Issue 40 February 15, 2008

 Pg. 2
Ray Gun Revival
Table of Contents
Overlords (Founders / Editors):
Johne Cook, L. S. King, Paul Christian Glenn 2 Table of Contents
Venerable Staff:
3 Overlords’ Lair
A.M. Stickel - Managing Copyeditor 6 Dean, the Space Rogue
Shannon McNear - Lord High Advisor, grammar consultant, listening
ear/sanity saver for Overlord Lee
by Andy Heizeler
Paul Christian Glenn - PR, sounding board, strong right hand 13 An Iron Clad Contract
L. S. King - Lord High Editor, proofreader, beloved nag, muse, by John M. Whalen
webmistress
Johne Cook - art wrangler, desktop publishing, chief cook and bottle
19 Featured Artist: Carl
washer 22 The Adventures of the Sky Pirate
Chapter 20, Liberty Before the Storm
Slushmasters (Submissions Editors): by Johne Cook
Scott M. Sandridge
John M. Whalen 34 Memory Wipe
David Wilhelms
Shari L. Armstrong
Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts
Jack Willard by Sean T. M. Stiennon
Serial Authors: 43 The RGR Time Capsule
Sean T. M. Stiennon
John M. Whalen
February 1 - February 14, 2008
Lee S. King
Paul Christian Glenn
Johne Cook

Cover Art: “Me I.D.” by Carl

Without Whom... Bill Snodgrass, site host,

Web-Net Solutions, admin, webmaster, database admin, mentor, confi- All content copyright 2008 by Double-edged Publishing, 
dante, liaison – Double-edged Publishing a Memphis, Tennessee-based non-profit publisher.
Special Thanks:
Ray Gun Revival logo design by Hatchbox Creative
Rev: 20080215c
Visit us online at http://raygunrevival.com
Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008
 Pg. 3
Overlords’ Lair
As a special treat, we asked the characters from
the various serial stories what true love was to
them.
Jack Brand - by John M. Whalen
I asked Brand what he thinks true love is.
We were standing under the eave of the
cabin he built for himself out there in the
Tulon Desert. I think he thought I was a
little touched, asking him a thing like that.
I didn’t know if he wasn’t going to sock me
on the jaw. Instead he shuffled his feet and
stepped out into the sunlight.
“Why you askin’?” he said.
“It’s an assignment. My editor wanted me
to ask you. You know, we’re chronciling your
adventures back on Earth.”
“Hell of a question.”
“I know you had something going with
Christy Jones a while ago. You think about
her much?”
He looked at me kind of sharp, and then
glanced out over the desert toward the
blue mountain.
“Only every day.”
“And your sister? The one you’re searching
Ray Gun Revival magazine
for?”
“Her too.”
“Think you’ll ever resolve all that?”
He shoved his hands down into back pockets
of his jeans and rocked back and forth on
his boots.
“Who knows?” he said. “Is that what love
is? Something that keeps you wanting one
more tomorrow?”
Deuces Wild - by L. S. King
“True love?” Tristan lowered his book, his
eyes narrowed. Slap wasn’t sure if he was
hiding amusement or scorn under his lids.
“Yeah. Addie asked me. I thought it was
funny at the time, but started thinking
about it.”
“And what do you think?”
Slap scratched his cheek and slumped in the
chair. “I think true love means you care for
someone more than yourself. That taking
care of them is what you devote yourself
to.” He hesitated, then grinned. “And that
they care for you enough to put up with
your ways. I wasn’t always the easiest, but
Shallah put up with me tracking in mud and
such.”
Tristan tucked his nose back in the book
without comment.
“What about you?”
Tristan’s dark eyes bored into Slap. “What
about me?”
“What do you think true love is?”
“I don’t believe in it.” His voice was sharp,
almost staccato.
“Aw c’mon, Tristan. What about that woman,
Tanya?”
“Passion, admiration, respect. She would
have make a great partner. But love—no.
That’s all romantic nonsense.”
Slap opened his mouth to contradict his
friend, but Tristan raised the book pointedly,
tacitly stating the conversation was over.
With a sigh, Slap rose, shaking his head. He
hoped someday Tristan would change his
opinion.
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate - by Johne
Cook
“True love?” Bola dragged back in from
liberty ashore walking a little funny. “Now
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
 Pg. 4
that was a great liberty! I was truly loved!”
Cooper Flynn looked at Bola and shook his
head. “True lust, maybe, but that’s not
love.”
Bola was nonplussed, although she never
would have used that word. “Well, it works
for me, very well for me!”
Flynn smiled at her, his black eyes crackling
with amusement.
Bola flushed and started flipping her dagger,
as she did when she was flustered. “Why
don’t you tell me what true love is to you,
then, hotshot.”
Flynn’s face took on a noble look. “Very
well. True love is the affection of a good
crew, the dependability of a good ship, the
sacrifice of good leaders, the thankfulness
of a grateful populace. True love is setting
aside what you want for what’s best for
others. Isn’t that right, Mr. Pitt?”
Mr. Pitt leaned back against the wheelhouse
with his arms crossed. He watched
estranged wife Deena Prentiss walk past
without giving him so much as a glance.
“True love...hurts,” he said.
JASPER SQUAD - by Paul Christian Glenn
In a rare moment of serenity, Jasper Squad
lounged around the conference table in
the middle of the deck. Jackets had been
thrown off, chairs tipped back, and feet
kicked up on the table as an old bottle of
Feschian Fair was passed around.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
“To love,” said Captain Spill, raising his tiny
cup to the table. “Eternal and true.”
“Captain,” grinned Rey, “I didn’t know you
were such a romantic.”
“All things in moderation, of course,” replied
Spill.
“No such thing as ‘love, eternal and true,’”
muttered Jackaby, repeating the old cliche.
“People accidentally cross paths and start
to imagine they need each other. That’s
all.”
“You’re awful young to be so cynical,” said
the Captain.
“And you’re a little too old to believe in fairy
tales,” replied Jackaby.
The Captain glowered. “I”ve been married
31 years, kid,” he said darkly. “I know a
thing or two about love.”
“Wish I did,” sighed Rey. “I’ve never been in
love. Not really.”
“I’ve been in love plenty of times,”
interjected Stamp. He was lying upside
down in his holding cell, feet climbing up
the wall, head hanging lazily off the side of
the bunk. “It’s as easy as fallin’ in a puddle.
And if you’re lucky, you end up just as
dirty.”
“We’re trying to have a civilized conversation
over here,” said the Captain, over his
shoulder. “Keep your puddles to yourself.”
Stamp’s feet dropped sideways to the
bunk, and he twisted himself around into a
halfway recognizable sitting position. “I’m
just sayin’, there ain’t no reason to make
it all mysterious and dreamy-like. Fallin’ in
love is the luckiest thing that can happen to
a man, and it’s easy. Too easy, sometimes.”
“Look at that,” muttered Spill, “The hoodlum
with a heart of gold.” Reaching for the
bottle of Fair, he noticed Rey gazing over
at Stamp with a curiosity that was entirely
disconcerting.
“Who have you been in love with?” she
asked Stamp.
He closed his eyes and leaned his head back
against the wall. “The last one was called
Esnielle. Prettiest girl I’d seen in a long time.
Short, black hair, smoldering eyes, thin lips
that opened up into a smile that outshone
the stars. She liked red leather, and let me
tell you, she could wear it.”
Spill rolled his eyes and took a plug straight
from the bottle, but Rey smiled and leaned
forward.
“Where was she from?” she asked.
“Janits, originally,” said Stamp, opening
his eyes. “But I met her in Cole City. We
were pullin’ a job there, a little grift she’d
worked up on her own. We used to lie in
bed—a nice little room in a respectable
motel—and talk about going back to her
homeworld. Settlin’ down, makin’ a family,
all that stuff.” Stamp sighed long and deep,
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
 Pg. 5

and closed his eyes once more, lost in the

memory.
Here’s hoping you find your true love,
“Don’t let him fool you,” said Melendez. She from Ray Gun Revival magazine.
stood abruptly, and pulled her jacket back Johne Cook
on on. “Love comes once, Cadet. If you lose Overlord, RGR
it… that’s it.” With that, she stalked off to Breezeway, Wisconsin
the cockpit.
Captain Spill watched her go, then put the
bottle of Fair back on the table. “She’s not
supposed to be flying the ship,” he said
quietly. He dropped the feet of his chair
back to the floor, stood up, and followed
Melendez into the cockpit.
Jackaby leaned forward, grabbed the bottle,
and excused himself, and wandered back
to his bunk, muttering.
Rey walked to the invisible perimeter of
Stamp’s holding cell and sat on the floor,
watching the prisoner, who was still lost in
thought.
“What happened with Esnielle?” she asked.
Stamp opened his eyes and looked down at
her. “I killed her,” he said. “Shot her in the
back of the head when she thought I was
unarmed.”
Rey’s eyes widened and her lips curled
back in horror.
Stamp shrugged. “It’s ok—she tried to
kill me first,” he said. He closed his eyes
and smiled. “Ah, she truly was something
special, though…”

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

Dean, the Space Rogue by Andy Heizeler
Dean, the Space Rogue
by Andy Heizeler
“A re you an android?” demanded the
woman holding a laser pistol to Dean’s
face. Somewhere behind him, the floor
manager fainted.
“Do you want me to be?” he asked,
entranced. For a space pirate, the lady
displayed both grace and style. With skin like
soft charcoal, a voice like a marine and an aim
a sniper would envy, she had taken control of
the situation in mere seconds.
Everyone in the casino who was not
robbing it, save Dean, cowered face down on
the floor, hands where they could be seen. The
auto-guns and cameras smoked impotently,
having been neutralized in a hail of laser blasts.
Near the vault, a man with arms the size of
legs was busy throwing piles of universal credit
sticks into a rolling metal cage.
“You’re a pit boss, right?” Dean wasn’t
given time to answer before being dragged
over the blackjack table to begin what might
be a very short career as a human shield.
The lady pirate had an incredibly strong
arm around him with the pistol pressed men-
acingly against his temple. This was just in time
for the security teams who blasted through
the locked side doors with their pulsers.
So far, no one had died. Dean had faith
it would stay that way despite the murder
brewing in the eyes of the guards.
“Stop where you are! Hold your fire or I’ll
Ray Gun Revival magazine
melt his brains out,” promised the lady pirate.
“You smell fantastic, by the way,” whispered
Dean. He wasn’t lying; she gave off a combina-
tion of rose oil and leather, which made sense
considering her outfit.
“Stop sniffing me.”
Even her voice was sexy, thought Dean.
You just don’t find women like this anymore,
he reflected forlornly.
The guards were debating the value of
saving a life versus their job prospects if they
lost the casino’s money.
In the next couple of seconds it could
all end in a flurry of laser and pulser blasts,
thought Dean. He would have been fairly
confident that wasn’t going to happen, were
it not for Hugh, the youngest of the guards.
He hadn’t talked much to that one, whereas
the others had an attachment to Dean and his
generous bookkeeping skills.
Dean spoke as if the situation were routine.
“Relax gentlemen, the casino is excellently
insured against theft. If you shoot, someone
could get hurt.”
“Isn’t that the point?” asked Hugh.
“Only if you want to be axed for bringing
a lawsuit down on the casino. Do you want
to get fired?” Dean had no idea what kind of
insurance the casino carried, but it sounded
good.
Pg. 6
The older men looked at each other and
nodded. They lowered their weapons. Hugh
held his up, but his stance was somewhat
deflated.
“No one does anything stupid, no one gets
hurt,” said the lady, edging Dean towards the
doors. The ape closed up the steel cage and
followed, waving around a gun that looked
highly outlawed in most of the Galaxy.
The front doors of the Post Martian Fed-
eration Regency Casino and Hotel opened to
reveal a pirate vessel, parked serenely on the
smashed remains of the water fountain. The
battered ship had seen better days, presum-
ably sometime before the invention of quick
bond armor sealant. If forced to guess, Dean
would have said it was an old Izar Class Light
Cruiser that had been savagely chopped in half
before being resurrected out of a junk yard by
someone with a thruster fetish.
The cargo ramp was down, revealing two
other crewmembers waiting at the top of it.
On the left a skinny fellow bearing a refund
quality haircut frantically typed into a keypad.
Opposite him stood an attractive blonde girl
with a pulse grenade launcher that looked too
big for her.
She was wearing pink coveralls and an
expression of pure joy.
“Captain, we’ve got company,” shouted
the man with the slanting flat top, looking
worriedly at the skies now. Coming in steep
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Dean, the Space Rogue by Andy Heizeler Pg. 7

were three security drones, wildly firing pulsers. The Captain holstered her laser pistol and neo-bastist ceremony, but there’s always that
The girl in pink aimed up and started shooting rested her hands on her perfectly curved hips. X factor,” he said, raising his finger.
back.
“You’re right, we could just dump you out “There’s always that chance that you’ll run
Thoomp! Thoomp! Thoomp! The pulse at high orbit for a couple of cold spins and a into someone with military training or a hero
grenades flew high and true before exploding long burn,” she said with an amused glint in complex with dreams of glory. Then they’ll
in spectacular brilliance, sending the robot her eye. fight.” He made a fist and shook it.
planes to the Elysium Electronica.
The towering hulk, who had ex-mercenary “Then you’ll be forced to kill him. If you don’t,
“Woo hoo,” she shouted happily, retreating written all over his scars, chuckled sardonically. he’ll wind up killing one of you or an innocent
inside the cargo bay with a smile and a smoking The pilot was distracted with his telepad and bystander. Then you’ve got real problems,”
barrel. the girl in pink was busy wrestling the grenade said Dean ominously as he lowered his fist and
launcher into a battered weapons locker. raised his other hand, opening it as if revealing
The lady pirate dragged Dean into the ship something he had magically plucked from the
at an undignified pace. The ramp slammed Dean shook his head. “If you were that type air.
shut, followed quickly by multiple thumps; of criminal, there would have been a lot of
pulser blasts from the guards and more drones, dead guards back there. You don’t want Federal “On the other hand, if you send me in first,
no doubt. murder charges added to armed robbery. I’ve you’ve got an instant compliant already there.
got a better idea. Take me with you,” he said, A professional hostage, if you will. No more X
“Get us out of here, Arc,” ordered the lifting his chin for effect. factor,” he finished with a warm, trusting smile.
Captain. The skinny man punched something The Captain narrowed her tastefully lined eyes.
into the pad, causing harsh vibrations to pass The Captain crossed her arms, and the ex-
through the floor plates. mercenary frowned, obviously discontent with “What about your job at the Casino?” The
the prospect of missing a good spacing. suspicion practically dripped from her voice.
The Captain released her hostage and
grabbed onto something solid, along with “Why would we want to do that?” asked Dean shrugged. “First off, working for a
everyone else save Dean. The violent inertial the Captain. Casino is morally equivalent to working for
shift sent him tumbling across the bay and pirates and with pirates the upward mobility is
crashing into the bulkhead. After the compen- “The X factor,” Dean said with an air of more, well, mobile.”
sators kicked in, and he was certain nothing mystery. Now that he had their attention with
was damaged other than his pride, Dean stood confusion, he continued, “Judging by your “Pirate is a negative label,” interrupted the
up on the now level floor. performance back there, this isn’t the first job ex-mercenary. “We prefer the term freelance
you’ve done by a long shot and by the looks of monetary redistribution professionals.”
“Stay quiet and don’t move. We’ll drop you this ship, it won’t be your last.” That earned
on the far side of the planet before we boost an angry glance from the lady in pink, which Dean stared at the big guy with an expres-
out,” said the violet-eyed pirate. marked her as the engineer. sion of disoriented fascination. He nearly
commented before deciding to ignore the
“You could do that,” said Dean, running “Now, if you take a hostage each time, or remark.
his fingers through his hair to make it more even just most of the time, you can plan out
roguish. “But that would be an unnecessary every aspect of the mission except for what “Secondly, I have ideas,” he waited for
waste of fuel and time.” that hostage is going to do. Granted, most of someone to ask what kind of ideas. No one did.
the time they’ll be as docile as kittens at a “Ideas that require associates with guns and a

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

Dean, the Space Rogue by Andy Heizeler Pg. 8

starship. You can make a great deal of money Dean swung his finger to point at the Dean felt a rush of elation chased by a
with a minimum of risk, with my help.” mercenary. “You have the appearance of a warm shot of hope.
man who has a hard time understanding comic
The pilot glanced up now, apparently book plots while considering assault weapons “This is Creon, our heavy artillery.” Captain
satisfied that he had set them on an untrace- art forms. In reality you’re a sensitive intellec- Sedona indicated the ape who nearly crushed
able course through the gods knew what kind tual that could probably quote Euripides.” his hand in a powerful shake.
of nightmarish space anomalies. “Do you have
any piloting, engineering, or security counter- “The bold are helpless without cleverness,” “Arc, primary pilot, ship’s surgeon and
measure skills?” quoted the ex-mercenary obligingly. systems expert.” Arc had a lousy handshake,
somewhat distracted and clumsy.
Dean shook his head. “Well no, but,” he was Dean turned on the engineer next. “You’ve
cut off by the ape with a neck that contained looked over your shoulder a total of eight times “Cloey, my chief engineer, relief pilot and
more muscle than should have been possible. since we took off, chomping at the bit to check ship’s chaplain,” Cloey’s handshake was sur-
on the engines. You’re spiritual about your prisingly firm, her aura brightened consider-
“Do you have any weapons training, engineering, judging by the smell of incense in ably now that he had been accepted.
unarmed combat skills, DNA upgrades, nano- the air recyclers.” She shrugged at his assess-
aguments or chem boost tolerance?” “Creon, fill him in on the rules. Cloey, you
ment as if it were nothing special. can go check on our girl now.”
Dean reluctantly shook his head again. The Dean turned to the Captain last. “And you,
Captain held up her hand before the engineer my dear Captain, are wearing the leathers of “Sure thing boss, she could use some
could start in on him. The wrench monkey an Echelon test pilot. You enjoy adventure and soothing after that rough take off,” said Cloey,
pouted, obviously peeved at being left out of adrenalin. When you retire, you’ll spend your hurling ocular daggers at Arc. The pilot gave up
the fun. days flying antiquated suborbital planes in wild a wounded expression.
“So you have aspirations but no skills. You aerial displays, maybe doing some instructing “One last thing. What’s your name?” asked
on the side, right?” Captain Sedona.
want us to educate you in space piracy in return
for being a hostage shill with some untested The Captain raised an appraising eyebrow “Dean,” he said, hastily adding, “The space
ideas?” asked the Captain. while giving just a slight nod of acceptance. rogue.” Despite the charm he loaded into the
Dean raised his chin just a hair. “Ah, but I “You could have a future in fortune telling,” she words, they fell flat on the deck.
jested.
do have skills. I read people. An exceptional “I’ll be on the couch in the mess lounge
boon if put to the proper use.” He pointed at Dean waved his hand. “It gets boring fast, if anyone needs me,” said Arc, walking off
the pilot first. “You’ve survived a bad crash, trust me. Pretty soon you find yourself predict- towards a stairwell out of the spacious cargo
possibly in combat and you dodge spending ing nearly unspeakable horrors, just to see the bay. Cloey winked at him before heading for
time in the cockpit to avoid flashbacks, hence reactions. My skills are better used for confi- the engine room and the Captain merely rolled
the telepad. You also have a touch of paranoia, dence trickery.” her eyes before strolling off, leaving Dean alone
as it’s obvious you cut your own hair,” said with Creon.
Dean masterfully. Captain Sedona made a show of weighing
the decision before making an oh why not face “Have you ever tried breathing vacuum?”
The pilot looked uncomfortable but and sticking out her hand. “Fine, you’re hired.
impressed. I’m Captain Valerie Sedona. Welcome aboard Dean shook his head, disturbed by the
the Tachyon Valkyrie.” thought but fairly sure where the conversation

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

Dean, the Space Rogue by Andy Heizeler Pg. 9

was going. “You need to relax, loosen your muscles,” himself that he would repay Tim, and he always
Dean could see that despite his frustration, the fulfilled his promises to himself, if no one else.
“If you’re looking to experience it, disobey big man loved to teach, which was perfect. The Even if he stayed with these guys and tried to
the Captain. Come on, I’ll fill you in on the rest stunner recharged to full power again while make the money that way, the GSR had them
during the tour.” Dean appeared to concentrate on relaxing. He pegged enough to know they were going to hit
was in the middle of flexing his shoulders when that Casino, they wouldn’t get far. Besides, he
Dean smiled inwardly while maintaining he looked past Creon into the cargo bay and was past the point of no return, a traditionally
a sober face. Some days, he amazed even adopted a stupid grin. bad place to attempt U-Turns.
himself.
“Does she always walk around naked like He drew the pistol and stayed low as he
# that?” he whispered. moved along a bank of recessed thruster
bells. Though he had served in three different
There are times in the life of a space rogue, Creon spun faster than a startled cat. Dean militaries, he had never actually participated in
thought Dean, when it is advantageous to fired the stunner, sending all seven feet of combat. He did manage to pick up some skills
appear both curious and incompetent. As he Creon crashing to the deck, unconscious. here and there though. He stayed low and to
pulled hard on the trigger of the stunner pistol, the shadows, his steps light upon the deck
“I can’t believe you fell for that,” remarked
completely missing the target, now was one of plates.
Dean, jumping over the body and closing the
those times. hatch to the cargo bay. It was the best he could Peeking around the corner, Dean spied
“No, no, no. You’re jerking your shots do to conceal his work, considering Creon’s Cloey as she hummed softly to the main reactor.
to the right. Imagine that you’re squeezing weight. The presence of incense, candles, and crystals
the charge into the target,” instructed Creon, confirmed a great deal about her eccentrici-
With a speed born of wanting to be done ties.
standing safely behind Dean. Creon had informed him that Cloey was a
with this business quickly, he clipped the human variant type twenty seven, a polygen-
In front of them a battered target dummy stunner to his belt and dashed to the floor der capable of changing her sex as well. Dean
hung suspended from bungee cords in a little hatch near the back. As he slid down the ladder had nothing against them; he had even dated
room just off the cargo bay. At one time the into the engineering bay, Dean felt a pang of one once. Aside from an embarrassing incident
dummy might have served as a clothing model regret. after a long night of drinking, it had gone fairly
robot. well. Cloey was a gentle soul, extremely super-
These were his type of people, and he was
stitious about machines, and had probably
“Right, squeeze,” repeated Dean, listening to betraying them to save his own skin. He hated never hurt another living thing.
the Cheney-Stokes wheezing of the air recyclers having to do it, especially for the Greater Star
and the whine of the stunner recharging. After Republic of all things, but he didn’t have much He fired the stunner, crumpling her before
a minimum of suggestions, Creon had gener- choice. They had bagged him with a rap sheet he could talk himself out of it. Now all he had to
ously offered to train him in the art of stunner that if printed out could have provided enough do was find the environmental controls and an
shooting as if it had been his own idea. origami to fill a black hole with spaghettified
swans. Still, it felt wrong working for the right emergency breather, lower the oxygen levels
enough to knock out the rest of the crew and
Dean fired again, sending a bright blue side of the law. If it hadn’t been for the added head for the cockpit to program in the coordi-
bolt of energy into the intercom. It died with reward money, he would have refused the nates for the rendezvous with the GSR Secret
a pathetic gurgle of static. Creon shook his covert mission to capture the space pirates. He Service goons.
head. needed that money to repay his old partner
for losing the ship, though. He had promised

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

Dean, the Space Rogue by Andy Heizeler Pg. 10

He turned around just in time to see the “I should have never accepted the deal,” skills to benefit humanity. Just think about it; if
heel of Captain Sedona’s laser pistol coming at muttered Dean. If the Greater Star Republic I’m dead, I can’t help anyone,” adding, “amen,
him. The world went black with a quick, sharp wanted these pirates so badly, why hadn’t they Ra.”
pain. just gone into Post Martian Federation space
themselves to track them down? His heart pounded in stark fear as the outer
# airlock door began to cycle. He should have
He knew the answer of course. Politics. If known better than to appeal to higher powers.
he were caught infiltrating PMF territory on a Historically they took a dim view of his profes-
Dean was cold. It was a bad cold, a space covert mission, they could deny everything, he sion, not to mention the difficulty in scamming
cold. He opened his eyes to the inevitable. was just an unrelated criminal. Which probably omnipotent beings.
He was in an airlock. The inside hatch had a explained what they wanted the pirates for,
external resources, off the books. It’s what “Hey! I’m not even close to frozen to death
window, through which he could see the back
he would do if he were in charge of the SS, yet,” he screamed, wondering if that was a
of Creon standing guard. The outside hatch
which is precisely why he hated dealing with good idea. No point in making the inevitable
was all unforgiving metal, not to mention badly
them at all. Dean stomped his feet for warmth, even more miserable.
in need of fresh paint.
producing only numb vibrations in his wooden It was better to have robbed in the heavens
A quick search revealed an emergency legs. He looked at his breath in despair. than obeyed the rules below, he thought
release lever, but being of military design it
only opened the outer hatch. No help there. He thought about the long series of cons, majestically, thinking it was an appropriate last
scams, and trickery that made up his life. Other thought.
“Think, Dean. Think,” he said, pacing in a than having landed himself in an airlock about Blowing the air out of his lungs, Dean stood
quick circle and rubbing his arms for warmth. to be spaced, he had no regrets. He guessed bravely before the airlock door, waiting to be
he always knew it would end like this, dancing hurled to
from the end of a rope or doing the long closed his his
“You should have done that before you death across the starry void. He
decided to betray us,” said the static riddled eyes.
vacuum swim.
voice of Captain Sedona. The outer hatch swung open.
Even back in the days when there was
“I was just testing your capabilities!” he tried, only one god to worry about, Dean had never Nothing happened.
realizing too late how feeble that sounded. prayed. He had always assumed it was better
“Don’t bother with trying to talk your way for keep
to a low profile, considering his disdain Shivering and breathless, Dean opened his
honest work. eyes and sucked in a great gulp of air. It was
out of this. I’ve made my decision. I’m going to Tim! Standing in a connecting airlock, his old
space you just before you freeze to death,” she He decided it couldn’t hurt now. The floor partner was grinning at him.
said with all the warmth of the void beyond was freezing, so he figured that standing was
that outer lock. just as good as kneeling. They always said it “Tim, what are you doing in the afterlife?”
was the thought that counts, didn’t they? asked Dean, realizing this had to be the result
“Okay, it was a mistake. A terrible mistake. of a freezing brain having one last laugh at
I’m sorry!” “Er, God or gods or universe?” he started, itself.
“I’m turning off the intercom now, Dean. his style.of“Ihow
unsure to proceed. This really wasn’t
could use some help here. I know “You owe me for a ship,” said Tim mirth-
Make peace with whatever gods will have you,” I haven’t exactly been on the A list, but if you fully.
she said, followed by an audible click. just get me out of this, I promise to use my

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

Dean, the Space Rogue by Andy Heizeler Pg. 11

“Being dead might be a slight barrier to So that’s how she got the drop on him so “To counteract the damage done by those
that.” quickly, she knew what he was up to all along! within the government who have similar dis-
Tim had managed to save not only Steve’s ex- posable assets that he wasn’t able to liberate,”
“No, it won’t. It’ll help,” said Tim, handing girlfriend and her pirate crew from being taken said Tim with a crazy look in his eye.
over a dissolvable printout. Dean took it with by the SS, but Dean as well. Unfortunately they
some trepidation and read. were now indebted to Tim and this nameless “This is why I hate governments. It sounds
agent, both of whom were keeping their activi- like we’re in over our heads, Tim.”
GSR SS Intel Report: Security Level - Alpha ties
Blue. Disposable Asset “Dean Smith” Deceased. had secret from the secret service itself. They “Not at all Dean, I have faith in you,” said
all been played.
Pirate Vessel T9-031 Destroyed, All Hands Lost. Tim smoothly. Whenever he talked like this,
CC Supreme Senator Jarron. Dean shook his head. “Why didn’t she tell a scheme was sure to follow. Dean braced
me she knew the score the instant I got on himself.
Dean looked up with bewilderment. “All I board?”
rated was ‘Disposable Asset’?” He handed the “You’re going to join the crew of the Tachyon
document back to Tim, who pulled the tab and Behind him the inner hatch of the Valkyrie Valkyrie, for real this time. You’ll make Captain
let it bubble away. opened to reveal Captain Sedona and her crew, Sedona and her crew very wealthy, with a
modest repayment schedule to me, of course.
Tim smiled, clapping Dean on the shoulder. many of whom were still mopping up their
laughter. Dean glared. In the process, due to the aims of our SS friend,
“Welcome to the world of the nonexistent, you might even wind up saving the Galaxy,”
Dean. Remember how I said I had a pretty good “Oh, don’t look at me, ‘space rogue’—that announced Tim sweepingly.
job lined up when we split?” was Tim’s idea,” she said, barely containing a
“And how am I going to do that?” asked
“I didn’t think that had anything to do with fit of giggles. Dean turned back to Tim who had
his hands up in surrender. Dean skeptically. Tim shook his head, backing
the Republic SS.” into his Envoy Shuttle.
“Well it doesn’t, directly. I’m a diplomat. and“Sorry. I knew you wouldn’t hurt anyone
“That’s for you to figure out once you get
Best con I’ve ever run. Anyway I’ve got a friend “Trust me, on resist
I couldn’t the opportunity,” said Tim.
the outside of the hatch it was your mission, old buddy. I‘ll be in touch,” he
in the Secret Service who was keeping an eye much funnier.” finished and slammed the airlock door shut.
on you as a special favor to me. When he told Dean found his anger melting into astonish-
me you were nabbed, we came up with a plan “Oh, I’m sure it was,” said Dean, his face ment as he turned to face the crew of the
to save you. I wound up calling a buddy of mine. flushed as his hands made fists. Tim was a Valkyrie.
You remember Steve?” notorious lover of practical jokes. It was sur-
prising that such a man had lived as long as he They had proven their ability to lie convinc-
“Shoot-first Steve? On Planet Mall?” ingly, which was a good start. Where there was
had.
deception, there was opportunity.
“The same. His ex-girlfriend owns that ship “Well, in the final analysis you still owe me
behind you,” said Tim cheerily. Dean’s head “This should be interesting,” said Dean,
for the ship and I’m afraid my friend in the SS
was whirling. starting to feel better already.
may need some favors from time to time,” said
Tim continued. “How do you think the Tim. “I’ll meet you in the mess lounge to discuss
SS knew where the pirates were going to be plans in an hour,” said Captain Sedona cheer-
“Why does he need favors?” asked Dean
next?” fully, sauntering off.
with dread.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

Dean, the Space Rogue by Andy Heizeler Pg. 12

Cloey surprised him by kissing him on the

cheek. “Welcome to the crew, Dean,” she said
Andy Heizeler stumbling upon downed 1940’s anti-aircraft
artillery training radio-plane drones in the
with a wink and headed for the engine room. swamps of Fort Stewart)enjoying the beauty
David Bridgette started writing at the age
“Stun me again, and I’ll twist off your limbs,” of ten in 1985 on a Tandy TRS-80 Computer. of our National Park System, debating the
promised Creon. Dean nodded in absolute By 1995 he had enough rejection slips to nature of the universe, and reading science
agreement. Creon gave him one last warning
glare before going to his quarters. account for the shrinking rainforests. Off and fiction.
on he continued writing in spurts, submitting
Arc raised an eyebrow. “How do we know randomly but mostly pursuing the art of daily
this wasn’t your plan all along?” he asked. living (as opposed to the art of daily starving.)
Dean smiled. “You don’t. But that’s exactly
the kind of thing they would want you to He joined the Army in 2001 after the terroist
think,” he said, putting his arm around Arc’s attacks of 9/11 and has deployed to Iraq
shoulders. a total of three times. During his third
“I think we have some champagne in mess deployment, at the age of 32, he decided
lounge,” said Arc. after a near miss by a mortar round (which is
just as safe as a far miss, only more personal)
Dean was pleased. All in all he was better that it was time to achieve his dream of
off than he had been in years, despite the
looming prospect of having to save the Galaxy. being published. Thus was born the pen
name Andy Heizeler and a series of stories
“Tim did say the Captain was Steve’s ex- about Dean the Space Rogue. The first
girlfriend right?” Dean the Space Rogue story “Fatal Wager”
has recently been accepted for publication in
the upcoming anthology “Star Stepping” by
Wild Child Press, with forthcoming stories
soon to be submitted to Ray Gun Revival.

David has also contributed two unrelated

Micro-Fiction tales to AlienSkin magazine.
“Resensitization” in the Feb/Mar 08
issue and “The Pane Maker” which will
be appearing in the Apr/May 08 issue.

David’s hobbies include amateur drone

hunting with his lovely wife Kit, (mostly

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

An Iron Clad Contract,
A Jack Brand Story
by John M. Whalen
An Iron Clad Contract
A Jack Brand Story
by John M. Whalen
I ’m not inclined to think much about philoso-
phy. My life has been too busy to have time
to sit around contemplating such things. But
a thing that happened a few months ago with
Jericho Reynolds, gave me pause to ponder.
Jericho was an old friend from my days on
the Tulon Security Force. He was about fifteen
years older than I was—a cantankerous and fly-
off-the-handle sort of hombre—but he had
been a good soldier.  We’d worked together
on a mission to get rid of Darlons who had
landed on an oil field and tried to take it over.
The Trans-Exxon people didn’t take kindly to
oil poachers, and since they bankrolled the
Security Force, we had to go clean them up.
There had been a lot of fighting and Jericho
did his share.
When he came pounding on my door in
the middle of the night several months ago
I was caught by surprise. I had a small cabin
out in the Tulon desert where I spent my early
retirement from the Force and it had been at
least two years since I’d seen him.
“Brand, you gotta help me,” he said breath-
lessly after I put on a pair of jeans and shirt and
let him in. He looked ragged and I could smell
Synth-whiskey on his breath. I lit a lantern and
set him down in a chair. “You got anything to
drink?” he asked.
I poured us a couple of shots of Wild Turkey.
The bottle had been a Christmas present from
back Earth. The real thing was hard to come
by on Tulon.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
“Oh, that’s good,” Jericho said, after he’d
tossed the drink down. He seemed a lot older
than the sixty years I knew him to be.
“You in some kind of trouble, Jericho?” I
asked, taking a slow sip of the bourbon. “I
don’t imagine you’d come out here at two in
the morning looking like an unmade bed if you
weren’t. What’s it all about?”
“Someone’s tryin’ to kill me,” he said. “By
midnight tomorrow night I’ll be dead. There’s
nothin’ I can do about it neither. He’s too much
for me. He won’t listen to reason neither.”
“Who won’t listen?”
“Kilkenny. John Kilkenny. You know him?”
“I heard of him.”
“He’s a professional killer,” Jericho said, his
grey eyes watery and pathetic looking. “He’ll
kill me by tomorrow midnight.”
“Why? What did you do to him?”
Jericho reached for the bottle and poured
another. “I hired him,” he said, holding the
glass in a shaky hand. “I hired him to kill me.”
He raised the drink to his lips and tossed it
down.
“You what?” I wasn’t sure I’d heard him
correctly.
“I paid him five thousand Tulo-Creds to
bump me off. That was four weeks ago. It’s a
Pg. 13
contract. For five grand he guaranteed to kill
me by midnight June 25. That’s tomorrow.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Back up. You hired
Kilkenny to murder you? Why did you do
that?”
Jericho’s shoulders slumped and he let out
a big sigh. “Because I thought I was going to
die. You see, I’d been feeling sick a lot lately.
So I went to the doctor. They did some tests.
They found cancer. Prostate. The doc said I
had six months to live. That’s a bad way to go,
my friend. Very bad. They said they could give
me stuff for the pain, but it would be a slow,
agonizing way to go out. I couldn’t stand the
thought of what was going to happen. I began
drinking. I just wanted to stay drunk all the
time. And one night in a bar I saw John sitting
at one of the tables. I remembered his reputa-
tion, and I got the idea of how I could beat
my fate. I went over to him and asked if he
was still in the killing for hire business. He said
he was. We went to his room a couple blocks
away and talked. I told him what I wanted and
we agreed on the price. I got the money the
next day and told him I didn’t want to see it
coming. But I wanted him to do it in the next
thirty days. The thirty days ends tomorrow.”
“Sorry to hear about the cancer, Jericho,” I
said. I felt bad for him.
“But that’s just it,” he said. “I ain’t got cancer.
Turns out the doctors made a mistake. Got my
X-rays and tests mixed up with somebody else.
They called me up last week to tell me. I could
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
An Iron Clad Contract,
A Jack Brand Story
by John M. Whalen Pg. 14

have gone over there and plugged that damn heavy demand for it during the Terror War had the floor with stars in his eyes.
doctor. I felt great though, because I was going fallen off. Despite the fact that Digital Atomic
to live. And then I remembered Kilkenny. I was Fuel had been developed back on Earth, there I picked his pistol up from the floor, went
glad he hadn’t done the job yet and I went over were still some uses for oil that hadn’t been over to the door. There was nobody in the hall.
to see him at his place. I told him the deal was replaced by the new technology. Leedsville No witnesses. I slammed the door shut then
off. He could keep the money and forget about was still a viable operation, even though the walked over to Kilkenny and grabbed him up off
the whole thing. But that bastard said it’s too Big Shutdown had closed pretty much every- the floor. I threw him in a chair and slapped his
late. When he takes on a contract, he sees it thing else on Tulon. It took me an hour to get face a couple of times to wake him up. There
through to the end. Says it would be bad for his there by Hover-Jeep. was a bottle of whiskey and some glasses on a
reputation, if he failed to do the job.” small table. I poured us a couple of drinks and
The place had a number of hotels and clubs, handed him one. He took it. His fingers were
He poured another drink. apartment buildings and businesses that kept thick and steady. No nerves. He took a slow sip
the neon burning even at three a.m. And I from the glass and looked at me with eyes that
“He’s going to kill me unless you stop didn’t draw much attention striding through reminded me of a tiger I’d seen in a cage at the
him, Brand. I never shoulda tried to outsmart the lobby of the Hotel Raymond and taking the zoo once.
fate. Shoulda let things alone. I’ll pay you ten elevator up to the eighth floor where Kilkenny
thousand Creds to see I live past midnight lived. And with the long duster I wore over my “I don’t recall sending for room service,” he
tomorrow night. It’s all the money I got left clothes, nobody could see the Beretta Electro- said.
from my security force pension. Can you help Pistol Velcroed to my leg. Not that anyone
would have cared in a town like Leedsville. I can“Maybe
me?” I made a mistake,” I said. “Mistakes
happen. I’d hate to see you make one.”
It was the damnedest thing I’d ever heard. pounded on Kilkenny’s door.
How anybody could get into a fix like that I “I try not to.”
Nothing. I pounded it again. A muffled
couldn’t fathom. Jericho had always been a voice said something and I pounded louder. “Glad to hear it, because that must mean
hyper kind of guy and was known to go off Footsteps staggered on the other side. “Who you’re going to forget all about that contract
half-cocked sometimes. But he’d been a good the hell is it?” Kilkenny said. Jericho Reynolds put on himself. I’m glad
friend once and I didn’t want to send him away because if you were to try and fulfill that
without trying to do something to help. I told “Room service.” contract it would be the biggest mistake you
him I’d see what I could do. I got Kilkenny’s
The door opened a crack. I took a step back ever made.”
address from him. By then he’d had too many
drinks, and looked like he was going to pass out. raised my right leg and kicked it in. The door “How’s that?”
I told him to lie down on the couch and put a swung and hit Kilkenny on the forehead and
blanket on him. He was stretched out snoring sent him reeling backward in his pajamas as “He’s a friend of mine,” I said. “He told me
before I let myself out the front door. I stepped into the room and went after him. the whole story. Said you planned to go ahead
A Smith & Wesson laser pistol came up in his with the killing even though he asked you not
# hand. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it hard. He to. He asked but now I’m telling you. Leave him
yelled and the pistol dropped to the carpeted alone.”
John Kilkenny lived in Leedsville, a floor. He swung his left fist, but I blocked it and
small town built out on the desert near the backedaup
threw hard left at his chin. He blinked and Kilkenny’s tiger eyes got narrower. “I know
Dankworth oil fields. The Dankworth fields his gut and a right at his jaw. He went down on Brand,he
some more. I threw another left at you,” said. “I mean I know who you are.
isn’t it? Jack Brand. Famous lawman of
were still pumping crude, even though the

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

An Iron Clad Contract,
A Jack Brand Story by John M. Whalen Pg. 15

Tulon. I saw your picture on the e-news couple I won’t be able to tell you.” his wrist and went straight into my eyes. With
times. Worked for Trans-Exxon for awhile didn’t the strength and speed of a jungle cat he was
you? Guarding their payroll shipments.” I kept the gun on him. on me, the fingers of one hand around my
gun-hand wrist, the other on my throat. The
“That right.” “It’s a bluff,” I said. “You’d say anything.” force of his charge knocked me back off my feet.
“I know she was up at the Dar-Zul ruins a I crashed back against the table with the liquor
“Only lost one shipment in ten years,” he
couple years ago with the Wilkersons,” Kilkenny on it and hit the floor with a thud. Glasses
said. “The one the Wilkersons took. They took
said. shattered but the bottle of Synth rolled around
something else too, didn’t they?” on the carpet.
I didn’t say anything. “That’s old news.”
Kilkenny slammed my gun hand down on
“Yeah. They took your sister and the payroll “That’s true. They ain’t there anymore. They the floor as hard as he could several times, the
and left you for dead. Never found the money went someplace else.” fingers of his right hand digging deep into my
or her. Pure shame.” He smiled at me. windpipe, cutting off my air. I sent four or five
I cocked the pre-fire hammer. “Where?” rapid fire punches up to his face with my left,
“And I know all about you, Kilkenny,” I said. while still trying to hold onto the gun, and keep
“Whoa,” Kilkenny said. “Hold on there. I ain’t
“You’d slit your own mother’s throat if someone on breathing. He let go of my throat, his right
going to tell you like that. You gotta treat me a
had the price. A killer for hire. I’ve put more fist cocked and I saw stars when it hit my jaw.
little friendlier you want any information out
scum like you away than I can even remember. of me. We gotta come to some kind of under- With all the strength I could muster I
Your contract with Reynolds is null and void. standing. How about another drink?” He held slammed my left forearm up hard against his
Hear that?” the empty glass out. “Come on. Be sociable.” Adam’s apple and threw all my weight behind
“I’ve still got until midnight tomorrow to it. The blow to his throat stunned him and he
He might have been bluffing and then rocked
make good on it,” he said. “As a professional again back. I had enough momentum going
he might not. If he was telling the truth, I to roll him
yourself, I’m sure you understand the value of couldn’t over. He still had my gun hand in
a man’s reputation. I’ve got a perfect record. I got out afford not to hear what he had to say. a vise-like grip
of the chair. I kept the gun aimed at away from us. and he kept the barrel pointed
If I let him go, the word will get out and my his chest and I didn’t see him pick up the
took the glass from him. I set it on whiskey bottle by its neck.
record won’t be perfect anymore. I can’t let the table, poured I got set to hit him
some of the Synth-Whiskey again when he swung it, and
that happen. You can see that, can’t you?” it smashed into
and then handed him the drink. pieces on top of my head. Everything went
I still had his pistol in my hand and I hefted “So old Jericho went crying to you for help,” black.
it without pointing it at him. “If you try, I’ll Kilkenny said. “Where is he? Out at your place?
have to kill you.” I pushed the laser activation I heard you #
button on the side of the butt and aimed it at ness not toogot a cabin out there in the wilder-
far away. What’s the matter? You
him, as the gun buzzed with energy. don’t like being with people?” My head hurt plenty when I came to. I
“Do that and,” he said, looking at me slyly, smelled like booze and there was a small cut in
He raised the glass to his lips and started my scalp, but otherwise the bottle hadn’t done
“you might miss getting some valuable infor- to take
mation. I hear you’re still looking for that sister Maybe Iawas sip. I should have been ready for it. too much damage. I got to my feet. Kilkenny
too busy trying to figure out if he was gone and so was his gun. I looked at my
of yours, even now, seven years later. Maybe I was telling the
might know where she is, Brand. Shoot me and Synth flew out truth about my sister Terry. The watch. It was about 4:45 a.m. He had a half
of the glass with a quick flick of hour start, and I knew he’d probably gone off

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

An Iron Clad Contract,
A Jack Brand Story by John M. Whalen Pg. 16

to find my cabin and finish his business with dyin’ I thought that’s what had been written in fireplace. I walked over to the middle of the
Jericho Reynolds. the book. But I didn’t want to go that way. So I room and lifted up a rug that covered a trap
hired this here hit man so I could go out quick door cut into the floor. I raised the trap door lid
I got my Hover-Jeep out of the hotel garage and easy. Now that I found out I ain’t dyin’, and and started down wooden steps.
and the sky was that dark grey color it gets just John Kilkenny won’t cancel the contract, I see
before sunup when I pulled up on the crest of the truth now.” “Whatcha got there, Brand?” Jericho asked.
the ridge that looked down on my cabin. I took
the night-vision binocs out of the glove com- “What truth?” “It’s a tunnel I dug,” I said. “I had some
partment and got out of the Jeep. I scanned trouble a while back with the Nomads that
the terrain in all directions, but I saw no sign of “That what was really in the book was for roam around out here. It comes out behind
Kilkenny. The only vehicle in front of my cabin me to die this way, at the hands of a hit man a hill where I can watch the cabin. I’ll be able
was the dune buggy Jericho had arrived in. I hired my own self. D’ya see? I was fated to to seem him when he makes his play. But
bring about my own death.” remember what I said, if you see him, don’t
Reynolds was still snoozing on the couch shoot if you don’t have to, I need to talk to him
when I came in through the front door. I went “Calm down, Jericho,” I said. “You’re first.”
over to the sink and pumped some water into a talking a lot of nonsense. You’re not dead yet.
coffee pot and threw it on him. As he sputtered Kilkenny’s plenty tough, and I hear he’s a pretty “All right, Brand,” Jericho said. “Whatever
and spit, I went back to the sink and made a good shooter. But there’s two of us and only you say.”
pot of coffee. one of him.”
I flicked the radium torch on and dropped
“What’s going on?” Jericho asked, wiping “You mean, you’re gonna stand by me?” down into the tunnel. It was only big enough
water off his face with the sleeve of his shirt. the old man asked. “That’s mighty good of you, to crawl through on hands and knees, and with
“What happened?” Brand.” the laser rifle strapped to me, it took a while to
get to the end. When I got there I turned the
“I couldn’t talk him out of it,” I said. “I made “Just one thing, Jericho,” I said. “I want him torch off and waited for sounds. There weren’t
matters worse. He got away from me. He alive. He’s got some information I want.” any. I reached up over my head and pushed up
figured out you’re hiding here. He’s probably on the wooden trap door. Sand poured down
We waited all day, but I knew Kilkenny
out there waiting to make his move.” on me as I shoved the door open, and I saw
was too smart to make his play in daylight. At the dark blue night sky above and bright stars
“I knew it,” Jericho said. “I just knew it. They sundown, when the Jack-yenas started their twinkling bright as lanterns. I ran the binocs
ain’t no way out of this. I done messed around howling, and the wind picked up a bit, we ate over the landscape and failed to detect anything
with Fate and once you start doin’ that, it’s as some hardtack and drank coffee and had a moving. I climbed out of the hole and crawled
good as puttin’ your neck in a noose.” taste of that Wild Turkey. up to the rim of the hill I’d come out behind.
“Reckon he’ll be coming now,” I said. I had When I got there I looked down and I could see
“What are you talking about?”
my Beretta on my leg and the night vision the back of the cabin about a hundred yards
“I’m talkin’ about destiny,” he said. “I heard binocs hanging from my neck. I grabbed up away. I ran the binocs out in front of the cabin
this preacher guy explain it once. There’s this my AR-525 Plasma Rifle and handed it to him. out to the ridge on the other side. Kilkenny
book, and in it is written all our fates. When “You stay inside and keep watching through was probably right there on the other side of it,
we’re supposed to be born, when we’re the window. Use this if you have to.” I grabbed waiting for his moment.
supposed to die. And he said there’s nothin’ the Sony Laser Rifle down off the mantle and “I could have killed you back in Leedsville,” a
can change it. When the doc told me I was a picked a radium torch up out of a box by the voice behind me said. I stiffened. “Don’t move.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

An Iron Clad Contract,
A Jack Brand Story by John M. Whalen Pg. 17

Get rid of the rifle.” the laser rifle and aimed at the center of my Well, I’ll be—”
chest. “Any last words?”
He had me cold. I pulled the strap off my I went over to Kilkenny. The way he lay
shoulder and tossed the rifle away. A purple beam came out of nowhere and there on his side, I thought he might still be
hit him in the side. He spun and fired in the alive. But he wasn’t. His dark eyes stared out at
“Now the pistol. Easy. Just the fingertips.” direction the shot came from. There was a yelp the Big Nothing. I looked up at Jericho. “What
of pain out in the dark. I dove for the Beretta do you have to say now about what’s written in
I did like he said and tossed the Beretta out lying in the sand. I grabbed it and rolled. that book you were talking about?”
into the sand. Kilkenny turned my way and fired a shot that
just missed my leg. I fired back. A blue bolt of “Guess I was wrong,” he said. “Don’t nobody
“Turn around.”
electricity crackled through the night air and know what’s written there. Better off not
I rolled over on one side and looked back hit him in the chest. He went down on his side trying to figure it out. Just let everything be.
at him. He was crouched down a few feet away with a groan. I heard Jericho Reynolds moaning, Otherwise you just get yourself all tangled up.”
from me, a Laser Rifle resting across his knees. and I got to my feet and saw him lying on his We went back to the cabin, and I patched
The wide grin on his face told me how proud of back several yards away. I went over to him Jericho up. Next day I dug a grave for Kilkenny.
himself he was. and knelt down. Jericho even said a few words over him. And
“A fellow told me about that tunnel,” he “I knew it,” he said. “I knew I wasn’t going then he got into his dune buggy and took off
said. “A Nomad named Shadrack whose gang to get out of this. Like I said, you can’t mess under Tulon’s bright searing sun.
you wiped out some time ago. He told me to around with Fate. You try to get one step ahead Like I said, I don’t spend much time thinking
give you his regards.” of it and it’s already two steps ahead of you.” about philosophy. But I remember that saying
“I thought one of them had got away,” I said. “What are you doing out here?” I said. “I that there’s a time for everything and a season
“But I wasn’t sure til now.” thought I told you to stay in the cabin.” for every purpose. Maybe there’s some truth to
that. Jericho Reynolds thought he could outwit
“I didn’t kill you back there in Leedsville, “I saw him moving around while you were fate. He tried to take his destiny into his own
because nobody was paying me to,” he said. “I down there in the tunnel,” he said, grimacing hands. But destiny had other plans. It always
don’t do freebies. But I guess I gotta kill you with pain. “Figured he was fixin’ to take you does.
now, or you’ll try and stop me from doing what out first and then come get me. He must have
I came here to do. Stand up. Put your hands knowed about the tunnel.” He groaned with
up.” pain again. “How bad is it, Brand? How long
you reckon I got?”
I got to my feet with my hands raised
shoulder high. I looked him over and all I saw was some
blood on his shoulder. The laser had only
“You really know anything about my sister, rendered a flesh wound. It didn’t look too
Kilkenny, or was that just a bluff?” deep.
“What do you think?” “Get up, Jericho,” I said. “You’re not going
to die.”
“Most likely hot air,” I said.
“Huh?” he said, blinking in disbelief. “I ain’t?
“Have it your way,” Kilkenny said. He raised

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

An Iron Clad Contract,
A Jack Brand Story by John M. Whalen Pg. 18

John M. Whalen
John M. Whalen’s stories have appeared
in the Flashing Swords E-zine, pulpand-
dagger.com, and Universe Pathways
magazine. His Jack Brand stories are a
staple here at Ray Gun Revival magazine.

Contact the author here.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

Featured Artist: Carl Pg. 19

Featured Artist
Carl
Name: Carl
Age: 21
Country of residence:  U.K
Hobbies: Obviously, drawing, and picking at belly button fluff.
Favourite Book / Author: Max Brooks, the Zombie Survival Guide and
World War Z.
Favourite Artist: Ashley Wood, at the moment.
When did you start creating art? I started drawing about three and a
half years ago
What media do you work in? It used to be acrylics and oil paints, but it
takes up too much space, so I’ve had to go for digital. But now, I’m back
to hand drawing again because I spend all day on a computer at work.
Where your work has been featured? Two daily deviations and four
featured prints on deviantART, and on the Image Fx website
Where should someone go if they wanted to view / buy some of your
works? www.cabul-noir.deviantart.com or you could just hunt me down,
whatever floats your boat.
How did you become an artist? I didn’t… I’m on my way to becoming
an architect; I just finished my first degree, only two more to go.
What were your early influences? The artists at games workshop,
especially Adrian Smith. 
What are your current influences? At the moment nothing; it’s
becoming a problem.
What inspired the art for the cover? Well, it was done one and a half
years ago. I hadn’t spoken to a single person in five months, and I spent
Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Featured Artist: Carl Pg. 20

every day trying to paint calendars to save up money for uni. One day,
the cupboard asked me how Henrietta was doing. I have no idea who
she is or what the cupboard was doing with her, but for some reason
the lemon salad had started to turn, so it was at that point I decided
to draw my current situation. Without interaction and too much time
spent in self reflection you become monotone, robotic. It isn’t good
for you.
How would you describe your work? Bull plop... Lots of people have
said apocalyptic, but in truth, it revolves around why heroes die
young. I want to see emotion in the heroes, I want to see them on the
edge, that moment before they crack, turn to their comrades, and put
their underpants on their head.
Where do you get your inspiration / what inspires you? I go to the
cinema once a week, I read, I daydream. I see other people get better
than me and think, ‘wait a second.’
What have been your greatest successes? How has success impacted
you/ your work? I’ve only been happy with two drawings out of
hundreds that I’ve done. Trying to reach that happy moment again is
what drives me. Well it used to... I’m not too sure anymore, it’s been
months since I painted anything.
What are your favorite tools / equipment for producing your art?
Depends on my mood. Oil paints are arousing. I like sticking my (trails
off) and Photoshop/Painter take up less space. It’s quicker, so it
depends on whether I want to get messy or not.
What tool / equipment do you wish you had? Right now I wish I had
a toothpick—I can’t get this apple from between my teeth.
What do you hope to accomplish with your art? Motivation and
purpose, for it to be that bright spark in the universe and make

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

Featured Artist: Carl Pg. 21

goodness cool, bring focus to a blurred future. To fight big robots with
a bat, meet metal with its bare fists, and to swing a bat around like it
didn’t have a care in the world. Is that too much to ask for? 
 No, what I really want is for my artwork to be used for something and
be acknowledged for it.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate
Chapter 20, Liberty Before the Storm
by Johne Cook
The story so far:
Cooper Flynn has discovered the existence of
another Haddirron airship, the HMS Tanith, a
revelation that provides more questions than
answers. The Tanith is captained by Clarissa
MkDougal, whom Flynn knew from the Naval
Academy, and sparks flew again at their
reunion.
After conducting a successful raid on the
legendary guns at the cliffs of Yempher, the two
airships return to Roarke’s Island to meet up
with the rest of the crew and engage in some
eagerly-awaited rest and relaxation as Alacrity
prepares for her first island liberty.
Part One: Liberty
C aptain Flynn and the crew of Alacrity
were restless and frankly giddy as the ship
descended toward the port at Roarke’s Island.
Clarissa MkDougal’s airship, the HMS Tanith,
dropped toward the water first. The crews
of the two ships waved at each other as they
dropped down, and then Captain Flynn gave
the order that none of them had yet heard
aboard the new airships— “Set ‘er down!”
With belabored grace, the airships settled
down into the crystal clear waters of Parrot
Bay at Roarke’s Island, silencing for the first
time the barely audible background thrum of
the antigrav engines.
“You don’t suppose I’ll lose my sea legs
Ray Gun Revival magazine
while we’re here at port, do you?” asked Bola,
and there was a twitter of laughter.
Captain Flynn finished signing a cargo
manifest and tossed it to Mr. Humble. “There’s
only one way to find out. Are we ready to go
ashore?”
Mr. Pitt shook his head but said nothing,
looking over Flynn’s shoulder. Flynn turned
and followed his gaze.
Cleric Mathen Vaneras walked toward the
captain with a purposeful expression.
Flynn sighed and waited. Now what?
“Captain, the crew is excited about this
liberty ashore,” said the cleric as he approached.
“It’s clear that you care very much for your
crew.”
“Thank you, Cleric,” replied the captain,
trying not to sound as guarded as he felt. “I
appreciate your opinion.”
The cleric put his arms behind his back like
he was delivering a message. “I intend to go
ashore at port with the rest of the crew, but
there is a thing we need to discuss before I
disembark.”
Captain Flynn looked longingly at port,
searching in vain for a sign of Clarissa, with her
copper red hair and her fiery smile. He sighed
and fixed his attention back on the cleric. Very
well, best to get it over with. Flynn knew it
would be a theme for this liberty.
Pg. 22
“Please, go ahead,” said the captain.
The cleric cocked his head slightly to one
side. “I thought perhaps you would like to go
first.”
That was unexpected, thought Flynn. He
was careful not to let his surprise reach his
face.
One thing was certain—he wasn’t in the
mood for games. Clarissa awaited, or so he
imagined, and every moment he was away
from her was a special torture. Furthermore,
the cleric knew it. What was he trying to
accomplish by sandbagging him just now?
Very well. Flynn wasn’t in the mood to
cater to the cleric, so he quickly gathered his
thoughts and launched into the first random
spiel that occurred to him as if he’d had
something prepared in advance for just such
an occasion. Flynn could see Bola watching
him.
“Cleric Vaneras, we all have our secrets.
However, you have displayed to me that you
are a man of Cyl, a good and honorable man,
and I would be glad to have you at my back or
take yours any day, any secrets of yours not-
withstanding.”
Flynn looked at Bola. She appeared to be
buying it, at least.
For what that was worth.
Flynn thought further and said, “It is no
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
secret that I have something big in my past
standing in my way of accepting any belief in
Cyl, largely because of well-intentioned but
clumsy Cyl-worshippers at the abbey where
I grew up after I was orphaned as a child.
Therefore, it is no small thing to admit to you
that you have gone a long way toward dispel-
ling my bitter disillusion.”
And then Flynn had his edgiest brainstorm.
“And at the risk of falling into hypocrisy, I would
not be opposed if you would pray to your god
for me. Without getting into what is and isn’t
sin according to your religion, I will take any
wisdom I can get.”
Flynn saw a climax and warmed to the
subject. “I gave the order and we carried
you onto Alacrity against your wishes,” Flynn
continued. “If I haven’t made it clear yet to
all involved, you are free to walk off her deck
whenever you feel the need or desire to.
Simply know that you have my greatest respect
and are welcome aboard whenever you need
to get up to where you can get a better view
of your Almighty from the heights that Alacrity
rises to.”
And then, reasonably sure he had dolphined
the cleric, Flynn bowed with a flourish before
the holy man, hiding a smile in the process.
Hands behind his back, Cleric Vaneras eyed
the captain. And then he lashed out and struck
the captain’s jaw.
It happened so fast, Flynn never saw it
coming. That one powerful stroke snapped
Flynn’s head to the side and spun him com-
pletely around to land on his back on the deck
at the cleric’s feet.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Flynn, who had taken his fair share of
strokes along the docks and taverns of his
flight and his tutelage with the Friar of Briar
Island, was thinking before he even hit the
deck. The realization hit him harder than the
stroke itself—Vaneras, the man of peace, the
holy man of principle, had attacked him like a
lithe cat, springing from full rest to the attack
in the blink of an eye. The cleric had a whale
of a right cross. That was no mere lucky strike, it
was a tactical strike executed to perfection out
of the blue without the slightest telegraphed
intent.
It suggested the sort of intense muscle-
memory training you don’t just acquire in the
taverns.
Flynn had the presence of mind to tuck
that little tidbit away for later consideration.
He permitted himself the briefest smile. The
cleric had made a strong point with his perfectly
executed blow, but in the process had betrayed
himself to Flynn.
Flynn collected himself and made a show of
it as a large shadow quickly passed by overhead.
Flynn blinked the stars away and licked the tang
of blood off his lip with a gravelly tongue. He
looked up and saw Bola watching. “Bola, are
you just going to stand there, or are you going
to protect me?”
She laughed. “From a cleric?” She snorted
in disdain. “You’re on your own, Cap’n.” She
backed up to a stack of crates and hopped up
to watch the proceedings.
“Thanks,” he said dryly.
“No problem,” she said absently, picking
her teeth with her boot dagger.
Pg. 23
Irony was lost on Bola, thought Flynn.
He looked around. Eggplant—of all peo-
ple—started forward with a broom handle in
his hand…amusing but touching. Mr. Pitt had
a thoughtful look on his face and put his arm
out, preventing Eggplant from approaching.
Good man.
Flynn saw Dr. Deena Prentiss standing
behind Mr. Pitt, a smug smile blooming on her
face. He noted she wasn’t rushing to his aid,
either, blood notwithstanding. There was more
work to be done there, apparently.
Flynn raised himself onto one elbow and
spat blood onto the deck. “You were saying,”
he said.
Cleric Vaneras said, “I hereby forgive you
for my abduction, for your secrets, and for your
sins against the Crown and against myself.”
Flynn wiped away the blood from his lip
with the back of his hand. “Let me guess—this
is why you’re not ensconced in some abbey
somewhere,” he remarked wryly.
“What is your expression? ‘Men of action
understand each other’,” the cleric said.
Flynn snorted. “That we do, Cleric, although
I’d pegged you as a man of peace instead of a
man of action.”
The cleric shrugged. “Sometimes you need
the other to have the one.”
“Are you talking about peace or action?”
The cleric grinned without answering. And
then he bent over and extended a strong,
steady hand down to Flynn.
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
Flynn briefly flirted with the idea of throwing
the cleric over his head with his boot, but it
seemed clear to Flynn that the cleric’s intention
with this scrap wasn’t to actually harm him,
it was to send a not-so-subtle message. For
the moment, it served Flynn’s interests better
to tuck that information away and flatter the
cleric instead of fight him. There would be time
enough for that, later, when the liberty was
over and the cleric wasn’t expecting it.
Flynn snorted and grinned painfully, then
stuck out his own hand to accept the hand up.
Cleric Vaneras leaned into it and pulled
Flynn up powerfully and quickly. When Flynn
gained his feet, Vaneras clapped the captain
on the back. “You’ll do,” he said cryptically, and
slapped Flynn on the back again.
This isn’t over, thought Flynn, who then
smiled blissfully at the cleric.
Bola hopped off her crates. “Well, I’m off.
I’ll be back in three or four men.”
“Days,” said Flynn. “Be back in three or four
days.”
She stopped and looked back at him. “You
keep track of time your way, I’ll keep track my
way.” She smiled wickedly and sauntered off
down the gangplank.
Flynn made a mental note to set aside
funds to get her out of the stockade when
liberty was over. That, in turn, reminded him
of one other Bola-related matter. He motioned
Deena Prentiss to step over. “That reminds me.
Doctor, while we’re here, I think you should
make sure our supplies are fully stocked.”
Ray Gun Revival magazine
“I’ve taken a full inventory,” said Dr. Prentiss.
“We have plenty of bandages.”
Flynn watched Bola until she vanished into
the nearest saloon ashore. “It wasn’t bandages
I was thinking about,” he said, thoughtfully. He
stepped forward and spoke to the doctor in
hushed tones.
The light went on in on her eyes. “Oh. Ah,
yes…I’ll take care of it.”
The cleric stepped forward. “Doctor, would
you like an escort into town?” and stuck out
his arm.
Deena gave Flynn a very strange look. “Why,
thank you, Cleric. I’d like that very much.” She
made a show of taking his arm. As they walked
past and off the ship, she had her head up and
her eyes front, and made a point of not looking
at Mr. Pitt. For his part, he made a point of
finding something intriguing happening on the
deck by the toe of his boot.
Mr. Pitt looked up and watched the retreat-
ing figure of his wife on the arm of the cleric. “I
don’t think I like that man,” rumbled Mr. Pitt.
“Really?” said Flynn. “He’s starting to grow
on me.” Flynn smiled to take the sting off. Chain
rolled his eyes.
Flynn felt his jaw with his hand and took in
all those gathered quietly on deck, studiously
looking at their boots or over each others’
shoulders. “Well,” said Flynn into the pregnant
silence, “what are you lot waiting for? Go
frolic!”
Hooting and hollering, the crew broke and
ran off the ship.
Pg. 24
Liberty had begun.
#
The crew streamed out off the gangplank
with the air of blooded combat veterans happy
to be on liberty at port, with a certain swagger
for having stared death in the face without
turning aside. They dispersed along the wharf
and found their way to the little taverns and
shops bordering the central market in the
square of Parrot Bay.
Flynn sent Mr. Pitt on ahead to assemble
the village elders. Meanwhile, Captain Flynn,
Eggplant, Chain, and Mr. Humble walked past
HMS Tanith and some of the sailing ships from
Her Majesty’s Navy on their way to the central
market. Captain MkDougal and her First
Officer, Mr. Ipness—“Georg,” he said, sounding
it out like ‘gee-org’ as he identified himself—
appeared on their gangplank as Flynn’s crew
walked past.
“Good to see you again, MkDougal,” said
Flynn with a wink as they fell in and walked
with them along the docks.
“Good to see you, too, Flynn. I thought for
a moment there that you’d forgotten us.”
“He didn’t want you to get all the glory,”
grinned Mr. Humble.
“We had some trouble tacking into the
wind to swing around and get in position,” said
Eggplant, apologetically.
“Eggplant is being modest,” said Captain
Flynn. “I doubt that one pilot in twenty could
have put Alacrity in position that quickly.”
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
“Hey, there’s Smythe and Gillings,” said
Chain, pointing to a cafe on the edge of the
market.
“It appears they’re all there, Captain,” said
Eggplant quietly.
“Excellent!” said Flynn, “We needed this
rendezvous” he said, and strode off to visit
with the others. “Hello, Captain Smythe,” Flynn
bellowed, exuberant as a puppy.
Smythe and Gillings sat relaxing there
with some of the local tea and lemonade—
both soft and hard—with their feet up on the
wooden cross-post that served as an unofficial
boundary between the dirt walkway and the
cafe.
“Welcome to Parrot Bay,” said Captain
Smythe from his seat, raising his mug in salute,
reinforcing the age-old tradition of relaxed
protocol when on liberty.
Flynn stepped forward and shook hands
with the men. “Smythe, Mr. Gillings, I trust
your trip back was uneventful?”
“We weathered a squall on our third day,
but otherwise it was smooth sailing,” said
Gillings.
“Excellent. Have the locals been taking
suitable care of your men?”
“They’ve been more than hospitable,” said
Smythe. “One suspects that the combination of
good Haddirron gold and the knowledge that
we’re the only thing between them and the
Sylvan raiders makes for a grateful populace.”
“Not that the Roarkies are churlish to begin
with,” said Gillings. “I’ve been through here
Ray Gun Revival magazine
before with my Paa and they were kind enough
then, as well.”
“Very good,” said Flynn. “Well, I need to
meet with the local authorities this afternoon;
however, we’re going to be meeting later at
The Brazen Barnacle for a bit of a celebration
and we’d love it if you’d all come,” he said,
waving his hands to include the table where
the Grenville sailors sat and getting quiet nods
in return.
“Perhaps you men would be willing to show
the crew here where to get some decent food
while we go check in? Captain Smythe, Mr.
Gillings, you might want to tag along for this.”
With that, they parted company and the
officers walked along a small path bounded by
palm trees on their way to the Port Hall. Flynn
wasn’t looking forward to the upcoming con-
versation, but there was no way around it if he
wanted to spend any time with Clarissa, and
he surely wanted that. The best thing was to
get it over as quickly as possible for the sake of
everyone involved,
They picked up Captain Lem Kend and his
first officer along the way from another eatery
and walked along the road amid the bustling
little town, watching the locals move back
and forth with carts full of local foodstuffs like
mangos, melons, bananas, fish, shellfish, and
various meat animals.
The air itself was a curious mix of fresh sea
air and thick, fragrant scents filled with various
spices, smokes, and other sundry aromas of
land so absent aboard ship.
Flynn found the thatched-roof building and
spotted Mr. Pitt there in front of it talking to a
Pg. 25
local. They walked over. “We ready?” Mr. Pitt
nodded and acknowledged the others with a
spare nod and a knowing grin, shaking hands
all around while growling things like “Hello,
Ven” or calling them by name.
“This is Pav Gherkew, the local town head”
said Mr. Pitt as they exchanged greetings
and introductions. “The others are in there
whenever you’re ready.”
Flynn looked around. May as well get this
over with and pick up the pieces later. “Ok,
then. Let’s make this quick so we can celebrate
a little” and they walked up the steps under
the thatched roof and entered the simple
building.
Pav Gherkew led the way into the room
where three other men stood around a chart
and spoke. Two of the three were dressed com-
fortably in the loose cotton shirts of the port
while the final man was dressed in a spare if
ornate loincloth and had an impressive variety
of markings on his skin. His hair had obviously
been cut with a bowl for a pattern. Despite
that, he had an easy manner about him and
spoke the local dialect perfectly.
“I’d like to present Captain Flynn and his
men. These are leaders of Parrot Bay, Roarke’s
Island, and the local indigenous population.”
They exchanged greetings all around and
then sat down at a round table on chairs crafted
from the local wood.
Captain Flynn stood and spoke first. Now
that the moment was at hand, his mind was
clear, his focus absolute. “Thank you for
meeting with me on short notice. I’ll try not to
make this a habit.”
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
The men smiled and nodded to continue.
Flynn said, “We have just finished the first
wave of action with airborne ships against the
Sylvans in which we claimed one raider and
destroyed another at sea. We also visited a
devastating attack on Yempher.”
The representative of the indigenous locals
waved his arm casually.
“Captain Flynn, I am Birot of the Haw. I
have seen the cliffs of Yempher. They bristle
with very large cannon. How did your ships fare
against those emplacements, for their reputa-
tion is fearsome.”
Captain Flynn bowed to acknowledge
the Haw representative. “They were indeed
fearsome, as Captain MkDougal, here, can
attest. She sailed her ship straight up the coast
toward the cliffs, taking fire from the large
cannon there in the cliffs.”
At that, there was an excited whistle of
admiration and simple disbelief, at which
Clarissa laughed and waved her hands dismis-
sively.
“It wasn’t my idea, I assure you. Captain
Flynn here simply used the age-old tactic of
using a woman’s wiles to divert men’s attention
from the real objective. In this case, while thus
distracted, he piloted his own airship, Alacrity, a
mere 100 feet away from the cannon emplace-
ments and pounded them into oblivion at great
risk to his ship and crew.”
The heads of those assembled swiveled
back to reassess the captain.
MkDougal was a wonder. She had them
Ray Gun Revival magazine
eating out of her hands. The captain smiled and
mock-bowed. “By the time we left Yempher,
our airships had visited great destruction on
her ships and docks and ruined those cliff-side
guns for the foreseeable future.”
Flynn stopped to emphasize what he would
say next. “However, that wasn’t the primary
purpose of our attack.”
He had their attention now. He turned
to Clarissa. “Let me backtrack for a moment.
Captain MkDougal, early on, when you saw the
abandoned ship engulfed in flames, it wasn’t
just an unfortunate accident at sea, that was a
message sent to us from an implacable enemy,
a member of a small but absolutely horrendous
breed of fighting being known as the Riven.”
A shocked murmur went up from the
table and worried glances were exchanged all
around.
“We have heard of tales of such creatures,”
said Birot, “but assumed they were ghost-sto-
ries meant to frighten an impressionable and
superstitious populace…which, to be fair, is not
far from the truth.”
Flynn didn’t like thinking about the Riven,
either, and used that to his advantage here. “I
think they were initially just that, myths and
stories to buckle a man’s knees and sap his
will. However, the Sylvans have some minds of
genius at work and have apparently been busy
in the past years conducting the worst form
of experiments and yielding the most horrific
results. These tests have not only been genetic
but technological and I have reason to believe
that the current air superiority we enjoy is a
brief window before the Steamdrivers respond
with their own innovations. I have heard
Pg. 26
rumors of their own innovations, which would
be designed to trump our airship technology.
Therefore, we must press our advantage while
we can.”
He scanned around the room and waited
for that to sink in.
And then Flynn told what could be con-
sidered a ‘hopeful truth.’ “Certain leaders in
the Haddirron government have been astute
enough to acknowledge this. Many others,
however, have been slow to acquiesce.
Therefore, the force we now have is operating
under a principle of common sense while we
wait for wiser heads to prevail.”
“What are you saying, Captain?” asked
Mayor Gherkew.
Flynn looked at Clarissa MkDougal,
whose expression had gone from engaged,
to intrigued, to knowing, to stony, to graven.
“Therefore, my presence here, while necessary
and effective, isn’t exactly well-publicized just
yet back in New Queensland.”
You could have heard a palm frond drop in
the room.
“Well, snork,” said Birot of Haw.
#
Captain Smythe was speaking, and it was
all Flynn could do to listen. He didn’t have the
heart to look at Clarissa’s face anymore. He’d
been out pretty far before without a rope,
but nothing like this. It was scary. It was also
strangely and potently exhilarating. Flynn just
hoped the power of the moment wouldn’t
break him like a twig.
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
“So,” said Captain Smythe, “to recap, the
Sylvan government is supporting a brilliant if
amoral mad scientist who is single-handedly
jeopardizing the world with his experiments
and creations, especially as they start to use
these aberrations to send forth military sorties
toward their neighbors and perhaps farther.
In the meantime, you and your peers have
deciphered some of this intelligence and have
moved quickly and decisively to contain or
possibly even nullify the spreading hordes.
However, your role out here on the front line is
at best as an unofficial privateer, and at worst
unsupported and completely illegal.” He looked
at Captain Flynn in comic understatement. “Is
that about it?”
Flynn met his gaze evenly and was careful
not to crack a smile, although some of that
may have leaked out past his eyes. “Yes, that’s
about it.”
If her face had told a story of cascading
emotions before, Captain Clarissa MkDougal’s
expression had finally traversed all the way
to frankly unintelligible. “So what happens
now?” she said in a voice suddenly sandpaper-
dry. Flynn wondered if he was the only one in
the room who imagined there were multiple
dimensions contained in her question, if his
heart was writ so large on his sleeve.
He met her eyes and spoke as earnestly and
clearly as he could. “I can’t speak for anyone
else. For myself, I feel a duty to the people of
this world to fight the fight in front of us by
any means necessary. I have tacit permission
to take this course, but nothing official to hold
up in court.”
“‘Permission’ is an interesting word,” said
Captain Smythe. “Whose instruction are you
Ray Gun Revival magazine
under?”
“I am under my own authority,” said Flynn
“under the instruction of present necessity.”
Captain MkDougal picked her words
carefully. “By your reasoning today, I under-
stand that your ‘necessity’ today is to serve
Haddirron. What if your ‘necessity’ constrained
you to oppose Haddirron?”
And there it was. Flynn had been looking
at the table as he listened to her. He took his
time to consider his answer. Where there had
been a gathering of leaders assembled to deal
with important issues, he now felt the weight
of history upon him.
Flynn looked up and met her gaze. “I am a
Queen’s Man doing what needs to be done in
the queen’s name. That was enough to warrant
the possession of something rare, something
that I have been careful to use when necessary
as the queen’s strong right arm, her very will in
parchment form,” he said firmly, and produced
the Queen’s Writ, which he passed to Mr. Pitt
to further pass around the table.
He looked at Clarissa. “If she asks for that
back, you can consider it cause for alarm,” he
said with a sudden wink. “Until then, I ask for
your support as you would support the queen
herself if she were here.”
Captain Lem Kend spoke up. “So what’s the
current risk? What do we have to look forward
to this season? What are our current strengths,
and what are our orders?”
Flynn was ready to address this question, and
was practically relieved to discuss it. “I expect
to receive word of Sylvan ship movements any
day, and I expect they will manifest coming
Pg. 27
this way. By stirring the hornet’s nest, we
have turned the focus of the Sylvan leadership
toward us. This is what we want—we will meet
the enemy squarely and destroy them out here
on the high seas, and then chase them back up
the islands to the Sylvan coastline and capital
itself.”
“Then what?” asked Smythe, clearly
working something out in his head.
Flynn grinned and presented his open hand.
“Then we find this evil genius and sit down to
have a little chat,” he said, snapping his hand
closed into a firm fist.
“What about the Riven,” asked Mayor
Gherkew. “Do we know how many there
are, when to expect them, or how to defeat
them?”
“Right now, we only know of the one, but
we’re still working on that,” said Flynn. “We’re
all going to have to keep our ears, eyes, minds,
and lines of communication open and deal
with him/them as we get a better handle on
the situation. I really hate to leave something
like this open-ended, but that’s where we are,
just barely beginning to start to understand
what they are and what to do about them.”
“It is vital that we understand what this is
all about,” said the captain. “We are fighting
for nothing less than a different, specific form
of liberty, the freedom of independent people
to choose their allegiance. The Sylvan nation
is preparing a push for domination of the
region, and liberty is an unfortunate casualty
to gears and steam and dread machinery.
They have some very intriguing equipment but
they have lost their soul. They are themselves
Riven of their spirit in their desire for mere
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
equipment.”
Flynn turned to Captain MkDougal. “I realize
this is a lot to absorb all at once but I wanted
everyone to be on the same chart before things
get too active out in the field. We functioned
very well as a duo out there. I need to know if
we are together in this endeavor.”
She fixed him with an inscrutable expres-
sion. “I, too, am the queen’s instrument. I am
yours as long as we are both performing this
service,” she said, and his heart jumped.
This captain—who attacked implacable
killing machines, stared down intractable
captains, and was the destroyer of ships, fleets,
nations—this captain suddenly went weak in
the knees. Flynn wasn’t sure he’d gotten all
that, but was just beginning to hope it wasn’t
relegated merely to service to queen and
country when Clarissa quickly rose, saluted, and
strode out of the room, his desires and dreams
scattering along after her like the papers that
the air currents dislodged and dropped onto
the floor in her wake.
That simple act was like a bomb in the
room, setting off a minor storm in her leaving.
Mr. Ipness had to think quickly to decide
what to do and ended up leaving immediately
after her, running to catch up, the rest of the
men hopping suddenly to their feet and left
wondering what they should do, ultimately
deciding to stay and finish hearing the captain
out, leaving Birot of Haw to smile sinuously at
the oddities of these ‘civilized’ men.
And with that, the meeting was unofficial-
ly adjourned. The captain looked around him
then and said, “Well, you’re all invited to the
Brazen Barnacle tonight for a celebration of our
Ray Gun Revival magazine
first victories and to remember our first dead.”
He looked around the room and reiterated:
“...and make no mistake, there will be more
dead.” With that, Flynn made the appropriate
pleasantries in the room, and the crews all left
the locals there to talk among themselves and
discuss the manner of men they had fighting
on their behalf. If they contained any doubt
about backing the captain and his unofficial
command, they gave no sign of it, Regulation
giving way to Practicality, as it is often wont to
do.
# that doesn’t fit.”
Mr. Gillings got Captain Flynn’s attention
on the way out and fell in beside him as they
walked back to the tavern.
“That was an interesting revelation,
Captain,” said Gillings. “I still have some
questions, however. When you took over
control of the Majeste, I felt at the time that
post was somehow rigged. Was that part of
your plans? How did you first hear about the
airships, specifically the one you chose for your
flagship?”
Flynn nodded and spoke willingly enough.
“That part is easy enough—we built her, or at
least retrofitted her in dry-dock, Chain and me.
I tracked Mr. Pitt down at the Academy and
started to put together the crew we have now
with an eye toward reaching this all-important
first stage. That part took surprisingly little time
and then we were on the docks that first night,
ready to make our first bold move. I knew even
back then that we would need to make a quick,
memorable first impression, and would need
support out here on the front lines of this new
sort of war.”
Pg. 28
Gillings was interested but not appeased.
“But would you say that your ‘sources’ were
responsible for the ship having such a low level
of Security before you took her over that first
night?”
“I wish I could answer that,” said the
captain. “All I had was a scrap of information.
Much happened behind the scenes that I was
not privy to. I can’t really make a firm guess
one way or the other. Why do you ask?”
“I thought it was strange then and I think
it’s strange now. There’s something about all
“I hope to be able to stand before the queen
some day and ask some questions of my own,”
said Flynn with all candor. “I’ll add those to the
list and maybe we can both have our respec-
tive curiosity satisfied.”
Gillings nodded. That was good enough for
him. For now.
The place was jumping by the time the
officers arrived at the Brazen Barnacle. Flynn
was looking over the heads of the jammed
establishment for a spunky coppertop but
kept getting handshakes and backslaps from
the celebrating sailors and locals who had
already received news of their actions, the
tales growing larger with every telling until
they were all relative folk heroes and Captains
Flynn and MkDougal relative legends.
#
Flynn and his crew made their way up to the
bar. “Drinks are on me, courtesy of the Sylvan
raiders!” he roared and the tavern exploded
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
with cheers. Then, while the place got busy
with the business of dispensing spirits, he
raised his voice again, and the crowd quieted
amid the clanking of cups and mugs.
“We’re here taking a short break before
we get into the main portion of our campaign
against the Sylvans,” yelled Flynn. “This is
the farthest settled outpost representing Her
Majesty the Queen of Haddirron. But this isn’t
the last place she thought of defending. It is
the first place she thought of!”
The place roared with celebration.
“The queen thinks so much of Roarke’s
Island—indeed, all the Independent Isles—
that she directed us to base our operations out
of here and press forward into Sylvan territory.
We will press forward until we have forged
deep into Sylvan territory itself, discovered the
leadership behind their illegal and immoral
attacks, and taken them captive or killed them.
One way or the other, we will have found and
put an end to these reckless and disruptive
raids!”
The room was eating out of his hand. “You
have all helped make this happen. It will take
the cooperation of many more before we are
all done with this task. Some of us will leave
this room never to return again. Please take the
next two days and live them as fully as you can,
for there is no telling when we will return.”
He lifted his mug and his voice. “For the
queen!” he yelled, and they cheered. “For
Haddirron,” he yelled, and they cheered. “For
Parrot Bay and Roarke’s Island,” he yelled, and
they lifted him on their shoulders and carried
him around the room.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Chain, Bola, and Eggplant were at a table
where they could see the door. The door to the
Barnacle flew open, hard, and in blew Captain
Clarissa MkDougal and Mr. Ipness. She stood
there, legs wide for support, her fiery hair
whipping around in front of her face as the
wind kept whipping through, bringing in dust
and sand and fronds and angst. Her blazing
gaze cast about the place, looking for Captain
Flynn.
Flynn felt the wind change, turned in his
chair to look, and rose where he stood, silent.
The air was lightning, and the entire place
went silent in advance of a good show. They
saw the two lock gazes through the crowd. The
two stood wordless, motionless, with a tavern
full of people between them who may as well
not have existed. The tension between them
was thick, and the room lapped it up. History
was spinning out right in front of them.
“Storm’s brewing,” observed Eggplant
quietly from the corner.
Part Two: The Brewing Storm
She stood in the door, the wind blowing
past her into The Brazen Barnacle, and the
chaos that her arrival generated in the sailors’
tavern betrayed only the barest indication of
what was going on in her head.… It was as if
Nature harmonized with her, and even now
prepared to rage alongside her.
“Cooper Flynn,” she said, her voice an octave
lower than normal, crackling like lightning “We
need to talk. Outside.” Without her hat, and
with her coat unbuttoned, she wasn’t a captain
at the moment, she was a woman.
Pg. 29
And she was furious.
Without a word, Flynn left his table and
pushed through the crowd toward Clarissa,
ignoring the eyes on them, until he stood in
front of her.
Clarissa watched him approach. His black
eyes twinkled, but the muscles of his face were
tense. He seemed guarded, but eager. He was
a sly fish. He had some heavy explaining to do,
and they both knew it.
And that was the knot. How much had he
lied to her, and for how long, and—most of
all—why?
He half-bowed and silently waved his left
hand, the ‘after you’ gesture.
When Mr. Ipness rose to follow, Mr. Pitt
stood as well, dwarfing him, and pressed a
drink into his hand.
“You’ll want one of these,” rumbled Mr.
Pitt, and steered him over to his table with a
massive hand. “This is going to be one conver-
sation that extends beyond even our privileged
ears.”
Mr. Ipness resisted for a moment and then
acquiesced to Mr. Pitt’s logic and looming
presence, and took a seat with his counter-
part.
Clarissa spun and strode outside, the wind
pushing the hair out of her face, and Flynn
followed wordlessly after.
Clarissa led Cooper Flynn out of the tavern
and down the rustic wooden porch steps to the
hard-packed dirt street. They wandered down
to the docks, where the creak of wood and the
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
slap of water acted as a soothing background
to the discussion she wanted to conduct.
For his part, Cooper Flynn simply walked
along, uncharacteristically silent. If he knew
what she was going to ask him, he gave no
inclination. If anything, he seemed at peace,
simply happy to be walking along beside her.
Of course, that only irked her more.
Dark clouds started to obscure the moon
like dread over her heart, but there was
enough light to walk alongside the docks and
then down onto the sand where the waves
lapped against the shore. “How is this going
to work,” she blurted, “if you can’t be open
with me?” She stopped and looked up at him
with her fiery hair whipping around her face.
“When were you going to tell me all that about
the Sylvans, about Haddirron, and where you
stand between them?”
He hesitated, and she presumed he was
choosing his words carefully. Fine time to start
now. “Clarissa, sometimes, the way to best
protect those you love is to keep them from
truths that would implicate or rend them.
The path I walk is mine alone. I have a unique
imperative: to protect Haddirron, and take the
fight to our enemies. I wouldn’t be a man if I
ignored the potential for change that I wield.
There are so many who don’t know who they
are, or what they’re meant to do with their lives.
I knew as soon as I received the items from my
father that I was meant to save Haddirron from
her many enemies. I’m simply working out my
heritage.“
He was still hiding something. Or perhaps
he was fooling himself. Clarissa wasn’t sure
which was worse. “What about Mr. Pitt? I can
Ray Gun Revival magazine
hardly talk to you without him lurking about.”
Flynn snorted. “After a…disagreement at
the Academy, Mr. Pitt started following me,
and has been a loyal friend. He has his own
history.”
Now we’re getting somewhere, she
thought. “What about your history? That is
the thing driving this secrecy, this strange
crusade of yours. It appears to be loyalty and
yet is something else. This whole thing seems
so situational. I need to know what’s going on
with you, what you’re thinking, what you’re
planning.”
She noted with a perverse pleasure that he
didn’t ask why she needed to know anything.
That was positive, at least. Or so she thought.
Deep in thought, he turned and walked
into the strengthening wind; she dropped into
step with him as they wandered further up the
beach.
“I’ve never been known for my intellect,”
he finally said, “but I have always been known
for being somebody who believed in things. I
used to believe in Cyl.”
Her mouth dropped open. Well, that was
an interesting tack, if true.
“Yes, it’s true.”
She had the uneasy thought that he could
somehow read her. It wasn’t fair, especially
when she couldn’t—apparently—read him
with any accuracy at all.
Flynn leaned back against a large rock, his
restless hands playing with a smooth stone. He
started telling her about his father, his mother,
Pg. 30
how he was orphaned and sent to the abbey as
a young boy.
“The abbey may have been an ideal place
for some people but it was no place for a young
man who needed to grieve. Their rules were
meant for ascetic men, not grieving boys, and
clearly weren’t helpful to a boy of my age and
circumstance. The men there needed women
around to know what to do with me, but there
were none, and the men were not naturally
equipped to deal with emotions like grief.”
Flynn threw the stone into the surf. “It was
at the abbey that I learned to suffer, and then
to hate. I learned to question Cyl and then to
doubt if there is such an entity.”
Clarissa took Flynn’s hand in sympathy and
he grasped it gratefully, unaware that it was
their first contact, caught up in his story, caught
up in the moment. Perhaps they both were.
“Strangely, however, while the abbey was
horrible in ways where it ought to have been
beneficial to me, it was an ideal place to read.
The abbey had the largest library of rare and
ancient books and other fragments from the
other world and earlier times.”
Still holding hands, they started walking
further up the coast. “Most people have
forgotten or denied our heritage, but I was
fascinated, and threw myself into long studies
of arcane and wide-ranging subjects. I read
through a vast cross-section of the library while
suffering frequent beatings for my ‘lack of
faith’. I think the monks just didn’t know what
to do with me. I understand that they insti-
tuted an orphanage after I left. I can’t prove it
was because of me, but I can guess.”
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
His final admission earned a chuckle out
of her, nearly muffled by increasing winds and
darkening skies. The moon vanished beneath
advancing clouds and the air itself felt full of
portent and heavy with dread.
She noticed a small fishing ketch making for
Parrot Bay. That prompted a thought. “When
did you start to sail,” she asked.
“The abbot sent word through his under-
lings that it would be a good idea if I started
working at sixteen. I beat him by four years.
I was cabin boy on the local ferry at twelve,
worked on tramp freighters between the
islands at fourteen and had my own small boat
at sixteen that I used to take out around the
islands.
“It wasn’t long after getting the Lone Wolf
that I left the abbey. In fact, it was on a night
like this. I’d bundled everything I owned up and
stole out to Lone Wolf . I left the harbor and
made back for my old home. I reached it the
following morning after a very wild night. Lone
Wolf climbed up huge swells, and we were
soaked before we even left port.
Flynn’s eyes grew distant as he described
the scene. “It was cathartic. I vented my rage
and sadness at the storm and rode out the anger
of the world. The more it rained, the more it
pounded me, the better I liked it. Before you
know it, the abbey’s tiny fleet was grounded
and I was miles from there. I’ve never been
back.”
Clarissa’s hand tightened in Flynn’s and they
heard a coming roar. “Rain!” yelled Clarissa,
and they ran. It wasn’t a minute before they
were engulfed by the coming rain and lightning
split the sky. They were pelted by a warm rain,
Ray Gun Revival magazine
and it soaked them immediately.
They found a small signal hut on the point
of the island and made it inside just as the
winds hit.
# the questions that have plagued me since my
Clarissa took off her soaked captain’s jacket,
watching while Flynn found materials for a
fire and started one up, then settled back on
the floor, his back against some sacks of kava
beans.
The storm raged outside, but she hardly
noticed. Thinking hard, Clarissa knelt in front
of the fire and warmed her hands. “So that’s
why you keep secrets?”
“I roamed the oceans after I left Patience
Bay. I have experience with many people and
many occupations,” said Flynn. “I have trod
the halls of the utopia of Menorra, wandered
the back country of Sylva before they started
girding for war, and have spent more of my
life aboard ship in the last ten years than I
have spent on dry land. I am a castaway, one
who has been to many places and seen many
things, loyal to no one country but honest
and dependable because of the central truth
that I hold closest, a fealty to truth itself, and
love, and honor. And yet the honor I hold in
my heart exists above mere national pride and
supersedes regional preferences.”
Clarissa leaned back against the wall and
watched Flynn as he reclined. She liked the
way the fire lit up his features, so handsome
and mysterious. She realized she felt she could
look at that view for the rest of her life, and
that realization shot straight through her…
Pg. 31
complicating things. Emotions were coming
too fast for her to handle, overwhelming her
more surely than the storm itself.
Flynn continued. “My whole life has been
spent in searching the world for an answer to
youth,” he said, his voice low and broken. “I
thought honor counted for something when
my father would come home from his travels
and bring me trinkets and hand-fashioned
toys, then he died. I thought that family meant
something, then my mother died. I thought
friendship would be my salvation, but then I
was abandoned in a horrible place. I grew up
a little and started to make my own way. Then,
just when I thought that faith meant something,
I discovered that the cleric had died and left
me all alone to make my way. I’ve been going it
alone ever since, I guess,” he said.
Clarissa scooted over and folded herself
into his arms, the warmth and strength of his
touch the most honest thing about him just
right then.
Flynn held her and rested his head on hers.
She felt his heart beating like a drum and hoped
her own wasn’t giving her away as well. That’s
when she knew herself for a fool, and that there
was no point in pretending something that
wasn’t blindingly obvious to both of them.
“Clarissa,” he said, his voice cracking, and
she looked up at him. His black eyes were lit up
by the firelight, his lips moist and inviting, his
body strong and lithe, delightfully scented with
salt, sweat, and a vestige of what could have
been an exotic cologne. Although, maybe the
last was just him—Clarissa couldn’t be sure,
and she decided that the study of this alluring
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook
scent could very well and happily occupy the
rest of her days.
She twisted around and deliberately put
her arms around his neck. “Flynn, your secrets
are safe with me,” she said huskily, her face
mere inches from his, and then she kissed him.
The kiss was hungry and exploring and deep,
and as spiritual as anything Clarissa had ever
experienced. It went on for a very long time
and yet was over far too quickly.
She separated again, her chest rising and
falling as she tried to catch her breath. “You
affect me, Cooper Flynn,” she said matter-of-
factly. “Sly fish!” But she smiled to take the
edge off. He was a bad boy, but he was her bad
boy, and maybe he could pull off the ambitious,
freewheeling patriot crusade he’d undertaken.
It made him seem more selfless than she’d
ever thought, the noble kind of hidden truth….
for a change.
Flynn replied, “You’d like me to return the
confidence, and declare my love for you right
about now, wouldn’t you? I’m not much for
baring my soul—which you know better than
anyone. Let me just tell you this—I’ve held
some hands, and I’ve kissed some girls, but
I’ve never known a woman like you. I’ve been
waiting my entire life for somebody who might
be…special. Not just my equal, but my better.”
He held her shoulders at arm’s length. “Clarissa
MkDougal, you are my better, and I’ve known it
since the Academy. I would have waited forever
if need be to find someone like you. Perhaps
Cyl is playing a joke on me for leading you to
me now.”
She didn’t embrace the ‘my better’ part for
one single lightning-clap, and she wasn’t about
Ray Gun Revival magazine
to share her own feelings on her beliefs. Two
could play the game of secrets. But as forth-
right answers went, it was good, very good.
He grinned just a bit wickedly. She saw he
knew it was good, too, the sly fish.
She nestled herself back into his arms. They
watched the fire together silently for awhile,
listening to the popping wood and the sound
of the storm raging outside, their breathing
finally slowing and coming together. Clarissa
wanted to tell him everything and have him
hold her in his arms like that for the rest of his
life, but she still had too many demons of her
own to slay and too many cards left in play, so
she contented herself with enjoying the solace
of the hut, the cheerful crackling of the flames,
the warmth of his arms around her, and the
pounding of the wind and the water against
the hut.
They fell asleep like that, and there were
no more secrets that night.
# the wind. I figured what with Captain MkDou-
Eggplant found them early the next morning
and woke them up, rapping on the hut’s door
with an odd cadence.
Clarissa rose, stretched, and pushed the
hair out of her face. She watched Flynn where
he reclined, and thought he looked especially
dashing.
He saw her looking him over and smiled
rakishly, then rose and stretched himself. He
stepped over to her and kissed her chastely
on the cheek. “No rest for the secretive,” he
said with a grin. “‘mornin’, Eggplant. Is there
Pg. 32
any special reason I’m being rousted out of a
good sleep in an utterly random and remote
location,” he said with a wry smile, nodding
his hellos to Mr. Pitt and Mr. Ipness, who had
taken the stroll with Eggplant.
“Nothing special, Captain, other than we
couldn’t find you two last night through the
rain. It’s stopped raining and is a fine dawn,
so we thought we’d take a little stroll and set
our minds at ease with regards to your where-
abouts.”
“How nice of you,” said Captain Flynn. “How
did you happen to track me down? I thought
I’d done a rather good job of getting lost.”
Mr. Pitt looked smug and Mr. Ipness grinned
in amusement.
Eggplant blinked as if this was unexpected
news. “Well, I walked out to the docks and
figured that you wouldn’t have gone onto the
ships as we’ve just made port. You could have
gone left down the coast, inland, or right, into
gal’s hair getting in her face, you’d have walked
into the wind for the gallant gentleman that
you are. Then I looked around and started
walking. This was the first place to hole up
from the rain, and here you are.”
His face lit up in a grin at his discovery, and
Flynn couldn’t help but laugh.
Then Eggplant looked over Flynn’s shoulder
with frank curiosity.
Flynn said, “Very good, Eggplant, you’ve
found me. What do you say we go back and get
some breakfast?” They all agreed that would
be a good idea, but Eggplant placed his hand
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 20, Liberty Before The Storm by Johne Cook Pg. 33

on the captain’s shoulder and pressed, pushing

him to the side.
Johne Cook
The captain, mystified, complied with his Johne is a technical writer, help author,
physical request, then turned to look where creative writer, and editor.
Eggplant was looking.
Flynn’s expression changed immediately. He likes prog rock, space opera, film noir,
“On second thought, “he said distantly,” maybe and the Green Bay Packers.
it’s a good thing we came out here after all,”
and with that, Eggplant turned to the group
and pointed out to the North where an indeter-
minate collection of white blotches appeared
over the moving horizon of the storm-tossed
seas.
Clarissa’s guts were wracked by the twin
emotions of terror and a strange excitement.
“Sylvan sails!”she cried.
Flynn suddenly sounded like a captain
again. He barked, “Round up the crews. Back
to the ships!”
“I told you a storm was brewing,” said
Eggplant.

End of Chapter 20
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate continue next
month.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008

Memory Wipe, Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts by Sean T. M. Stiennon
Memory Wipe
Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts
by Sean T. M. Stiennon
Z artsi curled up against the table like a snake
defending its hole. His sharp blue eyes
crackled with electric anger. “If you reveal name
and crime to anyone without permission...I will
kill you.”
Esheera made a half-hearted attempt to
keep a smile off her face. It failed. “I doubt
you would,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter.
I’ll be asking your permission first. Hell, there’s
nothing to stop you from doing all the talking.
I’ll just be your silent retainer.”
“Why would I give permission?”
“Because your position as prince-heir of
the Lithral Kingdom will give us some cred-
ibility when we tell the Canghi governor
what’s happening in the Vodrune province.
No one—and I mean no one—is going to listen
to some crazy Rover who walked in off the
street.”
“They won’t believe I am prince,” Zartsi
hissed.
“I think they will.”
Esheera pointed to the ivory daggers
strapped onto his hips. She had seen them often
enough to know the complex web of geometric
designs etched on the blades. “You’re the only
Lithrallian in the galaxy to have that particu-
lar pattern on your knives,” she said. “And I’m
willing to bet there’s someone at the Canghi
court who would be able to identify them.”
Zartsi growled down at the table. “You
Ray Gun Revival magazine
know too much, Rover.”
“It’s not my fault. I’ve had Lithrallian pas-
sengers before, and one of them carried the
Sishik blades.”
“I...do not know what to think of this.
Takeda has left.”
Esheera nodded, rattling the beads braided
into her hair. “Right. And you saved his life...
how many times? More than once, I know”
“It is not enough. I have penance left to
do.”
The water on the stove released wisps
of steam as it came to a boil. Esheera added
ground tea leaves and stirred while she said,
“I’d be hard-pressed to think up any penance
better than saving the Empire from a tyrant
who isn’t afraid to rip apart human bodies to
make weapons.”
“Empire is no ally to Kingdom.”
Esheera continued to stir until the hot
tea reached an even consistency. “Don’t hold
grudges. It’s been forty years since the last
major war.”
Zartsi hissed and clenched his jaw. “They
sell weapons to Drava worlds for use in raids
against Lithrallian colonies. And human pirates
operating along border are left free by Imperial
Navy. Lithrallian ambassadors are treated with
contempt while Drava are respected. There is
no friendship between my father and Emperor.
Pg. 34
If Kingdom weakened, Empire would attack.”
She slowly poured the tea from the pot
and into a plastic carafe. Sweet-smelling steam
wafted around her nostrils. “Then earn your
father the Emperor’s gratitude by saving his
royal ass. Just make sure His Imperial Majesty
knows to credit the Serpent Throne.”
Esheera poured tea and Zartsi accepted a
full cup. The mug shook in his hands—Esheera
hoped he wasn’t clenching it hard enough to
break the plastic. His tail thumped at the back
of his chair. “You weave tight argument, Rover,”
he hissed.
“I’ve had practice.”
She sat down across from him with her own
mug. The warmth of it made her fingers itch.
“How do you plan to travel?” Zartsi asked.
“That is a good question. How much money
do we have?”
Zartsi closed his eyes for a moment. “There
were...over two hundred Silvers. I don’t know
how much Takeda took.”
Esheera cringed inwardly at this fresh
reminder of how far she had let herself decay
since Nihil. Takeda and Zartsi had both hidden
their cash box from her, evading her occa-
sional questions. They were probably afraid
she would raid it for booze money. She hadn’t
started drinking—yet.
“Barely enough to get us to the capital,
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Memory Wipe, Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts by Sean T. M. Stiennon
even traveling cheaply,” Esheera said, sipping
her tea. “How long would it take you to earn,
say, three hundred?”
“With current job? If continue to eat and
pay rent, longer than month.”
Esheera shook her head. “That’s about
what I thought. Too long. Our time is limited.”
Now she was getting to the difficult portion
of the conversation. Esheera sighed, dropped
her eyes to the steaming red surface of her
tea. She had been doing a bit more than just
watching vids for the past few weeks. Every
other day or so, she had patched onto the
Web to search for signs of Rover enclaves in
the region of space surrounding Coalsmoke.
Maybe there was a caravan passing through
the area, sending out signals which could be
detected by those who knew the appropriate
frequencies and codes. Or perhaps there was
a permanent enclave on one of Coalsmoke’s
barren moons. Her clan, the Nii, had allies and
branches widely spread throughout the human
Empire. The Laan, her clan-by-marriage, was
smaller, but several caravans would be willing
to take in a Laan.
And she had detected Rover traces in the
system. A secretive visit to a local underworld
hot-spot—unknown to either of her compan-
ions—had confirmed her suspicions. There
was a permanent and fairly large enclave of
Vitai operating on the dark side of Coalsmoke’s
smallest moon, their presence allowed by tacit
permission from the planetary government.
But their identity had sent her back to the
apartment in a black depression.
“There is...one way we might be able to
obtain a ship of our own,” she said, softly.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
A gleam of interest came into Zartsi’s eyes.
“Theft?”
She snorted. “Nothing so simple. This might
involve shedding blood.”
Zartsi gulped tea. “Tell me.”
“I know of a Vitai enclave on the moon
Coalrock. Most permanent enclaves have
extensive scrap yards and machine shops for
repairing ships, and if a Rover knows her way
around, its possible to cobble together a whole
ship. Parts are for the taking or very cheap for
friends of the clan.”
Zartsi drained his cup in two more gulps.
Esheera doubted he had even taken time to
taste it. “Then tell me what problem is.”
Esheera emptied her lungs in a sigh. “You
don’t know anything about Vitai clan politics,
do you?”
Zartsi laughed and said, “No.”
“Didn’t expect you to. Well, there’s a
damn lot of clans roaming the stars, including
families which are subsidiary branches of
larger clans. There are as many alliances, feuds,
marriage pacts, treaties, trade agreements,
and vendettas as there are rocks in the Songli
Chain. I could never keep track of half of it.”
“Of course. It is same among principates of
Lithral.”
“I don’t doubt it is. The problem is that
my birth-clan—the Nii—have plenty of allies.
But they’ve got an equal number of enemies.
Some of them are just friendly rivals, but
others...well, there are Vitai who would leap at
the chance to let a pack of Hooktooths loose in
Pg. 35
every Nii ship. And it just so happens that the
only Vitai enclave in the Coalsmoke system is
controlled by the Suto.”
“Not friends?”
“Let’s just say that, ten years ago, they
killed six Nii in a tavern brawl and left them
literally nailed to the counter. Then they killed
four more the next morning, for some hair of
the dog that bit ‘em.”
“I see,” Zartsi said. “Then they will kill you
if you enter enclave.”
“Most likely,” Esheera answered. “But they
apparently have an extensive scrap yard, and I
think that, with some time to work, I could put
a ship together. Maybe one to rival the one I
lost. And that would give us the mobility we
need.”
Esheera sipped more tea. Zartsi tapped
his claws against the table. “But how escape
problem of them killing you?”
“I’m a widow. That’ll buy me some pity. And
I’ve got you,” she said, smiling broadly. “That
should count for something in a fight.”
#
Stone pressed against her chest. Hot, solid
stone, smooth as glass, slick as ice underneath
her clawing fingertips. She worked her jaw
and felt the flesh of her cheek grind against
it. She slowly unfolded all four of her limbs,
stretching them as wide as she could, and
felt nothing besides featureless stone. Sherri
opened her eyes to darkness. Not like waking
up in the middle of the night—this darkness
was absolute, without even the light of a single
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Memory Wipe, Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts by Sean T. M. Stiennon
forlorn star to soften it.
The stone and air were hot. Uncomfortably
so—Sherri could feel beads of sweat collect-
ing on her forehead. Her limbs felt heavy and
weak, but there was no pain, and she slowly
curled herself up into a sitting position. She
realized only when she felt her legs that they
had taken her clothes, leaving her naked in the
dark.
A breath of cool air wafted across her bare
shoulders. She shivered and curled half-numb
arms over her chest. Hot, but not quite warm
enough to draw out a full sweat, and wisps of
cold continued to drift across her skin from all
directions. She turned her head around slowly
on a stiff neck and missed the familiar brush of
hair on her shoulders. The top of her head was
as smooth as the floor.
She finally felt some emotion: A flash of
anger. Stripped naked, shaved, and tossed in
some pitch-dark cell. What kind of bastard
had done this to her? Vass? She wouldn’t put
it beyond him. He had always treated women
like toys.
It was hard to remember anything since
she had seen him in the Silver Sun. There had
been...a few seconds of frantic pursuit, an iron
grip on her arm, the cold prick of a needle.
Then...sleep. She had a few scattered impres-
sions of dark, unsettling dreams, but no real
memories. It had been deep and black. She
might have slept for a century.
And now this. She crawled forward on her
hands and knees until her fingertips brushed
the wall of her cell, a glassy-smooth curve of
stone just slightly cooler than the floor. She
uncurled her body, scrambling up onto bare
Ray Gun Revival magazine
feet. Even with her arms stretched out to their
full length she couldn’t feel any ceiling.
Her faintly numb limbs kept her to a slow
hobble as she walked out the circumference
of her cell. It was impossible to be sure in the
darkness, but she guessed it was about fifteen
feet in diameter. As far as she could tell there
was no door, grate, or any kind of opening. Not
even a slot for food. The only feature was a
smooth hole, just barely wide enough for her
arm, against the curving wall. She didn’t have
to guess at its function.
She put her back to the wall—it was good to
feel something solid, and its warmth protected
her from the occasional wisps of cool air. At
least the moving air proved she wouldn’t
suffocate.
Was Takeda also in this prison, somewhere?
Vass had claimed to know where he was. Did
that mean Vass had succeeded in arresting him,
and that this was some Imperial prison? None
she had ever heard of...and that snatch from
the casino hadn’t been any legal arrest. No
legit police force used knock-out injections.
Tak, what did you get yourself into?
About an hour after she woke, there was
a faint grinding noise in the darkness. She
crawled towards it and found two bowls laid on
a flat tray. One was lukewarm water, the other
chunks of bread that felt like crumbling rock.
She had to suck on them for several seconds
before they became soft enough to chew. The
water had a bitter tang to it, and she was still
thirsty after she had drained the bowl.
Time crawled by as she sat alone and naked.
She couldn’t guess why Vass had come back
Pg. 36
for her, or who those men with him had been.
She couldn’t be on Belar, which meant...she
could be anywhere, on any one of the Empire’s
hundreds of inhabited worlds. There was no
way to know how long she had been out.
What the hell did Vass want with her
anyway? She shuddered at the thought of
him and his new cronies stripping her, pawing
her...no knowing how far they had gone. She
scratched the bald dome of her skull ruefully.
It had been shaved recently.
Suddenly, there was a hiss of a door
opening, and light erupted into the darkness.
Under normal conditions it would have been
dim, but to Sherri’s light-starved eyes it was
blinding. She looked up, eyes watering, to see
a door in the wall twice her height above the
floor. A man stood in the opening, dressed in
black. She couldn’t make out his face, but his
shoulders were broad and his arms muscular.
“Awake?” he asked.
She curled her legs up and wrapped her
arms around her chest in an effort to cover
herself up. She felt her cheeks heating. “Yes,”
she croaked.
“Eaten?”
She nodded.
The door slammed shut as fast as it had
open, and darkness enfolded her once again.
Panic swelled inside her. She dropped her arms
and charged across the floor. Her fists pounded
against the wall below the door, slamming
against the unmovable rock, and she howled
up into the blackness.
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Memory Wipe, Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts by Sean T. M. Stiennon
There was no response. Nothing except
heat and darkness. Sherri slumped down and
curled herself into a tight ball against the warm
stone.
God help me.
# “There is no temple name?”
Lashiir’s talons clacked against the slick
black stone of Count Tong’s throne room.
Streaks of fire-colored crystal ran through the
volcanic rock like veins of blood. He kept the
hood of his cloak lowered, displaying his red-
tinted eyes, armored head, and hooked beak.
Tong could not mistake a Clordite.
The man perched in his throne like a
predatory bird eying its prey. His eyes were
deep yellow, pupils marked by slashes of
ebony, and his stringy hair was pulled back
into a serpentine queue. Every bone in his face
was clear beneath taut skin the color of sand.
Crimson armor covered his thin limbs.
He watched intently as Lashiir approached.
Six of his men surrounded the Clordite, each one
dressed in identical black clothing—a sleeve-
less vest and loose trousers with an elastic
belt. Simple clothing which wouldn’t obstruct
movement. Two of them gripped Lashiir’s bony
shoulders while the other four aimed weapons
at his chest. They were powerfully muscled,
and Lashiir could see the careful attention in
their eyes. These men were trained warriors,
and he had already seen some of their super-
human powers at work.
But Tsiika hung in its usual place across his
back, and he had no doubt he could slaughter
all six before they could react against him.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
“It’s been several years since I’ve seen a
Clordite,” Tong said, his voice soft and steady.
“Your name, dark warrior?”
As always, he spoke through the translator
implanted in his throat. “I am called Lashiir.”
“Not any longer.”
Tong’s eyes remained fixed on him a moment
longer, then they flickered to the man holding
Lashiir’s right shoulder. “Sixteen,” he intoned.
“Why have you brought this Clordite?”
“He killed three men at Gate 23, Lord.”
Tong’s face showed no emotion.
“Numbers?”
“Four-Three-Four, Six-Five-One, Two-Sev-
en-Eight.”
“I see. Why didn’t you kill him?”
“He requested the privilege of seeing
you.”
Tong bent his head forward slightly.
“Why?”
“He would not explain.”
Tong’s eyes returned to Lashiir. “You are
bold, Clordite.”
“Not bolder then you,” Lashiir answered,
laughter hissing through his beak. “I could have
pinned you to your throne by now.”
Tong’s dry, cracked lips bent in a faint smile.
“Why haven’t you?”
Pg. 37
“Because then I would lack...purpose. Do
you know a man called Takeda Croster?”
One of Tong’s eyebrows rose. Good—a
dramatic reaction, from this man. “I’m
listening.”
“I followed two of your men here from
Nihil. For some time now I’ve waited in the
desert, observing your base here. I must tell
you that I’m...impressed. Particularly if I’m
correct about your operation. These men...
they are all enhanced?”
He waved one claw to the six humans sur-
rounding him. Tong nodded. “Yes.”
“You have a powerful force here. Powerful
enough to do a great deal...perhaps even to
make the Emperor shake.”
Tong inclined his head in a slight nod. “So
I hope.”
“Tsiika...my sword...has grown thirsty. In
my experience, she drinks better and longer if
I find service with someone who can provide
blood. I worked as an assassin for hire on
Freedan for several years. Now I offer my blade
to you.”
“You seem to be a millennium or two in
the past. I have no need for...swords,” he said,
speaking with disdain. “I have every respect
for your people. But I have never understood
your fascination with such things.”
He raised one talon-like hand. “Tell the
Darkness who sent you, Clordite.”
Lashiir felt one the hands gripping his
shoulders tense just slightly before Tong
brought his hand down. In that instant Lashiir
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Memory Wipe, Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts by Sean T. M. Stiennon
went into action. His hand found Tsiika and
the blade whipped from its scabbard as Lashiir
curled his legs and dropped to the floor.
He swung in a smooth stroke, slicing through
the kneecaps of the man called Sixteen. Lashiir
allowed the momentum of the stroke to carry
him into a roll, dodging scarlet energy beams
from the pulser rifles which had been aimed
at his chest.
The men’s reactions were fast. Faster than
any normal humans Lashiir had fought. But he
was faster yet. He came up, whirling Tsiika in a
full circle around his shoulders. The dark blade
split through bone and organ meat, bisecting
one man, and the point jerked up between the
shoulder blades of the second. Lashiir pulled
himself up by the grip, planted both his clawed
feet on the dying man’s chest, and threw
himself into a flip, kicking the corpse back and
jerking his sword out. Blood spattered.
Beams of energy, deepest red and electric
blue, lanced around him as he leapt through
the air. Tsiika bit again, and another man died.
Lashiir hit the ground in a crouch and eviscer-
ated a fifth man as he rose.
Energy lanced across his shoulder, and
Lashiir hissed through his beak as he smelled
his own burnt flesh. He pivoted on one foot,
ignoring the pain and whipping Tsiika up at his
last opponent. The man dodged back nimbly.
His arms crackled with ice-blue energy. Lashiir
spun into a quick side-dodge as it arced out at
him. He released his hold on Tsiika, letting his
rotational momentum hurl the blade forward.
The man was too surprised to react, and the
blade lodged deep in his spine. Lashiir jerked
it out a moment later, letting blood drip from
Ray Gun Revival magazine
its edge.
Five men dead, one man clenching his
teeth and sweating as he clenched the severed
stumps of his legs. Lashiir stepped towards the
last, his claws sinking into the blood creeping
across the floor, and he raised his blade to
strike. The man—Sixteen—raised one arm to
counter.
Lashiir’s blade swept down like a claw-
falcon striking at its prey. But it never sank into
Sixteen’s flesh. A pair of bony hands clapped the
blade between them, and the sword twisted in
Lashiir’s hands. He failed to release his grip in
time and was wrenched off his feet.
“Leave him,” Tong said, taking Tsiika by her
hilt. “He can be repaired.”
Lashiir stood and bowed slightly in a
gesture of respect. Tong had caught the blade
mid-slash without losing a hand. That alone was
amazing enough...but he had also approached
with a speed and silence to rival the greatest
blademasters of the Dark Sphere. Tong was no
ordinary warrior, just as he was no ordinary
man.
The count barked a single word in a
language Lashiir didn’t recognize, and the door
swung open to admit two masked servants,
their bodies hunched in a perpetual cower.
Tong pointed to Sixteen’s wounded body.
One servant sprayed a clotting agent over his
stumps while the other injected sedatives into
his wrist. Sixteen’s screams ebbed, and they
hauled him out of the throne room without
any further word from Tong.
Tong held Tsiika laid flat across both his
palms, studying the curved blade. “I had
Pg. 38
forgotten the full extent of a Clordite’s skill,”
he said, yellow eyes narrowed. “And you must
be exceptional even among them.”
“So I have been told.”
Tong raised one hairless brow. “You’ve
deprived me of eight men and injured a ninth.
I should kill you for your impudence.”
Lashiir laughed softly through his beak.
“Fighting you would be a joy, if you return
Tsiika to me.”
Tong stared into the mirrored black flat
of the blade for a long moment, considering.
Then he offered the grip to Lashiir. “Take your
sword—but not to fight me. I will accept your
offer of service if you swear your flesh to me in
the name of Darkness Absolute.”
Lashiir clicked his tongue against the inside
of his beak. “You are well-informed.”
Tong smiled without humor. “I’ve known
Clordites before.”
Lashiir took Tsiika’s hide-wrapped grip in
one hand. “Then I, Lashiir, swear my flesh and
soul to Jezai Tong in the name of Darkness
Absolute.”
Tong let him take the sword and drive it
back into its scabbard. Tong nodded. “I accept
your oath. Now come and talk with me. It has
been...too long since I’ve had any intelligent
conversation.”
He turned and strode towards a small door
set in the rear of the throne room without a
glance for the corpses and viscera splashed
across the floor. Lashiir followed as small,
round robots emerged from hidden niches and
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Memory Wipe, Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts by Sean T. M. Stiennon
began to remove the mess.
# even strung tiny bells through holes punched
The moon Coalrock was a lump of space-
cold rock three hundred kilometers long and
another two hundred in diameter. Seen from
space it was only of interest to meteorite
analysts for the craters pocking its mottled
gray-and-black surface.
Esheera knew that a thriving Rover colony lay
hidden beneath that seemingly sterile surface.
In the three centuries since their homeworld
had been razed by a fleet of humans serving
the warlord Xing Yao, her people had become
expert in carving out niches for themselves in
the shadows of Imperial society. Their great
clanships orbited barren moons and uncolo-
nized worlds where they grew food and meat
in massive hydroponic gardens. Others lived in
smaller enclaves within human cities or tucked
into remote mountains and forests. Still, from
what she had learned, the Suto enclave of
Coalrock was astounding even among Rover
settlements, made possible only be an extraor-
dinary degree of toleration from the Coalsmoke
government.
Their pilot lifted off a pair of headphones
large enough to cover his massive ears and
let them hang around his neck. “We’ve got
clearance to dock,” the young Vitai said, in
the Rover tongue. “Should be down in about
twenty minutes, Emshee.”
Emshee—a respectful title for widows. He
had noticed the fresh gray beads knotted up in
her braids. The young pilot’s politeness belied
his rough exterior. Orange tattoos sprawled
across his nose, forehead, and eye sockets,
Ray Gun Revival magazine
and his chest was bare except for a dozen or so
bone necklaces dangling from his neck. He had
in his thick male wing-flaps. They jangled every
time he moved his arms to work the controls.
Esheera settled back into her seat. The
cushions were thin and worn, and the restraint
straps chafed at her bare shoulders, but she
was more comfortable than she had been in
weeks. She felt happy just sitting in a ship, with
the familiar humm of a stellar engine behind
her, watching the bright pinpricks of starlight
through her porthole.
“What guarantee that Suto won’t kill you
just through airlock?” Zartsi hissed from the
chair to her right.
“Shhh—our pilot knows Imperish. And I
don’t have any guarantee whatsoever. I thought
that was clear.”
“Not clear enough,” Zartsi growled. “Will
kill me just for accompanying you?”
Esheera smiled grimly. “Possibly. I
recommend you keep your identity under
wraps—the Lithral Kingdom isn’t particularly
friendly to my people.”
“They are vagabonds and thieves,” he
hissed. Then, as if realizing for the first time that
he had befriended one, he added, “Excepting
some.”
“Vagabonds I’ll give you. But thieves...
didn’t you and Takeda steal a whole ship to get
off Belar?”
Zartsi mumbled something under his breath
and turned to look out his portal, which was
Pg. 39
aimed towards Coalsmoke. The planet didn’t
look so bad from orbit—like any other world, it
was mostly unsettled wilderness and desert.
“So how will convince them not to kill you?”
Zartsi asked.
“Well...for one thing, I hope to appeal to
their sense of honor and charity. I am a widow,
and that’s good for something even with
Suto.”
“They will know this?”
“They’ll know it before I’m Nii. I lost my
clan insignia along with my ship. But I do have
these,” she said, indicating the ash-gray beads
in her hair—incongruous for a people fond of
bright colors. “And I’m not wearing too much
jewelry.”
She just had a few cheap bracelets on each
arm and two pairs of earrings. She had left
most of it behind on Nihil, along with the rest
of her life.
The shuttle entered the moon’s shadow.
The surface was completely dark—the landing
beacons would be visible only to a ship’s
scanners, operating in non-visible wavelengths.
Esheera had nothing to distract her from her
fears as the pilot guided them down into
darkness. It had been fifteen years since she
had even seen a Suto. They would probably
kill her as soon as they heard her name—she
had been a fool to even think this would work.
And even if they did give her access to their
scrap yard...welding up a ship with only Zartsi’s
help would be one of the hardest things she
had ever done, and at best it would be barely
enough to haul them through the light-years to
the provincial capital.
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Memory Wipe, Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts by Sean T. M. Stiennon
Even if she did manage to throw together
a hulk from their scrap yard, she didn’t know
if she would be able to live with herself after-
wards.
The shuttle docked in a cavernous bay that
had been left open to vacuum. Esheera sighed
as she heard their airlock mate with the dock’s
end and the pilot stood, letting his headphones
drape around his neck.
“Thirty Silvers,” he said. “You need a lift
back, Emshee?”
She dug the money out of her cash pouch.
That left her with about seventy in coins—not
enough for bribes, even if she thought the Suto
would take them.
The young pilot nodded and offered her a
smile. “Kind stars watch you,” he said, as he hit
the button to cycle the airlock.
“Thank you.”
A long passage of dimly lit gray rock
connected to others funneling newly arrived
guests away from the docking bay. Cold gusts
nipped at Esheera’s nose.
The corridor channeled them towards a
group of five Vitai standing around a table. A
few worn hangings in pale blue, bright yellow,
and dusky orange covered the walls around
them. Every one was armed—Esheera counted
two hotchokers, a stripped-down pulser, a
machine gun with ammunition belts looped
across the Vitai’s shoulders, a shotgun, and an
assortment of pistols and knives. Three wore
volgi on their forearms, projectile weapons
that launched paper-thin blades at speeds too
fast for the eye to follow.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Every one of them had black dye smeared
across their nostrils and upper face—the dis-
tinguishing mark of Suto clansmen, also known
as Blacksnouts.
One of them set his hotchoker down on
the table and stepped forward to meet them.
His thick black hair was bound back with a
thin steel chain, and his dark ears were heavy
with gold. He was young—probably a decade
younger than Esheera, the rust-red skin of his
face still relatively smooth. He wore a coat of
white leather and short black pants.
“We don’t get Lithrallians often,” he said,
in the Rover tongue. Many clans had their own
languages, passed from mouth to mouth since
the death of the homeworld, but a common
language bound scattered Rover groups.
“This is my friend Zartsi,” she answered in
the same language. “He comes with me.”
“So he’s the best man you could scrounge
up?” the Suto answered with a mocking smirk.
“What’s the name?”
Esheera’s anger flared. The Suto’s remark
was all the more biting after their pilot’s polite-
ness. There was no reason to hold her name
back—doing so would only earn her more
mockery. She spat it out like her own insult. “I
am Esheera Nii, widow of Jaggo Laan.”
All humor drained out of the Suto’s smirk.
“Yeah? You must have guts like heat piping, to
show up here. Maybe I’ll give you five seconds
to haul your ass back out the airlock before I
roast it.”
The Suto reached for his hotchoker and
pulled it towards him. The warrior with the
Pg. 40
machine gun swung it up and pointed it straight
at her chest. Esheera’s stomach churned. They
weren’t joking when they threatened to kill
her. There were no police among the Rovers to
check their rivalries.
Zartsi snapped his rifle up and cocked it in
one motion. He couldn’t understand anything
they said, but the Lithrallian understood beings
on the edge of violence. She waved him down,
keeping all fear out of her expression. “You’d
shoot a widow just for her name?” she said,
cocking her head to make sure they could all
see the gray beads in her hair.
“I just might,” the Suto growled back.
“Yeah, I thought so. I’ve never expected
much more from you bastards. Have you really
got nothing better to do than bully old ladies
and widows?”
A spasm of his wrist primed the Suto’s volgi.
“We say who gets into this place.”
“And the vacuum skull who posted you
here—did he tell you that Rover hospitality
is dead and that a widow with a knife—” she
drew hers, the only weapon she carried, “—is
enough threat to your clan that you need to
kick her into space?”
“You Nii sezzic killed my father,” the Suto
with the pulser spat. “Cut his heart out because
they thought he cheated at Stones.”
Esheera flicked her eyes to him. “I’m sorry,”
she said.
The lead Suto snorted. “Not the time for
apologies. What do you want here, anyway?
Just coming to see if you could get in?”
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Memory Wipe, Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts by Sean T. M. Stiennon
“No,” she answered, struggling to keep her
voice even. “I came to ask your elders for the
Jallinza right.”
That seemed to interest the leader. His
nostrils flared, showing cracks in his black
paint, and he lifted one brow. “Now that I
didn’t expect to hear. You serious, woman?”
“As serious as that gun,” she said, nodding
to the machine gun aimed at her.
“You’re not going to get it.”
“You take their job recently? Leave that to
them.”
The Suto narrowed his eyes. His left arm
remained poised to send a blade through
her stomach, but some of the tension left his
muscles. A little of Esheera’s fear ebbed—the
Vitai was considering her request seriously, if
only for a moment.
He came to a decision quickly. His left
arm dropped to his side, and he picked up his
hotchoker, throwing its strap over one shoulder.
“Chuzi and Glar,” he said, “come with us. You
other guys stay here.”
The one with the machine gun’s ears lifted
and his wingflaps darkened with shock. “Ratch,
where in Hot Nothing you pull this from? She’s
got no claim on us. Let’s just kill both and dump
them in the garbage.”
“No,” the leader—Ratch—answered. “The
old snorters may as well hear what she’s got
to say. If they don’t like it...they’ll thank us for
letting them do the killing.”
He beckoned with the nozzle of his
hotchoker. “Come on. Don’t try to get away in
Ray Gun Revival magazine
the crowd—it wouldn’t bother me if I had to
put a blade through your shoulders.”
Esheera followed, moving woodenly, and
the two other Suto fell in just behind Zartsi
as they moved up the gray stone corridor. She
heard the Lithrallian’s voice his by her ear:
“They imprison us?”
“No,” she said. “They’re going to let me talk
to the Enclave Council.”
“They were ready to shoot. Why change of
mind?”
Esheera sighed through her nostrils, feeling
the pain in her gut spike. “There’s an old Rover
custom,” she said. “The Jallinza right. It allows
a Rover in need—particularly cripples, widows,
and the similarly disadvantaged—to use an
enclave’s scrapyard to assemble a new ship,
necessary for them to find a livelihood...with
some conditions.”
“Being?”
The words tasted like arsenic in Esheera’s
mouth. “If I build a ship from Blacksnout scrap,
the Blacksnouts have to get something out of
it. I’d have to agree to conduct all trade and
transit using that craft in the Suto name, and
pay a substantial portion of any profits back to
this enclave. Essentially...I become their ally
and trading partner. Among Rovers, that’s close
enough to an adoption in the damn clan.”
The Lithrallian hissed in what sounded
like an angry tone. She glanced up to see his
pointed teeth bared. “You hate these Suto.”
She smiled coldly. “You’re not the only
person I’m asking to humiliate themself,
Pg. 41
Zartsi.”
They entered a yawning cavern that looked
as if it had been blasted out of the moon’s crust
by a tactical nuke. Sweeping ledges and alcoves
stood above the floor, spanned by wide steel
bridges that rang with hundreds of feet. The
beings moving through the cavern were mostly
Vitai, many of them Blacksnouts, but Esheera
picked out a number of humans and a handful
of Drava. Their clothing was a riot of colors and
styles. Shops selling everything from cooking
gear and knives to jewelry and advanced elec-
tronics lined the walls. Their owners shouted
to passerbys, and the thunder of a hundred
conversations—bartering, arguing, persuad-
ing, mocking—was almost enough to distract
Esheera from her anger and lingering fear.
“I’ll be honest, Zartsi. I’m planning to beg.
With any luck, whatever pity I can muster for
my widowhood, added to the appeal of humili-
ating a Nii, will be enough to convince them.”
“Why?” the Lithrallian growled.
“Because I need a ship. To help Tak, to
help the empire, to do anything with my sorry
carcass.”
Ratch and the other two warriors kept her
and Zartsi in a close triangle. Once or twice she
felt the barrel of a pulser jab into her back. The
Suto hadn’t changed from her last encounter
with her—they were barbaric, with no respect
for anyone who didn’t dip her snout in black
paint.
Damn it, Esheera thought, Jaggo, would
you have wanted this?
Her husband had died years ago. There
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
Memory Wipe, Chapter 18, The Blacksnouts by Sean T. M. Stiennon
wouldn’t be any answer from him. She could
only pray to all the kind stars that he wouldn’t
hate her for what she was trying to do.
Next Month...Chapter 19:
The World of Fire
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Pg. 42
Sean T. M. Stiennon
Sean is an author of fantasy and science fic-
tion novels and short stories, with many pub-
lications under his belt. His first short story
collection, Six with Flinteye, was recently
released from Silver Lake Publishing, and he
won 2nd place in both the 2004 SFReader.
com Short Story Contest and the Storn Cook
Razor-Edged Fiction Contest with his stories
“Asp” and “The Sultan’s Well,” respective-
ly. “The Sultan’s Well” has been published
in the anthology Sages and Swords. Sean’s
short story “Flinteye’s Duel” was published
in Ray Gun Revival, Issue 01, and “Flinteye’s
Sabotage” was published in Issue 35.
Sean’s work tends to contain lots of action and
adventure, but he often includes elements of
tragedy and loss alongside roaring bat-
tles. A lot of his work centers around con-
tinuing characters, the most prominent
of whom is Jalazar Flinteye (Six with Flin-
teye). He also writes tales of Shabak of
Talon Point (“Death Marks,” in issue #9 of
Amazing Journeys Magazine), Blademas-
ter (“Asp,” 2nd place winner in the 2004
SFReader.com Contest), and others who
have yet to see publication.
Sean loves to read fantasy and science fic-
tion alongside some history, mysteries, and
historical novels. His favorites in-
clude Declare by Tim Powers,
the Memory, Sorrow, and Thorn
trilogy by Tad Williams, Stephen Lawhead’s
Song of Albion trilogy, and King Solomon’s
Mines by H. Rider Haggard. He has reviewed
books for Deep Magic: The E-zine of High
Fantasy and Science Fiction, and currently
reviews books at SFReader.com.
Issue 40, February 15, 2008
  Pg. 43
The RGR Time Capsule
February 1 - February 14, 2008
Sci-Fi news from the Ray Gun Revival forums
RGR Date: February 03, 2008 If only there was some way to evaluate the Score: Plus 20 points.
Breakthrough in the writer’s strike? goodness or badness of science fiction, accord-
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1743 ing to an objective scale. It would put an end Drinking game: Have a shot of the good whiskey.
to all fannish arguments, not to mention that You know, the 20-year-old single malt stuff.
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080202/
ap_en_mo/hollywood_labor whole “varying tastes” thing. Luckily, we’ve got Techno-babble and crazy jargon that
makes no sense. Or, if you’re read-
LOS ANGELES (AP) — A break- ing a book, a description of how a
through in contract talks has been spaceship works that goes on for
reached between Hollywood stu- more than two printed pages.
dios and striking writers and could
lead to a tentative deal as early as Score: Minus 5 points.
next week, a person close to the
ongoing negotiations said Saturday. RGR Date: February 13,
2008
The two sides breached the gap 10 Seconds to reach minimum safe
Friday on the thorniest issues, distance
those concerning compensation for http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/view-
projects distributed via the Inter- topic.php?t=1683
net, said the person, who request-
ed anonymity because he were not http://io9.com/355353/you-have-
authorized to speak publicly. ten-seconds-to-reach-minimum-
safe-distance
A second person familiar with the
talks, also speaking on condition Science fiction has always had a
of anonymity because he wasn’t dark obsession with destroying
authorized to comment publicly, things, and spaceships are a con-
said that significant progress had stant target. When not worrying
been made and a deal might be about enemy ships fragging them
announced within a week. to pieces, crews have to worry
self-destruct sequences, on-board bombs,
the very thing, just in time for the weekend. And lousy construction, bad driving, and suicidal
to increase its value to you, the end-user, we’ve commanders who seem hell-bent on piloting
RGR Date: February 09, 2008 made it a drinking game as well.
Spot the sci-fi cliche’! their ships to certain death in what we like
The main characters are real people, with believ-
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1751 to call “shipicides.” Damn the photon torpe-
dos! Set the engines for ramming speed in
http://io9.com/354086/spot-the-scifi-cliche-the- able flaws and non over-the-top personal issues. our picks of the best ship sacrifices in sci-
io9-drinking-game Which they don’t resolve in the course of an
hour. ence fiction.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 40, February 15, 2008