Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Writing. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

A Trip Worth Taking. Part 6


Wissen was sitting at his desk in his smoke filled cramped office looking at his voluntary retirement papers. He had just finished reading the morning e-reports from Command and was halfway through the stack of paper work when he came across them. Retirement papers are sent out the first time after serving in the Rheinland Military for fifteen years. He was staring at them with the last two inches of a cigar in his mouth, trying to think through his options.

His family was dead, so there was no Mom and Dad to go home to. He had nothing outside his carrier in the Military. On the other hand, he never wanted to sign up in the first place. His father forced him to do it when he was 17, promised him that if he served five years, he would buy him a ship, and Wissen could do anything he wanted with it.

Monday, January 2, 2012

A Trip Worth Taking, Part 5


Tripper sat in the bar on the Briesen Mining Facility, sipping his beer looking out the window.  The orange gasses outside filled the entire view.   He was thinking of Morris, the little brat would be seven by now.  Tripper wondered if he still wanted to join the Liberty Navy, or if he ever found out the name of this nebula.

“The Walker Nebula.” Tripper said to nobody. 

Tuesday, December 20, 2011

A Trip Worth Taking, Part 4


He could not stop smiling.

He tried to, he tried to make the transaction with debonair and eloquence.   The reality is, though, Tripper had been smiling since he had the money to buy the ship he had his eye on. 

His final cargo run was the same one as the ill fated one that made his first million, except this time, he didn’t run into any pirates.   Tripper was accompanied by a trader who hired him, a man named Harus.   Harus was looking for some advice on a good trade run, and Tripper told him about the ore run to New Tokyo, and offered his services as an escort.  Surprisingly, Harus agreed.   So, while Harus went to get his ore, Tripper went with him and filled his own cargo bay up.  On the way there, Tripper did the math and realized he would have enough credits to buy the ship he was saving for.  He was so excited, that he didn’t charge Harus for the escort. 

Saturday, December 10, 2011

A Trip Worth Taking, Part 3


Tripper was in the helium cloud by Erie, he planned on spending an afternoon making a little bit of profit.  A six year old boy was in the passenger’s seat, looking out the starboard window.  Dave had a sister whose son wanted to join the Navy when he grew up, and she thought it was about time to introduce him to space.  So, Dave offered Tripper a week of free beer if he took him up.  Tripper thought mining would be a safe excursion to take the kid with him. 

It was hard for Tripper to imagine anyone never being in space.  He was in his early twenties before he had a place called home that was on a planet.  Being a miner’s son and growing up on an interstellar transport was an upbringing that was far removed from this little boy he now had as company.  Tripper’s father always told him they were going on trips.  He used to say: “That little Demetrius is the six year old that has been on the most trips in all of human history.”  Once this was pointed out, Demetrius was given the nickname ‘Tripper,’ and he has gone by that name ever since.   

Monday, December 5, 2011

A Trip Worth Taking, Part 2


Tripper stepped out of the licensing office.  No longer registered as a miner, he looked at his freelancer license.

“Man, I look like an idiot in my picture.”

Half an hour later, Tripper was sitting in David’s bar with warm beer in hand and the newly procured license sitting next to the half empty bowl of nuts. 

Dave picked up the card and inspected it with a suspicious eye.  He looked it over as if he suspected it was a fake, half thinking this was an elaborate joke.  “Well pant me green, you really did it.  You gone and did it.”

Thursday, December 1, 2011

'A Trip Worth Taking' Part 1


Wrote this a couple years back about a character of mine for an on-line game. It's a bit long, so I'll post it in parts. The places, vehicles, and organizations are specific for the game (Freelancer), I apologize if they get confusing.

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“Hey there, Trip.  Long time no see; I hope your run to Kusari was good.  What will it be?”

“Hey Dave, I’ll have the usual.”

Tripper sat down at the bar stool.   His overalls were dirty and smelled like they hadn’t been taken off in a week.  His short dark hair was sticking in every direction possible.  He let out a heavy sigh as he rubbed between his eyes, trying to work out the furrow he’s been wearing ever since he got back to Erie. 

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

Kayleadeck. Introduction.

OK, it's been awhile sense I've posted anything. Sorry about that.

 It seems a lot of people I know have been writing. I've read stories about Krypton, Steam punk settings, and the novel my wife is writing. I'm feeling left out, so I thought I would try some.

 Here is a bit of a story that has been inside of me for a wile now. Jotted it down in my spare time.

 I have another short story I wrote that is set in a sci fi setting called 'Frelancer,' If anyone is interested, I could post that as well.
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 Kaileadeck leaned forward doing everything he could to get as much speed from the horse as possible as he galloped through the forest. He urged his mount by using his will just as much as his words. His small body was an odd contrast to the large horse he was riding. From a distance, it looked like an adolescent human child was in the saddle. His long black hair held in a top knot by a gold ring, the lean muscles, large eyes, and stubble growing on his chin showed him older than first assumed.

 The men chasing him had not gotten close enough to him see his face; which was a good thing. Kaileadeck was under orders to kill anyone who saw his face, and fighting eight men alone would be difficult. Of his 42 years, he spent thirty of them have been spent in training, honing his skills into the effective tool he was today.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Hyper Cow!!

Here is a story Wife and I wrote. We took turns writing a paragraph or two.

Enjoy. . . HYPER COW!!

The newest super hero in Advent City stood on top of the tallest building the metropolis had to offer. The view from the third story roof made it easy for Hyper Cow to survey his territory below. He had been assigned four city blocks of downtown to protect.

“Trouble, in Advent City? Call Advent City Police and they will route your call directly to the Hyper Cow phone,” the announcer on the SuperMart below shouted over the intercom.

Hyper Cow smiled with a touch of his cud showing. He felt so proud of his first day as a super hero. With no crimes on this fine Monday morning he didn’t have anything to do so he was sitting waiting for the call.

A movement caught his eye. A block and a half away, he saw a masked hoodlum pull a young woman into an ally way. Hyper Cow watched until he heard a muffled scream. It was a shame the mugging was happening in The Jamaican Juggler’s turf. Regardless, a message needed to be sent.

Hyper cow pulled out two triangular flags and used a rudimentary flag language to send out a message. The Jamaican Juggler wasn’t in, so he left a message with a different neighboring hero, Sinister Scowling Woman, who promised to relay the information to JJ when he gets back.

A polyphonic sound of mooing came from Hyper Cow’s Hip. The police were calling him. . . This was it, his first emergency!

He picked up the phone and heard, “Only 16 copies of How to Win the Herd, by Rufus Hidebehind are left. Act now and we will throw in a free copy of Herd Think as well.”

Hyper Cow hung up in severe disappointment. He had been told months ago when he bought How to Win the Herd that it was the last copy. These telemarketers were the real criminals.

The Cow Phone rang again. Hyper Cow reluctantly pushed the talk button and put the phone to his ear.

“Moo?”

“Hyper Cow! Thank the Milk Man it’s you.” Said a gruff voice from the other end of the line. “We had someone call in. A street punk is spray painting a car on Bridgestone Avenue!”

Hyper Cow looked down from his perch. “Bridgestone you say? I don’t see anything. What’s the cross street?”

Hyper Cow could hear the police captain rustle some papers on his desk. “It’s on the corner of Bridgestone and Clarksdale.”

“Ahh. I see. “ Hyper Cow’s ears sagged. “I only cover between Capital and Poplar. Clarksdale is in The Jamaican’s area.”

“Oh? Yeah. . . Yeah, I see that now. Sorry to bug you.” With that, the Captain hung up, and the Cow was left alone in quiet once again.

“Man, JJ has all the good calls.”