Hub City Blues

The Future is Unsustainable

  • Clarion West
    • 2013 Clarion Write-a-thon
      • Clarion West (1)
      • Clarion West (2)
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    • 2014 Clarion Write-a-thon
  • Hub City Serials
  • Projects
    • 30 Cubed – May 2014
    • 30 Cubed 2014, Finished
    • Encourage an Artist
    • The Entirety of Hub City Blues
    • The Fantastic Fifteen
    • The Future Is Short: 57 Science Fiction Micro-tales by 31 Authors
    • So you want to do NaNoWriMo in 2013?
  • Science
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  • Tales of Hub City
  • Authors
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    • Paula Friedman
    • Ronald T. Jones
  • Hub City Blues

Umbra – Defender of the Equinox

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 19, 2011
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

Umbra

“Get up, boy.” His voice was rough, like a heavy smoker, husky with a slight country twang. “Get up, we have to go now. Where is your father?”

“He didn’t make it. Who the hell are you?” I tried to sound tougher than I was. Then I threw up. He moved.

“It will burn all night. The Light makes for fine kindling. Gives us cover.” He wore a black trenchcoat made from some strangely slick matte-black leather. It was thick, coarse and had a weird animal smell. His clothes were hard to make out as if they defied my ability to focus on them. His shoes were a serviceable boot with hard metal studs all the way to the kneecap. “Get it out, because in two minutes we will be in the wind.” The firefighters gathered around the fire were not having any luck putting out the fires.

“They have my governess. My father said I had to find her.” I started to feel a bit better.

“I don’t care two bits about your nanny. Your father called me and told me to come and get you. I got you. My job is to keep you alive. You are my priority now.”

I did not appreciate his tone. I grabbed his jacket and pulled myself to my feet. I leaned in close. “She is the closest thing I have to a family. I don’t know you and couldn’t give a damn about what your job is. So you help me or I will do this by myself.” My chest hurt but I could feel this strange power trying to gather itself.

“Alright, there is no need for that kind of talk. Do you have anything that belongs to her?” I thought about it and reached into the holster on my hip.

“This was hers.” He took off his jacket and threw it to the ground.

“Give me that.” He snatched the gun from my hand and released the clip. Then he threw the gun on the jacket. I watched him move his hands and with a ritual movement he touched his jacket. It became dark, shrouded in shadow and then the shadow stood. It had the shape of an alligator or crocodile, low to the ground long and masked completely in shadow. Except for its exceptionally white teeth. The gun was in front of it and it was sniffing the gun. It turned as if to smile, showing off its teeth floating in a shadow body, then it shot off into the dark. “If she’s still here, he will find her.”

“What do we do in the meantime?”

“We hope they don’t find us first. How much do you know?”

“About what?”

“The Life, boy. How much did your father tell you?”

“Nothing he didn’t have to. Which was basically nothing at all.”

“Did you get any schooling at all?”

“Yes, I got plenty of education, can speak a dozen languages, can use basic magic signs and sigils. I can fly anything, drive anything, fix anything and shoot anything.”

“Okay, so you’re not a complete idiot.”

“Are you going to tell me what is going on?”

“Eventually, but now is not the time. I reloaded your gun. Do not shoot unless I tell you so. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Let’s go. He’s found something.”

“Your jacket?”

“Yeah, kid, my jacket.”

We ran out of the alley away from the fire and the only home I would ever likely care about. Once we got to the street we didn’t run but maintained a brisk pace as we headed toward the local boulevard. I could feel the tension draining out of me and I felt suddenly tired.

“You know, I don’t even know your name.”

“Umbra, kid. Keep up, pay attention. If you see anything out of the corner of your eye, you tell me, right quick.”

“Okay, Mister Umbra.” He pulled up short and turned toward me. He towered over me and looked me in the eyes. His eyes, previously hidden under his hat were suddenly visible. There was nothing but darkness in them. No iris, no sclera, just an sense of a never-ending night with tiny glimmerings of light.

“Umbra, no mister, no title. Just Umbra. I know you are working with a lot of stress and handicaps right now but I need you to focus. You are a man now, and you are one of us. We don’t take titles, we don’t use ’em. We have our name and that is the most important thing about us. Your father was Equinox. And now, that is your name. Whatever he used to call you is not important.”

He turned and kept walking up the street, focused on something far away. “He didn’t used to call me anything but Boy. I think I may have had a name we used when we introduced ourselves but it changed every time we changed towns.”

I was about to say something else when I saw it. There was a flickering in the corner of my eye. When I turned my head, I couldn’t see anything, but as soon as I stopped looking at it, I felt a distinct awareness of something on the side of my vision. The boulevard was almost completely quiet, with only a few people coming home from their night jobs, heads down, focused on getting home.

“Umbra…”

“Good, you saw them. Get ready, they are surrounding us. She is up ahead and still fighting.” In this section of the Bronx there was an overhead train system and there were pillars of steel holding the train above the city streets. I was able to ride the trains a few times. It was noisy but fun. There was a station ahead and she was still alive fighting there, but I could not see her, directly, only sense her. No one else seem to see or hear her either.

“You can’t see them can you?” He stared at me and then grabbed my head. He turned it left, than right, looking into my eyes. “You have not had it long enough.” He turned and bent over to pick up his alligator-cum-jacket. “Put this on. Its the only way you will be of any use to me. Don’t take it off for any reason.”

I gripped the jacket like I expected it to come to live in my hands, but it seemed to have returned to its jacket state, inert and still creepy. As I slid into it, I noticed its coldness, its seemed to suck away my heat and sweat and re-sized itself to fit my much smaller proportions. It was only then I noticed how big Umbra was. I was also aware, I could no longer see anyone on the street. Okay, that wasn’t true. I couldn’t easily see anyone on the street. It was if I was seeing them through a gossamer veil.

“Stop gawking. Get your head in the game.” With just a few more seconds. I became aware of them. Then I wondered how I could have missed them. They were massive, much bigger than the things that attacked the house. They had that same alien feeling about them, but they did not have wings. They made up for that by having two sets of arms. They were also surprisingly fast, much faster than their size would have you think. Their bodies had that same luminescent mother-of-pearl look to them and they did not have any kind of clothing, armor or weapons, save their wickedly clawed arms; all four of them.

Then I saw her; Ms. Hart. She was beautiful. And she was still fought with the creatures. She wore a silver body suit, similar to the one she trained me in. While she had it on, she was faster and stronger than she had any right to be. I had never seen her as fast and as deadly as she was tonight. I realized she was always taking her time with me. She could have destroyed me, at any time during out training

She looked tired. She was covered in blood, some bright red, some black. The blood of the creatures splashed on a nearby shadow person and they dissolved into a green and gaseous cloud, accompanied by a baleful scream of sheer terror.

She was using a metal shod spear made of the same shiny silver, with a blade at the tip and whipped it around her slicing away the limbs of the much larger creatures. But the loss of an arm did not seem to incapacitate them as well as I thought it should. But they were not asking me. I would have suggested rolling around on the ground.

She saw us approaching and instead of looking relieved she appeared to be far more angry. Her rage cost three of the glowing giants their heads. She vaulted over their bodies she strode toward us as the creatures used her break to completely surround us.

“What do you think you are doing?” Her voice was sharp like a knife.

“Rescuing you,” I began.

“You stupid boy, I lead them away so you could escape.” Her emphasis seemed to focus her will. Her words cut me. Literally. A slash opened on my cheek. Using my sleeve, I wiped away my blood and her rage. Where Umbra’s jacket touched, the injury was just as easily healed. But it hurt.

“And you, you ought to know better.” Her gaze fell on Umbra, who lit a cigarette and apparently ignored her.

The circle closed around us. The giants began to move toward us, a light in their eyes. The streets were clear, and a chill wind blew past me. I drew my pistol.

“Feel free to shoot any time, kid.” He blew out his match.

Equinox © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

Charon – Boatman of the Afterlife of Last Resort

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 17, 2011
Posted in: Character Bio, Hayward's Reach. Tagged: cappuccino, Charon, coffee, Death, ebonstorm, Ferryman, Hayward's Reach, humor, macabre, pennies, stroke, Thaddeus Howze. Leave a comment

Charon ©2010-2011 ~fo3the13th (JOEL AMAT GÜELL)

A Cappuccino with Charon

I was sitting in my favorite coffee shop, dodging my workplace, when I saw Him come in. I wasn’t quite sure what I was seeing at first, because, well, this is San Francisco, and you are liable to see almost anything here. He was wearing the equivalent of a long ragged cloak, stained with age and reeking of an unspeakable odor.

It was the scent of a recently opened grave, and while I had not been near one in a while, I had put a dead raccoon in my garbage can once and left it there for a week in the hot sun. Worst thing I have ever smelled. I was only too happy when the garbage man came. It was worse than that. No one else seemed to notice.

His cloak hid is face, but it was safe to assume I didn’t really want to look too deep in there, anyway. He was carrying a pole with a strange watermark on it and two runnels near the top. His hands were strong looking, like a weightlifter’s, with veins running through them. I could not see much else of him, but he was big, much bigger than I had imagined him to be.

See, I figured this had to be the Boatman of the River Styx.

“Cappuccino,” he said in a scary baritone.

“Four seventy-five, please.”

“Surely you jest?” was his response.

“Uh. Yes.”

He reached into his pocket and put pennies on the counter. Lots of pennies.

“Sir, we can’t take those.”

“They’re still currency, aren’t they?”

“Sir, they’re pennies.”

“I get paid in pennies.”

“Excuse me, miss, I will take care of this.” I found myself reaching into my pocket and paying with a five. “Keep the change.” The crowd was getting kind of hostile, and I wasn’t sure what might happen if he got pissed off. He looked at her, reached across the counter with his large, ham-like hand, and touched her chin.

“Rebecca Montez, angry boyfriend, six years from now, lamp. Unfortunate.” She looked at him as if he were crazy, but did not move. Almost as if she were under a spell.

He turned to me and said, “Thank you, Daniel Simmons.”

“How do you know my name?” I already knew the answer.

“I know all of your names.” That voice was really starting to work me. The rhythm of the shop resumed and people went back to typing.

“What are they seeing? How is it only I can see you?”

“Cappuccino, up.”

“Uh, that’s you.”

“Let’s sit and talk, Daniel Simmons.”

“Okaaaaay.” Didn’t like where this was going.

I sat down at the table and tried to hide my face behind the screen of my laptop so I could resist the temptation to look into his cowl. He reached across the table and closed my laptop, gently.

“So, Charon, can I call you Charon? What brings you up for coffee? And why is it no one else can see you?”
“Mmmmm. Good cappuccino. Very nice.” The cup disappeared into his cowl and did not come back out. “People deny their mortality. Part of my gift, people simply refuse to see Death for what it is, a part of Life. No one can see me because to them, I am some unfortunate hobo having coffee with an overdressed preppy. That would be you. As to why I am here? I need a guide, and since you can see me, you are volunteered.”

“And I can see you because?”

“Embolism, three weeks from now.”

Sobering. What could I know about that he would need a guide for?

“I am looking to franchise my infernal service.”

“Excuse me?”

“Earth is very busy these days, lots of dying, and humans keep making new ways to kill each other off. I can’t keep up. Look at this bicep.” He pulled back his sleeve and showed me this massive arm that would not have looked out of place on the Incredible Hulk. “Go on, touch it.”

“Um, no thanks.”

“I used to be scraps of bone and flesh; now I have biceps from pushing that thing.” He points outside the window.
For a moment I saw the flash of a large gondola-like boat, about the size of an eighteen wheeler. Off in the distance, I could see people, thousands of them, tens of thousands, standing patiently, wearing clothing from what looked like medieval times. When I looked harder, I could see dozens of different eras standing and waiting patiently for their turn to cross into the Afterlife. Then the street returned to its mundane appearance.

“Yes, I just cleared the backlog from the Black Plague last week. Do you know how long it takes to move seventy five million people by gondola? But I still have the Civil War, the Spanish Flu, World Wars I and II, Korea and every other little bush conflict modern governments feel justified in creating.” He was starting to sound a little hysterical and maybe pissed off.

“Uh, what about other death-oriented entities like yourself? Aren’t there others out there harvesting the dead?”

“Valkyries are still working, but they only want the valiant dead, so they swoop in and pluck one guy out of thousands, put him on their flying horse and they’re gone. I’ve tried shouting out, ‘Hey, you could grab a few more,’ but they keep mentioning something about Valhalla having a quality assurance clause, and then they’re gone.

When I complained to the Niflheim Residency Committee, they indicated they aren’t responsible for all of these people. They closed their doors when the last of the Vikings bought the farm. Something about Niflheim having a purity standard.”

“There are certainly other death agents, yes?”

“Heaven only takes devout Christians. Let’s just say that number isn’t going up. Same with the other sects. People don’t seem to have a desire for really rigid religious structures anymore, so most of those places are closing their doors, or waiting for a management decision from on high. Hell, well, it’s just overflowing. They even changed the sign. Used to say ‘Abandon hope all ye who enter here.’ Now it says, ‘Abandon hope all ye who thought to enter here. Entry denied due to overcrowding.’ So, I keep going, moving the Dead into their afterlife of Last Resort. But I am starting to fall behind, so I hoped someone here might have some idea how to franchise this operation.”

“So you’re hoping to find people willing to help you ferry the Dead, for a fee. What kind of benefits would you be offering? You need a good benefits package if you are trying to recruit these days.”

“I am not trying to enter into management. I do not want to take responsibility for their work. I want to hand off a section of the workload to other interested parties.”

“That’s the problem. Who’s going to be interested in buying into a business where your job is to move the Dead across the River Styx into the Afterlife of Last Resort? What do they get out of the deal?”

“As long as they work for the Company, they can avoid dying of anything, as long as they manage their company effectively. If I have to pick up their slack, I will carry them across the Threshold myself. I am not interested in who they hire, as long as they get the job done.”

“Effectively immortal, long term job security, open hours, free hand in hiring, no micromanaging. I think I am going to quit my job. Okay, what’s the cost to buy into this program?”

“Two pennies.”

This guy has no money sense. How can you run a business on two pennies a soul? “Okay, first things first. We’re going to get you a suit and a bath. After that we are going to work together is to increase the cost of dying. What we need to do is get a cut of the funeral home business…”

First Appearance: A Cappuccino with Charon appears in my debut series of short stories called Hayward’s Reach available from Amazon.

About the Art: Charon is a very popular guy on the internet. I found many pictures of him but nothing that quite did him justice the way I wanted. I decided on this one by fo3the13th because he showed him as a muscular man rather than a skeleton pushing a boat. I liked the somber tones and clean lines. Joel Amat Guell is a professional artist and retains all copyrights to his art.

Jesque – Bloodthirsty Voodoo Doll

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 16, 2011
Posted in: 5 Minute Fiction. Tagged: alien world, anthropomorphic, doll, humie, science fiction, spleen, voodoo. 1 Comment

Spleen Rupturing Time

How could she leave me here? She knows I hate the sun. It so hot, I think my stuffing is melting. It’s been hours. I think she’s forgotten me. Feel myself getting weaker. What is that thing coming toward me? Shoo. Go away. I am a mighty voodoo doll and I will make your heart explode or your feet fall off or, what else was I supposed to be able to do?  

Oh, yes, I will make your speen rupture! That is what her father always says when he is lifting a water condenser or something heavy. So Jenel says that is one of my powers too. Making spleens rupture. Whew. It’s going away. Think pleasant thoughts, she’ll be here soon. 

Night. I have never been out at night. I am not sure I like it any more than the day. Jenel is usually tucking me in and telling me stories about The People and I used to ignore them. Now I would give anything for one. What’s that sound? Is it another animal? It’s huge and its reaching for me… 

“What is it?”

“I think its a humie.”

“Stupid. They say ‘human’. Besides it’s too small to be a humie.”

“Are you sure? I have trouble with language. Humies are awful small.”

“Does it look like a humie? Does it smell like a humie?”

“Yes it does, it has one head, two eyes, two arms and two legs. And it does smell like a humie, too.”

Get your finger out of my eye, you clumsy oaf. Those buttons are very rare, thank you. 

“Let me smell. Hmm. I think your right.”

Stop that, get your nose off of my head. 

“Do you think they will miss it?”

“Of course they will. We will keep it safe until they come back.”

Oh, my. What is this terrible creature? Why is it lying down and clutching me? That sure does feel nice. Oh, wait, ouch, squeezing me too hard. I can’t believe the things I have to go through for that girl. What is that smell? 

* * *

“I can’t believe you have me out here looking for your doll.”

“Please, daddy, I know I lost Jesque at the watering hole.”

“Okay, we still have a bit to do before the festival, so I need to get back.”

“I promise, if Jesque is not here, I will help you with whatever needs doing.”

“Fair enough.”

Beast! Wake up. I hear my girl Jenel. Get up, I tell you. I will rupture your innards this instant. 

They see the creature lying down curled up in a ball, near the watering hole. It’s large, even from this distance, its size is stunning. Tucked in its arms is the small voodoo doll. The most amazing thing is it has two heads, sitting on top of its wide and powerful chest.

“Daddy, I see Jesque.” Jenel runs toward the creature heedless to any concerns except for her doll.

“Jenel, stop!” He raises his rifle that he never leaves home without. Karis III was not a planet you traveled unarmed. Having lived here for many years, they were familiar with most of the animals but not all. This was something he had never seen. It’s movements were slow and deliberate. His finger hovered over the trigger. He hoped he was making the right decision.

“Get up.” A hand smacks the other still sleeping head. “I smell humies. And boomsticks.”

Opening its eyes, the second head, was closer to the ground. “Look at that, its a tiny humie. And she is saying something. I wonder what it is? She is holding out her hand…”

She is saying give me back you dolt. I belong to her. I knew she would come and get me. Release me this instant. 

“Do you see the second humie with the boomstick?”

It’s her father. He’ll fix this, right now. Yes, shoot this beast so I can come home. I have been out here all night. 

“Oh, there’s another? See I told you they would come back for their kin. Just like we would do.”

“So give their kin back and let’s go.” The giant turning over and rising slowly to its knees, hands the doll back to the girl, Jenel.

She hugs it fiercely and reaches out to touch the hand of the giant. “Thank you.” Looking at the voodoo doll, she holds him out “Tell the nice giant, thank you, Jesque.”

I will not. Just look at them, two heads, scary eyes, rock-hard skin. And did you notice that smell? What’s there to be nice to? 

“I’m sorry. He has bad manners. He is a reformed voodoo doll. He still thinks rupturing spleens is good. He still has anger issues. I thank you in his place.”

Letting go of the giant’s finger. She turns and runs back to her father. He hugs her and warily backs away.

“What were you thinking girl? You could have been killed.”

“They seemed real nice. How come we have never seen one before?”

“Maybe they are very private.”

“We should do something nice for them.”

“We will talk about this when we get home.”

The giant gathers up its belongings, fills its water skin and sets off toward its home in the nearby mountains.

“Not so different from us.”

“Nope. Except for that one head.”

“I know. How do they handle the loneliness?”

“I can’t imagine.”

Spleen Rupturing Time © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved [@ebonstorm]

About the Art: Joan Coleman is a diverse medium artist. Sketch, art, painting and fabric are all mediums she creates fantastic works of art. Her voodoo doll was perfect for the idea I had of reforming a voodoo doll from his ideas of spleen rupturing toward a kinder and gentler nature, and his ultimate failure.

Fox – Native American Spirit Being – Trickster

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 14, 2011
Posted in: Character Bio. Leave a comment

Native Daughter

“Hey kid, what are you doing out here? Kid, can you hear me?”

When I woke up, I was sitting in the back seat of my father’s SUV. It was cold and my face was sticky. My back hurt alot and I felt sick with the smell of gasoline all around me. I was not sure what I was seeing because there was a red fox sitting on the seat next to me. And he was talking to me.

“Ugh. I am okay, I think. Where is my father?”

“Hmm, you might not want to think about that right now. I couldn’t do anything for him. Let’s get you out of that seatbelt.”

My fingers felt fat and clumsy. I was having trouble. The fox stopped and licked my fingers. They felt momentarily stronger and more sure. The release popped.

I opened the car door and stepped outside. It was night and cold. We were somewhere in the desert and the stars shone bright enough to see easily by. Nothing like starlight in the city. I saw my father’s car and another car crushed together.  Both cars seemed as one, crumpled hulks bound together in a single terrible moment. I could see my father slumped over the steering wheel.

“Kid, lets go.”

“Go? Go where?”

“That is a harder explanation, but we need to keep moving. Things are about to be happening you won’t understand, if you stay.”

The howl of a wolf sounds in the distance, punching through the chill with a supernatural frost of its own. Worse was the echoing answer that resounded in the canyon all around us.

“Too late. They’re here. Follow me.”

“You are a talking fox.”

“You may call me, Fox.”

“Why should I listen to you?”

“Because if you don’t you will find there are much worse things than death to happen out here in the West. Look, girl, I do not have time to explain everything. Trust me when I tell you, you don’t want to be standing here in a few minutes. Run!”

And because I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, I ran. We ran up the hill toward a strange formation of cactus. It grew in a near complete circle. My heart was pounding as I looked down at my father’s car and could see the shapes of wolves slithering through the darkness. I wanted to say something but my voice froze in my throat.

“Go in there. Do not touch the thorns.”

He did not have to tell me twice. Each tip glittered in the starlight, shouting out their sharpness to anyone who was paying attention. I slid in slowly though the only opening. There were two large cacti with their arms outstretched standing near that entrance.

“Hurry,” Fox hissed. “They are coming.”

Fox jumped up, lightly and delicately proceeded to walk on the tips of the thorns. The wolves padded up to the edge of the barrier and looked in at me. Their eyes glowed in the starlight. A cold menace. They were dragging the body of my father with them.

“Fox.”

“Not Wolves.”

“Now that the pleasantries are over, you should leave now.”

“We have not gotten what we came for.”

“And you shall not today.”

“And who shall stop us. Not you, Fox. You are a weakling.”

“And now you are rude, too. None the less, you will not be getting what you came for.”

One of the wolves walked toward the slender entrance. They seemed so much larger once they were standing in front of me. I was terrified. What did they want? Why were they dragging my father around? Why were all of these animals talking?

I am from Kansas City and until today, the only animals I knew that talked were cartoons like Winnie the Pooh. These things did not talk like Pooh or their friends. There was no love or friendship in their voices. They all sounded like my father when he was angry. Their voices low but filled with a sound that was clearly a threat waiting to be unleashed. I had a normal childhood. My mother passed away when I was young and my father did the best he could to raise me. I did my best to follow his rules. I rebelled. He punished me. It was how things went with us.

We were moving to Arizona because of a new job offering and to be fair, Kansas City wasn’t doing so hot. I was glad to be on the road and everything seemed so good until a few hours ago. I can’t seem to remember everything. We were driving down the road, a quiet one, wasn’t a whole lot of traffic. We had been looking on the map trying to figure out where the next rest stop was going to be. We had just fueled up, so it was my job to find the next stop.

My father never let me ride in the front seat. He never told me why, but he would always say it was safer in the back. I was looking at the map when I heard his shout and there was a terrible sound of ripping metal and my head snapped forward and hit his seat and everything went black.

Now I am sitting in a circle of cactus, surrounded by giant wolves, talking to a fox who can walk on the tips of said cactus and they are negotiating, with me as the prize. I think I am dead.

“No. Not yet. But if you lose your head, you will be.” Fox turned back to the wolves who had begun to circle the barrier looking for weakness.

“Did you really think you could hide Coyote in this girl and she would be safe from us?”

“Certainly worth a try. If she had stayed in Kansas City she would have remained safe.”

“How fortunate for us, we made her father a job offer he couldn’t refuse.”

“You did this? You made us leave our home?” My voice was shrill, even to me, but I think I was coming unglued.

“Yes, we did. You are just a pawn, child. We shall make your death quick, so that we can find and destroy Coyote.”

“Who the hell is Coyote and why should I care about him. You just killed my father?”

“Fox, you have not told her what she is have you?”

“I was getting to that before I was interrupted by your howling.” Fox turned to me and he began to shimmer in the starlight.

“Oh no you don’t, Fox. It would be best of she never knew.” The wolf next to the largest and most frightening of the wolves, ran toward me and leapt over the barrier. His high arc let him darken the stars and his shadow fell upon me. I couldn’t move.

The cactus rustled and whispered a sigh.

The wolf fell short of me, landed with a thump, twitched and died. He was completely covered in spines, no part of him did not flash in the starlight. Fox turned back toward the wolves he called Not Wolves, and sat down on the thorns with his huge bushy tail waving back and forth behind him. He may have seemed like a child’s toy when I first saw him but I was seeing him in a new light.

Then I remembered. My mother was a Cherokee and when I was a kid, she told me of the legends of Fox and Coyote. She said they were some of the oldest tales in the Americas. She said this was an America you did not hear about because native customs were obliterated when Whites came to America. They did not want to believe these tales, so they didn’t. She always told me they were just as real as machines and if you paid attention, you could see this world going on all the time, all around you. She said living in cities made the walls between the spirit world and our world dense and hard to see.

From where I was standing, there was not a city for a hundred miles in any direction. Not good.

“Caroline.” I heard my father’s voice. In the starlight, I saw him get up. He had a strange boneless movement, but his voice was right. His lips didn’t move.

“Caroline, these people are our friends. Come outside and we can go with them.”

I wanted to believe him. His voice sounded so good right then, the only normal sound I knew. “Daddy.”

“Yes, Pumpkin. It’s going to be okay.”

Fox bristled and his tail began to expand and fluff up even larger. “Kid, remember your father. Think about him, let his essence fill your every thought.”

I remember him last summer fixing a dirt bike for me, we took the whole thing apart and spent the summer finding parts and putting it back together, a piece at a time. He explained every aspect of its engine to me, taught me why everything worked. We had been having a hard time of it. My rebellions had grown more troublesome and I had gotten arrested. He decided we needed to spend more time together. I resented it at first. And then I began to see something in him. A sacrifice of his time, that he could have spent anywhere. But he spent it with me. I tried to be less of a bitch and just listen. It was the most fun we had together, ever.

And this thing was not my father. I turned to the apparition and he lost the shimmer of beauty. His broken body hung in space and slumped to the ground, with the thump of a dead thing.

“Goodnight, Not Wolves. Your last hope just ended.”

“We will just take what we want, Fox.”

“You could have. You might have, but if you look over your shoulders, you will see the eye of the Great Spirit has risen. For you, the darkness in which you can hunt, is over.”

I looked over and saw the moon cresting the horizon.

The wolves looked up and howled. The sound drove itself into my very bones. Fox jumped off of the thorns and landed in my arms. As the wolves howled, the pain increased inside of me until I screamed. I fell over and Fox just stayed in my arms.

“Get up, Caroline.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes. They can’t hurt you, now. But you are not safe yet. Fox will teach you what you need to know.”

“What about you?”

“I am always with you.”

Fox jumped up from my embrace, and shook himself. He preened for a moment and then looked up into my eyes. “We have to go. The eye of the Great Spirit can only protect us a few nights of the month. The rest of the time, we are on our own. You have a lot to learn in the next three days, Coyote.”

“Coyote?”

“Yes, Coyote, Slayer of Monsters, Protector of the Tribes, Defender of Man.” Fox jumped up to the top of the barrier and danced across the tips of the thorns. He hopped down and began walking West.

“You’re kidding, right?” I slid out of the barrier and rushed to keep up.

“You wish.”

First Appearance: Fox and Coyote appear in my novel: Equinox, the Last Scion due to appear in print in late 2012.

Native Daughter © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserve

Death: Greater Aspect, Legendary Power

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 14, 2011
Posted in: Character Bio. Leave a comment

Excerpt from The Aspect War

He woke.

The first thing he noticed was the chill. It was a pervasive thing, it felt as if it froze the very marrow of his bones. Not normally affected by weather, he found the sensation unpleasant, but not unbearable. Standing up, he began to take in his surroundings. There was no light — no that is not right, there was no normal source of light. No lantern, no torch, no lamp, no light bulb; yet the room gave off a subtle luminescence, centered on where he sat. Driving his vision further past the illumination, he noticed that there was a radius to the field of unlight and the area he was sitting in was larger than he was able to initially perceive.

“Curious.” The sound of his voice, flew free. Encoded with his desire, it fled into the darkness and did not return. The very nature of its failure told him everything he needed to know. This subtle use of his power told him he was not in the world as he knew it. He realized he must be in a nearby Shard or worse, lost in the Void. As he considered this, his apprehension began to take shape.

Almost casually, he inspected himself and found everything seemed to be normal. He was still wearing the grey and black suit and vest common to his attire and the last thing he remembered wearing to work. His shirt was still the silken, Italian blouse he favored for formal meetings. He was wearing his favorite leather shoes, with an added non-slip surface beneath them. Not that he ever feared slipping, but it was a habit from a bygone era when one’s footing might cost one’s life. And until now, He had been very careful.

He looked down at his hands. They were still the strong hands of a Roman soldier, a bit more weathered, a bit less callused, but still capable of relieving a man of his life with a variety of tools. But the thing he was looking for was gone. His ring was missing. The sigil of his power was missing. This did not mean he was powerless, it meant that for his duty to continue, the ring moved to his successor. That meant he could not leave this prison. And that his power was in the hand of a mortal, for the first time in two millennia. A mortal He truly loved but had poorly prepared for this day.

He could only hope that his impressions all those decades ago were right.

* * *
The Director tried to wake from a dream that seemed overwhelming real and quite visceral. It was not his normal condition to dream, having not done so for many years since coming to work at Death, Incorporated. Having not dreamed in decades, left him open to the strange, surreal nature of this dream. He was standing in the middle of a field surrounded by monstrous creatures of all shapes and sizes, wielding a sword of ice and shield comprised of a field of force laying waste to everything around him.

In the distance, he could see demons and angels flashing swords of flame and lightning, illuminating the battlefield. This seemed to last days and nights and then with a final flash of lighting, the battle ended. He was the only thing standing unscathed on the field. Taking in the horrible vista, he wept, openly.

Time passed.

Sensing moving in the corner of his eye, he turned and dropped his terrible, ice-sword, which froze the very air near it and the blade shattered as it struck the ground. It was an Angel still moving slowly, feebly trying to remove the corpse of some horror draped across it. The Director found himself striding toward the Angel with a strange ambivalence in his core. Grabbing the nearest limb of the giant white gorilla, he flung it from the Angel, who sat up.

“Did we win?” the Angel croaked, his voice dry and likely burned from angrily flung cocoastrum during the battle. “I can’t see you, please come closer.”

“No, I do not think your side won,” the Director intoned gravely, “we are the last things alive here, so I can safely assume, my side did not win either. Do you have a name?”

“I was once called Malik, the Guardian, and I guarded the doors to Hell,” the Angel glowed visibly upon the recitation of his former station and for a moment seemed more majestic than his current condition, covered in the blood and offal of other creatures would allow.

“You may call me, Aurelius,” the Director said. “I think I was once the general of this army but now I am not so sure.”

“Well met, former general of a once mighty army. You must have been formidable to have defeated this mighty Host…” Malik began. “I cannot remember why we were fighting, though General. Do you have any memory of the conflict?” The Director seemed surprised by the Angel’s confession and had to think deeply himself.

“To be honest, I have no memory of why or how this battle took place. I am willing to forswear any further conflict if you are Malik, of the Angelic Host,” the Director’s feeling in this regard seemed sincere, even as this very real dream transpired.

“General Aurelius, as much as I appreciate you taking the time to free me from confinement, I am not able to forswear violence toward your person. There is still the matter of the Heavenly Host who even now, tell me to rend thee, limb from limb,” Malik seemed pained to admit this and sat back on his haunches and spread his wings. While he was sitting, he appeared to slowly get cleaner and his injuries began to shimmer and heal themselves. “Perhaps we could simply sit a bit longer and see if we can untangle this since there is no one here but you and I. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”

General Aurelius – the Director took in the scene and for a moment was surprised by the carnage – there seemed to be a variety of warriors from a variety of ages, lost in time and space, vast incredible armies with amazing technologies all lay about the battlefield. The General’s senses transcended the five and with his extended awareness could see ripples in time and space where these armies were snatched and conscripted. He could also sense the ruptures that the enemy used to reach this battlefield between Time and Space. Until he used those senses, his awareness was limited to this place, this space, this time, suddenly he was aware of a thousand times, a thousand places, where He reigned and suddenly realized where and who He was.

“Malik, Angel of the Host, I declare this conflict completed. And as an act of Mercy, I shall allow you, the final survivor, to return to your Host. Remind them, this is our final conflict. The next time we meet, I shall destroy you and yours utterly. Know this and never return,” the pronouncement was clearly delivered and chilled the very air around the both of them. There was a weaving of force, of malice, of murderous intent in those words. The General was sure his words were relayed to the Host, even as he said them.

Malik, clearly shaken by the tone, and the message, stood and suddenly his twelve foot stature, seemed to overshadow the tiny General before him. “General, looking around the battlefield, it is clear that you and I are at the locus of something terrible, but I do not believe that you are in any position to make demands, or to cast threats. From where I stand, it is you, who should be looking at surrender. I am Malik, the Guardian, the warder to Hell, the hand of God and Sealer of Doors. You are in no position to make demands.” Malik suddenly burst into white flames and a blue flaming sword appeared in each of his hands.

The General looked at the Angel and was momentarily in awe. “Beautiful.” With a momentary pause, he whispered, “I’m sorry.” The General raised his hand and suddenly the Angel appeared to be in a fearful wind, his flames flickered and were blown backward, wisps blasted back as the wind increased. Malik roared and leapt forward, blades flashing forward, blue fire glowing like the sun. The General Aurelius, the Director, watched in horror as his outstretched fist clenched and some unknown force exploded forward and simply erased the Angel Malik, Guardian and Warder to Hell, Hand of God and Sealer of Doors, from existence.

The Director screamed, a long wail that caused fear in all who heard it, and then he woke, his right hand burning. On his hand was the ring from his dream, bearing the Aspect Skull of Death backed with a nuclear plume, the symbol of the destroyer of Worlds.

Description: One of the Legendary Powers born of Gaia once the planet Earth had cooled and before all life existed on the planet. Aspects are universal concepts scattered throughout the Universe which spring up whenever the forces of the Universe allow for Life to exist. Know Legendary Aspects include: Life, Death, Infinity, Eternity, Destruction, Chaos, Order, Love, and Conflict. There are likely many others which exist around other worlds other than our own. These Aspects were the primal forces which led to the creation of lesser pantheons of gods, religions and other anthropomorphic deities. Death being the Eldest after Life is believed to be the only one of the Aspects who cannot die or be permanently destroyed. During the Aspect Wars, he is sought after as an ally or avoided as an indestructible foe. During most Aspect Wars, he does not participate and the other Powers are grateful for that.

Appearances: The Aspect of Death appears in my novel: The Aspect War. You can read his story here.

About the Artist: Singapore artist, Sandara has an excellent eye for the fantastic and fantasy artwork. Her collection on deviantART is one of the best of the genre there. Her depiction of Judgement Day was just what the doctor order when I was trying to highlight one of the Greater Aspects in my book, the Aspect War. She retains all rights to her work.

Anansi – Trickster God of Africa, Weaver of Lies

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 13, 2011
Posted in: Chapter, Short Story. Tagged: Anansi, Black, black science fiction, blackscifi 2012, Cairo, desert, Egypt, forest, Horus, Horus-ka, Kemet, magic, Memphis, Ptah, short story, stars, urban fantasy. Leave a comment

a tale from the Aspect Wars Θ 

The two had been walking and talking for some time away from Memphis and Ptah had been manipulating their path until they had come to what appeared to be a forest along the edge of the Desert. “That is the Great Forest. A manifestation of all of the World’s greatest forested regions, jungles, rainforests, and other planted regions. We are expected there. As they approached the Great Forest, the smell of immense age wafted from the Forest. The air of the Desert was dry, crisp with a light metallic taste, the forest’s scent was cooler, mustier, like an old closet filled with woolen sweaters, still but not unpleasant.

As they grew closer, the size of the immense trees became more apparent, from a distance they appeared to be the size of a strong man, but when they were closer, it was clear they were much, much larger. It would take twenty men, arm to arm to encircle even the smallest of these trees. The trees vanished into the sky and covered the sun allowing only the tiniest spots of light to reach the ground. Great eagles were also seen flying in the canopy, each, incredibly large, some the size of a small airplane.

As they left the Desert behind and moved deeper into the forest, the sense of age only increased and they walked until they had come to an area that seemed older, the trees more bent, great spider webs were woven through the canopy, whispering their secrets, waving in an unfelt breeze.

“Welcome, weary travelers to my land,” said a great voice from apparently nowhere. Lumumba looked around but could see no one speaking, and the voice seemed to come from everywhere.

“Look up, my son,” Ptah had already found an immense stump to sit on and was pointing skyward.

Lumumba looked up and was surprised to see the largest spider he had ever seen dangling just a few feet from his head. It was the size of truck and its eight eyes, burned with intelligence. Lumumba could feel its will pressing down upon him, a physical presence, making the air thick and his movement slow. He wanted to move his hand to invoke his Ka, but he simply could not move his fingers at all.

“So this is the savior, the protector of mankind, the one we have been waiting for nearly a thousand years? He certainly does not look like much to me. As a matter of fact, I think he is an arachnophobe to boot.” The great spider moved with an alarming agility for something so large, and swung itself down to land in front of Lumumba. Its eight eyes never lost their intensity, as the spider made its way around him, viewing him from all sides. “I thought he would be taller.”

“You say that about all the heroes, Anansi. I am a respectable four feet tall and it has not held me back any,” Ptah responds with a jocular tint to his tone. This eases Lumumba’s fear of the giant spider plucking his clothing and his new staff with its glistening razor sharp pedipalps.

“Yes, boy, that glistening substance is venom; enough in each bite to slay a thousand men. A single touch from me and you would be dead before you knew it. No, I am not a spider. I resemble one, but a spider my size could not exist where you come from. Consider me the iconic representation of what all spiders imagine themselves to be, awe-inspiring, powerful, killing machines. And no, I am not reading your mind, your face says everything.”

“And let’s not forget humble and full of grace.”

“You scare the boy in your way and I scare him in mine, Ptah.”
“Did your master tell you about me, Horus-ka?” hissed Anansi as it waved its forelegs around Lumumba.

It was hard for Lumumba to listen to Anansi’s voice, it caused him to want to run away and never stop, so filled with menace, its very presence confounded his concentration. Lumumba watched as he began to sense the weaving of the threads of magic. “Yes, sir, he did mention you in passing when he talked about well known deities of the African continent. He said, you were a known liar and scoundrel. And that if I were to meet you in person, to not trust a single thing you said to me unless you swore on your ancestors first.”

“He said what?” roared Anansi, his huge forelegs waving faster around Lumumba, his body tense and hair all over his form stood erect and crackled with what appeared to be electrical energy. “A liar, and a scoundrel, not to be trusted, eh? Did he tell you that I stole the moon and the stars for man, did he tell you that I liberated all of the stories of the world for humanity, so that you would have something to do around your fires for the last fifteen thousand years? Did he tell you that without me, you would not have fire, since the gods wanted to keep it for themselves?”

The air in the clearing was still as Lumumba considered his answer. Lying to deities was almost always the wrong thing to do, since most could tell when you were. But Ptah did mention that diplomacy when discussing them was always the best choice since gods were known to be a bit thin-skinned, sensitive about their exploits and capricious in the response to how they are seen by humans. Lumumba decided to go with candor. He hoped Ptah would step in before anything bad happened.

“Yes, sir, he did tell me some of those things. He said that you stole the stars but spilled them on your way out of heaven so they scattered throughout the sky. He mentioned that you borrowed the sun because you lost your way coming out of the underworld and forgot to put it back when you were done. He also mentioned that you did liberate all of the stories of the world, but you did it so that you would have people pay you to hear them. On your way to the market, it was said that the stories fell into the river from the calabash you carried them in and were lost, found by beggars and fishwives who used them to get money from people. On the matter of fire, he mentioned that you did steal fire for us, but only because you took pity on us one day when we were freezing and you did not have a warm place to stay having been kicked out of Heaven again and so you gave us fire, so you could be warm.” Lumumba had begun to regret his decision as he felt the energy of Anansi building in front of him, its claws waving closer and closer to his body. He dared not move since the claws were sweeping all around him front to back, faster and faster.

Ptah snickered and turned away from Anansi, taking a sip of water to hide his laughter.

“So he did, did he? Anansi whispered. A deep breath followed with Anansi sounding just a little bit contrite. “Well, so that the truth be known, he has not lied. Not once. All of those things are as you say. I am a selfish deity who happens to benefit others while I am trying to benefit myself. As I have done now. He is ready, Ptah.” Anansi stopped waving his claws over Lumumba and backed away.

“I call you Horus-Ka, the spirit of Horus. Your next answer will determine the fate of men and gods. When confronted by evil, do you use the force of arms or the strength of will to resolve the problem?”

Horus-Ka looked to Ptah but his face was stony and unresponsive. “Sir, –”

“I am Anansi, The Weaver of Fate, Teller of Tales, Trickster of the Gods, Defender of Man, I am no man. Call me as I am, Kwaku Anansi,” interrupted Anansi with enough force to nearly knock Horus-Ka from his feet.

“Forgive me Kwaku Anasi, Ptah, Father to the Gods, I have been taught when confronting evil that force of arms is almost never the only solution to a problem, and that truly winning the battle relies on a keen eye, a strong mind, a full heart, a ready wit and a forceful will. I will only use force of weapons when no other avenue presents itself. This I pledge to you, my masters.” As Horus-Ka completed his statement, two circles of fire formed with a bridge of flame connecting them.

The circle around Horus-Ka was filled and surrounded with a variety of cartouches each flickering in multi-colored flame, the second circle about ten meters away was much larger and opened to a vista similar to the Great Forest Horus-Ka had seen earlier in the day with one vital difference. A giant creature seeming to be comprised of earth tore through the Forest and approached the barriers that kept the Forest and the Real World separate. If the scale were to be believed, this creature stood over a thousand feet tall, towering over the redwoods of the Great Forest. Giant Eagles and tiny men sitting on those eagles seemed to be engaging the creature unsuccessfully. One tower had already fallen and when three of them were toppled, the creature would be able to cross into the world of Men.

“That is your first great task, Horus-Ka. You must protect the world of Men. It is too close to the boundary for any of us to be of any help to you. Your gifts and your training will need to be enough. Know that the people you see there are denizens of the Spirit World, when they die, they fall from the cycle of life, never to return. They need you to stop this creature. If it pierces the boundary, it will cause a massive earthquake wiping out the Atlantic coast of Africa, South America and parts of the North American continent.”

“Who could have done this, how is this even possible? Ptah, you said that the Compact prevented magic like this from even working in the world of Men?

“These creatures do not obey the Compact and have begun their assault on our world. They have begun a battle which will pit all of the Spirit Realms and the World of Men against each other, and when the White Host, the Cold Gods and Demon of Babylon have exhausted themselves, they will destroy the victors. This opening volley will liberate the Demon and you cannot allow that. If she is freed too soon, things will not be in place. Ptah, what of your brothers and sisters?”

“They are hidden in the world of Men with no memory of who they are, it is their only chance of survival and the only chance there will be some gods left when this Scourge is done. We are the last, and Horus-Ka, son of man and gods, you must be our weapon. Otherwise we have none. As a man, you may go places even gods fear to tread. Now go, we shall buy your freedom with our lives, if it comes to that.”

The clearing was suddenly lit from the distance as beams of cold white light streaked through the trees and illuminated the webbing of the clearing. Screams of agony and rage are heard in the distance.

“I do not think they like the decorating I left for them. It is so hard to find venom laced webbing these days.” Anansi turned to Ptah. Make ready my brother, my traps will not hold them long.” Anansi leapt into the trees, and skittered across a web work hidden in the canopy. “Horus-Ka, the weavings of fate upon you are strong, I wove them myself. But you were given a thread of Fate before I met you. That fate I could not change. Be strong and in your darkest hour know that Fate is your ally, even if you cannot believe it at the time. Farewell, son and spirit of Horus.”

Ptah turned to Horus-Ka and took a necklace from his bag. It held an icon of a disk with the Eye of Ra upon it. “When I am gone, you will be unable to return here without this talisman. Only Ra will remain behind to protect the Spirit World because he is safe within his chariot of fire. All of the souls here will depend on you once we are gone. Now go. Make us proud.

“Is that it? No ideas, no clues how to defeat the thousand foot tall colossus? ”

“If heroism were easy, everyone would do it.” Ptah’s armored hand snatches a spiny arrow from the air, mere inches from Horus-Ka’s face. “I am confident you will do what is necessary. Go.” And with that Ptah pushes Horus-Ka into the second circle of flame and into his destiny.

“And now I go to mine. Anansi save some for me.”

“There are plenty to go around, my brother. You know I could not undo what Fate had given him.”

“I know, but you gave him a chance to save the world first.”

The number of lights in the forest increased and the number of eyes those lights came from doubled. And doubled again; and again. Soon the forest was lit and there was no darkness. Ptah and Anansi held the portal open until Horus-Ka arrived. Then the portal closed and was sealed, unable to be opened again. After that moment, no one without the Eye of Ra would be able to enter or leave the spirit realm. This would not help Ptah, who armored with a mighty staff whose head of Anubis, slew any that it touched instantly, a magnificent flaming helm which shot forth beams of the light of Ra, incinerating all it shown upon, whose thews allowed him to strike each hexapedal creature and slay them with a single blow and mighty Anansi, whose webs, fangs, claws, and venom destroyed dozens of these creatures a second, and it was still not enough. Both of these beings were soon overwhelmed and the number of their enemy soon exceeded their ability to slay them, formidable though they both were.

But they were not trying to win. They simply needed to buy some time. This was not the real battle. The real battle was being fought in the heart of a boy they rescued twenty years ago against a monstrosity of stone and magic. Anansi projected a blast of venom and hurled a star from the sky upon a cluster of the enemy. His venom seared their stony flesh and the star destroyed then by the dozens. But after a day and a night, he had begun to tire. Standing upon a mound of the dead, he and Ptah were surrounded and exhausted.

The six legged creatures fell back for the first time in two days. A man-like creature strode forward, lit by the light of glowing sigils. He had two winged serpents flying over his shoulders. His body was gnarled and bent, but glowed with boundless power. He wore an elaborate headdress and metallic bracers on his arms and feet. His face was covered but the area of the headdress where his face might be was illuminated with a pale light which showed the face in shadow, a long aquiline nose and a cruel sharp jawline. His voice was liquid menace and if a human were listening he would have heard a language thought dead, the tongue of the Mayan Olmecs. “Never send a dog to do a man’s job.” The two serpents turned toward Ptah and Anansi and opened their mouths. A sound like the rattling of a thousand bones of the dead being ground to dust, slowly, agonizingly streamed toward the two gods.

Anansi, reached heavenward again and pulled another star from the firmament. The star streaked toward the forest. Exhausted by this final effort, Anansi fell still holding the star only with his will alone.

Ptah’s helm shown again with Ra’s Light but it weakened and guttered. Ptah moved the last few steps toward Anansi and he could hear the star’s imminent arrival. The Great Forest was lit from above as the star grew in the night sky. The remaining hexapeds turned their eyes skyward and the Olmec directed his will upon Ptah and Anansi. And then, Ptah’s light went out and a star incinerated the Forest.

Anansi, Ptah and Horus-Ka are all characters who appear in The Aspect War – Chapter 5: The Spirit Army. You can read the entire tale at the link.

The painting (which happened independently of my story, I just thought it was amazing and parallel this scene amazingly well) was created by a young polish artist who goes by the name Cinoslaw. At the link you will find other really incredible artwork as well. He retains all copyrights to his work.

Jack Dempsey in ‘And the Award Goes To…’

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 12, 2011
Posted in: Hayward's Reach, Short Story. Tagged: academy awards, actors, AI, animations, artificial intelligence, collection, ebonstorm, factors, fake actors, Hayward's Reach, martini, movies, poverty, video. Leave a comment
Don "The Dragon" Wilson

Don “The Dragon” Wilson

And the Award Goes To…

Jack Dempsey was the last of the great actors of 2026. His dashing smile and trademark Kung-Fu made him the action hero other actors wanted to be for more than a decade. His star as an action hero finally lost its luster in the last series of movies he made, Planet Raiders III: The Unforsaken. The movie, while grossing well, barely covered the production costs, and the injuries incurred by Jack’s drinking problem caused his agent and the company Screen Brothers to finally drop his contact.

“We love you, Jack, but we’re gonna have to let you go. There is a new wind blowing and it’s AI-CGI,” his agent Florence Butterman told him over the vidcam. He was sitting in his Malibu home drinking his morning Mai Tai and nursing yesterday’s hangover.

“You are not serious. That stuff they do with computers and factors?” Demsey had a bit of a slur going already. Florence just grimaced and tried to ignore it. “Damn fake actors…”

“They are not fake actors. They are based on real people who used to be actors. Many of the screen tests have been quite favorable and several hundred movies were released straight to the ‘Net from Nollywood and Ballywood. If we want to keep up we have to do our part to stay with the times. Those Nigerians are eating our lunch in southern Africa and they have already expanded into the South American markets. I’m sorry, Jack, the margins are just too tight nowadays for living actors.” Florence looked down at her watch.

“What, you got someplace to be? You too busy for the man who made you rich? Everything you have in that house, I bought you, Florence. How can you be thinking about turning your back on me? What about helping me out? Can you farm me out to one of your friends over at Light Industrial Films? I heard through the ‘vine they are still planning on making movies with real actors.” Jack downed the rest of his drink and nodded to his butler to bring him another one. The butler winced and then moved on reluctantly to bring another. There was, however, no reason to rush.

“Look, Jack, I am not blowing you off. I will be putting in a word for you, but I would not get my hopes up with Light Industrial Films.  They are still going to be making movies with actors, but they are going to be working in the mountains of Tibet, telling the stories of the remaining survivors of the Great Purge of Tibet in 2016. That’s going to be done on location with local actors. I might be able to get you a role on the Chinese side as a consultant or as a white who worked as a servant to the Chinese.”

“A slave? That is the best hope you can give me? A slave in a Chinese melodrama? You got to be kidding me. You know what, Florence? I don’t want your goddamn pity. I don’t need you. I’m Jack fucking Dempsey, the best thing to happen to Hollywood since Clint Eastwood. I’ll be all right.” Jack stood up and pointed at the monitor. “When I make my comeback, you remember it was me who told you it would happen.”

Having stood up too quickly after having twelve Mai Tais before breakfast, Jack Dempsey fell to the floor unconscious. Florence Butterman shook her head, watched the butler throw back the Mai Tai and signed off. She did not think about Jack Dempsey again until the Academy Awards mentioned his name seven years later.

“And the nominations for Best Actor in a Science Fiction Film are: Kren Davis in Sundiver’s Six, Kazuo Koke in Inner Space, and Jack Dempsey in Planet Raiders: Neutron Star. No, no, folks, I’m just kidding. You know scifi hasn’t paid an actor in years. The award will go to the company that has created the most awesome representation of these amazing actors in their AI-CGI movies created completely on computer. I mean, can anyone remember the last time anyone saw that drunken bum, Jack Dempsey?”

The theater explodes in laughter, that long mean laughter when you are talking about someone behind his back. The laughter that comes from an uncomfortable position that you know you might find yourself in, akin to being in the bathroom without toilet paper. The doors fly open from the side of the stage and Jack Dempsey staggers onto the stage. A security guard with a swollen eye tries to stop him and is returned back stage with a sound kick.

“How’s that?” was picked up from the mikes all over the stage. “Real enough for you? You might want to put some ice on that. So how is everybody? Go on, open that envelope. No, let me.” Jack snatches the envelope from the comedian who stands shocked and quiet on the stage.

“The Award for Best Actor in a Science Fiction Film goes to… Factor Jack Dempsey. Factor Jack Dempsey can’t be here to get his award, cause he was made on a damn computer, so Jack Dempsey is going to take that award for him.” The young woman who carried out the statuette hands it to Jack and scurries off the stage.

The director continues to move the cameras around and film everything as if this was expected. “Since I am here to take my award from my factor, yes, FAKE ACTOR, I think I should say a few words. All you people sitting out there laughing at me, thinking you are better than me won’t have to worry about this because you can really act.  You can kiss my ass.” A collective gasp sweeps the room.

Jack reaches into his jacket and pulls out a flask, takes a hit and continues. “Once upon a time, I was just like you, thought I was something, on the top of my game and nothing could ever touch me. I had a great time, spent my money, partied all day and all night. I made twenty movies in my career and most sucked. I know that, now. I watched them when I was living in the streets, sitting outside of Electronic Huts playing my movies while I panhandled.”

Jack looks down and pauses for a second. “I realized I got paid because it was what people wanted to see, not because I was any good. I got ahead of myself and didn’t pay attention when I needed to. I did not see the world changing around me. I signed contracts without reading them. And all of you did too. Because if you hadn’t, you would not be sitting here today.”

Three security guards came to the edge of the stage and hesitantly began to make their approach. None of them were in a hurry to tackle Jack Dempsey because while he may have been an actor, he did his own martial arts movies, and those were not stunts. Many a stunt double went to the hospital, and the tabloids loved talking about it. He waved at them and made the sign for two minutes, and they retreated to the edge of the stage.

“I just wanted to say to Florence Butterman, I am sorry I didn’t listen to you when you told me to read everything. You told me that the industry would take advantage of my stupidity. You see, I don’t have anyone to blame about Factor Jack Dempsey. In my contracts, I made it possible for him to exist. In my contracts, I signed away my likeness to be used in any kind of AI-CGI based movie for the next twenty years. And they do not have to pay me anything because I did not read the contract well enough.” His voice was bitter and sharp.

“But the best part is that I had time on my hands and more than a few favors. I know that almost none of you read your contracts, either. So when you lose your mind, or piss someone off, or when they get tired of you getting old or weak or crotchety, they will replace you with a factor, too. So, you guys enjoy your awards.  One day there won’t be anyone in the theater to accept one, unless they can teach a computer to walk, too. Y’all have a good night. Come on, boys, I haven’t got all night.”

It took twenty security guards before Jack Dempsey was dragged off stage. The Academy Awards had never had higher numbers.

And the Award Goes To… © Thaddeus Howze 2011. All Rights Reserved

This story appears in Hayward’s Reach, an anthology of short stories, published in November 2011.

Don “The Dragon” Wilson was not an inspiration for this story directly. I had written the story before I discovered his history and it seemed to be a perfect match for my story. He has a great history as an actor and fighter but most people can’t remember a single movie he appears in, even though those movies themselves are famous.

Judira Corm Hex-aka – Tortured Scientist

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 10, 2011
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

Our world is a silent one. Not by choice, but by necessity. There can be no waste, not a breath, not a sound, not an echo. We communicate with sound but our walls recollect that sonic energy, our clothing absorbs that energy and storing it for future use. Contemplation before speech; no rushing to communicate our thoughts. Telepathy is preferred.

Our world is a darkened one. Not by choice, but by necessity. We use no light we do not need, so our eyes and ears are adapted to darkness. Tiny, light emitting matrices dot the walls of our living ships, providing light only while we pass and only when necessary. Every erg is cultivated from our environment. The long rays of dying stars, the short waves from our only source of nearby light, Sindin, red dwarf, last star for five thousand light years and from where we sit, the last living star we know of.

Our world is a nearly motionless one. Not by choice but by necessity. We are trained as children, that all of our lives will be filled with activity, energy and movement and not to waste it. Silent and still concentration drills are a fact of life for children, being trained to harness all of our bodies energy.

First we control the mental energy, marshalling our minds, our very thoughts, ordering them, structuring them into a crystalline lattice of logic and reason. Then our bodies, first in the physio-chambers that toned our muscles, enhanced our hearts, challenged our lungs, tempered our carbon-hardened skeletons, tightened our muscles until we were like polished onyx, smooth, cool and without flaw. We learned to control our very internal energy, raising and lowering it at will, our organs under our mental command, generating biles and fluids to regulate our life-force.

We are then injected with sehrwinzig that allow us to manipulate the very molecular energies at the very threshold of existence. We can harness those energies for limited feats of physical strength, speed or endurance far beyond our primitive ancestors of our distant homeworld. In homage to them, we have not changed our outer appearance, but our inner appearance would completely belie our origins. We had no choice.

We are grown in labs, without contact, and almost all aspects of our being has been changed to maximize our use, creation and dispersal of energy. Our skin is a photo-absorptive mesh, dark in hue, blue, purple, burgundy, black, dark brown are the choices that ensure maximum absorption from our wan sun.

We no longer have the luxury of gestation. We are now fully functioning and able to exist outside of the birthing chamber in less than three months. We are able to mature to the size of a five year old in three to six months. During that time, knowledge is encoded into our brains with programming that will allow us to develop our personality.

We develop that personality in simulacra, living virtual lives at a timescale that allows us to experience all the things we could as children in a world more conducive to happiness. Yes, it is virtual happiness, but it will likely be the only happiness we know.

There was a time when we did not allow this childhood period. Some deemed it an unnecessary expense in energy and resources. We lost far more than we saved for our efforts. More of our people choose death, far sooner than ever in our history. Childhood was reintroduced when too many quality minds were lost.

When the childhood phase of our lives ends, and we are aged toward puberty, that is the time of the first physical changing and linking that teach us how to harness our life-force both as a resource and as a weapon. We begin to live without the benefit of our simulated worlds of light and life and are acculturated to our real world. Our births are regulated, so no one is born unless someone chooses to die. Even in a community of near-immortals, the choice of death occurs more often than one would think.

The burden of living becomes more than even the most resolute spirits can carry. Some of us, who are weary but not to death, choose the rest chambers where we sleep a century or two until something new or interesting happens that meets our criteria before we entered sleep. Then we rise from our rest and carry on the search.

Our world recycles all of the energy that is created within it. There is no excess. There are no stars save the tiny red dwarf we circle. It is estimated that sixty trillion souls surround this tiny beacon of light. Sixty trillion beings huddled against the dying of the light in our Universe. We harvest and store every second of this light. We are so desperate, that we harvest even the cooling husks of no longer lit stars, beaming long wave energy to receptors scattered throughout the galaxy. Storing that energy, it is periodically collected through the slow-motion gate system allowing for objects to be moved with the minimum amount of energy lost between gathering and movement.

In our way, we are returned to our primitive arboreal ancestors, gathering energy, everyday, hoping to have enough to feed everyone at the end of the day. Even with all our solar arrays, long-wave gathering, planetary compression systems (planets of immense size are crushed together using gravity and the resultant heat is absorbed) Magnetic field manipulations, kinetic draining systems, there is only one inescapable truth. Our universe is dying. And we are dying with it. From where we sit, our Universe is dark, no stars remain, one trillion years after the birth of our Universe, it is ending; not with a bang but with a whisper.

The ruddy light of Sindin Prime was home to sixty trillion lives. Circling in a variety of close orbits, mega-constructions with superconductive surfaces struggled to pull in the vital energy from this, one of the last dying stars in the galaxy. As the stars have waned, multiple intelligent races have come together to harvest what energies remain from the Last Suns of our galaxy. Around Sindin Prime, there have been over three hundred separate species sharing space above the worlds. Several factions of the government are losing control of their people. Predation from the Outer Dark has increased as Entities, life forms who have adapted to the darkness, but still hunger for light have begun to circle Sindin Prime, in ever closing orbits.

They once attacked every few centuries, now decades separate their stronger and stronger attacks. They destroyed an orbital construction above Sindin Prime, killing two billion sentients. There is very little energy to spare on defensive technology because we are so energy poor. Recent computations indicate they will be making another pass in a decade or two, so plans to slowly accelerate asteroids toward their likely entry points to the system should kill an estimated thirty to forty-two percent of the approaching attackers and hopefully low energy point defense systems will do the rest.

I am Judira Corm Hex-aka and I am charged with creating a technology that will likely murder fifty trillion sentients, eighty percent of all the known life left in our galaxy for a chance for ten trillion to have a life in a statistical possibility, a parallel universe. This technology is called a dimensional emission array. My fathers and mothers have spent hundreds of standard years working on this project with the permission of some of the collective governments.

Time is growing short. Sindin Prime’s energy output is diminishing and we will need to utilize it as the primary power source for the dimensional bridging array. This will exhaust the last of the nuclear potential of the red dwarf leaving only an burning cinder when we are finished. If we fail, we will all die. Not quickly. No we will struggle against the coming darkness. We will expand our technology to harvest the dark stars final wavelengths of energy, extending our reach and our lives, such as they are, for another two hundred millennia. A last gasp after the lights go out.

Excerpt from Insurrection: Thaddeus Howze © 2011

About the Artist: The art element is called Red by Ashmantle. I found this amazing artist on deviantArt and was inspired by the painting. I was writing about a universe where almost all the stars had gone out and this piece spoke to that story.

Shango the Thunderer – Thunder God, Superhero

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 10, 2011
Posted in: Uncategorized. 1 Comment

Electric Warrior - Shango2

Name: Shango the Thunderer

Other Alias: Xangô or Changó.

Human host: Aganju Kinufu

Height: 6 feet in human form, 7 feet transformed

Weight: 225 human, 450 lbs transformed

History: In the Yorùbá religion, Sàngó ( also spelled, Sango or Shango, often known as Xangô or Changó in Latin America and the Caribbean, and also known as Jakuta[1]) is perhaps one of the most popular Orisha; also known as the god of fire, lightning and thunder.

Strength Level: Shango has superhuman strength and resistance to injury. He is able to lift a tank over his head with ease and throw it fifty meters. He is able to take a tank round full on the chest and survive the explosion. Even with his high level of physical durability he can be overcome if struck multiple times, or if struck by attacks which concentrate enormous energy on a single spot, such as armor piercing weapons are able to do.

Powers: As a major diety of the Orisha, Shango’s powers are numerous and impressive.  As a warrior god, he is well versed in combat with a variety of weapons and tactics. His powers include mastery of fire, lightning and thunder as well as control and summoning of storms. He can take over natural phenomena, so even if he did not summon the storm, he can attempt to control it. This is challenging and not something he does lightly. Changing a storm’s natural course goes against everything he believes in.

He is capable of flight at incredible speeds upwards of 250 miles per hour. He can manipulate weather including wind, rain and storms and can create lightning at will, either from his person or harnessed from a storm he has created. He can create storms and winds in areas as small as a city block or as large as the East Coast. The larger the storm, the longer it will take to summon or disperse.

He also carries a double headed axe which stores magical energy that can be channeled for a number of purposes including enhancing his strength, stamina or providing energy for incantations, summoning and other minor spells he is capable of casting. Shango’s magical abilities include the production of and control of fire, lighting and thunder based attacks. His facility with magic is no where near as accomplished as Kali for example, his use of magic tend to lack subtlety or finesse. His double-headed axe allows him to travel to nearby dimensional realms called shard realms and to the Crossroads, a dimensional nexus which acts as a staging area for extreme inter-dimensional travelers.

Excerpt: “Do you see that portal. That is where we need to be.”

The distance was only about the length of two football fields but it was filled with these creatures. Each the height of two men, with near human physical attributes. Their heads appeared to be more of an octopus where a human head might be and their hands were instead ending in a tentacled structure. There were hundreds of them before them.

“Make ready, husband.”

Shango dropped his barrier and released a bolt of lightning driving a wedge between the creatures, incinerating two dozen of the creatures instantly. In the second it took his lightning to cross one hundred meters, Kali had already slain thirty of the monsters. She stepped through time and space and was everywhere and nowhere. Appearing and disappearing, each strike laid a creature low. Her face was serene and peaceful as her four blades struck once. Her superhuman strength made each blow cut deep into their flesh, severing meat and bone like a knife through butter.

Shango concentrated his powers and created a series of strikes before her, each of them she slew her way through to the next. When he was too busy to support her, he lent her his lightning and she kept the area around her cleared with her flashing blades and lightning. His double-headed axe flew around him with a cloud electricity arcing from it to every creature near him. But they were relentless and without fear. As soon as he would clear the area, more would appear.

He looked out and saw Kali was within a fifty feet of the portal. He called lightning once more and as it arced from him toward her, the creatures around him opened their mouths and sharp bones shot out and speared him in his chest and arms. He looked in disbelief, his flesh had the strength of steel. He laughed off high caliber weaponry like rain. What are these things they can do this?

A searing acid began to burn his flesh, pumped through their ceramic probosci. He howled as his mighty flesh began to burn. Without warning, the creatures blocking his line of sight were cut in half and two other blades slashed the demon’s tongues. The blades whirled around him and returned to Kali, who had not stopped her dance of death and retrieved her weapons amid flight and continued killing.

Shango, now enraged, drew his power to him, focused his pain and rage and became a thing of pure lightning. The creatures strove to grab him and died instantly burned to death. As they cleared away, powerful arcs leapt from him to them and they continued to died. He moved forward slowly and Kali cut them down as they now pass through the portal. He reached her and caught her hand as she struck out at him.

“Enough, my wife. The portal is silent. Perhaps we have earned our invitation.”

“Then let us not be rude to our hosts. They did set forth such a feast for such as us.”

“Indeed.”

They stepped through the portal.

Appearances: Shango the Thunderer and his wife Kali make their first appearance in Hayward’s Reach, in a tale called Dark Star Rising. They also appear in a web-serial called: Equinox, the Last Scion.

Ms. Hart – Defender of the Equinox

Posted by Ebonstorm on November 8, 2011
Posted in: Uncategorized. Leave a comment

Historical Excerpt: “The Hell Hart, that was what she was called over two hundred years ago. Two centuries ago, no one would have believed she would be tending someone near to death, praying for their recovery. Then, her reputation as a swords-woman, in an age where women did not use a sword was legendary. Her skill with it, impeccable, her dueling record, perfect. After a time, her travels would make her master of many weapons and nearly as many enemies. If you saw her standing over the body of someone, it was to watch the light go out of their eyes in that final darkness.

Driven regularly from her home, partially from her strange, ageless and impertinent nature, partially from the fear and responses her enemies had, she acquired a number of names over the decades. In civilized lands, she was The Lady Hart or Frau Hart. In places where she was a warlord, she was known as The Red Hart from her standard, a large deer on a red standard. In places where she killed her enemies indiscriminately, she was called The Red Dragon. For a time, she was a revered as a warrior-queen.

Those were different times, her Light, her power kept her outside of Time. Forged of the stuff of cacastrom, the random forces of dark Chaos and bound by illiaster, the stuff of Order, direct by her will, she carried it inside her body. It suffused her bones, wrapped itself inside her skeleton and appeared as both weapon and armor. Her House carried this artifact and different members were able to do different things with it. Few had her strength and mastery. Ever fewer survived. Now, she was the last of her House. And as she knew it, the last of her kind.”

Powers: Her physical strength is equal to that of ten men and her stamina is virtually limitless due to her connection to the Gaia-force bestowed upon her millennia ago. Her power manifests as weapons and armor of any appearance she desires. Proficient in any weapon, she can create constructs that resemble modern or ancient weapons. Having survived battlefields from Rome to World War II, she can use any weapon she finds. In addition to her warrior skills, she can channel magical energy for a variety of effects both offensive an defensive. As an agent of the Equinox, she can utilize powers both Light and Dark and is also able to teach mystic arts to those capable of learning them.

Psychological Profile: Ms. Hart is one of the last Warriors of Light. Her dedication to the protection of the Equinox and to the Sergeant were absolute. Knowing that he would eventually be resurrected is the only thing that keeps her focused on the task at hand. A resolute and highly skilled warrior with hundreds of years of combat experience, she is completely without fear and almost without remorse. Atrocities perpetrated during World War II and her subsequent death there, left her transformed from her darker aspect. She has worked for the Light and Gaia since the early 60’s.

Artwork: Created by Thaddeus Howze, using the City of Heroes Character Creator.

Appearances: Ms. Hart appears in my novella Equinox: The Last Scion and an excerpt can be read here: Chapter 2: Umbra

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