I have been working on some Flash pieces for a collection I’m putting together. Here are two of them.

Beyond Lightspeed – An Interstellar Soliloquy

by

Fenton R. Kay

It’s interesting, moving at or above the speed of light. Well, not really greater than the speed of light – I mean, Einstein demonstrated that was not possible. More like between the speed of light and another dimension. No, I don’t know how they do it. That’s way beyond my meager training in astrophysics. But I do know that, unlike the ancient movies, there is no sensation of speed or any visual indication of movement at all. Nope, no blurring stars, no wavy lines or spirals, or anything. Quiet and no sense of motion. Might as well be sitting home on my couch – wait a minute – I am home sitting on my couch.

Well, it’s not exactly home in the comfy, warm fireplace and wine sort of situation. I am sitting in a warm, overstuffed command chair of a tenth-generation starship. I do have a mug of warm coffee. Myself and my crew are on a venture to check out a planet that the Carl Sagan ultra-Jupiter space telescope discovered about ten years ago. That was just before they decommissioned the telescope. Catastrophia appears to have pretty close to exactly the conditions we have on Terra. Well, had before the great cataclysm. That, in fact, is why we are forging along at the equivalent of about twenty times the speed of light. The hope is that with our new technology and ability to traverse the universe in time-frames that fit within human lifetimes, we will be able to finally find that perfect home and place to settle what remains of humankind. Terra is pretty much a shambles, as are Luna, Mars, and Europa. Humans have not been kind to extra-terrestrial bodies. But, extra-terrestrial bodies have not been kind to humankind, either.

It’s not like we haven’t tried to find other places to wreck. Since we developed faster-than-light drive, we’ve sent out hundreds of expeditions. Yes, Mildred, there is life in the universe. Mostly, they, wisely, want nothing to do with humans, or they are so different there’s no communication. However, as we’ve discovered, they own their worlds, and there’s no room at the inn. Well, let us not forget the places and people that consider humans a delectable snack. We only know about one of those because before the owners ate the last human in the expedition, the humans managed to release a canister with details of the place and situation – sort of an interstellar note in a bottle. We never heard back from many of the expeditions. One suspects they met a similar fate.

Be that as it may, we are off to see the wizard, so to speak. It definitely won’t be Kansas when we get there – but, hey, maybe there’ll be a tin man. We should be there in about two more Earth years. Let’s see, four Earth years out, a couple to explore Catastrophia, then four years back. Jeez, I’ll have great-grandkids if I get back home.

Speaking of family, I need to transmit a videogram back home. My wife and kids must be wondering. Yeah, I haven’t corresponded for at least a week. There was the difficulty with the light drive and the cook that went bonkers – she’s still in the psycho ward being treated. Luckily, only a very few folks ate her stew. They are all in deep freeze. We hope they can be resuscitated when we finally get home. Anyway, I need to get on the stick and get that videogram made and sent. That’s another of the mysteries – at least in my mind – how the hell do we manage to send messages at higher-than-light speeds back and forth? I guess maybe radio waves or whatever frequencies we are using don’t follow Einstein’s dictates. Naw, they must track and use our relativistic contrail through the universe.

Well, damn – no videogram right now. Just got an alarm. We are approaching the halfway outpost. Seems Indians are attacking the fort – well, representatives of whatever other beings own this chunk of the universe are gathering outside the palisade, so to speak. Whoever said this quadrant was unoccupied obviously didn’t look very carefully. Our fellow humans are sending out an SOS. I guess we have no choice but to respond and try to save their tender asses. Damn, I was hoping for some leg stretch and fresh food – well, food not grown in our own hydroponics section. Ok, here comes the cavalry to the rescue. Glad we have lots of room available.

Back on the road again. The big scare at the halfway outpost was nothing serious – at least for our side. The locals, it seems, are sea slugs that live in a huge nearby salty lake – or inland sea. The slugs reproduce on land. Nothing like Terran aquatic stuff. They crawl out of the sea, very much like ancient, extinct sea turtles on Terra, about every five Earth years, mate, and lay their eggs in a s large, sandy, open plain. The outpost was built smack in the middle of their path to the plain. They were gathering outside the outpost’s perimeter, trying to figure a way around it. The slugs are intelligent and really, really big. They are about ten feet tall at their largest point. They don’t do well in woods or brushland, which is what surrounds the outpost.

Seeing them gather on the edge of the outpost was, admittedly, a scary occurrence. Luckily, one of the original surveyors of the planet had met them and worked out a way of communicating. They actually emit sound way below human hearing, so when they approach – or you approach them – what you get is a faint rumbling and funny feeling in your feet. It seems that the person who first contacted them had worked with elephants back on Terra. Terran elephants, before they went extinct, communicated using a similar, very low-frequency rumble, which they perceived mostly via their feet.

The surveyor, with the help of several computers, worked out a method of communication. That information was stored in our onboard computers, so we had a way of figuring out what was going on. Again, luckily, one of our astro-biologists had been interested in the problem, was aware of the system, and established communication.

The upshot of the whole thing was that the slugs were given exclusive access to the wide central avenue of the outpost and slithered through to their nesting area without a problem. There were some minor problems cleaning up their slime, but even that had a positive outcome. Their slime is perfect for gluing stuff, like blocks in walls, together. It sets up rock-hard and seems like it may last nearly forever.

They are nifty critters. Their head slug told me they have a substantial civilization in the lake. Too bad the water is caustic to humans. It would be interesting to see their world.

So, we are back up to cruising speed and headed on our way. Now, maybe I can get that videogram sent to my family.

Thirteen Old Men

By

Fenton R. Kay

They stood in a circle, facing the setting sun, snow on their backs, a cold wind blowing from the open sea down Loch Roag. Thirteen old men – the stones of Callanais. No one could remember when they were not there. The avenue of stones leading to the circle, where the Shining One would walk as the cuckoo called early on Litha morning. Three arms of stone outside the circle form a cross. The great stone in the center, its flat, wide sides pointing to the north and south. The barrow entrance looks toward the rising sun. The barrow tomb chambers wherein reside the ashes of Druids, whose stories describe the thirteen old men.

The circle stones, the old men, protected the people. The Unseelie fae, the malevolent faeries – Sluagh – could not enter the circle. If they entered, they would become tiny creatures of the soil. The Seelie fae, the good faeries, were welcome in the circle to dance and sing. The Seelies were not to be seen by mortal men except at special ceilidh. Druids, male and female, were said to dance with the Seelie when the moon was at Standstill and when Midsumor was nigh. Mortal humans that witnessed those dances were turned into creatures of the forest, deer or foxes. At the ceilidh of Litha and Yule, the faeries would join the people, dancing and singing inside the ring of stone. It was said that the Sluagh would sit outside the ring and wish evil upon the Seelie and the people. When the people and the Seelie were inside the circle, the bad wishes of the Sluagh had no effect.

Some old stories say that the thirteen old men were giants that had been turned to stone when they refused to honor the Druids. Other stories say the thirteen old men were warriors who formed a circle to protect the people from ancient Sluaghs that breathed fire and ate people. The three arms of stone were other brave warriors who thwarted the monsters that tried to surround the circled warriors. The Sluagh were defeated. The warriors were turned to stone to protect the people forever. The gods placed the avenue of stones to guide the people to the circle. The Shining One walked the length of the avenue early every Litha morning to show the people they remained protected.

The funeral procession approached along the avenue. The sun was setting. The stones lining the avenue were glowing in the sunset light of orange reflected from grey-white clouds. The thirteen old men stood there, the snow on their backs and the sun making their faces red-orange. The full moon was to rise as the sun disappeared. It was the right time to put the old woman’s ashes in the cairn. Chossach, as the old woman was known, was on her bier, being born by six Druids. The bier was piled high with death offerings. Chalices and beakers, plates of food, Bolées of mead. Chossach, wrapped in her Druid vestments, was adorned with a stag’s tooth necklace, a crown of mistletoe, and her oaken Druid staff across her chest.

The beat of the bodhrans was a staccato backdrop for the wailing of the pipes and the people. Three robed and hooded people stood on the barrow and watched the procession. The cold wind brought the sound clearly and sharply to the two Druids and Bodhmall, the daughter of Chossach. Chossach’s ashes would rest in the chamber directly west of the entrance where the rising sun of Lithia and of Yule would shine upon her. No Druid had occupied that chamber since Cathbad had been put to rest there.

Chossach, on her bier, was placed on the funeral pyre in front of the central stone. The pyre would be set alite. The Ceilidh would last through the night. On the morrow, the people, the Druids, and the faeries would return home. Bodhmall and an old Druid would put Chossach’s ashes and her death offerings into the chamber. Bodhmall would close the chamber with stones and would sit in the entry to the cairn for three days.

The Druids of Calanais had both feared and respected Chossach. Despite the Druids’ misgivings, Chossach had been good for the people of Callanais. She had kept the sluagh and invaders from across the sea away. She had been a fierce warrior when needed and a gentle mother to her daughter and the people. She made good decisions, and she danced in many ceilidhs within the very circle where she now rested. Bohdmall was said to have more power than her mother. Now, the Druids stood in awe of Bodhmall. Chossach had been a powerful Druidess. Bodhmall was now taking her mother’s role. Chossach would rest near her father and his father – both of them strong Druids.

Bodhmall stepped from the cairn on the third day. Weary, red-eyed from weeping, and dusty, she stood on the barrow as the sun rose, lighting her with a rosy glow. Bodhmall looked around the circle at the thirteen old men, the stone warriors of the arms, and the avenue where she had so often walked with her mother. She gave a loud, high-pitched wail and collapsed on the ground. Two Druids came running to her from their fire near the central stone. She was limp and unconscious but warm. As the Druids tried to revive Bodhmall, she began to mutter. The old men listened. She raved about seeing her mother and her grandfather and great-grandfather sitting in the center of the cairn, talking quietly among themselves. They spoke long about the past and portents for the future.

Chossach spoke of the stones which would be covered by peat. People would no longer follow the Druid way, no longer honoring the heath, the sea, and the hills. The old Druids, holding Bodhmall, shook their heads in grief. Bodhmall had received a message from the spirits of the cairn. A bleak message, but they would move on as they had for all of the long times past. What was, was – what would be, would be. Bodhmall returned home. Life went on for the people, the Druids, and the faeries of Callanais. Thirteen old men stood, stalwart and protective, even as the peat covered their faces and backs.