September 2015

There were 2 posts published in September 2015 (this is page 1 of 1).

Flash Fiction | Another Day at the…

Gerald turned on his laptop. While the Windows XX icon (for some reason Microsoft had skipped from 15 to XX) did its little dance he sipped at his coffee, hot and bitter and acrid, just how he liked it. After a small eternity (Microsoft could promise faster load times all they wanted but it was total bull) the welcome screen popped up. In another moment Gerald was logged in by the facial recognition component.

“Good morning Gerald.” Gerald had replaced the stock voice, a warm caramel that was simulated to be the perfect female voice, with a 2013 era badly simulated voice he had found on the web named Cortana. “You have 1 message from the IGF.”

Gerald cursed under his breath. He had been hoping for a quiet day of R&R.

“Open and read.”

The computer dutifully opened the message and read it.

Gerald Jimenez you have been selected for a mission today. There are three available missions for you to choose from:
1. Java trench
2. Urban Chicago
3. Mare Tranquillitatis (See of Tranquility)
You must login to simulator no later than 0800 local.

Gerald glanced at the clock on his laptop. 0755. Cutting it close as always, he really needed to stay off the sims and get to bed earlier.

“IGF. Login. ID:G Jimenez. Mission…” He hesitated for a moment. Java trench was out. He hated the underwater missions. Low grav missions were a pain too but he didn’t really want to deal with an urban mission either. Finally he made his decision. “…Mare Tranquillitatis.” The odds of dying were too high…and that would cost him credits he needed for the sims. He really needed to get off the sims.

“Welcome G Jimenez to Mare Tranquillitatis. Your mission…” at this point Gerald quit listening. As soon as he started the mission he would see a HUD with all of the relevant info for the mission. Enemies, targets, etc. For him the biggest goal was always the same. Don’t get fragged. Every time you re-spawned you were docked the cost for another Spartan. Die too many times and he might not make anything, or even worse might end up owing credits to the IGF.

Gerald leaned his head back and waited. As soon as the voice stopped talking there was a brief stab of pain as the neural link at the base of his skull was linked up to the system. This was accompanied by an intense sense of vertigo as the HUD came up.

Gerald quickly scanned the display, looking for objectives and enemies. Satisfied that he was safe for the moment he pulled his sniper rifle from his back and loaded it up. He loved being a sniper for a mission. Not only was he one of the best but it meant the odds of him being killed and losing a Spartan were very small.

Once he was satisfied with his weapon he tabbed through the objectives and then moved off to his primary location.

Gerald gasped as his neural link was severed. He felt the momentary emptiness that he always did when the link was removed and he lost the feeling of his Spartan’s body.

The mission had gone very well. He had recorded 24 kills..a new record! And he had managed to stay alive. His position had been overrun by the Chinese at one point-it looked like they had hacked his own teams communications-but Gerald had managed to get off an incendiary grenade and then retreated before they could take him out.

Gerald blinked to adjust his eyes. He then used his mouth switch to turn off the computer and turn his wheelchair around. It had only been six months since he had the procedure to insert his neural link, paralyzing him from the chest down, but he hardly even thought about what it was like to have working arms and legs any more.

His parents had told him he was crazy but he hadn’t even thought twice about joining the IGF. The IGF paid well. That meant more money for the sims which, with the neural link, were so real that he didn’t even miss real life any more…

Flash Fiction | Dragon Eyes

I slid through the forest. Brambles and briars and branches tugged at me, threatening to pull me down. I slipped, fell, tangled in the undergrowth. Then I was up again, running, running, running.

Finally I arrived. I didn’t know where or how I knew but I was there, at the lair. Sulfur rankled the air and bit bitter into my nose and eyes and throat. I could smell the too-sweet stench of death and decay below the burn.

I pulled my sword from my back, felt more than heard the sing of it leaving its sheath. It was a good sword, old and worn and new and bright. It was as long as a greatsword but the hilt was shorter. A hand-and-a-half or bastard if you like.

Great folds of metal wavered up and down its shining sides. It was straight and true and would not falter in battle. It was a great sword.

Then I unlimbered my shield. A simple metal frame wrapped in shiny coppery scales. Dragon scales. It was light and strong. All but impenetrable. This was my true prize, shield of my father’s father’s father. My sword was great but my shield was magnificent.

Once armed and protected I approached the lair. It wasn’t a cave or a canyon or a pit. It was a patch of forest filled with a feeling of strength and flight and dread. This was a dragon’s lair.

I approached on stealthy feet. Sword and shield high and protecting. Then I heard it, a rustle then a flash of amber in the trees.

I ran, pitching myself through the forest. I could see her, there, hidden among the trees and bushes. How did I know it was a her? Maybe in the way she moved, darting and dodging instead of attacking. Or maybe it was the smell, the shes have a different smell less sulfury. Whatever it was I knew that I had found my prize.

I darted into a small clearing. She had cleared it. She was magnificent. She towered above me, cloaked in amber scales that rippled in the dappled sunlight. Her claws and horns were luminescent gold.

I moved to attack, hiding behind my shield. Liquid fire rained down but he shield held, my hand was not even hot. She then tried to attack but my blade and shield held her back, turning each strike away.

I could taste her fear then, smell its acrid tang on the air. But I knew she would not flee, no matter what the cost to herself. Behind her was a boulder of pure obsidian, dragon glass. It was smooth and silky with edges sharper than the finest blade. The top of the stone was crouched with a hollow and in that hollow sat a giant egg that gleamed as gold as her claws. Even from a distance I could feel the waves of heat rolling off the boulder that had been bathed and stoked in her maternal fire.

The attacks abated for the merest moment allowing me a brief respite. I peered over the lip of my shield to see the dragon regarding me. Her eyes were glossy obsidian orbs to match the stone pedestal which held her offspring and in them I saw something. It was primal and instinctual and it was human. They plead for the life of her unborn child. They screamed for me to leave and let them be.

I admit I hesitated then, almost turned back, but I couldn’t. What then would I tell my unborn child, who rested then in his mother’s womb? That I, a dragon hunter, turned away from my greatest prize out of pity? Would that pity fill his hungry belly as he wailed in the night? Would it keep him warm through the harsh winter that he would be born into? No, it would not. But food and shelter and clothing bought with her scales and talons and horns would.

I bowed my head and turned away, unable to look into those eyes as I raised my sword one last time.