Alien tentacles worm their way through the Republic

Illustration by Joe Cross. Copyright 2021.

I’m sharing the finalist stories from the March Contest. Here’s an exciting ending by Alan K. Dell with more than one twist.

I started the story below. See how Alan starts after the red line and provides us with a story full of surprises.

Planetkiller

BY ALAN K. DELL AND MATTHEW CROSS

It starts out as a single point of light. Like a star that wasn’t there, and then suddenly it is.

“You see it?” Jame asks.

“Yeah, I see it.”

Jame and I grew up side by side. He was born in a hospital in the City. Don’t ask which city. It’s the only one on this barely inhabited planet on the far, far edge of Polity space. But I was born at Home. Show Ma something once and she learns it forever. So once she saw how the doctors and nurses handled Jame’s birth, she said she could handle the second one herself.

Da says I take after Ma in that way. Stubborn, independent, fast learner. I guess that’s mostly true. Just like Jame seems to take after Da. But I don’t think I’ll ever be as capable and as confident as Ma. Nothing shakes her.

The point of light grows instantly brighter and then splits into two points of light and then three. Jame and I both curse under our breath at the same time. “Vacc!” It’s an old spacer curse we picked up from Ma. She grew up on a Polity academy ship and knows all the spacer ways.

Jame and I watch through our HUDs as the two dimmer lights separate from the larger one and drop off in arcs to the horizon. They dim and disappear. Those are not our worry.

The remaining point of light grows brighter. My HUD dims that part of the view screen slightly to prevent me from being blinded. Now that the object is close enough, the HUD can calculate its speed, and the numbers are stunning.

While I’ve been watching the light through my HUD, Jame has been reading the more detailed numbers on his arm band. It displays the extensive data collected by the Home system’s sensors, which alerted the family to the invasion in the first place.

“Home just picked up the three we saw, but there might be more, out of range further around the planet,” Jame says. His breath is harsh. “But three Planetkillers is enough to . . . ,” he pauses, thinking deeply, as he always does. He shakes his head. “Well, it’s enough, anyway. One for the City, one for the Factory and one for the Mines.”

I admire Jame. He’s a thinker, like Da, not a soldier. But his voice doesn’t shake until he says “the Mines.” I watch the white point of light bloom through my HUD. It’s headed straight towards us. Towards the Mines, which Ma and Da left us to protect.

Jame exhales slowly through his nose, his warm breath fogging the cool evening air, and I realize his body has grown rigid next to mine. He has settled his mind on something. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it and the splinter of cold fear on the back of my neck suddenly blooms like a web of crystals down by back. I’m afraid Jame is about to do something brave.

Ma has told me time again that men don’t usually have the strengths of women. But they are tools; useful tools, if you know how to handle them. Good men are loyal, and, if you let them, sometimes they’ll throw their lives away to save yours. “Don’t let them do that, Els, not unless it’s absolutely necessary. Too often a man will sacrifice himself before it’s necessary.”

White brilliance creates a halo along the highest heights of the Blades. Illustrated by Joe Cross.

I snatch Jame’s hand and I will my voice to be steady.

“Ma and Da told us both to guard the Mines. Both of us,” I say. “We stick together. You and me. Like always.”

Jame nods and his body relaxes just a bit. It will have to do for now.

“It will be heading for the Pass. Come on,” he says.

We both push off the ground with our hands and we’re instantly in standing position a foot above the ground. We slowly drop to our feet. Our planet is a small one and gravity is weak here. That’s why the firs can grow so many metes tall, Da says. And why we can bound over the house with a single leap. 

Ma says our planet is small, dark and cold. But it doesn’t seem dark or cold to me. It just seems normal. And beautiful.

We drop 30 metes from the ridgetop to our hover. It doesn’t look like much. Just a skeleton of tubes with a bulb at the back for two seats. But in our low gravity, it can tow a wagon of ore near big as Home. I take the controls and Jame straddles the seat behind me. Everyone knows I’m the family’s best driver.

Staying out of view of sight and sensor of the Planetkiller, I whip around the sides of ridges until we reach the Pass. The Blades rise in darkness high into the sky. The Blades, the tallest mountain range on this continent, separate the City and the Factory on one side and the Mines on the other. We live on the side of the Mines. We’re the only humans on this side of the Blades. With all the machines to perform the labor, the Mines only need a couple of overseers. Pa manages the complex processes and schedules, the stuff Ma finds boring. Ma gets her hands dirty fixing broken machines and leading the charge when there’s a cave in.

There’s only a few families to manage the Factory as well. The Factory is the most valuable asset on the planet. Most valuable to the Polity, anyways. Because the Factory builds munitions for the war against the Republic.

We all knew this day might come. That the Republic might find our secret home. We’ve trained for every kind of attack imaginable, even Planetkillers. But, really, they were the last things we thought the Republic would send, not when they could simply bombard us from space. But nobody thought the Republic would attack the Mines, either. After all, what’s so valuable about a hole in the ground?

With Ma and Da gone to protect the Factory, it’s up to Jame and me to protect the Mines.

When we reach the base of the Blades, we hunker down beneath the shelter of the black rock edifice and wait. The sheer cliffs above us conceal half the evening sky in blackness.

The sonic boom of the Planetkiller’s shell traveling through the atmosphere finally assaults our ears. Then white brilliance creates a halo along the highest heights of the Blades. Finally, the egg that contains the Planetkiller strikes the ground, plowing a crater into the earth. A Planetkiller’s landing is its first strike. But this one’s attack is wasted on hectares and hectares of lonely mountains.

A Planetkiller’s landing is its first strike. Illustration by Joe Cross.

All of this I see in my mind’s eye because the Blades separate us from the point of impact. But we do feel the impact in the ground. It shakes the very Blades themselves, ever so slightly, and black chips of skree slither down the face of the Blades.

“It’s safe now,” Jame says.

Leaving the hover, we leap our way up the face of the Blades. Although we are a hundred metes above the ground, most of the Blades still climbs the sky above us. We rope ourselves together, and I lead the climb around to a low ledge that juts out over the Pass. Here we will make our stand.

The egg’s impact has thrown up a cloud of dirt that obscures the far horizon. It also interferes with Home’s sensors and Jame curses as he tries to check the status of the City and the Factory.

“I’m sure Ma and Da are fine,” he says finally. Neither of us believe it. The other two Planetkillers probably slammed directly into the City and the Factory, if the Republic could get readings of their locations. The only hope we have that our parents survived the initial attack is if they did not make it to the Factory before impact.

“We’re on our own,” he says, not looking at me but watching the horizon through his HUD. I nod, also staring at the horizon, waiting for the Planetkiller to emerge.

Finally, it’s head appears over a distant ridge. It’s basically a giant robot—if you can call a machine bigger than a city a robot—controlled by a whole team of human pilots and technicians. Even kloms and kloms away, I can feel its every footstep through my feet. The shoulders appear as it grows closer. It steps over ridges and clambers awkwardly but resolutely over mountains. The cloud of smoke and dirt from the crash hides the sun in the western sky, causing night to fall early.

Jame assembles the rocket launcher he carried in his backpack. I unload the two shells from my pack. As the Planetkiller marches closer, it’s footsteps begin to actually shake the ground, even up here on the stable rock of the Blades. My hands shake as I pass the first shell to Jame, but we move slowly and methodically. We do not make any mistakes.

From a kneeling position, Jame takes aim, using data inputs linked between the missile launcher and his HUD. He holds his breath and waits for the shake of the last footstep to subside. Then he launches the rocket.

The shoulders appear as it grows closer. Illustration by Joe Cross.

As soon as it is launched, I know something is wrong. Perhaps it’s a stray wind blowing through the Pass, but the rocket begins a tight spiral that grows as it races towards the giant mech. Just as the rocket is about to reach the Planetkiller, it lifts a giant arm and a hail of dark shapes fly out to intercept the rocket. Even so, we must have caught them by surprise because the blast that occurs when Jame’s rocket meets the small cloud of defensive rockets pushes the mech backwards. For a moment, I think it’s going to fall, and a cheer rises in my throat. But the pilots inside manage to compensate and the Planetkiller catches itself on a back foot. It rises. And when the smoke of our attack clears, I can see no damage at all.

We load the second rocket, but I know Jame and I are thinking the same thing. We are going to fail. We may survive, but we are not going to stop this goliath. We’re just children playing at war. Maybe that’s why we make another mistake. We do not move. We stay in position. And the mech pilots make our position. They fire just one rocket. As it races towards us, I feel the gesture from the robot’s lifted hand is almost casual. Then Jame and I leap upwards.

When the blast comes, it throws us higher. It feels like someone punching my legs up into my chest. But I manage to grab a thin ledge above me as the blast subsides. I look down and see Jame hanging limply from the rope that links us. We’ve always been able to carry each other easily, so it’s no problem to pull him up to me.

He’s unconscious but still breathing. Lying on the ledge, I lash him to me. Then I leap up the face of the Blades, moving towards the back side of the mountain again. I find a small crevice where he will be safe from robot or beast. From my pack, I pull out a medical stabilizer. Crying silently, I attach it to his chest and place the rubber mask over his face. It will monitor his condition and, if necessary, help him breathe or restart his heart.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I whisper. “I love you.”

Before the Planetkiller can make it to the Pass, I’ve made it to the hover. With the rocket launcher strapped to my back, I flash through the Pass at top speed. I settle myself in the undergrowth beneath the trembling firs, every step of the Planetkiller jarring my whole body. I let it step over me and enter the Pass. I rise from hiding, sighting through my HUD, looking for any point of weakness.

The knees, I think, recalling my self defense classes.

The rocket flies true and strikes the back of the giant machine’s knee. Planetkillers are heavily armored, but I know right away I hit something vital. The gout of orange flame from the rocket’s explosion is overwhelmed by a cloud of white smoke or steam rising from the machine’s leg. The knee bends outwards with a pop and the giant lurches to the side. It’s head strikes the mountain wall.

I don’t make the same mistake twice. I don’t watch and wait. I leap.

It must be adrenaline because I swear I’m bounding as high as Da. The Planetkiller’s pilots have their hands full trying to restore control, but they may have already lost. It seems to be falling in slow motion with the most horrendous screeches. The awkward angles of its limbs and the close walls of the Pass form the perfect angles for me to land and leap further up the monster and plant charges from my backpack. Then I leap free and detonate them all.

As the Planetkiller marches closer, it’s footsteps begin to actually shake the ground. Illustration by Joe Cross.

Several puffs of white smoke rise up from its legs. The explosions seem small compared to the bulk of the thing. I’m not sure they’ll make a difference. But with great satisfaction, I watch as the behemoth falls forward and bashes its head against the floor of the Pass.

I just killed a Planetkiller!

All by myself, I killed a Planetkiller!

Wasting no time, I leap forward and climb the body. It’s easy now that it’s mostly prone. I find the hatch for the humans on the back of the machine, not on the head as I’d always imagined. I place charges all around the hatch and then leap high to a small ledge on the wall of the pass. I point my blaster at the opening and detonate the charges.

The smoke clears. I can’t believe my eyes. I don’t know exactly what I expected to see, but I never expected to see this.


Out of the hole climbs a six-limbed creature with a wide, flat head and four insectoid eyes. It stands mantis-like astride the hatch. It tilts its head, making a clicking sound with its chittering mandibles. I am frozen. Everything in my being is telling me to run, leap or bound away, but my body remains rooted.

Tentacles extend slowly out from the alien’s carapace and reach for me. I’m not what it expected, either. A mere human; a child by comparison.

It makes no threatening moves, but its tentacles caress my hair. Is this first contact? How did it find its way into a Republic Planetkiller? Where did it come from? Ever since I was a young girl, I was taught that there was only the Polity and the Republic in all the galaxy.

The hammering of my heart slows and I breathe easy. It doesn’t want to hurt me.

As if to punctuate my thoughts, the tentacles lash themselves to my temples. I convulse and writhe and my vision blurs. I see in my mind’s eye Republic ships engaged in fierce battle in the depths of space, one by one annihilated by their enemy. But it is not the Polity.

Knowledge fills in the cryptic vision. The Republic, in their careless expansion of far space, encroached into the territory of this insectoid species. In a few short months, the Republic was completely usurped. Yet the war with the Polity continued unabated. Except now the tide turned in favor of this new, alien Republic.

It’s no longer a war; it’s eradication. And . . . it’s good? My body feels light, my heart sings in the presence of this being from beyond the stars. I have met with God.

The vision fades from my mind. The tentacles recede. Bright orange lights–the wondrous fires of doom–flare on the horizon in the direction of the Factory and the City.

I look into the compound eyes of the divine. I gaze into its mandibles as they open like the gates of heaven, and I kneel before it.

It skitters forwards, razored forelimbs spread ready to embrace me and end my pitiable human existence. I am glad to be prey.

Two sharp cracks pierce the night. The god’s carapace splinters, and it falls away down the mech’s back. Jame clambers next to me, smoke rising from the barrel of his blaster.

“Els! Are you alright?”

I mumble something in reply, and he turns away with a smile. Groggy, I follow him inside the mech’s control center. The lights are on. The readouts show my attacks did minor damage at best.

“The Planetkiller isn’t broken!” cries Jame in triumph.

My hands move by themselves to the blaster at my side, raising it at Jame. Something inside me cries out to stop, but my body doesn’t listen.

There’s fear in his eyes. “What are you doing? Let’s use this thing to save Ma and Da.”

“No.”

And I pull the trigger.


I hope you enjoyed this piece of flash fiction that Alan K. Dell and I wrote together. He’s a great collaboration writer!

If you enjoyed Alan’s prize-winning ending, please make sure and share some kind comments below.

You can also enjoy another version of this story with an ending written by the March Contest Winner, Jeremy Wilson.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

Strange creatures lurk out in the dunes

Feral Fields

BY JEREMY WILSON AND SHANEL WILSON

The late afternoon light trickled through the crystalline window of Verges’s home in Westminster. He shuffled around his kitchen, filling his pockets with two-day-old fry bread before he left for his shift in the Wildcat Fields. Satisfied his pockets were full enough, he turned to the two work packs that hung from wooden hooks by the front door. The smaller one was covered in a thick layer of dust. Seeing the smaller pack, Verges grumbled and grabbed the larger one.

Seeing the smaller pack, Verges grumbled and grabbed the larger one.
Photo by Derick McKinney

“I should put that away already,” he grunted, as he slung his pack over his shoulder.

As Verges adjusted the straps of his pack, he squinted against the sun reflecting off a small picture frame hanging next to the wooden hooks. He didn’t need to see the picture to vividly recall its image: a smiling, curly-haired girl with a face full of freckles wrapping her arms around a jolly, bearded man in a happy hug. Verges’s beard was a lot grayer these days, and his beloved daughter, Cleo, was now grown and working as a Bride in Whitehall. He had hoped Cleo would inherit her mother’s oil-slick-colored eyes, but she had his bold, violet eyes instead. When she came of age, she left to fulfill her duty and become a Westminster Bride.

His house had grown quiet because of her absence the past few years, causing Verges to pick up as many shifts as his manager, Imogen, would allow him out in the Fields. He preferred to be out there anyway, where he could catch a glimpse of the feral creatures that lived in the savagelands surrounding the Wildcat Fields.


Verges stepped off the hover trolley when it reached the refinery. A crowd of crew persons waited to board, covered in dust and sweat from a long day managing the rigs out on the dunes. A few muttered hellos as Verges passed. He nodded in return and made his way to the hover garage.

He nodded in return and made his way to the hover garage.
Photo by Marten Bjork

Verges checked in on the console at the entrance. He noticed his partner, Lodovico, had not checked in yet, so he made his way to their hover to get it ready for a night out in the Fields. He threw his pack into the driver’s seat and started performing the safety checks.

“Oy there, weren’t you just here last night, Verges?” 

The voice startled Verges, causing him to bump his head on the undercarriage of the hover.  

“It’s got to be done, Aaron.” Verges rubbed his head as he stood to greet the tall, slim man.

“Well, it’s your lucky night. The rigs will get a night off from your poking and prodding. Lodovico has called out, so you don’t have a partner to go out on shift with. Something about his wife being nervous about the Polity’s captain arriving tomorrow.” Aaron leaned casually against Verges’s hover, picking his filthy nails.

“I doubt Tamera is the nervous one.” Verges scowled, strapping down the toolbag to the rear of the hover.

“You’re right about that, mate!” Aaron’s scraggly hair bounced as he snickered.

Verges‘s brows knitted together as he watched Aaron continue to lounge against the hover while Verges tried to finish the safety checks.

“On shift tonight with Tubal, are ya Aaron?” Verges shooed the younger man away from the hover so Verges could check the drill poles.

“Nah, I’m heading home. I saw you check in, so I thought I’d wander into the garage to say hello, let you know you were off the hook for the night.” Aaron perched on the hover parked across the way.

“Well, hello. I am sure your children will be waiting at the door for their dear old pop, don’t you think?”

“I suppose you’re right, as usual, Verges. You’re a wise old geezer. Want to catch the next trolley together?” Aaron hitched a thumb toward the door.

“Not tonight. I want to make sure the hover is ready for the next run.” Verges kept his eyes on the hover so he wouldn’t be tempted to escort Aaron out forcibly.

“Always thinking ahead, aren’t ya? Just don’t go out alone. You know how dangerous it is.” Aaron hopped down from the hover and started strolling to the door.

“Do you think I’ve forgotten the rules?” Verges called after him.

“Not at all, but that hasn’t stopped you before, old boy. G’night, Verges.” Aaron waved and disappeared through the door.

Verges grumbled but was glad to be left alone. Verges hadn’t gotten the chance to take the hover out solo at night in ages. While it was expressly against the Wildcat Field rules to go out into the Fields at night alone, he knew how to avoid the dangers and he knew Imogen would go easy on him if word got back to her. The rigs needed tending, especially if the Polity would soon be trying to take a share of the oil the Fields produced. Every drop would become that much more precious. Verges also would not miss an opportunity to encounter some of his feral friends, especially without Lodovico scaring them off every chance he got. Once he was comfortable that the hover was ready and sure that everyone else had gone home, Verges climbed into the driver’s seat and quietly steered the hover out to the dunes.

Just beyond the outskirts of town, Verges paused to watch the last rays of sunlight dance across the dunes. A gentle breeze welcomed him, carrying the scent of Mary’s Irises. Verges inhaled deeply and smiled. He’d always loved Mary’s Irises. They were a sight to behold but nearly impossible to find, hidden among the sandstone crags and only blooming in the darkest hours of night. Their pale, translucent petals, speckled with crimson, suggested a fragile nature, but they were far hardier than most of the Smith workers he knew.

A gentle breeze welcomed him, carrying the scent of Mary’s Irises.
Photo by Christian Lambert

When the sun finally disappeared below the shifting sands, Verges eased the hover onward toward the Barren Sea, where they’d left off tending the rigs the night before. The gentle breeze grew into a steady wind and the dunes began to hum. Lodovico always complained the sound gave him a headache, but Verges found it calming. Even so, it made his job trickier by masking the sounds of the creatures in the dunes.

He glided past dune after dune, his mind wandering to thoughts of his daughter. When she was younger, Verges would bring her along on nights when he would be tending the rigs solo. Together, they would repair the derricks and marvel at the creatures they came across. He wished she could be here now, but Whitehall had demanded that she stay to train other Brides. It had broken his heart, but he couldn’t say that he was surprised, knowing the incredible young woman she had become. Love and pride began to well up in the corners of his eyes.

Abruptly, the wind turned into a gale, pelting Verges with stinging sand and reducing his visibility to almost nothing. He slid his violet goggles into place to protect his eyes and veered the hover sharply north to cut through the Rift. When he reached it, he slowed again, buffeted by the wind.

The Rift was a deep scar in the ground hidden by the endless dunes. Passing through it always filled Verges with a mix of unease and excitement thinking of what must be lurking in the labyrinth of slot canyons and caves branching out ever deeper into the planet. Traversing the canyon was actually the quickest way to get to the Barren Sea, but Imogen’s grandfather had forbidden the rig teams from passing this way since they’d lost several teams mysteriously during the last Alignment. Not that that had ever stopped Verges on nights when he was out alone.

The Rift was a deep scar in the ground hidden by the endless dunes.
Photo by Tom Gainor.

Verges carefully navigated the hover into the canyon. On nights like this, the raging wind above would send sand cascading down the sculpted canyon walls, creating flowing curtains backlit by the blood-red Swearing Moon. A fist-sized puffadoon eyed him suspiciously from a nearby rock ledge as it gnawed on a sand hopper. It’s bloated, warty skin reflecting dull orange in Verges’s goggles.

As the canyon reached its narrowest point, the hover’s headlamps reflected off of what appeared to be a rippling, silvery pool on the canyon floor blocking his path. Easing the hover closer, he could see the pool was a writhing mass of silvery bodies. 

Verges smiled and readied the fry bread in his pocket. He tossed a piece toward the silvery mass and was greeted by a cacophony of excited clicks.

Quicksilvers.

Agile little beasts with black, beady eyes, sharp snouts, and shimmering hides that reflected light like a mirror. A single Quik was relatively harmless, but a family of them will make quick work of even the strongest man’s hubris. Normally they were found among the dunes, where many a weary traveler were enticed into an unpleasant demise thinking they had found water. Occasionally, though, a brood would wander into one of the canyons and take up residence.

Verges used the fry bread to lure the Quiks out of the way and slide the hover past, barely clearing the outcrops on either side. He had to bring the hover to a crawl to avoid wedging it in the narrow opening. Once through, he paused briefly to admire the small, silvery beasts.

The sound of rocks being knocked loose, amplified by the canyon walls, startled Verges and sent the quicksilvers scattering into clefts and crevices. He scanned the canyon walls and saw nothing, but he suddenly felt like he was being watched. Curiosity gave way to prudence, and he decided to continue on his way.

By the time he reached the other end of the canyon, the wind had died down. As he exited, he glanced back and thought he saw a shadow moving at the canyon’s mouth. He stopped the hover and watched intently, holding his breath. When nothing happened, he slowly pressed on into the Barren Sea.

He passed the first two rigs, having tended those last night. He quietly swore as he approached the third. The rig was overrun with vines of Hathaway’s Crown.

The rig was overrun with vines of Hathaway’s Crown.
Photo by Matt Hoffman.

Early Globers discovered the flowering vine growing straight out of the dunes and had named it so because of its beauty and tenacity. Ironically, it turned out that the vine fed on the very oil they were trying to extract and could wreak havoc on the rig machinery.

With a little effort, the vines could be trained to create a barrier around the rigs to keep the Quiks out. Verges found, though, that if he didn’t cut them back regularly, Hathaway’s Crown would quickly overtake the rig and force its way into the casings, seeking oil.

It had been less than a week since Verges had checked this rig, but already the vines had overtaken the structure. Cutting them back would take considerable time. Verges sighed. No need to be in a rush; that’s how accidents happen. 

He slid the hover next to the rig and switched off the engine. Without the hover engine running, Verges paused to enjoy the sounds of the sand for a moment. The peaceful calm belied the dangerous traps the dunes held. He glanced back toward the edge of the canyon. The rig was a good distance away from it, but something in the pit of his stomach didn’t trust that the shadow near the canyon wasn’t lurking in the darkness. Once he was satisfied that he was alone, Verges dug in his pack for his plasma shears. 

“Hathaway, I better have enough charge to cut away your crown,” Verges prayed, since he had neglected to charge the battery pack after using the shears the night before. 

Vine shears were standard issue for Wildcat Field workers, but Verges had modified his with plasma blades. They were risky because of how much ultraviolet light they emitted, but they cut his work time in half. It was a trade-off he was willing to make. He ignited the blades and set to work. 

After several hours, the canvas sack Verges used to collect the vine clippings was nearly full, even though he was only halfway through his trimming. He wiggled and tamped the sack to make more room before he reached for another piece of vine on the side of the rig. When he flicked the switch on the plasma blades, they popped and fizzled instead of igniting.

“Blast it.” Verges hit the blade handles against his palm several times. The blades stayed dark.

He looked back to the rig, vines still curling around the top of the derrick. If he left those there, the rig would be engulfed before he could return. Verges climbed back into the hover where he pulled out a long cable from under the controls. He inserted the cable into the charging port on the shears and paused, taking another look around the dunes. No signs of curious creatures, yet.

The night had grown dark and still. Normally Verges would have been disappointed to have such a quiet, creatureless night in the rigs, but he knew that could change as soon as he turned on the hover. Verges reached over and flipped the ignition switch. The hover engine purred like a kittercat, and he tried the switch on the shears again. Their violet glow instantly illuminated the buzzing hover. 

Verges jumped out of the hover and scrambled up the side of the derrick to reach the remaining vines. He took a deep breath to calm himself. He hated rushing, but dawn was approaching and he hadn’t given himself much of a choice. He made a mental note to keep a spare battery in his work pack to avoid this in the future. Verges looped the cable around the upper strut of the rig and continued trimming. Clippings fell to the sand, making soft thuds and sending grains of sand cascading down the side of the dune. 

Between the purr of the hover and focusing on the vines, Verges couldn’t hear the clippings fall. He couldn’t hear the quiet padding of footsteps approaching, either. It wasn’t until he felt a tug on the cable connecting his shears to the hover that his attention was pulled away from the vines.

He couldn’t hear the quiet padding of footsteps approaching, either.
Photo by Harpal Singh.

Beneath him, several bulbous eyes reflected the glow of his shears. The creature tossed its ragged, russet-colored mane and let out a low growl. It pawed the sand between them with one of its eight, spindly legs that was now entwined in the cable.

“A sand wraith!” Verges whispered into the night.

All the blood from his face drained when he locked eyes with the beast. Verges had never seen one before, nor had he met anyone who had. It was said that anyone who did never returned from the dunes. 

The legends described the beast as having eight, giant, spider-like legs covered in thick, tawny hair that tower over even the tallest of men. Its head and body, it was said, resembled a monstrous, engorged lion, with jagged fangs curving out from its whiskered muzzle. It was thought that sand wraiths lurked in the canyons and only stalked prey into the dunes if they were particularly hungry. They would strike with unnatural speed, pinning their victims down in a flurry of legs while slowly ripping them apart. 

The legends described the beast as having eight, giant, spider-like legs covered in thick, tawny hair that tower over even the tallest of men. Photo by Jeremy Bezanger.

Verges noted that the legends were right about the beast’s fearsome lion and spider-like features, but its legs were not quite as tall. The wraith looked to be about his height if he had been on the ground next to it. Though, he knew those nimble legs could scale the derrick to reach him in seconds flat if it wished. Being caught in the cable would barely slow it down. 

The sand wraith’s growl grew into agitated grunts, its legs skittering in the sand as it pulled against the cable, nearly yanking the shears clean out of Verges’s hands. Verges flicked off the shears so neither of them would be sliced by the plasma. 

“Easy there.” Verges cautiously climbed down the derrick; his hand outstretched toward the sand wraith. 

It lowered its massive head and sneered; a low guttural roar shook the derrick as Verges landed in the sand. 

“I won’t hurt you.” Verges dropped the shears and held his hands up to show the beast he meant no harm.

It stepped backward, jolting the hover that was still connected by the cable to the shears and sending the hover crashing into the derrick. Verges lunged forward and rolled to avoid being pinned between the two. 

“Whoa!” Verges unsteadily got back to his feet, his sweaty face and neck now covered in sand. 

He slowly reached into the hover and killed the engine. Verges watched as the beast’s hackles seemed to drop and relax. Though he took that as a good sign, his heart pounded against his ribcage. He stepped forward, half bowed, while keeping his eyes locked with the wraith’s. The intense yellow of the wraith’s eyes glowed brightly because of his goggles, which had started fogging up from his sweat. He yanked them off and dropped them by his side. The air between them was thick with the beast’s hot, sticky breath.

“Let me help you.” Verges bent down and found the cable in the sand.

He reached a hand out, mere inches from the wraith’s trapped leg. He paused, bowed his head and then gently stroked its spike-like fur. The hairs bristled at his touch, creating a rasping sound as they rubbed together. Verges recoiled, watching the wraith’s every move. When it did not retreat or attack, he continued. Verges gingerly lifted its clawed foot pad and unwrapped the cable from its leg. Once freed, he set the leg back down into the sand and took a step back. 

The wraith snuffed and stamped its legs, stretching to its full height and causing Verges to stumble backwards a few paces. The wraith’s eight legs worked in perfect harmony as it stepped forward to close the gap between them. Verges held as still as he could, though he couldn’t mask the heaving of his chest.

The wraith crouched down, pressing its body against the sand and wrapping its legs around itself like a cage. It sniffed at Verges’s boots, giving them a small lick with its leathery tongue. 

Verges allowed himself to breathe again, watching the creature intently.

It sniffed at Verges’s boots, giving them a small lick with its leathery tongue. 
Photo by Tim Foster.

When the wraith finished slathering his boots, it stepped even closer, knocking Verges backwards, and shoved its oversized muzzle into Verges’s lap. Despite being perilously close to its fangs and nearly suffocated by its mane, Verges let out a giddy chuckle. Instinctively, he reached out and began to scratch the wraith behind its flattened ears, as if it were a kittercat.

A sudden, low, thundering noise caused Verges to pause and scan the horizon. Seeing no clouds, Verges was confused until he realized the sound was coming from the wraith. The more Verges scratched, the louder the rumbling got, and the heavier the wraith’s head became in his lap. He eventually had to stop scratching when the weight of the creature’s head threatened to crush him.

When Verges stopped, the wraith raised its head and stared at him intently, looking almost confused. Verges chuckled again and returned its gaze, losing himself in the wraith’s intense, golden eyes. After several long moments, a crackle of static burst from the comm on the hover, startling them both. The wraith leapt backward and reared up as if to attack the hover.

The horizon began to glow, signaling the return of light and, with it, a gentle breeze that rippled through the wraith’s mane.
Photo by David Gavi.

“Woah,” Verges intoned, trying to calm the beast. The creature’s many eyes darted from Verges to the hover and back.

It hesitated. When the comm remained silent, the wraith lowered itself back down but kept its distance. They stood watching each other.

The horizon began to glow, signaling the return of light and, with it, a gentle breeze that rippled through the wraith’s mane. From the direction of the Rift came a series of loud, short grunts. The wraith tilted its head toward the sound and returned a similar grunt. It padded a few steps before turning to regard Verges one last time. They locked eyes and then the wraith sped off toward the canyon, disappearing into the dunes as the first rays of light began to paint the mouth of the canyon in the distance.

Verges stared toward the canyon for several long minutes, his mind struggling to comprehend the night’s events. The comm crackled to life again, tearing Verges’s attention away from the creature.

“Verges,” came Aaron’s voice over the comm, “Verges, come back.”

He cursed and reached for the comm, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice, “What?!”

“No really, Verges, come back. You’d better get your tail back here before Imogen gets in or she’ll have your hide, gray and wrinkled as it is, old boy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Ma!” Verges shut off the comm and collected his tools. With one last glance toward the canyon, Verges eased the hover into the rising sun.


If you enjoyed Jeremy and Shanel’s story, feel free to leave comments below. If you would like to read more about Westminster, read “Shadow of the Dunes,” which kicked off the Westminster stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Now you’re all caught up. But don’t worry, we have more stories from the Globe on the way soon!

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

This is the winner of the Matthew Cross Writing Contest–March

The silhouette of a giant robot figure in front of ranges of mountains blanketed in nighttime darkness
Illustration by Joe Cross. Copyright 2021.

The winner of the Matthew Cross Flash Fiction Collaboration Contest is

Jeremy Wilson

I started the story below. See how Jeremy starts after the red line and provides us with an action-packed, jaw-dropping ending.

Planetkiller

BY JEREMY WILSON AND MATTHEW CROSS

It starts out as a single point of light. Like a star that wasn’t there, and then suddenly it is.

“You see it?” Jame asks.

“Yeah, I see it.”

Jame and I grew up side by side. He was born in a hospital in the City. Don’t ask which city. It’s the only one on this barely inhabited planet on the far, far edge of Polity space. But I was born at Home. Show Ma something once and she learns it forever. So once she saw how the doctors and nurses handled Jame’s birth, she said she could handle the second one herself.

Da says I take after Ma in that way. Stubborn, independent, fast learner. I guess that’s mostly true. Just like Jame seems to take after Da. But I don’t think I’ll ever be as capable and as confident as Ma. Nothing shakes her.

The point of light grows instantly brighter and then splits into two points of light and then three. Jame and I both curse under our breath at the same time. “Vacc!” It’s an old spacer curse we picked up from Ma. She grew up on a Polity academy ship and knows all the spacer ways.

Jame and I watch through our HUDs as the two dimmer lights separate from the larger one and drop off in arcs to the horizon. They dim and disappear. Those are not our worry.

The remaining point of light grows brighter. My HUD dims that part of the view screen slightly to prevent me from being blinded. Now that the object is close enough, the HUD can calculate its speed, and the numbers are stunning.

While I’ve been watching the light through my HUD, Jame has been reading the more detailed numbers on his arm band. It displays the extensive data collected by the Home system’s sensors, which alerted the family to the invasion in the first place.

“Home just picked up the three we saw, but there might be more, out of range further around the planet,” Jame says. His breath is harsh. “But three Planetkillers is enough to . . . ,” he pauses, thinking deeply, as he always does. He shakes his head. “Well, it’s enough, anyway. One for the City, one for the Factory and one for the Mines.”

I admire Jame. He’s a thinker, like Da, not a soldier. But his voice doesn’t shake until he says “the Mines.” I watch the white point of light bloom through my HUD. It’s headed straight towards us. Towards the Mines, which Ma and Da left us to protect.

Jame exhales slowly through his nose, his warm breath fogging the cool evening air, and I realize his body has grown rigid next to mine. He has settled his mind on something. I don’t know what it is, but I don’t like it and the splinter of cold fear on the back of my neck suddenly blooms like a web of crystals down by back. I’m afraid Jame is about to do something brave.

Ma has told me time again that men don’t usually have the strengths of women. But they are tools; useful tools, if you know how to handle them. Good men are loyal, and, if you let them, sometimes they’ll throw their lives away to save yours. “Don’t let them do that, Els, not unless it’s absolutely necessary. Too often a man will sacrifice himself before it’s necessary.”

White brilliance creates a halo along the highest heights of the Blades. Illustrated by Joe Cross.

I snatch Jame’s hand and I will my voice to be steady.

“Ma and Da told us both to guard the Mines. Both of us,” I say. “We stick together. You and me. Like always.”

Jame nods and his body relaxes just a bit. It will have to do for now.

“It will be heading for the Pass. Come on,” he says.

We both push off the ground with our hands and we’re instantly in standing position a foot above the ground. We slowly drop to our feet. Our planet is a small one and gravity is weak here. That’s why the firs can grow so many metes tall, Da says. And why we can bound over the house with a single leap. 

Ma says our planet is small, dark and cold. But it doesn’t seem dark or cold to me. It just seems normal. And beautiful.

We drop 30 metes from the ridgetop to our hover. It doesn’t look like much. Just a skeleton of tubes with a bulb at the back for two seats. But in our low gravity, it can tow a wagon of ore near big as Home. I take the controls and Jame straddles the seat behind me. Everyone knows I’m the family’s best driver.

Staying out of view of sight and sensor of the Planetkiller, I whip around the sides of ridges until we reach the Pass. The Blades rise in darkness high into the sky. The Blades, the tallest mountain range on this continent, separate the City and the Factory on one side and the Mines on the other. We live on the side of the Mines. We’re the only humans on this side of the Blades. With all the machines to perform the labor, the Mines only need a couple of overseers. Pa manages the complex processes and schedules, the stuff Ma finds boring. Ma gets her hands dirty fixing broken machines and leading the charge when there’s a cave in.

There’s only a few families to manage the Factory as well. The Factory is the most valuable asset on the planet. Most valuable to the Polity, anyways. Because the Factory builds munitions for the war against the Republic.

We all knew this day might come. That the Republic might find our secret home. We’ve trained for every kind of attack imaginable, even Planetkillers. But, really, they were the last things we thought the Republic would send, not when they could simply bombard us from space. But nobody thought the Republic would attack the Mines, either. After all, what’s so valuable about a hole in the ground?

With Ma and Da gone to protect the Factory, it’s up to Jame and me to protect the Mines.

When we reach the base of the Blades, we hunker down beneath the shelter of the black rock edifice and wait. The sheer cliffs above us conceal half the evening sky in blackness.

The sonic boom of the Planetkiller’s shell traveling through the atmosphere finally assaults our ears. Then white brilliance creates a halo along the highest heights of the Blades. Finally, the egg that contains the Planetkiller strikes the ground, plowing a crater into the earth. A Planetkiller’s landing is its first strike. But this one’s attack is wasted on hectares and hectares of lonely mountains.

A Planetkiller’s landing is its first strike. Illustration by Joe Cross.

All of this I see in my mind’s eye because the Blades separate us from the point of impact. But we do feel the impact in the ground. It shakes the very Blades themselves, ever so slightly, and black chips of skree slither down the face of the Blades.

“It’s safe now,” Jame says.

Leaving the hover, we leap our way up the face of the Blades. Although we are a hundred metes above the ground, most of the Blades still climbs the sky above us. We rope ourselves together, and I lead the climb around to a low ledge that juts out over the Pass. Here we will make our stand.

The egg’s impact has thrown up a cloud of dirt that obscures the far horizon. It also interferes with Home’s sensors and Jame curses as he tries to check the status of the City and the Factory.

“I’m sure Ma and Da are fine,” he says finally. Neither of us believe it. The other two Planetkillers probably slammed directly into the City and the Factory, if the Republic could get readings of their locations. The only hope we have that our parents survived the initial attack is if they did not make it to the Factory before impact.

“We’re on our own,” he says, not looking at me but watching the horizon through his HUD. I nod, also staring at the horizon, waiting for the Planetkiller to emerge.

Finally, it’s head appears over a distant ridge. It’s basically a giant robot—if you can call a machine bigger than a city a robot—controlled by a whole team of human pilots and technicians. Even kloms and kloms away, I can feel its every footstep through my feet. The shoulders appear as it grows closer. It steps over ridges and clambers awkwardly but resolutely over mountains. The cloud of smoke and dirt from the crash hides the sun in the western sky, causing night to fall early.

Jame assembles the rocket launcher he carried in his backpack. I unload the two shells from my pack. As the Planetkiller marches closer, it’s footsteps begin to actually shake the ground, even up here on the stable rock of the Blades. My hands shake as I pass the first shell to Jame, but we move slowly and methodically. We do not make any mistakes.

From a kneeling position, Jame takes aim, using data inputs linked between the missile launcher and his HUD. He holds his breath and waits for the shake of the last footstep to subside. Then he launches the rocket.

The shoulders appear as it grows closer. Illustration by Joe Cross.

As soon as it is launched, I know something is wrong. Perhaps it’s a stray wind blowing through the Pass, but the rocket begins a tight spiral that grows as it races towards the giant mech. Just as the rocket is about to reach the Planetkiller, it lifts a giant arm and a hail of dark shapes fly out to intercept the rocket. Even so, we must have caught them by surprise because the blast that occurs when Jame’s rocket meets the small cloud of defensive rockets pushes the mech backwards. For a moment, I think it’s going to fall, and a cheer rises in my throat. But the pilots inside manage to compensate and the Planetkiller catches itself on a back foot. It rises. And when the smoke of our attack clears, I can see no damage at all.

We load the second rocket, but I know Jame and I are thinking the same thing. We are going to fail. We may survive, but we are not going to stop this goliath. We’re just children playing at war. Maybe that’s why we make another mistake. We do not move. We stay in position. And the mech pilots make our position. They fire just one rocket. As it races towards us, I feel the gesture from the robot’s lifted hand is almost casual. Then Jame and I leap upwards.

When the blast comes, it throws us higher. It feels like someone punching my legs up into my chest. But I manage to grab a thin ledge above me as the blast subsides. I look down and see Jame hanging limply from the rope that links us. We’ve always been able to carry each other easily, so it’s no problem to pull him up to me.

He’s unconscious but still breathing. Lying on the ledge, I lash him to me. Then I leap up the face of the Blades, moving towards the back side of the mountain again. I find a small crevice where he will be safe from robot or beast. From my pack, I pull out a medical stabilizer. Crying silently, I attach it to his chest and place the rubber mask over his face. It will monitor his condition and, if necessary, help him breathe or restart his heart.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” I whisper. “I love you.”

Before the Planetkiller can make it to the Pass, I’ve made it to the hover. With the rocket launcher strapped to my back, I flash through the Pass at top speed. I settle myself in the undergrowth beneath the trembling firs, every step of the Planetkiller jarring my whole body. I let it step over me and enter the Pass. I rise from hiding, sighting through my HUD, looking for any point of weakness.

The knees, I think, recalling my self defense classes.

The rocket flies true and strikes the back of the giant machine’s knee. Planetkillers are heavily armored, but I know right away I hit something vital. The gout of orange flame from the rocket’s explosion is overwhelmed by a cloud of white smoke or steam rising from the machine’s leg. The knee bends outwards with a pop and the giant lurches to the side. It’s head strikes the mountain wall.

I don’t make the same mistake twice. I don’t watch and wait. I leap.

It must be adrenaline because I swear I’m bounding as high as Da. The Planetkiller’s pilots have their hands full trying to restore control, but they may have already lost. It seems to be falling in slow motion with the most horrendous screeches. The awkward angles of its limbs and the close walls of the Pass form the perfect angles for me to land and leap further up the monster and plant charges from my backpack. Then I leap free and detonate them all.

As the Planetkiller marches closer, it’s footsteps begin to actually shake the ground. Illustration by Joe Cross.

Several puffs of white smoke rise up from its legs. The explosions seem small compared to the bulk of the thing. I’m not sure they’ll make a difference. But with great satisfaction, I watch as the behemoth falls forward and bashes its head against the floor of the Pass.

I just killed a Planetkiller!

All by myself, I killed a Planetkiller!

Wasting no time, I leap forward and climb the body. It’s easy now that it’s mostly prone. I find the hatch for the humans on the back of the machine, not on the head as I’d always imagined. I place charges all around the hatch and then leap high to a small ledge on the wall of the pass. I point my blaster at the opening and detonate the charges.

The smoke clears. I can’t believe my eyes. I don’t know exactly what I expected to see, but I never expected to see this.


A woman in a fitted black uniform bounds up out of the jagged opening, landing silently within a few feet of my perch with the grace of a scree stalker. Her short, dark hair framing piercing yellow eyes.

“Well, I hope you’re proud of yourself, kid,” she says, her eyes dissecting me as she slowly circles to my left, stopping next to an outcropping. “You’ve made a real mess of things.”

Soldiers in similar uniforms pour out of the opening before I can react, their plasma rifles trained on me. The woman holds my gaze, but says nothing more.

Reluctantly, I lower my blaster.

“Charlie Team, secure the —” the sound of rocks falling unseen cuts her off.

“Let’s see how your soldiers do without their commanding officer.” Jame limps out from behind the outcropping, his blaster leveled unsteadily at her head.

“You don’t want to do that,” she says calmly, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Jame, no!”

The commander sighs. “Let’s all just calm down.” She releases my gaze to study Jame’s blaster and then her eyes come to rest on the med pack beeping erratically on his chest. Slowly, she reaches up to a flap on her chest and lowers it to reveal a Polity insignia.

“You’re Polity?! Why are you attacking us?”

“We’re not attacking you. We’re —”

“Not attacking us?! What a bunch of excrem!” I shout, “You nearly killed us! And you probably killed our —” my voice falters.

Her calm demeanor wavers. “I could say the same of you! Half my team is down thanks to your little stunt. We came here to protect you!”

“Protect us from what?”

The woman pauses, as if trying to decide something. Her countenance shifts to one of resignation. It’s a change I recognize from when Ma has to tell us that she can’t fix one of the machines after a cave in.

“The Republic is amassing an armada behind your largest moon. They’re preparing to take the planet, which is why they haven’t bombarded you out of existence yet. We don’t know how they made it across the system undetected, but it doesn’t matter at this point. Our spec-ops squadron was the only thing patrolling this far out. At great cost, we managed to infiltrate a few of their ships but could only ‘liberate’ three Planetkillers.” She motions to the soldiers, “Charlie Team launched for the mines. Alpha and Bravo headed for the City and the Factory.”

Jame and I exchange glances.

“Why didn’t you warn us?”

“Our comms were knocked out during the fighting.”

“You should have found a way to tell us.”

“The next time I hijack a Planetkiller from a Republic carrier, I’ll bring you along to show me how it’s done!” she snaps.

The nearest soldier interrupts, “Commander, we have incoming.”

In my HUD, artificial stars begin blooming across the twilight sky, flaring as they split again and again.

“I hope you’re half as sharp as your mouth, kid, because the Republic is coming.”


I hope you enjoyed this piece of flash fiction that Jeremy Wilson and I wrote together. He’s a great collaboration writer!

If you enjoyed Jeremy ’s prize-winning ending, please make sure and share some kind comments below.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. If you enjoy Jeremy’s writing style and story-telling ability, you’ll definitely want to read these other story endings he wrote for previous contests and one he wrote as a collaboration with other Champions:

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

Gremio meets an unexpected stranger during his trip to the big city

Bounty

BY MATTHEW CROSS

Gremio reined in his team of goats at the edge of the plateau.

He had seen the purple streaks painted across the sky a few nights before. He had wondered if the faint growling sound had been his imagination. He scanned the grass-covered dunes that led down to Whitehall and saw the spaceship. He might have missed the ship—colored tan and brown—except for a couple of small figures in white uniforms moving about and then some type of vehicle heading towards the force walls of Whitehall and its glittering towers beyond.

The ship sat almost directly east of the city and Gremio, coming from the savagelands, was approaching the city from the northeast. So it was easy for him to guide his wagon and the goats across the sloping plain and give the ship a wide berth. He lived a simple life. Growing up in Finsbury, he had been taught in school the evils of the Polity’s wars. He was as suspicious of offworlders as anyone else. While he was curious, he decided he would gladly go the rest of his life without meeting an offworlder.

His wife, Katherine, and their children depended on him. He could not afford to go risking his life mixing with offworlders, whether they be pirates or Polity.

“Polity!” he laughed. “It’s not likely to be them now, fellows, is it? We left them behind long ago. No, my money’s on pirates.”

Gremio reined in his team of goats at the edge of the plateau.
Photo by Mier Chen.

Walls surrounded the towers of Whitehall. Blue lightning fizzed across them as the shields’ halo danced over iron and stone. Behind the colossal walls, glass shards loomed into the heavens, light skimming over the sand from the reflections. 

Gremio drove the team right up to the city walls and waited patiently, whistling a tune poorly to himself. Because all travel on the Globe was along the Elizabeth River, which lay on the western side of the city, there were no buttons or knockers or any way on this side of the city to signal the officers of the City Guard inside. And because he eschewed all electronics, both on philosophical and safety reasons, he could not call inside. So he just waited until the programs monitoring all the city’s camera’s notified an officer.

Eventually, a door-sized space opened in the force wall. An officer in a brown uniform stepped through and Gremio could see the officer’s partner standing just inside the wall. “Greetings, officers. I’ve brought beasts for the Bounty. Bandersnatches, o’ course.”

“What’s that smell?” asked the officer, pulling a face. Even the officer’s helmet and visor could not keep out the smell of week-old bandersnatch.

“That smell, officer,” Gremio said, “is the bandersnatches. A frumious smell to be sure. But I roam far and wide to hunt these down. I can’t exactly bring ‘em in while they’re still fresh, can I?”

In fact, Gremio had intentionally loaded the last of the Bandersnatch heads onto his cart nearly a week ago and allowed them to bake in the sun and soften a good bit. They were covered in midges and other bitemes. But the goats did not seem to mind the smell, and Gremio was used to it after two days riding. Gremio reached behind him and tugged at the tarp underneath the heads, intentionally causing a wave of flies to rise up into the air. The officer flinched but held his ground.

“If you’ll just open the wall a bit wider,” Gremio said. “I’ll drive it on in and you can count it for the Bounty.”

“We can’t let something like that into the city. It’s a health code violation, for sure.”

Gremio, still sitting on the wagon seat, made a show of looking around the open countryside. “Well, officer, I can’t rightly leave my goats here on the plain. I’ve some shoppin’ to do in town and won’t be back ‘til nightfall. The beasts are sure to eat ‘em up long before that.”

The officer looked doubtfully at the goats, which stood shoulder high and had high, curving horns. They could, indeed, defend themselves quite well in the wild, especially the four of them together. But Gremio did not know this officer, so he had to put on the full show to make sure he received the maximum bounty.

“Usually, Officer Tranio lets me stake the goats inside the wall while he counts up the heads. I got ‘em on a tarp, and I can just pull that off for ya and leave ‘em right here.”

“How many bander-whats-its you got there?” the officer asked. The flies and the smell must have finally overwhelmed him because he backed nearly into the force wall to get as far away as possible from the wagon.

“Well, let’s see, I lost count. I figure I got ten back there, but you’re welcome to count ‘em, officer.” Gremio threw a wide smile.

The officer looked like the last thing he wanted to do was step closer to the back of the wagon.

“Well, that’s fine, we’ll just say ten then.”

In fact, Gremio knew the shaggy pile of rotting bandersnatches only contained eight heads. But so far, the officers at the gate had never bothered to count them.

Gremio hopped down off the wagon seat. He grunted as he pulled the tarp, tumbling the bandersnatch heads and partial bodies underneath onto the ground, mostly still on the tarp. He never knew what the Guard did with them after he left. Probably called some sanitation drones to haul them to a midden somewhere. He had lived in Whitehall for a bit, years and years ago, but no one seemed to know where all the trash went.

The officer had already stepped back inside the walls. They widened the gap for Gremio to bring in his team of four goats. “Watch, now, they like to bite and they will eat hats,” Gremio warned the officers, who walked across the weedy lot to a smooth sidewalk. Gremio staked the goats across the patch of weeds, each with a long lead so it could graze as it liked.

The officer handed Gremio a disposable handheld device with the Bounty credits for ten heads on it. The officer paused, knowing he should offer Gremio a courtesy ride in the cruiser and not just leave him in this seedy part of town. Gremio knew he smelled like rotten bandersnatch, but he waited three breaths and let the awkward silence grow.

Finally, he said, “Well, thank you, now officers. I think I’ll stretch my legs and then find me a good shower. No need to wait on me.”

“Are you sure . . . ,” the officer  said, while his partner started the hover’s engine. Gremio just waved them along with a smile. With a relieved sigh, the officer hopped in the cruiser and the guards disappeared.


The Heart of Whitehall.
Photo by rur.

After a shower and a quick bite at a boarding house he used in this part of town, Gremio took a train into the heart of Whitehall. It was midmorning already and he had to put in his orders quickly if he wanted them to be filled and delivered to the northern wall before nightfall.

The first stop was always the printers. Because they kept no electronics in the house, they read a lot of bound books. Paper books for the boys’ lessons, manuals for Gremio, and romances and crafting books for his Katherine. He took his time making his choices on the monitor in the lobby of the printers. He had a list from Kate, but she always finished the books on her lists long before it was time for another trip to Whitehall. The printer, who knew Gremio well, promised the books would be delivered to the northern wall by end of business, as always. Gremio nodded gratefully. At the last minute, he selected two more romance titles for his Kittercat. They always put her in an amorous mood. 

He spent the rest of the morning placing orders through monitors and in person at shop counters.

“Alas, poor Yorick!,” Gremio said, standing on the wide, white sidewalk and stretching his back. “Alas, poor me!”

He liked to visit the city. But he hated shopping. It wore him down. It was barely past lunchtime and he was exhausted.

A woman rushing by and looking only at her handheld device bumped into Gremio, nearly knocking him down. She dropped her handheld, which clattered across the sidewalk. She spared him only a glance. “Watch where you’re going, you lummox,” she said and then chased her handheld as the passing throng kicked it along.

Flummoxed, Gremio headed hurriedly in the other direction, even though he had nowhere in particular to go. He often felt guilty about collecting the Bounty. He and Kate provided quite nicely for themselves off the land, but they could not make the luxuries of civilization. And in the highlands where they lived, there was nothing they could raise or make of value to Whitehall. Just the beasts for the Bounty.

But when he ran into ‘Hallers like that woman . . . No, she ran into me! Well, a lot of that guilt just melted away.

He was hungry, but he also felt a bit parched. He knew of an alehouse or two where he could get a good Blue Plate special and a pint or two for a reasonable price. He took the stairs down into the train tunnels and hopped a train to the older eastside of town. Far from the river and riverpark views, the eastside buildings were rusted, metal structures and not the glittering, crystalline towers.

He took the stairs down into the train tunnels and hopped a train to the older eastside of town.
Photo by Miltiadis Fragkidis.

Gremio found a seat at one of the few empty tables in the Pantaloon. In populous Whitehall, even the out-of-the-way dives were full of people. To Gremio, it always felt crowded inside the city walls. The Pantaloon was a Finsbury-style alehouse, windowless, dark, and full of smoke and vapors. It was as backwards and unfashionable as the painting on the Pantaloon’s wall outside—a painting of a fat, old gentleman giving a deep bow to a pretty young woman as he tried to look up her dress. That always gave Gremio a chuckle. With every visit to the Pantaloon, Gremio noted that he and the painted gentleman looked more and more alike. Like the gentleman, Gremio still wore the baggy trousers and open vest that were so fashionable a few decades ago in Whitehall. And Gremio had grown fatter and grayer of head, too.

But Kate didn’t seem to mind. She said with the years he only became more himself, and that she loved that. And living in the wilderness as they did, there was no other man to catch her eye. He was a lucky man.

As he ate, he went over his paper to-do list, checking off each item. He nodded with satisfaction. The only item he had left was to visit a jeweler. He and Kate had a big anniversary coming up. And as long as Whitehall paid out the Bounty each quarter, he would have enough disposable funds next visit to place an order for a sapphire necklace. Sapphires were her favorite.

Now there was nothing to do but kill time until the end of the business day, when his orders would be delivered to the northern wall. He considered going to a theater, but most of the new ones only offered loud, motion-filled, immersive experiences. Instead, he ordered a hookah for his table. Katherine wouldn’t let him smoke in the house, and once they had the boys, he had given up the recreational drugs so popular in his youth in Finsbury.

As soon as the server left, the front door opened, letting shafts of golden, afternoon light into the dim, smoky room. Gremio shielded his eyes. A man paused in the doorway, a silhouette with a glowing halo of gold around his head. Gremio attributed the halo entirely to the sunlight, but when the man entered and the door shut behind him, his golden hair continued to shine even in the dim alehouse lights. Gremio had never seen anything like it.

The man shuffled through the tables, trying to find a seat in the smoky dimness.

“Here,” Gremio called, raising his hand and giving a wave.

The man waded through the haze. And when the man appeared at Gremio’s table, it was a completely alien face that looked down on Gremio.

Gremio swallowed and then pasted on a wide grin. “I’ve got a seat free here. And a hookah on the way. Perhaps you’d care to pick up the first round?”

The man smiled, nodded, and slid onto the bench across from Gremio. 

“Thank you, kind sir,” the man said. Then he bowed awkwardly, while seated. “I am Hamlet and have just arrived in this fair city from Newlondon.”

Gremio knew it for a lie at once. This “Hamlet” had piercing blue eyes, which could mark him as a Newlondoner. And Gremio had seen some Newlondoners with hair bleached at the tips by the sun, but no Newlondoner had the pale skin or short, golden hair of this “Hamlet.” The hookah arrived and Hamlet joined Gremio for a smoke. Hamlet had clearly never seen a hookah before, but he watched Gremio carefully and learned quickly. Gremio hid a grin as Hamlet gulped and coughed the dewnut flavored fumes.

Hamlet had clearly never seen a hookah before, but he watched Gremio carefully and learned quickly.
Photo by Alena Plotnikova.

With fast, clipped speech, Hamlet fished for information about Whitehall’s politics. Gremio answered the questions he could, even though it was clear that this “Hamlet” was a spy from the offworld ship. The truth was, Gremio himself was an outsider in Whitehall, something any Whitehaller would know at a glance. What little Gremio knew of Whitehall’s government or politics was no secret.

The offworlder continued to pepper Gremio for three rounds of the hookah, but Gremio did not mind. Hamlet picked up the price of each round and ordered two pitchers of ale as well. It was a rare treat to spend time in the company of another man for a smoke and a drink, even if that man was an alien. Gremio held forth on his opinions of Whitehall, and Hamlet listened intently.

Eventually, the topic turned to Gremio’s favorite subject, besides Kate, which was himself.

“So you’re a Bounty Hunter?”

“Yes.”

“So you hunt down escaped fugitives?”

“What? No, I hunt the beasts, and I bring them in for the Bounty. That’s why it’s called a Bounty Hunter.”

Hamlet asked about the beasts. “Whitehallers clearly fear them, despite all their guns, but they don’t seem to know much about them.”

“The beasts don’t like ee-leck-tronics,” Gremio said. “Messes with their heads. Drives ‘em half blind and full crazy. I once saw a Scythebull ram a force wall until he kilt himself.”

The force walls attract the beasts from a distance, Gremio explained. And up close, it drives them to a frenzy. The further from the cities you travel, the safer it is, he explained. “O’ course, the Globe is full of dangerous animals, so you gotta have a slug thrower, just in case. But if you watch your step out there, a man like you’d be fine.”

“So . . . ,” Hamlet finally said. “You’re not really from Whitehall are you?”

When Gremio shook his head, Hamlet smiled and shook his own head ruefully.

“And you’d be one of them that came from the ship that landed,” Gremio said.

Hamlet’s eyes widened. “How did you know?”

Gremio felt sorry for the hapless spy. What could he say? The man’s hair, his skin, his speech, the way he dressed. Everything about him felt alien. As they had talked, Gremio had taken in the man’s features and even noticed in the gloom that the man’s facial features, his very bone structure, looked alien. Hamlet was clearly human, but he was just as clearly not a Glober.

“Well, there’s your name, for starters,” Gremio said, trying to be tactful.

“You mean Hamlet?”

“Keep it down. Don’t nobody say that name here,” Gremio said.

“Here in Whitehall?”

“Nowhere on the Globe.”

“And . . .  why? I thought Globers were mad about these ancient plays.”

“It’s because of the curse, of course.”

“I thought Macbeth was the cursed play.”

“I heard the same once,” Gremio said. “But on the Globe, the play of the Danish prince is tragedy twice over.”

After the first colonizers landed on the Globe, Gremio explained, they celebrated with a day of festivals along the riverfront. “A big shindig,” Gremio said. Capt. Elizabeth herself chose the play to end the evening, “the tragedy of the Danish prince,” Gremio said in a whisper. “And then the Wave come up the river and wiped out the entire plaza. Washed away nearly every body there. Ever since, don’t nobody put on that play and don’t nobody say that word.”

“Well . . . thank you for the information, friend. If you knew all along, why’d you help me?”

“For the drinks and the smokes, of course. Cheers!”

The stranger drew a fat, gold coin from a small pouch and left it on the table for the server. It was enough gold to pay the afternoon’s bill and then some. Then the offworlder slid the pouch over to Gremio. “Thanks again.”


Gremio went straight to the best jeweler he knew and placed the order for Kate’s sapphire necklace and a sapphire ring to match. He didn’t really believe in banks, but he did believe in bandits, especially outside the force walls, where he lived. So he went to a bank, cashed in the gold coins for Whitehall credits and opened an account. This would be his nest egg, in case the Bounty ever ended, or when he and Kate became too old to live in the wilds on their own.

Gremio went straight to the best jeweler he knew and placed the order for Kate’s sapphire necklace and a sapphire ring to match.
Photo by Sabrianna.

From the bank, he called the City Guard and asked for an officer to meet him at the northern wall to open the force wall. When Gremio arrived at the wall, he made a great show of slowly loading the pile of packages onto the wagon. The officers sighed and began helping him load. He hitched up the goats and gave the officers a winning smile and a large wave as he drove through the force wall.

Gremio drove up the slope to the plateau, recounting the wonders of the day. “Hamlet!” he said, slapping his knee. “By the gods, he picked Hamlet!” For a moment he stopped and looked over his shoulder superstitiously, but then he relaxed and chuckled aloud.

Two nights later, he reached home. Although he was eager to see Kate and the boys, he had to take care of the animals first. He worked by the light of the Swearing Moon and the smaller Arrant Moon. He put the goats in their pen with fresh feed and then went to check on the bandersnatches. All the beasts were calmly sleeping inside the enclosure. Despite their oversized heads and manxome jaws, they could be very gentle creatures. In another quarter, he’d take another load of heads into Whitehall.

Tired, he walked towards the house. He saw a light in the main room. They’d be up late, then, waiting for their gifts. With a smile, he went inside.


If you enjoyed my story, feel free to leave comments below. If you would like to see how this story began, read “The Buried War” which kicked off the Finsbury stories in the Globe Folio series.

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross

P.S. Now you can enjoy the Globe Folio from the beginning:

Act 1: Night of the Rocket

Act 2: Nights of Revelation

Be stellar!

Matthew Cross