Below is the innermost thoughts and creations of novelist and poet B D BECHTLE. Short stories, philosophy, previews, poems, rants-- you'll find it all here. Use the list of keywords on the sidebar to find what you're looking for. Follow the author here and on Twitter @BBechtlez. Be sure to share anything you like on social media, and don't forget to read the preview for the upcoming thriller THE BARD.
"It's fine to be weird... as long as you harness it in a way normal people can enjoy."
My name is K-VXS-73003, but that’s just my manufacturer’s
model. All my friends call me Seventy-three. Assholes call me “Vexis.” Not sure
what you’d call me, considering you’re just my decrypted auto-biographic
software. (Not that “you” even have any form of self-awareness. Speaking of
awareness, my internal age awareness counter hit sixteen yesterday. The
biological component of my fleshware, K-WAR-0005235FBAT340, told me I could now
officially register as a matured android and apply for a work position. A convenient
fact for her to mention, considering how low her credit count is lately. I suppose
an addiction to Emp will do that to you. I know old Five’s my manufacturer mandated
maintenance and guidance giver in addition to my biological component, but damn
if she isn’t optimal in that role. Eighty-eight (my closest friend, by the way-
full model no. K-CLR-88067855) says all triple 0’s are like that in the WAR
line… but still. Personally, I think she fried a few circuits during all that
time she spent shooting down C’s. I just hope I’m not that outdated when my
counter reaches Fivey’s number.
Eighty-eight’s a CLR… so it’s in her programming to be a
cyborgitarian, I suppose. Ugh, she’s lucky. I wish I was a Cleric model. Not
only are the guaranteed work at the church, but they’re not responsible for finding
a reproduction partner. I know I’m a rare class, as a Variable X System user I
have quote “unlimited potential”
being comprised of more organic parts than robotic… But how is that a blessing?
Sure, our model comprises of only .06% of the colony’s population as being born
as a complete human is becoming more and more impossible… but all it means is more
things to worry about. At the academy, I have to work exponentially harder than
those whose brains are mostly computerized. My friends can’t relate to my
problems, like at all... How do you vent to someone who only vents actual
steam? My other biological component was a VXS like me… I wonder if he had
these same problems.
Hmm.
I kinda feel weird. I started this log with the intention of
cataloging my experiences so I could reflect on them and better learn how to
cope and progress.
[INITIATING MOOD ASSESSMENT]
….
RESULT: ANGST
Jeez. I need to calm down. Life’s not that bad! Perhaps it
would be more productive it I allowed the program to record pertinent parts of
my daily cycle with me adding my own internal commentary as need be? Yeah… I
mean, that’s a bit unorthodox, but I like the prospect. I’m about to shut down
and recharge for the night, but I’ll try it as an experiment tomorrow.
My father and I exchanged many a glance through that dingy Plexiglas wall. We tossed almost tears and wordless questions back and forth, playing catch the only way we could. Silence had always been a part of our relationship.You'd be lucky to get two grunts out of him. He let his actions do the talking, and that was part of the problem. He didn't act much either. That trait of his, among others, never made the jump between generations. I'll talk your ear off-- your nose and eyes, too, if you give me the chance. I was one chatty kid, lemme tell ya. As much of a clam as my old man was, he never minded my mouth one bit. In fact, Pop brought me along whenever he needed to get a point across to someone. Imagine five year old me, sitting in a union meeting, rattling off a list of my father's concerns. Ha. Now that I think about it, he might not have needed me at all. Just another ploy to keep me away from that abusive, alcoholic bitch...
My wife came to visit once. Never repeated the kindness. She told me my father had the saddest eyes. Cloudy, violent and turbulent... yet sputtering and dismal-- an exhausted hurricane. My wife said she could feel dad's guilt weigh down her diaphragm. That look in his eyes... that sad, sad look. I knew it, too. It predated his accusation and conviction, but try proving that to a jury. Give a forlorn stare like that and say nothing when grilled by an overzealous prosecutor sporting a massive hard-on for 'justice'... Would it even matter if he was actually innocent? The reason I knew my father could never have killed my mother was also the same reason they found him guilty for it. The poor guy couldn't be bothered to fight a damn thing. No matter the cuts... bruises... berating... my father took it all in-- absorbing more sadness into his deep eyes.
Sixteen at the time of the initial trial, there wasn't much I could do. My father never made friends, and the only family he had left sported the suffix 'in-law.' It's hard to win a fight without a corner to come back to, especially when you lived your life without throwing a single punch. The jury found my father guilty without even taking more than a minute to deliberate. Call it inspired; call it scarred. Studying law became my life. I succeeded in becoming one of the best defense attorneys money could buy. My father refused representation for his first appeal, no matter how hard I pleaded. I turned in as many favors as I could, but I couldn't manage to get my hands on the reigns of his defense. My father was on the Texan death row, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. So I came to the trials, visited when I could. We exchanged our sad stares. He returned to his cell. I returned to mine.
The day finally came when my father was willing to talk. Wanted a true one on one with me as his last request. That day was yesterday. Today's the first day of his death. That conversation... In my mind, Pop's words are as fresh as a steaming pile of horse manure.
...
"So this is it, huh Pop? Today's the day."
"Sure is."
I shook my head and pulled at my hair with my shaking hands. The man remained so apathetic, unperturbed by the great injustice costing him his life.
"I found a detective willing to reopen your case you know. He's willing to pull some strings and get your date pushed back, even this late into it."
"..."
Of course he said nothing. He simply stared into me.
"Let me appeal, Pop."
"Joseph, I didn't call for ya just to have a row."
I shuttered with frustration, my face reddening by the minute.
"Take a seat, son. Settle down if ya can."
I obeyed, as I always had.
"Done a heap of thinkin' in here, I have. Hadn't much choice on account of the lack of viable options for a non-reader who ain't fond of workin' out or sports."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
My dad said nothing more, peering off at a wall.
"Um, is that it? It sounded like you were setting up to say something else."
"Ah, yeah. Sorry, Joe. Got to thinkin' again. Somethin' else popped into my head."
"It's fine, Pop. What were you going to say?"
"I'm ready to confess."
"Say what?
"I'm confessin' to ya, boy."
"What are you talking about?"
"Your momma's death. I done it."
"No... no, you didn't. I know that for a fact. You were working. I was the one who found her. I called you up and you came home, way more bent up than you should have been. Not guilty bent up... losing your wife bent up. Lacking an alibi does not equate to guilt. That jackass prosecutor had a field day because you refused to--"
"Joey. Joey, stop."
"..."
"I know I didn't physically murder your mother. Course not. I'm talkin'... indirectly."
"Uh, still no."
"Hear me out, champ."
"Fine..."
My father took a deep breath. It must have been so hard for him, talking this much. As furious as I was at my old man's stubbornness, I cherished this surprising chance to truly meet the man. I felt like the lonely voice trapped inside-- peaking out through occasional body language-- finally got to leave its prison. Shame the same couldn't be said of the actual prisoner.
"When I met your mother, she was a sweet child. Too fragile to drink, not broken enough to feel. She loved me, saw a sad man and wanted to make him smile."
"Sure as hell didn't stay that way."
"Yeah, and it's my fault."
"Pop, don't be stupid."
My father shook his head.
"I never could smile for her. Never could say the word she so desperately needed to hear. She needed a man to yell at her. Tell her to put down the bottle and pick up the pieces of her life. That woman offered me her everythin', Joey boy. I gave her nothin' back for it."
"What are you talking about? You gave her everything. She never had to work a day in her life."
"I gave her an empty house and an empty heart. Not a reason to live. I worked and worked. Gave her money when she needed somethin' else entirely. I gave her a son, thinkin' that'd fix it. But you ended up lovin' me instead of her."
"She fucking beat me, Pop. The woman was a vile, irredeemable bitch. Of course I didn't love her."
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't speak about your mother that way, son."
"Fine. But don't you dare blame yourself for that. She made me hate her all on her own."
"She did what she done as a cry for help. I know that now. She wanted me to supervise her. To come home and protect her the way I protected you. That's why she got mixed up in that crowd. Took up drinkin'. She created a problem for me to fix. To make me come back and take care of things."
"..."
"I didn't do a damn thing, son. A damn fuckin' thing."
"There's nothing you could do, Dad. She was a lost cause."
"When are you gunna learn, Joe? I don't want ya defendin' me."
It was at this point that my eyes welled up with tears. I saw the door handle turn. I knew the officer was coming in to tell me our time was up.
"You won't do it, though... You won't even defend yourself when you know you didn't do it."
"That's right."
"..."
The officer stood in the doorway. He looked at my dad and nodded. My father got up slowly.
"How you managed to turn out well is beyond me. I'll blame God. I'm thankful for it. Thankful for you."
"So is that why you called me here? To try to absolve your shitty wife?"
"Nah. Had a question."
"Well, what was it...?"
"I met that girl of yours.Your wife know's you love her, don't she? Yeah, she does..."
"Uh, that's not really a question, Pop."
My father smiled, possibly for the first time in his life.
"We've got an unidentified fighter diving into the crossfire."
"Is it one of our boys?"
"Negative, sir."
"Who is it then?"
"The ship is reported as stolen. Its AUTO-HUD AR ID's aren't registered in any galaxies in this quadrant. It's actually just coming up on the screen as an image of a... middle finger."
"So it's hostile?"
"Not sure. We've yet to make contact, sir." "What are you waiting for? Engage. We cannot allow anything to endanger this mission. For the sake of the human race."
...
The food-covered pilot snickered, amused at the confusion his presence caused. He spotted a floating snack bag and clapped it with his chubby hands. The bag popped, causing salty green orbs to float about the obese slob's crammed cockpit.
"SHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM."
The fat pilot gripped the ship's steering handles and skilfully swerved out of the path of an enormous destruction beam. The line of purple light blew up three ships behind him. He dodged three more such attacks while eating the salty floating orbs using only his mouth.
"This is Assistant to the Admiral Janek Pulitzen. You've entered an active combat zone between the GFHI and a hostile group of Pandolian seperatists. Promptly identify yourself or be destroyed."
"Ohhh! You sound SECK-SEEEEE! Babe you got video transmission on that shiny ship of yours? Nothing turns me on more than having a hot babe watch me kick maximum assage."
"Excuse me? I'll have you know I'm a respected fleet coordinator and a--" "Blah, blah, blah. Are you showin' me tits here or what?" "Over my dead body, creep. You are violating seventy-six counts of personal craft space regulation. Operating an unregistered and outdated space vehicle Piloting a fighter-class ship housing war-grade technology and weaponry. Entering restricted airspace. Harassing an GFHI officer. Refusal to--"
The interloper's space junk encrusted craft expelled an enormous cloud of radioactive pollution from its rearmost exhaust.
"Make that seventy-nine," the pilot jeered, speeding straight into the Pandolian vanguard.
The alien's ships were odd, resembling large glowing orbs. The blue bubbles fired tiny purple laser pellets at the dingy brown spaceship. The dirty ship activated its bottom thrusters at the last second and shot upwards. Missing, the two Pandolian ships were hit by their own fire. Their ships quietly popped-- immediately suffocating all inside.
"Under the Foreign Species Cooperation Act of 7840, you are to submit to the will of the Galactic Force of Human Isolationists. Remove your ship from hostile territory and dock with our flagship at once." "Sorry sexy, that act don't apply to humans and I'm as human as they come."
"How can we confirm your humanity? Your ship is not registered in any human galaxies."
"If you boot up that cam of yours I'll let you check. If you play your cards right, I'll even give ya proof of gender."
"Fine. I'm initiating visual communication, now. Gender verification is... unnecessary."
The ship's greasy windshield blipped and projected the face of a very professional looking young brunette in a white GFHI uniform.
"MMMMM... SEXXXXY!! Oh that uniform... Who knew extremists had such style? This will really get my juices pumpin'."
Seeing the grotesque blob of a man on screen, the girl's face contorted into reflect her disgust. Her lip trembled.
"..."
"What's wrong, baby doll?"
The pilot flew three loops around the rouge Pandolian fleet, causing three more incidents of friendly fire. He nearly crashed into a four ship wide cruiser, but pulled down at the last second.
"Your..."
"Don't forget that the video transmitter adds at least ten pounds."
"The Fat Asteroid..."
The admiral's assistant immediately cut off communication, ending both visual and audio contact.
The portly pilot grinned ear to ear. The cruiser dropped a massive bomb down below. Rather than evade, the pilot ejected a stringy white goop into a space. He fired a radioactive pulse, causing the gook to solidify into a sloppy, pancake-like shield. The bomb bounced off the white shield and collided into the cruiser. The beat-up brown spaceship dove down even further, escaping a massive explosion that not only took down the cruiser, but the five fighters surrounding it. ... "Admiral Arkclaysx, I've identified the unknown craft..." "Well?" "It's the Fat Asteroid. I made visual contact with Regs Bilken. There's no mistaking him. Looks just as gross as the posters." "Son of a bitch... What's that psychopath doing here?" "The same thing he always does by the looks of it."
"..." "Admiral? What should we do? Pull out?"
"..."
"Admiral!?"
"YOUR MOM SHOULD HAVE PULLED OUT. Hyoohhhh!"
"Bilken!? This is a secure channel! How did you...?"
"Don't worry about that, baby. Just got back from the Pandolian CO's ship, and boy did that scaly mofo make me an offer. 300,000 damels. Yeah, I know. Coins? What a hassle! But no, I'm totally into that vintage stuff. Speaking of stuff I'm into, what kind of underwear you got on, babe?"
"You'd betray your own race for a mere heap of coins? Pathetic..."
"Do you know the exchange rate of damels to MWD? It's worth over a cool mil. That's nothing to shake a snake at. No, sir. Damels are classy as shit. Plus, they're all those old rest stop vending machines will take."
Assistant Admiral Janek fell silent. She looked down at her communicator, receiving a pulse inside her head. It was a message from the President of Unified Space Warp Affiliates-- the group holding the largest share in the GFHI. A message to her... a lowly space dog, from arguably the wealthiest man in the universe.
MSG:// 0:5456 - DONZA KEROGUN: Start a bidding war with the Pandolians. Allow it to rise to any amount. I will cover any expense. Do not attempt to outbid them. Stall the Fat Asteroid. Your reward will be great.
"We'll offer you 1.3 million MWD for your... services," Janek bid.
"Halls yar, we got ourselves a biddin' war," Regs Bilken, outlaw and pilot of the Fat Asteroid, cheered. "Let's put Papa Pandolian on the line, shall we?"
Janek stumbled back, suddenly face to face with the rough scaly face of the Pandolian Leader and the Regs Bilken's greasy jowls.
"Hope you don't mind me overriding that little block you set on visual communication," Regs laughed, licking crumbs off his face. "I just want to make sure I have your full attention."
Jenek hid her blinking wrist communicator behind her back.
"Gyurh som tonkeh shegale fanto don kegon," the commanding Pandolian croaked hoarsely.
"Speak Humandarin, idiot," Regs said. "You think this chick speaks your language? Of course not, she's part of an army of freaking bigots. Why do you think you guys are fighting in the first place?"
"Bigots!?" Janek echoed. "As if a man of your moral bankruptcy has any space to pass judgement."
"Do not deny ear to the Pandolian pilgrim's plea," the alien grunted. "I repeat: our offer is now double."
"HELL to the YES," the Fat Asteroid chanted. "You bubble boys got some deep ol' pockets. What now, my deliciously racist little muffin top? Does your company want to keep the Milky Quadrant human only, or will it let these big bad lizards come in and mine up all their asteroids?"
"Three million MWD," Janek replied.
The Assistant Admiral's high bid caused a stir on the Pandolian side, causing them to murmur amoung themselves.
Before the aliens could finish their bid, Janek but in with her own.
"4.5 MILLION," she burst.
The Pandolian shook its head and grinned.
"You do not lend ear for all plea. Pandolians bid four million... damels."
Janek's entire body shook, astounded that the small army of refugees had so much coin to spare. The Fat Asteroid's greedy eyes ignited with a tremendous green fire.
"HOLY CRAP ON A PANDOLIAN PANOLI! DING DING DING. WE GOT OURSELVES A WINNER. LOOKS LIKE I'M BUYING CHICKEN DINNER FOR ALL THE BABES IN BABYLON-SIX!"
"Calm down," the Admiral Assistant snapped. "You still haven't heard my counteroffer yet."
"No, that I have not," Regs said eagerly.
"10 million MWD."
The Pandolians laughed.
"What's so funny!?"
"This plea... it is made under a false tense," the Pandolian CO said, grinning.
"Yeah, no crap," Regs said, changing his cheeky demeanor to a much more serious one. "Your group, the GFHI, is funded by special interest groups-- mainly human-lead corporations looking to eliminate competition from alien-run corporations. They don't even shell out a full million for services rendered. "
"What? How do you--"
"What's wrong, sexy? You prone to judging ships by their paintjob? My brain is the same size as my gut. That's how I've managed to get this far doin' what I do and stayin' alive."
"You use your unstoppable dogfighting skills and stolen tech to interfere in space battles and hold both factions hostage until one outbids the other... then you completely destroy the opposing side. You're a murderer, an extortionist and a thief. You don't have brains... you have reflexes and good ship."
Regs Bilken chomped a stray green puffball floating by and smiled.
"On the contrary, I tend to save lives," Regs corrected. "Fun fact: most of the conflicts I resolve involve a surrender. Instead of the loss of lives, money is lost."
"Greed can be good if the greater sum lies in the hands of the worthy," the Pandolian CO said. "While you war for a cause you do not fully understand, the Pandolians wish to simply make a peaceful life. A free existence. Eons of lightyears away, our planet Pandola sits in a remote corner of the Gunkryar Galaxy. It is cold and dark, relying on a the bubbling of phasomian--"
"Get to the point, grandpa," Regs said with a yawn. "This is an auction, not a history lesson."
The grizzled Pandolian leader nodded.
"We escaped tyranny only to face oppression. This 'Fat Asteroid' to us... is a beacon of hope. The savior of our entire species. All our collective life-savings, these damels, they are well spent... to save our lives."
"I don't care what that sentimental alien says, Fat Asteroid," Janek said bitterly, "you're still a greedy pig if you capitalize on war for your own gain."
"That's the price of business, babe," Regs Bilken laughed. "I only ask for money when my ship needs upgrading or I feel like splurging on some gourmet grub. It just so happens I need quite a bit for something, but I'm in no rush. Hell, normally I just do this for kicks. You're only bidding with money, but if you knew me you'd try something else. Catch my drift, sexy?"
"Something else? Oh God, you can't possibly mean..."
Regs Bilken blushed and started snickering like a girl-obsessed school boy. The fat pilot's laugh was extremely high-pitched and awkward... and always ended in a snort.
"Uron don korsh-korsh dykun don tago!?" the Pandolian roared furiously.
"It wouldn't be the first time," Regs smirked. "Or the twenty-third."
"Your race does not face danger," the alien protested. "I am not at understanding. What creature would value a reproductive act over great wealth?
"Um, me?"
Negotiations halted, abruptly falling silent. The only sound to be heard was Regs Bilken's creepily excited panting.
"If I show you my breasts, will you decimate the entire Pandolian fleet?" Janek asked softly.
"YUM TON KEEDO KOOGLA! Laugh worthy... There exists no man who would allow genocide just to see a pair of--"
"DEAL! HEHEHEHEHEH, SNORT!"
"KOOGLA TABU! DON NOKO KOOGLA KUMBA KO!!"
"That's quite enough of that," Regs laughed, booting the raging Pandolians out of the channel. "Mmm, let's see those chim-cham chillies, baby."
Janek faked a smile weakly, using every last ounce of her willpower not to vomit. Good thing Regs had kicked the Admiral from the channel. Her father would die of embarrassment if saw his daughter debasing herself in such a way. The Pandolian ships began to glow purple, preparing to mount a retreat.
"Hurry up girl, the Pandolians ain't gunna wait for your foreplay."
The young woman sheepishly tapped the yellow squares on her top, causing it to disappear.
"OH YEAH BABY, LINGERIE! WE GOT OURSELVES A DIRTY FLIRTY. MMMMM...."
"Ugh..."
Assistant Admiral Janek Pulitzen's hand hovered over her bra, vehemently opposed to exposing herself to such a horrid man.
"C'mon, baby... Don't fight it... Show Daddy Bear the way to the honey trees. Let the Bees out of the hive. Or are they D's? Oh boy, I hope they are... Heheheheh. SNORT!"
Janek's face crumpled up, no longer able to stomach the outlaw's disgusting behavior.
"PEZT, PEZT... KOOOOOOM!"
The image of the Fat Asteroid's face turned to static and the line went dead.
...
"What the hell!?" Regs shouted into his mic. He darted his ship back, narrowly evading another hit.
"Babe, are you there!? Did you see who sucker punched me?"
"..."
"Bah, that shot must have busted my communicator! Screw my luck. I was totally about to see some boobs..."
The Fat Asteroid's windshield blipped, showing he was receiving another call.
"Mmm... yeah! You're back, babe. I can't wait to see what letter we're working with. What have you got for me? "
Rather than breasts, the image of a still faced man with long white hair, pale blueish skin and big green goggles appeared on screen. The man was decked out in sleek white leather attire, adorned with detailed steel plating. The entire cockpit was ominously dim, lit only by the green glow given off by the ship's touchpad control panel.
"A quick death," the man replied coldly.
"I should have known you were behind this," Regs muttered, attempting to dodge the rapid fire of laser blades being fired at his beat-up brown junker. "I knew she was bluffing. Stalling me. I just ignored it cus she was hot as hell."
"Incorrect, the man who issued your bounty is 'behind this,' Bilken."
"Well, if you want to get technical about it..."
A ship suddenly came into view, turning off its cloaking device. Rather than a massive warship, the craft appeared to be no bigger than a recreational space cycle-- a black speeder module made for fast travel. The typically peaceful vehicle had been heavily modified, making it into a lightning fast killing machine. It housed only one weapon, a micro-compressed laser blade blaster. The ship's owner had decided to allocate the majority of its resources into evasive and boosting capabilities. The weapon itself actually borrowed power from the thruster system, meaning it had to slow down to make strong attack, or make rapid sweeping attacks at close range. It was a ship the Fat Asteroid met in combat many a time, though in various incarnations.
The ship's name: RS-VPX.mrk.7. Better known as the Response. Piloted by the half-human half-Xeli bounty hunter... Xylo Exodus.
"Do not attempt an escape, Fat Asteroid," Xylo warned coldly. "A time-space stasis barrier has been cast around the entire battlefield. This time, there shall be no warping away. There will be no escape. Only consequences."
Regs Bilken bit his tongue and tapped away at the various buttons on his chair. Two pods opened from the side of the Fat Asteroid firing off a barrage of missiles large enough to wipe an entire army.
"I know better than to run from you, asshole," Regs replied, spewing out more white goo. "The only thing faster than your 'Response' is your dad's sexual stamina."
"Incorrect, my father is a Xeli," Xylo said sedately, effortlessly dancing through wave after wave of missiles. "Our race only mates one xox out of the annual cycle, or 2.5 of your 'months.' Thus we develop a--"
"Yeah, and you take after him because you have no concept of what goddamn joke is," Regs scoffed, firing a laser at each glob of gook, evaporating them.
"Incorrect, I am still half-human," the bounty-hunter asserted, landing a brutal, laser-tipped ram to the Fat Asteroid's hull. "I understand humor. You simply lack the ability to execute an amusing quip."
"I'll execute YOU, you little bitch."
The Fat Asteroid and the Response clashed again and again. While neither ship could land a significant blow to the other, the Response's quick, weak strikes were steadily whittling down at the Fat Asteroid's shields. It was only a matter of time before Xylo outlasted Regs... and he knew it.
...
"Submit, Bilken," Xylo ordered.
"Pass. I know you want to salvage all the nifty gadgets on my ship for yourself, and I just can't let you have that pleasure."
"..."
"If I'm going to go out, I'm gunna do it being the biggest asshole possible.
"Dying as you lived."
"You know it, bitch," Regs Bilken laughed, popping open a minifridge. He pulled out a large frosting-rich pastry. "Now if you don't mind, I'm gunna commence dying as I lived."
The Response's engines revved deafeningly loud, his thrusters primed and ready.
"So be it."
Xylo attempted to land the coup de grace on his longtime rival, but he found his vehical unable to boost at all. Instead of a fatal dash and slice, the Response chugged forward at a snail's pace. The black speeder collided with the Fat Asteroid with a tiny tap.
Regs Bilken had his cake and ate it too, smirking all the while. He soaked in the bounty hunter's silent dismay, savoring each savory moment.
"Whasfst's wffong, Exoffdus?" Regs taunted with his mouth full.
He swallowed a hearty gulp of moist cake.
"Something gumming up the works?"
"..."
"Xylo, you're fast, I'll give you that... but you're oh so careless."
"..."
"Plytanium. That's what the goop is called. It's an experimental weapon made by the Vridianites. They gave it to me as a gift for settling their dispute with Syphlons five months ago. That's 2 of your 'xoxes.' Cool stuff. Starts out flabby and mushy... but when exposed to a certain type of radiation it completely solidifies. While you were busy dodging missles, I dusted the stuff all around us. I missed you on purpose, not wanting to prematurely harden the plytanium. I let the radiation from your engines do that job. The way you sped around... I knew you'd completely total your ship."
Xylos eyes narrowed. His hands began to tremble.
"Yeah, asshole, your whole ship is utterly useless now... leaving you to float helplessly in space. Even if you somehow find a way out of this, you're still fucked. You'll never get the plytanium out of your engines. Time to start from square--"
Xylo ended transmission.
The fat pilot frowned, polishing off the last of his cake.
Frédéric Chopin - Prelude in E-Minor (op.28 no. 4)
"CHECKMATE"
It had only taken me but a moment to realize the state of affairs. The years of affection, the toil, pain and sacrifice-- all a miserable joke. My charade, the secret life of sin and assorted debauchery I'd hid for so long... nothing but a cough at a concert. She heard them all along. The moans... The rustling of sheets... All trifles to her. My perceived cunning had been nothing more than an illusion brought on by her feigned ignorance. Yes, it was she... not I who truly was the deceiver. My queen. Oh, my precious queen... Oh how I pampered thee. If only as a bribe... but still. How could you do this to me? How could you do this to your country? Though I suppose I must come to terms now with the fact that it was never your country at all. The land you loved through your teeth-- the land you sold into slavery. Our land... our daughter's land... my land.
Lesser men than I oft divorce or dispose of their wives when the marriage ship starts to hit the rocks. Alas, I'd have been better off a lesser man, cursed by my own desire for integrity. How I envy the rabble! What ease, to live as a rapscallion, undaunted by public scorn-- with a pride so besmirched a stain blends rather than stands out. I wish it was in my character to bail out and seek safe harbor like cowardly deserting pirates with not an ounce of loyalty. After all, I'd always believed that a captain ought go down with his ship and commanded such behavior from the admirals of my Navy.
Was I a bad king or a bad husband? I ask myself such futile questions as these as I toss and turn in my cell. Trivial. Trivial in the fact that their answers matter not as my wife's powers of deception were so masterful that even the world's greatest tactician could not have seen through her plan. I'd selected my mate for her beauty with her high learning as an afterthought. Who would have thought that her thoughts were after my crown. My late father had advised me against allowing a woman a choice and the danger of providing them with books and education. At the time I found his warning to be senility induced ramblings, the nonsense spouted at the deathbed by a dying sovereign in a last ditch effort to preserve the ways of his era. I see now that they were sage. Lethally true.
She never loved me.
NEVER.
Me. A king. A man with limitless power and prestige.
Such an unforgivable betrayal! Sure, it is true I never felt a thing for her, but that is not to be expected of me. Her grace is my embrace. The only sight upon which she sets her horizon is my glorious hand. The hand bearing the ring she shares. The ring she kissed loyally in front of my entire court. Or as loyal as she allowed it to seem... as it is now known that she had been a spy from the kingdom of Gamalur-- a land decimated and destroyed by my father. What loyalty is that, anyway? With her entire country dead, why would she still operate for its favor. Those fake tears... I am the one who deserves to cry. My bloodline now ends with me. The storied history of my family's monarchy, a brilliant book hundreds of years in the making., sees it's final chapter. Yes, my people called my grandfather a tyrant unfit to inherit his father's crown. True, my father and I continued down his path of firm rule with an emphasis on building our wealth. But they did not see the end goal! Their rebellion snuffed my candle before I could reach the top of the tower where they could finally see the great heights all the harsh steps we were taking lead. They dared criticized a plan before its results were in!? TRULY. She betrayed the entire country, no the ultimate fate of the world, by betraying me.
That is what you did not see. No one saw it. That was my plan. I had to bleed the people dry to amass funds in my war chest. Our military was on its way to becoming an unstoppable army. In a mere decade or two, we would have had the power to obliterate and enslave all the other kingdoms. If my people trusted in my power rather than her so-called 'wit' they would have lived to see the day when we made foreigners slaves instead of them. They would have been able to live the life of ease and luxury they so foolishly chastised my family for living. Oh, such is my curse... to be born with great misfortune. My ill luck fated me to be in charge of such an ignorant and selfish lot. They never deserved my family. We should have completely stripped away all their freedom years ago. But no, my kindness got the best of me again. I foolishly allowed them to work for me and die for me in the way they saw fit... in their own homes with their own families. They will see that life won't be so simple with me gone.
I do not care that I am to be beheaded tomorrow, as I would have committed suicide out of spite anyway. I've done the Lord's work, I shall be seeing him shortly. They call me an arrogant narcissist... but they can have their dumb opinions-- I never cared for them. I do not fear death. I look forward to seeing God. It will be nice to speak with an equal for once.
This is the first entry in my new flash fiction series called MUSIC PROMPT FICTION.
Most prompted fiction begins with a picture or a small scene, but my mind finds creative inspiration through music. I take a song and craft a scene out of it, capturing the mood and building upon its vibes. I suppose this is strange, but it's an excellent exercise nonetheless-- an enhancement to my writing. When I compose fiction I am constantly listening to music. I will shift songs or genres depending on the mood, backdrop or intensity I require for the piece. It must work because I never stumble into writer's block, and the effect is noticeable on the feel I get from read-backs.
I've decided to harness this ability--or strange habit-- into material for my blog for your enjoyment. For each entry of Music Prompt Fiction I will loop a random song from my library--or one new to me entirely-- then write for an hour or so and post the results. Sounds fun, right? Here is the first result:
Keith Eldrick is to be the first time traveler. A man with no face. No being. No persona. This is to be his destiny. His mark. To venture into obsolete nothingness. To not return. Time is a one way trip, regardless of the direction you go in. That's why Keith was chosen. Unremarkable. Undesirable. Mute. Sullen. Uninspired. Human society is a cultured existence of absolute evolution. The the self-made modifications to mankind have bred out blandness. Keith was an anomaly. A man miraculously born by accident. An unexpected relic of a more 'human' humanity. The traveler felt it only proper to leave his time for another, for he'd never truly believed it to be his own time at all.
"Keith, you are aware of your only mission, correct?" a cold, robotic voice asked within his mind.
With a loud churn, the white pill-shaped capsule in the center of the vacant room momentarily expelled steam. The invisible nano-machines in the air immediately removed the vapor from sight. They emitted silencer waves to cancel out the time machine's unpleasant sounds.
Keith made no reply. He stood still and silent, just as he had done his entire life. Nano-machinery, sentient robotics and micro-computers performed all the menial tasks and physical labor in society. Mankind existed only to entertain itself and increase its understanding. Genius and excellence in ability were all but assured-- the norm. Unlike most children, Keith had be born without the aid of optimized genetics. Rather than a growth pod, his embryo developed in a human uterus. Being born regular made Keith useless. Impractical. A stranger in society.
Part of humanity's prenatal genetic coding included sterilization, ensuring sexual intercourse remained for pleasure purposes only. Only the poorest and most reviled sects of the species still gave birth in such a barbaric way. In fact, his trip down to Earth to make the jump into the past marked the first occasion in which Keith had ever seen someone else with imperfections. While the bulk of humanity resided in the massive habitation districts orbiting Earth and Mars, the genetically normal, irregular and retarded were exiled to the desolate wastelands of the Martian and Earthen surfaces. The only reason Keith hadn't been sent below was because his birth coincided with the Quantum Continuum Manipulation Project or QCMP on District 87-B-K-9775, "HAWKE."
QCMP's were commonplace.While various other districts were experimenting with altering local time fields to pause and speed productivity, the HAWKE team's time manipulation research served solely as a novelty. HAWKE-QCMP's own creator fully acknowledged that reversed human time travel was a pointless endeavor that did nothing to further society. The individual undergoing reverse time travel would have no means of return-- essentially committing suicide. Worse yet, there would be no way to live, being restrained to the archaic technology of the past-- nor communicate.
The primitive ancestors did not have access to the telepathic thought transmitter chip technology. Historical data indicated that touch and voice input had been the primary means of operating the old technology. Worse yet, the technology had no self-awareness and required constant human control to operate. To the majority of humanity, the past truly was an unpleasant place-- filled with discomfort, physical work, immorality and mortality. Even the ape-like surface dwellers lived better lives than those of the past.
"We will now begin the cleanse. To avoid paradoxes, your organic material will be the only part of you making this journey."
The nanomachines erased Keith's clothing and removed all the technology integrated in his brain and body. Keith feel to his knees and gasped. He felt pain, and he felt vulnerable. He'd already received lifelong training to move and speak without the aid of machinery, but actually being forced to do so was another thing entirely. With his anxiety inhibitor removed, Keith began to feel apprehensive.
"SINCE... WE CAN... NO LONGER... USE... TELEPATHIC TRANSMISSION... WE WILL HAVE TO USE THIS... ROBOTIC SPEECH OUTPUT."
"Ahh, ehh? Oooo?"
Keith played around with sounds, trying to form words.
"Afff... Affirmative."
"STEP... INTO THE CAPSULE... MANUALLY."
The young man staggered awkwardly. Without their enhancements, his muscled ached-- straining to support movement. The white capsule enclosed around Keith, submerging him in absolute darkness.
"TIME DESTINATION: 2247 AD... EXACTLY ONE THOUSAND YEARS IN THE PAST."
