Flash Fiction New Setting

Flash Fiction New Setting

Its been an eternity since I wrote a short story, much has happened. I have decided to start writing some again. this is the first one for our new Setting Beyond the Black Sea, due to be released May or June. Its a Sword and Sorcery setting built on the Dark Stars System.

This flash fiction is the first story in the setting, and I hope to write more.

The Statue

Ivar didn’t know the woman. Her wry smile and flashing eyes, curly black hair spoke of a Stygian or Canaanite. She had bronze skin; her dark lips maybe had a Pictish origin. “Ummm Ten silver ingots no more Cimmerian she coughed. The guttural sound was odd and didn’t at all match her features of the language of Canaan. Ivar, a simple man from north east of the Black Sea, was standing at least a foot above her, holding the tusk of a mammoth in his brawny hands. His short black hair, ice blue eyes clean shaven face and smooth tanned skin gave away his origins all too plainly. Clearly she meant to cheat him, ivory of this quality hacked from the living skull of a Mammoth was worth far more than ten silver ingots. “I can make this into a fine carved idol of your god Baal for you, or a statue or some other precious item. I know that this is worth ten times the amount you say woman. Give me a fair price I wish to drink and eat.”

“You foolish brute, I would not think a Northman such as yourself would be capable of carving anything. You don’t even have cloths. But, should you carve this for me and attend to some other vices of mine. I will give you 500 ingots of silver.” Her brown eyes flashed and she licked her lips tussled her hair trying to distract the Cimmerian. “My name is Lilania and I hold power in this city, the next time you call me woman I will cut out your tongue.”

Lilania lead the Cimmerian away through narrow alleys until she arrived at a large mud brick building with white lime wash, and a parapet with a ladder made of sturdy timber fixed to the wall. She quickly climbed the ladder her yellow and red chiton hitched up to the side exposing her thighs and calves. Her top was yellow with red geometric designs and around her neck she wore the symbol of Baal Alaakum the god of the city, two gold disks with a crescent above. The Cimmerian climbed, his loin cloth made of fur and his bundle of skins slung across his back. The crystal dagger in his girdle and large two edge sword made of hardened bronze on his back. He mounted the top of the parapet and saw the woman opening a trap door in the flat roof. “Thieves abound in this city, especially trying to rob me of my trade goods.” Welcome to my home and place of business.

The room was large at least ten paces across. The floor was covered with fine carpets made of wool or flax the Cimmerian could not tell. A fire burned in a spherical hearth made of bronze. All around were metal items, bronze mirrors, silver goblets, copper ingots stacked high in a crate. A bubbling weird black iron cauldron hissed and popped. Her slaves were here too a small Canaanite woman with short cut brown hair and green eyes worked some form loom, a beautiful Galli woman with long braided light brown hair and blue eyes was skilfully painting a vase in swirls, circles and braids of her homeland far to the west, a large black skinned Dogon man, his tribal marking and proud features marked him as a warrior of ten years, he was a long way from the Barbary and was probably the bodyguard of the merchant. The wealth of the merchant was staggering.

Gold and gems adorned the alter of Baal. So much metal the Cimmerians eyes widened at the site of it. “Come Cimmerian I will show you my workshop”

Lilania lead Ivar through to another adjoining smaller room in this room the roof was more open, he could see the sky. A granite forge with bronze tools was arrayed before him, along with many other benches and work-spaces. The woman grabbed wet clay and skillfully fashioned a statue of Baal. Carefully etching in the geometric magical symbols, the priests revered. She carefully and patently showed the Cimmerian every aspect of the statue he was to carve.

“See Cimmerian, like this the symbols must be perfect.” She coughed.

“I understand Lilania, I will carve the idol for you”

Ivar began his work the next day after eating a meal of dried fish, bread and an apple prepared by the young Canaanite slave girl Leeta. He began clearing his work area and selecting tools, so many good fine bronze tools for him to work with. He took his time examining the dry statue and began to find the form within the mammoth tusk.

Ivar had been working for a week now, the statue was lifelike, taking the form of Baal. Lilania had been pleased and been more friendly with Ivar. The Cimmerian learned that she had a Pictish mother and father of mixed blood who had lived for a long time. She herself was over one hundred years old and looked barely thirty. She knew sorcerer and numbers and that was her main trade, as a seer and necromancer she had learned Stygian secrets. He found a charm in her raspy husky voice. The Cimmerian enjoyed the company of the slave girl from Gaul. Her culture had many similarities with his own, but she was far more artful and skilled in painting and drawing. A few times she had helped him with the carving outlining the runes for him. He learned some of the local languages quickly, in the house they mostly spoke Canaanite, but used a few Pictish, Gaelic and Stygian words.

The next week was the slow finishing of the statue, rubies, silver gold and orichalcum were added carefully as inlays. The idol took on a life of its own now, the artwork impersonating the god. Ivar was please and showed Lilania, she viewed it shrewdly carefully examining it and squinting her eyes.

“This is good, who would think a barbarian from the wilds could handle tools with such skill and make such an item as this.” Lilania then took the idol wrapped it up, produced a pouch of some silver ingots. Now, lets see how you fight. I suspect the guards of the merchant that I will sell this too will try to take it. He is a dirty Sygian from far away. If I give this motion, she placed her hand on her forehead you and Enlu will attack his guards. “Do you understand Cimmerian?” she coughed “I understand, my name is Ivar and you know that witch.” His muscled had tensed at the insult, and then she saw that she was playing again, which she did with all the people she met. “I will deal with the merchant” she said, and the servants and his house will be mine. But maybe he will pay the price I asked and we will not need to use your Barbarian skills.

The dust had been kicked up the wind as they walked down the street, the Cimmerian noticed that many of the people of the town shut their doors as the woman walked towards them. They obvisly were afraid of the sorcerer. Ivar had seen no evidence of magic or sorcery except the many idles and items she carried. The statue was wrapped in a fine red cloth, of exception weave.

The house they approached was similar to her other houses didn’t have holes in the roof, what made these ones different. As if to answer his question, Lilania explained “Long ago, the town was Pictish and this was the method of construction, we had no laws to govern our behaviour, my fathers father came her and taught them how to forge bronze. The town grew up around us, the house we are going to is another ancient, he came from the east some thousand years ago. The Picts he lived with are all dead, but his descendants remain. He comes from Lemuria, and you will see why he may betray us soon enough. Don’t be afraid Cimmerian, there are far worse than he in this world.”

All three of them climbed the ladder quickly, Lilania kicked the trap door pounding on it with her boot. Ivar saw that she had a obsidian dagger in her belt carved in strange Stygian symbols. Enlu had a two short stone bronze spear and a shield of cow hide and wood on his back. The trap door was opened and they descended into the house, this one had walls covered in crude paintings of aurox, horses and crocodiles. A fire was burning in a stone hearth. The merchant had five Pictish warriors, their stone spears and hides covered their small broad frames. The Lemurian was strange his yellow skin and long blonde hair and red eyes and tall conical elongated skull gave him a grim appearance. His delicate frame was almost insect like in its movements. He stooped, towering over the Picts though his bones appeared far more delicate, a human of a bygone age. The Cimmerian wondered what things he had seen in his long life, and if he knew that he would meet his fate at the hands of the Canaanite witch. 

“Lilania, I see you have a new guard with you. Did you bring me what I asked for this time, or cheep trinkets?” The Lemurians serpentine tone and soothing voice showed confidence in his position, a mistake because the Cimmerian had already planned to kill the first two Picts, as soon as the signal was given. He was already inching his way subtly forward to swords reach. The sword was on his hip this time.

Lilania revealed the statue, and the Lemurian shrewdly reviewed it, she turned it over in her hands rolling her fingers across it.

“Lilania you have outdone yourself this time, this looks like it may match my specifications however. I must see if it is accepted into the ritual you understand of course.”

She gave a little nod of head, and handed him the statue which he then placed on an alter which had a cloth of a red gold metal. The Cimmerian had never seen such a wonder, how could you make a weave from metal?

He lifted up a strange green bag and affixed a bracelet to his wrist. He spoke magical words and viewed the bracelet light flighted on the bracelet in many colours. A strange voice came out of the bracelet speaking a weird language.

“We have an agreement; the navigator agrees it will serve my purpose. I shall give you 1 ton of black earth from my farms, and the seeds of the future. Plant them and feed the people of Canaan for 10,000 years.”

“We have an agreement Shu, let us drink wine and eat the flesh of birds.”

The two sorcerers drank wine from strange goblets. The Barbarian could see through the walls of the goblet to the liquid within. Never had he seen such a thing. What wonders did these sorcerers have, the strange devices and knowledge.

He had travelled far in all his days, seen the great city of Zar’Grim, Sailed the agean, learned of the existence of many metals including the ancient Atlantean metals of Steel and Orichalcum, but the wonders in that ancient Pictish room he dreamed of for many days.

Choices

The pavement had broken his fall, and his body into countless pieces. What little blood remained in him, seeped out onto that smooth polished black metal surface. With the last of the light entering his brain, he saw the honeycomb of light blue titanium-ceramic alloy holding the steel-ceramic substrate together. When she held him for the last time, with those Ultrachrome arms, he knew she loved him; even though she was mad at him.

He knew that no cops would stop her, no guards judges or juries. They wouldn’t even care, they wouldn’t come down here from their clean blockclave streets. He had been fighting, with her that day over what seemed like a little thing. He knew the savings were going to be used for the procedure for him; implantation of an artificial womb to carry their child for the nine months before birth. He had agreed to the procedure, she had nothing left except the cells in her head, not enough blood to feed the baby as it grew.

Before she replaced her abdomen and internal organs she had saved her eggs, kept them in some cryostore at great expense in case the day may come. She had paid for his dna mapping and original dna reversal culture injections, so that he had perfect human dna again like she did. After that day, he had withered shrinking in size from the freak he was, to the man he was just before the fall. But he was forty percent human flesh. The last of that flesh, was being examined now, by men and women wearing orange filthy overalls with a big black DV logo on the back front.

It was a little thing, but to him he just wanted to try it, he had never had it before and neither had she. It was such a rare thing, and ancient pleasure from halcyon days. He had simulated it before, warm hot liquid bitter taste, sweet if added, creamy texture. But it had always been a disappointment the simulated and even the 1% versions were not the same. It was on his list, it was his right as a human, and they could just save up again for the procedure, time was something they had plenty of.

He remembered feeling excited when the blab kid mumbled the words of where they were selling it, he ran all the way up, up and up across gantries, through ducts, up an elevator, onto a maglev, on a scooter. The trip had cost him twenty credits, he could buy ten synths for that. But he wanted the real thing, the hot joy.  The place was a plaza, from end to end black blue uniformed men an women their mirror shades reflecting the faces of the dirty people waving credit chips or wads of script at them, they would only take Toy Toy script or credit that was the deal. One cup per person, no sharing no take away. 

He waved his chip over the reader four-thousand credits flashed in a microsecond on the screen and he was admitted through the armed group. He sat on a plastic seat, small slightly un-comfortable tempor foam cradling his big butt. The woman approached him, she was small about five feet high, she had a tray with pink and orange strip lighting around the rim, in the center of the tray a ceramic cup, with sun flowers painted on it, being cradled by the saucer, hot steam but not too hot heaved itself off the liquid; he went all out got Capo-Chino Real-Italian, hot frothy milk with a dusting of chocolate one sugar and two shots. He felt alive that day, the real thing; hitting his brain.In the past he had all manner of synth experience but this was real. Grown in green houses on Tharsis by the Starelk Corporation. Milk grown in green houses too in real cows, by Brazilian Hugo's Steak House and Beef.

Not even genetically modified cows; cows they made them from DNA found in the Smithsonian. Pure, real, grown with soil of substrate cultivated from Columbia or Peru. Real, in a world where he could have anything but simple real pleasure. The hot liquid languished on his tongue the fats breaking down being tasted by his enhanced senses. The bitter taste had different components, light acid tastes, some sort of dirt like taste, and something else he didn’t recognized he would find out a word for it later. 

There were different grades of the bitter and acid, different effects of the milk. Real was not homogenic, real was mixed compounds. He could never get this taste from a simulated experience or even drink it from a 1% coffee machine the product Starelk normally sold. Real is real and fake is fake, and he knew he could tell the difference.

After thirty minutes he had finished, the waitress came over. You want some more? Yes he said, she swiped his card, three-thousand long black coming right up. He tasted that all the full flavor no sugar no milk, tasted the subtle acid and bitter. Thirty minutes later she was back, You want some more? I shouldn’t but I will Grande Latte one sugar. four-thousand-five-hundred. Big coffee big glass; hot liquid, different taste different milk, caramel from the sugar, real sugar imported from Australia on ships that are guarded by ninjas. All too short, that half hour was over. You want some more? She was like a pusher but this wasn’t any synthcoke this was real-coffee hot and wholesome grown on Mars at great expense. I got no money left. She handed him a card, Starelk loves its customers, we are the mother to all lovers of coffee. Enjoy this gift, one-thousand cups of 1%, free of charge please carry card at all time in case you feel the NEED for coffee.

When he told her, he was sure her red shiny eyes were growing nano machine produced tear ducts for her, but no tears, just a scream HOW COULD YOU, How could you do that. He mumbled i can be father later. Those strong arms lifted him up over the railing like his one hundred and fifty kilograms of bulk was nothing; he said he loved her and they could save up again, it may take one year or ten depending on the jobs. He was thrown three meters away from the balcony and tumble sixty meters to the pavement. Shattering his metal and silocone and plastic components like shards of glass. 

Clinical

The inhaler wheezed like a dying horse as Ginzsby entered the crowded emergency ward. Freaks, creeps mutants and scum were lined up; waiting to be triaged or bleeding out. The riot had ended with the BG Company agreeing to treat all members of the block ward for free. Berkley Genomics was the biggest heath and genetics corporation in the solar system. They appeared as white knights but underneath, they were sharks taking what they could.

Jeffersons plague was nothing more than a predicted reaction from humans from earth, to the permanent settlement on New Mars. A debilitating disease that wasted the infected and eventually killed them.

The BG Company announced a cure about five days ago, already out of supplies, time and patience the blockers (dwellers of the blocks) had decided to take the cure, that’s where we came in; the Red Dragons. We held positions between the riot and the clinics on levels 310 to 298, a big territory held by a score more gangs. Armed with mono swords, heavy SMGs and occasional RPG we were more than a match for most gangs. Secure in our positions we went around the “job” of extorting, terrorising and running the show until they came and turned most of us into charcoal. Hailing from old Earth, hired goons with hired haircuts; speaking a variety of arcane and forgotten languages like Swedish, German and French none of them speaking Martian street chat.

Armed with lethal weapons like plasma flame throwers, micro missiles, robot wolves and drones. They cut a swath through us all the way to that clinic warehouse. Then those creeps began launching missiles and grenades as if they were children with fireworks for the first 4th of July. The promptly destroyed the supply of Jefferson’s cure, burning the warehouses to the ground.

Like ghosts those black clad mercenaries methodically moved through our turf. Fighting was fierce, we won some they won more; and in the end they got what they came for. That’s why I’m here in the hospital, with my finger in this guy’s belly wound. “Now Hanz, tell me what the fuck you were doing”

Science

Some Important Breakthroughs.

http://www.telegraph.co.uk/health/healthnews/8443740/Scientists-create-human-kidneys-from-stem-cells.html

Recovery Procedure

“He arsed it up!” Shouted Foley at Dank orange and green dreads waiving in the air with the briskness of her statement, coal black wrinkled skin shining with a slippery membrane.

“Customer knew the risks; everyone is told don’t Junk yourself too often or you end up being Junked. We just have to begin recovery procedures; he then has to pay for the alterations again.”

Dank calmly drank dark rum out of an old Blackmore’s coffee cup, his white hair seemed natural and his good looks could either be Junked in or natural. Dank slowly bushed the ash from Foley’s cigarette of his khaki pants and stood up only coming up to the bottom of obsidian giant’s breasts.

“That’s balls, and you know it why don’t we just squirt the shit right in there and alter the main template. That way, we can get them to try stuff and roll back to where they last saved their template.” She waived salami sized hands at Dank, the calm almost dead expression in his eyes told her he was not in the slightest bit intimidated by her.

“That’s a great idea, why haven’t I thought of that being the genius who made the technology you would think I would have. Grow up Foley, and sit down”

Foley slumped in the couch, a hurt expression in her deep red eyes.

“We keep their original code for a very specific reason; a species is defined by its ability to bread with other members of its species. The original code is what allows that to happen; it’s the template for our human species. If we squirt into the templates, people will drift the separation will be almost total within two generations. It’s also been shown that culturally we tend to become conservative every 2nd or 3rd generation, and this swing leads to a great shedding of new thinking and values and a return to grass roots. Such a swing is getting likely now; we have seen the movements of people like the naturals; return of the faiths etc. The truth is your client is going to want to reproduce at some point and to do so we have to assist them as their genetic code is so radically different from that of whomever their partner is that a union could only happen with created material derived from the template.”

Dank began to pace behind his desk and picked up an old pipe, and began sucking on it as if he was some scientist in an old movie.

“Why can’t we have two templates for each client? I mean we could get them to pay for more storage isn’t it all just data?” She shouted still angry that her requests were rejected, and defiant that he had made her sit down.

“There is a component which is just data, however a complete copy of all genetic material is kept on every human world, the cost to replicate that and the time to replicate altered versions is too prohibitive. We physically send the original template to each planet.”

“So what’s the recovery procedure; I have never done one and this client is a VIP” Foley started to get up but then thought better of it.

“VIP, you client is the owner of an advertising company that spans one world. Sure maybe on that world he is rich but he is hardly important. The fact that he is now some sort hard cartilaginous mass sprouting copper hairs, made of real copper I might add and oozing a strange viscous green mucous suggests to me that you have not been recording all alterations, and this is maybe his one hundredth or more. There is a reason we record each alteration and send it back to planetary HQ.”

Dank put the pipe down on the shelf and played with some of the items there. His rumpled shirt made him look like some sort of painter from the impressionist period mixed with a sardonic Jazz musician from the 1970’s. The delusions of reality had faded from his ancient frame replaced by a calm grace that only came with complete understanding of human frailty.

“He will have to be reverted to this point here, just when he got his gills, new liver and mucous and he will have to stay that way.” Risking anything else will mean that we would lose his mind; his genes can be Junked to that point but no further.

“That’s like only thirty procedures, he will be ruined everyone will call him norm. That’s fashion from five years ago when water sports were in.”

Dank swept his hair back and calmly sat at his desk he punched in a few key strokes on his ancient computer. “That’s all I can do for him. Genetics is not fashion, it’s who we are it’s a fundamental.”

He gazed at the giant sitting on his couch, his clear grey eyes studying the upgrades she had, maybe close to fifty Junking sessions.

“Foley, you do another unlisted procedure ill strip you of all your upgrades. Now please leave my office and get this paper work done, he is likely to die in a few days if we don’t recover.”

Election time, lets not go back to the past lets go back to the future

Back to the Future; where we are going we don't need pants.

In ref to; http://andiamnotlying.com/2008/pants-where-were-going-we-dont-need-pants/

Tenuous at best.

My good mate GAK posted a tweet showing a snap of an awesome Delorean and that got me to thinking. We know the 80's is back in many ways most in pop culture (monocles like me think those people missed out by skipping right to PMoD). What about the things that really made the 80's awesome. I'm talking cold-war and nuclear Armageddon, is that why my generation spends so much time playing games in imaginary worlds and striving for imaginary things or is that simply because we internalized the awesomeness of the 80's and want to acquire virtual awesome things. Back to the Future had this awesome car, the Delorean a car which now represents what all manufactured goods should be, sort of work, last forever and epic vision. In Back to the Future, they have to fix the fuck-ups in the timeline; maybe there are points when things could go one way or the other. I thought Keven 07 was one such point; how disappointed I am in his colleagues.

History repeats, much like onions and history is multi layered too much like onions. Nothing happens without cause, even in our tiny backwater nation of Australia we get to make history.

This is the first election, where I as a voter feel there is no choice or option. So what happens out of this election, should either be the beginning of a new order or the final testing of the 2 party system.

A bold statement indeed, so what does that mean?

1: Monocle wearing Tony you know what you are getting. I would vote for libs if the leader were Malcolm Turnbul. I still may do, I'm finding it hard to engage though not for lack of information; however the consequences will never be the same. I don't know if it will be bad or not.

2: Labour party is as bad as a Labour party can get, and really showed that a lepard cannot change its spots regardless of how much RNA recombination it goes through. This assassination is the very core of their party. They did it before, and will do it again. With fear of your position how can you get anything done.

3: Greens have a good leader, however the groundswell doesn't appear to be there or is it? People who I never thought would vote green are. I think that this could be the year for them, they have some good people not just Bob Brown.

I think that the Nationals, should do a deal with the Greens somehow; hell bring the libs along for the ride if they could.

It could work, I would love to see the weird wrannger child of Barnaby and Brown and Joe. National policies that involve the national interest. One reason I don't like politicians is because they have huge egos and don't really understand anything other than politics. I understand that governance and transparency are important, but that gets you nowhere if you have no big idea.

What is the big idea of this election, please tell me because I don't want to go backwards.

USD

Its been awhile since I have posted anything, but this is an interesting article. In summary a UN report states that US dollar is an increasingly unstable currency and should be replaced by something else. The article has some scary stats for 2050.

Take a read

http://edition.cnn.com/2010/BUSINESS/06/29/un.report.dollar/index.html?eref=igoogle_cnn&fbid=s4G0x9U7lWy