[Note from Steve: A.B., author of a YA sci-fi mystery series, has been busy working on a new trilogy. He almost has the first book done. I convinced him to take a break and dash off a short story for our readers. This story, like most of his, has an interesting young adult as main character. Enjoy.]

Birth Day

Copyright 2020, A.B. Carolan

He awoke and knew he was surrounded by liquid…wet and slimy stuff that somehow made him feel secure. He was surrounded by walls. He reached out and touched the smooth wall in front of him. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he realized there was something beyond the wall. Desperation gripped him. I need to get out!

He pushed on that front wall. It gave a little. The other three had hoses and other things hanging from them, so he knew that front one was the wall to attack. He wriggled his legs and sensed the strength in them. He avoided the confusion of hoses and apparatus and leaned against the back wall. He brought his knees to his chest and then kicked with both legs. The water splashed out, carrying him, and he landed on something solid.

He struggled to breathe. He gulped, but there wasn’t any oxygenated water to fill his gills. But then they shut down and his lungs took over. It was a strange and new sensation. Water was a friend, but so was the air.

He looked up and behind him and saw the top of the tall tank that had held him captive. There was a sign that said “Epsilon 27.” He marveled at that. Words. Well, one word and one number, so numbers too. He could read words and numbers! Even more marvelous: He knew they were words and numbers. His life up to that time had been pure, passive existence. Air, words, and numbers! A new world!

He didn’t know what the word or number meant at first. But then memories that had been dormant flooded into his conscious mind. I am Epsilon 27! And my job is to join my fellows and go after those who have turned Earth into a steamy water world! Those thoughts built his resolve.

We’re coming for you!

***

Comments are always welcome!

“Esther Brookstone Art Detective.” While you’re sitting on the edge of your recliner eagerly waiting for me to announce Death on the Danube, #3 in this series, don’t forget there’s a lot of entertaining reading to be found in the first two books, Rembrandt’s Angel and Son of Thunder, very different stories tied together by Esther’s obsession with finding the truth. In the first book, the Scotland Yard inspector obsesses with recovering a painting stolen by the Nazis; in the second, she obsesses with finding the tomb of St. John the Divine. Her paramour, Interpol agent Bastiann van Coevorden, struggles to keep her on an even keel. Available wherever quality books are sold, including at the publisher Penmore Press.

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

[A.B. was watching the world go to hell from his little home in Donegal, so he needed a distraction and wrote this story. We both thought it might be a distraction for you too.]

Nicking the Dog

Copyright 2020, A. B. Carolan

Alan McCormick’s dog-sitting duties included walking old Prince and scooping up his poop when the dog cleared his tubes. Alan once had a dog who died, and his ailing mother didn’t want another one—his father had done most of the dog-walking—so Alan thought that the job was his best chance to be with man’s best friend…and make a few euros to invite Cathy out. He was becoming more interested in girls than dogs, although dogs didn’t seem to be much less capricious with their affections. Cathy didn’t seem to pay as much attention to what side of town boys came from, though, or how much money they had, but he still needed to improve his financial situation.

Prince was a bit nearsighted but still became distracted by squirrels, birds, and butterflies. It was no surprise when he started to strain at the leash and bark at the rustles in the hedgerow. The leash broke and off he went, through the bush and to the other side. Alan couldn’t do that—in his area, hedgerows were as effective as fences—so he had to go to the end and around to the other side. There was no sign of Prince.

That became an odyssey as he began searching the neighborhood of mostly abandoned houses. At one that looked more ready for demolition than the others, he heard barking. He climbed the steps, carefully avoiding the broken boards, and knocked. More barking. Alan knocked again.

He peered inside and saw Prince with the remainder of his leash tied to the stair bannister just off the entrance foyer. Someone nicked my dog! he thought. There was no way Prince could tie himself up.

He tried the door. The knob turned freely, so it wasn’t locked. If he hadn’t wanted to recover the dog, he’d never enter such a spooky place. But he did. What would the dog’s owner say if Alan knew where the dog had run off to and didn’t try to save him?

He opened the door wide, stepped through a few cobwebs, and went to Prince. The dog stopped barking and wagged his tail. Alan and Prince were tight. Or maybe the dog just likes kids? Any kid?

He’d just seen the strange-looking little kid standing in the doorway to the kitchen.

He was shorter than Alan and looked more like a little old man with a big head. Not a leprechaun. They’re not so ugly. He had big eyes, floppy cheeks, and pink, wrinkled skin. Alan could see a lot of that because this kid, if he was a kid, only wore something like a nappie.

“Did you nick my dog?”

“We like dogs. Yours is nice.”

The voice sounded like the synthesized computer voices from the games on Alan’s laptop, which was on its last legs. Alan’s mother couldn’t buy him a new one of those either.

“We? There are more of you?”

“Currently our nest is borrowing this house to use as our base.”

“Nest? Base?” A frisson went down Alan’s spine. “Who are you?”

“You wouldn’t understand, but we mean no harm to you or the dog. We can be friends. That will help us in our studies.”

Alan thought a moment. “You’re ETs, aren’t you? What are you doing here? Are you spying on us as you plan to invade Earth?” He was thinking of several computer games with that theme.

The electronic chuckle sounded a bit like something from a horror movie similar to the ones he used to watch on the telly with his father.

(more…)

[Note from Steve: Most of A.B’s short fiction is archived here in the blog category “ABC Shorts.” Many of his stories can also be found in some collections, free PDFs you can download—see the “Free Stuff & Contests” web page. Of course, don’t forget the “ABC Sci-Fi Mystery Series” books for young adults: The Secret Lab, The Secret of the Urns, and Mind Games.]

Where Has the Winter Gone?

Copyright 2020, A. B. Carolan

Kaylee spotted the polar bear pacing on the ice flow.

“Another one, Dad!”

Leif took the binoculars from his adopted daughter’s hand, found the bear, and waved at the boat’s captain to change course.

“Steer to 1:20 p.m., ice flow dead ahead.”

The boat swung around and the crew got ready to welcome a new guest aboard.

***

Over an hour later, the groggy bear was safe on the mainland and waking up.

“He’ll soon be back in the water looking for food,” Leif told Kaylee, “but at least we can keep track of him with the ear tag. Let’s hope he doesn’t get stranded on another ice flow.”

“I understand. There’s nothing to eat around here.” Kaylee made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Where are we anyway?”

“About ten klicks inland from where the shore used to be. The ice is gone, the tundra no longer frozen, so it’s all mud. We’re in the middle of winter, and look at what we have.”

“Where has the winter gone?” Kaylee said.

“The bears are asking the same thing,” said Leif. “No self-respecting seal could fail to spot their enemies’ white coats now.”

***

They dropped anchor in a quiet little bay. Only a few decades earlier, it would have been completely iced over all year round.

Kaylee was looking out over the dark waters when Leif found a deck chair and sat down beside her.

He offered her a bag. “Some peanuts to go with your root beer?”

“What are you drinking?”

He looked at his glass half full of amber liquid. “I thought I’d reward myself with some Irish whiskey. We saved several bears today. Lucky seven, hon.”

“Celebrating? Celebrating persons don’t look sad.”

He studied the black face that his wife and he had come to love so much, hoping to see irony, but he only saw sadness to match his.

“You know me too well. We’re too late. We’re butting our heads against a brick wall. Ever since that orange-faced devil killed any chance of stopping global warming, that’s what we’ve been doing—fighting the inevitable. I feel very little satisfaction in knowing his famous Florida resort is now underwater. He took us far beyond the tipping point without any concern for future generations!”

“He was an evil man, Dad.”

“And his supporters bought into that evil. He was the Devil’s tool for planetary destruction, allowing people to kill its flora and fauna, which will eventually include human beings.”

“Why are we doing this then?”

Leif took a sip of his whiskey. “For me, it’s penance for allowing the SOB to get away with it. And penance for not doing more to protect your future. We can slow it down a bit, but there’s no longer any solution because of him.”

***

Comments are always welcome.

The Third Factor. The enemy has recovered the lost Stones of Sumer…. S. P. Brown’s new fantasy and sequel to Veiled Memory (“The Stonehenge Chronicles”) is an epic tour de force (I reviewed the latter book in these pages), continuing the saga. Stan got me to read fantasy again! No dragons, vampires, gremlins, or house elves here—just fantasy that probes the darkness in human beings’ souls and the courage of those who combat it. None of the feckless Rowling verbosity found in her later Potter novels either. Available in print and ebook format at most retail sites….and brought to you by Black Opal Books, “because some stories just have to be told.”

Around the world and to the stars! In libris libertas!

Fish Story

Copyright 2019, A. B. Carolan

[Note from Steve: A. B. Carolan obviously thinks “young adult literature” applies to ETs as well.]

The Humans called it a meteor. It was our shuttle. The ocean dissipated its kinetic energy, but the water entry at high speed cracked the hull. We were forced to use escape pods. My father, mother, and I ejected into a strange, alien ocean. I never saw them again.

The pods, designed for deep space, weren’t designed for maneuverability in an aquatic environment, and the viscous seawater and currents made them less maneuverable. I was able to get near the surface somehow and left the pod.

We’re amphibians, so I could swim underwater until I found the pier Humans had built. I remained under it until nightfall.

***

The male Human child saw me on the moonlit beach from the porch. The planet had an unusually large satellite. Its light made the froth of the waves luminous and the beach visible to anyone nearby.

The child was crying but stopped when he saw me. Too late to hide!

My father and mother had studied the primitive Humans for many of the planet’s years. They were often warlike and violent. At first I was afraid, but the little Human didn’t look threatening as he ran toward me. I waited for him.

“Are you a merman?” he said, stopping in front of me, breathless. “I want to keep you!”

Although not easy, English was fast becoming the language understood almost anywhere on the planet. To have one planetary language was a good step toward stability, but you’d think they’d pick something easier for everyone to learn. I understood it. So had my parents, but much better than I.

Merman? That was an unfamiliar word. I analyzed its construction. Man = short word for male Human; woman = short word for female Human. Mer- seems to be borrowed from another language, French, meaning sea. “No, I come from space. Sorry. What’s your name?”

“Peter? What’s yours?” This young person was almost bouncing up and down in excitement.

“You can call me Ka.” That was only the first part of my name, a mix of sounds and sonic images. “Do you have any radio transmission equipment in your house? I need to send a message so I can be rescued.”

“No, we don’t. And that would only transmit messages at the speed of light. Don’t you come from light-years away?”

I translated that distance measurement to my own. The speed-of-light part was universal; but the time duration, one of these planet’s years, wasn’t. Still, this young Human didn’t seem so primitive. “My parents are scientists. There are others here studying you. The starship is in orbit around the planet, only light-seconds away.”

“Cloaked like a Klingon ship?”

I didn’t know the answer to that question. From my parents, I’d never heard about an intelligent species called Klingons. “Cloaked, yes, but I have no idea if it’s the same process Klingons use. In any case, I just need to broadcast a message requesting help.”

“We have a radio station nearby. There’s also a navy base. What frequency do you need?”

I thought a moment. Their commercial radio station that only played songs about lost love for females and dogs—I’d heard it—was probably assigned a specific frequency. This primitive society at least had that organized. But I needed a transmitter where I could vary the frequency. “Navy” implied ocean surveillance, so a navy base would likely have those kind of transmitters, even on this primitive planet.

“Can you take me to this navy base?”

“Tomorrow. If you put on Grandpa’s waders and wear Mom’s rubber gloves, I can make you pass as human. My Dad goes to work at the base.”

“Will he take us?”

“I go to school there. You can hide in the trunk.”

I had no idea what a trunk was, but hiding from the child’s father sounded like a good idea. I doubted the adults would be as nice as the children.

***

Peter hid me in the garage. Designed to hold a vehicle, it seemed curious that it was filled with junk instead. I slept comfortably on an old mattress.

He came out early in the morning with a bucket of what he called bait (I called it breakfast) and had me crawl in the back space of the car with the bucket. I suppose I was in a trunk. I ate breakfast on the way to the base. Ten minutes later, their time, I sensed motion. It was jerky and bouncy, but I considered it necessary to get me where I needed to go.

The vehicle came to a stop. I waited, trying to decide whether I should break out. But the trunk opened.

“I know where the com station is,” Peter said. “Follow me.”

(more…)

[Note from Steve: Leave it to A.B. Carolan to turn an ordinary business trip into a space adventure. A wee bit of Irish humor….]

The Double

Copyright 2019, A. B. Carolan

Filton hated spaceports on backward planets. As head of regional sales for the planet Sanctuary’s largest android factory, he had to visit them, even some outside of the trade union.

He also hated it when his wife Dal and daughter Shalin accompanied him on a business trip. Even though he often enjoyed their company at meals during the few subjective days the starliner hopped among the multiverses, popping out light-years away from their home planet, his usual corporate stateroom seemed to be a lot more crowded with them along.

He always used the same old beat-up suitcase, putting a few extra toiletry items in his briefcase. He had that briefcase in hand now, but his little suitcase would be lost among their luggage. They all crashed out of the tube onto the carousel. Not an android porter in sight, he thought. He started to load the luggage onto a cart.

“I need my makeup bag,” Dal said. “I need to touch up.”

He looked at all the suitcases on the cart. “Which suitcase is it in? And how long will that take?”

“The green one. And I’ll only be a moment.”

There were two green bags, both toward the bottom of his orderly pile on the cart. He offloaded all that were on top of one and handed it to her. She rummaged around and shook her head. Naturally, it’s in the other one.

“I think Mom brought too much stuff,” Shalin said, watching her mother head for the bathroom. “And why didn’t she fix her face before we disembarked?”

Filton just turned a suitcase on its end and sat down, assuming a pose he’d seen once in some ancient Earth bronze statue. “The Tinkerer”? Shalin is at the age where she criticizes her parents. In this case, Shalin’s critique was appropriate. He wrote it off as Dal not traveling much. Guess that’s my fault.

He looked at his watch. It was still on ship’s time. He’d have to find out what the local time was. Good thing I don’t have any appointments until tomorrow.

***

When Dal returned, they looked for the tram, the first leg of their journey into the main terminal, unless you counted the shuttle ride down to its dock in the spaceport. After waiting twenty minutes, a car screeched to a halt in front of them. The doors slid open. A huge Tali female exited the otherwise empty car; she was pushing a wide stroller. She blocked the entrance to the car as she began talking with someone on the comlink device surgically attached to the side of her head.

Triplets. Triple trouble. He smiled at Shalin, knowing his daughter would think the three little Tali were cute. He had to admit that it was hard to imagine the Tali as Humans and Rangers’ worst enemies so long ago.

Dal and Shalin squeezed around the stroller, but Filton couldn’t manage it with the luggage cart.

The tram car took off.

***

The next tram car pulled up fifteen minutes later. In the interim, the Tali mother had disappeared. The car was empty. Filton had a clear shot. But the car’s floor level was higher than the platform’s; it blocked the wheels of the luggage cart. He decide to make a running start, but the wheels caught, and all the luggage spilled into the car. He pushed the cart aside, entered, and began making a pile of luggage in the center of the car, which toppled over when the tram car took off.

The car stopped one more time at a landing pad. An Usk entered the car, carrying a shiny gizmo in his hand and conversing with someone via his comlink. He tripped on Filton’s briefcase and lost the gizmo in the pile of luggage.

“I’ll find it,” Filton said.

As Filton bent over to peer among the suitcases, the Usk grabbed his briefcase and pushed him into the pile. The Usk exited as the tram’s door whooshed open at a stop inside the main terminal.

Filton chased the Usk, yelling, “Stop thief!”

But passengers from another ship poured into the corridor ahead of him.

“Papi?” Filton turned to see Shalin.

“Where’s your mother?”

“I lost her. She probably went ahead to the hotel. I decided to stay and help you with the luggage.”

Filton spun and looked back along the corridor. The tram car was gone!

***

“I’m sorry, sir,” said the AI terminal at the hotel’s check-in counter. “We have no reservation for you.”

“Okay. That’s happened before. My company sends them out weeks ahead of time, but maybe that information came on the very ship we were on.” The dangers of doing interstellar business. Communications were slow in the Union because starships were the fastest way to communicate between star systems. “Do you have any rooms available?”

“All suites are taken. Do you want me to see if there’s one available in our hotel on the other side of the city?”

Filton shook his head. I always use this hotel because it’s near the planetary HQ. “We’ll take any room.”

“There is one room for Humans with a double bed and a cot. Would you like that?”

Filton looked at Dal. She nodded. Shalin looked at the ceiling.

(more…)

The Map

A.B. Carolan, Copyright 2019

“Maybe it’s a treasure map,” Kevin said after unrolling the document they’d found in the old house onto the attic floor and putting some old tools at each corner to hold it down.

“Kind of weirdo,” his friend Dave said. “Just a bunch of black dots with some numbers beside them. Maybe the rest of it faded away? The paper’s brittle.”

The roll of paper had been in the top, thin drawer of an old chest. The other larger drawers were filled with rocks.

Kevin looked around. “Kinda spooky up here. I’ve seen enough. The old house is just full of junk no one wants.”

Dave squatted and studied their find. “Maybe Mr. Sandoval can analyze the paper. It’s old. Could be fun to see how old.”

Jorge Sandoval was the boys’ chem teacher. He also taught bio—they’d had him for that—and physics, which they’d heard was a really tough course. Kevin wanted to take that; Dave wasn’t sure.

Their high school wasn’t big enough to have more than one science teacher.

“Okay,” said Kevin. “Up to you. He’ll ask where we got it if it’s real old, you know.”

Dave shrugged. “Then we’ll tell him.”

***

Jorge was in his garage thinking about the next week’s demo for physics class. The topic was polarization of light. He’d just had an idea. Instead of an optical demo—the class’s back row wouldn’t be able to see anything—he’d use microwaves. Everywhere in the classroom, the kids could hear the effects of polarization instead of having to see them. He thought he had the equipment to do that in his garage.

He saw through the high basement windows Dave and Kevin, the future graduates from the class of 1984, park their bikes. They burst into his house and came galumphing downstairs. He saw the roll of paper in Dave’s hand.

(more…)

[Note from Steve: A. B. Carolan isn’t sitting around patting himself on the back for his new novel Mind Games. He continues to write short fiction. Here’s one story he wrote in honor of Brian Aldiss.]

Zeno climbed higher. The fruit at the top ripened first. The tribe always went through the grove, back and forth, each time getting nearer the ground. And then they would start all over again.

He climbed almost to where the sky closed over and he could climb no more. It never occurred to him to ask why the sky closed over, but that day when he sat on a limb, ate his fruit, and stared upwards, he asked the obvious question: Why does the sky stop my upward progress?

He climbed a bit higher to where he could reach out and push against the sky. It’s solid! Is there something on the other side of the sky?

“Zeno! Come back down!”

His mother didn’t like it when he climbed so high.

I’ll have to tell her about the sky!

***

Zeno’s mother had always been warning him. Other creatures climbed high too. One of the wide-eyes was stalking him. He turned just in time, saw the salivating predator, and moved away, only to slip on a patch of moss.

It was a long fall accompanied by his mother’s scream. He bounced from limb to limb as he floated toward the forest floor. No one in the tribe had ever died from a fall, but limbs could be broken and minds addled by hitting the hard wood of the fruit tree limbs.

He was unconscious when he hit the ground.

***

Zeno awoke. A member of another tribe hovered over him and smiled. He was covered in a bright white skin.

“You had a nasty fall, Zeno.”

He spoke the language of the people, but it didn’t sound quite right. Some chirps and whistles rose in pitch when they were supposed to go down, for example.

Zeno looked around and felt claustrophobic. He was in a place best described as a nest, but it was a bit larger, and the whiteness of its walls was as white as the stranger’s covering.

“Where…where am I?”

“Where you’ve always been, just a bit more forward in the….”

Zeno didn’t understand the words that had followed. “I want to go home.”

“You need a few more visits to the….”

Again the words meant nothing to him. He mouthed the unfamiliar words: long-haul starship and ship’s portadoc. They seemed like gibberish. He wriggled a bit, testing his body. Everything hurt.

“Am I broken?”

“Kira found you. She was testing soil….”

He knew the word soil. The tribe used soil and ground almost interchangeably. He didn’t know what pee-aych meant, though.

“So I have to stay here?”

“Only for a while.”

***

Later that day he met Kira. He hadn’t known Kira was a female’s name. She was much taller than his mother, and he liked her immediately.

“I have a friend, Roberto, who asked me to find out why you’re called Zeno,” she said.

“There’s always a Zeno in the tribe. It’s tradition…and a rule. If there’s no Zeno, the tribe can fall on hard times.”

She nodded. “Do you have a mother?”

“Everyone has a mother.”

“What’s her name?”

(more…)

Timmy and Me

Copyright 2018, A. B. Carolan

“James, you seem in a foul mood tonight,” said Sam MacAllister.

Bradford had taken a pub stool next to Mac and ordered a pint.  After a lengthy sip, he said, “How can you tell?”

“Not a wink at the barmaid, me lad, even though she’s flirting with you. She never flirts with me.”

“You’re married. And leave me alone, Sam. You’d not understand.”

“Try me. Girlfriend problems?”

“No. I just talked to Beatrice on my mobile. She’s still at the office.”

“You arrest them, she defends them. It’ll make a good family business if you ever commit, I’d say.”

“You say a lot of things that shouldn’t be said.”

“Like I said, moody.”

“If you saw what I just saw, you’d be moody too.”

“Tell me about it. I need a good story.”

“A true story. I was at the scene of a robbery. Grocer over by Piccadilly. Morgan and I were interviewing witnesses when the thieves returned.”

“Stupid of them. We need more dumb ones to better our statistics. I’m guessing Morgan and you arrested them.”

“Not exactly….”

***

The scruffy lad had some kind of gun. So did the thing beside him. The clerk and two cops raised their hands. Other witnesses waiting for their turn to be interviewed rushed for cover.

“You don’t want to shoot that,” Bradford warned the lad who seemed to be in his early teens.

“He forgot something,” the thing said to Bradford in a deep baritone voice emanating from somewhere. The Queen’s English was clear and precise. “Go get it, Timmy. I’ll cover the coppers.”

The lad named Timmy disappeared down one aisle but soon returned with a box of bandages. He showed them to the thing.

“That should work,” it said.

The two backed out of the establishment. Outside, they turned and ran.

Everyone started talking at once, but Bradford had the presence of mind to dash out and give chase. The lad was fast, but his companion was slow. It turned and shot Bradford.

He was hit by some kind of field, though, not a bullet. He felt like a net of electricity had been thrown over him, causing him to lose control of his muscles. He slumped to the ground like a pile of mud from the Thames.

He was still conscious when Morgan dragged him to the wall of a building and put him into a sitting position against it.

“Did those two kids attack you, sir?”

Bradford was barely able to shake his head in the negative. He managed to raise his index finger.

“I think you have a concussion, or something worse. There were two of them. Are you saying there was just one?”

***

“Sounds weird,” MacAllister said. “But Morgan’s probably right. You took a hit to the head. Bloody wild kids.”

“There was only one kid, Mac. And this thing. Just like I said. I didn’t imagine it. Morgan and all the rest are confused.”

MacAllister raised his hands. “OK, OK, if you say so.”

Bradford sighed, through some money down on the bar, and left the pub, still watching Mac shake his head in the mirror on the wall as he walked out.

***

Bradford’s only recourse was to find Timmy. He knew the urchin. He was a pickpocket with his worst previous crime being slicing the straps of a tourist’s handbag and making off with it.

He also knew the lad was basically homeless. He was supposed to be living with his uncle, but he was drunk most of the time. He’d send Timmy out to steal food and drink for him. Timmy usually hung out in an alleyway not far from the grocer. Is his uncle injured?

Bradford checked there the next morning. Sure enough, the disheveled urchin was there. He strode toward Bradford and stopped in front of him, standing on tiptoes to make himself appear taller.

(more…)

[Note from Steve: A. B. Carolan doesn’t always write for young adults. I suspect this pithy little tale he sent me from Donegal is motivated by how the rest of the world now sees the U.S., but you can ask him.]

Return Visit

Copyright 2018, A. B. Carolan

Nalek turned the stun field on and walked into the cave. The furry male with the deep set eyes must have heard him coming because he was frozen into position but staring at the cave’s entrance. The female—his mate?—was frozen in her sitting position where she’d been sewing some skins with a crude stone needle and a strip of animal hide. The little one, who was completely naked, was playing with some polished stones.

Nalek crouched and closed his eyes so he could store every detail of the scene in his memory. He then stood, turned, and walked out of the cave.

“Primitives,” he told the starship’s crew. He turned toward the cave’s entrance again and turned the stun field off.  “We should return later to see how they’ve developed.”

“Acknowledged. Meet the shuttle on the lake shore.”

***

On their return visit, after fifty-three thousand orbits of the strange planet around its star, Nalek stood in a park across the street from a large white mansion. He was dressed in apparel suitable for that hot, stormy environment on that early morning. Undeterred by the weather, people were marching back and forth screaming in their strange language. They looked angry.

He set the stun field’s generator on wide coverage and moved across the street to the side entrance of the fenced-in area containing the mansion, tipping his hat to the frozen sentries as he entered the grounds.

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

Of course, they didn’t answer.

He went through the gate and into the mansion. He found his way to the bedroom of the large tribe’s leader.

They had decided this yellow-haired male had to be examined. Nalek found him in bed playing with some kind of electronic apparatus, a savage expression making his face into a caricature as he was frozen in place ready to press an icon that would send a message. Nalek squatted and studied this “leader of the free world.” He then stood and shook his head sadly.

“Not much progress,” he announced to his shipmates. “They’re still primitives. He’s sending out cryptic messages on a device, but he might as well be beating a skin drum like the natives we visited here long ago. Mental capacities might even have deteriorated. There’s no hope for this planet if he’s the smartest native as he claims, and we have no reason to doubt him. Why would he be in this position if he lied?”

“Acknowledged. We’ll quarantine the planet. It will soon be a polluted wasteland anyway. Meet the shuttle back in the park.”

Nalek crossed the street again, stopped to look back at the mansion, and shook his head sadly. He turned off the stun field and entered the shuttle. To the natives, he simply disappeared; he’d turn off the cloaking device high in the atmosphere.

The search for intelligent life in the universe would continue, just not on this planet.

***

Comments are always welcome!

A. B. Carolan, The Secret Lab. In the far future, Shashi and her young friends are determined to discover the origins of a mutant cat they find on the International Space Station. In the process, they uncover a conspiracy. My Irish friend A. B. Carolan rewrote and reedited my original sci-fi mystery for young adults to make a second edition. 50% off now on Smashwords. This is a perfect holiday gift for the young adult in your family…or for any adult who is young at heart. And, while you’re there on Smashwords, check out A. B.’s new sci-fi mystery The Secret of the Urns. Both books are also available in ebook and print format on Amazon.

In libris libertas!

Homeward Bound

Copyright 2018, A. B. Carolan

[Note from Steve: There will be more than driverless cars in the future.]

Happy decided she was through with beatings. The welts and open wounds on her back were bright red on her black skin. When Master Cheng stopped whipping her in order to catch his breath, she turned and kicked the old man in the groin and ran.

Her parents had come to the Mars colony because of the Chinese government’s promise of good-paying jobs. Just one problem: the Chinese business model when applied to the colony was such that most workers would die of old age before they paid off their passage. But it wasn’t old age that killed her parents; both had died in work accidents. She became an orphan, and the orphanage sold her to Master Cheng, who was an accountant for a Chinese firm’s branch on Mars.

She ran but didn’t know where to run. On the surface outside the tunnels, she knew she would die without a spacesuit, and she didn’t have one. Most workers didn’t; they were too expensive. But the crowded tunnels, teeming with workers, allowed her to hide in plain sight after she stole a cheap jersey from a tunnel vendor’s rack when he wasn’t looking. She no longer had to run with her arms crossed over her breasts.

Every intersection had direction signs in Chinese and English on the tunnel walls.  She spotted one that said, “Port for Private Yachts.” Because Mars had no surface water, she knew that meant space yachts. Some rich industrialists who visit, Chinese or not, come in small spaceships, she thought. Her Daddy had told her that. Could I stow away on one and return to Earth? Her parents had dreamed of striking it rich and doing exactly that.

Happy was their only child, and they had spoiled her as much as they could. When the colony had started bursting at its seams, the Chinese authorities initiated a policy that permitted only one child. And some had to wait years to receive the license to have one.

(more…)