Three Movie Trailers

Please note that this is NOT an entry into the Friday Challenge, which can be found Here. Due to the demons of Otogu (that's "other things of greater urgency"), this entry is well over twelve hours past the deadline, so it is not eligible for this week's Challenge. However...that's not an excuse to not share it.

Trailer One:

Camera pans across Italian countryside, with voice-over, "...in fair Verona, where we lay our scene, two star-crossed lovers..."

Sunset, with camera pausing on Italian village. Sunset. Fade to black. Text: "The legendary love story, retold..."

Fade in on brick wall. Voice-over screams. Blood sprays across the wall.

Text: "...with a modern twist."

Juliet is in the tub in her chambers, with bubbles all around. She's speaking to the nurse, behind her, across the room and over her shoulder. The nurse has her back to both Juliet and the camera.

Juliet: ad-libbing, and ending with "...so, how do you know when it really is love?"

While she talks, the camera pans across the room, and the nurse's face slowly drifts into focus in the mirror. She has a zombie face, with steel gray eyes and skin missing, and she's gnawing on a woman's severed hand.

Cut to: Swordfight, Romeo vs. Tybalt. Romeo lops off Tybalt's arm.

Romeo: "Tybalt, how many times do I have to kill you?"

Cut to: Juliet, trying to get away from the zombies. She appears cornered, swinging a torch.

Juliet: "Where the hell are you, Romeo?!?"

Black screen with text: Megan Fox as Juliet

Cut to: Romeo and Juliet vs. Zombie. Juliet chops off the head of a zombie while Romeo stares open-mouthed.

Juliet: "What, you think I'm just going to stand around and be eaten waiting for you to finally show up and rescue me?

Black screen with text: Nicholas Brendan as Romeo

Cut to: Romeo and Juliet on the run from zombies, pausing to catch their breath.

Romeo: "One hell of a first date, huh?"

Black screen with text: Michael Clarke Duncan as Tybalt

Cut to: Big terrifying zombie face smile.

Black screen with text: And featuring Bruce Campbell as the King of the Zombies

A film by Quentin Tarantino

Romeo and Juliet and Zombies

Trailer Two:

Black screen with text: Prophecy and Ambition are a bad combination, but when you add in zombies...

Cut to: Macbeth's chambers.

Lady Macbeth: "I'd have done it myself, if he hadn't looked so much like my father while he slept."

Macbeth walks in, blood on his hands.

Macbeth: "It's done."

Lady Macbeth stares in terror as a dark figure comes stumbling into the room behind Macbeth.

Cut to: Macbeth with the Witches

Witch: "You shall be King, until the very dead of Birnam do rise and march on Dunsinane."

Cut to: Zombies crawling out of the ground, working their way towards the castle.

Cut to: Macbeth, on a balcony. Camera rises behind him so the audience can see what he sees--thousands of zombies like a scene from Lord of the Rings moving in his direction.

Cut to: Lackey reporting Lady Macbeth's death.

Lackey: "Highness! Lady Macbeth has killed hers--"

The rest of the line is cut off as Zombie Lady Macbeth rips the lackey's head off.

Black screen with text: Jack Black, as Macbeth

Cut to: Macbeth vs Macduff

Macbeth: "How many times do I have to kill you, Macduff?" Plunges his sword through Macduff's chest and out the back.

Black screen with text: Gwyneth Paltrow as Lady Macbeth

Cut to: Zombie Lady Macbeth

Zombie grin close-up, while she licks blood and gore from her fingers.

Black screen with text: And Bruce Campbell as the King of the Zombies

A film by Don Coscarelli

Macbeth versus the Undead

Trailer Three:

Camera pans across flowers, with voiceover: "A new version of Shakespeare's Taming of the Shrew."

Quick scenes, each a few seconds long, depicting scenes from the play.

--"Bianca can't wed until Katherine does."

--Petruchio boasting that he can tame her.

--Petruchio blowing a trumpet over Kate's bed.

--Petruchio, ripping an incredibly expensive dress off of Kate's body.

Cut to: Petruchio, at the end of the play, declaring that he has completely tamed Kate.

Petruchio: "We'll each send a messenger for our wives, and whichever bride arrives first will win the wager."

Camera follows Kate as she walks up behind Petruchio. The other wedding guests see her and run in horror. Petruchio starts talking before he turns around.

Petruchio: "How many times do I have to--"

Petruchio screams in terror as the zombie Kate attacks him.

Black screen with text: Hayden Panattiere as Bianca

Cut to: Bianca, looking at the camera with her head tilted to one side and a bright and cheerful smile on her face. With it is a smear of blood, and blood is trickling out of her mouth.

Black screen with text: Jennifer Aniston as Kate

Cut to: Kate, zombie, with an evil grin on her face, shaking a severed hand at the camera.

Black screen with text: and Bruce Campbell as Petruchio

Cut to: Petruchio screaming in terror as Kate bites his hand off.

Black screen with text: A film by Ron Howard

The Taming of the Zombie

Shakespeare...And Zombies

Coming next summer

-=ad=-

Wizard and Wing - Hatchling

Note: This story is an entry into this week's Friday Challenge, which can be found here. The challenge: Get the fifth chapter out of the way--after your world has been defined, your major characters introduced, the basics of the general plot laid out--you know, all that stuff that gets rewritten and thrown out sixteen times before you actually get on with the actual story. So, we join our plotline, already in progress...

Trage settled into his new home.

He had no idea if he was doing the same thing that other wizard's apprentices did. His duties mostly involved cleaning up after the wizard and his friends. He cleaned up after the animals, swept out the house, and cleaned and dusted the entire place, every day. Most days, the wizard sat in his room, poring over books and carrying on odd and mysterious experiments. There were strange-shaped boxes and other things stacked in one corner, and every time he dusted them, he noticed Midge was right there watching.

The wizard had caught him trying to steal something, so obviously this was a trial period to see if he really could be trusted or not. He set out to prove himself by doing the best he could, without a complaint.

His days settled into a kind of routine.

In the morning, breakfast. Eggs for the humans, fruit and vegetables for the lizard, and whatever animal the bird brought back for herself. Sometimes she only ate a little bit of a large rabbit, and Trage would take the rest to put in stew for the evening. Dishes, dusting, then lunch, which seemed to be more of an "eat if you're hungry" break than an actual meal. After lunch, sweeping, and any specific projects the wizard set him to do. After dinner, the wizard went back to study his books by candle light, and Trage was left to himself.

One evening, the wizard walked out of his study, and heard Trage halfway through a lesson. "Mack..."

"Silent 'E'," Midge said.

"Oh," Trage answered. "Make?" That got him a nod of approval from Beck.

"You're teaching him to read?" Steve asked.

"Why not?" Beck answered. "You're sure not teaching him very much." He stammered, stumbled his way through an apology, and went back to his study.

No, Trage did not understand the wizard and his friends.

The argument came out of nowhere.

Trage had been there for nearly four tendays. He seemed to be reading the wizard's language quite well, though many of the words they gave him to read didn't seem to translate. He was seated in the big comfortable chair with Midge nearby when Steve walked past Beck's room--and froze. He didn't say a word, he just stood there, and his mouth slowly opened. Beck looked up at him.

"Something you want to say?" she said.

"That's...that's an EGG," he said.

"Well, duh," she answered.

"...I thought you were MY girlfriend...?" he said quietly.

She made a rude noise. "Do you have feathers?" She stood up, so he could get a good look at the egg; it was mostly white, mottled with some darker brown spots, about twice the size of the hen's eggs they had for breakfast every morning.

His mouth moved a few times, but no sound came out.

"Or have you figured out how to change me back? Or how to get us back HOME?" she said sharply.

"Becka, I..."

"Don't 'Becka' ME!" she said. "I want my life back. I want my make-up and jewelry and shopping malls!" Her wings were out, and the feathers on her neck were sticking out. "I want a spa treatment, manicure, pedicure, mud mask, and a massage. And most of all, I want an apartment that doesn't smell like the cows up the street!"

Trage looked over at Midge. "Malls, Midge?"

He blinked a few times, and then said "Church. Women go there to worship gold, silver, and furs."

"Ah," Trage said, still confused.

"And it's 'Mitch,' not 'Midge,'" he added. "Short for 'Mitchell.'"

"Midge-elle?" Trage said, fighting the unusual syllables.

"Never mind."

Becka was just getting warmed up. "So, if you can't figure out a way to undo what you screwed up, I figure I'm on my own here. There's this hunk of a condor two mountains over. Totally useless for conversation, of course, but that's not really what I was looking for."

"Hey!" They both paused, and turned to look at Mitch. "Does that condor know any female Komodo Dragons, maybe an iguana...?"

He shrank away from the dual glare of sheer fury, and stepped away mumbling. "...aren't any other lizards on this freaking planet..."

"I'm TRYING to figure it out!" Steve shouted. "I can't get anyone to teach me, and I don't know how to make it work. Nothing I try actually does anything!"

She completely ignored him. "Did you even notice when I started building my nest?"

He blinked in confusion. "You're a bird. Birds build nests. What was I supposed to think?"

"Hello! Birds only build nests for one reason!"

He closed his eyes, and made a very visible effort to calm down. She straightened her ruffled feathers, and settled down on the egg.

"Beck," he said finally, "you're not a bird. You're a human who's been changed into one. I have no idea what that means for your DNA. What's inside that egg could..."

"Could what?" she said.

"Could be something you don't expect. We have no idea how magical cross-breeding is going to work out."

"So, if there's something wrong with it, you'd want to get rid of it? What if it had Down's Syndrome, like your cousin?"

"No, not like that," he said. "I mean, it could be human with a bird head, or..."

"Or, whatever. Doesn't matter. Something wrong with it, we deal with it. Or I deal with it, since it's my egg." She turned her back and started preening herself; it was obvious to everyone that the conversation was over.

The wizard stood there, silent, for a long moment, and then strode back to his library. He closed the door behind him.

-=ad=-

Follow Your Dreams!

...even if no one else can see what you see...

Merchandise is available!

-=ad=-

The Nightmare Begins

Note: This is an entry into the Friday Challenge, which can be found here.

"Doctor!" the nurse shouted. "His eyes are open!"

A flurry of activity, lights in his eyes, hammer to his knees. Blood pressure cuff tightened and removed. Where was he? Why was he here? Thinking was fuzzy.

"You've been in a coma," the doctor said at last. "But you're going to be all right now. Your nightmare is over."

He was wrong.

Cassidy stood by the corner of the building, peering around. He thought he had lost his pursuers, but he wasn't quite sure. He had ducked into a doorway, turned his reversible jacket inside-out, and put on a baseball cap to cover his eyes, and now he was trying to see if any of them had caught on.

There.

Two guys in business suits and shades, standing in front of the laundromat. They were talking quietly, turning their heads from side to side. Looking for him.

Cassidy took a step back, and a deep breath. Then he stepped boldly into the street, walking like he owned the place, walking right past them.

It worked. He turned the corner and ran four blocks, turned two random corners and walked five more, and finally started breathing easily again.

Okay, he thought. You've lost them. Again. But they always seem to home in on you. How do you get away and stay away?

Cassidy didn't have an answer to that question, but he wished he could meet someone who did.

He paid cash for a motel room, and flopped on the bed without getting undressed. He had called his mom to let her know he was all right, and seen the first shades within an hour. That had to be it. Government agents, perhaps, didn't they run around in suits and shades, or was that just in the movies...?

They had first appeared after he posted his...vision? Prophecy? Whacked out dream?

Whatever you wanted to call it, he had posted it on his blog, and the next day, he was running and hiding. He was running out of time, though. Cash was getting harder and harder to come by, and using a credit card would be a sure way to call them to him. He couldn't risk contacting friends, and didn't have anyone to turn to.

Slowly, with many twitches and panic moments, he drifted off to sleep.

Cities burn.

Cassidy stood on a tall hill overlooking San Francisco. The Golden Gate Bridge was gone, fallen into the bay; what little was left was burned and melted. Lights flickered in the sky, and a moment later, a tremendous lightning bolt crashed from the sky, hitting a skyscraper thirty floors up. Above the damage, the rest of the building toppled.

"Remember." The voice was deep, and echoed through his skull.

Cassidy knew this wasn't the only city under attack. This wasn't a dream, it was a memory.

One of the soldiers marched up the hill towards him. He couldn't move, couldn't run; he was only a spectator in this vision. The creature stopped in front of him. Humanoid, at least six feet tall, it carried a bloody sword in one hand--a hand that had far too many fingers. It had no eyes or sockets.

"Fear."

The soldier strode away in search of victims. Behind it, a man approached, much shorter. He was wearing a motorcycle helmet with a silver face screen, and in his hand was a lightning bolt, nearly as tall as he was.

"Trust," came the voice.

The motorcycle helmet came closer and closer. When he was standing right in front of Cassidy, he could see his own face reflected back at him. The man reached up with both hands to remove the helmet, and the vision went away, before he could see the face behind the helmet.

"Hold your freedom!" echoed in his ears.

Cassidy came awake instantly. He was up and packed and ready to leave in moments.

His blog post had attracted the attention of someone, that was certain. Except for a couple of downloaded songs, he had never done anything illegal in his life--certainly nothing worth the chase these suits were giving him. Maybe changing cities would put some more distance between them, give him some breathing room. He wandered the city for hours, doubling back on his trail, watching for shades, and finally felt safe enough to walk into the bus station.

It was a mistake.

The suit was hiding in the crowd near the ticket counter, and Cassidy didn't see him until he was within arm's reach. He froze, eye to glasses, panic rising; he thought he could feel the sheer hatred emanating from the man. Then he turned and ran, shoving people out of his way, heading for the exit. There was another suit there, blocking his way out, so he doubled back and went out one of the doors to the loading bay, then down to the end, where the bus drivers would stand and smoke their cigarettes. He stopped there, waiting for his heart to stop pounding, knowing he couldn't have lost them that easily.

A hand covered his mouth and dragged him backwards. He fought, bit the hand, struggled--and froze when a suit came around the corner. The shades blocked his eyes, but he knew the man was looking right at him. The agent reached into his pocket--

...and collapsed to the ground.

Cassidy stared at the woman who had been standing behind him. She gave him a wink, knelt down, and put her taser to the chest of the man on the ground. He jerked and spasmed and made noises that couldn't have come from a human throat. The hand over his mouth loosened, and then released him. "Go, take a look," he heard whispered in his ear.

He walked up to the suit, lying motionless on the ground. The glasses were out of place, and what was behind them looked...odd. He reached down with a trembling hand and flicked them away from the face. The eyes behind them weren't even human; they were red, and faceted like a gemstone, or a bug's eye.

"They can almost look like us," the woman said, "except for the eyes." She held up one of his hands, pointing to the scar along the bottom. "Extra thumb removed." She stood up, brushing dirt off her knees, and zipped up her leather jacket. "They have a weakness for electricity, though. Zap 'em enough, and they melt into goo."

The man who had pulled him aside was nursing a bleeding hand, but he didn't seem upset with Cassidy. "Come on," he said, "let's get him to safety."

The bus headed into the night, far from city lights.

"I went out with some friends," he heard himself say. He hadn't told this story to anyone. Well, not the full story, anyway. Marnie, the woman with the leather jacket, was listening intently.

"Ken was driving, Jay was riding shotgun. I was in the back. Ken lost control on an icy bridge. Well, that's what they tell me, anyway, I remember getting in. The car went into the drink, Ken and Jay washed away; they fished me out of the ice about two hours later. I closed my eyes, lost two friends, three months of my life, and woke up...into a nightmare."

"You had a near-death experience," she said. She didn't make it a question.

"Yeah," Cassidy sighed. "Cities destroyed, people under attack." He still shuddered at the memory. "Prophecy? Warning? I didn't know what to make of it, so I wrote it up and put it out on my blog for anyone to comment on. And that's when the agents showed up."

"They're advance scouts. They know that psychics will warn people that their main attack force is coming, so their job is to scan the 'net and find people trying to give warning."

"Not that it matters," Victor said. He turned around, putting his bandaged hand over the seat. "The human race is pretty much made up of sheep who don't care who's in charge as long as the beer keeps flowing. Giving the warning would get you labelled a crackpot at best--and if the warning was true, you'd get blamed for the disaster when it was all over."

"Get some sleep," he said. "We'll be home in the morning.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let me be the first to welcome you to..."

Cassidy struggled awake, yawning over the rest of the sentence. They were somewhere in the middle of nowhere, flat land all around. Victor was still talking.

"...on an abandoned missile silo, giving us one hell of a basement. The buildings are concrete domes, six or seven inches thick--which keeps down the utility bills, letting us live off the grid, and hopefully playing hell with any thermal scans." Cassidy could see the dome now, painted to look like the surrounding scrubland. "Over there, we've got a nice big bank of solar cells, also camouflaged. We've got food, weapons, whatever we need to last quite a while, and we're far enough away from any cities that we probably won't even notice the war."

"I'm sorry," Cassidy said, "I was just waking up. What did you say the name of this place is?"

Victor smiled at him. "Welcome to Freehold," he said.

Wizard's Reunion

Note:  This is an entry into The Friday Challenge.

The man was short, wearing gray robes with a wizard's cap.  He was chewing on a cigar.  He muscled the cart into the ballroom, swearing under his breath.  Once it was through the door, he pulled a wand from his pocket.  One quick flourish, and the tables and chairs scattered themselves across the room.  A banner floated up the wall and hung itself from hooks--"Welcome!  Reunion!  Class of 204!" it proclaimed.

His work done, he snapped his fingers; a flame appeared at his fingertips, and he lit the cigar from it.  He let out a deep sigh, knowing the kind of mess he'd have to clean up when this was all over...

Albus frowned at him over the top of his brandy snifter.  "You changed your name?"

"That's right," Emrys said.  "Too many legends and conflicting reports.  Everyone wanted to know where the damn sword ended up at.  I didn't have the heart to tell them the kid traded it for a night with that Irish redhead."

"Ah," the old wizard nodded.  "Believe me, I know how kids can get carried away.  Some of the stories I could tell you..."  He glanced around the ballroom.  "Do you know if any of the other wizards will make it?  G, maybe, or Dubya?"

"Gandalf?  I don't think he'll be able to make it.  The last message I got from him was really garbled, but it sounded like he was running a business on a white cruise ship selling magical jewelry to the Elves.  Way too busy being successful for this.  And I haven't heard from Dubya since...um...late eighties, I think."  Emrys glanced across the room.  "Is that who I think it is...?"

The evening had barely started, but the man slumped in the chair looked like he had already had more than enough to drink.  Emrys strode over, pulled up a chair, and sat quietly.  "Everything okay with you, Vermithrax?"

He looked human, but the oversized, slitted eyes gave him away when he looked up.  "Peachy," the dragon said, taking another drink.

"And how's Mel...?" Emrys asked, though he was pretty sure he knew what the answer was going to be.

"Maleficent dumped me," he said.  "Workaholic.  She just wanted to run things, no matter who she had to step on to get there."

"Damn, man, that's too bad," Emrys said.  "I always thought you two were the perfect couple--dragon who could turn into a man, woman who could turn into a dragon, just totally beats all that inter-species thing, you know...?"

Vermithrax sighed.  "Yeah, I know.  I thought so, too."

Emrys tried to change the subject.  "I always wondered why dragons and wizards didn't get along better back in the day."

The dragon raised one oversized eyebrow.  "How so?"

"The enemy of my enemy," Emrys said.  He gestured towards the far side of the ballroom, where Beowulf was telling a story about killing a dragon with one arm tied behind his back.  They heard women giggle as he hit on a particularly gruesome point.  "The whole geek vs jock--I mean, hero vs wizard thing.  You'd think dragons and wizards would get along better."

"If we had it to do over again," Vermithrax said, "maybe things might go a little differently...?"  He took another long drink, and Emrys wondered if he'd still be conscious by the time they closed the hall.  He shook the proffered hand, and strode back over to sit by Albus again.

"The more things change," Emrys said, watching Hercules and Thor put on a juggling show involving flaming swords, barbells, three battle axes, two bowling balls, and a running chainsaw.  They were attracting a crowd, mostly giggly young (appearing) women, who made a big deal out of dodging the various flying implements.

"...the more things stay the same," Albus finished, with a flourish of his cup.  He pointed to the juggling act, and the blonde ponytail bouncing in time.  "Do you remember when Thor was a redhead?"

Emrys chuckled.  "Yeah, that was a blast, watching him rage around campus with curly blonde locks!  He obviously never got it to go back to red, but he did get rid of the curls.  Who pulled that prank?  Avatar?  Loki?"

"Nah, that was Dubya!  He accidentally let it slip to me one day about a year after, and then told me how he did it  Two part curse--one ingredient in his private mead stash, another in his shampoo."  Albus couldn't help but laugh at the memory.  "Dubya found it hilarious that Aphrodite refused to go on a date with a guy with better hair than she had."

Theseus walked by, Arwen on one arm, Liv on the other, babbling something about fighting an army of minotaurs.  "Do you envy them?"

"Nope.  Got over anything like that a long time ago.  Happily married for years; I'll take Milady over any of these superficial, plasticine, zombie-proof--"

"Hi, Guys!  Sorry I'm late, did I miss anything?"

"Dubya!" Albus exclaimed.  "Glad you could make it!"

Steve Wozniak pulled out a chair, reached for a drink, and smiled across the table at old friends.

-=ad=-

Emissary

Note:  This post is an entry into this week's Friday Challenge, which can be found here.  The challenge:  What happens after "The Day the Earth Stood Still?"  (The remake version, that is.)

Riley was waiting for her at the airlock, with a bucket of paint in his hand for some strange reason.  Of course, Riley would be the one to see her off.  He gave her a wink and a smile, and she nodded back.

"Knock 'em dead," he added.  "After all, what can go wrong?"  With that, all of the tension leaked out of her body, and she found herself laughing in spite of herself.

He stepped aside, and Carrie saw what he had painted on the airlock door.  "Fitting and appropriate," she said, as the door opened.

The laughter was gone before she cycled through the airlock, and she stepped out into the alien space station.  Two aliens waited to escort her to the conference room.  On her left was a heavy worlder, built like a Sumo but with tufts of green fuzz in odd places.  The other alien looked like an oversized predatory bird, and the glare from those large eyes made her feel like it was sizing her up as prey.  But they didn't threaten her directly, or even speak; they just turned and flanked her as they crossed the station.

The door to the conference chamber was guarded by a Gort.  Towering, motionless, its very presence made her skin crawl.  She pretended not to notice it as they passed within touching distance.  Then she was through the door and looking out over the conclave.  This was a "conference room?"

The room was huge.  Semi-spherical, with a dome ceiling and level floor, the seats sloped up in the distance.  There were several hundred representatives of the hundred or so worlds that made up the alliance.  She couldn't recognize more than a handful of alien species, but she thought that nearly every planet had sent several representatives to hear the message she brought from Earth.

Either podiums were the same in any species, or they had studied enough Earth customs to understand the concept, because one awaited her.  She stepped up to it, and the buzz of conversation grew louder.  She stood silently, not demanding silence, but refusing to speak without it.  After a few moments, the noise died away.

"I bring you greetings, from Earth," she began.  She clasped her hands on the podium in front of her, but decided it was a sign of nervousness, and forced herself to leave them hanging at her sides.  "My name is Carrie."  She did the triple-blink that activated the chronometer in her contact lens; the numbers appeared in her vision, low and to the left, "5:00."

"Thirty years ago, an emissary from this council visited Earth.  He brought death and destruction to our world.  In my homeland, the cities of Philadelphia and New York were devastated, but the worst destruction came from an electromagnetic pulse that shut down most of the planet's power grid.  Within days, the largest cities on the planet were smoldering wastelands.  The death toll numbered in the millions...perhaps even billions.

"But humans are a resourceful people.  Within a few short months, we had restored a small percentage of our power generation, and could actually start to rebuild.  And some deep, shielded bases weren't destroyed by the pulse; they became beacons of civilization, the centers of new towns and even cities.

"We are grateful for the two gifts your emissary left us."  There is a murmur through the crowd.

"First, the nanobots that destroyed New York and Philadelphia were collected and analyzed.  With the devastation, it took years before we could even begin to pry their secrets free, and several years beyond that before we finally managed to bring one back to life."  Carrie saw several of the crowd exchange nervous glances, so she moved quickly to allay their nervousness.  "We were able to train the bugs to restore our environment."

She smiled.  "You'll have to forgive me," she said.  "Thanks to an inside joke a dozen years ago, our nano-robot programmers have taken to calling themselves 'Bug Wranglers.'  And they don't 'program robots'--they 'train and teach bugs' to do things."  The crowd seemed to relax a bit at the shared joke.  Carrie hoped the humor made it through the translator, at least.

Less than four minutes remained on the timer.

"We were able to teach the bugs things that would repair our world," she said.  "Robots could be trained to tunnel underground like worms, eating away at anything that would pollute the plants above.  Others were trained to crawl through a human bloodstream, eating cancers, tumors, radioactive particles, anything that would harm that person.

"But the real benefit of training bugs came when we created a new generation--one that could not only eat, but deposit materials, too.  One breed was designed to skim floating oil off the surface of water, and deposit it in a waiting tank.  Another was taught to ingest carbon, but lay down carbon nanotubes.  These bugs improved our world tremendously; bug wranglers were able to produce spider-silk threads that could support tons of weight, room-temperature semiconductor cables, and clothing that could withstand bullet impacts yet were as light as paper."  She didn't mention that those same bugs had lined her bones with carbon nanotubes surrounding molecular titanium, making them practically unbreakable.

"With the advances the bug wranglers created in materials, we were able to restart our space program, making quantum leaps in technology every year.  Our spacecraft are easily ten times the size of our old Space Shuttle, yet weigh a tenth as much and are hundreds of times more sturdy.  One even survived a crash on our moon with no loss of life.  The bugs gave us the ability to apply advances we already knew, but in the molecular world."

Two minutes left on the timer.  Carrie gripped the podium with both hands.  "The second gift was the 'space suit' the emissary arrived in.  Most of it was placed in a supercooled deep-freeze before the disaster, and as our technology returned, we were able to thaw out portions of it and clone it.  The healing properties of this material saved countless lives, and the things we learned from it have extended the average human lifespan by more than fifty years."  Including mine, she added silently, but she didn't let the words escape her lips.

"And so, I am here today to thank this federation for the gifts delivered by your emissary, and to deliver a message from my people."  There was still a minute left on the timer, so she would have to ad-lib a bit.

"Our people split into two factions.  One wanted nothing more than to build an army, and lash out at the aliens who attacked us, while the other wished to take a more pacifist approach--heal our planet, improve our lives, make our world better--which is what we did."  She took a step back from the podium.  "When an entire species focus their will on the same goal, anything is possible.  And the human race has been focused on one goal--this meeting--for a very long time.

"You might think I'm here to ask for membership in your federation, but my people do not wish to join."  A surprised gasp is the same in any language, Carrie thought.  

"You might think I'm here to ask for forgiveness for our very existence--but you couldn't be more wrong."  The aliens began shifting in their seats; this was not the humble and humiliated speaker they had been led to expect.

"We weren't bothering you," she said, with a hard edge to her voice.  "Your emissary attacked us without provocation.  This federation launched an attack on our planet that left millions dead, and left millions more to starve and freeze...and bleed...and die.  I watched my father vaporized, eaten by the bugs."  There was a murmuring of discomfort and nervousness in the crowd, and several of the aliens were standing now.  10...9...8...read the timer.

"I am here to deliver a very clear message from my people," she said, as the timer reached 3.  "And that message is this:  DON'T F**K WITH THE HUMANS!"

The conference room erupted in total pandemonium.

"Look," Riley was saying.  "They would scan for active nanobugs, so you're not going to take any active ones in with you."

"But if they're not active, then how are they going to do anything?"

"Easy.  You're going to activate them.  The ring on your left hand holds a dozen offensive bugs.  They won't activate until you feed them, and their food source is in the ring on your right hand.  Got it?"

"So, I just clap my hands or something and they wake up?"

"Exactly.  And everything I just said?  Flip it around for the defensive bugs in the ring on your right hand.  Same rules."  Carrie stared at the two rings.

"Then what?"

"Then you wait, five full minutes.  All of the bugs are programmed with an inheritable stealth timer.  Mommy bug will drop to the ground and start multiplying.  The time left on her timer will be passed on to the munchkin bugs, so they'll all end at the same time.  They will not fly, and they will avoid organic material until the alarm clock wakes them up.

"That's when the fun begins."

A cloud of millions of angry nanobugs swarmed up from the ground.  The front row of the audience disappeared almost instantly, while the aliens in the rows behind that screamed in fifty languages and scattered in all directions.  Carrie calmly began working her way back to the door.

One of her escort guards--the hunting bird--moved to block her path.  It held some vicious looking combat blades and glared at her like an owl contemplating a mouse.  She gritted her teeth, and stepped forward.

"Offensive bugs go after targets.  They're programmed to recognize human DNA, so you shouldn't have to worry about them.  They will prefer a moving target to an immobile one, and an organic target to an inorganic one.  After 12 hours with no organic targets, they'll go into sleep mode."

"How the hell do you tell the difference between an offensive and a defensive bug?  They're just microscopic robots."

"Well, the defensive bugs take their job seriously," he said.  "Once they identify human DNA, they'll take up a holding pattern in orbit, ten to fifteen feet away.  They'll hold this orbit until destroyed, or until the human DNA source is the same temperature as the surrounding environment--at which point they'll revert to offensive bugs."

"That's an encouraging thought," she said.

Her orbiting bodyguards encountered a target--and dissolved it into its component molecules.  A few stray feathers floated to the floor.  Four other aliens made the same mistake of coming between her and the doorway, and then she was through.

...and the Gort blocked her path.  Her heart in her throat, she found herself looking right into that gleaming red eye.

"Now, the Gorts will be the real challenge," Riley said.  "Assuming they don't just try to disintegrate you with a laser, anyway.  We think..."

"You're not sure?"

"Well, based on what we've been able to piece together, the Gort in New York always preferred to take control of attacking craft remotely as a first option, and actually attacking something personally as a final option.  Think of it as alien judo--better to turn the attacker's strength back against it.  We think," he repeated, over-emphasizing the word, "that any Gort would try to take control of your bugs.

"We told the bugs to check their parity bits every tenth cycle, and reload their operating instructions if it didn't match."

"That didn't make any sense.  English, Riley, English!"

"Okay, okay, the bugs will recognize when their programming has been changed, and try to change it back.  If they find that they're changing it back more than once, then they start calling for help."

"Huh?"

"They will send out an alert to all of the other bugs in the area that something is changing bug programming.  The chance of a bug answering that call is based on distance.  The actual equation is distance over a hundred as a percentage chance, modified by the number of times the alert--"  The look in her eyes could have melted nanosteel.  

"Look, if a Gort tries to take over your swarm, nearby bugs will join it.  The harder the Gort tries, the more bugs will arrive."

Carrie dove for cover as the Gort launched a laser bolt at the spot she had been standing.  So much for taking control first, she thought.  As the giant stepped forward, it encountered the edges of her swarm in the conference room, and focused its attention on them.  The beam from its eye scattered into dozens of tiny pinpoint beams.

...then hundreds of pinpoint beams.

More and more bugs swarmed out of the room to join in the attack on the Gort.  It raised one massive hand, the huge head swivelling back and forth, and took a step backwards--and broke apart into its own swarm.  The air was alive with nanobugs fighting for air superiority.

Carrie made a dash for the airlock.

"And thank you for playing!  We have a lovely parting gift to take home with you!  One bug in a thousand will go into assassin mode," Riley said.  "It will find organic material, hook on, and go to sleep for thirty to three hundred days.  Then it will go into stealth mode, crawling around and multiplying, for anywhere from ten minutes to ten days, and then it will go on the attack.  That way, any survivors from the station will still carry your 'message' even if they didn't get a chance to hear it in person."

Carrie dove through the airlock, pounded on the button to get the door to close, and signalled the bridge to disconnect and get moving.  Riley was still there, waiting for her with a gun in his hand.  He holstered it, pulled out a remote control, and deactivated any nanobugs that had made it onto the ship.  They felt the thump of docking connections clearing and the press of acceleration as the ship rocketed away from the station.

"You realize you just declared war on the entire galaxy," he said, with half a smile.

"No," she answered.  "They declared war on us thirty years ago.  But they made the mistake of not finishing us off like they should have."  

The two of them headed for the bridge, stepping away from the letters he had scribbled on the airlock.  The words "Enola Gay" shone bright and clear behind them.

Icehawk's Destiny

Note: This post is an entry into The Friday Challenge, which can be found here!

For this challenge, Bruce gave the start of the story, which is included for the sake of completeness.

Icehawk the Barbarian would never admit to feeling fear, but his mood as he traced the ancient, rock-strewn path through the barren wilderness was...unsettled. Once again, his wanderings had brought him back to this place: to the domain of the Seer, the Prophetess, the Mad Spinner of Fate. And once again he would rather be walking this path as a warrior, with a sword in one hand and an ax in the other, than like a peddler, with a large black box under one arm and a small white sack thrown over the other shoulder.

Dusk had fallen by the time he crested the last ridge. The rock-strewn valley below was already in deep shadow, but a weird, flickering light emanated from within the ruins of the Temple of Otogu. The unearthly light was as nothing, though, compared to the stench that assailed his nostrils as his footsteps drew him closer. It was a complex, many-layered, ever-shifting reek composed of a great many foul and unspeakable things: of rot, and corruption; of scorched flesh, and burnt offerings; of bitter potions, and vile philters; and of many, many, cats, badly housebroken.

Icehawk paused a moment, at the foot of the great ruined stone staircase—

But it was already too late. She stood there, at the top of the stairs, in tattered rags and long, greasy, tangled gray hair, smiling at him with blackened stubs of teeth. "Welcome, Icehawk, great warrior of the north!"

"You—you knew I was coming?"

"Of course. I'm a Seer. And you have brought my price?"

"I thought you were a Seer."

"It's more fun this way. Have you brought my price?"

Icehawk juggled the black box and the white sack awkwardly, then held forth the black box. "Oh Great Priestess of Otogu!" he cried. "Behold, I bring you a flawless black kitten, without a single white hair, sealed for seven days within a black box without a single hole!"

The Seer nodded, smiling. "I see. And is the kitten alive or dead?"

Icehawk considered the box nervously. "I, er—"

"Is the kitten alive or dead?"

Icehawk grimmaced. "Well, it stopped yowling about four days ago, but without air holes—"

The Seer grinned that ghastly, gummy, black-stubbed grin again. "The point is, you don't know for certain, do you?"

"Well, not as such..."

"Perfect!" She pointed to the sack. "And in the sack?"

Icehawk juggled the black box and white sack again, and then held forth the white sack. "Oh Great Priestess of Otogu!" he cried again. "Behold, I bring you a flawless white dove, without a single dark feather, whose feet have never touched the ground!"

"Perfect!" She darted down the stairs, snatched the sack from Icehawk's hand, and started back up. "Come along!" Halfway up the stairs she paused, to turn and look back at Icehawk, who still stood at the foot of the stairs with the black box in his hands and a puzzled expression on his face. "Oh, just dump it over there with the other ones." She pointed to the stack of reeking black boxes that Icehawk hadn't noticed before off to the side of the stairs. He tossed the box on the heap and followed her.

The interior of the ruined temple was thick with smoke and stink, lit by many guttering candles and a small fireplace, and crawling with cats. The Seer set the white sack on the altar, thrust her hand inside, and pulled out the white dove. "Ooh, how beautiful!" she exclaimed, as she examined the struggling, blinking bird. "Not a flaw, not a mark on it!" She held the bird high before the fire, as if reenacting some ancient and forgotten ritual.

"Look, my pretties! Mommy's got dinner!" And in one swift motion she twisted the dove's head off, slapped the carcass down on the altar, and disemboweled it with a small stone knife. With no further regard for the bird she cast the small feathered corpse aside, where it was immediately seized upon and fought over by a gathering crowd of cats.

Icehawk was dumbfounded. "I went through all that just to feed your cats? What about my destiny?"

"Oh, that's clear enough," said the Seer, as she prodded the entrails on the altar with a grimy finger. "You must slay the princess, rescue the dragon, and—"

Icehawk found an expression beyond dumbfounded. "Excuse me?"

The Seer looked up. "What?"

"Don't you mean, 'slay the dragon, rescue the princess?'"

"If I'd meant that, I'd have said it. No, it's all right here." She turned back to the entrails. "Slay the princess, rescue the dragon, and—"

"Are you sure you're reading that right?"

"Read it yourself. Plain as day." The seer tapped the pancreas. "Slay the princess." She batted a cat away from the liver. "Rescue the dragon." She stirred the intestines with her finger. "And—"


...and ten minutes later, Icehawk was climbing atop Abantu, his trusty steed, and aiming him for the mountains, his mind awhirl with confusion and puzzlement.

After a few weeks of travelling, Icehawk came down from the mountains and into the kingdom of Frobozz. No one met him on the dusty road to the castle; all of the people hid in their homes. He saw no one, but heard shutters slam and doors shut in every hamlet he passed.

Finally, a guard at the castle gate had the nerve to look him in the eye. "The entire town is under an evil spell," he said. "Goblins have taken the Gemstone Tower, and until we take it back, no one will be happy." Directions were forthcoming, and Icehawk was more than happy to vent weeks of travel and confusion by beating the snot out of a band of goblins.

He was only sorry the battle was so short. Surely the king could have solved this with a score of guards...?

He could hear the sounds of celebration from the castle long before it came into sight. The people were happy again...but they still wouldn't look him in the eye. They all appeared to be wandering around, looking into their hands, and mumbling to themselves. One almost walked right in front of Abantu; if the horse had been any less intelligent, the clumsy oaf would have been ground into the mud like an insect. Icehawk went back to the guard at the gate.

With a distracted, almost glazed look in his eyes, the guard distractedly waved Icehawk through the gate. Abantu followed the scent of hay to the stables, and Icehawk left a stableboy quaking in fear for his life if he found even a flea on the horse's tail. Then he made his way to the throne room, amazed at the number of people who were distracted and confused. He had to ask for directions from three different people, who all waved in a general direction rather than accompany him.

Finally, he found the throne room. King Meldarrin the 17th dozed on his throne. His daughter sprawled across the throne next to the King's, staring into her palm, like all the rest in her kingdom. A servant looked up long enough to realize who was there--and suddenly Icehawk found himself surrounded with dozens of fawning courtiers, congratulating him on his battle skills and thanking him for restoring their tower.

The king--who was looking into the distance and drooling--waved a hand, and his chief advisor told Icehawk that he was now a Protector of the Realm, and could have any treasure he wanted--up to and including the hand of the Princess, who finally looked up enough to notice. She sidled up to the brawny barbarian, her eyes tracing the outlines of the shoulder muscles, and winked. And without a word between them, the servants hustled him off to a chamber, where he was bathed and robed and placed totally out of his element.

"It was just a puny band of goblins," Icehawk said.

"No matter, the advisor said. "Your intention was to free us and that's what counts." He looked into his palm and listened to nothing for a few moments. "Come, your feast is ready."

"What did you just do?" Icehawk asked.

"I informed the kitchen that you were ready to eat," he answered.

"How?"

"By Snittering, of course. Don't your people Snitter?"

Icehawk had never heard of such a thing. The advisor, with a look of pained pity on his face, held out a pair of small jewels. He helped Icehawk put one in his ear, and told him to stare into the other. After a few moments of silence, he heard...whispers...and as he focused on them, they became louder and clearer.

"I'm taking the horse to water," he heard. "Getting firewood," was another voice. And the more he listened, the more of these meaningless tedious sentences he heard. It was...it was like listening in on the technical conversations of a pair of bean-counters, and he handed the gems back to the advisor.

"The king is old and in failing health," he said. "Marrying the princess now would grant you the crown, probably in a matter of days, and there's no one else in the kingdom anywhere near as qualified."

Icehawk enjoyed a huge feast, but quite possibly the strangest meal he had eaten. It was mostly silent, with everyone staring into their palms and giggling at voices he couldn't hear.

"I'm COLD!" the princess snapped, and at once, a servant pulled a chain hanging in the corner of the room. Moments later, a blast of warmth came through the room.

The princess announced she was going to bed, and she curtsied before Icehawk with another wink. The rest of the attendees took that as a cue to leave, and Icehawk found himself led to an ornate bedroom to sleep off the feast. He noticed there was another of the heating chains in the corner of the room, but he didn't pull it. It was already uncomfortably warm in the castle.

The next morning, he was roused by servants throwing open the curtains, who announced that the princess had invited him to ride with her. And so, after a hearty--but again, quiet--breakfast, Icehawk found himself astride Abantu and moving about the town.

Icehawk would have preferred the silent Snittering breakfast.

The princess had declared to all of her giggly friends that he was her "BFF", whatever in the 17 hells that was, and talked about those friends. And boy friends. And shopping. And anything else. She talked constantly, and as soon as they returned to the castle, Icehawk excused himself from her company by stating that Abantu needed a special food after a ride like that.

That's how he found himself wandering the depths of the castle--just trying to find some peace and quiet. And the door he found--big enough for a phalanx of ten soldiers to march through--was so out of place, deep beneath the castle. He pushed the door open with a quiet creak.

There was a dragon dozing on the other side. A young dragon, to be sure, only twenty or thirty feet long. It wore a collar, attached to a chain, attached to the wall. There was another chain, too, leading from the wall.

And it was looking at him through one sleepy eye.

"Get it over with," the dragon mumbled.

"Huh?"

"You're a mighty hero, and they kill dragons, right? Get it over with." He put his head back down.

Suddenly he let out a roar of pain and surprise, and belched a blast of flame against a huge pot of water. The water bubbled, steam rose. Icehawk could see where the other chain led, and it looked very painful.

He let himself out.

At dinner that night, the princess was again regaling him with stories of her life within the castle--which seemed to consist entirely of shopping, gossip, admiring men, and giggling. Icehawk was pretty sure he understood why the King was a drooling idiot.

The King's Accountant came through, scowling, trying to get the attention of the King and his advisors. Icehawk noticed him, because he was the first person he had seen that day without the Snittering gems. The Princess saw him looking.

"Don't mind him," she said. "He's not worthy of attention." At Icehawk's questioning glance, she continued "He thinks the kingdom would be richer and more productive if we shattered the Gemstone Tower and sold it, and completely gave up on Snittering. The man's a fool!"

And, in that moment, Icehawk finally understood what he was there to do.



Several weeks of travel later, Icehawk found himself seated across from the seer, high in a room in the Temple of Otogu. She had offered him a cup of something vile and warm, which she called either Starbugs or Chava, he wasn't entirely sure which.

"And so you freed the dragon?"

"Yes, I did," he said. "It was so surprised when I cut the chains it didn't even stay to say thank you."

"And did you slay the princess?"

"Well..." Icehawk hesitated.

"Is she alive or dead?" the Seer pressed.

"I don't know," Icehawk answered. "I threw her down the midden-pit behind the castle. It will take her days to climb back out of the slime.

"And then..."

"And then I gave the crown to the fool," Icehawk said proudly.

"You could have had a kingdom of your very own," the Seer said.

"No, not that one," Icehawk answered.



As he approached Abantu, the horse skittered, and Icehawk turned around. The rescued dragon was settling to the ground behind him. It took a force of will to keep from drawing his sword.

"I never thanked you," the dragon said. "But I visited my parents, and they told me there is a human custom called Gratitude, and I'm here to fulfill that custom." He dropped a chest at Icehawk's feet. "From my father's hoard," he said.

The barbarian opened the chest, finding hundreds of gold coins, and a finely wrought gold and silver crown. With the delicate design, there was only one crown it could be. "That's the legendary crown of the Queen of the Amazons!" he said. The dragon lifted a curious eyebrow. "Legend has it that whoever returns the crown will enjoy amazing--" He looked at the dragon. "Gratitude," he finished.

"Come, Dragon! There are maidens to be rescued and a kingdom to be won!" He climbed aboard Abantu, and rode off into the setting sun, with the dragon--and the cheery cackle of the Seer--overhead.

-=ad=-