The Front Lines

What word is there that can convey the weight of age carried by The Finders?  To call them old was to call the sun hot or space big.  Their design was First Epoch, as old as old gets.  Their job was not completely understood past the moniker now attached to them.  The Finders were self repairing and would probably run until the sun died, but they were so very old.  It whined and screamed when accelerating and shook and vibrated like a crazed baby rattle when idling. Karran heard it coming, from at least 5 miles away more or less.
And then she ran. Karran ran as only a mother could, a mother who knew if she didn't run like the wind she would lose her child. The girl she was the summer before she had Basil could not have caught her, no one could have.  Across the tilled field and through the barn toward the small house her husband, Basil, and now four year old Tomma shared.  She ran so fast and yelled so loud, but Balin did not hear  and she was just too far. "Tomma!! Tomma!! Not my baby!!"

Basil did hear though.  He had been on the hill above the farmhouse working the orchard.  He had heard then seen The Finder from very far away and came to the same conclusion as his mother.  Tomma.  The Finder was going to take smart, bright, happy little Tomma away and make him a Sheriff and all that was warm and human in Tomma would be gone.  Forever.

Basil was running to the house before the thought was even half formed.  He beat The Finder by less than a minute, waking and scaring his poor Da as he crashed through the front door.  "Tomma ... hurry ..."  he gasped out.  And again, as was the bent of the Ghials clan for generations, Balin was moving toward his son and danger with no thought for himself.

Up the stairs, the father and the eight year old son scrambled hearing the window and bedroom door shatter followed by Tomma's scream.  "No ... not my Tomma", Balin breathed saving the energy for the stairs.  The upper floor was full of noise, some from Tomma but most from the idling Finder.  "No time, not enough..."

He kicked open the door and Basil fell through just after, father to the right and son to the left.  In tableu The Finder was backlit by the setting sun shining in the room through the huge hole made by the machine's passage.  It hovered next to the baby's bed.  It was already glowing slightly as was Tomma.  And a new noise, subsonic, more felt than heard had just started.  "Keep out of the transfer zone, transfer in process" was being repeated, tinny and inhuman by the mechanoid from it's front mounted speaker.

"No!!!!!!" both man and boy yelled as they leaped, crashing to the floor.  The Finder, bed and child were gone.  Karran found her husband and first born a few seconds later, in the empty room.   A golden red glow lighting the scene as her two men sobbed their loss for her boy.  Her Tomma.

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Hours alone with Ares, Tomma had mastered the machine in his hand.  He could beak down, clean, reassemble and fire the weapon seconds.  It was large for a ten year old but he knew he would grow into it he had been told, and his teachers had all been proven correct, so far.  But this was new.  There were ten Deputies in the yard.  The oldest was not yet past 13 and Mobyus who at nine, but brilliant, was always the youngest of the Deputies.  They had been lead here by each child's private instructor.  Tomma and Mobyus had gravitated toward each other, as always when walls or fences did not separate them.

"Ares what is this?" Tomma asked just as Mobi turned to Mars and said "Is this lesson or test?"  Neither man/machine spoke as they left.  The two youngest Deputies glanced and one another and checked that their shooters would clear leather if necessary.  Quite unconsciously they turned slightly to stand back to back as they both scanned the training yard.  "Test, I would surmise", the little killer said with grin in his voice.  "Ensure you pass", Tomma stated with no grin at all.  "You have my back after all."

"Wrong again, you have mine", Mobi grunted not for the first or, as it turned out, last time while drawing his pistol and firing.  The sound made by his and Tomma's gun were as if one shot was made.  Two flying mechaniod trainers exploded simultaneously.  Eight other pistols appeared in eight other tiny hands.  Somewhere, Tomma still felt uneasy he could not determine from what direction, Odin's voice spoke.  "First blood ... tie Tomma and Mobyus".  "My name first, again", whispered Tomma.  "All that ass kissing does pay off", smiled Mobyus.

Chaos reigned for the next 45 minutes as wave after wave of ground and air attackers flowed toward boys.   But if viewed in slow motion patterns can be discerned.  The Deputies never actually spoke, grunts and whistles sometimes a snort could be heard.  These were more to inform the others of locations or acknowledging  the starting or stooping of trained maneuvers.  Rotating shooters out to keep everyone fresh and sharp.  The end of the test seemed as loud as the start, even though there was no noise.  The sudden silence seemed like thunder.

"1300 air units killed, 2300 ground units killed.  Four casualties sustained by the Deputies.  One critical, one serious, two fatal.  Mobyus 643 kills, Tomma 620 kills, Jerich 336 kills, Jarich 334, Spenser 318 kills, Laurish 299 kills, Mattok 284 kills, Kev 277 kills, Bruuch 264 kills, and Manfole 225 kills", Odin droned.  "Jarich should return in a week, a boon of 25 for continuing to return fire after sustaining a serious shoulder injury. Laurish sustained a head injuries we will know in the next few hours her prognosis, a boon of 45 for continuing to return fire after sustaining two wounds and attempting to lend assistance to Bruuch before being disabled.  Bruuch and Manfole are dead, services will be in three days, full payment to both Deputies families has been transmitted.  May God take them into his embrace."  After a moment of programmed silence the voice continued.  "Boon of 100 to both Mobyus and Tomma for first blood, boon of 250 for Mobyus for most kills and 150 for Tomma for second and 50 for Jerich for third.  Additionally an extra boon of 1000", all the boys looked around during the pause, never had a boon of that size been awarded.  "To Tomma.  Tomma front."  Tomma moved slightly forward of the group, there being no Odin visible and no 'forward' being obvious.

In the distance Tomma could see the transports moving the wounded and dead toward the medical facilities.  "Tomma, how many shots did you fire?". "Approximatly 650 shots, Odin", Tomma answered quickly.  "Can you be more specific, Tomma?", the uncanny eerily calm voice asked.  "Yes, Odin.  I fired exactly 634 shots during the exam."  "So Tomma, are you telling me you fired 634 shots killing 630 enemy and missing 4 shots?", Odin asked with a tone that might have sounded like humor if Tomma had not been sure Odin was a machine.  "No Odin, I did not miss 4 times, someone, I believe it was Jerich or Spenser from the angle, score the kill prior to my shot reaching the enemy."

There was an obvious difference to the silence, stunned may have described it if the Deputies had not been trained to not succumb to such a human response.  "Our interpretation of the exam concur.  Tomma is the first Deputy to score a perfect on a full contact exam.  Ever.  With the points and boon scored today Tomma has been promoted to Cop and will be moved to the Cop barracks immediately after debrief and midday meal are completed.  Congratulations Tomma, you are the youngest Cop the Academy has seen in 1500 years."

Poleaxed is a word rarely heard these days, but a better description for the group of 6 boys could not be found.  The survivors gathered around Tomma, offering quiet but heartfelt congratulations.  All the while their hands were busy reloading and readying there handguns with the same amount of effort a normal person would use to move a lock of hair from in front of their eyes.  The last person to take Tomma's hand was Mobi.  "I'll break that record with the year", he smiled at Tomma.  Tomma did something with his face that Mobi would forever label "an unsmile" and stated "You may, you may not, but I will always be first and you my second.  I will always have your back, you best have mine".

They turned from the field and started for the conference room and mess areas.  Odin spoke from everywhere one last time that day.  "Tomma Ghials, you won't be the first or even the hundredth or thousandth Cop to score a perfect.  You will need to again and possibly more than once more in order to become a Sheriff."  Tomma unsmiled again and continued to the debriefing with Mobyus chuckling along, close enough to touch but giving both boys room to clear their guns should the need arise.

Time

A good friend of mine lost his father yesterday.  He lived to 87, that's 17 years longer than my father who will turn 70 this Friday.  I started thinking about what my father (and I) will see in these next 17 years.  My youngest niece will be in her mid-twenties and possibly a mom by then.  My dad could be a great granddad many times over by then.  So much to see and do, so much to miss if it all ended now.  I wasn't sure if I was feeling glad for my friend that his dad had that long a life (a sentiment shared with my by him) or sad for the rest of us that we might not have that time.  Then I was struck by Nich.  He hit me right in the forehead with his little fist and then laughed at me.  So little time he was given yet such an impact he had, and more importantly, I believe what he missed leaving us so early he more than made up for with love.  He gave as good as he got and boy did he get.  My mother and father, my niece, and my sister Loretta force fed him love 24/7 and they got to immerse themselves in his little world of strength, love, and happiness.  I admit that for some years now I have spent much too much time dwelling on morality.  What have I done, who have I touched?  What will I do with the time left me?  Things are changing, some things are ending, I am trying very hard to focus on those things that are, or maybe, starting.  Thank you Nich for sharing your hope with me, thanks dad for doing the same.  I hope that when all is said and done I will not have left you down, more I hope I will not have left me down.  Thanks for listening ....After a poke I need to apologize, this was written stream of consciousness like.  I know that all my family and friends, nurses, doctors, other patients most I have never met and will always be grateful for.  Your love, prayers, and help have affected and will continue to affect not only Nich and Rhett's lives but all those lives that Nich and Rhett have connected with ...

Dungeons and Dragons and Drugs

He wasn't even sure how to get home.  He had road with Joe, not a very close friend, and Eddie, who had invited him was half passed out half mid-coitus with an equal hammered (and equally unattractive) coed.
"Roll!!!" a very annoying but persistent voice shrilled.  
"At me?", Paul thought,  "Yes you twit!!" Shrilly shrilled again.  "Must have said it out loud."Paul stated out loud and then shouted, "I attack with my mace!"
"And what mace is that .... you ..... "
"Twit ?" Paul asked.
Elrichie Half-elven was a  fighter/mage 9th level and had been Paul's favorite character since he got to Penn State.  And he did not indeed have a mace.  No reason for the supercilious Brit DM to talk to him that way though.  Jeez you'd think he was trying to heal someone or something.
Not for the first time,  but very close to the last, Paul thought there was too much smoke, there aren't enough of us getting high in this very big room for all this smoke.
"I'll use my sword and charge the center of the group, cover my flanks you assholes!!!" he yells as he drops his D-20.
"I am in need of a new word, I have worn "twit" right out"  DM Dave from Devonshire mumbles very loudly.
"Asswipe!" "Cheech and/or Chong!" "Dude who stole my mace?!?!" were happily added to the DM jibe.  But seeing as Paul's cleric, thief, and fighter were all at least as stoned as he was he let it slide.
"Could you at least roll for the hit first before check damage?"
Paul was about to snark back a cheerful "Sure!!" when two rather odd things happened almost at the exact same instance.  First the D-20 he had just picked up started to stretch and grow larger and heavier with a very nasty edge on one side.  The second thing was the blade of a very sharp war axe attached to a equally pissed off mountain dwarf completely atomized the gaming table team Pb Balloon was quickly scrabbling back from.
Parrying the next swing of the axe with his brandy new bastard sword all Paul could coherently think was "Yep, too much smoke".


Just watch the D&D episode from Community....

RANT 28Jan2008

I was angry yesterday, and I'm sure I'll be angry again ... and soon.   I was really in a twist yesterday about a bunch of things and made the decision to wait until I could do my mad-on some real justice.  Rage Against the Machine has just finished yelling in my ear and I begin:

Here's the thing, I hate the way some people use emotional scars as excuses to be shit hooks.  See here's what scars are.  You are looking in the mirror or you're at the beach or on the table getting a deep tissue Inquisition and you or a passerby notices a scar on your otherwise pristine epidermis and you/they comment " How did that happen?" causing a flood of emotions and memories.  You recall the event and the lesson it taught, when it was still a bleeding wound is, reinforced ... forever.  A scar is not something that is still bleeding and you don't spend a major part of your day pointing out scars to family and friend, telling them how this is why you're allowed to be the way you are and that they were the ones who gave them to you any way.

If your find a love who wants to help you grow, see you reach your true potential or any other sly way of saying you're not quite right ... yet, they are not your love but their own.
If you need to be fixed you do it, you know what's wrong.
If you like you, if you're alright then tell them to fuck off and you go find someone else.  Someone with eyes for you, not the clay you represent for them.  You are not a work in process to anyone but you and your god - if you have one.

Whew!!!! I feel a little better now. Rush is talking about a red sports car now and I am feeling much more mellow.  Life is hard, so live hard.

In the men's room 16Jan2008

So bash away bash away all, I have been writing and throwing away what I write for years.  Recently I have started sharing some of my stuff - with my niece and occasionally my friend Clay.  I am going to start using this page to write ... whatever comes to mind - characters, dialog, scene sketches, whatever sticks to the page after leaping from my brain.  With that here goes 1:



I was just sitting there pissed I didn't have a book, I hate wasting time.  You realize how many novels you can finish in one life time on the can?  He kicked the door almost off the hinge on the first try.  Public restroom stalls just aren't made to take that kind of punishment.
The only reason I am telling this story as opposed to crapus interuptus is he paused.  Gun in hand and me with my pants around my ankles and he wants to watch my expression.  Too bad,  I was already moving.
This was the third time someone had tried to off me in a men's room.  First time he slipped; never wear Italian shoes when killing someone on wet tile.  The second one pulled a gun on me while I was using the urinal.  I turned and peed on his shoes, the moron dropped his gun when he jumped back.  Too bad, it was a nice Armani - they'd never get the pee or blood stains out of that one. 
As I was saying, he was smirking and watching for me to shit myself and I was already trying to put hand around his spine through his chest.  Guess who shit whose pants?  Well I really wasn't wearing mine but you get the picture.

This little snippet jumped into my head when I was ... well.  I don't know if I'll ever add to or finish this but here's a peak into me, your first probably.  And it started in a men's room ……. now that's funny.  Later PC

first entry from my myspace blog 12Jan2008

My first blog entry ever, how terrifying.  I found it a little difficult from the very beginning just choosing the category, since I have no idea what I'm going to write and may tangent without waring.  Seat belts are recommended but not required.  I spent the last hour or so finally editing my profile and had a few interesting moments.  First being a terminal eclectic anytime I am asked what is my favorite ... anything? causes me to pause then to try and be cute.  I have read every possible genre and found stuff I love and totally hate.  I have listened to all music - remember a 25 and 21 year old son - and again have found individual songs on either end of the spectrum.  Sometimes I have been surprised by what can turn me on, M&M for instance.  It wouldn't take much for me to try to push his face out the back of his head but some of his work has got to me.  I recommend (this is assuming anyone but yours truly reads this) to be open in all things.  This leads - in my mind anyway - to my politics and religion.  A catholic republican.  Wait, didn't the short drunk Irishman just say to be open to all things?  Why yes dear reader I did and that thought does not contradict at all with my beliefs.  No matter what other republicans and Catholics tell you.  Jesus was one of the first radicals I ever was taught about, a true tree shaker.  And I personally believe that the republican ideals are more in keeping with what this country was founded on, and if you don't believe that American is the port of call of new ideas, then you haven't really studied our history.  I am going to bring this to a close for tonight and hope for some feed back, but either way I will continue .... I'm just that way.
PC

test fantasy

All the typing in CAPS are fillers, I don't have names for everyone or everything yet.  All comments welcome.

   

    The scream was impressive, or so THE KING thought with a smile.  "They will be strong sons, if they are giving THE QUEEN this much of a fight," he chuckled to his chancellor. 

    "I have never been comfortable with the birthing process your majesty.  If you please, may we complete the reports so I may retire from this place?", the chancellor stated from behind his scented hanky. 

    The maternity ward was adjacent to the main infirmary of Castle XXX.  It was located 3 levels below the main court yard for added security, but this adds to the dreariness.  While cleaned with a zeal that bordered on mania, the darkness and damp walls were depressing on those recovering from their battle wounds.  It was the queen herself who brought the idea to the king to relocate the ward so near the fighting men.  The reaction from the soldiers was immediate and was amazing.  New life so close to near death reaffirmed and for many revitalized. 

    "Continue then", THE KING commanded. 

    "The WITCHES continue to cause much damage among the villages and the farms not within the protection of your majesty's family.  Your generals are in agreement that if our forces were spread so thin this exercise by the enemy would have been over weeks ago."   

    "Your tone, you believe my generals are making excuses?" the king quipped.  "I agree with you", he continued.  "The royal family is a potent weapon against these magic users, since those powers affect us not.  But we have other weapons and these must be better utilized." 

    "Yes your majesty, however there is no doubt that you are missed on the front.  You nullify their powers for hundreds of yards, and the queen almost as much."  With a sigh the king acknowledged the truth of this.  THE KING and THE QUEEN were the two strongest bloodlines on the continent and the bane to THE WITCHES. 

    A quiet voice called, "Its time sire."  The king eagerly rose and stalked into the ward with a huge grin greeting his worn wife. "My lady how fair you?" he asks taking a damp rag to her forehead. "Let me take this bottom lip and pull it back to your ass and you would know, you beast!!" Her tone was harsh but she matched his smile, even if a bit strained.  The midwives where gathered round and the head nurse stated the baby was crowning. It appeared that THE QUEEN was about to comment, mayhap to comment on the future heir already crowned when a great scream rent the hospital. 

    At the same moment a huge flash of energy that the king vaguely recognized as magic knocked the occupants of the room flat, including, to his immense surprise, the king. 

    Moments ago and far closer than imagination could grasp, in another hospital...

    THE MAGE leapt from his horse before it had completely stopped.  He disappeared into the maternity ward while the grooms were still trying to calm the foaming beast.  "My Lady!  I am here just as I promised."  Calmly THE WITCH looked up from the bed.  Her eyes the only indication of the energies she was expending to block the labor pains, she indicated he should sit beside her.

    "These beasts must breed like rabbits.  No matter how many we kill they come back with more and more.  And their weapons and tactics improve every year."  He lay his head on her chest and she stroked his hair, still jet black tied back in a long tail.  "We hold the forest with will alone; I do hope you will be able to aid in the defenses after the twins are here. Your power is sorely missed" 

    "I will do what I can of course my love, with the boys in my arms if need be."  She looked at his profile seeing both the boy she fell in love with so long ago and the reluctant ruler who was starting to show the strain of both the crown and the war. 

    "What?" he asked noting her stare.  "My love for you is as strong as the earth and as deep as the sea, you have made me the happiest..."

    Her cry shocked all in the room, there was no pain among the TALENTED during childbirth, not  when the will alone could vaporize a castle wall.  All the nurses and the even the guards were blood relatives, all magic users, and all were about to experience something never before recorded in their history.

    Spontaneously a visible surge of magical energy was pulled from everyone within 20 paces of the suddenly shrieking mother to be.  The nimbus clouds of power flew toward the bed and struck THE WITCH.  She immediately arched off the bed and stopped her crying.  Collapsing she gasped," The children!?" 

    The crone who had birthed both the woman lying before her and her mother before that, stared in disbelief.    

    And across a chasm too narrow to measure yet impossible to bridge, both parents were faced with the same impossibility, they were parents of one healthy boy.  Of the twin there was no sign. 

    And so two brothers were born.

#1 - free write

I'll be starting some pages with characters and story lines I have been working (letting sit unfinished) for many years.  I need to see where this goes and not just imagine the success and pride that would accompany an actual book (or even short story).

In the moment before everything ended I recall have a moment of crystal clarity.  Everything was just .... perfect?  That's not it.  The scene wasn't frozen or even in slow motion, I remember seeing .... seeing .... well everything.  Maybe it was more like an impression, something felt but was translated to be through my eyes.  A feeling of perfection.  Or maybe completion.  Then everything (I keep using that word don't I?) went to hell.

Later it was speculated, and that is all we really have to go on, the forces we had bottled up in the river valley must have had a nuke.  No release order was ever verified by the Pentagon, and even though the readings taken by our NBC guys were consistent with a US nuke there had been enough decades of mismanagement of materials and classified information the riffs could have had one of ours or used our own designs.  Or .... well confusion was the only thing raining in that valley for the whole 8 months I was there, and it was torrential at times.  We could have nuke ourselves.  Who really cars now?  Three countries deployed WMDs before order could be restored, and by order I me we kicked the ever loving shit out of North Korea and Pakistan until they stopped and Israel ran out pretty quick.  They only had a few but they worked really well, even though a couple of them did stray into Iran and Saudi Arabia.

 I was about 10 klicks from ground zero and actually had all my men and all my equipment.  And, it had to be luck, our electronics were shielded.

Heros

I'm sure I was asked and fairly sure what I answered, only because I have had my own sons and not because I actually remember the occasion.

  "Who is your hero?" is an essay most young men have had to write and most answer, as young men will, with quarterbacks and pitchers and movie stars or the occasional fireman or cop thrown in for good measure.   Younger boys, especially the very young and small, would have no difficulty answering with "dad" or "father". Most young men don't have the courage to stand in front of their piers and speak a truth like that.  You can see it in their eyes when dad's car pulls into the driveway and the way they run to the door to tell pop of the new friend they made or the new scar on their elbow.  Dads, when you're that boy's age, can do anything and everything.  They drive cars and have money and know all the words to all the songs on the radio (at least they believe they do)  they know how high is up and why the sky gets bright for just a little while after the sun goes down.  They even know why the boockalama (sp?) is so angry!!!  But we get older and teachers tell us about science and friends laugh at the way we sing the words all wrong and we come to understand that dads can be wrong and sometimes they even lie (except at the movie theaters, that's usually where mom tells the lies).

And as young men become less young dad becomes lame, maybe only with your friends or on essays but these young men they do start paying attention and the rose colored glasses become lost and the big S fades from too many washings.  As teenagers experience the amazing changes that take place with their voices and hair everywhere and acne too, a teen's brain becomes this amazing new machine that knows everything, hears nothing , remembers less and respects very little.  And then dad becomes the enemy.  He is overly protective and doesn't understand you, your clothes, your friends, your music.  He doesn't know anything about the important things you're really interested in like girls and .... umm.... well girls.  He wont let you do anything and the only thing shorter than your temper appears to be dad's fuse,  and what the heck is he pissed for, he's not keeping you from going to the movies, concert, kegger umm study session?  

Then you leave and the world is harder and more unforgiving than anyone ever told you .... except maybe your dad.  

My dad had me when he was 22 and my mom was 20.  My sister and brother followed pretty quick with the youngest (my sweet sister #2) coming some years later.  He did good if you ask me.  He stayed married, he raised 4 kids, we all graduated high school and didn't end up in jail (for any real significant length of time),  we all have lives and friends and loved ones.  We are happy (at times) and truly love our parents.  He's gone through several different cycles, moving cause we could, moving cause we had to, moving cause we wanted to find our place.  He was a carpet installer who ran his own business and then had that path blocked, he became a teamster and at an age when most men have moved through their profession to the paper pushing management side my dad had to start over loading trucks ( in northeastern PA for Christ's sake ... can you say "Freakin' brrrrr"?),  he then learned to drive those big rigs, survived that and finally retired.  

I knew what was going on back then, but I have been doing it myself  now for some time  and I now believe I can see what my father did and who my father is through the right lens.  A glass polished and ground with my own experiences, losses, pains, loves, failures, happiness, sorrows, pride, and accomplishments.  Focused with the stiffness of joints and soreness of muscles and dimming of vision that gets the mind thinking "whats next?" and "how have I done so far?".  

My dad is a good man and is a good dad.  There is a lot about my dad I don't know, like how much he actually knows about women (I am sure he knows about what I know about wives - not a lot).  He, by all accounts I have seen and heard, is a very good granddad.  I love him and wish he could live with us for another 70 years.  There are quite a few things my dad never taught me, and quite a few things that my dad taught me and I forgot, and even more things my dad taught me that I never gave him credit for.  Here are a few things my dad can take credit for teaching me; be honest with yourself (be principled enough to feel bad if you're not honest with everyone else - even if you don't get caught), believe in yourself (because I believe in you), pick something anything and be the best you can be at it, you can do anything, stop kicking yourself (others will not so give yourself a break), love your family and friends.  You have told me you are proud of me and I have come to believe it, I promise some day I'll be as proud of me as you are (give me a little time ... like you've had).

Is this always the way it is? That when you finally truly like your old man, you look in the mirror and realize its probably because you're one too?

I love you .... you are the best dad I ever had. And my #1 hero (right behind Spider-man and The Flea).