Cover

Photo - Mark Hurn

Photo – Mark Hurn

COVER

Diagraphy: 2046.06.18:

I come from a lineage of great surfers dating back to the 21st century on Earth. My name is MoonDoggie, a name one of my French ancestors had given to her first born son, a name that could not be repeated for ten generations; so that would be, me.

I was no one special until a botTOG, named Hurn, rec’d a clip of me free falling down the face of Phaedra 18-C. It was on a dare and I was attempting a slide-in backside on a hotMELT.  But things didn’t go as planned and I had separated from the hotMELT and did a slomo vertical 360 but managed to get it all back together as if I had planned it that way.   Hurn’s clip made me famous as faraway as Sagittarius-Carina and I was splashed onto the cover of sineWAVE.  These days, I can’t hit a break where someone or something doesn’t yell out, “Hey MoonDoggie! I dare you….” And that’s when the shit happens. And it’s weird shit.

The baggage that comes with notoriety has been mounting, so much so that my traveling buds are few and I don’t blame them; there’s a circus of bots chasing me these days, hoping to land the next cover and galactic stream.  They’re as reckless as the razor scarabs you’d find at Noah’s Cove on Xeries; don’t open your mouth or they’ll find their way in and punch out your chest. My late friend, Oyen, had found that out the hard way.  These days I travel solo.

So here I am on Cyan-B, having used the last remaining koins earned from that clip to get me here, bouncing my way through a couple of tokamak gateways, then knowing a guy who knew a dude running calibrations on a neckerCube who got me the last jump all the way back to the Orion Spur. The dude had also provided me some bogus metaProfs to use as chaff just before the last jump to throw off any botTOGs shadowing me.  Guess it worked, not a one in sight.

It looks like Twig’s forecast had been spot on, the surf looks awesome, and as far as I know it’s the first time anyone has ever been here.  I didn’t find out why until after I landed and read through the hyperLogs; turns out there’s a large amplitude dark matter wave just outside Joule, the binary star system I’m in, and my chances of successfully having gotten through that without being ripped to pieces, was like… well… one out of every 3.14.  Lucky, lucky, lucky me.  I must be down to five lives now. Getting out in one piece might drop me to four.

 

There’s a feeling only surfers get when coming across a virgin break and here I am… staring out at one. The fact is, I’ve never surfed in water; I mean Earth-like water, H2O with a salinity of 33 ppm. But this is why I had dragged an oldie from Earth, a 5.8 FocusFlex, quad-fin, V2 by DaveySky. This stick had been handed down through the generations and hasn’t been used since it was custom carved for the first MoonDoggie back in 2017.  And there are very specific conditions to be met prior to its use:

  • White powdery sands [check]
  • Turquoise water [check]
  • Suns overhead without a cloud in the sky (ok, the kit mentions just one sun) [check]
  • Surface water and air temperature holding at or above 80F [check]
  • Shoulder to head-high right point-break [check]
  • Light offshore breeze [check]

I’m using it.

It actually felt good with the suns on my back and my feet buried into the sand as I read through the manual, which had all sorts of crazy vids associated with it, like: paddling, posture, duck-dives, pop-ups, drop-ins, cut-backs, aerials, etiquette, you name it.  This should be a space-walk for me.

Step One: Attach leash.  Running down the beach with a leash around my ankle ( a crazy relic of the past)  was constantly tripping me.  Why they used these things remains a mystery.  I mean, isn’t that why magPads were invented?  

Step Two: Get Stocked.  Reaching the water I shouted out at the top of my lungs, “I’m Stoked!” Whatever that means, but apparently it was a phrase my ancestors had used before hitting the waves. I’m glad no one was around to hear me, but who cares, the only person here, is me.  

Step Three: Enter water.  It felt weird to be in contact with water, and the board shorts that came with the kit look and feel ridiculous on me.

I have followed all the instructions, all the way down to using the sex wax of the deck.  Sex wax?

Seek out and have fun with Nature,’ were the last words written in the kit.  So who is this Nature?

After performing my first successful duck-dive, watching the barrel roll over me, I surfaced and felt the heat of rotors raking me from above.

“Hey wormhole!  Watch it!”

Hovering above me was a girl on a slat wearing full skins and a lens.  

Shit! Where did she come from?

I could tell from the tilt of her head that behind the lens she was giving me a look.  She throttled up, the spray blinding me momentarily.  When I could finally see, it was too late.  I got pummeled by the next wave in the set.

By the time I got out beyond the break, my arms were spent and the girl had already caught the next two sets. So much for virgin break.  I was anxious to catch a wave, but waited patiently just like the kit had instructed me to do. I was to ‘chill’ here for a time, letting the first set roll beneath me, a gift to Nature. This Nature was starting to piss me off.  

Never having ridden an oldie before, the biggest hurdle was perspective.  I was not comfortable being so near the surface, let alone in the surface. How could anyone see what was coming? The kit instructed me to look for a dark blue line on the horizon, indicating an outside set was coming in. Seriously? But there it was, a dark blue line appearing on the outside. I kept paddling until I could see the set rolling in.  I’ll be damned… It was a huge set..  Now I was instructed to sit up on the board–a bit wobbly– and rotate toward the beach.  As the wave neared, I was to grab the tip of the board, lean back and push it down under me, then let it pop back up and forward, giving a nice boost into the wave. Slick. That actually worked and I wondered if I could do the same on my hotMELT? I kept my back arched, like the kit instructed, cupped my hands and stroked alternately until momentum took over.  Dude, that was awesome and I knew the rest would be easy as I popped up and dropped….. in…. on the girl with the slat, knocking her off into the water, the leash around my ankle yanking us up into the wave as the ceiling pitched us over, my ribs hitting down hard on the board. We were in a tangle but I managed to reach down and grab her by the waist then followed the leash to the surface after the wave had passed.  Ah…. that’s where the leash comes in. Smart. She was coughing hard and sucking in air as the next wave closed out on top of us, then once again by the third wave in case we hadn’t received enough punishment from the first two. When I came up, she was floating face down with her lens off but still within reach.  I rolled her up and onto my board, enough so I could peel back her skins and breath air into her. Finally she spit up into my mouth, sucked in and coughed up more water, but by then we were near enough to shore for me to stand. I lifted her over my shoulder, the leash dragging my board onto the beach where I dropped down onto my knees and rolled her out onto the sand.  I made sure she was still breathing before I collapsed onto my back.  My hair was matted over my eyes and my eyes were caked with sand.  I had sand in places I didn’t know sand could get into.  But the worse was hearing and feeling the sand crunching in my teeth, sending electric chills down my spine. If that wasn’t bad enough, that’s when the punches started.

“YOU PLASMA SCUM!” she screamed in rhythm to her punches “ARE YOU MISSING SOME BITS?”

She momentarily stopped and was looking out over the cove for her slat.  WHERE IS IT?  WHERE’S MY SLAT?”

I didn’t have time to answer the first question before more punches followed, punches that I could hardly see coming. If it wasn’t for her state of weakness it could have been a lot worse, but I managed to grab hold of her wrists and keep her still, until she straddled me and drove her knee up into my groin. These board shorts are for shit. Fortunately the pain was so intense my forehead shot up into her temple and that was the last thing I could remember.

We came to around at the same time. She was rubbing the side of her head with her hair and face plastered with sand.  I sat up with my arms propped up in back of me.

“Are you, Nature, by any chance?” I asked.

She gave me a sideways look.  “No you warp…” she replied. “Are you, Stoked?”

View From My Kitchen

END OF DAYS SERIES: View From My Kitchen

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Image by Ann Swanson

They said it would come, that it would start with a sunset of such unbelievable beauty it would bring tears to your eyes.  They were right. It was quiet. Eerily quiet.  No bird chirps or the whine of motorboats speeding across the lake. No one in their back yards, no joyous shrieks of children chasing fireflies, no smell of fire-pits and no sound of car tires rolling down the crushed stone roads, eager to get to their weekend camps.  Everyone was down in their last-minute shelters with not enough supplies to outlast what was about to unfold.

My children, grand children, friends and neighbors begged me to come with them into the town’s shelter.  But why miss the last sunset one would ever see.  Where was there to go?  Nowhere.  It would take ten-thousand years just for the fires to burn out, and the only reason they would extinguish would be due to the absence of oxygen left on Earth.
I know it might seem selfish–that I should spend the end of days surrounded by family and friends–but I just wanted to spend it in my kitchen, overlooking the lake where I can see the memories of my grandchildren out on the dock, their silhouettes with fishing poles matching the paintings in my home .  So here I stand, glass of Chardonnay in hand and raising it to the sky, thankful I was given this sliver of time to see and experience this magnificent world and hoping my next journey will be as spectacular. Cheers.

Author’s Note: This short was inspired by a friend’s profile picture update on Facebook (Ann).  Although my interpretation is a bit dark and not what she intended.  Thanks, Ann….  it is a beautiful image.  Then I thought about building a collection of shorts based upon the End Of Days told through the eyes of the people who wrote them.    Enjoy.

 

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Mylar

END OF DAYS SERIES: Mylar

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Photo by David Nadas

Geri!.. Don’t do that. It will be political suicide and end your career.  It’s not that bad—”

“NOT THAT BAD! Are you kidding me, Dave? You need to pull the plug on this!  We’re talking about the end of days here.  They have no clue what they are about to do… All the data… All the research I’ve conducted points to the fact that this experiment will be a run-away process–”

“Just listen to me, Geri. I’ve read the data and it’s….” he said coming to a halt.

“It’s what… Dave? Inconclusive? Is that what you want to say to me? I can understand these button pushers up here not taking me seriously…” she said with a snort, catching the irony of the situation. “But you Dave! You of all people…” and she stopped, a pointless end to it.

He could hear the sadness in her voice as much as the pain felt in his heart for what he was about to say to her.

“Yes… It’s inconclusive,” he said from the hammock in his backyard. There was silence on his connection to Geri who was orbiting 250 KM above him. His phone was resting along his shoulder as he looked up through the tree branches at the sky, so blue and crisp on this Indian summer day that he never wanted it to end.

“It’s inconclusive because no one has ever lived through the consequences to make the data conclusive. I’m sure this same scenario was played out on Mars eons ago…. There’s your conclusive evidence, Dave. All you need to do is look at Mars. It’s scorched.”

“Geri…. I promise… nothing is going to happen. I know you’re the smartest person on this project and everyone on the team up there has read your report and they feel the same way as I do. Trust us on this. I’m sure some folks on the Trinity Project in ’45, including Oppenheimer himself, must have had some worry in the back of their mind that what they were about to do could end the world. But it didn’t happen. They trusted their research.

“It’s not the same, Dave. They weren’t trying to open a wormhole with a so called controlled singularity.”  He could hear the mock in her voice.  “And it’s my research we’re talking about here!”

“You’re right, Geri. It’s not the same thing, but it is the same level of research and much more. We’re not calculating these models with slide rules; we’re using quantum computers on this, Geri. We’re about to make a gigantic leap for humanity and you will stand among history’s greatest scientists that has ever lived.”

There was more silence between them.

“Geri? You still there?”

“Yes, Dave.”

“Then we’re good on this?”

“Dave…”  she said ignoring his question.

“Yes, Geri.”

“I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me—”

“No need to thank—”

“Just hear me out, Dave,” she was running short on time.  “Don’t talk. I would never have had this opportunity without you in my life. I would never have had the chance for this opportunity had it not been for you on that cold morning, seeing me in the shadows outside, Alley Bakes, as you strolled by with that bag in your hands.” She let out a saddened laugh. “I don’t even know how you picked me out from under that cardboard box…. and now that I look out from the portal of my bay, I can see all of New England below without a cloud in the sky there. I bet you’re out on the hammock, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Good.” she said.

“I look forward to seeing you upon your return,”  and he held up his wrist to see the counter ticking down.  “T minus 1 minute, Geri. How come you’re not with the team?”

“No view there and I wanted to see Perkins Cove for the last time.  Dave, It should be beautiful. You’ll see a bright flash and although you won’t see the X-ray projecta, it will bore a silent hole through the atmosphere creating a brilliant circular rainbow… a halo around a spot of emptiness….  I’ll have been gone by then and you will have about a minute to reflect on the life this world has had. Nothing lasts forever.”

“Geri… come on.. don’t think that way,” he said with a chuckle in his voice. “I thought we were good on this one?”

“Bye Dave.”

“Geri….” but he stopped short when a flash blinded him from above and he turned his head to shield his eyes. When the overload on his retinas began to clear he looked up and could see the partial circular rainbow through the branches and got up from the hammock and moved out into the clearing of his patio along the cove. The sun was low in the sky behind him,  but above, at the center of the rainbow he could make out a black dot. He stood there, looking up until he felt the skin on his arms begin to crawl and the hairs on his forearms were curling into ash and drifting away. His eyes sparkled, but this time like melting Mylar, and everything went dark. His heartbeat was pounding in his chest and he could hear the blood boiling behind his ears as he dropped onto the pavers and pooled there as bird after bird thudded to the ground around him with the sound of flesh and earth sizzling before a shockwave of dark fire swept over.

 

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23 Skidoo

23_SkidooThis was originally entered as a sci-fi Friday competition on Wattpad.  It had to be no more than 1500 words and the lead in was this:  A dating site inadvertently paired up androids with humans, and we had to take it from there.  Needless to say, I did not even platform under the honorable mention section… LOL, but that did not stop me from writing, in my style.

A Note about the title.    This was a play on a couple of things.  The term, 23 Skidoo, came about from 20th century slang originating in the Flatiron District in NYC, specifically 23rd street.  With the combination of building design (flat Irons) and how the avenues and streets intersect, it created some interesting wind patterns.  During lunch hours, when the women workforce would be out on the streets under the scrutiny of the construction workers and their cat calls, guys would wait for the women knowing the winds can gust quickly, hiking up their skirts.  The cops would come along and say to them,   ‘come’on… Skidoo.’

Secondly, this is a dedication to friends and my in-laws, Maurice & Harriet Holt  (God rest their souls) and to the wonderful times we had and still have in LBI NJ, where the place to be is 22nd street.    I wanted to call this work 22 Skidoo, but realized only a few would be in on the play of title and I would have most likely received a lot of feedback correcting me with 23 skidoo…. so there you have it.  Enjoy.

23 SKIDOO

The guy smelled like urine and sunscreen. Oddly, the combination wasn’t unpleasant.

“Alexa. Note to self. Urine and sunscreen.”

“Urine and sunscreen saved to self,” repeated Alexa.  Alexa was his internal symbiont. All androids these days had one.

He scrunched the pockets on the guy’s fly-fishing vest, but pocket after pocket seemed filled with every possession the guy ever owned.

“This is going to take a while,” he said to no one and rolled him onto his side so he could turn out the collar and see the label. “Alexa, add Simms vest to my shopping list.”

“Simms vest added to your shopping list.” she repeated.

He continued to search and moved onto the cargo pants. “Shit… more F’ing pockets… I can sure pick’em.” Finally he found what he was looking for and popped the double snaps to fish out a wallet, worn and scratched along the edges and bound with a crucifix and tie wraps.

“Christ,” he said, then caught his pun and started to laugh. The sun would be rising over the ocean any minute and he was running out of time. Reaching under his shirt sleeve he removed the arcKnife strapped to his tricep and hot cut through the tie wraps leaving singe marks along the leather. He fished out the guy’s plexi and inserted it into his reader.

“Benny Larson,” he said. “You look like a Benny,” he added and laughed at his own pun of how the island locals called their day trippers, bennies; a term that originated from the letters of the train stations on the Jersey Shore line: (B)ayonne, (E)lizabeth , (N)ewark & (N)ew (Y)ork.  The locals, as much as they needed the seasonal revenue, felt the bennies messed up everything between Memorial day and Labor day:   He loved puns. Puns were a sign of intelligence and therefore… he was intelligent.

The corpse in the dunes beside him had a face frozen in time. Eyes and mouth opened with a look of surprise. He noted the coagulation of blood on the sand; it looked like a raspberry snow cone had been dropped there.

“Alexa, note to self. Blood on sand. Snow cone.”

“Blood on sand. Snow cone saved to self.” echoed Alexa.

Rolling him onto his back, he pat Benny Larson on the chest like he was saying goodbye to an old friend. “Travel well, amigo.” He stood and brushed the sand from his knees and looked out over the ocean, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the bulk of the sun’s rays.  Stepping gingerly alongside the drag marks and footsteps leading back to the beach, he was careful not to step on the dune grasses. The posted signs indicated the dunes were off-limits to people and pets and the grasses were a protected species. Violators would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.  He protected things, that’s what he did, and now he would protect dune grasses.

The night’s rain had formed a thin coffee-colored crust on the sand, making it easy for him to follow the footsteps that exposed the white grains below. They led him south along the beach toward 23rd street where a foot path lined with dune fence trailed out toward the road. He passed a bench at the bottom of the path inscribed with, In Memory of Harriet and Maurice Holt, and stopped to empty the sand from his topsiders when a yellow Lab puppy, whose feet were as large as spatulas, came bounding toward him.

“Come on boy… oooh what a good doggie.” he called out and watched the puppy pick up speed with its tongue and tail wagging, almost knocking him off the edge of the bench when it collided. He held the puppy’s ears between his thumb and forefingers to keep it from jumping and smoothed its brows until it settled down. Looking up over his shoulder, he could see the dog’s owner, his date, rising over the crest of the path. She was right on cue and wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat and dark glasses that were a little too large for her face. She was athletic, shapely and carrying a surfboard under her arm. Her neoprene silky was flowered and wrapped down to her naval but still well above the bikini bottom.

“Roxy…. come’ear gal.” she called out.

Roxy had been under his spell, letting out a groan with each soothing stroke until he stood, leaving Roxy motionless and in denial the smoothing had ended.

“Roxy!” she called out a bit more commanding. Roxy’s front paws dug into the sand and she let out a bark to continue.

“Rox-eeee!” she repeated. “Don’t you even think about it!

“Roxy loves people,” she said approaching him. There was no embarrassment in her voice. “I hope you like dogs,” she added.

He looked down at Roxy who was now on her back and sweeping out a dog’s version of a snow angel.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had one.” He was looking down, amused by Roxy’s antics.

She had been studying his features, his hair was dusty brown and tight against his scalp.  He looked just like his profile image–a rarity these days on dating sites.  At least he had that going for him.

He sensed her stare and looked directly into her glasses. He liked to look into a human’s eyes. The eyes told him everything about a person. He guessed she was in her late 30’s or early 40’s. No one younger cared about protecting their skin.

“I love a west wind in the morning,” she said a bit unnerved by his focus and brushed the dark hair away from her face and turned her attention to the water behind him. “I knew last night’s storm would kick up some swell.”

He turned to see where she was looking. The off shore breeze added a finish to the water, like hammered brass, and the crests of the waves were transparent with the sun behind them as they peeled left along the outer shoals.

He knew nothing of the surf or surfing. “Are those good waves?”

She let out a slight, huh? “You’re not up here checking out the surf, are you?” she asked. “Where’s your board?”

“No. I don’t do the ocean. Too many things larger than me that I can’t see coming.”

He was taller than average and looked like he could handle anything life could throw at him. “Toeachisown,” she said as a single word and began to walk around him.  So much for this date.

“What was that?” he said abruptly and raised his arm slightly to halt her.

“What?” she replied and little on guard. He looked taut as a bow.

“What you just said…in Italian… that thing you just said.”

She was confused and dropped the tail of her board into the sand. Roxy caught the subtle tension and came to her side, staring keenly into his eyes.

“Italian?” she questioned.

“Yes… I heard that somewhere but could never find its meaning.  I never knew what it meant. Repeat what you just said.

She reached up and pushed her glasses down her nose. Her grey eyes were striking. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

He dropped his arm to his side when he noticed Roxy’s widened stance and jowls releasing puffs of silent barks. “Seriously,” he said softly. “Repeat the last words you said to me.”

“Toeachisown?” she guessed.

“Yes! That’s it. What does that mean?”

She looked to her sides thinking she was being punked. “Are you serious?”

“Yes… what does that mean, toeachizone,” he tried to repeat with an Italian accent.

She started to laugh. It was clear to her now. “To… each… his… own….” she pronounced clearly.

His look of excitement turned to surprise then borderline horror. He burst out laughing, repeating the phrase over and over. “To… Each… His… Own… toeachhisown… toeachizone… Oh my… for the last five years, I thought it was some Italian phrase.” He was bent over, palms resting on his knees, shaking his head. Then he stood up straight. “Thank you.”

“Ahhh… You’re welcome.” she said pushing her glasses back into position. “Really.. you’ve never heard that phrase?” she asked doubting him.

“Obviously I have heard it over and over, but never made the connection.” He laughed again… “toeachizone.”

His weirdness began to weigh on her and she tucked the board back under her arm and continued around him. “Come on Roxy.” Roxy rolled over and onto her feet, then after a good shake, zigzagged with her nose along the sand. “It was nice meeting you,” she added with a quick smile and followed Roxy toward the water.

He turned to look at her. The stripes of her bikini formed a heart shape along her bottom. He called out, “Hey… One more thing.”

She turned without stopping.

“If you’re heading north as far as 13th street, you might want to keep Roxy away from the dunes. There’s a dead body up there.”

That stopped her.

He turned and walked up the path to where the wooden walkway began, trying not to add any more sand in his shoes.

“Alexa, note to self. 23rd street, dog, bikini.”

“23rd street, dog, bikini added to self” she repeated.

23 skidoo

For you Wattpad persons. (Especially my LBI friends) From time to time I enter these Wattpad SciFriday competitions and this one was interesting. A 1500 word maximum short with a valentine day theme of androids getting mistakenly paired with humans. This short takes place on LBI, NJ and is titled, 23 skidoo.

I could use some love so click here and read my short – then vote.

SciFi Competitions:Challenge 28 – Hybrid Romance – SciFi short fiction competitions as run by the official Wattpad SciF…
WATTPAD.COM

Kulcin’s Law series now available on OffWorlders.com

EuropaScratchesWhat started as an exercise in writing, became a sci-fi series on OffWorlders.com – one that I began to really enjoy.  I was not sure where this was going, until Part III and the timely reading of a post on what life in the sub-ice oceans of Europa might be like.  You can view the series by going to OffWorlders.com, or clicking on the links below.

While on Offiworlders, enjoy other sci-fi authors contributing their talents to this upcoming popular sci-fi slice of the universe.

Q & A about Kulcin’s Law:

Q: Where did the name Kulcin’s Law come from?

A: I am embarrassed to say, but I saw a leading Yahoo post on Macaulay Culkin, and thought, What an odd name.  So I warped it into Kulcin’s Law.. yes, it’s true.  I needed a name and that seemed as good as any.

Q: Why did you start this series:

A:  Not often, getting long periods of time to write during the week, shorts are a great way to hone one’s skills.    I entered a one page sci-fi competition, on-line, that had to involve Jupiter’s moon Europa.   I had one reviewer say he wanted more, and that is all it took.

Q: Do you see this evolving into something more?

A: Probably, but it will need to stay a short story for now.  I have so many great ideas waiting for me, on the shelf,  but need to get out what I promised, Silversides.

Q: Where did the storyline idea come from?

A: This will sound like B.S, but I just start writing and the character leads me; sometimes into an alley with no perceivable way out and trouble a short distance behind.  “Well?  where do we go from here?”  the protagonist says to me– and that’s where I earn my keep.  “Seriously?  I was following you.”  at that point, we both turn to see trouble blocking the other end of the alley….. “You owe me one.” I say…..

www.OffWorlders.com