Extraterrestrial antics on orbital aircraft! Erudition ensues!

By Jens Rushing. Illustration by Katie McCullough.

“Let’s do it,” Xygraphon said. A muscle in one of his many handsome pseudopods twitched, sending a nerve-bolt through the controls. Brilliant light flooded the teleportation deck of the Krazzar ship. The light receded, leaving a bemused and naked man. The man patted at his body, perhaps wondering where his clothes went, perhaps wondering why he stood before two tremendous creatures seemingly constructed of phlegm and wires.

“YOU ARE LEONARD SMITH,” Kalgar said. Xygraphon snickered; Kalgar had the volume all the way up, and when his squammous voice boomed through the chamber, Smith shuddered like he’d been electrocuted. “YOU ARE HERE TO ANSWER FOR THE CHARGE OF BEING A GRAVELY INFERIOR RACE.”

“Me, personally?” Leonard said. “I think I’d do better if I had my clothes on.”

“NO, NOT YOU PERSONALLY,” Xygraphon said. “YOU ANSWER FOR THE WHOLE OF HUMANITY.”

“Well,” Leonard said. He seemed confounded. He chewed his lower lip for perhaps forty seconds.

Xygraphon grew impatient. “WELL?”

“Well, what?”

“WELL, EXPLAIN YOURSELF.”

“See, it’s like this. I’m just a bus driver. I drive a bus. I don’t know as I can explain for all of humanity.”

“MAKE THE ATTEMPT, FLESH-CREATURE, OR YOUR PLANET IS ANNIHILATED.” Xygraphon held a tentacle over his orifice to stifle his bubbly laughter. “Stop it,” he hissed at Kalgar. “Stop making faces, jerk! I’m trying to do this!”

“AND YOUR, UH, ORGANS WILL SHRIVEL,” Kalgar added. He clicked the microphone off just in time to prevent Leonard from hearing a flood of laughter.

“Well, gosh.” Leonard scratched his head. “We’ve got, uh, lots of flowers and dogs and things.”

“YES. PLEA. TELL US OF YOUR CULTURAL ACHIEVEMENTS. WHY SHOULD WE NOT DESTROY YOUR PLANET?”

“We got lots of books. Books like Hunt for Red October. And, uh, Da Vinci Code.”

“CLANCY IS A HACK,” Kalgar said. “RESEARCH IS NO SUBSTITUTE FOR THE MOST BASIC PROSE SKILLS.”

“We got movies, too. Movies like… Hunt for Red October, and, uh Da Vinci Code.”

Silence reigned on the teleportation deck for a little while. “This guy…” Kalgar said.

“Don’t look at me!” Xygraphon replied. “I didn’t pick him!”

“I’m sorry, all right?”

“No,” Xygraphon said. “Let’s get him out of here. My dad wants the ship back by ten.”

“Your dad can kiss my orifice.”

“Shuddup!”

Feedback squealed as Xygraphon clicked the mic. “YOU HAVE BEEN FOUND GUILTY.”

“Mmmokay.” Leonard shuffled his feet.

“THE EARTH WILL BE DESTROYED.”

“Well,” Leonard said. “I guess that’s not my first choice.”

“UNLESS…”

Kalgar grabbed the mic. “UNLESS YOU SHAVE YOUR HEAD AND EAT ONLY MUSTARD FOR A WEEK.” Xygraphon roared with laughter, which Leonard heard only as a sound like chickens clucking. He grabbed the mic back.

“YES, YES, AND YOU MUST INTRODUCE YOURSELF AS ‘CRAPFACE’ FOR A YEAR!”

“A whole year?” Leonard said.

“OKAY, SIX MONTHS?”

“Six whole months?”

“OKAY, TWO MONTHS. UH, PLUS ONE MONTH.”

“I reckon I can manage that.”

“OFF YOU GO!” Xygraphon manipulated the teleporter controls, and the brilliant light bore Leonard away. “Do another?” he asked Kalgar.

“Yeah! But let’s get a Canadian this time. They’re just so funny!”

Posted in Tales | No Comments »

Daring deeds done dans le dungeon! Double devilment deals delight!

By Jens Rushing. Illustration by Katie McCullough.

The ruby eyes of the death-mask burned with a volcanic fire, filling the crypt with an infernal glow. Mummified guardians in rust-eaten suits of armor surrounded the mask and its reclining wearer, posed in eternal defense around the bier. Their shadows loomed large and phantasmic on the mosaic-covered walls.

Kaya moved with cautious tread through the crypt. Her footfalls were so silent an observer might have counted her one more ghost of that ghastly chamber. Only the whisper of her breathing betrayed her as one of the living.

She slipped between the crossed halberds of the guardians. Before her, the mask seemed almost to float in the darkness. Kaya could not see its wearer for the ruby-light, but she could imagine her well enough. The legends told her all she wanted to know: that the ageless witch-queen had preyed too long on the poor souls of Kolodo; that, fearing the people would not give her the burial she demanded, the witch-queen had prepared her magnificent tomb while still living and sealed herself therein with her retainers. Wth her fresh and unnatural youth still upon her, she had quaffed a poison, donned her death-mask, and waited to slip into oblivion and meet her sovereign demon-lover at last. Kaya wondered whether joy or terror was written on that cruel face.

Better not to know. She was only here for the mask.

The infernal light reflected on her poised palm for a half-second, then she snatched the mask away. It was heavy. Kaya was terribly aware that the witch-queen’s face was exposed; she swore she felt the dead eyes rake her. In a burst of panic she leapt backward from the bier.

And fell gasping to the dusty floor. Something had blocked her frantic spring. From behind her came a sound that electrified her with terror — metal scraping on metal. She raised her eyes from the floor.

She had expected it at every step, but it was no less horrifying when it finally happened. The stygian knights were moving, their dry bone-limbs rattling within rusty greaves, breastplates ringing on breastbones. They raised their halberds, threatening Kaya with the jagged blades. In one sepulchral voice they intoned:

“Who takes the mask wears the mask.”

One of the soldiers unceremoniously swept the witch-queen’s body from the bier.

“Who takes the mask wears the mask.”

Horror seized Kaya as she realized their intention.

“No!” she cried, and she coiled to leap past the skeletal defenders, but one already had her by the throat. Even as it choked her, she was grateful for the gauntlet that prevented contact with that undead hand.

The guardian forced her to the bier, and another grabbed her legs. Gauntleted hands pressed on her shoulders, forcing her down.

A scream gathered in her lungs, but it would not come.

“Who takes the mask wears the mask.”

They held the death-mask above her face, lowering it with inexorable slowness. All thoughts were lost to Kaya then.

The scream finally came. Suddenly the soldiers released her, their heads cocked as if listening to something far away. Kaya fought off the red madness of panic and strained her ears. The distant grinding of steel on stone. Sozhi must have heard Kaya’s screaming and begun lowering the crypt portcullis.

Taking advantage of the guardians’ momentary distraction, Kaya rolled from the bier and moved like a cat between two of the ancient warriors, snatching the mask as she rolled. She hit the ground running, her fine muscles working in wonderful harmony to bear her away.

“Who takes the mask wears the mask!” Kaya thought she detected a hint of indignation in their tone. The clamor of booted feet signaled their pursuit. Kaya didn’t bother looking back.

It was a long, straight dash for the exit, a slow incline to the surface. Far ahead she saw a small square of reflected moonlight. As she neared, she made out bars dropping across it.

Breath rasped in her lungs and fire burned in her thighs and calves. Her head jerked back and pain exploded in her scalp. A knight had her by the hair.

She dropped, winced at the tearing of her hair, rolled and rose to her feet while still running, always running. The portcullis was halfway down. The death-mask weighed heavy in her hand, seeming to drag her down, back into that dread chamber. But she would not relinquish it.

“Who takes the mask wears the mask.”

They babbled in chorus, the corridor echoing and distorting their chant. Less than a foot remained beneath the descending portcullis.

Desperate, Kaya threw the mask underhand. It tumbled end over end. The mask caught perfectly under the teeth of the gate. The portcullis ground to a halt. Kaya laughed aloud. She slid beneath the gate, twisting her head sideways to fit. A tooth raked her temple.

Kaya opened her eyes. Above her stood Sozhi, her dark locks shaking as she laughed.

“Clever!” she said. “And damned lucky, too.”

“Don’t I know it,” Kaya said, getting to her feet. “I can’t believe that worked.”

“I suppose we’ll count it,” Sozhi said, “even though you didn’t actually get the mask out of the crypt.”

“Shut up! That counts and you know it.” She pointed to the gate. One of the mummified guardians was reaching through the portcullis, his armored hands coming inches from Sozhi’s hair.

“Who takes the mask wears the mask,” he moaned. They ignored him.

“See? The mask is at least an eighth of an inch outside. Now what’s my time?”

“Just over five minutes.”

Kaya beamed. “A new record.”

“Get rid of that thing,” Sozhi said. “It’s cursed like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Oh, I believe it.” Kaya kicked the mask back down the corridor. The portcullis dropped with a clang. The undead soldier took the mask and silently bore it away.

“Your turn,” Kaya said.

Sozhi sighed. “There’s nothing to do in this town.”

Posted in Tales | 3 Comments »