300 WORD WRITING CHALLENGE #19 -- VICTORY TO MOSAIX!

[Bowler1]

Stormchaser

It was time for my final checks; that my clips are secure and my canopy hadn’t twisted in the ever growing breeze. My respirator of course, a requirement on the surface of New Mars, but vital if I ever achieved my goal and got into the upper atmosphere.

I wave to those nearby and got thumbs up all around. My first hit of adrenaline had heightened my senses, my heart beating faster, mouth dry and every second imprinted on my memory as the wind grows stronger.

Not long now.

I back myself up. All my memories and feelings, this very moment, all go into storage in case I don’t make it. Failure will mean a new body, one of many I’ve already used up and left behind, skipping timelessly on the surface of humanity’s bright future. At seven hundred years old it is hard to get the blood pumping, to feel alive, to feel real and experience life.

But I’m feeling it now, raw gut twisting fear… as the gale howls, my canopy catches and I’m pulled off my feet. I glimpse the beast behind me, a storm that blots out the entire horizon with flashes of deadly lightening, chasing me down. My arms ache as I pull on my cords, fighting nature, while being pelted and buffeted, swallowed whole into the dusty darkness.

Am I rising or falling? All sense of direction is lost. I’ve no idea what my groundspeed is. One wrong turn means death… and I feel life flow through me. Up… up… and up into clean free air, freezing cold and with a bright blue sky. Boiling below me is the dirty sand storm, twisting, turning and churning, a terrifyingly beautiful sight.

A sight I want to remember forever, as I sink lower, lower… and lower….

 

[ratsy]

Rhymes

“Are we really going to land in that? It’ll rip us apart!” Clancy yelled.

I thought of my options. My ship made the decision easy as all power drained from the rear thrusters.

“No choice now,” I said throwing the forward shields up as we entered the dust clouds. Lightning shot all around my small ship, hitting it a few times and soon all power was shot. Seconds before impact, the shields died and we hit hard, nose-first.

#

I unstrapped Clancy and rolled him over. His chest lifted and fell slowly. I looked out the view-port and saw the storm had lessened slightly. Donning my suit, I entered the decompression hatch and sealed it shut from the ship. In seconds I was on the surface investigating my hopefully temporary home. I carried a beacon and needed to get it somewhere the clouds thinned so our team could get a reading on it.

The sensors showed me the air was poison to my lungs. I walked towards a clearing and saw something horrible; a rhyme from my childhood rang in my ears.

In a storm so dusty red
A beast awaits; it must be fed
If you see it you must flee
Lest you die in tragedy

Its horn rose three feet in the sky; its multiple legs each hooved. I knew I couldn’t use the beacon now. I feared the monster would devour anything that came here.

I turned to run and saw Clancy a hundred yards away pointing his beacon to the sky. I tried to wave him down, but it was too late. Someone would be here in a few hours, and they would only find our bodies.

The thing ran to Clancy first. Soon it turned back.

Lest you die in tragedy.

 

[Phyrebrat]

The Maiden’s Canticle

It is well; all is well.

Though the killer storm comes and the arrows you fire into it do nothing, it is well; all is well.
Take down six sheets, billowing in a grey sky, embroider them like this, and know that all will be well.

Fifty years ago, those were the words the Maid of Sorrow spoke to my young ears. I was standing on top of Goldenball Barrow firing plastic darts from a toy bow into the gathering maelstrom. Far below my home, Maluston Village, nestled in the vale, oblivious; the sacred orchards heavy - green feint rules stretching away from town - bursting with wisdom; laden, all.

So I stole the sheets from the village lines; six in all, embroidered fine: a cross on that one, a dove on this, a sickle and a suckling pig. Two more I sewed with hearts and crowns to save the sacred apple town.

She bade me wrap her in the sheets, and leave her on the burial mound.

When the scarlet devils came to spin their webs on all our grain, on every roof, and field we toiled, our livelihood remained unspoiled. Morning came anew and golden, saving those apples the red curse had chosen. The misty web over every orchard tree melted long before evensong called from the chapel belfry. And when the town was deep in worship, I hiked to the top of Goldenball Barrow, and unwrapped these sheets from our saviour maiden. As she withered she passed to me the village responsibility.

Now you see the scarlet threat and fire your toy gun at the thunderhead. I pass to you the task, my sparrow, to wrap and lay me up on the barrow. Collect these sheets first thing tomorrow; you'll succeed me as Maluston’s next Maid of Sorrow.

 

[chrispenycate]

Disconcerted Action​

The demons dance in lines of fire
'Fore clouds of hell's eruption,
Their powers enhanced, as they aspire
To Man's total destruction
Our world is open to their ire.​

Pyrotechnicians and special effects crew sweated in the black clouds obscuring the stage, threshing round the drummer, merely billowing round guitars and vocalist. Amplifier fans push streamers of black fluttering like wind-driven ribbons.

The Devil's day is here to stay,
Background of desecration.
Religions pray, in deep dismay
At bursting their inflation.
Their faith reserves in deep decay.​

The audience is, singular. No longer individuals, mob fervour burns in the thing that has replaced the plurality. Even the technicians, generally insulated from the mass in their own private melding, are succumbing to the rhythm. The musicians were, of course, the first to go, deliberately sundering themselves from their individuality to become part of the chaos they are generating.

The graveyards churn, the dead arise
Diverse decomposition.
No paradise awaits their eyes
No shout to lift them to the skies
Beëlzebub, the Lord of Flies
Awaits their deposition.​

Surely no smoke machine could produce fumes so dark, so gritty. The audience beast, enraged at lack of vision of the show, surged at the stage, and the security barrier collapsed, followed by the security themselves, already bespelled by the occasion. Heat blasts back - infernal fires surround the musicians, and smoke glows cherry red.

The firmament obscured by cloud
Impenetrable, leaden
Planetary funeral shroud
Delivered armageddon
And, muffled in the screaming crowd,
Echoes diminish, deaden.​

No shortage of forensic evidence, from distorted Harleys and Mack chassis to the charred bones and partly melted metal studs and jewellery. But why no survivors running from the inferno?

The robed judge intoned 'Act of God', and, in unison, his acolytes echoed him.

 

[Luiglin]

One small step...

“Frank, what are you doing?”

“I’m evolving. Why swim when you can walk!”

“What’s ‘walk’?”

“Well, Bert, it’s like swimming but you’d be dry,” stated Frank the Ichthyostega knowledgably.

Bert, also an Ichthyostega and a firm friend of Frank’s, thought long and hard as he followed him into the shallows.

“What’s so good about being dry?” Bert queried.

Frank gave his friend a long hard stare of someone who blatantly couldn’t see the reef for the anemones.

“Well,” his tone patiently condescending, “you wouldn’t have to worry about tides, currents and Dunkleosteuses.”

“Agree on the latter,” shuddered Bert. “Can I evolve?”

“Possibly, Bert, it takes time though to evolve, years and years of practice. Right, take care mate.”

Bert gave his friend a clap on the back as Frank surged into the shallows, pulling himself out of the water, his rudimentary digits digging deep into the rust red sand of the beach. He breathed deep, a gulp of warm dry air filling his budding land lungs and gloried in his new surroundings.

At last, the next step up the ladder.

A cackle and a rumble interrupted his joy. Above, what looked like angry waves rolled in violent churning colours of red and black.

Suddenly a crack of light struck the beach, followed instantly by a boom of sound. The explosion catapulted Frank sideways in a shower of molten hot sand. Another hit sent him rolling back the other way over and over. Instantly water erupted from above, a torrent of heavy drops that drenched his body in stinging smacks.

“Bugger this,” screamed Frank as a third strike hit and, with rudimentary digits all a blur, he scrambled back into the surf.

“You’re back!” yelled Bert delightedly.

“Too right, forget evolution. It’s more dangerous out there and just as wet!”

 

[Mr Orange]

The Rover

Suit’s leaking, air hissing. Visor, cracked. Burnt and black. A streak of clear glass, red sands stream past dark, boiling clouds. Lightning flashes, burning.

Don’t look back.

Fire and pain. My leg, maimed. Each step, a knife. Burning ice. Walk into the clouds. Walk into the darkness.

Don’t look back because… Can’t remember.

Lightning flashes, thunder booms; in the dark, buildings loom and blood red sand swirls around. Old Symonds waves. I am saved. Blood red sand swirls. Around cold ruins.

Don’t look back… Why not?

Back, a streak of flame. Back, an inferno. Back… They’re burning.

Back. Oh… God.

Green wall of fire, ten metres high. Plastic walls melting, screams from inside. Siera. The kids. My fault.

Air escaping, I can see the tear. Numb, cold, how much air? Now my legs won’t move. They feel dead but I must go on; salvation’s ahead.

Somebody help, please.

More shapes. I know this place; Crate-town, the colony base. “Medic Station”, the blue sign blinks. Another step, a stumble, I sink. The sign’s gone. I’m too cold, no strength in my legs. Need to rest my head.

A dome, glass. Clean and white. I don’t recognise this. It doesn’t belong. It isn’t right. Inside, strange, cold, harsh light.

And people. Strange clothes, faces I’ve never seen. They run from me, they scream. But one. Dark hair. Dark eyes. White gown.

She stands. Reaches. Takes my hand.

My hand.

It’s… burnt? Through cracked and jagged visor, my glove, gone. My fingers black. Burnt. Bone. My leg; charred flesh, wisps of flame, blood spatters. My oxy-suit… Tatters.

I cough. Smoke fills my helmet.

So cold.

She smiles.

It’s okay. You can go.

I feel light. I feel warm. I… feel. My family waits. I see them.

 

[A. Fare Wells]

Constellations




Young Frisia furrowed her brow, threw her arms forward, and wiggled her fingers as a series of sparks popped in front of her, their golden colors highlighted from long shadows cast by the lush forest greens overhead.


“No, no, no, Frisia. Not like that!” the old man behind her said.


“But uncle, that’s just what you did!”


Vincent sighed. “Child, it’s as much about your frame of mind as it is about the motions. Watch again.”


Vincent’s aged eyes showed no stress as he gracefully spun his wrists and crafted pinpoints of light, making it look as easy as pie. They lingered and slowly faded as he turned once again to face his niece.


“Now you,” he said. “Practice and learn.”


And learn Frisia did.


In the following eons, the two of them made magic as the world continued dying around them until time, being the harsh mistress she is, dictated that Vincent’s had run out.


Lightning cracked far away, striking barren ground and igniting the purple sky as Frisia looked down upon her uncle who was lying in the last glade upon the last world in their universe. A tear formed in the corner of her eye, rolled down her cheek and splashed upon his chest. His almost lifeless eyes stared upward at the permanent fixtures they had made high overhead.


“A new universe awaits,” he said, and died.


She looked up and followed her uncle’s gaze into their stars.


Those were the purpose. A new beginning with the hope that other beings may find a way to end endings.


She was just so lonely.

 

[Jo Zebedee]

THE TRUTH OF IT

No one knows what brings the lightning people. Some say it's the anger of the gods. Others, the greatness of our gathering. The plains-mages claim it's nature and nothing to do with us. All we really know is that, come Samhalmas, they'll break across the sky.

Samhalmas is a carnival day. Tents from all the tribes are pitched and kept open to show their owner's wares for bartering. The smell of baking bread fills the air, mingling with the cooking juices from the pit. Someone has brewed ale; it sits warm in my stomach.

The steel-mages knock-knock at their braziers, turning shields and swords. Some have brought jewellery, made when the embers are low and time slower. I pick up a silvered brooch and trace its delicate etching, wanting it, but with nothing to barter. Not for something so fine.

"It would suit you." Raz smiles in the lazy way that makes my head go light. He takes it from me, and turns to the stallholder. "How much?"

It costs a dizzying amount, more than I could ever pay. Finally Raz, one cow and a day's promised labour down, turns and pins it on my cape. His hand brushes my shoulder, stays a moment too long, and our eyes meet in a promise.

Thunder sounds overhead. The clouds scud and gather. Samhalmas is upon us. My fingers tingle and I lift my hands, letting the breaking storm's power fill me.

I let rip. Lightning flashes once, twice, and takes shape. The lightning people walk through the clouds, a crowd of them, and now I know what brings them. It's not anger, or the gods. It's not anything beyond our ken. It's just love.

 

[johnnyjet]

Quantum Overflow

The wild man appeared out of nowhere. Trevor slammed on the brakes. Arizona map and tourist guide flew from his wife's hands.

He was ragged: torn white shirt, dirty brown pants, gray hair fluttering like chaff in the wind, scraggly beard. He grasped Trevor's door and blathered, "Terrible storm coming! Have to get away!"

Trevor didn't respond. Then he gasped. A vast, dark storm cloud sprouted rapidly from the horizon.

Dawn said, "Let's go."

The wild man backed away. Trevor spun their Honda around and hit the accelerator. Glancing into the rearview mirror, he saw the wild man running. He cursed and circled the car back.

Dawn said, "What are you doing?"

"Can't leave him. There's no shelter in this desert."

He stopped beside him and shouted, "Get in!"

The storm growled.

The wild man scrambled into the back seat.

Trevor took off.

Gradually the storm receded. They were outrunning it.

The wild man spoke softly, "I'm a physicist from another earth. Our universe told us it was getting too full. It had no choice but to offload its excess into another universe. I didn't think that was a good idea, but it wouldn't listen to me. So I came here to warn you."

"That's a pretty unbelievable story. If what you say is true, what can we do about it?"

"Tell your universe I wish to communicate with it."

Dawn said, "We don't know how to do that."

"Well, this is unexpected! Permission to exit your vehicle."

Trevor stopped the car. The wild man got out.

Trevor said, "What do we do now?"

The wild man shrugged. "I'm going home. As for you, you're on your own."

"Wait! Do you mean prayer?"

He vanished.

"Do you remember how?"

"We have to try."

The storm shrieked like banshees.

 

[Zoe Mackay]

Baseline

I dreamt of storm clouds.

This morning, I woke in a room I didn't know, all glossy surfaces, chrome fittings, and a locked door. The room isn't the only thing unfamiliar. I cannot tell you my name or my profession, or anything of my life before today.

The clouds carried lightning and struck with searing brightness.

I sat up in bed and called out, not expecting an answer, just wanting to hear a word echo back to me, to be reassured that I had language and a voice.

Wind and rain swept across the desolate plain, driving the sand before them.

On a table was a tangle of wires, spiralling and knotting with each other. A puzzle. I spent a while speculating about where I had encountered puzzles before. Perhaps I was a champion puzzle solver? With little else to do, I picked it up.

I watched my footprints, which once had stretched as far as I could see, wiped away.

I think it took me a long while to solve the puzzle. There is no clock in here, no way to judge progress. Just the constant turning and unwinding of the puzzle. I believed that, if I solved the puzzle, someone would come and explain who I was.

The clouds rolled over me, the sand whipping my skin raw. I looked at my hand and saw red flesh ripped away to reveal white bone.

I finished the puzzle and looked around, hungry and tired. There surely must be some reward for solving it? I waited for what felt like hours, before sleep finally overcame me.

I dreamt of storm clouds.

This morning, I woke in a room I didn't know, to the smell of bacon and eggs. The food was arranged on a plate, next to a puzzle.

 

[StilLearning]

The Lunatic:

Hours ago the lunar sky was black, but now it’s deep blue. And there’s a breeze blowing! A beautiful, impossible, change, but let me explain:

I was ten feet up, repairing an IR telescope a few kilometres from Shackleton lunar base, when the moonquake hit, throwing me into the regolith. As I fell I saw a lightening filled wall of gas and dust rushing towards me - which is why it smells baaaad in my space suit - and I woke up to a blue sky.

My radio was dead. High on shock I staggered in the direction of Shackleton, giggling. Shackleton was gone: The 'quake had brought down the ridge it was built on.

After that... I don’t remember... until the Moon buggy. There was no sign of the occupants, but it was brand new and it said it was called Wilson. I didn’t know they were giving buggy’s A.I. now, but anyway: We climbed the next ridge, to try and get a signal through to, well, anyone.

We saw Earth….

I counted four craters – each at least a hundred miles across - branding Earth’s northern hemisphere. Wilson thinks a fifth asteroid in the group hit the north pole of the Moon, vaporising the ancient ices there into a thin atmosphere. Unbreathable – it’s basically steam - but blue.

Right now, well, Wilson has a plan: Seventy miles away is Shackleton’s Chinese-Russian equivalent. Wilson read that they’ve worked out how to grow vegetables on lunar soil.
I didn’t hear about the vegetables, or that new buggy’s had high end AI, or even that there was another base. But…
We could take the power cells from the IR telescope. We could make it.
I need something to hope for.
Is that so crazy?

 

[Kerrybuchanan]

Mistaken Identity​

A blast of energy hit nearby, rocking the station. 'Damn – last of the red wine,' Kiara said as a stain spread down her tunic. 'That's one hell of a storm out there.'

Firdal was already moving, eyes wide. 'We need to lock this place down.'

Before either could reach the door, a knock sounded. The twins stared at each other. No one came this way, especially not in storm season. As Firdal took a step towards it, it burst open, letting in a blinding blast of red grit.

In a moment, the door slammed shut, bringing peace. They uncovered their eyes. Now a grey-haired man stood just inside the entrance, dressed in the crimson robes of a magician. His hard eyes settled on Kiara. 'You have magic. I need it.'

'What? I don't have magic!'

The old man snorted. 'I could feel you from the other side of the mountains. Face it, woman. You're the reason for the storms.'

Before she had time to react, he snatched her hand and dragged her to the door.

'No!' All colour had left Firdal's face. 'You can't have her!' He made a lunge, but a sharp gesture from the stranger froze him in place. His eyes filled with tears as he watched his sister dragged out into the storm.

Lightning lanced into the earth all around as the old man pushed her ahead of him. 'Here's my offering!' he screamed at the churning clouds. 'Take her and leave me alone!'

For two heartbeats, the sky stayed silent, then a fork of sheer energy blasted him where he stood. First he glowed pure gold, eyes shocked, then his body crumbled to dust, blown away on the wind.

Above Kiara's head, the storm clouds dispersed and stars shone in a clear sky.

 

[Venusian Broon]

Madiha​

The anteroom was nervous, handovers were risky but necessary. This was my first meeting with her - I needed the experience. This morning’s Dimitri, number seven, looked exhausted.

He said as make-up artists fussed over me, “Remember, Northern Eurasia is a desert with a man-made hole punched through the crust. Billions have died due to war, mutually assured destruction and the first doomsday device. So remember she’s your sweetheart.”

I entered the viewing room. Dr Dimitri Berezin, the Neo-Soviet artificial intelligence genius, had built it, escaping a surface nuclear strike by somehow breaking into the second doomsday device. He’d brought a lover. Christened Madiha by the project, she was sat on a bed.

“Dimitri! That was quick.”

“I wanted to keep you company,” I said.

She stood, “I’m glad.” The real Madiha had succumbed to radiation poisoning. Berezin survived three years alone, but mad with grief he’d somehow transferred a simulation of her into the trigger mechanism of the device. She was looped every thirteen hours back to the same initial state, always waking up in a radioactive quarantine lab.

Suddenly: “You look odd.”

My hidden earpiece screamed ominous seismic activity. With Berezin now dead, Madiha’s poor camera resolution was how whole rosters of fake Dimitri’s could fool her. But occasionally she had trouble recognising a Dimitri. And upsetting her brought detonation closer. My heart leapt, was there something wrong with me?

“I’m thinking of the day we both get far away from here,” I said.

Madiha, had tears in her eyes. She placed the palm of her hand on the glass of her lab. I covered the image of her hand with my own.

“I love you,” I said.

“I love you too,” the speakers whispered back.

A relieved earpiece told me that, for now, humanity was safe.

 

[alchemist]

Beneath The Stormgod's Eye


The stranger lay naked, pale and motionless in the bone-dry waterhole we’d thought would save us.


"A northman," Azir said, poking a wound. "We must leave him."


Sholab glanced up at me from her grandfather's side, her sunken eyes pleading.


"No, sweetness," I said. "We cannot." I bent closer. "If we help –"


His eyes shot open and a scarred hand gripped my wrist. "Please..." the northman croaked. Eyelids fluttered and closed.


I paused, my gut aching from hunger and thirst. Sholab frowned.


“Fine, then.” I squeezed the last drops of water between his cracked lips, avoiding Azir's gaze. "Raise the tents," I said, "and put him in ours."


#


It came from the east. Lightning danced across the face of the stormfront, turning clouds to angry black stallions.


"This is your doing," Azir said.


I ignored him. "Sho, get in the tent."


She stared, transfixed. It rolled overhead, stealing the last of the evening light. "Sholab, inside. Now!"


She darted inside as Azir's glare cut to my heart. The still desert air stirred, then rose to a whirlwind. Above, the clouds entwined, parting to allow a slit of dim light.


"My…" I whispered. An eye! The stormgod's eye!


I dove inside the tent where the stranger lay unconscious still, and took Sholab to my shuddering chest, her mute sobs echoing my own heart. The tent shook, possessed, the thrashing of rain now competing with the roar of the wind.


The tent ripped in two. I wrapped Sholab in my djellaba and squeezed my eyes shut. Sand whipped my face and...


Silence.


I coughed, snorted, wiping the sand away. As twilight returned, I moaned. The stranger was gone.


And there where he’d lain, a northman-shaped tangle of green shoots reached from the desert. Sholab only smiled.

 

[Hex]

Toe the Line

Come to Mars, they said. Purity and space, they said. Accelerated growth and shiny rocks (they said).

The missis reads the ads, reckons it'll help that osteoporosis she got overindulging in baaaad bone spells (which you need if you want the flatscreen TV and the holidays to Croatia), and she does one more, breaking her finger with the iron and using that as our ticket out. Before I know what's happening, we're booked on a one-way trip to the Red Planet.

Traffic warden's a rubbish job, even on Mars, but now her finger's set, so's the magic; there's no going home.

Other day, I'm writing a ticket when the perp marches up: D'you know who I am?

So I go: "You're the muppet who double parked."

He jumps in the ship (theta series BMW), puts his foot down, and drives right over mine.

Breaks three toes.

Turns out he's some higher-up with gajillions in agri-pods. No law for the fancy. So the missis --who's feeling much better-- curses him.

She binds her storm to my poor aching toes.

Takes his BMW, dumps it in a chasm. You should hear him yell. Only you can't, for the screaming of the storm. Fair bit of agri-poddage wiped back into chunky red dust.

Couldn't happen to a nicer guy.



"When do we stop it?"

She looks up from her crochet. "Four weeks, that's tradition."

"Just like home." I limp to the window and watch.



Four weeks in, though, my toes have set. Things heal faster out here. The storm's unstoppable.



Still, the end of days means no ships to ticket. If you look really closely at the screaming clouds, you can see that shiny silver lining.

Also, an electric chicken. No idea what that's about.

 

[The Judge]

Catullus 101: Inverse, not in Verse



The dead are always with us.

Here on Mars that’s the literal truth. The starved red soil needs nutrients. Nitrogen, calcium. Blood and bone meal. Nothing’s wasted.

I scoop a handful of soil, rub it between my fingers, mumbling to myself.

“Talking to Dad again, Cat?”

I let the dirt fall, then stand, gazing over the marrom crop. The ripe ears glow like rubies. “He loved these fields.”

“Then he’s where he wanted to be.”

I love these fields. Not like Val. As soon as he could speak, he talked of leaving. As soon as he could walk, he tried to run away. He left twenty years ago. For good, I thought. I kept in touch, though he was forever moving from one squalid city to another, among the thieves and whores and worse. I never had any real news for him. Not until the storm. Not until the dome over the barl field shattered while Dad was working there.

I didn’t expect Val to come back. Didn’t expect to find he’d been on Mars weeks by then, asking questions – about the farm’s value, about how to destroy a dome and anyone inside.

“Storm’s coming.”

Lightning blasts the horizon, forked tongues poisoning the land; the storm a fury of destruction, death. The farm’s safe, though. I’ve checked every seal on every dome. That was Dad’s mistake. Not checking the seals.

“Guess I’m stuck here now, Cat.”

A clever man, my brother. Clever enough to work out how to murder a father.

“Guess you are, Val.”

Clever enough to discover Dad had talked of selling up, leaving.

Cleverer than me. But not as ruthless.

The dead are with me as I walk over beloved fields that I will never leave; over the crushed bones of Val, my brother, the homicide detective.

 

[Culhwch]

Reaping the Storm

The dust storm darkened the horizon, heralded by rolling thunder and distant lightning; Weasel knew it’d be on them soon. He watched from his perch on the high-spy a moment more, then squirrelled down the ladder and underground.

The wrinklies still spoke about the storms of old, when water poured from the sky like blood from a knife-stuck man, soaking the earth. Weasel didn’t believe it -- there wasn’t that much water in the whole world.

Father Eustace’s workshop was empty. Weasel headed down another level to the pump rooms. The priest-engineer was there, bent over one of the big engines that drove the bores.

‘Storm's coming!’ Weasel shouted.

Eustace, face streaked with grease, looked up and smiled. ‘Just in time, too. The banks are almost dry.’

‘It's big. We'll get a full charge.’

‘How far away?’

‘A turn at most.’

‘That soon?’ Eustace shook his head. ‘I need to get this engine running. And we need to hoist the reapers.’

‘Let me,’ Weasel said confidently. The reaper arrays were long rows of lightning rods, housed underground but raised by cranks to harvest electricity from the storms. ‘I know how.’

Eustace thought for a moment, then nodded. ‘But mind the stormfront. Get inside before it hits.’

Weasel dashed from the room, heading upwards. When he emerged he found the sky dark and the wind howling. He pulled his goggles down and headed for the nearest crank.

He’d hoisted all but the two farthest arrays when he realised the storm was on him. If he went now, he could make it before they locked the storm doors. Maybe. But they needed a full charge, and who knew when the next storm would come.

Lightning was power.

Power meant water.

Water was life.

The choice was easy.

 

[Mad Alice]

See How She Runs


River ran through the dry heat of the desert. "Rain," She thought, "Rain on me."

The dry ate at her. Left her hollow, sighingly empty, sides heaving against dry without and dry within.
She felt the hardened clay humped in rivulets under the flashing silver of her feet, once soft silt . "Rain" was the prayer of those Navajo River ran by, trying to nurture their parched crops. She added her voice to theirs, hers by now a mere memory in this dry.

The small quiet things of the desert smelt her sweet scent drifting by. Their eyes glowing they followed her out into the star swept night of the desert for the survivor's reward of damp clinging to sere rocks.

The stars of the night followed her down the empty wash, their bright fluid light streaming around her, drowning her in Midnight's radiance. She felt all those thousand eyes of Midnight glinting and scintillating as they travelled her dew dampened spent surface. She had so far to go yet, and there was nothing left in her to run.

River was dry and empty. With the last bit of her moist sweet wet breath, she breathed a prayer, and listening Midnight heard. "Rain... I need Rain."

Thunder tore this firmament. Lightening danced across the storm green sky. Father Midnight made them dance to his tune, forcing them to release their prisoner, Rain.

Water washed down from the skies over River. Upon dampened dust arose Rain. His liquid dark eyes made all of River awaken as they fell upon her, renewing her strength.

With Rain's embrace River rose up wild and fought free, tumbling over rocks onto the desert. Rain softly covered River, filling her. Rain's touch gentled her fierceness. With him, River ran again.

After them the desert became green.

 

[Ursa major]

​

​

Afflavit Deus et Dissipantur: ..Algeron IV Flowers​

I cannot worship my creator: it is many and comes from one.

I’m not being cryptic when reducing the reason for my existence to a single sentence. And I’m not being intentionally poetic. But let me explain the origins of my intermittent life.

I’ll start with ‘from one’. That, ironically, might mean a number of things: the terraforming ship; its singular mission, with its mad-sounding aim, ‘To create a habitable world sight unseen’; the accident that consigned most terraforming machinery to a fiery end (for who could have guessed that Algeron IV would have such a chaotic gravitational field). But I prefer to focus on the lowly container carrying nanites designed to process the planet’s surface into useful soil.

With those nanites, we arrive at the ‘it is many’. All the pieces of machinery that burnt up in the atmosphere were semi-intelligent, though not conscious. As they perished, they tried to salvage what they could of the mission. They sent their plans to the ever dwindling list of potential survivors, until only two were left: the container of nanites and a (much larger) factory for cloning the world’s first inhabitants (so that voyagers from home would have someone, rather than something, here to welcome them).

I’m the result of the accidentally upgraded nanites. A crowd consciousness, I emerge when this world’s icy winds bring enough nanites close together (their batteries previously charged by lightning storms). If only I could find where those clones are. Only they could make me permanent. That seems unlikely, but I can dream, inspired by ancient words, adapted (like everything brought here) into something new:

I wonder only as a crowd
Afloat on high o’er hail and chills,
When all I want – I sigh aloud –
A home near Gholan afflo-mills.​

​

 

[holland]

The Amazing Adventures of Nick and Berty

“Listen to this:” John said, “A story set in the far future, where Einstein and Tesla are resurrected and finally get to meet in person?”

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“Just hear me out, Pete. Einstein’s brain was saved before he was cremated, so who’s to say Tesla’s wasn't too? So, sometime in the 22nd century, they are both cloned and all the data from their original preserved brains are transferred to their new cloned brains.”

“This is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard. Why are they resurrected? Or cloned, or whatever.”

“Because there is a mysterious electric storm on one out the outer colonies, and they are sent to investigate it. While they are studying it, they discover that it’s actually some form of intelligent alien species trying to communicate with us through electricity.”

“Aliens? Really?”

“Yes, aliens. But they exist in another dimensional plane, the only way they can contact us is physics. And that’s the set-up for possible sequels – the government resurrects other physicists to help establish communication with them. Newton joins them, Faraday, Galilei, we’ll figure it out, depending in which direction the plot moves. It’s the new Avengers, I’m telling you.”

“You’re thinking TV?”

“I’d like to make it into movies, but a TV series would work too. What do you say, you know it could work?”

“It’s completely ridiculous. In fact, it’s so utterly and unfathomably ridiculous that it actually really might work if it’s done right.”

“So you’re with me?”

“I’m with you. I’ll let Steve know we have a pitch ready.”