Science Fiction: Welcome to my Worlds

entire cliff. “Scanner,” muttered Daren. “What could they be looking for?”

The ship was only a speck in the distance and he thought they were leaving. Then it grew rapidly larger until it hovered over the cliff dwelling. Daren could see everyone had gone inside after the first pass.

“No!” This beam was high violet and barely visible. The mark of an energy weapon. The ship held position with the beam on for barely a minute then flew on. The rock beneath it sagged and ran molten. It cooled to mere red-heat as they watched in horror.

“Gone. They’re all gone,” Daren whispered. He felt dead inside. His face should be streaming with tears for all the loved ones he’d lost. That he’d never even gotten to say goodbye to. But right now he felt frozen like the land around him.

Belatedly he hugged Cesily to him trying to give her warmth and hope and, perhaps, get some for himself.

“We should search. There might be survivors.” She looked up into his face as if hoping to find something there.

“There is no one. I could feel them snuffed out in an instant like Mayday candles.”

“Why would someone do this? First my family, now yours. They just, just exterminated them, like bugs.”

She was crying again into his shoulder and Darin knew he should be too. The cold anger squeezed his heart like an extension of this frozen planet. He had no idea why they’d done it, but he knew they would pay.

Darin had always liked Cesily and she looked so miserable and lonely that he wanted nothing more than to hug her close and tell her that everything would be all right. But he knew it wouldn’t. In the tests he’d been given he’d always scored at the bottom in precognition but right now something was screaming in his brain that they had maybe a fractional chance to live through the next ten minutes. He grabbed Cesily’s arm and dragged her under a natural stone arch where there was a fallen stone slab miraculously clear of ice. “Put them on now!” It came out too harsh and she gave him a hurt look. He would have to explain later.

The skates were too small but he strapped them on tight to his boots and waited impatiently while Cesily fumbled with hers. Skating in a grav-and-a-half on uneven ground was the height of stupidity, even if you were born here. Take a spill and the damage could be severe. But he’d been a kid once too and you had to do something for entertainment on Targus.

A screeching roar split the air overhead, and in its wake Darin could hear a faint challenging roar from the hill cat along with the ringing in his ears. Glinting golden in the setting rays of the sun, a squat starship flew over the arch toward the Cliffside dwelling of his family. A faintly green beam fanned out covering the

Cesily shrugged. “Either several barrels of it got accidentally spilled when a caravan went through or…”

“What?”

“Someone put it there deliberately to slow down travelers.”

“Hmm.” Darin didn’t care much for that idea. They’d have been completely helpless if an attack had come while they were occupied there. He couldn’t help casting a few extra glances over his shoulder. There was nothing to see or hear, but his half-trained psi sense told him there was something coming. Something he didn’t want to meet.

“Cesily we need to hurry and get there. I can feel it.” Darin could plainly see the cliffside where his family home had been carved even though he knew they were still more than a kilometer away. Tiny dots out in front were some kids playing and adults soaking up the sun as best they could. He certainly knew from experience that you couldn’t spend all your time in a cave. If only he could just teleport them there. Some of the masters at the school could do it but he was nowhere near that level of proficiency.

Cesily pulled two pairs of skates from her pack and handed one set to him. “I was going to give those to my brother for his birthday.” She looked like she was going to start crying again.

“Dead?” Darin felt a twinge from his newly sharpened senses. He’d known that he needed to get home, but he still wasn’t good enough to get a clear why. “How can they all be dead? Your cousins and uncles and others too?” She nodded miserably, tears leaking from closed eyes. “Who killed them Cesily?”

“Outworlders I think. Rumor has it there’s something here they want.”

“On Targus?” Darin would have laughed if Cesily wasn’t hurting so much. Everyone knew there were no gems or precious metals here. Targus was a dense world so there had been a lot of speculation, when it was settled, about the possibility of heavy metals. Nothing was ever found but rock and snow and ice. He looked across the chasm to the glazed hills beyond. Lots and lots of ice.
Darin wanted to ask her more questions about what happened to her family but his psi sense was telling him to get moving. “You’re coming home with me,” he decided.
“Thanks,” she said, the quiver in her voice tearing at him. “That’s where I was headed. I was hoping they’d take me in. I have nowhere else to go.”
They stepped very carefully through the oily spot on the path and managed to get by it without any further mishap. “What do you think the story is on the oil?”

slivers of ice that curled around it’s legs but Darin could see it wasn’t going to be enough. It was going over the edge. Cesily screamed and Darin grabbed for the cat’s heavy tail as it whipped by and thumped him in the stomach, nearly knocking the breath out. Now he was being dragged along sliding behind the hill cat. He knew he should have gotten his old boots restudded.

Darin grabbed the climbing pick from his pocket and swung it as hard as he could into the ice under his feet. He felt a muscle tear in his arm as the pick dragged out a foot-long furrow, then they were stopped. The cat’s front paws dangled helpless over the edge. Cessily grabbed it’s tail too and together they managed to pull it back to firm footing. Darin could tell it was not a happy cat, but its rough tongue gave each of them a lick of thanks.

Cesily dropped to her knees, wrapped her arms around the cat’s neck and began to sob uncontrollably.

“Easy, easy. He’s okay. We’re okay. Everything’s—okay—now,” he finished a little lamely. Then Darin winced as his arm reminded him that not quite everything was as normal.

“You don’t understand Darin. Purz is all I have left. They killed my family. Everyone is dead.” A tear dripped from her cheek landing on silver fur. The big cat gave her another lick.

confident and even ready to commit deadly actions on someone she considered a stranger and a threat. What had been happening here? “Cesily, it’s me, Darin. Don’t you remember me?”

She backtracked, crossing the chasm on the bridge connecting it’s narrowest points, and came toward him with her weapon still pointing in his general direction. As she got closer, he could see the puzzled look on her face. “I don’t know any Darin. Not since…” Then her face cleared. “Darin Salorin? I remember you always talked to me when my family visited. But you’ve been gone for, for, years!”

“Only two years,” Darin protested. “I’ve been learning things. Amazing things.” He moved toward her then, but a warning snarl from above reminded him that the hill cat was still watching. To demonstrate his education for Cesily, he pocketed the needler and sent soothing waves of warmth and assurance reaching out to the big cat.

“ROWWWH!” Spitting its displeasure, it leaped from the ledge above, a silver streak arching toward him in midair.

“No Purz! Don’t hurt him. He’s a friend.”

The big cat landed ten feet from him on the ledge, nearly in the middle of the oily spot. Surprise let its momentum carry it toward the edge and spin the cat around twice before it’s claws came out. They scraped off great

his nose, sniffing. It smelled like grill cakes. No, like the oil his mother cooked them with. Why would cooking oil be on the path?

Above him something coughed. Or growled. Darin looked up and found himself staring into the violet eyes of the biggest hill cat he’d ever seen. Reflex brought his hand out of his pocket with a needler at ready. This was crazy. What was a hill cat doing here at this time of year?

“Shoot him and I’ll drop you like a cheese-stealing rat.”

Startled, Darin almost dropped the needler, catching it with the tips of his fingers. The voice came from across the chasm sounding like it meant business. It also sounded oddly familiar. “I’m not going to let it eat me.”

“Purz won’t hurt you. Unless I tell him to, of course.”

Darin squinted at the bundled up figure across the chasm, sure he’d seem him before somewhere. No, wait, it wasn’t a him at all. What was he thinking. All that training should be of some use. Carefully, he let his mind open a bit and began to pick up impressions of the other. Familiar, and definitely female, though not as he remembered. “Cesily? Is that you?”

Two years ago she’d been a shy adolescent, barely able to speak in the company of adults. Now she seemed assured,

Cold Comfort

by Don

Chapter One

What a homecoming this was. Darin groaned, reaching for his head. The ice-covered shelf of rock he lay on was smeared with a reddish stain from the blood seeping out of his scalp. He couldn’t be that out of shape; he’d only been away for two years training in the Psi program. The grav-and-a-half of Targus clutched at his body and dragged him to it’s surface as though he were an immigrant outworlder just stepping on the planet.

Darin levered an elbow under him and started to get up from the icy surface, pulling the parka hood back over his head. Better he bloody it than freeze his face. “Uuuh!” His foot slipped and dropped his butt back to the ice with a painful thump. Even short falls were no joke on Targus and a chasm yawned to his right. Getting clumsy, he thought, then he noticed a liquid sheen on the ice. It was all around him on the ledge, like a big water spill, but he knew it couldn’t be water. It was mid-Spring on Targus but the temperature was still thirty degrees below freezing. He dipped a gloved finger in the liquid and brought it to

table, then his gaze calmly swept the room. Her eyes widened in shock. “These worthless texts were taken from a Roman galleon. You will return them. Now.”

The sharp steel piercing her arm hurt terribly, but it was as nothing compared to the Vision imposed by contact with the soldiers’ knife. In a distant time, she saw the soldier laughing as the library burned. But overlaying that, she saw herself married to this hard-eyed oaf before the moon changed phase.

do the same—preferably on documents dealing with magic and the arcane, but nearly any subject would be of some interest. Patiently, she waited for Tellus to notice her.

“Yes, what is it boy?”

“Diokles sent me to help with the translations sir.”

Tellus raised his bushy brows. “You are familiar with Sumerian?”

“Yes sir.” She might be only nineteen but she had no doubt her gift with language would soon put her far ahead of most of those here.

Tellus gaze swept the pile available, pulled out one of the smaller volumes and handed it to her. A quick glance showed her it was a book of children’s stories. Certainly not what she would have chosen, but it was a place to start. She settled into an empty desk by the doorway and began immediately writing the Greek version into a blank codex that had been provided. Intermediate notes would not be required for this. She settled into a routine of the translation and could not keep the smile from her face. She was home.

She was so deeply engrossed in transforming the Sumerian tales to her native Greek that she didn’t hear the heavy footfalls in the corridor until it was too late. A Roman soldier entered the room, his arms bigger around than her thighs and his eyes cold and contemptuous. He pulled a dagger from his belt and drove it through Calixta’s arm, pinning her to the

like and none of those she had seen so far looked likely.
By now she must be far outside the walls of the Library building above. Down another corridor, she saw workers removing dirt and stone, hauling it up to the street above in baskets attached to a long rope. Moles building a maze of muddled meandering, she marveled.

She slowed as the corridor ahead became dark. One of the torches placed at regular intervals had gone out and no one had, as yet, come to replace it. She picked up her pace and stayed to the center, not liking the feel of that section at all. Great Athena, she had watched Heropholus cut open a living man and now she was letting a little darkness spook her!

Still, she felt better once she reached a lighted section once more. Ahead, she recognized the familiar face of Tellus and heaved a small sigh of relief. He was moving among several small tables offering advice on particularly tricky bits of translation. The bins here contained no papyrus scrolls but were stuffed and piled with bound vellum codex’s.

Each of the translators at the tables—all older than her and at least in their late twenties, she noted-- had a codex they were poring over and making notes on scraps of papyrus. Some of those further along in the process were already meticulously transferring their Greek translations of the Sumerian texts to another codex. This looked like home to Calixte and she wanted nothing more than to settle in here and

Leonides behavior was still an open wound, but the other was probably one of those who felt strongly women should be kept as cattle. He would be a problem even if Herophilus decided to keep silent.

Herophilus noticed her gaze on the guard. “I will speak nothing of your secret, little one.” He raised his voice and a steely note of threat crept in. “Neither will they, if they don’t wish to become the next subjects on my dissection table.” They didn’t move physically but their expressions changed to blank masks and Calixte could feel them cringe inside. She could feel Herophilus’ gaze on her again. “Perhaps you should move along now. You wouldn’t want to be tardy for your appointment with Tellus.”

Grateful for the escape, Calixte moved quickly down the hall away from Herophilus and the stench of his experiments. She had never met anyone she’d felt so ambivalent toward. It was probably stupid of her but she preferred bad people to be just plain bad.

The Archive was beginning to come alive now as others woke and resumed their studies or research in the tunnels below the main library. Several times she noticed things of interest in rooms along the way. One had wooden models of buildings and odd machines—she recognized a sort of catapult—and she was sorely tempted to stop and investigate, but she vigorously resisted the impulse and kept going. She had an idea of what Tellus looked

naked, exposed also in heart and mind. “How did you know?”
He smiled, and Calixte was surprised to see genuine warmth reflected there. He might be crazy, but she thought he wasn’t evil—exactly. “I search for the secrets of the human body child. I wouldn’t be much good at it if I couldn’t tell a girl from a boy, now would I?”

She decided to beg. “Please don’t tell the others, sir. This library… I need to be here…” She caught herself short of saying she would do anything. Most men would just ask for her virgin body, but this one might insist she inflict unspeakable horrors on others.

He put a finger to her lips. “I know. I see it in you. We are not so unlike, you and I. You feel the burning need to know as well. And some day, I think, you will find you are prepared to go further to satisfy that urge than you now think.”
She started to deny that she would ever go as far as he had in his quest, then stopped. The thought of killing this man, and his body guards, to keep her secret had occurred. That she had no idea how she might have done that was not relevant. It showed there might be more truth to what he was saying than she would like to believe.

Calixte noticed both of Herophilus’ body guards staring at her. One had a look of disgust on his face and the other open lust. She wasn’t worried by the lust, she’d seen that often enough before she was pretending to be a boy—and after too,

The man named as Herophilus looked up from making another cut. “It’s not torture child. We are trying to learn how the body works. And what would a scribe know of torture anyway?”

Calixte knew far more of it than she wanted. She had many uncles and one had a job in that very profession. He extracted confessions from suspected criminals, many of whom, she thought, would probably say anything just to get the torture to stop. Then there were her Visions, too, which often showed her things from contact with others that she would rather not have seen.

The two large men standing to either side of Herophilus—body guards, she supposed—moved toward Calixte menacingly. “No, no, leave her alone. She has done nothing wrong. Compassion is a positive quality. My dear, this work is born of compassion. One day you and the other nay-sayers will thank me for my curiosity and devotion to unraveling the nature of the human body. We shall be able to fix untold ailments and, yes, even extend the span of human life. Perhaps indefinitely.” He paused and looked at her thoughtfully. “You know, I could use an assistant. Someone with intelligence, smaller hands, and a delicate touch, like you. Would you be interested?

Violently she shook her head. “No, no, I couldn’t,” she managed to get out through teeth clenched to shut off the gorge rising in her throat. “I’m to work with Tellus on the Sumerian… Then she realized what he’d said. She. The fanatical light of his gaze pierced her and she felt completely naked. Worse than

might have just offended someone who could have her drawn and quartered without a second thought. “I, I, was sent here by Master Diokles, sir. No offense intended. I am to help Tellus with the Sumerian translations.”

The old man showed a brief spark of surprise but his gaze was quickly recaptured by the open pages beckoning. “Well, off with you then.” He waved vaguely in the direction she’d been traveling. “He’s down there somewhere.”

Calixte let her breath out, not realizing she’d been holding it. He was so absorbed he wasn’t likely to notice her further, so she slipped quietly away down the wide corridor. She hadn’t realized the Archive was so big. And had so many odd smells. Her nose wrinkled as she tried to shut out a sharp sour stench that drifted from a doorway ahead. Curiously she peered in, then gasped in dismay. A naked man lay tied to a table moaning in agony.

“Curses on you Herophilus and your ancestors to the end of time,” the man on the table gasped in Egyptian. “Plagues and poxes aplenty, though even that is too good for the likes of you who would defile the human form and cut it open like a sow to be slaughtered.”

Now she could see that the chest of the man on the table was sliced and torn and his ribs were held apart by wooden sticks, exposing his beating heart. Calixte couldn’t help herself. “Why have you done this? Such torture is barbaric!”

Calixte found the cool stones of the underground stairway soothing under her feet, in contrast to the heated whirl of her thoughts. The workmanship was good and the stones were smooth but not as smooth as they would be, she knew, after the passage of years and many feet polished them further. She was not surprised the Archive halls were nearly deserted at this early hour of the morning. This was not the usual domain of scribes and philosophers of status were not known to be early risers.

She couldn’t help taking a peek into the open doorways as she went along. There were rooms much like those in the main library above where scrolls were pigeonholed in bins and labeled in meticulous script. She noticed that most of the scrolls seemed much older, some almost crumbling with the effects of time, and none were written in Greek.

She passed another room that had no scrolls but there were tomes with pages of beaten gold and even fragile looking clay tablets with a curious form of writing she’d heard about only in legend. This, she knew, was where she belonged. Calixte’s excitement blotted out her reason. She reached for one of the clay tablets sprawled open on the table.

“Don’t touch that!” barked a grey-haired man whose toga bore an interlaced pattern of ink stains and, from the look of it, yesterday’s lunch. “What are you doing in the Archive boy?”

Calixte kept her eyes on the floor. She didn’t recognize the man and the great library drew people from all around. She

lanky form watching her from across the room. Perhaps she was a bit too pretty a boy, she thought uneasily.

"Report to Tellus in the Archive then; he's heading the Sumerian translation," Diokles said, then bent down to scold one of the boys for making a smudge.

"Thank you sir!" She couldn't wait to see what the Sumerian scrolls had in them. Calixte turned and started to dash toward the stair leading down to the Archive then skidded to a halt as Leonides boney form stepped in front of her.

Leonides reached out a hand to steady her and touched her arm. Then the world fell apart and the Vision took Calixte’s sight. She saw him writhing, entwined naked with another boy. She really didn't want to see this. Somehow she reached back to her physical self and jerked her arm from Leonides grasp. "What's the matter?" he asked looking hurt.

"I have to go. I'm needed in the Archive." She knew she mumbled the words but she didn't care. She had to get away. Leonides seemed so nice. He was the only one who'd welcomed her to the library and tried to make her feel at home. She'd avoided spending much time with him because she was afraid he might suspect she was a girl. But now she knew the truth. His was more than a friendly interest; he lusted for the pretty boy he thought she was! She probably wouldn't have given it a second thought if it was someone else, but she liked him. To think of him.... it was too much.

vellum copy of some ribald verses that needs to be finished by the end of the week. Can you do it and not make a mess of it?"

"Of course sir, but..."

"But what, boy? Out with it."

"It's just that I was hoping to get to help with the texts from Samaria."

"You can translate Sumerian?"

Calixte heard the disbelief in Diokles voice and added a small lie quickly. "My uncle taught me. I'm quite good really." Her uncle could barely speak Greek, but Calixte had a knack for languages and was certain she could pick it up quickly from the scraps of knowledge she already had. She'd heard some of the Sumerian documents were about magic and she itched to read them.

"Really? I suppose that would be a better use of your time then, though I can't imagine a young boy who'd rather translate dry foreign philosophy when they could be copying raunchy verse." He shrugged then squinted at Calixte. "Any more hidden surprises I should know?”

Caliste's breast flattener band itched under her tunic and it was all she could do not to scratch. It was uncomfortable, but not too high a price to pay to have access to the Library. She smiled at Diokles brightly. "No sir. No surprises." She was nineteen now but with the band she could easily pass as a slightly built fourteen year old boy. She noticed Leonidas tall

Alexandrian Visions
by Don

Chapter One

"Calix. Calix! Are you deaf boy?"

Calixte looked up from the scroll she was copying to see the red face of scribe master Diokles glaring at her. "No Sir." Sometimes the male form of her name just didn't register yet. She'd have to be more careful; if they discovered she was a woman she'd be sent home in disgrace. Some of the great ladies might enter the Library, but no one expected them to actually read anything. Ironic, she thought, when Athena was the patron of knowledge.

"Pay attention when I'm talking to you then. I'll get someone else to finish what you're working on. I've got a fancy

didn't think he would be moving again any time soon.

"Your son's out in their car Sylvia." He could hear her rush out as Dora's footsteps came through the kitchen doorway.

"The big goon is dead." Isaac thought she sounded quite satisfied with herself. "Nice move with the gun. You are quite the old coot, aren't you?"

Again he felt the fan of air as she picked up the painting. He waved goodbye. "Be careful Dora. You were a good housekeeper."

"Yeah. For too many years. But that's gonna change now." Dora’s footsteps went out the back just as he heard Sylvia came back in the front with her son.

"Thank you Isaac. I don't know how to thank you enough for helping me get my son back."
He felt her arms around his neck and a kiss on his cheek. This time he was almost blinded by the flash. They were all sitting at the kitchen table-- the boy obviously three or four years older and the two of them holding hands with sappy smiles on their faces. He smiled. "I think you'll find a way."

"I'll be gone before they get here anyway." Dora’s footsteps headed toward the door and then the screech of braking tires on asphalt outside obscured the sound. A thump signaled the painting being set down. "What do you think we should do?"

Isaac positioned them quickly then removed his hand from the bug saying, in his best querulous old man voice, "Ladies... Don't leave me alone with them... It will take me too long to get to the back door." He removed the bug from the wheel, stuck it to his chair arm, and started bumping his chair noisily into the doorway to the kitchen.

In back he heard a crash as the door was kicked in-- probably by the hired goon, he thought. A gun fired and there was silence from that direction. Footsteps on the carpet told him the strawberry-marked boss was entering through the still open front door. A loud meaty 'thwack!' and a thud on the carpet told him that one was down.

Isaac’s finger brushed the bug again triggering another frozen flash. This time he saw the aristocrat raise his gun to fire at Sylvia as she turned to see what was happening in the back. "Sylvia, look out!" He jerked his chair forward and chopped down with the edge of his hand. The gun made a soft thud on the carpeted floor then there was a satisfying crunch as Sylvia struck the man. Isaac

conversation! A bug had fallen off and stuck to his chair wheel. He had to guess that those who had hired Sylvia were on their way over because Dora was out to transfer the painting-- and whatever its illicit contents were-- to a different buyer.

This just kept getting worse. But at least he and Sylvia hadn't walked into a trap with them. They certainly knew about his 'helpless blind man' ploy. Isaac didn't know for sure how far away they were but he had a sense of short minutes. Unless he could do some fast thinking none of them would survive the encounter.

He put his hand over the bug as well as he could and spoke softly, "Forget the painting. Sylvia's employers will be here in less than five minutes and we'll all be dead shortly thereafter if we don't cooperate. There is a bug under my right hand on the wheel of my chair they are listening to right now." He put a finger to his lips, raised the hand covering the bug and pointed.

"Don't be trying to pull something funny. How could you possibly know that?" Dora snorted.

Isaac clapped his hand over the bug at her first syllable. He just hoped it wasn't sensitive enough to pick up her voice through it.

"He does! He has visions, or something."

A gun complicated things. He couldn't see where it was pointed nor could he really move fast enough to get out of the way. The scent of lilacs grew stronger as Dora approached. "Why did you do it Dora? What's in the painting?"

"Lot's of money. Don't care."

Isaac could feel a fan of air brush his face and assumed that Dora had grabbed the painting.

"Don't even think about it, sweety."

He could hear a hard edge to Dora's voice that had never manifested during her time as his cleaning lady. "Easy Sylvia. You are no use to your son dead."

"They'll kill him!"

Isaac knew the women were in a faceoff. He could feel the tension in the air. He had never felt more useless than he did right now. Anything he did was likely to get someone killed and unlikely to help the situation at all. He gripped the wheels of his chair fiercely, wanting to do something. Then his fingertip slid across something metallic stuck to the rubber wheel.
Another flash went off in his head and he was presented with a slice of frozen time. It was a still picture of the two men and Sylvia's son in a car. But over it he could hear voices. Echoes of Dora and Sylvia's

It was her turn to laugh. Her laughter quickly became hysterics mixed with hiccups and sobs. Isaac aimed a moderated slap at where he knew her face must be and she subsided into snuffles. "I would have killed you."

"I know."

"Why would you help me?"

"Because I know Mothers must try to protect their young. It's built in." And because there is something about you that reminds me of my Angela, he thought.

"But how?"

Isaac smiled with only a touch of humor. "No one notices a blind man. They won't check to see if I'm armed if I go in with you."

"No, but I will," a new voice came from the open door.

"Dora. Your timing is…"

"Impeccable?"

"I was going to say regrettable." He'd figured it had to be her that placed the painting. No one else had access to the house. You just couldn't trust anyone anymore. She was older than he was and he would have sworn that she was as boring as his old maid aunt.

"She's got a gun," Sylvia hissed.

He could hear Dora moving across the carpet toward him. He had no weapon but his muscles tensed in readiness.

his cheek you will die. Your son may not fare much better."

"How did you know… You're just saying that so I won't take the painting!"

"I don't care about the painting. It isn't mine and I don't know where it came from. It isn't even good art. I have no idea why someone would kill for it, but that is what will happen." He also didn't know why he cared about this woman and her son, but it seemed that it was so.

Isaac could hear the woman sink onto the cushions of his couch. No one had sat there since his wife… He wrenched his mind away from that thought. Her low sobs tore at him. "Why do they want this painting? It isn't worth anything."

"I don't know. They just told me to bring it or they'd kill my son." She took a deep breath and he could hear a wheezy rattle as if her chest was congested.
He was no doctor, but he'd had enough medical training in the military to know an early sign of pneumonia. She hadn't been taking care of herself. There really was no excuse for anyone getting pneumonia these days. He almost mentioned it, then decided it really wasn't the time.

"Look-- uh-- what is your name?"

"Sylvia."

"Sylvia, I'll help you if you'll let me."

There was a long silence then, "You can't stop me from taking it."
"I'm sure you can fashion an excellent career around stealing from blind men." He heard her moving and it wasn't long before there was a thump on the carpeted floor in front of his feet. Curiosity, he knew, was a powerful force. It had certainly gotten him in trouble enough times. He reached out, his fingers encountering a rough canvas surface.

Isaac's mind lit as if by an exploding flashbulb, searing a scene into his consciousness. The painting was there. Not the work of an old master at all, he noted. But the rather ordinary pastoral scene depicted in the painting seemed unimportant as he noticed that the woman in the black jumpsuit was also there bleeding on the floor, and apparently dead. Two men stood over her: A short heavyset man, whose face seemed to be mostly eyebrows and pug nose, wiped off his knife. A younger aristocratic gentleman, appearance marred only by a red strawberry mark on his cheek, admired the painting while holding onto a crying boy.

His mind faded into its usual formless blankness as some of the things he'd seen clicked into place. "If you take this painting to the man with the strawberry mark on

lot of trouble for nothing."

"Ahhh." Her neck turned under his arm. "None except that one, I suppose." The sarcasm in her voice was hard to miss. "Clever making it look like part of the wallpaper. I'd have seen it earlier, though, if it weren't so damn dark in here. I'm only looking for one and that certainly appears to be it."

What could she be talking about? She seemed to think there was a painting here in his living room. The sharp sweetness of her perfume distracted him as he tried to think. He had a hunch that he needed to make the right choices and make them fast. He didn't want to kill her, and he was beginning to realize that he didn't want her to kill him either. At least not now. Something about this painting was important, although perhaps not to him exactly. But he did need to know about it.

"Bring it to me." Isaac released her throat and gave her a firm push away from him.

"What?"

He could tell from the tremor in her voice that he had taken her completely by surprise. He just hoped that he was right about her. "Bring the painting to me and let me touch it. Then you can either take it or I will give you what you think it is worth."

his rib against the arm. “I think it’s…” he began in a hoarse whisper, then stopped.

“Where is it!”

He could feel her leaning forward and his old Commando training took over. His arm was a striking snake, grabbing her neck in a chokehold and snapping her head to his lap. She fell to her knees then tried to scratch at his eyes with her long fingernails. “They are already gone,” he spoke quietly into her ear. “Move again and I will snap your neck.”

She got very still. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me. I have nothing to lose. Now why are you in my house?”

"The... painting." She managed to get the words out past his hand around her throat.
He loosened his grip slightly so she could speak but kept his other hand firmly wrapped in her hair. "I have no paintings woman. I've been blind for over twenty years. Why would I collect art?" Isaac could feel her shrug against his knee.

"Investment."

"I don't need..." he started, then decided it would be foolish to tell her anything about his finances. "I have no paintings. Whoever told you I did has gotten you in a

Then, just as suddenly, he realized that it was no daydream. It was a vision. He hadn’t had one of those since he’d been blinded in the war. Since the last time his life was in danger, he realized. As it was right now. He could feel the presence of his own death very near. It smelled like the heavy ozone of a hovering thundercloud.

Isaac couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing. He might be in a wheelchair but his lungs were still strong, and the house rang with peels of his mirth. He’d spent the whole of last week planning methods of suicide. What good was life without his sweet wife Angela, after all? Together they’d been strong, even when both were in ill health. Alone he was nothing. Less than nothing.

“Shut up old man!”

The woman slapped him, her long fingernails savagely scoring his face. His hand went instinctively to the sting, coming away wet with his blood. What kind of woman slaps a blind man?

“I don’t have time for your hysterics. Where is the painting?”

He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about, but he was really beginning to dislike her tone. “Hidden where you’ll never find it, I hope.” This time her slap rocked him in the chair bruising

Seer
by Don
(Previously published in Romancing The Ozarks anthology.)

Isaac heard a noise at the door and went to let the cleaning lady in. One wheel of his chair made a ‘click’, ‘click’ as it rolled over the marble of the entryway. Must have picked up something on the wheel, he decided. He could have her look at it while she was here. Abruptly the chair stopped moving, throwing him forward, and he heard the footrest strike something. But nothing should be there. He was very careful about clutter. No one else had been here since Dora was in last week to clean.

He reached out with caution to see what the chair collided with. The door. It was open. He hadn’t opened it… and Dora didn’t have a key. Then he touched the doorknob and it was as if a lightning flash went off in his mind illuminating, for a fraction of a second, a striking female figure with unnaturally red hair wearing a clingy black jumpsuit and, he was quite sure, nothing under it but her. What a stupid time for daydreams. There was an intruder in the house…

“I’m old enough to be on MVU**SD#TTH.”

Nate frowned, wondering if there was something wrong with his hearing, or if the other was slipping a sprocket with the nonsense syllables. “And how old is that?”

“637 of this planet’s cycles.”

Nate saw his grin spread across the little girl’s face. For some reason her heart was racing in her chest with an irregular double-thump beat. Then it hit him and the grin faded. It wasn’t irregular; she had two hearts. “You aren’t exactly—human—are you?”

“Human? Of course not!” Then, as she took control, a look of horror came across the angelic face. “You’re human!”


Night Watch / Day Watch (Two-Movie Collection)

It was not my intention to write a Harry Potter review at this time-- or any other time-- even though I dearly love the series by J.K. Rowling. After all, my purpose is to acquaint people with excellent books they might not be familiar with, for one reason or another, and the only one's who haven't read the Harry Potter books, or seen the movies, probably have been either in a deep coma the last several years or dislike them (without bothering to read them first) because of some form of religious fanaticism.

Sometimes circumstances conspire to change our minds. I was browsing through some Usenet newsgroups dedicated to books and ran across a title I'd never heard of before: Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent. Since I'd already read all the books and seen all the movies (I did mention I'm a fan) I knew this was not part of the original series. I downloaded the file at the time and put it in my ever-lengthy things-to-read list. That was something like six months ago.

Last week, I was looking in my Sony ebook reader-- I have several shelves of paper books too but the reader is great for found items like this-- for something to read and came across the Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent file. I looked at the intro seeing that it was, indeed, a work of fan fiction by B.L. (Barb) Purdom. There is so much pro fiction I've never gotten around to in my many years of reading Fantasy and SF that I've never gotten started trying to read fan fiction. And I really don't like short stories much anyway. They're, um, just too short. But this was a NOVEL LENGTH piece written in the Harry Potter universe... so I decided to give it a shot. I'm very glad I did.

The beginning of the book was a little slow and awkward but it picked up fairly quickly once Harry Potter went again into Hogwarts. I should probably mention that Purdom wrote the book in the same format that Rowling used, starting him out interacting with the Dursley's over summer vacation then taking him back to magic school for his real adventures. Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent was written as though it were the fifth book in the series taking Harry, Ron, and Hermionie through their preparations for OWL's testing.

I was fascinated to see that Hermione is Harry's girlfriend in this book. It has always been obvious to me that Hermione and Harry are MUCH more suited to each other than she and Ron. Unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that relationship changes later from hints I've gotten, even though I've only started reading Purdom's second book. For the first time Ginny Weasley reveals herself in this novel as someone Harry might plausibly be interested in, though, rather that the somewhat cardboard character she appears in Rowling's books. I'm sure reading Psychic Serpent was a welcome preoccupation for fans while J.K. Rowling was working on the fifth book.

Perhaps the best way to look at Psychic Serpent (and the two other novels Purdom has written to follow) would be as a sort of alternate Harry Potter Universe. I think it is pretty obvious that she tried to come as close as possible to matching her characters to those of J.K. Rowling. In fact, Purdom has done a masterful job of matching her Harry Potter with the original. I could find no noticeable difference there at all.

Differences do show up, though, in both Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ron seems more quick tempered and less amusing than the original. I'll admit that I was a little thrown by the way Hermione seemed so okay with deceiving Ron about the relationship she was having with Harry. It seemed very much out of her usual character somehow. I understand the concept of building conflict, but I would have expected her to fess up and take the consequences of that immediately. I was also surprised at a physical difference in Hermione. She had never come across as a 'stacked sweater girl' either in the Rowling series or the movies to me. :)

I should probably hastily add that I do NOT have a problem with the more open adolescent sexuality of the characters revealed in this novel. Their attitudes and interactions with each other are far more realistic in that respect than the original novels were able to be because of prudish publishing constraints.

I've mentioned before that truly excellent books are always about the characters, regardless of whatever else they may contain. I was about three-quarters of the way through Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent before I realized something truly amazing. In spite of the slow start it was, in a very important way, actually BETTER than the original series. Purdom's freedom to 'flesh out' the characters resulted not just in a 'racier' more interesting plot, but in characters that came across as much more real than the limitations and expectations of the publishing world could allow. She is very good at making you CARE about the characters. Rowling had previously been able to show that bad things happen to kids too, but she was never able to embrace the reality of adolescent relationships. We were all teenagers sometime... even though we might like to forget about it.

Something that should be obvious from my writing this review may need to be spelled out for some. B. L. Purdom has talent, and a lot of it. This book is not typical fan fiction in that it is polished and professional as any I've ever read, including J. K. Rowling. Even though it is written in someone else's world, it certainly stands on its own in quality.

The author's passion distinguishes her in addition to her talent. Who could write, not one but three or four complete novels, KNOWING that she could never sell them-- only doing it for the sheer love of the topic. I couldn't. I wouldn't. I'll be the first to admit my passion just isn't that great. But I do love the Harry Potter novels and I love B.L. Purdom's addition to them as well. I very much hope she will continue writing in universes of her own creation. I'd love to read them.

Now the question becomes: Since Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent has not been traditionally published, how would you go about reading it? You won't find it on Amazon.com or in any bookstore that I know about. As I mentioned, I found it posted on a Usenet e-book newsgroup. If you do Usenet, you might hang out there and hope (or request) that it be reposted. Or you can just go to 4shared and download it or to Schnoogle or Wattpad on the web and read it there along with the sequels, Harry Potter and the Time of Good Intentions and Harry Potter and the Triangle Prophecy.

Whatever you do, don't miss it.

a strong student of history, but it looked like there was a six inch tall apatosaurus coming out from under the bed munching contentedly on the remains of a potato chip. Nate heard a gargling noise but he was pretty sure that wasn’t him.

It was really kinda cute. Nate reached down to see if it would let him pet it—and immediately straightened up and staggered back into the wall. “Now what?”

“Didn’t I just tell you to be careful? Don’t you realize this means there is an anomaly in the CVB*JY#ZDE? You have no idea where that thing came from or what it’s capable of.”

“An anomaly in the what? Look, it’s six inches tall!”

“How big were the beetles that ate you?”

“Mmm. About three-quarters of an inch.” He supposed that was a valid point. But there was only one of the mini-dinos. “How did you know…?” Then he saw his reflection in the bureau mirror. “Andromeda’s Ghost! You’re a little girl!”

The innocent looking face that stared back at him with violet eyes and shoulder length blonde hair couldn’t have been more than ten or twelve, if that. If things hadn’t been so hectic he’d probably have noticed the oddity of her size before now.


The Triangle DVD

inside.

The room’s furnishings consisted only of a Spartan bed, a nightstand with mirror, and a small lightly-padded chair. As soon as they were inside the innocuous room
the other rounded on Nate, sealing the door behind them.

“If you ever do something like that again I’ll have you Voided. Didn’t I tell you I don’t want to be a Rider? Didn’t you learn anything by getting killed? You have to be more careful!”

Nate was sure he’d feel suitably chastened—if he had the slightest clue what the other was talking about. “What…?”

“You deflected my aim! You spoiled the shot on the robot!”

“It looked like you were about to shoot a defenseless woman,” Nate protested.

“That ‘defenseless’ woman could have killed us with one hand!”

“How was I supposed to know it was a robot?”

“Didn’t you feel the…”

“Gleep.”

Nate looked toward the sound, glad for an interruption. He could feel his jaw drop but wasn’t sure whether it was him or the other doing it. He’d never been


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for the shift, but glowed dull red like overheated metal and the woman sagged to the ground. Something like a heat shimmer ran over her. For a second it looked as though she was covered with a layer of silvery liquid mercury, and then she wasn’t a woman anymore.

“A robot,” Nate breathed. A very good one too, from the look of it. A.I. robots were still very expensive. The Silverstones owned one that functioned as a maid and house cleaner at the Manor but it was nowhere near as sophisticated as this. He’d never even heard of anything like the human disguise he’d seen collapse. It could have been just a hologram, but he was sure he’d seen the robot settle as though it had a material, or at least a force field component. “Whoever you are, you certainly have interesting enemies.”

His slender feminine hands opened the blue door without his volition. There was no lock visible but the hands twisted, pressed and caressed the handle and area surrounding it in a series of moves too quick for him to entirely follow. There were five quick clicks in a row and a pressure in his head he hadn’t been consciously aware of abruptly ceased. Something more high-tech here than belonged on this world, he suspected. If he’d been here in his own body he was fairly sure he’d never have made it


Cocoon / Cocoon - The Return DVD

of his antagonist vaporized. Lower legs and head and shoulders that remained thudded to the pavement.

He looked at the gun and the hand and the remaining body parts in astonishment. “Damn, these people are serious. What did you do?”

There was no reply as he lost control again and began to run toward a rusty blue door. Getting trapped inside a building with people coming after them didn’t seem like a particularly good idea, but he couldn’t even speak now so there was nothing he could do.

“We’ll be safe if we can make it into the building.”

Then a figure stepped out of the shadow of a doorframe in their path. A woman. A very striking woman. She was obviously unarmed, wearing only a short shift that didn’t conceal much of her, much less a weapon. “Stop please. I only want to talk to you.”

Alarmed, Nate saw that the slender hand still holding the gun was aiming it at the woman and tensing to fire. “No! She’s unarmed. What are you doing?” He struggled for control with every ounce of his will and managed to deflect the aim slightly, but not enough. The gun fired, and there was a loud POP as if from a bursting bubble.

A small portable forcefield around the woman flared and disappeared. Her midsection didn’t vaporize, except


Star Trek: The Motion Pictures DVD Collection (Motion Picture/ Wrath of Khan/ Search for Spock/ Voyage Home/ Final Frontier/ Undiscovered Country/ Generations/ First Contact/ Insurrection/ Nemesis)

anyway. He’d always been kind of a maverick, not ready to take up the family traditions, but after everything that had been happening he was beginning to feel a real need to see them again. “Look, I don’t know how we came to be sharing a body but…”

“It’s my body. You died, didn’t you?”

“I suppose so.” Nate really didn’t want to dwell on the whole being eaten by beetles experience, but it seemed pretty likely since they were inside him gnawing on his vital organs when he lost consciousness.

“Well then, you were careless and now you’re a Rider. Get used to it.” It was said with finality as if that explained everything.

“But…?”

“We don’t have time for this now! All of them are going to wake up in a few minutes. I don’t want to become a Rider. And you should know that, the second time around, your chances are less than half as good of landing a Host. Find a…”

Nate saw the needle beam rake the wall out of the corner of his eye. Instinctively, he dove and rolled grabbing the first weapon that came to hand. Without thinking, he fired back at the source. In a second the heavy gun grew warm in his hand and the entire mid-section


The Core (Widescreen Edition)

in operation. “Yes, of course.”

“Good. I won’t be able to do an area stun again for several hours yet and we may run into more hostile humans so be ready with it. I may be otherwise occupied.”

The delicate right hand and arm only were now under his control. He gripped the weapon experimentally and noticed it was made for the left hand. “I could use it better with the other hand,” Nate began, then “Hmm.”

“What’s wrong?”

“This is a smartgun. It won’t work for anyone but the owner, without modifications.

“Can you fix it?”

“Given time and tools—which it seems we don’t have—sure.”

Nate lost control of the arm again as it flung the gun away to bounce off one of the buildings. He spun on his heel, started back toward the bodies, then abruptly stopped and sagged.

“Find one that will work. Hurry, we don’t have much time.” The other’s voice said from his mouth.

The body that wasn’t his was again under his complete control. Everything was just happening too fast. He needed some answers. He needed to get back to Silverstone Manor and let everyone know he was okay. Sort of okay,


Doctor Who: Planet of the Dead DVD

A disgusted noise came from his mouth. “Why do I have to get stuck with a moron for a Rider?” The delicate hands wiped themselves off on a not-entirely-disgusting rag dangling from the edge of the garbage bin, removed a nondescript canvas bag from the plastic sack and abruptly Nate was moving deeper into the alley, away from the open courtyard.

This just kept getting weirder. Nate now had absolutely no control over where he was going. He felt his new body running full-out and, after only a minute or two, started passing clumps of armed people lying motionless on the ground. “Are they dead?”

“If they were dead I wouldn’t need to run, would I?” Having no ready answer for that, Nate kept silent. Soon they reached an area where the bodies thinned out. He skidded to a stop in the headlong flight, still under control of the unknown other. One of the slender hands reached down and pulled a small gun from the hand of a woman in a pale green uniform with insignia unknown to him.

“Can you use this?” The voice that came out of his new mouth but sounded nothing like him asked.

A quick glance told Nate it was a compact energy weapon of newer design than he would have expected to find in these primitive surroundings, but seemed fairly standard


The Fifth Element (Ultimate Edition) DVD

martial arts systems, but there was nothing to fight. The jumpsuit he was wearing had several pockets but no weapons anyway, he discovered, after giving them a quick search. Taking a deep breath, he started cautiously toward the open courtyard again—and froze in mid-step. He was completely paralyzed. Try as he might, he couldn’t even blink an eye.

“I told you not to go that way.” The voice sounded a bit exasperated this time. “There may still be someone conscious over there. My range isn’t unlimited yet, you know.”

Nate didn’t know. Right now there seemed to be a whole multitude of things he had absolutely no idea about. Like why did the other voice also seem to be coming out of his new mouth? Questions welled up in his mind.

“Not now. We have to get out of here.” Ignoring the stench, the hands that weren’t his pulled him up so he was balancing on his waist on the rounded rim of the garbage container, scooped the top layer of filth and muck to the side, and grabbed a large plastic sack, tossing it out.

“You’re not going to eat something out of that…” Nate started to protest.

“Do I look like an idiot?”

“Uhh. I don’t really know,” Nate began honestly without thinking.


Harry Potter Years 1-5 Limited Edition Gift Set [HD DVD]

close out the smell. It was night but three small moons-- not even the same planet then, he noted-- gave sufficient light to make out the crudely jammed together mud-brick buildings. To his left there was a door made of a dull looking metal while the alley narrowed further and continued in the distance. To his right the alley opened into a slightly brighter courtyard. He headed toward it hoping to get a better idea of his surroundings.

"Don't go that way."

Nate spun around, but saw no one. And, oddly, he noticed now, there seemed to be no sounds coming from anywhere. This was hardly a megaplex, but certainly big enough and crowded enough with buildings that someone should be stirring somewhere. "Who is it? Where are you?"

"Right here stupid."

He whirled in place again, but still saw no sign of anyone or heard even minor rustling sounds that might be made by someone sneaking away. “Mind playing tricks,” he muttered. Maybe he’d been drugged. His subconscious was shrieking an alarm, but he had no idea if it was because he was about to be attacked or something else that arose from his increasing feelings of unease.
As the Silverstone heir, he’d been trained in countless forms of armed combat and nearly as many unarmed


Deep Impact (Special Collector's Edition)

Chapter One

Nate woke on a very hard surface with his face pressed against slivers of broken glass. Considering that his last memory was of being eaten by a horde of Rigellian desert beetles, he wasn't quite as put off by that as he might have been—until he saw his hand. The delicate small-boned feminine appendage definitely wasn’t his.

Nate swiped at the glass sticking to his face, bringing it down like a clatter of hailstones onto the rough pavement, and got another surprise. His face felt smooth—very smooth. He remembered having the stubble of a beard. His delicate hand explored the unfamiliar face, building a picture in his mind like a 3-D scanner, a piece at a time. A woman’s face! Feeling flooded in from the rest of his body in confirmation. Too light, too supple, too… not male. Visions of radical surgery combined with the sharp remembrance of beetles devouring his flesh made Nate’s heart pound erratically as he jumped to his feet. He needed to find a mirror and see what was going on.

No desert. No beetles. He was in a filthy alley next to a big trash container that reeked of decaying garbage. He could feel the unfamiliar nose trying to wrinkle up and


Back to the Future - The Complete Trilogy (Widescreen Edition)

Father’s stasis capsule in one hour.”

A shorter pause, then, “We will be ready.”

Nate fought to repress a triumphant grin. It only took him forty five minutes to wake a startled junior engineer, load an empty stasis capsule with sand-filled bags approximating the mass of his father, and get it back to the ship. The befuddled look on the engineer’s face alone was priceless. He was really going to enjoy this.

When the ship was clear of the atmosphere of Silverstone, Nate dropped his next bomb. “Anon One, initiate random destination. Allow one week travel parameter at maximum speed.”

There was another pause then, “Random, sir? Maximum speed? Is that wise?”

“Must you question every order?” Nate was beginning to long for the company of Chives. At least he did what he was told, even if he obviously didn’t approve.

“Your father will survive if we emerge in the core of a star but you and I will not. Please confirm the command.”

“Er… Use all necessary safety protocols, of course.”

“Of course, sir.”


The X-Files: I Want to Believe (Single-Disc Edition)

manipulate. After all, why would it expect dishonesty from someone with high-level Silverstone authorization, even if he wasn’t quite the top?

“Cancel query. Time is pressing. Prepare Anon One for liftoff in one hour.”

“Present authorization.”

Nate knew that was coming. “Alpha One authorization is not currently possible. A threat has been made to his life so Father has been placed in a keyed stasis capsule as a protective measure. We must remove him to an undisclosed system a quickly as possible for his safety. I came directly to you because he always says you are the fastest and most loyal of the fleet.” A little butter-up never hurt even for disembodied A.I.’s, Nate figured.

There was a pause of several seconds. For an A.I. it must have been practically an eternity of agonizing thought. “I must perform a retinal scan to verify…”

“It is too dangerous to nullify the stasis even for the milliseconds required for a retinal scan. He must be moved off-planet as quickly as possible. My authority is second only to my Father.” True enough, since his Mom had died almost six years ago. “I invoke emergency over-ride of previous commands on my Alpha Three authorization. Make the ship ready to depart immediately. I will return with


The Road Warrior DVD

“I’ve already given you my authorization.” Was this A.I. a moron?

“Alpha One authorization required.”

Ohhh. A glimmer of light was beginning to dawn now. He’d been looking for the most average, least noticeable ship in the fleet and, apparently, his Father had at least occasional use for such a vessel himself. The sly old fox. Maybe he wasn’t quite the boring stuffed shirt Nate had always assumed.

Adrenaline raced through his veins. This was going to be a better adventure than he’d thought. Doing something you knew you weren’t supposed to was always more fun. But how to convince the ship to let him take it out? If it wouldn’t give him information on what the ship had been used for without authorization from his Father, then it surely wasn’t going to let him fly it out of the spaceport without his permission.

While the ship A.I. waited patiently for him to present authorization, Nate’s mind raced furiously considering, and discarding, possibility after possibility. He was no diplomat, because he’d never had the patience to master the art of tact, but he was usually quite good at persuading others to do what he wanted if he really put his mind to it. Hopefully an A.I. would be even easier to


The Time Machine DVD

outside, but he’d bet it was fast enough to do the job and almost certain not to have a back-talking A.I. nanny. It would do.

The ship identification code was smaller than usual and Nate had to walk halfway around the ship to locate it. He spoke into the voice receptor beside the airlock, “Ship Anon One open airlock for boarding. Authorization Silverstone Alpha Three.

A crisp robotic voice replied. “Voice print verified. Prepare for retinal scan.”

Nate was so startled he blinked as the low power laser beam probed his eye, causing an error beep that made him jump. Even his personal ship didn’t bother with that level of security. The hatch slid open and his flaring nostrils caught the scent of stale air with a faint whiff of a trace of ammonia. But the revealed view of the inside of the nondescript ship left him entirely speechless. It was far from average and gleaming new. Some of the equipment he didn’t even recognize. This was no freighter or even a normal corporate vessel.

“What is this ship?”

“Designation: Anon One.”

“I know that. What is it used for?”

“Present authorization.”


Knowing DVD

harness and, it felt like, bruising his eyeballs as they tried to pop out of his skull. Smart aleck A.I. He certainly hadn’t told it to do that. It could use some lessons in manners from his butler Chives. Nate raised his arm and almost spoke the words to summon the old family robot… then thought better of it. Chives would certainly try to talk him out of his adventure while he was at it. Not worth it.

Nate swung himself out of the flyer… and cracked his chin on the door as his legs collapsed under him. Whooo. That was fun, but probably not something he’d want to do again for a while.

Still a bit unsteady on his feet, he stumbled down the line of ships. He looked at his sleek and flashy personal ship and then, only a little regretful, decided to take one of the others. His would just be too conspicuous… not to mention having a built in A.I. ‘nanny’ that was worse than Chives. After all, they were all technically his. Or his Father’s anyway.

He didn’t want anything too clunky but… His eye was caught by a ship that was practically the soul of average. Not too old or too new. Not too big or too small. It could pass as a freighter, a passenger ship, or even a corporate cruiser. You couldn’t really tell from the


Firefly: The Complete Series [Blu-ray]

Rider
by Don (copyright 2009)

Prologue

What Nate really needed was a radical change of scenery and he was pretty sure how he could get it. “Transport,” he said in the general direction of his armband. Ten seconds later a silver egg-shaped hovercraft whooshed to a stop beside him.


The hatch clicked shut cutting off the hail of one of his female admirers. “Nathaniel, darling. I’ve been looking for…”


“Spaceport. Emergency speed over-ride. Maximum.” Real fun beckoned and he knew she just wanted him to help her make high-status rugrats anyway. The women of Silverstone were so predictable.

“Sir, that will violate several…” the car began its expected protest.

“Authorization, Silverstone Alpha Three. Execute now.” A crash harness snapped around Nate and he fought off the blackness as the acceleration drained the blood from his brain. He forced oxygen into his lungs in gasping heaves, in spite of the crushing heaviness on his chest.

The flyer slammed to a halt throwing him against the


Firefly - The Complete Series DVD

She pointed to the woman beside him and gave him a big thumbs-up. “What?” A man walked by passing right through Mandy. He looked a little startled, took a suspicious glance around, looked behind him not seeing her, then shrugged and went on.

Seeing Ryan’s puzzlement, Mandy pointed at him, then at the woman beside him. She made a big hoop with her arms then made exaggerated kissing motions.

“Oh!” Ryan mouthed a silent ‘thanks’. He resolved right then to use some of his new money to help Mandy… or at least girls like her that were still living. He turned back to the woman who bumped into him. Well she was cute and Mandy seemed to know about these things.

“Something wrong?”

He took a long look at her and grinned. “Something very right, I hope.”


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were now at his disposal—not even counting all the property he owned in New York.

But the one thing he thought he had, that had made him so happy, was now gone forever. He couldn’t just take Mandy’s word about Linda, even though she’d been right about Uncle Al and the money. So the same day the money was transferred to his bank he told Linda that he was giving it all to charity. She’d stalked out in a huff and he probably still had the imprint of her hand on his face. But at least he knew how shallow, or nonexistent, her feelings for him had really been. He grinned. She would be so pissed when she found he lied. But even if everything Linda had said to him had been a big lie, it still left a huge void in his life. He was right back where he started, without anyone.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” The woman who bumped into him was practically breathless from hurrying. She was cute if not the beauty Linda was. She took deep breaths to catch up, catching his eye even more, and seemed torn between continuing on and stopping to apologize. “I’m just really in a hurry.” Then she took another look at him, seeming to like what she saw. “Do I know you?”

“I don’t think so, but…” Ryan almost stumbled into a lamppost. The ghost girl Mandy stood about ten feet away.


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Disclaimer: My Science Fiction Reviews are about the BEST SF Novels... not necessarily the latest.

I want to begin by saying that if Robert Heinlein is the Grandmaster of Science Fiction then certainly Marion Zimmer Bradley is Grandmistress. Though now deceased, as is Heinlein, MZB wrote many good books during her career and the Darkover series, to me, represents the very best of her efforts. The entire series is excellent and I highly recommend reading them all. Even among the best of the best, though, there are always one or two which stand above the rest.

For me, the one that stands out most is The Forbidden Tower. I should probably mention that even though the Darkover books are technically a 'series' there is really no need to read them in any particular order. Some diehard fans will insist you should read them in order of publication, others that you should read them in the chronological timeline of the novels but, really, Marion Zimmer Bradley wrote the books so that they may be read in any order with perfect clarity. The Forbidden Tower is neither chronologically first or first published but, if you like it you should have no trouble understanding where it fits into the grand scheme of Darkover after you read a few more.

As previously mentioned, it is not my purpose in these reviews to give you a running account of the plot but, rather, to let you know why I feel the book is worth your time to read. If you would like a detailed summary, though, dig in.

Suffice it to say, for my purposes, that the world of Darkover was originally settled by Terrans, many of which had a predisposition toward psionic talents. Darkover was left alone for many years during which a feudal culture evolved and selective breeding increased these talents. Under the feudal system the psionic science they called 'laran' became clouded over with many superstitions. Eventually, laran, came to be regarded by commoners and the gifted elite (Comyn) alike as sorcery and its wielders held in awe and reverence and sometimes in fear as well.

During the period of The Forbidden Tower, superstition regarding the use of laran is still rampant. It is believed that Keepers (the most capable leaders of psionic circles) must be women and they must be virgins as well. Strict rules of laran use are enforced requiring that it only be used within the confines of a special structure, a Tower whose physical structure is reinforced by mental shields and screens to protect those who wield the enormous power of laran amplified by matrix crystals.

Damon Ridenow is a rebel who tries to bring logic and reason into a superstitious system. He builds his own Tower on the astral plane... without having built a physical tower to anchor it. His 'heretical' daring, of course, gets him into a world of trouble.

It is Damon Ridenow's struggle of light against dark, of reason against ignorance and superstition that makes this novel such a great read. As with all of Marion Zimmer Bradley's characters, Damon comes alive in the book and you feel with him his impatience with the way things are done in this feudal society. And contrasted with that is the Terran Andrew for whom Darkover has become a home and his struggles to adapt not only to the culture but to his new Darkovan lover who is bound by the traditional web of Darkovan thought.

The Forbidden Tower is Marion Zimmer Bradley's Darkover at it's best. Gotta love it. Do note also that, if you like Sci-Fi conventions, there is an annual Darkovercon. I attended one many years ago and enjoyed it. Perhaps I'll see you there sometime.

Mandy shrugged. “I just know. The longer I’m here the more things come to me.”
Frustrated and unsure of what to do, he snapped, “Why are you still here? Aren’t ghosts supposed to move on? Sixty years seems like a long time to still be hanging around.”

Instantly he was sorry he’d spoken so harshly. Her eyes filled with tears that ran down her cheeks and soaked into her ragged nightgown as they dripped. She looked so real and so very sad and forlorn. More gently he asked, “Wouldn’t you be happier if you didn’t have to be reminded of a life you can’t have?”

She nodded then whispered, “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“To leave here I have to forgive my Father.” Her tearful blue eyes locked with Ryan’s in an appeal for understanding. “I can’t. Not yet.”

* * *

Ryan pushed through the glass doors of the bank, blinking back the bright sunlight as he moved onto the crowded sidewalk. He felt like whistling and he felt like crying all at the same time. His uncle Albert hadn’t been merely wealthy… he was obscenely rich. 500 million dollars


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estate. And how, if he went through with his rushed marriage plans next week, Ryan would be bilked out of the inherited fortune by Linda before a year had passed. Mandy said Linda had learned about this through a friend with some intermittent psychic abilities.

Stunned, he could only stare at Mandy as she floated up to perch back on the bureau. What she was saying wasn’t fantasy. He did have a rich Uncle Al who lived in New York. He remembered that his Mother used to talk about him once in a while. But… “Why would he leave me money? I’ve never even met the man!”

“Your Mother and he were—close—at one time.”

His Mother and Uncle Al? “You mean…” Mandy’s disapproving look seemed totally out of place on a six year old girl. But, then, she wasn’t really six exactly, he thought, remembering the older woman who represented how much time had passed for her in the ghostly realm. Head spinning, he remembered something else she’d said. “I need to warn him!” The clock numbers on the ceiling told him it was now 8:42. If the heart attack wasn’t supposed to happen until after three he should have plenty of time to call Albert so he could get to a doctor.

“No. There is nothing you can do. It’s his time.”

“How do you know that?”


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Disclaimer: My Science Fiction reviews are about the BEST SF novels... not necessarily the latest out.

I first read Stranger in a Strange Land many years ago when it was originally published in the 60's. To this day, it remains my top pick for 'Best Science Fiction Novel of all time.' I've reread it at least five times over the years since its first publication and, at one time, I had three copies of different editions. Ironically, I now seem to have none. Let that be a lesson to booklenders everywhere. :)

If you would like to read a Stranger in a Strange Land book review with a completely different viewpoint than mine that, in my not so humble opinion, completely misses the essence of this wonderful book, feel free. It concentrates almost solely on how some of the technology in the book misses the mark according to current knowledge. But it really doesn't matter that we know now things like the complete absence of intelligent life on mars from our explorations with rovers on the surface.

What does matter is that the characters of Valentine Michael Smith, the human who has been raised in an alien environment, and Jubal Harshaw, a cantankerous old goat undoubtedly modeled on Heinlein himself, step out of the pages and become real as you read their story. Contrary to popular belief, Science Fiction-- at least really excellent Science Fiction-- isn't just about the techy background.

In fact, as with any genre, it's all about the people. Sure, the concepts involved and the science fiction background lend color and interest. My opinion has always been that Science Fiction has everything any other genre has-- including mainstream-- and more. I'm not going to mention any names, but there are certainly authors who have succeeded in mainstream, seemingly, by just 'dumbing down' their SF writing and making it blander to appeal to a broader audience. But that's another story.

Speaking of concepts, in addition to the strength of the story and the characters, there is, of course, the underlying questioning of the structure of organized religion which is at the heart of the story. The really not-so-naive Smith wonders at the reverence accorded 'spoiled meat', ie. corpses and delves into some of the not-so-savory seamy side of religion. Even though people are considerably more jaded now, so these ideas are not nearly as controversial as when the novel first came out, there is certainly still considerable food for thought.

I think it is almost ironic that this novel-- which did an excellent job pointing out the shortcomings and even the 'evils' of organized religion-- was directly responsible for spawning one of the most hierarchical and overly-organized of neopagan religions, The Church of All Worlds. To be clear, I certainly do not disapprove of polyamory or communal 'nesting', only of more organization than seems really necessary.

Some people reading this may think this a rather strange way to write a book review. My purpose here is not to give you a detailed description, but rather to let you know why I think the book is worth your time to read. But, if you'd like a good synopsis, they are certainly available.

In my opinion, Robert Heinlein was and-- even though deceased-- still is, the Grand Master of Science Fiction. He only wrote one really bad SF novel in his career-- Starship Troopers-- and, not surprisingly, that is the only one to date that has been made into a movie, as far as I know.

If you haven't read Stranger I hope you'll give it a try. You'll be glad you did.

“You are trying my patience, young man,” she said icily. “You can have no inkling yet of what this existence is like. I am trying to help you if you will just let me continue.”

Ryan still felt confused and put upon. “Why the little girl act?”

“It is my natural form. When you die like I did, you are forever stuck as you were. This is what I would look like now if my father hadn’t raped me and smothered me with a pillow when I was six.” The matron melted in front of his eyes and the little girl was back in her ragged gown, ghostly tears running down her cheeks. “Please let me help you. It’s the only thing I can do now.”

Ryan couldn’t help it: He put his arms around the little ghost girl and tried to give her a hug. He could feel—something—but he knew it could never be a real hug. She accepted what she could get from it, though, and smiled up at him. “I’m so very sorry.” He took a long breath. “Please continue.”

Before he could interrupt again, Mandy quickly told him a tale of his reclusive tycoon Uncle Albert who lived alone in a Manhattan penthouse. His ninety seven year old heart would cease beating today at 3:35 PM and two days later Ryan would be named sole inheritor of Albert’s


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