately he'd scored some unwelcome guests. There was a foul-smelling possum who bared sharp teeth at him; a rat who ate the peanut, shell and all (the sharp wood fibers had finished him off); and every bird to be found in the Audubon guide.

Wicca came out of her room, still wearing a sleep shift. "That's easy. You've caught all the squirrels in the state."

"BLA4243RN5," Ed droned. "BLA4--"

"Is that still rattling around up there?" Wicca demanded. "All day yesterday while I was trying to watch the Stooges. . . ."

"Have no worry, Menad of Misery," Hecabano said. "When dealing with a brain defect, one consults a computerized brain. I have summoned the Bot queen from the studio."

"Now we'll get answers!" Wicca gave Ed a little head smack. "Are you sure you can't pin it up?"

"Down," Ed corrected. "It'll come to me. BLA424--"

Wicca bopped his head. "Will you start that again?"

"I'll get it if you don't knock it back into cold storage!" Ed massaged the back of his head. 

Presently the gold automaton came in and was apprised of the problem. She did a nanosecond web search. "It is the designation of a loan for a 1985 Mustang you purchased in 1992. It is a curious thing to remember."

"Now I recall it!" Ed jumped up. "I had to write it on the checks, so I memorized it. That was easier than looking it up in the loan document. But why did it come back?"

"Bringing psychiatry program online," Queenie said. "Advancing age has you in constant need for testing your remaining memory capacity."

"I'm only fifty!" Ed protested. 

"Well," Wicca said, "I'm glad that's put to sleep."

"Put to bed," Ed said.

Hecabano called from the kitchen. "I perceive your memory to be fine, Master Ed. Perhaps we could work this into a comedy routine at the studio tonight."

"We're doing a show tonight?" Ed asked. "I thought it was Sunday. . . ."

Smiley's Bluff

 

Witness three workmen at a roadside diner. They're miles from the shop, so the boss isn't likely to know they're having breakfast on his time. There's Benny, just out of high school on his first job as an electrician helper. Then there's Donny, a longhair metal head, and George, a crusty New Yorker. Along with a wisecracking, fortyish waitress, they love to kid him about his lack of worldly experience. But in the Twilight Zone, such things have consequences. 

Benny tackled the French toast with gusto, trying to keep up with the fellas, wolfing down their bacon and eggs. 

"This ain't your mom's place," Donny quipped. "You don't get pancakes and oatmeal with a cartoon face." 

"Yeah," George piled on. "Now a BLT--that's easy to fix."

Wiseguys. Not a good influence either. They'd turned him on to coffee, but he drew the line at beer. 

"Hiya, Smiley!" Bess the waitress sauntered over, coffee pot in hand. The wiseguys sniggled in anticipation, because they knew Benny hated the moniker. If there was a waitress mold, she had sprung from it: glasses on a string, graying hair more suitable for a younger style, pencil in ear, apron.

"I made the French toast myself, Smiley, because the cook is busy." A dig at how he never left a tip, not getting it was over the Smiley thing. In fact, the only reason he didn't wait in the truck was the food. It was too good to miss out on. 

"Y'all should drop by for lunch," she went on. "We got a killer steak sub."

Donny appreciated how Benny's face lit up. "Can't do it. The plastics factory is five miles down the road." 

"Aww," rued Bess. "You poor fellas have to brown bag it. A growin' boy  needs better." Just then, a grumpy farmer repeated his demand for coffee, calling her away.

Benny once again left no tip. Next time, he would wait in the truck.

Hours later, when the noisy cracking room at the plant had fallen quiet for the lunch hour, Benny took out his ear plugs and settled against an I beam some distance from the fellas and their incessant sports talk. He had just started on his PBJ and apple when Bess entered the loading dock, carrying a white bag.

Benny needed no clues to as to what it was. Ignoring the taunts about his "girlfriend", he jumped up to confront her. "How did you get in here?" 

"Easy. I told the guard you called for takeout, and here I am." The bag held one of the fragrant, still  hot subs. 

"Where's ours," George whined in mock protest, grinning at Benny's plight. 

She waved him off. "You boys should be on a diet. Let's call this free advertisin'!" On the way back, she turned to wave. "Enjoy, Smiley!"

That he did in spite of himself. Nor did the surprises end that night at home. To added ridicule from the fellas, he still lived with his folks.

His mom stuck a head in his room. "There's some woman on the phone for you. Something about a retirement dinner tomorrow night."

Who else. He went to the kitchen extension. That no good Donny must have given Bess the number. "Why are you calling me here?"

"Take it easy, Smiley! Tomorrow's Saturday, when you're off work. My place is half a mile down that dirt road behind the diner--only one out there. I'll leave a light on. Ruth and Louise will be here. We're making the best dinner you ever saw." The other two waitresses had to be in their seventies. "Whatya think? About eight." 

This time he'd call her bluff. So Donny didn't think he'd dare. "I'll go anywhere there's free eats."

"Fine! See ya there!"

It took some fancy explaining to assuage his mom's worries about a drunken party. He jumped into his old Mustang and drove eleven miles across the river. He turned right at the diner in the failing light, took the bumpy road half a mile until he saw a lone porch light.

He knocked on the screen door. Bess admitted him, wearing a gray robe but  no shoes. Must have just come from the shower. 

She  noted his curiosity. "Oh, we all went for a swim down at the creek."

Then why wasn't her hair wet? "I don't smell any food."

"We're gonna have it outdoors, a regular picnic!" 

He followed her uneasily down to a clearing, where digital lights were strung across the trees in a glade. Others were there, wearing the same robes, gathered around a large flat stone.

A coven. A freakin' coven. And he was bait for whatever they planned to summon on that stone. "Wait a minute--I know her!" He gaped at a famous local news anchor.

"Lot's of bigshots here," Bess said. "See that man? The district school superintendent. And her?--head of the state health department."

It figured. But he wasn't going to see their invited guest, and even worse, he wasn't going to see the robes come off. He ran.

"Aw, Smiley!" Bess called. "Oh well--see ya at the diner on Monday!"

Plays help Dialogue!

 Good morning and Happy Friday! Been a week and glad it is done.  Our kids had a sniffle that required our attention and progressing on our packing to move.  The tentative days left are sixty.  We are fastening our moving belt with every box to put items in to keep or donate.

One of the ways I like to work on my dialogue are plays.  Are there any plays are favorites? I think my first play was in high school  was Ceryano De Bergiac.  If you recall the movie Roxanne, it is almost like that.

                                        

So many plays to look through, but I like the olde worlde plays of Shakespeare and William Butler Yeats or John Synge. I have a number of plays, many of Scottish origin as well Irish.  Some of us are visual learners as I am.    

                                           

As a reader, your audience we want to be delighted, thrilled and hooked into your world, the writing world you created and express.   Although it is our calling, make it the best work you can muster, a gift to take the reader away from the ordinary world.  Don't forget the coffee to speed up those beautiful thoughts this morning.  Maybe you are having coffe with us. I am onto my second cup already.  Have a great Friday!

KILHWCH AND OLWEN OR THE TWRCH TRWYTH

 Kilhwch, Arthur's cousin, is born in the mountains to a mother, who becomes wild during her pregnancy.  Shortly afterward she dies, and seven years later, her husband conquers King Doged's land, kills him, and takes his wife and daughter. The new queen speaks of a prophesy that says Kilhwich is destined to have Olwen, the daughter of Yspaddaden Penkawr.

Kilhwch journeys to Arthur, and tells him he want Olwen as wife. Not knowing who she is, Arthur sends  messengers to seek her, but at the end of a year she is not found.  Kai, one of Arthur's knights,  requests him to go with a group to find the maiden. Arthur calls Bedwyr, Kynddelig the Guide, Gwalchmai, a nephew of Arthur, Menw, who casts spells, and others, to go, too.

Coming to a castle, Kai ask a herdsman whose castle it is, and is told that of Yspaddaden Penkawr. However, Kai and the other knights learn that no one who sought Olwen ever returned alive.  They go to the herdsman's dwell. There they learn Olwen will be coming on her usual visit. The herdsman's wife tells then that Olwen made a pledge to her father not to go without his counsel, for he will die when she marries. The woman tells them to ask of her from her father, and perform what he requires to have her, else they might not escape with their life.

Going back to the castle, they kill the porters and enter. They meet Yspaddaden Penkawr, and   tell them their mission.  After some bickering and violence over three days, Penkawr imposes about 39 difficult tasks to prepare for the wedding feast. The most important task is to seize the comb and scissors from between the ears of the boar Twrch Trwyth. This is done during a chase that leads to the death of some of the men and the boar plunging into a river and then out to sea. (The comb and scissors should be regarded as treasure.)

At one point, Kai is angered by a ditty Arthur composed and no longer helps. The tasks accomplished, Kilhwch takes Olwen for wife, her father is slain, and his possessions taken.

Reflections in the Water

 

"Welcome to the Dutch Colmy Show," said the host into his mike. "With me this morning is author Sydell Ridley, whose fantasy novels have been granted approval by the board of censors for portraying women in empowering positions." 

Empowered? Ridley figured it more in line with the overlords' obsession with the occult.

"Mr Ridley's new collection, Undersea Empires, is available for download, subject to your social credit score. Re-education camps: see your counselor. Mr Ridley, your interest in fantasy began at the age of six while attending a mermaid show. An incident occurred that had a profound effect on you."

"That's right. I pieced it together years later, so I'll start at the beginning."

Ellie was shaking Binia, who dozed in bars of warm autumn light. "Time to get your hair up, missy. Out there in the water, you'll look like a drowned collie."

"Not that one," said dark-haired Sirtis. "What are those blonde-haired dogs. . . ."

"Very amusing." Binia took her swimsuit off the rack. Gleaming white became green and purple at the flukes. The trio carried their suits down the performers' corridor to the changing room. 

Their opening act involved a slide down the giant chute, then a backflip into deep water. Spectators had to yield the waterways until the various routines were complete. Later, in chest-deep water, the mermaids would mingle with visitors at graduated depths, while kids remained in the shallows. That came all too soon for red-haired Ellie.

She surfaced next to Sirtis, who had been cruising below, touching the legs of startled waders. "Guys are the worst. They know we aren't supposed to speak, but they flirt anyway."

"Let's get with Binia over at the autograph thing," Sirtis said.

The blonde supported herslf on one elbow at poolside, signing pictures with the other hand. At that moment, a mishap occurred nearby at the deep end.

Sydell had climbed outside the railing for a better view. Some of the onlookers were even getting splashed when the mermaids came close enough. His aunt was momentarily distracted. It was mostly young folks crowding forward, like the devious punk who pushed him over the edge. 

He'd been under before, at the beach, when a wave swamped him. But his dad was right there, thumping his back while he spluttered for breath. It was nothing like this.

Shock of cold water plugging his ears, pushing up into his nose; wavering light overhead as he sank; bubbles carried his life upward, and he couldn't hold them in. Couldn't any of those folks swim?

The dark-haired mermaid swept in like a torpedo. One hand grabbed his shirt, and he flailed in the vortex of her fin as powerful strokes carried them to the surface.

Air never tasted so good as he gulped it in. The mermaid, satisfied he was okay, lifted him up to grasping hands. She did backstrokes to rejoin the other two, while applause filled the arena.

"Amazing," said the interviewer. "I understand you never got any of the photos, because your aunt whisked you straight home."

"True, but I found some on the website. Here's Ellie.

"And here's Sirtis."

"Quite the lookers, aren't they? Tell me this, Mr Ridley--do you have any more info on their strange disappearance just before the Fall? Their emails had weird reference to a parallel world."

"Yes, they were in touch with the Wicca Horror Show on the east coast. Their staff disappeared at the same time. The leading theory is they were the ringleaders."

Colmy laughed heartily. "And for those of us who missed the bus, life goes on!"

So it does, Ridley thought, so it does.

Child of a Lonely Star (2)

 

Previous: A disintegrating ship arrives from the quarantined Aldebaran system. Moast and crew recognize it as a message from the sentient world Aldebaran C. 

The assembled space station clung beneath Orchidia's broad launch bay. Commander Moast climbed down and sealed the hatch behind him. "Ready for launch, Kyra," he said to the science officer on the distant bridge. Entirely automated, the station fired thrusters to insert itself into high orbit. This far from the planet, the entity would give up considerable power.

"Hoy, Commander! Jolly good digs, wot?"

The android guide for the world spirit appeared at Moast's side. The AI had taken Moast's instructions literally: since the android was custodian of a vast TV library, she had fashioned him after  British actor Bernard Fox, who played the butler Malcolm on the Andy Griffith show. 

"Of course," Malcolm added, "you may not recognize me the next time around. This goddess of yours may turn me into a tea cozy! Ha ha! Ho ha!"

"Right." Moast was about to page the library listing when he faced off with a frightening harridan. As his pulse settled, he said, "Orchidia, I liked the punkette you were modeling before. This one I wouldn't turn my back on." 

"A forbidding appearance is necessary to convey ours as the position of strength."

Malcolm chuckled. "Avatars, ey? Gotta love 'em!"

The two artificials eyed each other. 

"Right." Most scanned the mile-long list of reject titles, not having seen any of the vintage stuff. "Hmm. Dances With Wolves, Avatar, All In The Family."

"Anti Caucasian stereotypes," said the AI

"Everybody Loves Raymond, Home Improvement."

"Denigration of the father figure."

"She's very thorough," Malcolm said solemnly. 

Moast hit the panel com link. "Kyra, status of defense measures."

Her voice was tinny through all the shielding. "Shields are on millisecond rotating frequency. The planet-buster bomb is on standby. Hyper jump actuators are powered up." A pause. "I don't like the idea of leaving you behind."

"We'll play it by ear," Moast said. To the AI: send the RSVP." Beneath the station, colored lights rolled and flashed a complex message for an entity with no understanding of a spoken tongue.

"Here now," Malcolm said. "How shall we address the lady? Your Majesty? Your Grace?"

Moast crossed arms in the pose he'd greet her in, showing confidence he didn't feel. "This is Aldebaran C. We'll call her Cee." Seconds later, a figure materialized, leaving him speechless.

"It can't be. . . .this is exactly how I pictured a goddess."

The AI signaled a colorful greeting, one echoed by Malcolm. "This implies an ability to sense your thoughts. It will enhance communication."

"Most pleasing," the commander said with a cavalier nod of the head. The goddess deigned to return the gesture, though he wasn't sure she understood it.

"Curious," said Orchidia. "Despite immense power, her posture is one of supplication. You are key to future visits, a subject of all-consuming importance."

Unexpectedly, Cee conjured a small object and sent it floating toward Moast. Since the AI raised no alarm, he allowed it to settle on his hand. 

"Marvelous!" Malcolm crowed. "A tiny miniature of your ship, in ruby, no less!" 

"Impressive. She has transposed the gem from beneath the surface. The object is of permanent construct." The AI waited. "She expects something in return."

Moast knew what that was. The notion of taking her hand filled him with a vision of being absorbed like a data file. He forgot that she could sense his thoughts. From her lips came a bass tone of such intensity that he rushed hands to ears. Correcting her mistake, Cee switched to a softer tone of higher range, let it trail off like the  notes of a heroic opera.

"That I like," Moast said with a reassuring smile she probably did not understand. 

"The sonic gift is further assurance of fair play. Proceed with caution." Orchidia flashed a colored message, no doubt reminding the entity of the consequence of treachery. But again, was such a  human trait even comprehended by the soul of this world?

Moast drew near, noting a few colorful sparkles in the white gown.

"Apprehension. She does not want to harm such a delicate being."

"Outstanding." Moast forced his hand out, which Cee reached for. Hers was cold and wooden, but rapidly adjusted, becoming warm and pliant. There was even a bone structure. Suddenly he was assailed by a vivid memory: two woodpeckers in a sunlit tree, clinging to a windblown branch against a sky of startling blue. He had watched the scene for some minutes in awe of it.

Orchidia flashed warning colors, and Malcolm rushed to prop him up. 

"I'm okay," Moast said. "That was quite a memory tap." He returned to the com panel. "Kyra, stand down the weapon. Send a shuttle for me." He watched the goddess, who radiated colors of obvious relief. "Well, Malcolm," he said with a back slap. "So begins your job as genial host. Work on the hand clasp. In time, you might even venture a hug."

Malcolm glanced at the shimmering goddess. "Er. . . .yes sir. That is, sir, uh. . . .yes sir."

Child of a Lonely Star

 

They dubbed the mystery ship "Evil Twin"; not that it showed evil intent, but for being a half-scale copy of Orchidia. It didn't even survive its journey from the Aldebaran system. Other ships within Pluto Station backed away, weapons aimed, as the visitor began to wilt and come apart.

Portly Admiral Jacobs gaped out the panoramic window of Central Ops. "A plant? That thing is a plant?"

A junior officer hunched over his terminal, rapidly pulling up scans. "Mostly, sir, with enough metals for a drive unit. No one thought biologicals could bond with metal at the molecular level. It's almost like. . . ."

"Go on, Lieutenant."

"Like it was wished into existence."

Jacobs paced, watching enviro units clean up the mess. "Call up the file on Commander Moast's mission to Aldebaran."

Seconds later, the young man had the highlights. "Two crewmen died on the surface. When their duplicates tried to fly their shuttle back to Orchidia, Moast shot it down. He was about to launch a planet buster when the surface displayed colors the AI interpreted as contrition. He listed the system as of no interest, and recommended quarantine."

"Ah yes. The sentient world." Jacobs watched Orchidia already sailing toward the cleared portal hatch, one of thousands in the moon-sized sphere. The Builder artifact still wasn't completely explored.

"Wait one," the lieutenant said to an incoming message. "Admiral, Commander Moast requests clearance for departure to the Aldebaran star group."

"By all means," Jacobs said. "I can't wait to hear his explanation for this."

Orchidia exited the Aldebaran portal at a risky clip, artfully weaving through the asteroid belt. The Builders had a penchant for hiding the portals until the natives achieved space travel. Several hyperjumps shortened the trip toward the orange giant star and its only known planet until now.

At eleven times the mass of Jupiter, Aldebaran B orbited too close to the star to support life. Not so for Aldebaran C, sheltering in the umbra of B. Refracted light gave C a permanent state of twilight.

"Nuke me sideways," mused bearded navigator Chet.

The muscular helmsman Berl agreed. "No way that happened all by itself. "

Moast swiveled toward Science Officer Preston. "Seems like we're expected, Kyra. What do you make of those colors?"

"Joy," she began. "Hope, curiosity. And a proposal." She studied the spectral scanner. "More complex now. We'd better bring in the AI." 

Moast had speculated how the planet wanted to use his ship for seeking out and bringing other life here. Had that changed? The threat of a planet-smashing weapon still hung over the entity's head. "Orchidia, analysis." 

"No ethical center is apparent beyond cause and effect reasoning. Spoken language is an alien concept. Until our first visit, there was no awareness of other life. This has engendered loneliness. Stand by." After a pause: "Based on contact with the deceased crewmen, there is curiosity about touch."

"Commander," Kyra said, "you aren't planning on going down there. . . ."

"Not a chance. I propose a neutral ground. Orchidia, modify the orbital station as a culture center. Make sure the TV shows are free of propaganda, virtue signaling, and hypocrisy. Ready an android to serve as guide and companion. Instruct the entity to assume a form suitable for boarding."

Kyra's lips pursed in dismay. "You're going to meet her face to face? It's insane."

"I'm reminded of a line from a poem: Intrepidly into the void, I trow." 

"Trow?" Kyra looked up at the holo emitters. "Orchidia--"

"I trow: I speak truly. It is easier to pronounce than 'troth', which in turn requires fewer mouth muscles than 'truth'. These are examples of lazy speech that gives rise to dialects."

Moast entered the turbolift. "If the vocabulary lesson is over, we have a culture center to inspect."

"There's an end game to this. We aren't out here to entertain a sentient planet."

"We have a chance to learn how planets form. because this one can tell us. And a ship in distress can get parts conjured up quick. Temporary, maybe, but enough to see them home."

"If this entity can be trusted," Kyra reminded. She followed the commander into the corridor leading to the hangar deck. "Moast."

He stopped and looked back.

"We can get all these things without so much risk."

"You're convinced I'm going to take one?"

"Taking risks is how you came up the ranks. But this. . . .why?"

Moast shrugged. "Never held hands with a goddess before."