raygun, final exam tale

THRILLING TALES FROM BEYOND THE ETHER

Final Exam

by Edward McKeown

Serial: JASPER SQUAD
Chapter 6, Choices

by Paul Christian Glenn

Serial: The Adventures of the Sky Pirate
Chapter 10, Cliffhanger
by Johne Cook

Serial: Memory Wipe
Chapter 10: Descent

by Sean T. M. Stiennon

Issue 20
“Dark City,” by Shkumbin Ferizi

April 15, 2007

Pg.

Table of Contents
Table of Contents 2
Overlord’s Lair
3
Final Exam, by Edward McKeown 5
SERIAL: JASPER SQUAD

Episode Six, Choices, by Paul Christian Glenn 17
Featured Artist: Shkumbin Ferizi
22
SERIAL: The Adventures of the Sky Pirate

Chapter 10, Cliffhanger, by Johne Cook 24
SERIAL: Memory Wipe

Chapter 10, Descent, by Sean T. M. Stiennon 38
The Jolly RGR 48
Overlords (Founders / Editors): L. S. King, Paul Christian Glenn, Johne Cook
Venerable Staff:
A.M. Stickel - Managing Copyeditor
Shannon McNear - lord high advisor, grammar consultant, listening ear/sanity saver for overlord Lee
Paul Christian Glenn - PR, sounding board, strong right hand
L. S. King - lord high editor, proofreader, beloved nag, muse, webmistress
Johne Cook - art wrangler, desktop publishing, chief cook and bottle washer
Slushmasters (Submissions Editors): Scott M. Sandridge, John M. Whalen, David Wilhelms, Shari
L. Armstrong, Jack Willard
Serial Authors: Sean T. M. Stiennon, Lee S. King, Paul Christian Glenn, Johne Cook
Cover Art: “Dark City,” by Shkumbin Ferizi
Without Whom... Bill Snodgrass, site host, Web-Net Solutions, admin, webmaster, database admin,
mentor, confidante, liaison – Double-edged Publishing
Special Thanks: Ray Gun Revival logo design by Hatchbox Creative
Visit us online at http://raygunrevival.com

Rev: 20070415c

Ray Gun Revival magazine

All content copyright 2007 by Double-edged Publishing,
a Memphis, Tennessee-based non-profit publisher.

Issue 20, April 15, 2007

Pg.

Overlord’s Lair

I

have to start off this issue with a moment of
sorrowful silence in memory of the author Kurt
Vonnegut. His passing has ripped a hole in the fabric
of the SF space-time continuum, and in my heart. He
greatly impacted me as a reader and writer. Good-bye
Kilgore Trout. Good-bye Blue Monday.
So it goes.
Issue 20 of Ray Gun Revival gives us a wide variety
of stories. We begin with a wonderful throw-back to
the old black-and-white films of the ‘50s with “Final
Exam” by Edward McKeown.
New Mexico desert, 1950s: boy meets monster in a
battle to save earth.
“Hotkas,” I called.
He came up to the force curtain.
“It’s not an accurate test,” I said.
“Tell me why,” Hotkas said, in his oddly patient
‘teacher’ manner.
“An animal in the jungle knows his predators.
Would it be a fair test to you if an invisible monster
dropped from overhead and ripped your throat out?
You took us unaware. You won’t be able to do so in
the future.”
Hotkas looked up at the ceiling, then back at me.
“Sound logic, John,” he said. “What do you propose?”
I almost froze then. I was talking with the saurian
as if we were pals. As if I hadn’t watched him tear a
human being into bite-size pieces only minutes ago.
Jasper Squad by Paul Christian Glenn continues
with episode six: “Choices.” The crew of the Jasper
are on the run from their own government, but they

don’t know why. Can these people all really trust each
other with their lives?
The crew of the Jasper are on the run from their
own government, and they don’t know why. But can
these people really trust each other with their lives?
“Is that it, then?” Spill asked. “You don’t trust
me anymore, so you’re going to sell out the squad?
Throw your career—hell, your life—away? Just like
that?”
To his relief, she stopped. She stood motionless,
silhouetted at the fore of the alleyway. Spill sensed
that this was his moment, and he took a step toward
her. “Don’t do it, Janet,” he said softly. “We can beat
this, I know it.”
He waited for a long moment until she finally
turned to face him.
“I want to know if you’re hiding something,” she
said.
Spill felt a tightness in his chest, and his face
burned with shame, but he stood his ground.
Suddenly, the words he had spoken in his mind a
thousand times were coming out of his mouth, and
it felt like a ton of concrete was lifting from his
shoulders.
“I’m dirty,” he said quietly. “I’ve been doubledealing with shafty, little shock outfits for… god…
twenty years and more.”
Johne Cook’s the Adventures of the Sky Pirate,
continues with “Cliffhanger.” And, hm, how do
I describe this? Starts and ends by a cliff, has
espionage, counter-espionage, a love triangle, honor,
betrayal, and the birth of an entirely new scientific


Pg.

principle that will shake the foundations of an entire
planet (if Flynn survives that long).
Pitt slapped his leg with the note in celebration,
and sat on his pallet, carefully smoothing the note.
He read and re-read it until thirty minutes before the
meeting. He went down to the communal baths and
washed up, changed into his best shirt, and polished
his boots as well he could. He slicked back his hair,
plucked a flower from the garden, and walked over to
the lover’s alcove.
Flynn may have commanded the attention of any
woman on campus, but Deena—she belonged to him.
Pitt arrived early and hid back in a shadowed corner
behind a boulder that lovers sometimes sat on to
gaze into each others’ eyes and other things. His
eagerness was enhanced as he saw Deena Prentiss
arrive and look about her in expectation.
Pitt savored the moment, not quite believing his
sudden change of fortune, and was preparing to rise
and go to her from his hidden location when Flynn, of
all people, rushed into the alcove.

“I’m going to try to lose him,” she hissed. “But it’s
not going to be easy, and it’s not going to happen
fast. His ship can accelerate faster than mine and can
probably maneuver five times as fast....He’s firing,”
she said, then spat a series of curses in a language
Takeda had never heard.
“What weapons?”
“X-ray lasers, from the data I’m getting,” she
said. “You two are lucky. Death’ll be instantaneous,
and you won’t see it coming even if I’m facing right
towards him.”
“Fortunate,” Zartsi hissed.
So—dodge the space monkeys, grab a zlati ale,
and get ready for some ripping good adventure!

L. S. King

Pitt’s face fell in abject disbelief.
Sean T. M. Stiennon’s Memory Wipe: “Descent”
opens with Takeda and his companions arriving in
orbit around Nihil only to find that someone else is
there ahead of them—the alien assassin Lashiir, out
for their blood.
Esheera shook her mane of lank hair. “Look, sport,
I don’t know anything about what kind of ships
Clordites fly. For all I know they open portals to the
Lightless Heat and use ‘em to teleport between stars.
And I’m not to proud to admit that the Seer’s not the
fastest ship in the black.”
“What’s his vector?” Takeda asked.
“He was orbiting near the upper pole. Coming
straight for us now.”
“Is there anything you can do?”



The Battle for Monday Morning, by Jordan Lapp

Pg.

Final Exam

by Edward McKeown

T

he bomb flared. Its light sped out at 186,000
miles per second; a thunderous roar
crawled behind at the speed of sound. The wind
swelled, and the ground heaved and bucked.
“Woo-hoo!” Todd yelled.
“It’s a big one!” I shouted.
“The Atomic Cannon is cool.” Todd grinned.
“Too bad Truman didn’t use it on the North
Koreans.”
I nodded. Dad’s brother had just come back
from flying F-80s in Korea. He’d wanted to Abomb the whole place.
We peered out the slits of the old bunker we’d
discovered while sneaking around the atomic
proving grounds outside of Los Alamos. The
bunker and crumbling labyrinth beyond became
the private clubhouse of our group of friends,
kids of the eggheads who worked at the labs.
We didn’t mix that much with the townies, even
though we all attended Los Alamos High.
Grit and debris joined the wind, making us
duck till the worst passed. Then we popped back
up to the slits, watching as the wind shredded the
mushroom cloud. We studied the smoke trails
through Army binoculars for a while.
Todd sat back and yawned. Like me, he was
caked with dust, except where his dark goggles
had protected his face: a raccoon in reverse. “So,”
he said, “you want to shoot some rabbits and eat
out here?”
“Nah,” I replied. “Rabbits won’t stop running
for two days. Besides I don’t feel like dressing
them out, and you do a lousy job.”
“Then let’s explore up toward Calderon’s,”
Todd said. “Maybe we’ll find that canyon. We can


leave the rifles here. Too darn hot to tote them if
we aren’t going to hunt.”
“Okay, get a flashlight out of the locker,” I said.
We wrapped our rifles in their bags and locked
them in the old footlocker we’d salvaged from the
bunker complex. Our dads were always lugging
stuff home from the base, and we’d become
expert scroungers, loading the clubhouse with
old ammo boxes, C-rations, walkie-talkies and
other goodies. Sometimes we brought black
powder and fireworks out there to blow stuff up,
just like our parents. Becky, our group tomboy,
had found forty rounds of .50 caliber ammo and
planned to do some real damage with those. I’d
liberated some metal fence spikes the Army left
unattended. I’d thought about bracing some of
the collapsing tunnels around our bunker with
them but hadn’t gotten around to it.
As usual, we covered our tracks and piled
sage back up in front of the bunker door. With
our fortress secured, we struck out for Calderon’s
Cave, careful to stay off the ridges where scientists and the Army might spot us. For all that, we
made good time.
We hiked down Creager’s Draw with the sun
beating down on our dust-covered bodies and
clothes. Our metal canteens bumped on our butts
as we struggled over the rough ground. I carried
the map and radium compass. Todd was great at
blowing things up, but maps confused him.
“Wow,” Todd said, wiping his brow. “I thought
it was closer.”
I pointed down the arroyo to our left. “Is that
it?”
“Looks like it.”


Final Exam, by Edward McKeown
We headed for the spacious cave. Rumor said
it was more of a tunnel leading to a hidden box
canyon. We went in about thirty feet and sat
down in the tunnel’s coolness. The cave yawned
back out of sight. Its roof disappeared in the
dark over our heads. I took a few sips of warm,
metallic-tasting water from my canteen. I knew
I’d need the rest for the long walk home.
“Greetings,” said a voice from behind us.
Todd jumped and yelled. I ducked behind a
rock. Then I looked at Todd, and he, at me. We
both had short crew cuts, the only thing that kept
our hair from standing on end. Todd’s flashlight
snapped on, and I added the beam of my own.
Nothing.
“Don’t be afraid,” the voice came again.
“Who are you?” I said, standing and thinking
about running. “Where are you?”
“You may call me Hotkas, and I am close by.”
“Whaddya want?” Todd yelled from behind a
boulder.
“I’m an explorer,” said the unseen Hotkas.
“He might be a Red spy,” Todd whispered.
“I’m not a Red spy. I’m not even of your
world.”
“A spaceman...” I said, awed.
“Off a flying saucer,” Todd finished.
“Yes. I am from space. But I’m not a man. My
appearance may frighten you, so I chose to make
myself known in this way.”
“We’re not scared,” I said, though my heart
beat a tattoo in my chest.
“Then come through the cave into the canyon
beyond,” Hotkas said. “I’ll reward you if you help
me.”
Todd stared at me. I just couldn’t see backing
down in front of him; I was the child of a
scientist.
Side-by-side we inched down the cave. I
wished for my 30/30 or even Todd’s lousy .22.
We rounded the curve into daylight. Cautiously,


Pg.
we peeked out the cave exit into the high-walled
canyon.
A saucer lay there. Just like the ones on comic
book covers, a silver disk as wide as a B-29’s wings
and about three stories tall.
“Wow,” Todd said.
We crept out of the cave, our fear displaced
by wonder. The ship rested on the ground, its
seamless hull glinting brilliantly.
“Where are you?” I called.
“Behind you,” the voice said.
We spun on our heels, saw Hotkas, and
screamed. We’d have run—except it was between
the cave entrance and us.
Hotkas looked like a cross between a crocodile
and a nightmare. Six legs held its twenty-foot
long body off the ground, a tail stuck out rigidly
behind it. Its chest reared up, and two arms hung
from its shoulders. The crocodile head held huge
yellow eyes. Fabric covered parts of Hotkas, and a
purple, jewel-like device hung under its neck.
“Don’t be frightened,” Hotkas said. Its voice
was a dull rumble rendered by some mechanical
device into plain, unaccented English. The alien’s
eyes locked on mine, cold and reptilian, yet lit
with intelligence.
Hotkas crawled over slowly and settled near
us. “I’ve come to your world from our outpost on
Proxima Centauri,” Hotkas said. “We’re surveying
worlds and species in your system. I want to learn
about humans. Tell me your names.”
We traded introductions and gradually calmed
down.
“Come,” it said. We turned and saw an opening
had appeared in the ship’s gleaming side.
“What should we do?” Todd whispered.
“If it wanted to harm us,” I said with a confidence I didn’t feel, “it could tear us to pieces with
ease. I think we should go in.”
Hotkas looked at me. “Excellent reasoning. In
any event, I intend you no harm.”


We followed him into the saucer to confront
bewildering batteries of lights, machines, and
corridors built on Hotkas’ scale. For all the ship’s
size, we saw no other aliens. Hotkas strode onto a
large metallic plate on the floor. It lifted smoothly
to another deck. Todd and I clutched at each
other. Hotkas’ bright yellow eyes focused on me.
“Afraid, John?”
I let go of Todd. “Not of an elevator. I was
startled. Ours are usually enclosed.”
“Your kind fear heights?”
“We fly, and we climb mountains, too,” I said.
“Yes.”
We stepped off the plate onto a deck filled
with black and silver machines. A large glass
dome stood in the middle of the space. Hotkas
gestured for us to stand there. I felt like a monkey
trying to comprehend an atom-lab. Hotkas aimed
various machines at us; neither of us felt anything
when he did so.
Finally, I turned to Hotkas, who fiddled with
yet another machine. Its claw-like hands worked
with surprising delicacy.
“Why did you land here, Hotkas?”
It looked down at me, and I had the oddest
feeling that I saw approval in those big, yellow
eyes. “I came down in the desert because I feared
that if I landed in town, I’d provoke an attack. Your
authorities might panic.”
“Yeah,” I said. “Especially here, near the atomic
proving sites. They would have sicced the Army
on you in a heartbeat.”
“After I finish my tests,” Hotkas continued,
“I’ll reveal myself to the authorities through you
children. You’ll act as emissaries and bring me
into contact with your leaders. Meanwhile, I’ll
prepare to meet other children.”
“You’ll scare them like you did us,” Todd said.
“Watch,” Hotkas said.
It went into a machine at the back of the room.
Lights flashed and machinery hummed, and a boy


Pg.
appeared in front of us. He looked like a peculiar
fusion of Todd and me, but his eyes remained
yellow. Even his clothes appeared to be a combination of what Todd and I wore.
“How did you do that?” Todd said.
“Matter transformation,” Hotkas said in a boy’s
voice.
“You’re so small,” I marveled.
“Yeah,” Todd said, scratching his head. “Where
did the rest of you go?”
“Tell me,” Hotkas turned to face Todd.
Todd shrugged helplessly.
Hotkas turned to me. “Tell me.”
I thought furiously, determined not to let him
believe earth people were stupid barbarians. I
might be only a high school sophomore but my
dad was a major scientist. “Clearly, the machine
turned you into energy. Then back into matter, but
you’re smaller now. How much do you weigh?”
Hotkas stared at me, deadpan. “One hundred
twenty-five pounds.”
“So,” I continued slowly, “since matter and
energy can’t be destroyed, the rest of you must
still be in the machine, held as energy until it
remakes your full size body.”
Hotkas seemed incapable of facial expression,
but he nodded. “Yes, John, an excellent display of
logic and intelligence.”
“Thanks,” I stammered.
“What’s that thing you’re wearing?” Todd
pointed at the jewel-like device Hotkas-boy still
wore around his neck.
“Observant,” Hotkas said. “It is a recording
device given to all scouts. All that I see or hear is
recorded. It can’t be erased, altered, or turned
off. It broadcasts periodically to our base.”
“Keeps you honest, huh?” Todd observed.
“Tell me where to meet you in the morning,”
Hotkas said.
We drew maps on Hotkas’ machine with his
help and showed him where to meet us in the



morning outside Los Alamos High.
“Meanwhile, you must remain silent about
me,” Hotkas warned. “Do not tell even your
parents until I have paved the way for a safe
contact. If a military aircraft or troop formation
heads in my direction, it could be unfortunate for
all concerned. I will defend myself.”
Hotkas escorted us back to Calderon’s.
“Remember,” he said. “Tell no one of my presence,
or you risk a terrible conflict between our
species.”
“They’d just lock us away in the loony bin if we
told them we’d met an alien,” Todd said.
Todd and I made our way home in a daze. He
stayed over with me, and we had dinner at my
house. Dad was working late at the lab, and Mom
had a card party. Todd and I talked well into the
morning hours before falling asleep. We wanted
to tell Becky, Ty, and Henri, but there was no way
they would believe us without meeting Hotkas.
When Mom woke me in the morning, it all
seemed like a dream. I thought about talking to
her or Dad, but Hotkas’ warning stopped me. I
could see my Dad giving me that disappointed
look. “Son, where’s the evidence? What sort of
science is this?”
Todd went home to change. I wolfed breakfast
and ran out. Mom didn’t seem to notice anything
odd. I met Todd at his house, and we hotfooted
it to school. I found Becky, Ty, and Henri at our
usual spot by a cottonwood tree. Not far away
stood Hotkas in his boy form. He was real. We
hadn’t imagined him. I spotted Todd coming the
other way. He nodded and went to get Hotkas. I
walked toward the others.
Ty leaned his beanpole form against a fence.
With his pale skin and light sandy hair, he made
an odd contrast with Henri, a stocky half-Mexican.


Pg.

Both their dads worked in the Labs. Becky Lane
stood next to them, almost as lean and angular
as Ty, with a snub nose, blue eyes, and blond hair
perpetually tied in a ponytail. Becky’s mom died
when she was four and she grew up half-wild on
her father’s ranch. I could out-shoot Becky but
only by standing on the ground; no one could outshoot her from horseback. She was the only girl
to get away with wearing slacks to school. She
didn’t own dresses or skirts.
“Hey, Johnny,” Becky waved. “Who’s the new
kid?”
“He’s…” I paused, dumbfounded. “He’s from
out of town.”
Before I could blather on, Hotkas-boy came
up, following Todd. “Hey guys,” Todd said. “Meet
Hotkas.”
“Hotkas,” Ty snorted. “What the heck kind of a
name is that?”
“Foreign,” Hotkas replied. His face was so calm
and still as to look a bit unreal. The yellow irises
made it worse. “I came from far away. To learn
about your school.”
“Foreign?” Becky studied Hotkas. “That’s
funny. You look enough like Johnny here to be his
cousin, except for your tiger-eyes. For that matter,
he looks a bit like you too, Todd. Golly, I sure can’t
place your accent.”
“Oh-oh,” Henri said. “Trouble, twelve o’clock
high.”
I turned and saw the usual source of the
warning: jock heads, four football players from
the Hilltoppers, wearing green and gold jackets,
and led by their goon quarterback, Lou Grober.
“Well, well,” Grober said. “If it isn’t the egghead
squad.”
“Buzz off,” Becky said over her shoulder. She
could. She was a girl. Grober wouldn’t hit her.



Grober ignored her. “Hey, new kid. You don’t
want to hang around with these losers unless
you’re one yourself.”
Hotkas turned to look at them. “Large fighting
males,” he observed.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Gerald said. He was
Grober’s lead flunky. I hoped they’d eventually wind up sharing a prison cell. “We’re fighters,
Yellow-eyes. We kicked your buddies’ butts for
them.”
“Ooohh, what big men,” Becky laughed,
“You’ve been left back so often you’ll be able to
vote in high school.”
“Shut up, you—” Gerald spat out a word I never
thought I would hear anyone say to a girl.
“Hey! Watch your mouth,” I said, shocked out
of caution by the cuss word.
Grober smiled. “You want to rumble? Four of
us...four of you.” The other football goons spread
out to face us.
“Five,” Becky snapped, stepping next to Todd
and me.
“Are you going to fight, John?” Hotkas asked.
“What’s it to you?” Grober said. “You want
some of this action?”
“I’m merely here to observe,” Hotkas replied
“I think he’s yellow,” Gerald sneered, “like his
eyes.”
Grober moved toward me. Hotkas stood in his
way, and Grober shoved him. Or tried to. Hotkas’
arms blurred. He slammed Grober, throwing him
back ten feet. The other goons gaped at Hotkas,
and then at Grober, who sat, groaning on the
grass. They seemed undecided about rushing
Hotkas. We eggheads fanned out on either side
of our new friend.
The jocks fell back on Grober, helping him up as
he glared daggers at us. “Later for you, eggheads.


Pg.

And I’m going to remember you, yellow-eyes.”
The goons walked off, their leader cussing and
sucking wind.
“They ruined my observations,” Hotkas said. “I
wanted to observe your fighting skills.”
“You wouldn’t have been impressed,” I said
ruefully.
“John, you do need to impress me.”
The way he said it sent a chill through me.
We spent the rest of the day showing Hotkas
around Los Alamos High. Becky clearly realized
something was wrong with him. Ty and Henri
just thought he was weird. We saw some of
the football team shadowing us and decided to
vamoose right after class.
“Where are we going?” Henri huffed as we
fled the campus grounds into the desert.
“Hotkas has something to show you,” I said.
We finally made it to Calderon’s Cave. Becky,
Ty, and Henri’s reactions were everything I hoped
for when they saw the ship and figured out what
Hotkas was. Shadows had begun to fill the box
canyon, and the saucer seemed even more mysterious in the failing light.
“Follow me,” Hotkas said. Reassured by Todd
and me, the others trooped into the saucer and
Hotkas began to do his tests. Only about five
minutes into it, a red light and a chime demanded
Hotkas’ attention.
“It seems that we’ve been pursued,” Hotkas
said. He flipped a dial, and a screen snapped on;
we saw Grober and his three buddies entering
Calderon’s Cave.
“They want to get even,” Becky grinned. “Boy,
do they have a surprise coming.”
“Yes,” Hotkas said, “a surprise.” He looked at
me, and I knew something was wrong. Hotkas’
hand touched another control. Suddenly I felt



woozy, and everything went black.
I came to in a larger space in Hotkas’ ship than
I’d seen before. Around me lay both my friends
and Grober’s goons, blinking and sitting up.
Hotkas, still a boy, stood on the other side of
the room, just outside the entranceway. Gerald
got up and took two steps toward Hotkas before
running into something that flared and pitched
him on his butt.
“Idiot,” I snapped. “Did you think you could
tackle him?”
“It was quite stupid, John,” Hotkas nodded.
“You wouldn’t have done that.”
“I don’t feel that smart,” I said standing. “I
thought you were our friend.”
“Now you do disappoint me, John. I land
without permission in your country, hide among
you, near your nuclear weapons testing facility. I’m
an intelligent carnivore. We don’t have friends.
“My people are evaluating your people as both
opponents and as a food source. Now that I have
a large enough sample, I can proceed to do the
real tests. I must classify your species.”
“It’s going to eat us,” Gerald croaked.
“Eventually,” Hotkas agreed. “Now, I must
return to my true shape and size. I’ve been in this
puny body too long.” He turned and walked out
of sight.
“What are we going to do?” Todd asked. Like
me, I could see he blamed himself for our predicament.
“What do you mean?” Grober said, eyes wide.
“You’ve seen this ship, his powers. They can move
from star to star. We don’t stand a chance against
them.”
“So,” Becky challenged, “you’re just going to
give up?”
“I’m going to stay alive.”


Pg. 10

Hotkas hove back into view, and even Becky
screamed, dashing for the back of the room. He
looked even bigger than before. “When I drop the
force shield,” he said. “Do not give me trouble. I
need to select one of you for a test subject.”
“Still trying to classify us?” I asked.
Hotkas looked at me. “No. The detail work
remains, but your performance to this point has
already classified you.”
I looked up at the saurian. He stared back with
cold, yellow eyes. They were empty of hate. Of
course, I thought, I don’t hate cows or chickens. I
just eat them.
“So.” I said, “what are you going to class us
as?”
“You are Tien-shri-ja,” he said. “The most
common variety of food. It translates as ‘the meat
that fights poorly.’
“Do you wish to select one of your own to go
first?” Hotkas asked. “Or shall I?”
Grober looked up at the crocodilian monster.
“Wait,” he said. “Maybe we can make a deal. If you
guys are moving in here, you’ll need help. Locals
to supply you with information. Loyal subjects—”
“So,” Hotkas rumbled, “you’d turn on your own
kind? Work for my people?”
“Yes,” Grober said, his face strained and
white.
Disgust filled me. I’d been afraid of this piece
of human garbage?
“Well, John?” Hotkas asked. “What do you
say? Will you secure your life by working for my
people? I shall guarantee no harm will ever befall
you. I’ll even spare two of your friends, though I
must use the others.”
I could see Ty, Henri, Todd, and especially
Becky looking at me. This is it, I realized: Custer’s
Last Stand, the Alamo, Wake Island. I looked up at



Hotkas and felt sick.
“Go to hell,” I croaked out. I hoped it wasn’t
going to hurt. I didn’t want to scream in front of
Becky.
“Another good answer, John,” Hotkas said. He
turned toward Grober. Oh, God, I thought, seeing
the shift in the powerful carnivore’s body.
“Who,” Hotkas growled, “is so weak that he
would be served by such as you?”
Grober saw it coming; his mouth hung open
but no sound came from it. Hotkas lunged, jaws
and claws meeting in Grober’s body. Grober
managed to shriek once.
We all screamed, sobbed, and begged for
God to make it stop. He didn’t. Grober didn’t die
quickly enough. No matter how I had hated him,
I didn’t want to see him die that way.
I turned away and jammed my hands into
my ears trying to block out the horrible, wet,
crunching sounds behind me. Most of the kids lay
on the floor, unconscious or whimpering hysterically.
Not Becky, she glared at Hotkas with a hate
that should have torn him limb from limb.
I knelt down and threw up. It was over. I heard
Hotkas walking away, doubtless to dispose of
what was left of Grober.
I felt a small, hard hand on my shoulder. “Get
up, John.”
“It’s no use,” I whimpered.
Becky shook me. “John, you’ve got to get
hold of yourself. He’s interested in you, seems to
respect you. We’ve got to use that.”
“How?” Todd said. “He’s too big, too strong.”
“So were cave bears, dire wolves, and sabertooth tigers,” Becky said. “We took them. We
have to take him.”
I looked up into her clear blue eyes. With a


Pg. 11

shock I realized Becky was serious. She wasn’t
beaten. Afraid—yes, beaten—no.
“You think we can?” Todd said, visibly firming.
I felt heart flow back into me and got off the
floor.
“He’s too big for us to overcome,” she said,
“even if we all rushed him. So we have to out-think
him. Tell me what you know about Hotkas.”
“He said he came from Proxima—”
“No,” she interrupted. “About him. How does
he think? He’s an intelligent carnivore. What
motivates him?”
“I dunno,” I said.
“He seems interested in everything competitive that we do,” Todd whispered. “Like a teacher
from hell. He seems to want John to pass his tests.
Can we use that?”
“Maybe we can talk him into one last test,”
Becky said. “Us versus him.”
I glanced around. Henri had fainted. Gerald
sat on the floor, eyes vacant, drooling. Even Ty
and the other football guys were out of it. No, not
a mass fight.
I touched Becky’s shoulder. “Thanks,” I said,
looking at her and maybe actually seeing her for
the first time. “I think I know what to do.”
Hotkas returned. Those kids who were
conscious pressed back against the wall. Only
Todd, Becky, and I didn’t fall back.
“Hotkas,” I called.
He came up to the force curtain.
“It’s not an accurate test,” I said.
“Tell me why,” Hotkas said, in his oddly patient
‘teacher’ manner.
“An animal in the jungle knows his predators.
Would it be a fair test to you if an invisible monster
dropped from overhead and ripped your throat
out? You took us unaware. You won’t be able to



do so in the future.”
Hotkas looked up at the ceiling, and back at
me. “Sound logic, John,” he said. “What do you
propose?”
I almost froze then. I was talking with the
saurian as if we were pals. As if I hadn’t watched
him tear a human being into bite-size pieces only
minutes ago.
“Todd, Becky, and I against you,” I managed.
“We get a half-hour head start, before you come
after us.”
“You’d simply run for your military,” Hotkas
said, “across a distance you can’t cross before I
catch up to you. It will be merely tedious.”
I looked up into those inhuman eyes. “We,” I
said, my voice ragged with anger, “are not ‘meat
that fights poorly.’ You come after us, Hotkas,
you’re gonna die.”
I don’t think Hotkas had a sense of humor. Yet,
somehow, I again drew the impression that I’d
both amused and pleased the alien.
“Very well, John,” Hotkas said. “You shall have
your test. I commend both your intelligence and
fighting spirit. I’ll be sure to kill you quickly.”
“Thanks,” I said, mouth dry.
“You three come forward,” he said. Hotkas
waved a taloned hand and the force barrier let us
through. He held out a red bracelet with a jewellike device on it.
“Take it,” he ordered when I hesitated to come
close. I recognized it as a recording device like
the one Hotkas had worn in his boy-form. “It will
record everything we see and say. I can’t use it to
track you. Put it on your wrist.”
Reluctantly, I slipped the device on over my
hand. It resized itself to fit me.
Hotkas glared down at us. “Now run.”
We fled right by him, inhaling the alien’s dry,


Pg. 12

spicy scent.
“Your half hour,” Hotkas called, “begins when
you leave the cave.”
We sped from the ship, and raced through
Calderon’s. When we came out, I cut right and
Becky and Todd followed.
“Where are we going?” Becky yelled.
“He’s a carnivore, right?” I called back, amazed
at how calm and cool my mind had become.
“We’re prey. He expects us to act that way. Run
away or hide. We’re going to do just what he
wants...”
I gestured to the bracelet on my arm. Maybe
Hotkas was telling the truth about not spying on
us and maybe not. We were going to start fighting
smart. Becky and Todd nodded, understanding in
their eyes.
We headed toward town for a mile, cut back
through a draw and onto the ridge of rocks where
we would leave no prints, and headed into the
desert, back to our clubhouse.
I realized we must have been unconscious
for hours in Hotkas’ ship as the sun was climbing
toward noon. Our parents must be looking for us
by now. I looked up into the blazing arch of the
sky. No airplanes searched for us. We were on our
own.
We finally reached the clubhouse and pulled
the sage and cover from the door, slipping into
the cool dark of our bunker. Todd ran to where
we’d left our guns, and Becky got water out of the
cistern we’d rigged in the back. I ignored my thirst
and grubbed about until I found what we needed
most: paper and pencil.
“Safe,” Todd sighed, clutching his .22 rifle.
I turned and made a furious slashing gesture
across my throat. I pulled up my pad and pencil
and gestured at the 30.30 and .22. Toys, I wrote.



Becky nodded, her face grim.
Plan? she scratched in the dirt.
Get.50 caliber ammo. All black powder, I
wrote. I pointed to a large metal fire pail that had
been left in the bunker.
I pointed at Todd. Blasting caps? I wrote.
He nodded vigorously. Wire and batteries too.
He mimed a walkie-talkie.
If Hotkas could read lips he could read my pad.
I let it go. I’d forgotten about the walkie-talkies;
pity they weren’t long-ranged enough to call for
help.
Need 200 foot long rig for detonation, I
wrote.
I wrenched open the inner door of the bunker.
It led to a tunnel partly collapsed and badly shored
up by us. Inside I found what I was looking for,
sheet metal and two dozen metal fence spikes.
I grabbed the flashlight and, leaving the others
to their preparations, set out down the tunnel. If
only we had the time. I scrambled over partially
collapsed sections until I reached a blocked area. I
turned back and brought up some sheet metal to
fashion a scoop. I cursed myself for not leaving a
real shovel in the hideout. As I scooped frantically,
I checked the time by the glimmer of my radium
watch. How much time had my feint toward town
bought us?
A sound behind made me whirl, spike in hand.
“Becky,” I breathed, before remembering Hotkas’
sensor. Of course, the monster could never fit in
the tunnel. She carried the large pail and dragged
wire behind her. From the amount of dirt in her
hair, she must have had a bad time coming down
the passage. We cleared enough of the collapse
to make it to the section beyond.
The tunnel turned upward and daylight drifted
down through its partly collapsed roof. I picked


Pg. 13

my spot, and began spreading the sheet metal on
the floor, gesturing at Becky to get more. I took
the pail of black powder, dug it into the dirt, and
surrounded it with more sheet metal forming
a cone, narrow at the base, pointing upward.
I noted with approval that Becky had put the
bullet tops from the .50 ammo in with the black
powder. I kept the wire and blasting caps well
clear of everything. Todd and I had almost blown
ourselves up by being sloppy with caps.
Todd trailed Becky, bringing up the last of the
sheet metal and the spikes. He’d found more black
powder and the rounds from Henri’s old 12 gauge.
They went into the fire bucket at the bottom of
the cone. Then I carefully put the spikes in the
cone as Todd and Becky used dirt and rocks to
keep the cone upright. Finally, very carefully, Todd
wired up the blasting cap and we retreated to the
main bunker.
Todd grabbed my pad as soon as we got there
and scribbled, How do we get him over it?
I looked at them, made a running man out of
my two fingers and hand, and gestured at myself.
Todd gulped but Becky shook her head vigorously
and pointed at herself. “Like hell,” I said before I
could catch myself.
She snatched the pad from my hands and
wrote. He respects you. He doesn’t respect me any
more than a hunter respects a doe. I’m just meat
and he won’t be wary of me. He’ll run straight at
me.
I shook my head. Too dangerous, I mimed.
Becky looked me in the eye. “I’m right, and
you know it,” she whispered.
I looked at Todd. He looked at the floor. Becky’s
eyes didn’t leave mine.
I never did win any arguments with Becky.
I took the pad and wrote in big letters, MUST



PROMISE. Run for town if mine doesn’t work. We
hold him with guns. Don’t look back. Don’t stop.
She nodded. I made her place her hand over
her heart and nod again.
Becky got up to go outside. I grabbed her in
a hug. She hugged me back, punched me in the
ribs, and went out.
Todd handed me the loaded .30.30 but left
out his hand. I shook it hard, reluctant to let go.
We stepped up to the bunker slits, the same ones
through which we’d watched Atomic Annie only
two days ago. Becky wiped up our tracks with
sagebrush and built herself a blind of loose brush
near the mine, burying herself in the sand.
We didn’t have long to wait.
“What are you up to, John?” Hotkas asked. I
froze until I realized the voice emanated from the
device on my arm. Todd stared at me, his eyes
wide with terror.
“I expected you to run for the town,” Hotkas
continued, “seeking the protection of your own
army. You started that way, but circled back
instead, heading into the desert. A wonderful
stratagem; I wasted an hour heading toward
town and back. Meanwhile the sun has burned
off much of your scent. Unfortunately for you, I
can sight-track and you left prints in the soft sand
between the stones you tried to stay on.”
I kept my thoughts to myself. Hotkas said
the wrist-recorder couldn’t track us through the
machine; I didn’t believe it.
“Your cleverness pleases me,” Hotkas said.
“There is little honor in finding more Tien-shri-ja;
the galaxy is full of it.”
“There,” I pointed as Hotkas crested the ridge.
A large pistol rode between Hotkas’ front and rear
legs, tied down in its holster. Well, I thought, he
promised a fair fight. With those teeth and claws,


Pg. 14

he probably doesn’t need a weapon.
“Ah,” Hotkas said through the bracelet. “Small
bits of human-made debris, bones of small
animals and indications of fires. You have a den
here. John, you disappoint me. I smell your scent.
Underground perhaps?”
Hotkas moved forward confidently on his four
lower limbs, his immense weight pressing on the
sand beneath him. I could see his head traverse
over his chest as he looked for us.
A scream rent the air. Becky burst from cover
forty yards ahead of him. Hotkas, every instinct
triggered by the sight of fleeing prey, charged.
On his second stride the earth below him sagged,
and then exploded. Sand fountained and spikes
of flying metal impaled the alien’s body. Small
metal chunks blew clear through him.
Hotkas crashed to the ground, blood splashing
out on the sand.
“Well done, John,” I heard him whisper over
the bracelet.
“Got him!” Todd screamed.
We raced out of the bunker, rifles ready.
Now came the hard part. Hotkas stirred feebly.
I sighted my rifle between his eyes just as he
opened them.
“Don’t move... ” I shrilled. And then, roughening my voice, “Freeze or die.”
Hotkas’ breath came like a bellows. The
fence rails skewered through him as if he were
a pincushion, some projecting right through the
twenty-foot saurian. Hotkas focused one huge,
yellow eye on me.
“I have a deal, Monster,” I said.
“What?” he asked. The translated voice
couldn’t show pain but the body convulsed in
spasms. I hoped Hotkas was in agony.
“I could shoot you,” I said. “Then get you hung


and dressed and feed a piece of you to every
leader of earth. Do you hear me? We could eat
you.”
For the first time I saw emotion in Hotkas’
eyes. I was threatening something more than
death. Utter disgrace. I had been promoted from
food to an enemy. I was worth hating now.
“What’s at the top of the food chain?” I asked
“Dredja,” Hotkas said, “self-meat. For when
we consume one of our own kind.”
That won’t work, I thought. “And below that?”
“Troka-ja, the meat that we eat last.”
“That’s how you’re going to classify my species,”
I said, triumph singing through my veins. “Meat
that’s just too tough if there’s other prey. The
meat you eat last. You swear to do that, and I’ll
let you live.”
Hotkas stared back at me. “What prevents me
from lying to you now and classing you as what I
want later?”
I leaned in close. “You told us that everything you do and say down here is recorded. You
can’t even erase it. Your people will know what
happened here. Either we are that meat, or
you’re weak and unfit. What would your fate be
when they review your tapes and learn you were
beaten by Tien-shri-ja?
“And,” I continued, “we are that tough and
that smart. We’re just kids, and we beat you. We
talked you into chasing your food, giving up all
your advantages, and then we beat you.”
“I agree to your terms,” Hotkas said. “You will
be reclassified.”
“Release the kids on your ship. Then call it here
if you can. Tell one of the kids to come here so we
know you let the others go.”
Hotkas did it. I don’t know how. The silver
saucer showed up only a minute later. It settled a
hundred yards away with a whine of whatever it
used for an engine. The breeze it kicked up chilled
me. I realized my shirt was soaked with sweat.


Pg. 15
A panel opened in the saucer; Henri and Ty
piled out.
“You got him!” they jumped up and down.
“Yep,” Todd answered, posing with his rifle on
his hip.
“The jocks ran for home as soon as the force
screen came down,” Ty said. “The voice said you
wanted someone to come, so I stayed.”
“Me, too,” Henri added.
Todd covered me as I worked the alien’s pistol
out of its holster.
I aimed Hotkas’ pistol, struggling with the
weight of it. “Get off our planet, Monster.”
Hotkas huffed and groaned, fighting to stay
erect. The monster staggered toward the ship,
trailing blood. We all kept Hotkas in our sights as
he crawled into the ship. Seconds later, the saucer
whooshed skyward in a way no Air Force jet could
match.
The weapon in my hands began to whine. I
realized what Hotkas was up to.
“Throw it over the cliff!” Todd yelled.
I ran and flung the weapon. We all sprinted for
the bunker and piled in. Becky landed on top of
us and dropped the cover.
The explosion wasn’t up to atomic standards,
but whatever powered that gun was fearsome.
The ground quaked. As the dust settled, we
climbed out, hooting, hollering, and thumbing
our noses at Hotkas.
Becky gave all of us kisses.



Pg. 16

Edward McKeown

http://www.sfwa.org/members/mckeown/
I have enjoyed a life-long love affair with
science fiction. I seek to write believable
people in extraordinary situations, balancing
romance, humor, adventure and reasonable
extrapolations of science in stories that I
believe people will want to return to again
and again. Whether its in the short stories of
my “Lair of the Lesbian Love Goddess series”
or in the the novel “Was Once A Hero” an
updating of the classic “Planet” tale, in which
a crew of unlikely companions find themselves
facing unknown dangers while exploring an
alien world, my intent is to give the reader
the sort of page turning, involving adventure
that Andre Norton wrote and leaven it with
the emotional complexity and ambiguity that
CJ Cherryh brings to the field.
While the experiences of the SF universe
are out of reach of those unable to pay for
a Russian rocket ride, I use experiences from
my background to try for an underlying verity
in my characters. I’ve parachuted, flown in
gliders, hang gliders, and strapped to the
floor of military helicopters. I’ve been rated
as an expert shot and carry a black belt in
the martial arts. I’ve been paralyzed by fear,
exhilarated by love, and walked into fights—
both literal and metaphorical—that I knew I
could not win.
I have the great good fortune to be married
to the talented artist Schelly Keefer.



The Second Ascension, by R. Cruz

Pg. 17

JASPER SQUAD:
Episode Six: Choices

by Paul Christian Glenn

C

aptain Spill held Lieutenant Melendez by
both arms and tried to keep his voice from
creating a scene in the middle of the busy street.
“Janet,” he breathed, “Listen to me. I don’t know
if you’ve been paying attention, but every GPF
envoy we’ve encountered since that warrant was
issued has tried to put us down. Not apprehend
us for questioning, not override our ship for
remote piloting—they’ve tried to put us down.
Somebody at the GPF has it in for us, and you’re
not going to be able to strike a plea bargain this
time. I don’t know what this is about any more
than you do, but I do know that turning yourself
in is a very, very bad idea.”
“Don’t you?” she asked.
Spill blinked at her. “What?”
“You said you don’t know what this is all about,”
she replied. “Are you sure about that?”
Spill looked around, then gently pulled
Melendez from the middle of the street and into
the shadow of a nearby alley. Nobody was listening,
he was sure, but it was instinct. Melendez didn’t
resist.
When they were safely away from strangers’
ears, he let go of her arms and stepped back.
“What are you talking about?” he asked.
“Captain,” she said, staring straight at him,
“there’s talk in the department that your hands
are dirty.”
Spill burned with indignity. “I have been a GPF
Captain in good standing for more than thirty
years—”
“Spare me the self-righteous speech,” she
interrupted. “I’m not the only one who suspects.
I never had a problem serving under you because


I knew that even if you had a little sticky money
in your pocket, you were a good cop. But lately
things have been different.”
Spill had an argument ready, but that statement
stopped him short. “What do you mean?”
“I saw what happened back on Candlevar,” said
Melendez, pressing. “You were going to leave
Stamp for dead. If I hadn’t insisted, he’d be buried
under ten tons of quor like his two buddies.”
“Is that what this is about?” asked Spill.
“That’s not being a good cop,” she said,
ignoring him. “I should have known that sooner
or later your side business would interfere with
your professional duty, but I didn’t think it would
be so ugly.”
Spill felt his temper rising now, and he stepped
close to Melendez. “That guy is a law-flaunting
killer who’s only out for himself,” he muttered.
“So was I, Captain,” said Melendez. “If I had
met you in those tunnels ten years ago, would
you have left me for dead?”
Spill wasn’t about to back down now. “Maybe
I would have,” he said flatly.
Melendez stared at him for a minute. “Then
you lost your way a lot sooner than I thought,” she
said. With that, she pushed past him and walked
back toward the thronging street.
Spill turned and called after her. “Is that it,
then?” he asked. “You don’t trust me anymore,
so you’re going to sell out the squad? Throw your
career—hell, your life—away? Just like that?”
To his relief, she stopped. She stood motionless, silhouetted at the fore of the alleyway. Spill
sensed that this was his moment, and he took
a step toward her. “Don’t do it, Janet,” he said


Serial: JASPER SQUAD, Choices, by Paul Christian Glenn

Pg. 18

softly. “We can beat this, I know it.”
The guy was threatening me. If we hauled him in,
He waited for a long moment until she finally
he was going to give me up. I’m not even sure
turned to face him.
what he knows, but I… dammit, I’ve got a family.
“I want to know if you’re hiding something,” The thought of what might happen to them if I
she said.
went down… I panicked.”
Spill felt a tightness in his chest, and his face
She didn’t relent. “Have you done it before?”
burned with shame, but he stood his ground.
He shook his head, keeping his eyes locked on
Suddenly, the words he had spoken in his mind
hers.
a thousand times were coming out of his mouth,
Melendez stepped forward again, and put two
and it felt like a ton of concrete was lifting from fingers against his chest. “If we do this,” she said,
his shoulders.
“We’re doing it right. We’re doing it by the book.
“I’m dirty,” he said quietly. “I’ve been double- When our names are cleared, I want to be able to
dealing with shafty little shock outfits for… god… speak the truth in its entirety.”
twenty years and more. “
“I understand,” he said. “You want a clean conShe didn’t move, and he spat out a self-depre- science.”
cating laugh. “I guess I’m not as slick as I wanted
Melendez dropped her hand and sighed.
to believe,” he said. “I never meant to… “
“Captain,” she said, “I’ll never have a clean conHe let that thought dissipate. He wasn’t going science.” With that, she turned and walked back
to try to justify it now. There was no point.
toward the street.
Melendez took three steps toward him, and
They shuffled back to the bar without
the sunlight lit up the edges of her frame like an
speaking. As they entered, Melendez approached
angel of judgment. He noticed for the first time the bartender and muttered some words of
that her hands were shaking, and he wondered
apology for her earlier outburst. Spill watched
whether it was fear or wrath.
the exchange and locked eyes with the bartender,
“Fair enough,” she said. “Now tell me this: do
nodding his reassurance that everything was
you know why the force is after us?”
going to be quiet from this point forward.
He put his hands out in a subconscious act
They climbed the stairs at the back of the bar
of supplication. It hadn’t occurred to him to
and found their room at the end of a long hallway.
beg, but he realized now how much he needed The door was locked.
her strength if he was ever going to reclaim his
He knocked twice, and a second later, Stamp
life from this mess. As much as he resented her opened the door. In his hand was an iron bar he
strict adherence to regulations and form, she was
must have yanked from the bathroom wall. “What
a strong officer, and the only good person on the
happened?” he asked.
squad he could rely on. “I swear,” he said. “I’m
“Everything’s fine,” said Spill, pushing forward
not the cause of this.”
into the room. Melendez followed, then he
She studied his face, and he couldn’t tell if she turned and locked the door.
was buying it or not, but he didn’t know how to
The room was small and sparsely furnished
make it sound more true. His dirty secret was out, with two double beds and a round wooden
and there was nothing more to hide.
table, where Jackaby and Rey sat, their shooters
“And Stamp?” she asked.
anxiously clasped. There was one window on the
Spill just shook his head. “I was scared, Janet. far wall, and a broadcast box balanced precari-



ously on a chest of drawers that had seen better
days.
“All right,” said Spill, “It’s time to sit down and
figure this thing out. I see no reason to sweeten
the story—we’re in trouble, here, and if we’re
going to get out of it, I need to know everyone is
on board for whatever lies ahead.”
He looked at Rey and Jackaby, the two cadets.
“We may be wanted, but at the moment we are
still a GPF squad, and regulation service is still
expected. Is that understood?”
The cadets nodded.
“Stamp, you’re still a worthless lowlife who has
no vote in what we do or where we go. Understood?”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” said Stamp with a sickeningly ingratiating smile.
“Good,” said Spill. “Our first order of business
is to get away from this city. The GPF knows we’ve
landed at Drinias Pel, they just don’t know where.
It won’t take long for them to find the Jasper and
lock her down, which means we need to figure
out where we’re going and get back in the air as
quickly as possible. Rey, you’re still monitoring
the communications in and out of the port?”
“Yes, Sir,” she replied, “but it’s possible they’ve
set up a temporary wavelength we haven’t found
yet.”
“Understood,” said Spill. “Keep looking for it,
and let me know if you hear anything unusual.
Stamp, you said you know people here?”
“Nobody you’ll like,” said Stamp, “but they
might be willing to help us get out quietly.”
Spill pulled the com from his belt and tossed
it to Stamp. “Talk to them,” he said, then turned
to Melendez. “Lieutenant, would you mind monitoring that conversation?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And take that bar away from him, would you?”
added Stamp.
Finally, there was something else that


Pg. 19

needed to be addressed, something that had
been gnawing at the back of his mind since they
escaped from Wroume.
“Jackaby,” he said, “step out into the hall with
me.”
Jackaby looked at him for a moment, then
seemed to collect himself. He stood and followed
Spill out into the hall. When the door had been
secured behind them, Spill looked at the cadet,
watching his face for any sign of nervousness.
“Cadet,” began Spill, “I’m wondering how
those raiders managed to find us so quickly.
Nobody at the GPF knew we had landed in the
Wroume system, let alone on the planet itself, yet
just minutes after we departed, they materialized
right behind us. Any ideas?”
Jackaby returned Spill’s look with a steady
gaze. “No, Sir,” he said.
Spill nodded and put his hand on Jackaby’s
shoulder. “It occurs to me that, while we were
trapped in Cuttery’s hole, the only person with
access to a com was, well, you, son.”
Jackaby nodded noncommittally.
“I also know that your father happens to be
a high and mighty muckity-muck on the force.
I’m wondering if maybe you thought you could
get out of this pickle by making a call to dear old
dad.”
“No, Sir,” said Jackaby again, then offered, “It’s
possible that Cuttery called the force, isn’t it?
Looking for a reward?”
Spill nodded, then smiled. “Anything’s
possible, Cadet, which is why I haven’t knocked
you upside your head yet. But I can’t imagine
a man in Cuttery’s position calling any more
attention to himself than necessary. Him running
that dirty little shock post, it seems to me like he
wouldn’t want any more GPF visitors than absolutely necessary. Can you imagine him calling the
force—especially when there wasn’t any reward
offered in the warrant? Can you?”


Jackaby shrugged, and this time Spill detected
a bit of defiance in his manner. “Guess not, Sir.”
“Yeah,” said Spill, “me either. So you understand why I might be feeling a bit wary of you at
the moment.”
“Captain,” said Jackaby, “I want to get out of
this and go home. That’s all.”
“We all do,” said Spill. “And the only way we’re
all going to get out of this is if we stick together
and keep no secrets. Is that clear?”
Jackaby looked down at his boots, then back
up at Spill, his eyes blazing. “What’s clear to me,
Captain, is that you’ve somehow managed to put
the lives of this squad in extreme danger, and if
you’ll allow me to speak freely, I don’t have any
faith in your ability to get us out of it.”
“Go on,” said Spill, his voice icy. “Now’s the
time to say whatever’s on your mind.”
“Very well,” said Jackaby. “I’ve got a career
to think of. A good career as an officer, not as
some thick shooterhead who lives by the skin of
his neck… Sir. And right now my loyalty to you is
dictated by my desire to maintain a clean record.
In the unlikely chance that you get us out of this
mess, I don’t want my insubordination on your
report.”
“Fair enough,” replied Spill, remembering
Melendez’ words to him. “I appreciate your
straightforward manner, and I’ll take your words
into account. But I want you to know something.
As a cadet, you’re a part of my squad, and your
well-being is my responsibility. I may not like you,
kid, but I’m not going to let any harm come to
you if I can help it.”
Jackaby looked down. “Yes, Sir,” he muttered.
“Now that we’re on the same wavelength, I
hope you’ll understand that I don’t want to see
you on a com unless I’ve given the order.”
The door behind them opened, and Melendez
stuck her head out. “We’ve got good news and
bad news.”


Pg. 20

“Well, there’s a change for the better,” said
Spill.
“Stamp’s man says he’s heard some things,”
said Melendez. “Might be able to lead us to
someone who knows what’s going on.”
“The bad news?” asked Spill.
“Rey’s found a temp wave. The chatter’s
unclear, but it sounds like the force knows where
we are.”
“So
your
little
scene
downstairs
didn’t go unnoticed after all,” said Spill.
Melendez let the hint of a grin cross her face.
“Sorry, Sir.”
“No time for that now,” said Stamp, pushing
the door open and stepping back into the room.
“Stamp, where’s your contact?”
“Not far,” said Stamp, “but if we’re being
hunted, I want my bar back.”
Spill sighed, then glanced at Melendez. She
nodded and tossed the crude weapon back to the
company convict. Stamp caught the bar and gave
it an unseemly kiss. Spill pointed at him. “You stay
between me and the Lieutenant,” he said.
Stamp saluted with his bar, and Spill turned to
Jackaby. “This is where we put our feelings aside,
Cadet,” he whispered.
With that, he stepped out into the hall and
listened for any commotion downstairs. It was
quiet. He stepped back into the room, gently
closed the door and locked it.
“They’re here,” he said. “Somebody break that
window.”

NEXT EPISODE: Sleeping With the Enemy



Pg. 21

Paul Christian Glenn
Paul Christian Glenn is an Overlord
(Co-founder and Editor) of Ray Gun Revival
magazine, and has been writing for as long
as he can remember.
It should be noted, however, that he has a
notoriously short memory.



Featured Artist: Euka

Pg. 22

Featured Artist:

Shkumbin Ferizi

Name: Shkumbin Ferizi
Age: 21
Hobbies: listening to music,
doing 3D, playing tennis
When did you start
creating art? Well, I was
always keen on doing
artwork. Since I was a kid,
I always loved to draw and
paint. I remember when
a friend and I discovered
that we could actually draw on the PC, it was like seven or eight years ago, in Corel Photopaint.
We were just so impressed, and we were competing against each other and stuff, then it kind
of always stayed in my heart. At first I thought I was gonna study for IT, like a system engineer,
and I actually did earn the MCSE degree from Microsoft when I was in my country in Kosova.
But then I happened to move to UK, and I enrolled in a web design course in a college here and
am enjoying it a lot. I will keep learning and working as a designer as my main profession.
What media do you work in? I am
working as a web designer, making
flash websites, and sometimes I do
freelance 3D work as well.
Where should someone go if they
wanted to view / buy some of your
works? They can take a look at my
3D animated flash website: www.
digitmotion.com, which I built with my
friend Tony Harris, an amazing artist
from the UK who I worked and work
with in many projects.



Featured Artist: Shkumbin Ferizi

Pg. 23

What are your current influences? My current influences would be mostly cool movies, games
and, of course, nature. Oh, and my girlfriend’s chicken salad, ha ha. I think those things fill me
up with ideas and inspiration all the time.
What inspired the art for the cover? Star Wars III, I would say. Amazing 3D work in that movie
and a lot of action and energy.
What are your favorite tools / equipment for producing your art? I use many programs,
Photoshop, of course, and I love doing motion graphics using After Effects. I like Particle Illusion
a lot, I love Flash, but on the other hand, 3D Max is the main tool for all my 3D works.



Pg. 24

The Adventures of the Sky Pirate
Chapter 10, Cliffhanger

by Johne Cook

Day One
drew a knife from a sheath, the blade making a
“I’ve been looking forward to this year ever swoosh as it exited the leather, and she buried
since I discovered that meddling Cooper Flynn the point into the base of a tree with a solid thunk.
was spying on me last year,” said Walenda Darden, “That’d be a pity,” she said, “because he really is
looking out over the craggy cliff facing east. The
easy to look at.”
late afternoon shadows left enough light to see
“Don’t be silly,” said Darden. “The redhead
the trail but obscured their faces from casual wants him for herself.”
discovery.
“MkDougal? I was talking to her at the gate
“Cooper Flynn? He’s such an engaging fellow,” and she didn’t mention anything about a beau.”
said Darden’s friend.
Darden snorted. “I didn’t say she knew about
“Hm? Oh, yes, he is that, but it’s a front. He’s a
it yet.”
snake and he’s up to something. I just don’t know
They shared a good laugh about that as they
what.”
wandered off down toward the Academy into the
“It sounds like you really hate him.”
gathering twilight.
Darden picked a stone and threw it out and
Five minutes later, a hand groped up over the
watched it disappear into the shadow cast by the
edge of the cliff, caught the root of a tree, and a
cliff, hearing rather than seeing the end of the shadowed figure rolled nimbly over. He carefully
long fall down to the surf far below. “Hate? No, I stood and beat his clothes to knock off the dust.
don’t hate him. I just don’t like him nosing around
“Interesting,” he said, his twinkling eyes darker
all the time. I have no idea how he does it. He has than the deepening twilight. He carefully followed
marks that are as high as anybody here, and yet them down toward the Academy.
I have this sense he’s always around no matter
Five minutes later, a shadow detached itself
where I turn or what I do. I feel like I’m always from the tree used as target practice and silently
watched, and yet I can never quite put my finger followed them all into the darkness.
on where or how.” She plopped down on a large
rock and hugged her knees to her chest, the sort
of thing a much younger girl might do. “For all I
Day Two
know, he could be listening to this conversation
The following morning, Chain unlocked the
right now.”
hidden rear door of the warehouse, stepped
Her friend laughed. “Your imagination is
inside, relocked it, and pushed some empty crates
getting the better of you.” She sat next to Darden, in front of the opening.
their shoulders touching. “Besides,” she said, “if
He walked to the workbench running along
I thought he was a genuine threat, I’d make sure the north wall, cleared a large area, and set his
something unpleasant happened to him.” She
pack down, the sunlight streaming in from the



Serial: The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Cliffhanger, by Johne Cook
east windows lighting up the work area like a
localized Jacob’s Ladder.
He took off his right shoe, withdrew a scrap of
parchment, and smoothed it out. His guard dog
padded over. Chain looked at her and rubbed idly
under her muzzle. Her tail wagged lazily. “Ready
to make history?” She stretched her front legs
with a bored doggy groan and padded off again.
Chain grinned softly. “Yes,” he agreed. “One way
or the other.”
He opened up the pack and started to lay
out various rocks and minerals. He adjusted his
small, round spectacles, compared notes with
the parchment, and got to work.
#
Flynn leaned back against the gently curving
corridor wall, legs spread out for support and
arms crossed in front of him, idly watching a
classroom door to his right. His lazy gaze flitted
briefly back toward the chattering of feminine
voices coming down the curving hallway from his
left before returning to the classroom door to his
right.
The approaching chattering became recognizable as conversation. “And then she rescinded
my grade and made me re-do the assignment!
I didn’t cheat from him—he cheated from me. I
ended up doing the same work twice! If anybody
needed to do the work twice, it should be him...”
The speaker tripped over Flynn’s foot,
squeaked prettily, and stumbled right in front
of him. Flynn experienced the sudden impact
more as an assault of sweet female scents than
an actual physical collision. He quickly reached
out and caught a vivacious redhead with his right
arm, keeping her from falling forward on her face.
Her momentum pressed her breasts briefly but
firmly against his outstretched arm. He quickly
stepped forward and put his left hand on her
hip. She twisted as she fell with the movement


Pg. 25

so she ended up swept off her feet facing him,
completely held from falling in Flynn’s arms.
She looked up at his face, a mere six inches
between them.
“Oh, my!” she breathed, and her voice was
instant music to his ears.
“I’ve got you,” he said softly, his black eyes
sparkling with humor and an unspoken shared
secret. He held the pose for the barest moment,
drinking in the wonder of her green eyes, her
brilliant copper hair, her flushed cheeks. He
regained control of his senses and stepped back,
pulling her gently to her feet.
He disentangled his arms and stepped firmly
back, bumping into the redhead’s friend and
tripping himself just a little. He grabbed her right
arm briefly for balance and regained his stance
and his self-control. He stepped back and bowed
deeply to them both.
Flynn grinned. “It is my very great honor to
meet you. I’m Cooper Flynn.”
Her friend was speechless, but the redhead
stomped her foot. “I know who you are!” she
snapped, a trifle breathlessly. She blew a wayward
strand of copper hair out of her face in frustration.
Flynn said, “May I at least have the honor of
your name?”
“I shall give you my name, but that is all you
shall have from me!”
This pronouncement bounced off Flynn’s
force of personality and fell weakly to the floor.
Still grinning, he cocked his head and raised his
stunning black eyebrows; his shining black eyes
radiated equal parts edgy humor, roguish confidence, and a warmly bawdy sexuality.
Smiling broadly at Flynn, her friend surreptitiously elbowed the redhead and cleared her
throat.
The redhead blinked and came to her senses,
recognizing the play was hers. “Hm? Oh. Yes. My



Pg. 26

name. Clarissa MkDougal. I am Clarissa MkDougal.”
Flynn said, “I suppose a guy as big as you
She winced at the repetition and charged onward. couldn’t be separated from his lunch by a pack of
“And this is Selti Dormand.”
wild dogs!”
Selti curtsied slightly, winning an exaggerated
Pitt thought about it, and nodded once with
gallant bow from Flynn.
what might have been the fleeting ghost of a
Clarissa stomped her foot. “Our transaction
smile. Then Pitt actually spoke. “I heard a rumor.”
here is complete! Good day, Ven!” She whirled,
Flynn grew serious. “What did you hear?”
grabbed her friend by the wrist, and stormed off
“A Sylvan spy may be on the campus.”
down the corridor, pulling a hesitant Selti along
Flynn relaxed. “Interesting. We know how
behind her.
hard it is to get into this place.” Pitt shook his
Flynn leaned back against the wall, smiling head slightly as if to say, “That’s not it.” Flynn
widely, cupping his hands in front of him with thought and snapped his fingers as the answer
apparent delight. “You can say that again,” he
came to him. “Of course! This rumor will result
said to himself. He opened his hands and revealed
in tightened patrols even if they only suspect a
a simple gold chain bracelet. He turned it inside Sylvan spy of being in the academy. That’s good
out and tsked. “If only that were true.”
to keep in mind.”
Suddenly thoughtful, he pocketed the chain,
Pitt had a ghost of smile again. Flynn said,
abandoned his stakeout, and strode steadily back “Look, there’s Deena!” and trotted off, and Pitt’s
up the curving hall in the direction whence they faint smile was instantly replaced by fleeting
had come.
longing before he regained control of his expression. That notwithstanding, he strode along
#
behind Flynn looking for all the world like a man
Pitt was in their tiny room when Flynn returned. who wanted to run, but wouldn’t stoop to that
Their second year at the Academy was progress- kind of extravagant display.
ing normally, if by ‘normal’ one meant that Pitt
#
attended morning classes that Flynn expertly
ditched, they both attended hands-on sailing
Night slipped in like a thief and Chain was
exercises after lunch, and Flynn read Pitt’s texts
just getting into a good channel—insights were
out loud to the two of them immediately after coming fast.
dinner. Following that, it was Flynn’s practice to
He rose, stretched, and crossed to a heavy
steal out into the night for points unknown. Pitt wood post upon which an enamel cylinder with
never asked what he did, and Flynn never volun- a wood knob on top was mounted to the side.
teered.
He twisted the knob and a cheerful orange light
On this particular morning, Flynn bobbed his
briefly filled the room. However, two hollow pops
head out toward the hallway. “Are you up for lunch
sounded almost immediately.
before we go out on the water this afternoon?”
Chain snorted, turned the knob back off, lit a
Pitt nodded and rose from his pallet, squeezing punk stick from a coal brazier he kept for just that
through the narrow arched doorway to the
purpose, and retrieved new glass globes from a
hallway. They walked together down the corridor large straw-filled crate stashed in a corner. He
where workmen were running bare copper wire
replaced the globes and turned the knob again, a
and installing glass globes.
tad gingerly this time, and the globes clawed back



to life. They waned and brightened ever so slightly
in a pleasing random pattern, but otherwise lit
his shop enough to work. He cleaned the glass
shards from the floor and went back to work,
whistling a tuneless ditty.
Hours passed. The formula seemed straightforward enough, but every time Chain ground the
minerals, created the liquid solution, and applied
it to his test stick, the wood kept falling to the
floor, decidedly not displaying any sort of special
properties other than arousing the attention of
his drowsing guard dog.
Chain kept at it, trying different methods, permutations, ratios. The relentless determination
that kept him as a relative loner was, in this case,
his greatest strength, and he put it to good use.
Night passed without a breakthrough, the
stick falling to the floor time after time until even
his trusty canine companion stopped looking up.
Day Three
Flynn and Pitt sat at breakfast sharing their
customary silence. It was not unusual for Flynn
to point out something or other, but he held his
own counsel on this particular morning.
Pitt looked up and gestured across the room
with a piece of bacon. “Somebody’s got eyes for
you.”
Flynn followed his gesture and dropped his
gaze back to his plate, smiling under his breath.
“Ha. That’s Clarissa MkDougal. We ran into each
other yesterday in the curved hall by the classrooms.”
“You’ve had your eye on that one?”
Flynn shrugged. “She’s a looker, that’s for
sure. I was sure she didn’t know who I was. I was
wrong. Turns out, it wasn’t that she didn’t know
me, it was that she didn’t like me.”
Pitt grunted. “Did you fluster her?”
“Oh, yes. She fell for me, of course—she just
doesn’t know it yet.”


Pg. 27

A large shadow fell over their table and the
normal background chatter died like the calm
before a storm. Sergeant Crawse stood and
barked, “Cadets, brace!”
Flynn and Pitt sprang to attention, their wood
bench sliding out behind them in their vigor.
An imposing figure strode in front of them
wearing the unmistakable uniform of the Academy
commodore, sixty-four bits of ribbon and medal
affixed to his coat. “Cadets, at ease,” he said in
his deep, gravelly voice. They came out of their
brace and he gestured toward the table. “Please,
resume your meal.”
They retrieved their bench and sat down.
The commodore sported a thick beard streaked
through with grey and white, matched by trimmed,
greying hair which set off piercing, brilliant blue
eyes.
Sergeant Crawse spoke from the commodore’s
elbow. “Commodore Dondely, these are cadets
Flynn and Pitt, respectively.”
The commodore sized them up with an eye
that had much experience at sizing up horseflesh.
“Pitt? From the Reach?”
Pitt nodded his head once, impassive but
privately impressed.
“And Cadet Flynn. You are an interesting fellow.
I understand you have acquired a copy of the
Jodkins!”
Flynn was astonished. He stammered, “Why,
yes, Commodore. I have in my possession his
unabridged Treatise on the Ethereal Reality
written in his own hand.”
The commodore nodded once, his eyes
sparkling, his bobbing beard at once fearsome
and comical. “We must compare notes on his
theology sometime, the sooner the better. Come
around my office later and we’ll compare notes,
what say?”
Flynn nodded quickly, adroitly, too clever to
allow his suddenly raging suspicion to reach his


eyes. The great man rapped the table with implacable knuckles, winked, and left the Mess Hall.
Crawse turned to hide his amusement, and Flynn
and Pitt’s eyes met, Pitt’s oddly reappraising,
Flynn’s utterly baffled.
“Jodkins?” muttered Pitt.
“You don’t know who that is, nor that I possess
what is a one-of-a-kind volume,” stated Flynn,
dully.
Pitt nodded.
“There’s a very good reason for that—nobody
knows I have that work, except…” The sun dawned
in Flynn’s eyes in that moment. He stood bolt
upright, clapped Pitt hard on the shoulder, winced,
and nearly ran off. “I must go,” he breathed, his
expression changing from confusion to full alarm.
Flynn fled the mess hall, his legendary composure
in tatters.
Pitt sat surveying the ruins of their meal. A
private smile flickered out over his face. He pulled
Flynn’s plate over. “Well, now,” he said to himself,
and he ate Flynn’s bacon.
#
The shadow stepped into the light and was
seen as a custodian. Sometimes, the best way to
hide is in plain sight, and nobody notices service
folk, or at least Walenda Darden didn’t as she
strode past thinking her labyrinthine thoughts.
The watcher emptied his dustpan, put the broom
back in the closet, and followed at a distance,
now wearing the garb of a courier.
He never once blinked.
#
Chain sprawled forward in his chair with the
side of his face on the workbench, snoring softly,
drooling slightly. Rocksie slowly made a circuit
around the inside of the warehouse and finally
curled up into a ball in a patch of sunlight.


Pg. 28
#

Flynn stood outside the commodore’s office,
squared his shoulders, and knocked twice on the
doorjamb. The gravelly bass rumbled out of the
office: “Come!”
Flynn entered and carefully closed the door
behind him. The commodore didn’t just sit at a
desk; he filled the office with his larger-than-life
reputation and his gruff charisma. Flynn noticed
things as his eyes made their first casual sweep of
the room: he had windows everywhere extending
ceiling to floor, an expensive effect that let in
a great deal of light, but which also gave him a
view of the entire Commons area, and, indeed,
the entire main grounds of the Academy, his
office perched, as it was, at the top front of the
office complex overlooking the grounds. The
commodore’s chair had a cunning metal swivel
that allowed him to turn around and take in the
matchless view.
Now, however, the commodore’s famous blue
eyes were focused entirely on Flynn.
The commodore rose, clapped Flynn on the
shoulder from across the desk, and gestured
toward a chair. “Please, sit. Welcome to the top
of the world. One can see nearly everything from
here.”
Flynn’s black eyes were clear but guarded. He
presented a picture of a bright young man not
used to being on the defensive. He leaned forward
restlessly in his chair. “It would seem one can see
all the way to Patience Bay, Commodore.”
Commodore Dondely chuckled. “I thought
that might get your attention. Our mutual friend
sends his greetings.”
Flynn was, uncharacteristically, speechless.
“I suppose you have questions.”
“Yes, Ven, many.”
“For instance, how do I know the Abbot, how
does the Abbott know of your presence here, and



are you currently in trouble?”
Flynn winced and squirmed lithely in his chair.
“The view from here is truly as expansive as you
claim,” he observed ruefully.
The commodore lifted a gentle hand and
pushed slightly in Flynn’s direction. “Quiet your
fears. You’re not in trouble with me. Yet.”
Flynn’s expression did not ease noticeably.
“In all truth, I owe you an apology and an
explanation. I received, last year, an appeal
for commission of a certain ‘Ploy, but was not
able to match up the commission request with
an application, and I thought nothing more of
it. Such things happen often enough. But your
name came before me again recently from an, ah,
unusual source, and it rang a gong. It took some
digging, but I believe I have solved at least one
minor mystery. However, it has opened up a far
greater one.”
Flynn was too afraid to even sweat. “Oh?” he
said, his voice trembling on the verge of cracking,
his mouth dry.
“Yes. As you were not afforded a commission,
I’m curious how you managed to secure a position
here at our venerable academy.”
Flynn clasped his hands and unconsciously
started compressing them together, an unconscious nervous habit. “Well, Ven… That is…”
The commodore’s voice became very quiet,
almost personal. “You can tell me, Son. It was
Baskins’ racism, wasn’t it?”
Flynn cleared his throat, or tried to. “Ah, well,
that was the opening…that is, yes, Ven…”
Dondely smote the desk and Flynn jumped in
his seat, his hands flying to grasp the arm rails.
“I knew it!” boomed the commodore, and he
laughed long and hard. “You are a clever one,
aren’t you, Mister Flynn?”


Pg. 29

Flynn leaned back in his chair. “Not clever
enough, Commodore,” he said wryly. “Apparently.”
“Others have tried—and failed—to break out
of the Academy, but you are the first to break in,
and it wasn’t even necessary due to an Administrative error, by which I mean I dropped the sail.
That notwithstanding, you gained apparently
tacitly legitimate entry anyway.” Dondely leaned
forward, his beard tickling his desk. “How did you
do it?”
“I saw my opening with my Reacher friend,
Mr. Pitt. I sold my boat, an ornate and lively craft,
and invested the money in gaining entry. Baskins’
hatred for men from the Reach worked to my
favor.” He told the entire story with flair and
candor, the commodore asking pointed questions
to fill the gaps.
“So I know the ‘how,’ now, but not the ‘why.’”
Flynn fixed the commodore with a searching
look. “Commodore, I was sent as an emissary
from a Crown-approved third party to keep tabs
on a suspected spy to ensure the continued
anonymity of a critical operation.”
The commodore sat back in his chair and
stroked his beard. “And have you been successful
thus far in your watch?”
Flynn nodded gravely. “I have been able to
monitor the situation without compromising my
role here.”
“I see. As you are keeping your ear to the
ground, are you willing to keep your ear open
for any threat to the Academy as well as your, uh,
third party?”
“Yes, Commodore. I examine all information
that comes to me, even if it doesn’t directly affect
my own watch.”
The commodore nodded. “Very well,” he


said. “Carry on.” He rose and Flynn followed suit.
“Perhaps we can meet again to actually discuss
the Jodkins, eh?”
Flynn smiled, nodded, braced, spun, and left.
His legs carried him a safe distance away outside
before he tossed his breakfast.
#
Later that afternoon, Deena Prentiss
approached Pitt and laid her delicate hand on his
forearm. “Hello Pitt. Have you seen Flynn?”
Pitt swallowed and nodded toward the
Commons, his eyes gleaming.
She turned away, had a thought, and turned
back to him again. “Do you even have a first
name?” She laughed at her own joke, patted his
arm genially, raised her eyebrows in appreciation,
and walked on, unaware of what her gait did to
him.
“Yes,” he managed, but she was long gone,
making a spear-line straight for Cooper Flynn. He
watched her all the way over to his roommate
before averting his eyes, his jaw pulsing as he
unconsciously gritted his teeth. Walking past a
spade, he grabbed the wood handle with both
hands at both ends and bent the wood. His
gigantic muscles bulged, and he snapped the
handle like a toothpick. He came to himself with
one half of the handle in each of his hands.
Flushing suddenly, he gathered the two
halves into one hand and laid them conscientiously together on the ground. He rose, dusted
his hands, and strode off.
Minutes later, a shadow fell over the shattered
tool. Walenda Darden nudged the broken
implement with her toe and smiled to herself, her
thoughts as shaded as the splintered remains of
the spade.
#
Dinner that night was a strained affair. Flynn


Pg. 30

and Pitt didn’t always engage in much small
talk anyway, but the silence took on a different
dimension, both hiding things, neither owning up
to feeling the barrier suddenly there for the first
time.
After the meal, they adjourned to their room,
where Flynn read the day’s pages aloud from
Pitt’s textbooks. His normal reading voice was
engaging but his tone this night was deadpan and
listless, his attention clearly elsewhere. After an
hour, Flynn begged off and left the room, and Pitt
went out to walk around inside the grounds wall.
Pitt felt better, physically, after his walk, but
had come to no helpful new conclusions.
But Pitt’s fortunes changed radically for the
better when he lay down on his pallet and put
his hand under his pillow. He felt something
and smelled something different. Hidden under
his pillow was a folded scented parchment. He
withdrew it and opened it with fumbling fingers
to read a single cursive message written in a
feminine hand: Wait for me in the bushes by the
lovers’ alcove – midnight – DP.
Pitt slapped his leg with the note in celebration,
and sat on his pallet, carefully smoothing the it.
He read and re-read it until thirty minutes before
the meeting. He went down to the communal
baths and washed up, changed into his best shirt,
and polished his boots as well he could. He slicked
back his hair, plucked a flower from the garden,
and walked over to the lovers’ alcove.
Flynn may have commanded the attention
of any woman on campus, but Deena—she
belonged to him. Pitt arrived early and hid back
in a shadowed corner behind a boulder where
lovers sometimes sat to gaze into each other’s
eyes and so forth.
Pitt’s eagerness was enhanced as he saw
Deena Prentiss arrive and look about her in
expectation.
He savored the moment, not quite believing


his sudden change of fortune. He started to rise
to go to her from his hidden location when Flynn,
of all people, rushed into the alcove.
Pitt’s face fell in abject disbelief, not believing
what he was seeing.
Deena rushed to Flynn and they spoke in
hushed tones. Pitt couldn’t quite make out what
they were saying. Deena gestured and flailed her
hands prettily, in obvious high emotion, but Flynn
remained impassive.
And then he produced the jewelry.
Flynn reached into his sash at his waist and
pulled out a gold chain.
Pitt braced himself with one hand on the back
of the boulder, mouthing ‘No! No!’
Flynn presented the bracelet to Deena. Her
hand flew to her mouth, and she slowly reached
for it as one might a treasure, hesitant, unsure it
was real.
Stricken by the tableau, Pitt unwittingly
crushed the flower in his great right hand.
Pitt came from a fishing family, and from his
vantage, Flynn played her like a fish, waiting for
Deena to come close and drawing the bracelet
back, speaking to her the entire time. She placed
her hand on his arm, replying. Then Deena
extended her arm and he placed the chain around
her wrist.
Snaring her for himself, or so it appeared.
Pitt watched helplessly from the shadows as
they concluded their conversation. Then, inexplicably, they parted, still furtive, fooling everyone,
or so they thought.
#
But they fooled no one, least of all those
assembled. Walenda Darden watched from her
elevated hidden vantage, taking in the entire
scene with glittering eyes. She wasn’t sure who
was more distressed by the unfolding events, the
gallantly distressed Pitt to her left, or the strangely


Pg. 31

stricken Clarissa MkDougal to her right.
Darden watched the various parties furtively
quit the alcove, each unseen by the other. She
sat back, put her scented parchment away in
its oilskin pouch, and smiled the feral smile of a
wolf.
“This fall to me, Cooper Flynn, you viper,” she
whispered. “This fall to me!”
#
Day Four
Sergeant Crawse turned the light globes on
the corridor and banged a tin cup against the wall
to rouse Flynn and Pitt. The light of dawn was just
beginning to push back the night.
Something was amiss.
“What is it,” Flynn growled, his voice rough
and uncultured from too little sleep.
“The commodore has called an emergency
assembly. Rouse yourselves and assemble on the
Commons immediately.”
Flynn and Pitt shot each other a dread look,
tucking their shirts in as they followed the
sergeant.
The commodore and his guard were on the
west side of the Commons facing east. The cadets
streamed in and started forming up to listen to
the announcement.
The great old man of the Academy looked as
if he hadn’t slept at all, and his mood was grim.
Dondely stood with his hands behind him, the
meager sunlight reflecting off the medals on his
chest. A bagpipe played a mournful dirge as the
cadets filed in and lined up.
The commodore nodded once and the
pipes ceased. Snare drums on both sides of the
impromptu stage rang out four sharp strokes in
rapid order—rat-tat-tat-tat, the sound echoing
off the buildings surrounding the Commons like
gunshot reports.
It was the first time the entire Academy had


been together in Flynn’s tenure there. It was a
small but impressive sight, four hundred of the
best and brightest on the field, the staff on one
side, the local garrison arrayed on the other.
The commodore had a voice that could
be powerfully intimate in the confines of an
office, or clearly heard across a battlefield at full
volume. He used it to great effect now. He spoke
without preamble. “There is a traitor among our
midst, a Sylvan spy.” A mood rippled throughout
the audience, although nobody spoke or moved.
The shared revelation was all the more impressive for its collective lack of disciplined response
from those assembled.
Dondely nodded to the scroll bearer. “Read
the names,” he commanded.
An earnest young man stepped forward. He
read the names in a clear, albeit nervous, voice.
“Cadets Flynn, MkDougal, and Dormand: come
hereto forth and be measured!”
Flynn and Pitt looked at each other, both grim.
Flynn stepped out of formation and marched
crisply to the front. Clarissa MkDougal caught
Flynn’s eye as he passed in front of her. She could
have burned holes in his back with her furious
gaze as he turned to climb the steps. Clarissa and
Selti fell in and followed after Flynn. The three of
them formed up, braced, and stood at attention
in front of the entire Academy.
With a start, Pitt noticed Deena Prentiss
break formation and mount the stage, standing
by at the commodore’s right hand, her demeanor
calm and businesslike.
Commodore Dondely spoke to those
assembled. “I shall now expose the traitor. Deena
Prentiss, step forth!”
She stepped forward one pace.
“Show me what you showed me in earlier this
night.”
She raised her hand and displayed the golden
chain to those assembled. Flynn was expression-


Pg. 32

less. Pitt resisted the urge to grind his teeth.
Beside them, Selti Dormand blanched, but it
was Clarissa MkDougal who gasped.
“How did you come by the chain?”
Deena Prentiss spoke out in a clear voice. “It
was given to me last night by Cadet Cooper Flynn.”
She turned and handed it to the commodore,
and resumed her place at his right hand.
“Cadet Flynn, step forth!”
Flynn broke rank and stepped forward one
pace. He saluted and stood at attention.
“Cadet Flynn, is that your chain?”
“No, Commodore.”
“Where did you acquire it?”
Clarissa made to speak, but Selti surreptitiously cleared her throat. Clarissa spoke up
anyway.
“Commodore! That man is a thief! I was
there.”
Commodore Dondely turned and addressed
her. “Cadet MkDougal. Does the chain belong to
you?”
“No, Commodore. It belongs to my friend,
Selti.”
Selti had a hollow look in her eyes.
“Cadet Dormand is that true?”
Selti remained at attention. She said nothing.
Commodore Dondely said “Sergeant Crawse.
Expose her wrist.”
He stepped forward and approached her.
“Extend your left wrist.” Slowly, she extended her
left wrist. It was unadorned.
“Extend your right wrist.”
She extended her right wrist. It displayed a
line of white, untanned skin where a bracelet
had rested until recently.
The commodore said, “Place the bracelet on
her wrist.” He handed the bracelet to Sergeant
Crawse, who placed the bracelet on Selti’s
exposed right wrist.
It was a perfect match.


“See?!” exulted Clarissa. “Flynn stole the
bracelet from Selti.” She shot him a glare. “And
that’s not all he stole,” she said through gritted
teeth.
Pitt, standing at attention, was thinking the
same thing for a different reason.
The commodore spoke, and his question
echoed around the Commons. “Cadet Selti
Dormand—is that your bracelet?”
She didn’t utter a word.
The commodore spoke again. “Cadet Selti
Dormand—is that your bracelet?”
She remained mute, eyes-front, her eyes
dead.
Commodore Dondely addressed the assembly,
“This is the gold chain used as the unique identifier of the Sylvan spy network.” There was a
collective gasp, despite military self-control.
The commodore spoke above the ripple. “Selti
Dormand, I take your silence as corroboration.
Captain of the Guard, seize her!”
The Captain stepped forward, clapped her in
irons, and led her away, still eyes-front.
The commodore looked weary, but finished
his duty. “Assemble the gallows! Reconvene the
assembly at four bells anti-meridian.”
Sergeant Crawse dismissed the assembly.
Clarissa turned to Flynn, her red hair swinging
around, her eyes burning. “How could you? She
is my friend!” She slapped Flynn’s face twice in
rapid succession, a forehand and a backhand.
Flynn met her raging eyes and said, softly,
“She is a traitor.” He mock-bowed to her, an ironic
gesture, and walked off the stage.
Pitt remained where he was, thinking.
In the milling crowd, Walenda Darden was
not amused. Something was up. She had to do
something quickly. She fought her way through
the dispersing cadets, found Pitt, and touched his
arm, stopping him in his tracks.
“You don’t know me,” she said, “but I know


Pg. 33

you, and I know Cooper Flynn. He set up Selti
Dormand for execution, and the next one he’ll set
up to cover his traitor’s tracks is Deena Prentiss.
She’s my sister, although Flynn will certainly deny
that. I’m afraid for her. Somebody has to stop him,
and I can’t do it alone. Will you help me?”
Pitt’s expression clouded over. “What is he
hiding?”
“Has Flynn ever once told you where he came
from before he came here? I wager he hasn’t. He
can’t!”
“I don’t understand.”
“There is a Sylvan spy on the grounds, but it
isn’t Selti.”
“But why would he set up Deena?”
Darden said, “I think he’s trying to get rid of
the Sylvan chain and draw attention away from
himself. I think he’s trying to use his charm to
implicate another innocent and buy himself more
time. But we won’t let that happen.” Darden
pulled his face down and kissed Pitt on the cheek.
“Will we?”
Pitt clenched his massive right hand into a fist.
“Not while I’m still here.”
Darden flashed a convincingly grateful smile
toward Pitt and melted away into the crowd.
Pitt stood there and glowered as the flow of
cadets flowed around him, all sharp edges and
mass, like an immovable rock shrugging off the
incoming tide.
#
The day passed as an interminable eternity,
and a somber mood gripped the cadets. Selti
Dormand was a genial, well-liked young woman.
The time came, and the cadets gathered back
together. Selti’s wrists were tied behind her. The
commodore asked if she had any final words.
Selti looked out over those assembled. Her
gaze found Walenda Darden in the crowd. Darden
shook her head almost imperceptibly. Selti looked


at the commodore. “There is nothing more I can
say. Those assembled have already judged me in
their hearts.” She lifted her head. “Do what you
will, and may Cyl have mercy on your souls.”
The sergeant in charge of the gallows placed
a black hood over her head and the noose over
the hood. She was blessed by Cyl’s chaplain cleric,
and then the time came.
The commodore’s voice rang out. “Selti
Dormand. In light of ongoing hostilities between
the nations of Haddirron and Sylva, I sentence
you to death as a spy with designs of espionage
against the Crown.” He stepped back and nodded
at the sergeant.
The sergeant’s arm rose.
Selti started to weep. His arm drove downward.
The floor fell away. Her cries was cut off in a high,
feminine, gargling rasp.
Clarissa screamed and wept, falling to her
knees as Selti Dormand’s body swung on the rope,
her heels shuddering.
Pitt’s eyes welled up with tears of grief and
determination.
Flynn stood still, eyes-front, his fathomless
black eyes expressionless.
#
It was business as usual in Chain’s workshop.
After trying everything he could think of, he took
a break down at the local pub, eating bread and
meat he didn’t taste, and washing it down with
ale he didn’t remember drinking. He then closed
the door to the late afternoon heat and started
back at the beginning.
As the shadows lengthened, Chain turned on
the lights (because he could), and another globe
popped.
Curiously, a sputtering filament continued to
burn, its light garish in the converted warehouseturned-workshop. On a whim, Chain took up his
experimental stick and tapped the filament with


Pg. 34

the end of the stick.
A flash sparked and the lights flashed as the
filament flamed out.
Chain looked, puzzled, at the stick in his hand,
still smoking from the display. He took a deep
breath and steadied himself, held the stick out at
arms’ length, and opened his hand.
The stick fell to the floor again as it had
hundreds of times already. Nothing.
Chain reared back his head and roared his
frustration. Bending, he scooped up the stick,
stalked to the door facing the bay, and furiously
flung the stick out over the water, whip-whipwhip. He watched it go, and turned to re-enter
the warehouse, still fuming.
Something occurred to him before he reached
the open door.
There was no splash.
Comprehension dawned on his face and Chain
whirled around, scarcely believing what his mind
was already suggesting.
The stick floated six inches above the water,
still turning lazily on its axis.
“Yes!” he bellowed, “yes!”
He snapped his finger, dashed to the door,
and whistled. “C’mer, Rocksie. Come here, my
good dog.”
She rose from the floor and padded over, tail
wagging slightly.
Chain loved her up good and turned and
showed her the tiny harbor in front of them.
“Rocksie, you see that stick? Go get it, girl!
Fetch that stick!” he said.
If ever a dog looked happy, it was that dog
at that moment. Taking a running leap, Rocksie
launched herself strongly out into the water
while Chain stood there, hands on knees, still not
believing his eyes.
#
Flynn was ushered into the commodore’s


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