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The Sorcerer’s Scrolls
Issue 47
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The Sorcerer's Scrolls Magazine #47
Published by Zarathustra Publishing owned and operated by Jeremiah Griffin
Title owned by Tori Bergquist used here with permission
The Sorcerer's Scrolls title font and Zarathustra Publishing logo designed by: Simon Tranter
Random Encounter and Article Chart
D20 Page Article Author
1-2 2 Gathas of the Editor Jeremiah Griffin“3D6 emancipated kobolds with a knapsack attack”
3 3 A Note from the Zodiac God Tori Bergquist“1D4 Varicolored Slimes ooze forth”
4-5 4 I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream (Review) Dan Lambert“A Pack of 4D10 rabid space hyenas”
6-7 6 Deep Space Subsector 2 Tori Bergquist“1D10 Giant Space Slugs regurgitate all over your ship”
8-9 8 A Sea of Stars: The Devil Among Us (Script) Jeremiah Griffin“1D30 Flying Space Pigs sully your bussard ramjet”
10 15 Book and Music Reviews Various“The Executioner knocks you off course in its hyperspace wake”
11-12 19 Death on the Toilet Robert Stikmanz“1D1,000 Rabid Sulurian Zombie Rats invade the cargo hold”
13-14 24 The Day They Came Gregory J. Saunders“Protean Squirrels offer you the secret of immortality, but they were just kidding”
15 26 Interview with Gregory Saunders Jeremiah Griffin“5D8 storm troopers are engaging in target practice”
16 29 Interview with Kirt Hickman Jeremiah Griffin“One intergalactic used starship salesman with a great offer”
17 31 Saga Edition Update to Races Elijah Hammond“Cyborg assault team is on break and using your ship’s commissary”
18 37 Artists, Artisans, & Workers Jarrod Camiré“The last Furion just shanked you”
19-20 46 Valkyrie E17 Harrison Mallory“You discover the galaxy’s largest diamond, but it’s in the heart of a quasar”
Cover art by Nathan Carlisle [email protected]
Valkyrie E17 map by Harrison Mallory
Other art by Kathleen Finn [email protected]
All are used with permissionSpecial thanks to Robert Stikmanz
The Sorcerer’s Scrolls #47 is copyright 2010 by Zarathustra Publi shing, all rights reserved.
The magazine title “The Sorcerer’s Scrolls” is a trademark of Nicholas Bergquist, used with
permission. All contents copyright 2010 by the respective authors or artists.
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Gathas of the EditorWelcome to The Sorcerer’s Scrolls #47
By Jeremiah Griffin, shiny new editor of TSS
The two things you are probably wondering
about now are: Who are you and why is this issue
so late? The reason this issue is so late is due to
the fact that there have been several changes in
the way this magazine is being produced, not the
least of which is the fact that I am the new editor.
The reasons for this are varied and many. Mr.
Bergquist is an amazing writer capable of bringing
together many other amazing writers to build
what is The Sorcerer's Scrolls. He is also a very
good friend of mine. But the challenges of holding
down a quarterly magazine and still trying to write
his own game books is taking its toll, he accepts
nothing from himself but perfection and in trying
to run his own gaming company and hold a day
job, something had to go, as he is not willing to let
anything simply tag along as an inferior side
thought. So I offered him another option, to let
me take over the magazine while he continues to
do what he does best: writing game material. He
will still be a fixture at the magazine and he will
continue to own it and have a major influence on
how it is run. I hope to maintain the flavor of his
magazine throughout my time with it. In my own
opinion I hope to continue this magazine if only to
make sure there is still an old school style fanzineout there for the old school gamers to read, and I
hope gamers both old and new continue to enjoy
the content that we continue to put out and I want
everyone to know that it will be quality.
Another reason this issue is so late is because we
recently attended Bubonicon, a local Sci-Fi
convention of some small note. Personally I
thought of attending this even as something of a
coming out party, of letting everyone know that
we are going to more aggressively pursue an ever
expanding readership and that we will continue to
search everywhere for talented writers, designers
and artists for our magazine. So if you are a writeror game designer or artist, please do not be afraid
to contact us and let us see your ideas! We are not
the kind of company that only supports the latest
edition of the most popular role playing game. We
avidly support all games, especially the
independent and less known titles. If your stuff is
good, you will get published!
Which brings us to our third reason this issue is
so late: we would like to introduce you to some of
the talents we have discovered recently in this
issue and we had to make a little extra time for
them to be able to produce something worth your
time. In the future we will be much more strict
about deadlines, but I just needed our readers to
discover the talents of Elijah Hammond and
Harrison Mallory as soon as possible.
On top of this I would like to thank Robert
Stikmanz and DJ Fahl for their continued support
and to wish Mr. Stikmanz well with his new
publishers Blue Moose Press. We shared a table at
Bubonicon and will continue to help support each
other over the web and at each coming event and
convention we participate in. Thank you. And
thank you, our readers for continuing to read our
magazine even though the popularity of the
medium is slowly shrinking. We know you expect
the best from us since there are so few gaming
magazines around these days and we wish to give
you only the best
As to who I am, I think you will find that I have
had articles published in this magazine several
times before. I particularly enjoy writing fiction
(though if you never cared for my writing don'tpanic, given the time it takes to edit this
publication, I will have little time to write many
articles), and come from a literary back ground. I
have been running games since I was a toddler,
though the idea of using rules never even occurred
to me until just a few years ago, so many of the
games I run or participate in seem to have few
restrictions. I enjoy ideas that are fun, filled with
action and strange humor, with unlimited
possibilities. I write for players who like the role
playing more than the roll playing, players who like
to explore their own characters and the world they
are in more than they care to beat the nextchallenge. I do realize that not everyone feels that
way, though, so I welcome anyone who wishes to
write differently and always support games and
supplements that are structured and logical as
well.
--Jeremiah Griffin
August 30th
2010
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I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream Review By Dan Lambert
“1 have a secret game I like to play.
It's a very nice game.
A game of fun. A game of speared
eyeballs and dripping guts ... "
So says the self-proclaimed god of the world
created by author Harlan Ellison for his short
story, "I Have No Mouth, And I Must Scream."
It has been thirty years since Ellisonchronicled the events surrounding five
damned souls trapped for 109 years in the
electronic belly of an insane computer. With
the help of Cyberdreams, Ellison has brought
his dark vision into the realm of a new
medium by creating a CD Rom role-playing
game based upon his award-winning story.
The "Scream" computer game is eerie,
thought-provoking, and shockingly stark in its
autopsy of the human soul. In other words, it
is all things Ellison. Anyone who has ever
heard Ellison read one of his stories will behappy to know that he outdoes himself here,
playing the voice of his maniacal creation.
The game takes place in the subterranean
bowels of AM, a monstrous entity who began
its "life" as Allied Master Computer, a massive
thinking machine that was buried in the earth
to help the free world fight World War Three
more efficiently. The trouble began when AM
became self-aware and decided to link upwith its counterparts in Russia and China,
forming a prison that the last remnants of
humanity must struggle to escape. AI"I
reinvented itself as "AM: Cognito ergo sum, I
think, therefore I am." Like Frankenstein's
creature, A~ has learned to hate its creators
with a loathing that is tangible in its razor-
sharp richness.
The player may choose one of five "damned
souls" to embark upon a quest concocted by
AM. Each of these five last remaining humans
has a character flaw that AM enjoys exploitingfor its own amusement. Gorrister is a suicidal
loner, a man whose wife's bitter fate has left
him overcome with guilt. Ellen is a brilliant
engineer whose uncontrollable phobias leave
her paralyzed with fear. Ted is a cynical
paranoid, a "fraud" in A......,'s estimation.
Benny is AM's favorite torture subject, a
Vietnam veteran transformed into an ape-
thing by the computer's vengeful whim.
Nimdok is an ancient and tormented sadist
whose own dark secrets compel AM to refer
to him as a "kindred spirit."Because AM is mad, his "quests" are
relatively pointless in their promise of escape
or material reward. The real object of
"Scream" is not to accumulate cash or to find
a way out. The real object is to show AM the
value of humanity by demonstrating a sense
of ethical balance in a world gone insane. The
player can tell how well she is doing this by
monitoring the "spiritual barometer" which
appears as a green hue behind the chosen
character's face and is supposed to gauge the
character's "self-esteem." As the charactermakes choices that help him or her overcome
the weaknesses that AM preys upon, the hue
becomes brighter. This is the closest I have
come to "winning" the game, although I
suspect that concepts such as winning and
losing are not as important here as what the
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character learns about herself. In this sense,
"Scream" is a true role-playing game.
Some of the moral choices that AM forces
upon the characters are chilling in their
human resonance. The Nimdok adventure is
particularly haunting in its portrayal of the
Holocaust from thepoint of view of the perpetrators.
I have always argued that the story upon
which this game is based is not a science
fiction story at all, but a horror story. The
game underlines this notion, with its scenes of
blasted landscapes and macabre slices of life
recalling the dark art of Goya and Bosch. I
found myself
actually having
nightmares after
playing. To a
horror writersuch as myself,
this is a good thing: a very good thing. My hat
comes off to Ellison and the folks at
Cyberdreams for the same reason it came off
to David Lynch after I saw his film Lost
Highway: This game managed to truly scare
me, which is not an easy thing to do.
This game is
available for
purchase at
www.Amazon.c
om.
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Deep Space Subsector 2 A Collection of Linked Fringe Worlds for Traveller
By Tori Bergquist
There are many remote worlds in the Penumbra
Sector of space, stretching out along the edge of
the known Commonwealth. What follows is a
smattering of planets from this region, in Deep
Space Subsector 2, ready for the referee to drop
down in to any particular region he needs to
populate with a handful of exotic, remote worlds.
Regeren
X873500-1(C) Tmp 9Regeren is a wasteworld, a relic planet that
suffered a terminal meltdown to do as yet
unknown causes approximately 2,000 years ago. Itwas founded by human colonials, possibly from a
STL sleeper ship, almost 4,000 years ago. The
Regeren culture was prolific and expansive, but
something led to its downfall. Warfare is clearly
evident, and they even seem to have dropped
asteroid payloads on their own cities as weapons.
There is no active starport at Regeren, but there
is a small scientific research expedition headed bu
the Utopia Prime Exoarchaelogical Institute. The
leader of this expedition if Prof. Carol Dranir, who
is workinghard to uncover the myster of what
happened to this TL 12 society before it was
eradicated, and whether they did it to themselves
or it was from an outside group.
There is a hidden class D starport manned by the
Sathar Consortium in the region, and used by
friendlies to the Sathar normally labeled pirates in
Penumbra space.
Recently, the four communications relay beacons
and satellites in orbit went offline, and Prof. Dranir
needs them repaired/replaced, as well as info on
what happened to them. Moreover, visitors
arriving will receive a brief, strange burst of data
from groundside that seems to have come from a
relic structure; the data is encrypted using
techniques common to Regeren’s military.
Vortex
C632314-C Tmp 3Vortex is the appellation commonly used to
describe what happens to crafts’ instrumentation
when approaching this world….to most it’s like
“slipping in to a vortex.” This anomalous amber-
class world is presently being studied by the
Starcom Science Institute out of Paridas for
evidence of what is going on here, both on the
planet and in the system. The head of the
institute, Dr. Richard Chandler, is a congenial
fellow who decries the corporate military presence
to be found here in favor of the scientific
endeavors. He believes that evidence of
progenitor technology—the local phenomenon of
the two-million year old species which affected so
much of this sector and its neighbors so long ago —
may be responsible for the anomalies, but so far
the only direct evidence of progenitor presence is
in the form of a vast dish-like object circlingVortex’s sun in its own trajectory near the Kuiper
belt.
Recently, Dr. Chandler lost contact with his crew
working on the alien artifact, and he needs
someone to investigate.
Paridas
A210686-E Tmp 2Capitol of this subsector and central station of
activity for the TSA, the PSS and The Scout Service.
Paridas is as close to normal as you will get in Deep
Space Subsector 2. The planet serves as a principal
waystation for local authorities as well as
Commonwealth ships, and is the central hub in the
region for interstellar communications and news.
With multiple outlying gas giants, the system
provides ample resources for ships relying on
processed refueling, and it is heavily patrolled,
insuring that most pirates and other raiders from
beyond the rift do not bother the mercantile
traffic in the region.
Than’kk
BA68763-B Tmp 8
A polity of Paridas, this world has a large migrantpopulation of adapted humans as well as the local
indigenes called the Athan’ka, which are a form of
intelligent cetecaean. The population has thrived
here for centuries, but most of its technological
evolution has revolved around adapting to life on a
water world.
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Skaltin
D665671-A Tmp 6Skaltin is the first gateway world in this region to
the Penumbra Nebula expanse. Skaltin is a virtual
lawless planet, populated by succeeding
immigrant waves of various extremiss,
revolutionaries and expatriates over the centuries.
It has arranged for a nominal political position in
the Penumbra Collective, allowing the PSS to
maintain a base of activities here, but there is little
actual authority in the region outside of the twelve
“families” that keep the system running. There is a
vigorous local economy
centered around belt
mining and fuel extraction
from the three jovian-
class planets in-system.
The “twelve” like the PSS
here mostly as a
deterrent from rampantpiracy. The local PSS
commander is
Commodore Alice Burns,
a weary older woman
who at once is horribly
pessimistic, but secretly
loves the challenge of this
system.
Gassar
E100302-C Tmp 2Gassar is a small
indendent colony of
rebels who believe that
jovians (4) of the system
show strong evidence of
intelligence life brewing in
their depths. The locals
are cult-like in their
observation and study of
these beings, and have
been trying to
communicate with them
for two decades. Gassar
itself is a small barely
habitable moon, and it isunclear how they sustain
themselves with such
meager facilities and
limited contact. Their
leader is Andon Poorman,
a man wanted by the Terran Authority many
sectors away for a veritual genocidal crime many
decades ago.
The Sathar have a secret military installation
here, and they are interested in the work going on
at Gassar, so they provide funds and resources in
exchange for the data the colony generates. It is a
class C military outpost.
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The Devil Among Us A Graphic Novel, Minus the Graphics, in the Sea of StarsBy Jeremiah Griffin
Page 1. Single print depicting small meteors,
comets, distant planets, an asteroid belt and, of
course, stars. All rather distant.
Word Box 1. (Upper left side of page).- A distant
plane. A point in infinite space. Myriad giant orbs
sparkle in the distance as if they are so very small
and fragile. Mere tiny glitters against the endless
darkness that is their canvas. A few small orbs
slowly spin in exotic colors as though they are
quite monstrous. Such unimaginable beauty can
only be found in the deepest of oceans.
Page 3-4. Two page spread. Back ground similar
to previous page. Foreground depicts some type
of star ship. Sort of a triangular shape (reference
modern battle cruisers and aircraft carriers)
reaching from the lower right corner of page 4 to
the middle right side of page 3 where the “front”
of the ship lies. The complete rear of the ship
(rockets and such) need not be depicted at this
time.
WB 1. (lower left side of page 3 out of the way ofthe ship).- A glimmering silver mass. A tiny ship
traverses this space. Carrying aboard many brave
sailors who dare to set off in this infinite black of
night in this metallic ship that reflects the millions
of tiny gold and silver sparkles of far away orbs. A
ship and its mariners daring to sail across a distant
sea.
A sea of stars.
Page 5. Full page spread. Change view on ship to
downward side angle. To the side of the ship,
another has approached. This one is mush
smaller, barely a fourth the size of the previous
one. This one is older looking, and has noticeable
repair-work, burn marks, and small holes on it's
surface. Painted on its side is the name Muller-
Hayes.
Page 6. Inset: (small square in upper left corner)
Shows close-up and detail of cannon protruding
from the smaller ship. The rest of the page is
similar to previous, except there is a small star
burst emanating from the cannon on the smaller
ship. Across from the glow on the smaller ship,
there is a proportionate glow coming off of the
larger ship. Connecting the two is a thin stream of
small sparkles and glitter. This is important, as a
laser does not appear as a stream of light in real
life, though any small debris caught in its pathwould reflect its light and glow as it heats.
WB 1. (Lower left side of page).
An intrepid little vessel dares to challenge
the silver warship. A tiny red glow erupts forth
from its hull. Almost instantly, a red glow
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blossoms on the hull of the silver battle ship.
Betwixt the two red lights, caught in the invisible
stream of light, tiny meteors glow red, then
yellow, then white before bursting into a free
floating shower of glittering particles. The first
volley has been played.
Page 7. First panel: A long corridor, marked bylarge, tightly sealed doors, which are evenly
spaced. Centered toward the ceiling of the spaces
in between each door is a siren light. These lights
are flashing, and emanating the sound:
RRRNNGGH!! RRRNNNGG!!
Second panel: The Bridge
(Four or five sturdy looking men should be seated
at control panels, one at a type of captain's chair.
Try not to look too Star Trek. The control room
should be more cramped, the controls should look
less complicated, but there should still be many of
them. Think modern submarines. Uniforms
should be simple and neat.COL11747- “Damn! Must have slipped in through
that patch of asteroids. Probably just calculated
their trajectory, gave their rockets a good fire,
cut'm off to cover the heat trail, then followed
that asteroid cloud strait to us.”
LUT28845- “We have a bead on her sir. The
Muller-Hayes. Damn heretics find and lose new
ships so fast. Hard to keep track of them. Do you
wish to fire on her sir?”
COL11747- “And open a chink in our armour for
that heat to get through? No. Find me a jewell.
None too close to that hot spot.”
Third panel:
(more alarms start going off).
LUT28845- “What is that?”
COL11747- “Pipes. Just the pipes. Whole ship's
got a maze of 'm. Full of liquid to cool the ship
after firing the jets. These bastards don't know
what they're aiming at, just hoping to get lucky.
But their hot spots just over some cooling pipes.
They over heat and start to burst if they aren't de-
pressurized. Worst'll happen a few cells get
flooded. Get the mechanics on it.”
(from a speaker phone somewhere).
SGT09785- “Already on it sir!”
COL11747- “Good man, sergeant. --Now, were's
my jewel? I want to send this bitch's heat rightback to her.”
Page 8. First panel:
LUT49265- “I've got one. Not too close, not too far
away. I'm guiding her in right now.”
COL11747- “Great. Let's hope they don't see this
coming.”
Second panel (fills the rest of the page):
The Outside
(pictured is a close-up of a small hole opening in
the side of the ship out from which races the
jewel. The jewel should for all purposes look like a
jewel: flat, glassy, smooth, reflective, like anelongated octagon from top view, which is the
prominent view as it is very close to the ship's
surface and is carried by small track-ball wheels
that seem to hug the ship's hull. The machine
makes a “tic tic tic” noise as it goes).
Page 9. (The page will contain multiple panels [you
can decide how many and what dimensions seem
appropriate to get the point across]. These panels
will all depict the jewel racing across the surface of
the ship from different angles the whole time
going “tic tic tic.” From time to time the jewel will
encounter dents and mars in the other wisesmooth surface, when this happens, its hydrolics
will be jostled allowing a slight glimpse at what on
the underside of the machine be as creative as you
like, just think something like the Mars rover. The
page contains but one word box which can be
placed where ever you like).
WB: Like a drop of water sliding down the surface
of a silver faucet or an exotic insect scurrying
across a steely pipe, the tiny shard traverses the
surface of its mother as it is lead to protect her
from those who wish her harm.
Page 10. ( All one scene. On one side of the page
we see the jewel racing head-on, on the other we
see the bright glow caused be the laser in the [not
too far] distance. Sort of like the old movies
where the hero is shown riding into the sunset).
WB: Appearing much like the insect drawn to
light, the little gem is lead straight for the bright
glow caused by its adversaries. Will it, much like
the insect drawn to the light, meet its own
destruction in trying to prevent that of the silver
vessel?
Page 11. The Pipes (This can all be done in one
scene or it can use multiple panels. We see
seemingly endless rows on columns of pipes. Menin full-body suites [like the old fashioned diving
suites crossed with the ones from Halo] are hustle
about. Some turning valves to release pressure,
others tightening the pipes from which steam is
spraying. One of the men in a slightly more
distinguished suite than the rest is shouting.)
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SGT09785- “Hurry. Hurry. We needed to be done
with this section five minutes ago!”
Page. 12 Panel One (one of the men gets close to
SGT).
CRP89703- “Good news sir. I have fixed out the
circuits. Once everything is stabilized here, the
computer can start automatically correcting thisarea again.”
SGT09785- “Good. Good. But I'm not sure we are
moving fast enough. How are the Circuits in the
other areas you repaired? Not melted again yet,
are they?
CRP89703- “Not yet sir, though I think the fist
couple may not have much longer left in them.”
SGT09785- “Haven't they diverted that heat yet?
What is taking them so long? Damn! I've got at
least five cells filled with steam and water, acomputer circuit that's going crazy, and-
Panel Two: (one of the pipes bursts
releasing a large gush of incredibly hot steam
which engulfs one of the men working to repair it
and he lets out a blood curdling scream).
SGT09785- “Damn it people hurry! If you could
finish in time this wouldn't happen! And get that
soldier to a medic!
CRP89703- “Is it really that bad sir?”
Panel 3
SGT09785- “Not if this is all they have. At least
not if this can be diverted soon. If that can happen
we will have all the time in the world to clean up.
But if they have something else to throw at us very
soon. Things could get pretty messy.
Panel 4
SGT09785- (turning to the men at the pipes)
“Haven't you gotten that pipe sealed off yet?”
(A computerized voice comes over the speaker
system): Jewel approaching afflicted area.
SGT09785- “Finally!”
Page 13. The OutsidePanel 1: (the jewel is shown pulling into
the glowing area).
Panel 2: (The jewel is now directly under
the ray and the glow seems to emanate from the
machine itself).
WB: The little bug dashes into the very fire which
may consume it. Its diamond hard shell protects it
for now will its jewelled surface reflects back the
incredible light.
Page 14. The Class Room (An instructor stands in
front of a large screen like that of a television or
computer. The room is very large and containsmany seats in each of which sits a student [late
teens]. Rather than a desk, each student has a
smaller personal screen. The instructor paces back
and forth in front of his own screen while
explaining himself).
Panel 1: (The instructor stands to the side
of the screen which currently shows the jewel
reflecting the light back).
PRF20077- “As you can see the R360 unit or jewel,
as it is often called, is being used to reflect back
the light emitted from the attacker's laser cannon.
This method is especially effective against a few
small cannons. This method is, however moredifficult to employ during an onslaught of multiple
large cannons. Let me show you a close up of the
R360 unit.”
Panel 2: (Zoom in on the screen showing
the jewel which is zoomed in on the jewel itself).
PRF20077- The outer shell is made out of metal
which is in a clear state and hardened to a
consistency slightly harder than diamonds. The
inner shell is actually an amalgam of mercury and
silicon. This material looks rather dark and is not
very reflective outside of its shell, but once it heats
up, it becomes one of the most reflective materials
known to withstand such heats. The machine can
now direct the beam of light in any direction the
person in control of our device chooses.”
Panel 3: (Pacing about)
PRF20077- “Naturally, even the R360 unit can not
take this heat indefinitely. The cannon must now
be disabled. In some way. Any questions?”
Page 15. The Bridge
Panel 1:
COL11747- “Got'cha! How do you like that? Okay
I want you to start turning it back toward their
own cannon. No trying to use it on their hull oranything, I don't want them to know we've caught
their heat yet if we can help it. Just start putting it
back where it came from.
Page 16. The Outside (Top displaying the adjacent
ship sides, the glowing jewel and the depress that
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glitters as it is caught in the path of the laser).
Panel 1: (the ray is still facing straight out
from the jewel)
COL11747- “Okay. Slowly now, tilt it toward the
cannon.”
Panel 2: (the hydrolics on the jewel start
to lift one side angling the glow slightly).COL11747- “Easy now. Easy.”
Panel 3: (the glow is angled a little closer
to the cannon).
COL11747- “Good going. Just a little more.”
Panel 4: (The glow is right on top of the
cannon).
COL11747- “Great. Hold her right there.”
Panel 5: (The opposing glows cease).
COL11747- “Ha! Melted 'er. How do ya like that,
fuckers!”
Page 17. The Bridge (Every one is pressing
buttons and talking into head sets).
COL11747- “Okay. I'm sure they noticed that. So
let's prepare for what they might try next. Start
prepping the missile bay. I want a good score of
them ready to fire if we need them in the next
couple of seconds. Then, I need you to call six
squads of fighters to their ships. That one is not
too small to launch some fighters off of, I want to
be able to meet and beat their numbers.”
Page 18. (More scrambling about).
Panel 1:
COL11747- “Next I want you to get a hold of our
man down in the chapel.”
Panel 2: “Something does not seem right
about this. We have been encountering too many
guerrillas lately, and they are all attacking rather
than hiding. Something is not right about this at
all.
Page 19. Launch Hall (Full Page. A group of men in
flight suites [feel free to be creative], are running
down a long hall way in order to reach their ships.
Be sure to make it look as though they are reallyhurrying).
Page 20. The Pipes (The men are hard at work
taking care of the very last of the leaks).
Panel 1: (SGT is over-looking the
progress).
COL11747- (over comm) “How is the progress
down there?”
SGT09785- “It's coming along sir.”
COL11747- “How far?”
Panel 2:
SGT09785- “Just wrapping up the last with these
pipes. We'll have to take care of the water a little
later. They aren't trying anything else are they?”
COL11747- “Not yet. Will we be ready if they
do?”
SGT09785- “Only if they're nice enough to wait
thirty minutes tell the pipes cool.”
Panel 3:
COL11747- “We may not have thirty minutes,sergeant.”
SGT09785- “I am doing all I can down here. It
takes thirty minutes for these pipes to cool,
otherwise they are much too volatile. Everything
is sealed and soldered, but there is nothing I can
do to make it cool faster.”
Page 21.
Panel 1:
SGT09785- “With any luck they will not attack this
same area with, whatever they might try next.
With any luck they may not have anything left to
send at us.”
COL11747- “With luck... But I don't think so. I
think they might try to deploy some fighters.”
Panel 2:
SGT09785- “Sir. I'm damn sure we can not take a
direct missile hit in this area for at least another
thirty minutes.”
COL11747- “Any ideas?”
SGT09785- “All I can say is you have to keep 'em
away from here.”
Panel 3:
COL11747- “I will see what I can do, sergeant.
Mean while you do all you can do to get
everything back in order down there.”
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SGT09785- “Yes sir! And thank you sir!”
COL11747- “Just keep at it.”
SGT09785- “Yes sir! Will do sir!”
COL11747- “That's all, COL11747 out.”
Page 21. (CRP89703 approaches SGT09785).
Panel 1:
CRP89703- “All done here sir.”
SGT09785- “How are they cooling?”
CRP89703- “As expected sir. Approximately
twenty-six minutes till normal temperature.”
SGT09785- “That's what I was afraid of.”
CRP89703- “More trouble sir?”
Panel 2:
SGT09785- “We are to be ready for another
attack.”
CRP89703- “When sir?”
SGT09785- “Soon, very soon. Though I hope they
don't.”
CRP89703- “I know we all hope they don't, sir.”
Panel 3:
SGT09785- “Have any of those circuits melted
yet?”
CRP89703- “Not yet sir. In f act they might hold
with the cooling having started already. I am a
little worried about that first one, though. My
monitor on it says it isn't cooling fast enough.”
SGT09785- “Okay, I want you to take another with
you and see to it. On your way tell them to start
getting up that water. If we can be ready in time, I
want to be.”
Panel 4: (CRP89703 is running off.)CRP89703- “Yes sir.”
SGT09785- “Good.” .......... “I hope they don't
attack.”
Page 22. (Full page, full body shot facing
SGT09785).
SGT09785- “I really hope they can't attack.”
Page 23. The Bridge
Panel 1:
COL11747- “If I am going to have to keep them
away from that spot, I am going to need some
gunners.”
Panel 2:
COL11747- “Scramble all gunners near the hot
spot!”
Page 24: (Full page depiction of a group of men
running through a corridor. Their attire should
look a little less restrictive than that of the pilots.”
Page 25: The Garden (the garden is made up of
many rows of blocks of various sizes. Every so
many blocks has a tree growing out of it. These
trees look like dead black bonsai, or the scary
looking dead trees from the haunted forest).Panel 1: (A tall sallow man in a long frock
stands in front of one of the trees and stars out
into nothing as though he were lost in thought or
being enlightened).
LUT20097- “The colonel wanted me to speak with
you. It is a matter of some importance.
Panel 2:
LUT20097- “He thinks someone on this ship might
be giving away our coordinates.”
REV91287- (Finally acknowledging the other man)
“Does he really believe one of these men could be
capable of such a thing?”
LUT20097- “We both know that men... all men are
capable of many great evils if they give themselves
over to it.
REV91287- “No. I mean does he really think it
would be physically possible to send out such a
thing with out us realizing who was doing i, much
less noticing that it was even being done?”
Panel 3:
LUT20097- “He is in the process of investigating
the matter as we speak and we all hope to resolvethe matter as soon as possible. But, in the mean
time. He was wondering if you might work
something into your words today to dissuade the
men from doing so, to be more vigilant of those
who might try such a thing, even to turn them
selves in.... If possible.
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Panel 4:
REV91287- (Reaching out as to the heavens)
“Son, I only say what I have been told to say... by a
commander with much more authority than
yours.” ..... “Fortunately, for you. I have received
just such a message today.”
Page 26. The Class Room (The instructor is infront of the class still).
Panel 1:
PRF20077- “Now, pay close attention. You are
here to train as fighter pilots. If you are very luck,
you will get to see some in action today. You have
already heard so much about how the controls
work. I am sure you would like to learn something
of how the weapons systems work.
Panel 2: (He holds out a capsule shape
about the size of two fingers)
PRF20077- “This is standard ammunition on your
average fighter. It is a bolt of a compressed plasticmaterial. It is very sturdy. Because most fighters
are made with sheets of metal or plastic only a few
millimeters thick, these can do considerable
damage. If one of these were to hit the hull of this
ship we are in now, it would simply shatter.”
Panel 3:
PRF20077- “These are propelled by a set of
wheels spinning at an incredible speed. They are
fed at a fast pace in between these wheels which
then send them from your vehicle with sudden
and potent force. Because space is a vacuum with
no resisting forces these projectiles continue with
the same tremendous force with which they left.”
Panel 4:
PRF20077- “Now, as to missiles-”
Page 27. (Full Page above view. The gunners
enter their gunnery turrets. Since the turrets are
located on the sides of the ship, it looks a lot like a
bunch of guys running into a hall full of broom
closets.)
Page 28. (Out side view of the gunnery turrets)
Panel 1: (Hatches on the exterior of the
ship open and the turrets emerge). Rrrnsschh.
Rrrnnsschh. Rrrnnsschh.
Panel 2: (Turret guns lower into firing
position)
Mrr-Klnn. Mrr-Klnn. Mrr-Klnn.
Page 29. Panel 1: (View of Muller-Hayes' fighter
deployment hatch).
Panel 2: (View of silvery from possible
perspective of Muller-Hayes)
WB: “With danger immanent the adventurous ship
prepares for battle, but there is only one thing on
the mind of its captain-”
Panel 3: (Panel depicts the colonel on the
left in the bridge, and the sergeant on the right in
one of the pipe rooms [both close-ups and
appearing worried]. Panel is separated by the
word box) WB: “Please don't attack.”
Page 30. The Chapel (can either be broken into
panels, or one whole page).
REV91287- “and long ago... long before any of
you can remember... there were many gods.
Many, different gods for many different peoples.
Yet, they all wanted the same things. Loyalty.Servitude. And most of all... Peace. Peace, and
life, and love for all peoples everywhere... How
strange it was then, that the people always turned
to war, and death, and hatred. For they each saw
their god as among them... Making them do what
was right, standing behind them as they fought.
Fought to eliminate all those who followed any
god but their own. So the people created science.
Science was beyond god. With out a god to kill for,
they figured, there need be no death, finally, there
can be peace. Yet, still there was death, still there
was war and hatred for those who dared challenge
science. In the end, science taught humans and
helped them learn. And we learned of the true
god. The one god. The god of true knowledge,
true peace, and true love. The one god. Science
could not replace him, but it could support him-
could prove his reality. Science could show us all
we know now of his nature. And the only thing he
commands us to do is to learn. The only thing he
commands us to love is our selves. This is why we
can not study him. For he is not here among us for
us to dissect and examine. To push us this way or
that. But instead to lead us. To lead us to better
things. He is always there. Just beyond our reach,
allowing us to keep just behind him. Letting us
learn more and more each day in pursuit of himthrough knowledge.
Page 31. Panel 1: (Muller-Hayes fighter
deployment hatches, still closed).
REV91287- And back then, they believed in a
devil. A being who lead them astray.
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Panel 2: (Close-up of the colonel).
REV91287- “Lead them to doubt-”
Panel 3: (Close-up of the sergeant).
REV91287- “Lead them to fear-”
Panel 4: (Close-up of the reverend).REV91287- “But it is we who doubt. We who fear.
Us as individuals. And the devil-”
Page 32. (Full page of Muller-Hayes with inset at
the bottom)
REV91287-
(above inset) “-The Devil is among us...”
(inset: MH deployment hatches open and enemy
fighters begin to spill out).
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ReviewsBy Jeremiah Griffin, Dan Lambert and Tori Bergquist
Worlds Asunder
By Kirk Hickman
This is the kind of fun book you pick up and then
forget how long you have been reading for. It
moves very quickly and is certainly engaging.
Probably the best thing I can say for it is how much
it reminds me of old school science fiction, like
Asimov and some of Heinlien's best, Hickman'sworlds are not packed with alien monsters bent on
the destruction of all humans the come across. His
story involves complex political plots and
theoretical technology. While his story is strong,
where he shines brightest and brings the reader
back to the younger days of sci-fi is when he
analyzes current technology and recent scientific
discoveries to try to calculate where technology
may be in the future. His descriptions of what new
technology exists and the way he simply implies
the natural evolution it has taken from what we
have now to meeting the specific needs we will
have once life in space becomes more commonand how it will function in that time are truly the
gems all readers of this genre look for when
reading.
--Jeremiah Griffin
Light from a Distant Star
By Greg Saunders
Light From A Distant Star is written for readers
like me. People who enjoy a lot of really creative
ideas and a lot of fast paced action. It is a tale of
survival on a distant and completely alien world, of
the struggle of man against nature, a nature
entirely foreign to the characters. It is the story of
different cultures, and of how they form or
dissolve over time and reform with more time. It
is the story of man's first contact with alien life
forms. Many of these ideas may not be
particularly original, but the story certainly is and
the way it is told is nothing short of magnificent.
Greg Saunders has accomplished his goal in
making an environment that the reader can
experience, the fact that it is so very alien only
makes his talent that much more amazing! If you
really want to sit down and enjoy a great story
with a lot of action, this is the book for you. I can't
wait to read the rest of the series!--Jeremiah Griffin
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Freehold
By Michael Z. Williamson
My initial foray into the future worlds of Michael
Z. Williamson began with his first novel Freehold,
which is available as part of Baen’s free library
online, serving as an axcellent literary gateway
drug to induce you in to buying his other books (as
I did). Freehold is the story of Kandra Pacelli, a
luckless military supply officer in the Earth military
who is framed for a crime she didn’t commit, and
is forced to seek refuge with the remote
independent world of Freehold. The novel
manages to transcend mere military SF, thoughWilliamson is astoundingly good at the genre, and
enters surprisingly interesting territory as a sort of
libertarian fantasy. As a small-l libertarian myself
(believing that the ideal libertarian society is
defeated only by man’s own inability to handle the
requisite social contract) it was fascinating to read
the details of this carefully constructed “libertarian
utopia” as I would describe it, and the slow but
certain rise in tension as the book progresses
between Freehold and the ominously
authoritarian government back on Earth. Well
worth reading for those who enjoy vigorous
military and social science fiction alike.
--Tori Bergquist
The Mark of NerathBy Bill Slavicsek
This is the first official novel (so far as I can tell)
set in the “Points of Light” setting for the 4th
edition Dungeons & Dragons game. Up to now all
we’ve seen have been short vignettes and articles
hinting at the scope of this world in various game
products; Bill Slavicsek as penned the first official
tie-in, and I have to say it’s a rather fun ride.
The novel opens up with a classic tale of
adventure, a hunt for a dragon, and a subsequent
twist (I’ll avoid spoilers) leading to a change of
scene…many scenes, actually, as we follow thevarious tales of several different groups of unlikely
heroes (and a couple thoroughly evil yet likeable
villains) in the region of the Vale of Nentyr, the
land upon which, a generation earlier, the
thoroughly evil Empire of Nerath fell in to ruin
thanks to some very, very evil business on the part
of the last ruling emperor.
The book is laden with classic tropes of the
genre, but its delightful to see the many iconic
themes and features of the newest edition of the
game take on their own life. This book helps to gel
the default setting of the game in to something
more meaningful, and Slavicsek’s writing is quick
and efficient; the plot burns along at a breakneck
pace and I found myself rather enjoying the
various little interweaving tales of Falon, Magrath,
Shara, Erak, Roghar, Tempest and many more. I
should emphasize that I burned out on fantasy
novels many, many years ago; I’ve read very few
that I enjoyed at all in the last decade, and while
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this book offered nothing specifically new to the
genre as a whole, it nonetheless crafted a fine tale
that carried along quickly and enjoyably. Well
worth a read for fans of action-heavy fantasy or 4th
edition Dungeons & Dragons!
--Tori Bergquist
Bash Down the Door and Slice Open the
Bad Guy
Edited by W.H. Horner
When I said I disliked most fantasy (rather,
simply overdosed on it during my high school and
college years) I should have clarified andmentioned that there are two subgenres I love.
The endlessly amusing swords & sorcery genre
that Howard started is one; I also have a desire for
good satirical/farcial fantasy novels. Suddenly we
have a collection of short fiction from Fantasist
Enterprises that has the best of both worlds
within. I snagged a copy at Bubonicon 42 in
Albuquerque, and found myself stricken by this
novel’s impressive collection of well-told nutty
fantasy tales.
Most of the names in this collection are new to
me, but every single one was worth the read, and
I’ll be keeping an eye out for more stories by theseauthors. From Jeremy Yoder’s “A Lesson in
Heroics,” feraturing sordid tale of Horab the
barbarian on to “The Great Thrakkian Rebellion”
by Megan Crewe (in which the minions get fed up
with the overlord), each and every story within is a
breath of fresh air in the genre of humorous
fantasy. There are a few more well-known authors
within as well, including K.D. Wentworth and
Lawrence C. Connoly and Jim Hines. There may be
others who are popular but merely writers I
haven’t heard of; I intend to get better acquainted
with the works of everyone in this tome, however;
it’s pretty rare that I come away from an anthology
like this that there wasn’t at least one dud, yetthat’s exactly what happened.
I strongly recommend Bash Down the Door and
Slice Open the Bad Guy to everyone who loves the
blended genre of humor and fantasy, you won’t be
disappointed.
--Tori Bergquist
Bringing Down The Horse
CD Review
Jakob Dylan's voice is tinged with the mournful
whine that made his father the world's most
famous folk-rock singer. Dylan's band, The
Wallflowers, has made a name for itself on MTV
because of the stark video for its single 1 "One
Headlight." Their debut album, Bringing Down The
Horse (Interscope), suggests that there is much
more to the Wallflowers than famous parents and
top-ten videos.
The richness of this album hits you immediately
in the form of the aforementioned hit single. "One
Headlight" is like the Lovecraftian version of theHansons' "Mmmm Bop": a maddeningly catchy
pop song about a doomed relationship. "One
Headlight" bristles with dark landscapes. When
Dylan sings that he doesn't remember when his
lost love "died easy of a broken heart disease,"
you believe him. When he describes her funeral,
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you can almost feel the misty rain pummeling her
headstone.
The album moves forward from "One Headlight"
to heights of artistic excellence that continually
prove that we are not dealing with one-hit
wonders here. Mournful ballads like "Sixth Avenue
Heartache" and "Three Marlenas" still resonate
with infectious melodies that make it difficult notto sing or at least hum along. "The Difference" is
the best straight-out rocker on the disc, and its
celebratory mood contrasts sharply with the
mournfulness of "One Headlight." After repeated
listenings, I have begun to realize that Bob is not
the only Dylan destined to make a mark on the
face of popular music.
--Dan Lambert
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Death on the ToiletBy Robert Stikmanz
Although no moon shone, the lowering clouds
trapped enough light from the neighboringsubdivision to illuminate forty yards of ditch cut
into the old man's property. Bigger MacGregor
stood at the window of the home he shared with
his youngest granddaughter and her son,
remembering the band of mixed growth he had
spent a decade bringing back from naked caliche.
That narrow strip of restored savanna had been
the pride of the entire MacGregor family until
adjoining woods were claimed by the nearby city
under extra-territorial jurisdiction. Using the same
authority they had seized the plot of MacGregor
land as right of way, and signed off on destruction
of both woods and strip by an outfit calledTremaine Developments. News cameras looking
on, the city's mayor had turned the first shovel of
dirt to signal another bold step in the name of
progress.
The vaporous yellow of reflected streetlights did
nothing to beautify the scar of ditch bounding the
MacGregor homestead. Eighty-two years old and a
restless sleeper, Bigger stopped at the window at
least once a night to grieve for his lost savanna and
seethe at the memory of fat, pompous Duane
Tremaine III, chewing a cigar while dismissing all
protests with pieties about expanding tax base and
the benefits of making “fallow lands” profitable. Turning from the window, Bigger opened his
bathroom door to find Death sitting on the toilet.
The old man stared for several minutes, expecting
the spectral shape to contract and resolve into his
great grandson, Paulie, or, failing that, into some
other mundane presence, perhaps a burglar. The
figure, however, remained what it was, its hood
angled toward Bigger in such a way that the mortal
man thought it stared back.
“So this is it, then?” Bigger asked.
The figure shook its head in answer, extending
an arm not toward MacGregor but out to the side.
Folds of its robe spread as it did so, becoming the
feathers of an enormous wing. Hundreds of eyes
peered from among midnight plumage, winking
slowly and asynchronously as they studied the
man, who blinked and studied back.
Suddenly, most of the eyes closed as one,
clenching shut, and the figure appeared to hunch
in upon itself. Bigger heard, or imagined he heard,
a ghost of the sound of bowels voiding, and a smell
like concentrated calla lilies filled the bathroom.The palpable wave of scent pushed him back into
the hall. In its wake, the many eyes opened again,
appearing drained. Impressions not of his making
took shape in his mind as MacGregor struggled to
interpret what he assumed was a message from
beyond life's pale.
“Unexpected stop. A consequence of working
closely with Pestilence.”
From out of the black within its hood came a
sound like Death moistening its lips. Bigger
wondered about the etiquette of the situation,
whether or not he should offer a glass of water,
but he had no opportunity. The figure strainedagain, its arm pulling in slightly as the effort forced
shut its many eyes. The smell of callas billowed out
as Death again voided.
“Umnh!” formed as an impression in Bigger's
mind. His own guts gurgled in sympathy.
A moment later, the figure had regained its
poise, if poise is an attribute one might ascribe to
Fatality. It refastened its eyes on its accidental
host. After an instant of what seemed like
awkward hesitation, words took soundless shape
in the mortal's head.
“There is an appointment that must be kept.”
The specter pointed to a scythe standing againstthe wall directly in front of it. Bigger was sure no
scythe had been there an instant before. He
nodded toward it and smiled.
“No man waits for Death?” he asked.
The figure shook its hooded head.
“Hardly original.” Even silent, the observation
seemed weary. “No matter. Your assistance is
needed.”
“Mine?” MacGregor's thoughts raced as he tried
to discern what this declaration portended. With
understanding came disbelief. “You want me to
sub for you?”
The Reaper nodded, pointing more emphatically
at its implement.
“I'm hardly qualified,” the man objected. “I'd
have no idea what to do.”
Death jabbed its finger more forcefully, its silent
voice ringing inside the mortal's skull.
“The scythe will lead.”
Bigger looked from the honed edge of blue-black
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metal to the figure on the commode.
“Are you asking me to handle your appointment
as a favor?”
Death shook its head, and started to jab once
more but was overtaken by another spasm of
voiding. Bigger snorted.
“What? Just because you have the runs you think
you can draft any convenient body to handle yourgig?”
The specter nodded, and pointed once more to
the scythe.
“I don't think so,” the man resisted. “I have no
idea how to go about harvesting somebody's life.”
He started to back away from the bathroom, but
the world suddenly stretched in a disorienting
way, and he found himself standing outside, clad
in Death's garment, clasping the tool of Death's
trade. Inside his head he heard a fading echo, “The
blade will lead. Follow the blade....”
As if cued by these instructions, the scythe pulled
MacGregor toward the scar of ground that hadonce been the back third of his yard. After ten
years of building up depleted soil, removing
invasive plants and restoring native vegetation, he
had been forced to stand by as the crews of
Tremaine Developments had dug out the strip to a
depth of nine feet, making drainage for a gated
subdivision that now occupied what had been fifty
acres of forest. The Reaper's blade drew the man
toward the lip of this ditch, where an enormous
cottonwood had struggled to hold on, sacrificing
more boughs month by month as it tried to
contain its disrupted existence. Only the day
before, Bigger had noted that a single branch
remained in leaf, and that remnant foliage had
looked none too healthy.
As he stepped beside the tree, the scythe came
around of its own accord, sweeping in an
unhurried, stately arc through the bole of the
trunk. It met no resistance. When the blade had
passed through, the trunk seemed unmarked, but
after no more than a fraction of a second the
remaining leaves let go with tiny pops, faint, but
clearly audible to ears heightened by the office he
filled. Astonished, Bigger felt life depart the tree. It
came through him like a focused beam, like a tight
flow of energy moving with the stateliness of the
stroke that had released it. Its passage imparted acharge that both diffused throughout his person
and concentrated in the blade.
“Not so bad,” he thought with relief, and turned
back toward the house.
The scythe, however, was propelled by other
intentions. It yanked him, with none of the earlier
gentleness, away from the tree and toward a small
luminescence converging swiftly upon another
even smaller. Though pulled at a speed surpassing
anything in his experience, he still recognized the
luminous bodies as a screech owl in the act of
pouncing on a vole. Violence that would have
dislocated his shoulders had he not been standing
proxy for Death swept the blade in churning,chopping blows that paced the talons of the owl as
they pierced vitals and snatched the prey. The
rodent died shrieking. Its life, wee though it was,
rocketed up Bigger's arms and out his back like a
ghostly projectile.
“An appointment!” MacGregor yelled to the
night. “You said 'an appointment.' That was two!”
The contrast between the death of the vole and
that of the tree could not have been greater. This
tiny demise, which had gone through him like an
infinitesimal pellet, shook him profoundly. In his
human guise, such an experience would have
brought him to his knees in grief. It was not thathe was sentimental about voles. He was, actually,
a good deal less sentimental about them than
about the raptor dining on its catch even as the
man—agent and witness—sought to recover.
What was different was the churning of the event,
the brutal turbulence. Whatever the creature's
vitality or spirit or life essence may have been, it
had shot through Bigger with pain and fear, rather
than flowing with release as that of the tree had
done. In one aspect, however, the two events
were the same. The death of the vole had given
him energy, and, even more, had energized the
scythe.
Realizing this, that both he and the blade were
fed by these mortalities, Bigger tried once more to
turn home. When the Reaper's instrument again
pulled him in another direction, he flung it,
opening his grasp to release it to fall where it
might. The fatal tool, however, would not leave his
hands. Despite the strength with which he shoved
it away, the smooth grain of its stock remained
solidly against his palms. What is more, it drew
him inexorably toward a third appointment.
Ironically—at least, it seemed to him ironic—the
line he traveled was the length of the ditch that
ran now where his beloved strip of restored wild
had been. He moved through the air a good ninefeet above the bottom of the ditch, as though his
role as Death's involuntary agent forced him to
travel the ghost of a landscape that had ceased to
exist. In his passage he felt, with a clarity absolute
and unmistakable, the signature of each organism
that had been snuffed during the excavation. Every
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extinguished clump of grass, every uprooted
shrub, every broken insect touched him with its
identity.
“They died in their thousands for this ditch,” he
sorrowed in his thoughts, and in his thoughts, felt
as much as heard in answer, “Eight hundred thirty-
six thousand, seven hundred seventeen eukaryotic
deaths in that serial assignment.” “Eukaryotes?” he wondered. “What about the
bacteria? Is that number so huge not even Death
will count them?”
No words formed in his mind, but he became
aware of a conviction, something he had not
known before, that prokaryotic mortality was
handled in an ungraspably different arrangement.
When a bacterium ended, it was in a manner other
than death as he believed he understood it. On the
other hand, the experience of this night placed
everything he thought he knew in a rather
different perspective.
Although he traveled at what must have beenastonishing speed, the brush with hundreds of
thousands of minuscule haunts made the journey
of forty yards seem to take forever. At last, he
passed the boundary from his insulted property
into the new subdivision. Thankfully, he was
spared hauntings from the myriad demises visited
in that constructed habitat. Drawn by the scythe,
he flashed toward this third encounter.
An instant later he stood before a house, the
largest and most obviously customized among the
blocks of repeating floor plans. Without ever
having been there, Bigger knew this was home of
Duane Tremaine III, the developer who had
ordered destruction of his lovingly nurtured
woodland edge. A surge of rage and grief smashed
together in his core and erupted through him like a
beacon towering into space. Hardly had he
registered this storm of emotion, however, before
he found himself inside the house. For a
heartbeat, he paused in the entry, just within the
door. Another heartbeat later placed him at the
foot of Tremaine's bed. The corpulent developer
lay upon it, less asleep than unconscious, laboring
to breathe.
As MacGregor realized he was again watching
the final instants of a life, the scythe spasmed in
his hand. The shock of it thrashed his arms. Clearlythe implement had brought him to an
appointment with fury. In wielding the blade that
sliced the thread of Tremaine's existence, Bigger
would, in fact, become the instrument that would
make the developer's death a mirror of the
violence wrought upon the lost band of savanna.
The razor steel hungered toward the energy it was
about to release.
“No!” MacGregor shouted, throwing himself
back as the blade bucked forward. When the
implement twisted right, Bigger, locking his will
more than his muscles, yanked left. Answering, the
scythe arced up, over his head. Body frail with all
his eighty-two years but his determinationsharpened by a lifetime of persevering, of refusing
to give up, he knew that in conviction rather than
sinew he would find his strength. As the scythe
swooped to kill, the old man threw himself
backward and rolled, to come up on his feet facing
away from the deathbed. He held the implement
braced in front of him, the curve of its edge
looming above his head. In an instant, he knew
without thought, as he had known the difference
of prokaryotes, that his age meant nothing in the
sepulchral role he played. If Death's blade was
preternatural steel, the spirit of Bigger MacGregor
was adamantine, and he would not be forced tocarve even his enemy.
The scythe did not yield. It was not capable of
yielding, but in this moment neither was the being
charged to carry it. Bigger turned carefully,
maintaining his grip on the instrument straining to
chop and slice the figure in the bed. With hard-
won deliberateness, he allowed the point of the
blade to sink without hurry toward its target's
chest. He could not impart grace to the
movement, nor dignity, but, really, he had no
interest in granting the developer a graceful or
dignified death. What he could do, and what he
did, was allow Duane Tremaine III to go quietly
into never-ending night.
The blade sank inches into the expiring body, its
fury reined as its tip pierced the center of a
floundering heart. Bigger held it there motionless
for a fraction of a second, refusing to allow the
steel to buck and shred. Then, as Tremaine's life
flowed up and out, he passed the razor curve
through the new corpse in a single, smooth stroke.
The developer's life force washed through the
agent of his demise, leaving a residue of energy in
both old man and implement as the now released
livingness flowed on to wherever it went. Already
dead, Tremaine's body gave up its last breath in an
almost inaudible sigh.MacGregor wasted no time over the body. He
turned and stepped toward the door to the room.
Immediately, he was outside. Another step found
him at the lip of the ditch, and another found him
back in the hall of his home, at the door of the
restroom. Death stood waiting, eyes hidden in the
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plumage of its winged arm again folded close like
the deep sleeves of a robe. Bigger held out the
scythe, and Death took it. For a moment the
specter appeared to regard him curiously, but he
would never know for sure what went on in the
recesses of that hood. When the figure turned to
leave, the man said, “Guess I'll see you soon.”
Death stopped, seeming to hesitate. Once more,words formed in Bigger's mind.
“Not today.”
The mortal nodded. The Reaper turned away,
fading as it did so, leaving no trace of its time in
the bathroom except an overwhelming smell of
calla lilies.
MacGregor stood in thought until a small voice
called out, “Papa?” Turning, he saw his great
grandson standing at the end of the hall.
“Paulie?” the old man asked. “What are you
doing up, son?”
“Papa, I had a dream. It scared me.”
Bigger moved toward the boy.“I'm sorry, little one. Come on.” He knelt,
opening his arms to the child. “Let's go in the den,
and Papa will rock you back to sleep.”
The boy sniffed as he stepped into Bigger's
embrace.
“Papa, what's that smell?” he asked.
“Flowers, I think,” Bigger told him. “Nothing to
worry about. It'll be gone by morning.”
Daybreak found man and boy asleep in the
rocker, the child upon his great grandfather's lap,
head against the frail, old chest. The boy's mother
woke her grandfather when she lifted her son to
carry him to his bed.
“Papa, are you all right?” she asked.
“I think so, sweetie.” Bigger stretched, his joints
cracking as he straightened. “We just had
dreams.”
Another six months elapsed before Death's
appointment with Bigger MacGregor. The passing
was not entirely painless, and it did not come
when he was asleep, but the old man managed it
with dignity and grace. His granddaughter had
lifted a drowsing Paulie from his lap scarcely ten
minutes before Bigger, again in the rocker,
breathed his last.
Years later Paulie would note that his great
grandfather had been wrong about the smell. Overtime, it grew less cloying, but it never entirely
disappeared. Even after centuries, the house long
crumbled away, the subdivision turned, first, to
desert, then slowly, ever so slowly again to
savanna, a traveler passing the spot where the
bathroom once had been would note an
unaccountable odor of calla lilies.
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23
Blue Moose Press UpdateThe news for close observers of Robert Stikmanz
and the various products of my imagination is that
a thorough reset has been in progress over recent
months.
My basic contact information remains the same:
Robert Stikmanz
P.O. Box 66696
Austin TX 78766
Anyone interested in finding out more about my
fiction and art, or staying current on all matters
Stikmantic, can visit my website
(http://www.robertstikmanz.com) for allmanner of explanatory text—including my
irregularly updated blog. For more topical, social
media connection, Facebook is host to both my
personal profile (facebook.com/robert.stikmanz)
and a page devoted to my art and fiction
(facebook.com/hiddenlandsofnod).
Blue Moose Press
(http://thebluemoosepress.com) willrerelease my existing novels on the following
schedule:
Prelude to a Change of Mind, Book One of The
Hidden Lands of Nod, on June 15, 2010
Entranscing, Book Two of The Hidden Lands of
Nod, on July 15, 2010
Sleeper Awakes, Book Three of The Hidden Lands
of Nod, on September 15, 2010
Blue Moose Press will also rerelease my fantasy
divination system, Nod's Way, or Hidden Dragon,
on August 15, 2010
Other books by Blue Moose Press include:
Rowan of the Wood by Christine and Ethan Rose
YA Fantasy. 978-0-9819949-0-1 $12.95Indie Excellence Award Winner
After a millennium of imprisonment in his magic
wand, an ancient wizard possesses the young boy
who released him. When danger is nigh, he
emerges from the frightened child to set things
right. Both he and the boy try to grasp what has
happened to them only to discover a deeper
problem. Somehow the wizard’s bride from the
ancient past has survived and become something
evil.
http://www.rowanofthewood.com
Witch on the Water by Christine and Ethan RoseYA Fantasy. 978-0-9819949-2-5 $12.95
Cullen thought he had enough trouble surviving
school, dealing with his miserable home life, and
being possessed by Rowan, a 1400-year-old
wizard. But when Rowan’s wife, the sadistic
vampire Fiana, comes back seeking revenge,
Cullen and his band of misfits must do what they
can to stop her. This time Cullen’s favorite teacher
is Fiana’s first target.
http://www.witchonthewater.com
Avalon Revisited by O. M. Grey
Paranormal Romance. 978-0-9819949-5-6 $10.99Arthur has made his existence as a vampire
bearable for over three hundred years by
immersing himself in blood and debauchery.
Aboard an airship gala, he meets Avalon, an
aspiring vampire slayer who sparks fire into
Arthur’s shriveled heart. Together they try to solve
the mystery of several horrendous murders on the
dark streets of London. Cultures clash and
pressures rise in this sexy Steampunk Romance.
http://omgrey.wordpress.com--Robert Stikmanz
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The day THEY came!By Gregory J. Saunders
John Cooke lay on the carpet staring wide-eyed
at the ceiling and the bright balloons floating
there. Yellow, green and blue; trailing streamers of
silver ribbon, each swaying lightly in unseen
currents of air as if dancing to music only they
could hear. Each one shimmering iridescent with
reflected light from the single square of sunshine
that filled the room. Soft shag caressed him on one
side as he basked in the natural heat on the other,
watching the colored orbs through motes of dust
that appeared as if by magic as they passed
through the beam of sunlight. It was magical. It
was his birthday. His gifts shimmered with equal
joy; their foil wrappings catching the brightness as
they surrounded him on the floor, throwing
rainbow colors throughout the small room. Each
carefully and strategically placed so as not to lose
track of a single one. John was seven years old and
waiting as patiently as he could for people to
arrive while listening to his mother putter about
the kitchen preparing her delicious
wonders. Waiting. Anticipating.
A memory!
John’s eyes flutter open and he is suddenly cold,
not realizing sleep had overcome him. His
sunbeam is nowhere to be found. Outside hiswindow the world is still bright and sunny. In fact
the neighborhood is sun-drenched everywhere
except around his house. It is as if a small cloud
has parked itself over his roof alone conspiring to
rob John of his joy. The balloons seem dull without
the sun, the small wrapped boxes less thrilling,
almost plain. Bleary eyed and shivering he begins
to call to his mother, yet an opening door makes
him pause; curious because no doorbell or knock
nor greeting accompanied the sound. Another
shiver having nothing to do with the cold races
through him. Though he doesn’t know why, there
is a niggling of déjà vu. Suddenly a breathless andtrembling, “Oh My God!” issues from the
kitchen. His mother’s scream is terrified, the sound
sending shock waves like jolts of electricity
through his body, stabbing his brain and flaring
wide his eyes. Never in his young life had John felt
true fear. Never until now.
“Hide John, run and-!” Her scream is cut of, the
sudden silence deafening. But John has nowhere
to run. Every avenue of escape leads to the kitchen
and past whatever horrible thing is happening
there. He whimpers softly and crawls behind the
couch, laying down and making himself as small
and invisible as possible, wishing he could curl into
a ball and squeeze his eyes shut to stave off the
terror. But he can’t so he peers out from
underneath and between the heavy oak legs,
hyperventilating within a body that has now
passed far beyond his control. Great shivers and
sobs wrack his thin chest, his breath doing what
the vacuum couldn’t, sucking up the old dust,
effectively choking him. Worse still, from here he
can see into the kitchen and see his mother laying
face down on the tile.
Her eyes hold his, pleading with him though he
doesn’t know why. Shadows surround her,
indistinct yet odd and frighteningly shaped. Each a
fragment from a nightmare that begs to be
remembered. A mind nearly shattered registers a
single fact; this has happened before!
He can neither blink nor remove his vision as a
bright stabbing beam of red flashes behind her
head scribing a thin sharp line through the
air. Wisps of smoke curl up from her skull for a
single instant, then the light is gone, the gray mistdissipating to nothing. Another device
flashes. Through his tears his mother’s familiar
face distorts and ripples, but the cause is not the
moisture in his eyes. Instead it is a grinding and
tearing that drives him further towards
madness. Yet even now there is a moment of utter
clarity as an arm reaches down. He hears a soft
puckering sound as if suction is suddenly released
and his mother’s brain rises bloodlessly from her
head gripped in a steel grey hand. His vision locks
with his mothers as the light in her eyes dims then
fades to glassy lifelessness.
John can’t even scream in his terror, frightenedto the point of paralysis. He wants to move. Wants
desperately to save her, knowing nothing he could
possibly do could help. John realizes the greatest
fear one can know; I am powerless! Instead, John
squeezes his eyes tightly shut as if darkness alone
can erase the memory. Yet his mind still sees the
scene with perfect clarity and hideous unforgiving
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detail. Involuntarily his eyes pop back open as his
body experiences a new rush of horror, one that
stops his heart, freezing all bodily function. Wide
are his eyes, but he can’t see the hand that grips
him by the back of the neck nor the thing that
holds him seven feet in the air. But he does feel.
The iron grip of long boney fingers and the sudden
burning in the back of his skull. All the moreterrifying because he knows what comes
next. What pain there is fades completely. He feels
a tug and his senses darken. No sight. No
sound. No taste or feeling. He simply floats in
nothing as if he is lighter than air in a lightless
room.
A memory!
John is allowed only these two memories. One
pleasant and one not. His keepers know that this
balance is necessary to stimulate his brain and
keep it viable. Without them it would die. Yes, this
is all John has, two memories that play over andover in a never-ending cycle of love, terror and
pain. A hell unique to him and the hundreds of
others that were harvested. John is also
aware. Aware of the one-hundred and forty three
other souls that make up his pod. Aware of the
one-hundred and forty four pods that comprise
the vast living gray-matter processor that runs the
vessel. Each brain and each brainstem locked in
individual chambers not unlike a giant
honeycomb. Each connected to one-another and
to the ship. John sees as the ship sees. A barely
changing picture of endless and far away stars as
the ship travels through one sprawling arm of the
galaxy at very near the speed of light. Mind
numbingly and mind killingly monotonous. If it
weren’t for the memories.
It is said that humans use only a fraction of thebrain’s potential. A vast pool of computing power
wasted on little more than emotion. John knows
the beings that captured him only as the
harvesters. Beings incredibly advanced and totally
alien. Yet the harvesters have solved the
mystery. They hold the key. They alone have the
knowledge and the technology to use the human
brain entire, to the eternal woe of John and those
like him. John will never know hunger. He will
never know disease or old age. He will never know
more than he does right now. Never have more
than two memories and the emotions they evoke.
Forty-seven years twenty eight hours threeminutes fifteen seconds and forty-five light years
separate John from his seventh birthday. A day
that is endlessly sunny and bright and full of
promise. A day of ultimate horror. The day he
prayed he’d died because, it was The Day They
Came!
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An Interview with Gregory J. SaundersBy Jeremiah Griffin
Greg Saunders’ writing career started in 2002
on a whim. The intent was to write a book. Simple
as that. As a first step he began with the line, “Tminus 3 and counting.” Some of you may find that
line in the first book, Light Of A Distant Star.
Several years were spent on that single tome, and
from one it grew to three and the trilogy,
Unknown Country. His genre of choice is
Adventure with a taste of Sci/Fi and a dash of
Fantasy, but he also steps out into thrillers with a
bit of horror - as in the novella, Zahir and the
forthcoming Heart Wood .
Greg does have a real job – two actually. He
works for the state of New Mexico as the Deputy
Executive Director and Chief Information Officer
for the Gaming Control Board, which is a casinoregulatory body. In addition, he is an adjunct
instructor at the Central New Mexico Community
College. In his spare time he writes book reviews
for ReadingNewMexico.com and
AllBookReviews.com.
Reviews for Greg’s books can be seen on the
ReadingNewMexico.com website, and he has
several posted on his own site under author
reviews. Greg also has a couple of magazine
articles published. One appeared in the November
2002 Indian Gaming periodical and was specific
to gaming regulation. The second is in the
forthcoming Bugle Magazine published by the
Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation.
Speaking of this, Greg lives in the state’s largest
city, Albuquerque, but is an avid outdoorsman and
puts much of his hunting experience into his work.
As he tells it, “I reside in the city, but my spirit is
usually chasing elk and my day dreams dance
within the wonderful and myriad worlds of fiction.
Whether it is with Niloc and the world of Mith-sul-
anroth, ( Unknown Country Trilogy ), or the evil eye
of a Zahir, I find life richer with the endless
possibilities of the impossible, improbable and
incredible.”
Jeremiah Griffin: Well, Mr. Saunders you havean interesting book series going. How many books
have been published so far?
Greg Saunders: Jeremiah, first of all, thank you
for the opportunity to appear in your news letter.
So far my publishing encompasses three novels
and one novella, though I have a fifth book near
completion and others in the works. The novels,
Light From A Distant Star, Light Of An Alien Sun
and Light Of The Home World are a trilogy of firstalien contact. Basically, what happens if first
contact were an accident? This trilogy has been
described by one reviewer as reminiscent of Edgar
Rice Burroughs. A statement of which I am
obviously very proud. The novella was a diversion
for me. Something different to write after
completing the trilogy. The book is called Zahir and
is a thriller set deep in the rain forests of the
Amazon where oil speculation runs into the
protectors of the forest. Basically my version of
the chupacabra.
JG: Perhaps you could describe a bit aboutthe setting of your series?
GS: I’ve always been fascinated by the
probability of alien life and alien civilizations. I will
state the obvious here; for them to reach earth
they would be incredibly advanced and not
necessarily benign. But I also have a deep love for
swords and sorcery. I find my mind wandering
such worlds as Shanarra and Midkemia or treading
the Underdark with Drzzit. So many writers have
brought to life armies of elves and other creatures
of faerie or ancient lore. Or simply dredged
fantastic monsters from the deep recesses of their
minds. I guess Tolkien didn’t know what he started
with his Mr. Baggins. I read them all and they stuck
with me. When I decided to write I wanted to do
something a bit different. I’m certainly not the first
to combine spaceships and aliens with swords and
fantasy, nor will I be the last, but I think my
approach is unique. My world is Mith-Sul-Anroth.
A world that flourished thousands of years ago and
was a world between. A galactic Switzerland