The Odin Chronicles • Episode 18: “Memory Vault” • by Gustavo Bondoni

INTRO: Welcome to Odin III, a grubby little mining world on the dark and dusty backside of nowhere. It’s a world where everything that’s worth having is already owned by Galactic Mining, and where people have come to squander their hopes and lives, working for the company and dreaming of striking it big. It’s also a world where some very strange and peculiar things have begun to happen, and it all started about six weeks weeks ago, in a bar called Weber’s Place, when Ray Cornwall didn’t just warp the fabric of space/time, he completely bent it…

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen | Part Seventeen

18. “Memory Vault”

by Gustavo Bondoni

“Any questions?” Raisa Popov asked as she turned off the auto-drill. They stood in a mine shaft deep below the surface of Odin III, an important excavation site operated by the Galactic Mining company light-years from Earth.

“None. I can handle one of these,” Jonas Gruber replied, stepping eagerly towards the machine. “It’s not so different from the equipment on a star freighter.”

“Good. We’ll work you up to these over the next few months, then,” she said. Her arm barred his way.

“I’d rather start now.”

Popov sighed, and Jonas didn’t see the foreman who made others tremble, but a woman with much too much on her plate. “Yeah. You and every other gopher in this mine. I’ve heard it all. The pay’s better when you work a drill. It’s more fun than loading the carts… You’ll wait your turn like the rest.”

“My brother…”

“Your brother loaded ore for a year before he even saw a drill. The only reason you’re here is that he has a knack for finding nodes of sylicenium for the processing plant to ship out. We’re hoping you’ll take after him.”

“He takes after me. I’m older. Time dilation on the interstellar runs just makes me look younger.” Jonas was tired of explaining that, even though he was in his twenties, he’d been born before his thirty-odd-year-old brother. He also refrained from saying that he didn’t just want a job, but wanted to fit in: everyone he knew was a senior miner by now.

“If you can find the ore, I don’t care if you’re his grandfather.” Popov walked off, heading deeper into the mines where the early-morning shift had, half an hour before, replaced Jonas’ graveyard shift.

Jonas checked his watch. If he hurried, he could catch second sunup.

Instead of heading out through the main exit, he took a connector tunnel that ran between the current shaft and a shallower, spent mine. That mine’s exit was his favorite place to watch the rise of Odin’s second sun, though it was technically forbidden to exit out of any but the main mine entrances at night, on account of dangerous predators.

As he walked, he pulled a bag from his pocket, extracted a mushroom, and tore off a tiny chunk, hopefully small enough to avoid addiction. He wanted to relax, allow himself to ease back into life on Odin III, but he didn’t want his mind eaten away.

The big, empty mine was well-lit and routinely patrolled to keep it clear of wildlife.

Movement flickered in the corner of his eye. Was this one of the mushroom hallucinations he’d heard about?

He looked towards it, but saw nothing but an empty tunnel, the rock drilled into organic shapes.

Jonas resumed his walk, and again something flickered in his vision. This time, he didn’t turn his head, but stared straight ahead and tried to see if he could make out what he was seeing out of the corner of his eye.

Men in orange, full-body suits flickered in and out of his sight. They appeared to be pulling something from the ground and stuffing it in sacks.

It took all of Jonas’ discipline not to turn his head to look. He knew the men would disappear. He had to piece the hallucination together from what his peripheral vision allowed.

It came together and he realized the men were harvesting mushrooms. The same kind he had in his bag.

They were filling sacks marked with the Galactic logo.

Jonas walked on. This wasn’t an interesting vision after all. He already knew Galactic Mining wasn’t bagging mushrooms in this mine, even if they were plentiful. He’d been all over the complex, learning every production process. No mushroom packing at all.

But… he distinctly remembered buying Galactic-produced mushrooms on his travels. They were everywhere, the bag and logo synonymous with the drug in the rest of the galaxy.

Strange.

Jonas watched the sunrise, remembering many things at once.

Every single one of those things seemed real. And yet every memory seemed to contradict every other memory.

***

Weber’s Place was as empty as it was before he left. The big difference was that the bar was now owned by Ingrid, the founder’s daughter. Apart from her and that constantly snoozing cat of hers, only Father Luigi and the woman from the comm station were there. He knew that she and Father Luigi had a thing.

He shook his head. Luigi—the town screwup—was the last person he’d expected to become a priest.

He sat at a stool in front of the bar and said: “Beer.”

“What kind?” Ingrid replied. She didn’t stop wiping a glass with a cloth.

“Cheapest you have. Maybe when I get on a drill I can buy something better.”

She passed a bottle across the bar. “How are you settling in?”

“As well as can be expected. Except…” Jonas said. He stopped speaking and drank a sip of the beer.

“Except what?”

“Except I don’t exactly know which Odin III I’m trying to fit in to. Is it the one that sells sylicenium? The one that runs the mushroom business in this sector? The one that I saw destroyed by an asteroid on the news when I was doing the Crystallia run? Or the one that rebelled against Galactic and set itself up as refugee colony?”

She shrugged. “We didn’t do any of that. Well, except for the sylicenium thing.”

“And yet I remember all of it,” Jonas replied.

That earned him a raised eyebrow. “Have you been on the mushrooms?”

“Not much.” He pulled out the bag. “Look.”

Ingrid turned pale.

Luigi walked over to check on Ingrid. His eyes fell on the bag with the unmistakable logo on it. “I didn’t know Galactic sold mushrooms,” he said genially.

“They don’t,” Ingrid replied. “I talk to everyone. They don’t.”

“I agree,” Jonas said. “I’ve been down in the mines for days. There are plenty of mushrooms, but we aren’t bagging them. I would have seen it.”

“So what’s that? A practical joke?” the priest asked.

“No. That’s what mushroom bags look like… out there, among the stars. I remember buying them. But I also remember what I saw in the mine. We’re not mining mushrooms.”

Behind Ingrid, looking over her shoulder, a man appeared: Ingrid’s father Frank.

Jonas shook his head. “You’re dead,” he told the apparition.

The man looked straight at him. “Where I come from, you never made it back. Freighter accident returning from Crystallia. No survivors. So, you’re dead, too.”

Jonas couldn’t take it anymore. Abandoning his beer, he went back out into the street, hoping to clear his head. A number of vehicles drove by, around him and even through each other. He didn’t even bother to try to figure out which were actually present in his own reality and walked across the street.

“Jonas!”

Ingrid had followed him out of the bar.

“What?”

She seemed concerned. “You need to lay off the mushrooms. Really.”

“I left the bag inside,” he said. “Keep it to show the people who don’t believe me. I really don’t want any more of these visions. Even if they’re real. Maybe especially if they’re real.”

“They’re not real,” Ingrid said. “Where are you going?”

“For a walk.”

“Be back before sundown. And don’t do anything stupid.”

“All right,” he said turning away again.

She grabbed his arm. “Promise me.”

“What?”

“Promise me you won’t do anything stupid. Promise me you will come back to my bar before the sun goes down. We’ve already lost people to the mushrooms. Some of them were good people.”

“I left my mushrooms in the bar.”

“Promise me.”

He sighed. “All right. I promise.” He made to leave again but stopped and turned back to her. “And between us, I’m pretty sure the problem isn’t the mushrooms.”

Then he walked off.

___________________________

Gustavo Bondoni is novelist and short story writer with over three hundred stories published in fifteen countries, in seven languages.  He is a member of Codex and an Active Member of SFWA. His latest novel is Test Site Horror (2020). He has also published two other monster books: Ice Station: Death (2019) and Jungle Lab Terror (2020), three science fiction novels: Incursion (2017), Outside (2017) and Siege (2016) and an ebook novella entitled Branch. His short fiction is collected in Pale Reflection (2020), Off the Beaten Path (2019) Tenth Orbit and Other Faraway Places (2010) and Virtuoso and Other Stories (2011).
 
In 2019, Gustavo was awarded second place in the Jim Baen Memorial Contest and in 2018 he received a Judges Commendation (and second place) in The James White Award. He was also a 2019 finalist in the Writers of the Future Contest.
 
His website is at www.gustavobondoni.com

In the meantime, stay tuned for Part 19 of The Odin Chronicles, “The One Who Walks Out,” by Carol Scheina, coming on Friday.

Enjoy!
~brb

 

---

stupefy (ˈstü-pə-ˌfī) to stun, astonish, or astound

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The Odin Chronicles • Episode 17: “A Question of Timelines” • by Travis Burnham

INTRO: Welcome to Odin III, a grubby little mining world on the dark and dusty backside of nowhere. It’s a world where everything that’s worth having is already owned by Galactic Mining, and where people have come to squander their hopes and lives, working for the company and dreaming of striking it big. It’s also a world where some very strange and peculiar things have begun to happen, and it all started about six weeks weeks ago, in a bar called Weber’s Place, when Ray Cornwall didn’t just warp the fabric of space/time, he completely bent it…

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen | Part Sixteen

17. “A Question of Timelines”

by Travis Burnham

In a shady dark corner of the spaceport on Deus IV, Aisling pressed her life savings into the smuggler’s hand. Her hands trembled and a lock of her hair was still streaked with her husband’s blood. He’d died in her arms not thirty minutes before with the bullets of corrupt theocracy agents lodged in his torso. She herself had narrowly escaped.

“Where to?” the smuggler asked Aisling.

She panicked and blurted, “Odin III.” Just the day before, she’d read an article written by a vaguely disreputable scientist about an intriguing species of mushroom, Psilocybe koblyxceata, known as koblyx on Odin III. The scientist had made some outlandish claims and Aisling was surprised that he’d been able to publish the piece. She herself was a therapist by training, focusing on entheogenic mushrooms for the treatment of trauma, or helping relieve existential distress in the terminally ill.

*  *  *

Three weeks later, the smuggler left her at the edge of one of Odin III’s settlements. Constable Jenkins found Aisling stumbling into town, bedraggled and shivering. The constable took one look at her and said, “I don’t care what you’re running from—most of us are running from something out here—just as long as you know that I’m the law, you’ll get on fine .” The Constable looked her up and down one more time and sighed, then scrawled a name on a piece of paper and pressed it into Aisling’s hand with a few credit chips. “Find Father Francis in town. He’ll set you right.”

So with a helping hand from the local parish, Aisling did the only thing she knew how to do—be a therapist. She set aside her trauma to help others work through theirs. Most of her first clients were children—it was tough growing up in a Galactic Mining settlement. One of the three local teachers, Finn, directed his students her way.

One morning, after she’d been on Odin III for four-and-a-half months, Finn asked, “Grab a cup of coffee?” He was attractive, tall and lean, and had a solid, quiet demeanor she found comforting.

“Thank you, but no, Finn.” She still felt raw from her husband’s death. She might have tried entheogenic therapy earlier, but she knew that Father Francis would denounce the mushroom’s use. There would be severe repercussions. She didn’t want a repeat of Deus IV, and though the Father hadn’t explicitly attached strings to the charity Aisling had received, she really didn’t want to disappoint him—he’d been so kind. But she knew it was time to start working on her own trauma and she knew this type of therapy to be effective. So she lay on her living room couch, slipped on some headphones playing Arvo Part, and took a dose of koblyx mushrooms.

Psilocybe koblyxceata was like no other experience she’d had. A thousand, a million chords of light spilled out from her. She plucked at one chord and saw an alternate life—she was six months pregnant with her husband’s child, both of them safe on Zephyrus II. In other chords, the smugglers jettisoned her body soon after takeoff from Deus IV or she died on Odin II in a mine collapse or a hundred other fates. Though Aisling had no inkling why, no one else she knew was able to see timelines while using koblyx. So she kept her own counsel and told no one. Especially because she wasn’t even sure she could trust her visions. Were they truly timelines or just her own imagined visions? She’d been soundly in the non-believer camp when she’d first heard the koblyx whispers and rumors.

But then she’d used them.

A few weeks later, Finn asked her out again, “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in a mug of Earl Grey?”

“Maybe next time,” she said, but didn’t mean it.

Soon she was spending every night on her couch, plucking at timelines, examining every decision that had led her to Odin III. All those terrible choices that had led to her husband’s death on Deus IV. But at the same time, she used information she gathered to help her in her practice. The kids she guided to actions that would benefit them—in one timeline, befriending a bully worked, but in others standing up to them was best. Or competing timelines where asking out a certain someone would lead to an affirming relationship, or a bitter rebuff.

Her first adult patient was Daraja Mapunda, otherwise known as The Machinist. A wizard with worm drives and gear boxes, he was a recluse who lived down in the mines of Odin III. Aisling met him in one of the abandoned shafts on one of her koblyx gathering missions. When she mentioned her occupation, he expressed some interest and appeared at her office one evening.

“I feel like I could have done more to save my father,” he said. “But instead I just sent him away. And he died of esophageal cancer while traveling to Asclepius II for treatment.”

That night Aisling plucked dozens and dozens of Daraja and his father’s timelines. There was nothing Daraja could have done differently that would have resulted in a better outcome and the next session she helped Daraja see that.

“Did you tell him you loved him?” Aisling asked during their next session.

“Everyday,” Daraja replied. “More than once a day. In every single message. Even the short messages that were just a chess move ended with ‘I love you’.”

“What was the last thing he wrote to you?”

“That he loved me, and that he was proud of me.”

“And the last thing from you to him.”

“Knight to C6. I love you and miss you, Dad. I’m so proud to be your son.”

“If I was writing your story as a movie script, I can’t think of a more perfect line of dialogue.”

Daraja smiled through his tears. And after that he still struggled, but Aisling could tell that his heart was lighter, even if just by a bit.

The more Aisling examined her own timelines, the more she agonized over every past misstep, and more and more, found herself paralyzed with indecisiveness in her present. She didn’t want to go to the store because that evening she’d see all the thousands of timelines that action produced, good, bad, and better.

Though for some reason she couldn’t even explain to herself, she never looked at the timelines with Finn.

And Finn continued to ask her out every few weeks, but changed the drink every time, the options getting more and more ludicrous—giraffe milk frappes or seaweed beer or any number of other horrid sounding drinks. Her answers continued to be no.

Finally, she realized her timeline examinations weren’t healing her trauma, but worsening it. Painfully, bit by bit, she weaned herself from scrutinizing her own timelines, and focused on those timelines that would help find good courses of action for those in her care. And she found some modicum of relief from indecision, and acceptance that her husband was gone.

The AI android Sloane-51 came to her struggling with existential angst. She’d been referred to Aisling by her close friend, Daraja. Aisling examined her timeline and found that some of the best timelines came from when the android just kept on keeping on.

“Should I be doing something more with my sentience?” Sloane-51 asked.

Aisling replied with a question: “What do you do with it now?”

“I play a lot of chess with Daraja.”

“Does it bring you joy?”

 “Yes.”

“I can’t think of a better use for your gift. There can’t be too much joy in the world.”

That evening, Aisling reflected back on what she’d said to her clients—maybe she should take her own advice. One last time, she promised herself, she examined her own timelines. It was impossible to live without choice or consequence, but it was possible to live a life where she embraced her decisions.

Eleven months to the day after she’d arrived on Odin III, Finn stood before her. He kicked at a stone in the dirt, and the twin sunset was reflected in his dark green eyes, and limned his black hair gold.

“Aisling, do you want to get—”

It was perhaps the fifteenth or twentieth or hundredth time that Finn had asked her out. He certainly scored points for persistence.

“How about some coffee?” she interrupted.

Coffee didn’t have to be a decision that led to one million timelines, and it probably wouldn’t lead to someone dying. Sometimes, hopefully, coffee could just be coffee.

“Though maybe after the coffee?” She put on a straight face and tried not to laugh. “We can grab a couple shots of Jörmungandr viper venom at Weber’s Place.”

___________________________

Travis Burnham’s work has found homes in Far Fetched Fables, Hypnos Magazine, Bad Dreams Entertainment, South85 Journal, SQ Quarterly, and others. He is a member of the online writers’ group, Codex, and has an MFA in Creative Writing from Converse College. He also recently won the Wyrm’s Gauntlet online writing contest. Burnham has been a DJ on three continents, and teaches middle school science and college level composition. He lives in Lisbon, Portugal with his wife, but grew up in Massachusetts, is from Maine at heart, and has lived in Japan, Colombia, and the Northern Mariana Islands.

In the meantime, stay tuned for Part 18 of The Odin Chronicles, “Memory Vault,” by Gustavo Bondoni, coming next Wednesday.

Enjoy!
~brb

 

---

stupefy (ˈstü-pə-ˌfī) to stun, astonish, or astound

On Amazon now ► STUPEFYING STORIES 23

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The Odin Chronicles • Episode 16: “Dreams of Another World” • by Jenna Hanchey

INTRO: Welcome to Odin III, a grubby little mining world on the dark and dusty backside of nowhere. It’s a world where everything that’s worth having is already owned by Galactic Mining, and where people have come to squander their hopes and lives, working for the company and dreaming of striking it big. It’s also a world where some very strange and peculiar things have begun to happen, and it all started about five weeks weeks ago, in a bar called Weber’s Place, when Ray Cornwall didn’t just warp the fabric of space/time, he completely bent it…

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen | Part Fifteen

16. “Dreams of Another World”

by Jenna Hanchey

One Saturday night in Weber’s Place, two women nursed drinks on opposite sides of the bar, dreaming. Olivia Fontaine swirled a glass of chardonnay with one hand, watching the translucent liquid sparkle in the dim light. She was a newcomer to Odin III. The long journey to the outskirts of the galaxy had not readied her for a positive first impression of the mining colony, and nothing she’d found there so far had changed her mind. She dreamt she were anywhere else.

Sure, her husbands Derrick and Abed had gotten great offers to work at the elementary school here—Galactic was desperate for teachers on its colonies—but what was she supposed to do on this backstar planet? Playwrights should be in centers of culture, where their commentary could make a social impact. Olivia sighed, looking around the bar. If this was the extent of social life in this town, her dreams were done. She knocked back the remaining wine and set the glass on the counter.

“Another?” Ingrid the bartender asked.

“Sure, why not. Not like I’ve got anything else going for me,” Olivia admitted.

“Haven’t seen you around much. New here?”

“Yup. My husbands just started teaching at the elementary.”

“And you?”

Olivia barked a laugh. “I was a playwright. But it doesn’t seem like there’s much use for plays on Odin III.” Ingrid shook her head, moving back down the bar.

On the far side, Constable Alma Jenkins had just finished her second beer. She rarely indulged in flights of fancy; she was a grounded and no-nonsense sort of woman. But after multiple drinks and an emergency that called her girlfriend, Raisa Popov, back into work, she let a little of her frustrated desire slip through.

“I could’ve been an actress, Ingrid. A good one. I can even sing, did you know that?”

Ingrid  raised her eyebrows. “I don’t think I did.” She tossed a bit of cheese onto the floor where Sheba, her cat, gobbled it up.

“No one knows. I haven’t performed since the community theater shut down, oh, when I was in high school.” Alma leaned her head into her hand. “I miss performing. Hell, I just miss theater. Plays create other worlds. And in those other worlds, I could be anything.”

Ingrid looked at her thoughtfully. Swapping out the empty bottle for a full one, she dangled the new beer in front of Alma. “On the house, if you follow me.”

Alma looked at her sardonically. “My drinks are always on the house.”

“I know, but you should follow me anyway. There’s someone you should meet.”

***

A week later, Olivia Fontaine burst into the constabulary office. Rasputin, a large bloodhound, bolted upright from behind the desk. Alma Jenkins stopped recording her report, concerned by the look on Olivia’s face.

“What happened?”

“It’s not working! I can’t do it.” Olivia noticed the dog. “Oh, wow! Is he yours?” She leaned down to pet Rasputin, who reveled in the attention.

“No, he’s my girlfriend’s. I bring him to the office sometimes when Raisa’s working late.” Alma realized the visit wasn’t about a case. “So, you’re having trouble writing the play?”

“I can’t make it work! I don’t know Odin III’s culture, histories, fears, desires.” She snuggled the bloodhound, who leaned into her side. “I keep writing stories about what I knew on Earth, just set here instead. And it doesn’t work! There’s no one coming from Kansas to the big city trying to break into the holovid industry. There’s no fears of government conspiracies or national enemies to tap into.” She gestured at the close walls and lack of staff. “There’s barely a government here.”

Alma smirked, grabbing a leash off her desk. “There may not be much of a government, but there’s plenty of fears and desires. And maybe even a conspiracy or two.” She winked at the bewildered playwright and attached the leash to Rasputin’s collar. “C’mon, I was about to go on my rounds anyway. Why don’t you come with me and we’ll see what stories we can find.”

“Are you sure?”

“Are you kidding? Do you know what it’s like just sitting here twiddling my thumbs and waiting for you to write something for us? I hate being useless. But this I can help with.” Alma held the door open for Olivia.

“Well now you’ve made me more nervous. What if I let you down?” Olivia said, looking at Alma as she walked through.

Alma clapped a hand on her shoulder. “How about this? If you trust me to lead you to some stories, I’ll trust you to do something beautiful with them. Instead of worrying we’ll let each other down, think about it as trusting we’ll hold each other up.”

Olivia pursed her lips, nodding. “Okay. Deal. So where are we headed first?”

Alma appraised her companion’s shoes. “Are those comfy?” When Olivia nodded, she added, “It’s a long trek to Daraja Mapunda’s workshop, but it’ll be worth the effort.”

***

Olivia’s conversation with Daraja was just the beginning. Over the next few weeks, Alma introduced to her an eclectic spectrum of residents on Odin III. Olivia learned why people called Daraja “the Machinist” through stories about his inventions. An older couple spoke lovingly of how their pet cats kept them sane in the stark Odin III landscape. Jonas Gruber told her of his travels, and how he sought meaning in the stars only to find it waited for him back home. Father Luigi recounted his searches in the mines for creatures that may or may not exist. Even Raisa Popov scheduled some time at Alma’s urging, opening up to Olivia about the vagaries of time dilation and the choice to leave her family behind to give them a better life.

A few weeks later, Alma again sat alone at the bar on a Saturday night. This time, her beer remained untouched. She was focused on the holographic text projected from the tablet in front of her. The sound of a chair scraping the ground broke her concentration. Olivia sat down to her right. For a moment, both women looked at each other wide-eyed. Hopeful, but afraid.

“Is it what you—?” Olivia burst out, just as Alma asked, “Is the lead—?”

“You first,” Olivia insisted.

“This play… it’s stunning. And the lead character! Expertly constructed to embody the theme. Is she… meant for me?”

“Of course.” Olivia melted in relief. “Oh, I’m so glad you like it. I was worried it wouldn’t meet your expectations. Especially after all the work you did to set up interviews. What do you think of the title?”

Alma smiled. “Dreams of Another World is lovely. It ties the literal move to another world to the metaphorical creation of new possibilities—it’s beautifully done.”

“There’s only one problem,” Olivia said as Ingrid brought her a glass of chardonnay, “where are we going to stage it? The only place I’ve seen that’s large enough is the Catholic Church, but I don’t get the sense Father Francis would be keen on renting it out.”

Alma sighed. “No, I doubt it. Hmm… there’s the old community theater building, but it’s been shut down for a long time. It’d take substantial maintenance to get running again.”

“Not to mention money that we don’t have.”

“Money that we don’t have yet,” Alma appended.

Ingrid crossed her arms, leaning over the counter. “What about here?”

“You’d let us use the bar?” Alma exclaimed.

“Yes, yes, this could work!” Olivia nodded, grabbing a tablet from her purse. She swept her gaze over the room and started sketching three-dimensional designs.

“Could be good for business,” Ingrid shrugged. After a moment, she admitted, “It’s not often I see people on Odin III getting to make their dreams a reality. If I can be a small part of that, well, why not?” She pulled a liquor bottle and three shot glasses from under the bar. “For a cut of admission, of course. What do you say ladies?”

Alma nudged Olivia, who was clearly already running with the idea, and tilted her head at the three brimming shots. Olivia put down her tablet. Each of them raised a glass.

“To holding each other up,” Alma said.

“To Dreams of Another World,” added Olivia.

“And to what we create in this one,” Ingrid finished.

Three glasses clinked together, transforming the dream of another world into a promise.

___________________________

Jenna Hanchey is a communication professor by day and a speculative fiction writer by...um...earlier in the day. She lives in Reno and teaches courses at the University of Nevada on racism, colonialism, and communicating across difference. Her research examines neocolonialism in Western aid to Africa, and how Africans use Africanfuturism to imagine their own developmental futures. Somehow she manages to act, sing, and rock climb, too! Notable credits include Gwendolyn Fairfax in The Importance of Being Earnest and Elaine Wheeler in Night Watch. She's also a voice-actor, narrating the audiobooks in Emily S. Hurricane's Bloodlines series. Her fiction has also appeared in Daily Science Fiction and the Apex Microfiction Contest. Follow her adventures on Twitter (@jennahanchey) or at www.jennahanchey.com. 

Her most recent appearance in our virtual pages was “From Soulless to Soulful.”

In the meantime, stay tuned for Part 17 of The Odin Chronicles, “A Question of Timelines,” by Travis Burnham, coming next Monday.

Enjoy!
~brb

 

---

stupefy (ˈstü-pə-ˌfī) to stun, astonish, or astound

On Amazon now ► STUPEFYING STORIES 23

Interface with Stupefying Stories!

► on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/StupefyingStories/

► on Twitter: https://twitter.com/StupefyingSF | @StupefyingSF

 

 

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The Odin Chronicles • Episode 15: “No Place” • by Pete Wood

INTRO: Welcome to Odin III, a grubby little mining world on the dark and dusty backside of nowhere. It’s a world where everything that’s worth having is already owned by Galactic Mining, and where people have come to squander their hopes and lives, working for the company and dreaming of striking it big. It’s also a world where some very strange and peculiar things have begun to happen, and it all started about five weeks weeks ago, in a bar called Weber’s Place, when Ray Cornwall didn’t just warp the fabric of space/time, he completely bent it…

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen | Part Fourteen

15. “No Place”

by Pete Wood

Fritz Gruber waited for his brother behind the rocket port’s chain link fence.

Constable Jenkins waved Jonas Gruber past the long line of crewmen from the interstellar freighter, Hermann Hesse. No need to check his credentials. Born and raised on Odin III, Jonas was family.

Jonas didn’t look a year older than when he’d departed fifteen years ago fresh out of high school.

The ship would be here for a week. Time to unload crates and bins of produce and clothes and other supplies. Then reload the ship with ore. All the crew would squeeze in a furlough.

Some crew headed to Weber’s Place, the only bar in town. Some gawked at the mountains or the half-mile-high trees in the foothills. A handful walked to the deli.

Jonas gave Fritz a hug. “God, it’s been too long.”

“Fifteen years,” Fritz said. “I guess I look like Dad.”

Jonas was diplomatic. “Nah. Not until you put on fifty pounds.”

“I’m working on it.”

Jonas gave him a playful punch in the arm.

“I guess you heard about Aunt Greta.”

“Yeah. I’m so sorry.”

“The deli is still here,” Fritz said.

“And Weber’s.”

“Ingrid runs it now. Her dad died a couple of years after you left.” He grabbed Jonas’ satchel.

“So, you married your favorite cheerleader,” Jonas said.

“Mary can’t wait to see you again. She took off early from the clinic. She’s made a pork roast and potatoes and we even managed to rustle up some creamed corn.”

* * *

Kurt, Fritz’s six-year-old son, peeked from behind his mother’s legs.

Jonas reached into his satchel. “I brought you a gift.” He put a half-dozen cans on the kitchen counter.

Mary picked up the cans one by one. “Peaches. Spam. Okra. We can’t take these. They cost too much.”

“Not where I’m from.”

“Thank you so much” She put the cans in the cupboard. “We’ll save these for a special occasion.”

“Did you make my room into an art studio or something?” Jonas asked.

“Nope. Your bed’s still unmade. We even left the dirty laundry,” Fritz said.

“You know, what?” Mary said. “This is a special, occasion.” She removed the peaches from the cupboard.

* * *

The three adults had done a lot of catching up over dinner. Mary ladled the last of the peaches onto Jonas’ plate. She let out a bit of profanity and jumped up. “I forgot the coffee.” She ran into the kitchen.

“Odin III can’t be warm enough for coffee,” Jonas said.

“Galactic Mining’s set up some camps on Odin II,” Fritz said. “Not a place you’d want to live. People rotate in and out. But at the poles they’ve got some crops.”

“Damn.” Jonas winked at Kurt. “Don’t talk like your uncle.”

Kurt spoke for the first time without prodding. “What did you see in outer space, Uncle Jonas?”

“All kinds of things. An ice cave a mile high. A planet where talking—I guess you’d call them cats—live atop mountains. A world with flying horses that some brave fools are trying to corral.”

Kurt’s eyes opened wide. “Flying horses?”

“Sure,” Jonas said. “Friendly. But stubborn. We still haven’t figured out how they do it. The physics isn’t quite right. Kinda like a bumble bee. But we figured out bees, didn’t we?”

Mary put mugs of coffee before the two men and a platter with cream and honey in the center of the table.

“I’ve seen horses,” Kurt said.

Jonas grinned. “But they’re not flying horses, are they?”

Kurt shook his head. “They’re boring.”

Mary ruffled her son’s hair. “No, they’re not.”

Kurt did not look convinced.

“There’s one planet where the same side always faces the sun. One side in darkness. One in light. The creatures on the two sides—”

“Jonas,” Mary interrupted. “I’m sorry. Kurt has to go to bed.” She scowled at Fritz.

Kurt hugged his uncle good night and his mother took him upstairs.

Jonas let out a heavy sigh. “Yeah, I’ve seen some pretty amazing things. We’re taking the ore to Methuselah III. I’ve always wanted to see this natural rock bridge three miles up.” He didn’t sound as enthusiastic as he had when talking to Kurt. “They have mountains higher than the Himalayas. And the creatures up there are…” He paused for a few seconds. “Yeah, I get to travel.”

“I’m sure you see some real shitholes too, Jonas.”

“I guess. It’s all worth it.”

Fritz cleared his throat. “Look, Jonas, Mary and I would appreciate it if you didn’t talk about your travels in front of Kurt.”

“Sure. I’m sorry.” Jonas put cream in his coffee.

“We want him to appreciate life here. We don’t want him to leave.”

“I understand.” He paused. “Look, it’s none of my business, but you can’t force him to stay here.”

“You’re right,” Fritz said. “It is none of your business.”

“He’s going to have to make up his own mind someday.”

Fritz glared at his brother. “Yeah, Mary and I have never thought of that.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“No, you have a point, Jonas. Kurt might want to go into space and leave his sister to take care of us by herself.”

“You’re expecting a daughter?”

“Yep.” Fritz took a long sip of coffee.

Jonas smiled. “That’s great.”

“She’ll be in high school the first time you see her.”

“I’m sorry, Fritz. I haven’t abandoned you completely. I send you money. A lot of money.”

“Greta didn’t need money in the end.” He paused for a minute or so. “Damn, Jonas, Grandpa cried sometimes about Earth, because everybody he knew was dead. I worry about you.”

“The dilation was really bad back then,” Jonas said. “It’s better now. It’s the price you pay, I guess.”

“You really think it’s going to be any easier on Kurt if he signs up to crew a freighter and comes back and we’re still alive, but ten years older? Or if he sees his sister’s kids for the first time when they’re going through puberty?” Fritz snapped.

“I don’t know,” Jonas said.

Fritz exhaled. “Is it worth it, Jonas?”

“I try not to think about it.”

“You’re going to have to think about it someday.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“Eventually Kurt might be older than you.”

“I won’t talk about my travels in front of your son,” Jonas said.

Fritz pushed his chair back and stood up. “Let me set up your bed upstairs in your old room.”

Jonas’ voice broke a little. “I’ve seen other crew members get hit hard with the dilation. Some don’t care. Some just get drunk every night. Nobody talks about it. I didn’t think it would get to me. But you look like Dad.”

“We’re still brothers, Jonas.”

Fritz and Jonas stayed up talking until long past midnight.

* * *

Fritz took a week’s vacation. He and Jonas made the most of their time together. They hiked in the mountains, spent quiet evenings at home, attended mass and took in a bluegrass concert downtown. Jonas reconnected with old friends as best he could.

They didn’t talk about a life exploring on a freighter.

A week later Fritz watched the freighter depart. He never tired of takeoffs and savoring the vapor trails slowly dissipating.

Jonas stared up at the sky. “I don’t get to see a lot of ships blast off.”

“I’m glad you stayed,” Fritz said.

___________________________

Pete Wood is an attorney from Raleigh, North Carolina, where he lives with his kind and very patient wife. His first appearance in our pages was “Mission Accomplished” in the now out-of-print August 2012 issue. After publishing a lot of stories with us he graduated to becoming a regular contributor to Asimov’s, but he’s still kind enough to send us things we can publish from time to time, and we’re always happy to get them.

For the past year or so Pete has been in the process of evolving into a fiction editor, God help him, first with The Pete Wood Challenge, then with Dawn of Time, and now with The Odin Chronicles, a 30-chapter shared world saga that will be running here every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday for the next ten weeks, and that features the creative work of Roxana Arama, Gustavo Bondoni, Travis Burnham, Paul Celmer, Jenna Hanchey, Carol Scheina, Jonathan Sherwood, and of course, Pete Wood. We suspect that Pete’s real love is theater, though, as with the print version of The Odin Chronicles now mostly finished he’s off working on the audio version, which looks to be an even bigger production that his short movie, Quantum Doughnut — which you can stream, if you follow the foregoing link.

Coming Friday: Episode 16 of The Odin Chronicles, “Dreams of Another World,” by Jenna Hanchey.

Enjoy!
~brb

 

---

stupefy (ˈstü-pə-ˌfī) to stun, astonish, or astound

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The Odin Chronicles • Episode 14: “Love and Groceries” • by Carol Scheina

INTRO: Welcome to Odin III, a grubby little mining world on the dark and dusty backside of nowhere. It’s a world where everything that’s worth having is already owned by Galactic Mining, and where people have come to squander their hopes and lives, working for the company and dreaming of striking it big. It’s also a world where some very strange and peculiar things have begun to happen, and it all started four weeks weeks ago, in a bar called Weber’s Place, when Ray Cornwall didn’t just warp the fabric of space/time, he completely bent it…

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve | Part Thirteen

“Love and Groceries”

by Carol Scheina

As Father Luigi stood in Shelley’s small gray communications office on the drab, rocky planet of Odin III, he couldn’t help but notice how Shelley’s sparkling brown eyes made everything seem brighter.

That’s why it hurt to meet her gaze as he gave her his news. “I won’t be doing missionary work anymore. No more wandering the caves trying to find people to convert. I want to be here, helping people, so I’m reaffirming my vows with the Church.”

“Does that mean we’ll get to see each other more often?”

“Yeah, I’ll be in town, but… Father Francis told me he doesn’t want me seeing you.” Luigi felt the rip in his heart. He knew he could do good things in the Catholic Church, but he also loved being with Shelley. Priests could date and marry nowadays, but only with a dispensation from a senior Church leader.

Shelley looked puzzled. “But we’ve been already hanging out together for a couple of months now. What’s changed?”

“I’d like it to be more than just hanging out with you. Shelley, I think you’re the best woman on Odin III.”

Shelley’s cheeks turned pink. “And I think you’re the one guy here who makes the world so much bigger and better.”

“But Father Francis thinks I shouldn’t have distractions right now. I swear, I’m trying to convince him otherwise.”

“I can be non-distracting.” Shelley smiled hopefully.

Luigi flushed and finally looked into her eyes. He just had to convince Father Francis. “I’ll talk to him again.” Luigi mused over the priest’s schedule. “He’ll probably be in the deli right now. He always does his lunch and shopping at this time. He’ll be back at the church in about an hour.”

“Why wait? Let’s go now!” Shelley was already heading out the door, glancing back at him to follow. 

Luigi squared his shoulders. He could be a priest and date Shelley. He could make Father Francis understand. The young priest followed Shelley out the door.

*   *   *

The deli always struck Luigi’s nose with the sweetness of fresh-baked bread alongside undercurrents of salty meats and cheeses. The scent usually made him hungry, but right now, all his focus was on Father Francis. They found the older priest tapping his foot impatiently in the deli’s bagging area.

Francis frowned upon seeing them. “If you’re here to talk, I don’t have time right now. I’m supposed to meet Popov in a few minutes and the bagging robot isn’t functioning properly.”

Luigi noticed a wisp of smoke coming from the bot, which appeared frozen with a wheel of gouda in one metal hand, a mesh grocery bag in the other. He gave it a little kick, and it shuddered to life.

“Father Francis, I want to prove to you I can date Shelley,” Luigi announced.

“I won’t be distracting,” Shelley added.

Francis’s mouth opened to reply, then stopped.

Luigi turned and saw the bagging bot squeezing the gouda, which oozed between metal fingers like it was dripping from a grilled cheese sandwich. It then grasped a bag of tomatoes, its metal fingers clenching. Red tomato bits exploded into the air like slimy confetti.

The three jumped back. 

Ray, the deli owner, walked up. “Is there a problem?”

The bot reached out and grabbed a foot-long ham-and-sauerkraut sandwich. Squish! It stepped forward with a clunky step.

“Not the sauerkraut sandwich,” Ray moaned, looking at the mess on the floor.

“Should someone turn that off?” Shelley asked.

Luigi reached out and toggled a switch on the bot. It shuddered and smoked and stared at the humans, making Luigi feel they were nothing more than meat the bot wanted to shove into a mesh bag. For the first time, Luigi noticed the bot’s eyes were very red, and its cylindrical body was very large, about twice the width of a human.

Everyone stepped back.

The bot moved to the checkout scanner, its large body filling the aisle. Metal fingers squeezed, sparks flew, and the scanner shattered into wires and metal bits.

“We should get out of here,” Ray said.

“It’s blocking our exit,” Luigi pointed out.

“Can someone help us?” Father Francis called toward the deli door.

“I don’t think anyone can hear us,” Shelley said.

The bot clunked closer, its smoky smell rather reminding Luigi of grilled cheese. Or it could’ve been the cheese and tomato bits on the bot’s body.

Metal arms knocked over a barrel of pickles, sending a wave of brine into their feet.

Ray groaned. “It better not touch the liverwurst. That stuff’s impossible to get out here.”

The red eyes didn’t look at the liverwurst, though; it kept clunking toward the humans.

Luigi gave a quick glance around the deli. In front of them was the destroyed check-out area and the exit. Behind them, the store had one large refrigerated area for cheeses and meats, along with neat rows of shelves displaying various food items. As best he could tell, they were the only customers, which was good. The bad thing was they were being herded into the bread shelf—a dead end.

Luigi looked at Shelley. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with that woman. He looked at Francis, who was wiping tomato seeds off his cheek. The priest was giving him another shot at the clergy. After messing up with so many jobs in the past, he was finally going to make something of himself.

Except it seemed like now, he was going to get squished by a bagging bot. Luigi frowned. No, he wasn’t going to go down like this. The young man grasped a foot-long loaf of five-grain bread from the shelf behind him and hurled it at the bot. “I’m going to distract it. You make for the exit.”

“Luigi, I’m not sure—” Francis started to say, but the young priest didn’t listen.

“Hey, Picklehead! Over here!” Luigi hurled a loaf of genetically modified pumpernickel next. It struck the bot right between the eyes, which seemed to glare back.

Slipping along the shelves, Luigi made it to the condiments section. He hurled two glass containers of Odin Specialty Sandwich Sauce. The red eyes were fully on the young priest. The immense metal body moved forward, and all Luigi’s grasping hands could find on the shelves was extra-spicy mustard in a brown glass bottle. He hurled it as metal fingers reached forward to squish him as easily as a tomato.

This was it. He was going to meet God.

Mustard dripped down the bot’s face as it gave a shudder. Something inside it clunked, and its eyes went dark.

Luigi let out all the air he’d been holding in. “Did I kill it?”

Ray, still in the store, bent over the bot. “Looks like its actuator burned out. It was probably going to fall apart soon, anyway. I’ll need to order a new one.”

Shelley ran up and threw her arms around Luigi. “You saved us!”

Francis stepped forward and patted Luigi’s shoulder. “That was a brave action, my son.”

Luigi faced the older priest. “I can do this. I can be a priest. But I also love Shelley. I can balance it all. Give me a chance to prove myself.” He bit his lip nervously, but stood tall before the older man.

Francis paused, then nodded. “Very well, I’ll let you prove yourself.”

Luigi’s heart did twenty backflips as he looked at Shelley. “I can date you!”

“You can kiss me,” Shelley grinned.

Ray muttered amidst the spilled pickles and pumpernickel. “At least the liverwurst’s safe.”

Luigi didn’t even notice the mess of mustard and gouda as he took in the sight of the woman he loved. The world was as bright and as beautiful as Shelley’s eyes.

Right then and there, he gave her the best kiss of his life.

___________________________

Carol Scheina is a deaf speculative fiction author from the Northern Virginia region. Many of her stories were thought up while sitting in local traffic, resulting in tales that have appeared in Cossmass Infinities, Daily Science Fiction, Escape Pod, and other publications. You can find more of her work at carolscheina.wordpress.com.

Coming Wednesday: Episode 15 of The Odin Chronicles, “No Place,” by Pete Wood.

Enjoy!
~brb

 

---

stupefy (ˈstü-pə-ˌfī) to stun, astonish, or astound

On Amazon now ► STUPEFYING STORIES 23

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The Odin Chronicles • Episode 13: “Would Scarcely Know That We Were Gone” • by Jonathan Sherwood

INTRO: Welcome to Odin III, a grubby little mining world on the dark and dusty backside of nowhere. It’s a world where everything that’s worth having is already owned by Galactic Mining, and where people have come to squander their hopes and lives, working for the company and dreaming of striking it big. It’s also a world where some very strange and peculiar things have begun to happen, and it all started four weeks weeks ago, in a bar called Weber’s Place, when Ray Cornwall didn’t just warp the fabric of space/time, he completely bent it…

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve

“Would Scarcely Know That We Were Gone”

by Jonathan Sherwood

On the third day, Arthur ran out of water.

Just as the big sun, Odin, began lightening the dark sky and pushing the stars away, he shook the last drops of water from his canteen into his mouth and tossed it away. It clattered on the rocks and into those weird blue bamboo plants, raising a momentary jangle of wind chimes.

Wonder if these have always been here? he thought. Or are they all fake, too?

The thought stung. He wiped his eye.

The long trek from the little mining town had been tiring, but he hadn’t yet stopped. In the dark, he wasn’t sure this rock on the hill would be a good place to rest, but now that he was close and the night was ebbing, he saw it had a smooth, flat top and a good view. A good place to rest. For a very long time.

He sat on its edge and let his tired feet hang down so he could watch the brightening sky. He would have bet on the planet’s night predators. Not thirst. The last of Odin III’s aurora flickered across the welkin as he bent his head and let himself cry.

Arthur had never been the kind of man to cry, but the fatigue and the resignation seemed to wring it out of him. And the thought of Susan, lost to him, maybe lost to all, wrung him tighter.

She’d approached him in the bar one night. Strung out on mushrooms and babbling about how much she’d missed him. How they were married and in love. But in some other timeline. Not in this one. He’d told her to leave him alone. He barely knew her. He was married to someone else. That she gave him the creeps. And the look in her eyes when he’d said that… He felt that in his soul.

And a few days later, she was missing.

A week later, and Arthur couldn’t get her out of his mind.

Two weeks later, Arthur was eating those mushrooms. And starting to remember.

It came on in waves of confusion. Their sparse wedding, their sparse marriage, the struggles and the little victories that somehow made it so worthwhile. Even though he’d done none of it. But somehow they’d done all of it. And done it together. And now the emptiness in his chest felt like a hole the rest of him would just crumple into.

The last anyone had seen of her, she was walking out of the town one night, into the wilderness. And then nothing more. And she’d done it with his words in her head. You give me the creeps.

The blue bamboo swayed in the breeze, knocking together like little xylophones. He wiped again at his eyes.

The shoe next to him looked exactly like his, right down to the flecks of mud.

The jeans and the jacket also looked like his. And though in the back of his mind he knew he should be terrified, when he saw the person sitting next to him was… him, he felt only a mild surprise.

“Hey,” said the other Arthur. Right down to the tear-smeared dirt on his cheeks.

“Hey,” said Arthur, in rote reply. “You’re… me.”

“Yeah,” the other said, nodding. “It does seem that way.”

“I haven’t had shrooms in days. I’m not trippin’ right now.”

“Me neither,” said the other. “But… I don’t think I’ve been around that long…” His voice drifted off.

“Are you real?”

The other looked at his own lap with a look of confusion, then at Arthur, and then reached out an index finger and poked Arthur in the shoulder. “I guess I’m real,” he said. “Guess you are, too.”

Arthur stared at the other one. Studied his face. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

The other looked toward the sunrise. Shook his head. “I don’t know.” He looked at Arthur. “Why are you here?”

“Because I want to find someone.” He hesitated, but the other waited for him to finish. “Or to die.”

The other blinked several times, apparently in confusion, and then he nodded once. “Susan,” he said. His expression drooped and he looked again at his lap. “Oh, Susan.”

“Is it a timeline thing?” asked Arthur, a twinge of excitement, of hope in his voice. “Are you from the timeline she remembers? From when we were together? Are you and she—?”

“No. No, I don’t think I’m from another timeline or anything. I think I’m just… here.”

“Oh,” said Arthur. They were quiet for a while, both watching the edge of Odin creep above the horizon, heralding the double sunrise. Arthur kept wondering why he didn’t feel much more disturbed, but every time he started thinking about it, he found it hard to concentrate.

“You came out here to find her,” said the other. “But you knew you wouldn’t. You knew you wouldn’t survive long out here. You knew this was a one-way trip.”

Arthur nodded, and reluctantly said, “Yeah.”

“Because you’re lonely,” the other turned to look at him. “You’re so terribly, terribly lonely.”

“She was everything to me. A month ago, I barely knew her. But she came up to me and said we were married, and I called her a drugged-out creep and told her to get lost. And the look on her face when I said that.” He put both hands to his face. “And now I remember her and remember us and we were just so happy. And I barely remember my other life. And that was the last thing I said to her. And now I can’t go back to the way I was without her, and I miss her so—”

“Hey,” said the other, and Arthur felt a hand rubbing his shoulder. “It’s okay. It’s okay. I know. It feels, it feels awful. It feels… hollowing.”

Arthur sniffed. “Yeah. Hollowing.”

“Remember when she got the mop stuck in the garbage disposal, and it was spinning and throwing water all over the kitchen? And she was screaming and laughing and we tried to grab the mop and it slapped us square in the face, and our mouth was open and she laughed so hard she fell on the floor and puked? Holy crap she had a good laugh.”

“Yeah,” said Arthur. “I forgot about that, but yeah. That laugh was something else.”

The other put a hand on Arthur’s thigh, palm up. Arthur looked at it, confused, and then laid his own hand in it. It felt warm and rough, but reassuring and honest. Odin lifted nearly half above the horizon.

“Loneliness,” said the other. “I think loneliness is the worst emotion. You can talk to someone about every other emotion. You can feel like you’re not alone in your feelings. But loneliness…” He gave Arthur’s hand a squeeze. Arthur squeezed back. “Do you know what depersonalization disorder is? It’s when you think you’re not yourself. That someone else is you. I think that’s what’s going on here.” The other nodded toward the sunrise. “I think I’ve made you up somehow. I think I’m the real one.”

Arthur followed his gaze. It seemed to make sense. “I think you’re right.”

“You didn’t tell me. About Susan,” said the other. “You never said her name. But I knew. I knew. I guess I read your mind.”

“I didn’t know we could do that.”

“I didn’t either,” said the other, looking at the sky. “Huh. I wonder what else I can do.”

Arthur felt a slight pang in his stomach.

“Don’t worry,” said the other, still holding Arthur’s hand in an embrace both firm and soft. And genuinely affectionate. “I won’t leave you. I’m going to stay with you until the end.”

Arthur smiled, squeezed his friend’s hand, and watched the big sun lift itself over the edge of Odin III. The blue bamboo moved in the morning breeze and rang out a delightful, muted coda.

___________________________

Jonathan Sherwood has written about science and scientists for research universities for more than two decades, and science fiction for even longer. He holds a bachelors in science writing from Cornell University and an MA in English from the University of Rochester. His fiction has appeared in Asimov’s, Analog, and others.

Coming Monday: Episode 14 of The Odin Chronicles, “Love and Groceries,” by Carol Scheina.

Enjoy!
~brb

 

---

stupefy (ˈstü-pə-ˌfī) to stun, astonish, or astound

On Amazon now ► STUPEFYING STORIES 23

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Status Update: 04 August 2022

 

I’m beginning to develop a serious attitude problem about July. This has now been the fourth July in a row in which we’ve begun the month with everything seemingly in order and proceeding along nicely and by the end of the month found ourselves gaping at the wreckage and wondering where to start cleaning up.

On the positive side, no one ended up in the hospital this time, nor did anyone receive a personal visit from Baron Samedi. 

On the sub-positive side, SS#24 still is not ready to be released, and I’m now about a month behind on publishing The Pete Wood Challenge stories. We are also a third of the way into publishing The Odin Chronicles, and I still don’t have the episode guide/story index written and posted, much less the introduction for the print version. 

Come to think of it, I owe Guy Stewart a phone call, too, as we need to talk about what we’re doing next with Emerald of Earth. Continue serializing it or just publish the entire book? The latter is what we were originally planning to do at this point, but if it was your book, what would you want us to do with it?

Plus, I notice that this web site has drifted out-of-date again, plus there’s the schedule for SS#25, which is completely derailed and now looking like we should aim for an October 1st release, plus...

One thing at a time. First up, getting caught up on the Pete Wood Challenge. Watch for more flash fiction coming soon.

Regards,
~brb

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