Flash: Not All Who Wander

Image courtesy of the Internet Hive Mind

Today’s flash is based on a sign I saw while delivering mail today, “Not all who wander” and below it was a painting of a RV. And I thought to myself, “Not all who wander, leave home.”

***

Becca stood, leaning against the tree nearest the cliff’s edge, to watch the specular Aurora Polaris, doing her best to ignore the black hole in her field of vision on the left side stating the game simulation number, the companies involved in programming it, and all the other required matter so people never forget virtual reality is not actually reality. She could hack the credits spot to non-existence, but then she would spend another six months in rehabilitation without VR and there was no way she was going through that again just to get rid of the annoying spot.

She did have a list of things she was willing to get banned for, but not for simple credits. Getting rid of all credits … maybe, be people deserve to get paid. Especially – Becca glanced over to the credits space, expanding it for a moment – Northern Reaches, who developed the Northern Lights visuals. She snapped her eyes back to the green and blue curtains dancing across the sky.

“There you are.” Garret dropped on the ground next to her.

“Here I am.” She agreed, nodding at him.

“I just wanted to thank you for your help in the underground fortress.” The fighter, and leader of the gaming party who hired her character, plucked at the grass, not meeting her eyes and somehow shrugging down so his nearly seven-foot half-giant frame didn’t tower over her while he sat beside her. “Virgay and Daph wouldn’t have made it through without your healing.”

“De nada. You paid me well for that task.” Becca waved a green hand, the Aurora lights sparkling against her scales.

“I was…” Garret coughed to clear his throat, “I was wondering if you would like to join our band of adventurers.”

Startled, Becca made eye contact. “Um, well.”

“I mean, not to take you away from your normal group-“

She cut in. “I don’t have a normal group.” Rocking against the tree, she tried to decide what to say next. The last three days had been awesome, especially Garret. He made her laugh more than anyone had since, well, more than anyone ever. They talked late into the night. But that didn’t really change the reality side of her life. Better to bite the bullet now, because as idyllic as this episode had been, VR recreation time would end soon. “What I do have is a very unpredictable schedule. I mean I like you peeps well enough …” Becca switched the cutoff mid-stream. Her life had enough lemons, and Garret-time had made the normal lemons feel like a souffle these past few days. “and I really liked you. But I don’t know when-“

An internal alarm went off.

“You are kidding me.” Becca glanced over at her personal dashboard. “Already?”

“Becca?” Garret glanced in the direction of her stare.

“Garret I’m so sorry, I’m… will you shut off! I heard you the first time…about to have my Unplug Time.”

He stood to reach out to her, she could see the protest in his golden eyes.

“Look, I don’t know when my next…Turn Off!” Becca stabbed the air until the alarm stopped. “Look, I really like…Damn it, it’s pulling me out.”

Garret blinked as the dragon-kin cleric disappeared. Triple Zed. He really liked her. And his party was going to need another cleric soon. That had only been the third chapter of the adventure. The half-giant fighter meandered back to the rest of his party.

***

Becca carefully touched each finger on her right hand to her right thumb while waiting for the VR tube to open, then did the same with her left hand. Success. Every finger worked!

She waited for the medical bot to unhook vitals, help her swing her legs over the edge, and do the basic tests. Becca couldn’t feel her toes today as the bot checked. You win some, you lose some. Still an improvement over the state she was in before she started the most recent round of therapy. The new VR suite cost triple what a normal one would, but it pumped her full of medications and worked her muscles throughout her Hookup to the specific therapies her doctors recommended instead of just the standard maintenance of health. Before her degenerative nerve condition had her to the point of not even being able to move her head. Now she had motor control of her hands, arms, and shoulders.

“Did you have a nice time Becca?” The robot asked. Its base programming included minor companionship interaction. People didn’t react well to a tool moving them around.

“The rec time went well, thank you for asking R9.” Becca rocked with the robot as it transferred her to her mobile-chair. “What is on the program for today?”

The medical robot reviewed the two doctor visits for the day, as well the food orders and other basic maintenance normal Reals needed to do during their required Unplug day. While listening with half an ear, Becca did something she had never done before. She sent a Contact Card to Garret’s dashboard. He could now message her outside the game if he wanted.

Not meet her. Never meet her. Who would want to deal with the medical trainwreck of her life? But … maybe … be a virtual friend?

(First published 2/27/2022; 879 words)

Book Review: Onliest

Amazon Cover

Onliest by J. Daniel Batt

BOOK BLURB ON AMAZON

She’s all alone aboard a spaceship bound for a new life. Or is she?

Aboard the interstellar ship Olorun, now drifting awry and silent, a girl named Syn has awoken. Alone on a ship littered with the decaying bodies of the dead crew, Syn has scraped together a thin life with only a cranky AI bot named Blip and a fiercely loyal tiger named Eku for companionship.

Unbeknownst to Syn, she is not the only one to have awoken aboard Olorun. Trapped in a much darker, and less well-provisioned part of the ship, tormented over the years as they’ve struggled just to exist, others have now discovered Syn’s idyllic world and will do anything to make her home theirs.

 

MY REVIEW

A science fiction novel with a young protagonist but not “YA” (young adult).

Syn was born/decanted alone, raised by a machine named Blip, on an empty colony ship crossing the vastness of space. Signs of the colonists deaths, both violent and quiet, can be seen throughout the silent, unchanging grounds. Then one day something changes – a bot, just like Blip, enters their world – dead … but newly dead. Where did it come from? Chasing down the origin makes Syn question everything, including herself.

This well structured science fiction keeps moving, creating both realism and mythology of a failed colony ship traveling between the stars. It is beautiful and layered. Characters develop and the ending satisfies.

Flash: Market Day Purchase

Photo by Jonny Clow on Unsplash

“Come on Delly,” Avon pulled on my arm. “You can bid on me.”

“Or better yet,” Justinian said from my other side, “Join us on the block.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to extract myself from their well-meaning exuberance. I fell between the cracks like normal. This time too poor to be a contract buyer and too old to interest anyone on the breeding platform. At twenty-three, I was positively ancient for an unbound female. I shook them off and wished them well.

Avon was finally old enough to qualify for a full contract, and Justinian only put himself in for a weekend indentureness, not wanting to be saddled with a share of the birth expenses. I would miss Avon. Someone would be sure to cough up the money to cover the minimum year support plus temporary abatement of her work contact. As beautiful and young as she was, they might even buy out her work contract altogether. It wasn’t like it needed deep pockets. She was never the strongest, apparent from the first spring day on the block, and she complained about the annual renewal clause Limer added to her branding ink.

No one ever gets out from the education indentureness with an annual.

Hell, no one gets out of education indentureness. The first-comers got that sewn up.

I pushed aside the negative thoughts and let the crowd draw me in its wake, except to the auction area. That would be too depressing.

I went up those steps the required three times and no one came close to covering the annual minimum. Closest was an offer for a weekend breeding attempt, if I agreed to pay for the implant removal myself.

My wild coins picked up a crystal-salt caramel apple, and I found some ribbons to wrap my dreads at a reasonable price for a fair day. Since I couldn’t get into town any other day, I parted with more of the temporary coins and pocketed gayly colored cloth. Determined to have a good time, ignoring the lack of friends on my arms, I floated from entertainer to entertainer. The fire-dancer hoops flared bright, giving the hoverbot above her a challenge in advertising the night show for her troupe. I would need to be back on the plantation by then. Pity.

The trio sounded hoarse, one looked sick. Being dragged from town-to-town on market day couldn’t be an easy contract. I sat cross-legged through three songs at the harpsi-drums, wrapping a few of my new ribbons around my twists, and dropped the last of my wild coin into his pot which his hoverbot scooped up. It’s not like I could deposit the wild coin against my contract or Edebt.

Two more hours to sunset, enough time to meander to the feast area which the large contract employers stocked for community largess on the three market days, per the community levies. After stuffing myself on someone else’s contract, I still would have time to easily catch the plantation haycarts back to the hill country.

Bumping into someone at the corner, I apologize before I realized he was a bot. Specifically a sex bot a little too far outside the marked lines of the vendors stall. I nudged him back, dusted him off, well, all the parts that wouldn’t get me accused of shoplifting, and stepped back. “Now, aren’t you a handsome one.”

I could hear the humming of an activated bot, but he didn’t move his eyes or verbally respond.

The stall owner was watching me closely. No surprise there.

I clearly wasn’t a first-comer, between my skin, height, and clothes, everything screamed I was descended from the last arrivals, the refugees from Earth’s environmental collapse. A token few made it out of indentureness. But with the burden of our parents and our grandparents on us, the chances of success are minimal. Avon would be free of debt before my grandchildren would be. If I decided to burden anyone else with this.

Which I hadn’t.

But a girl got needs too.

“How much for him?” I waved at the male sex bot. The owner named an outrageous price. I looked at him and then the bot.

“It isn’t even steady on its feet.” I tapped the bot lightly on its chest. “Look, each passing wind is rocking him out of your stall. Do you want to get fined?” I then named an equally outrageous price in the opposite direction, half of what was in my earnings account, set aside to cover monthly education interest if I am too injured to work contracts.

To my surprise, since I offered a twentieth of his initial asking price, the salesman said, “Sold.”

I sputtered, sure that I was just haggling to have one last bit of fun for the day. But, a verbal contract is still a contract.

“You, stay here.” I said to the machine, and, strangely, he stopped rocking.

Walking over to the register, I laid down my arm and my contract ink and related income came up above it. A few swipes, verification of sale, transfer of title, double-checking the title was assigned to me, not my employer, and I was the proud owner of a sex bot, male variety.

Not the normal way I bent, but it could do.

He should fit in my cot area, I think. Not only was he was handsome, he was big all over. Broad shoulders, long legs, strong arms, braids to kill for falling to his waist, and, well, the selling package. He had four inches on me in height, and I was over six foot.

No annual contract for me. Limer had me tied up into my mid-fifties, with two extensions of a score of years each at his option, not mine. But, if I took it to the very end with the luck of good health and no injuries, I would die debt-free instead of the balance transferring between my nearest ten relatives if I had no offspring.

Someone with the contracted potential to be debt-fee had certain clauses required by law hanging out from the very first-comers and the indentured on those ships. I could own my own things, and my contracted employer could not sell them from under me if I was unable to perform to contract. Even if I got sick and Limer paid the fine to break the contract, my ribbons, my cot, my blankets, and, now, my bot were mine to take with me.

I looked up at the bot whose eyes gleamed red for the title transference. “I am your owner.”

“You are my owner. Designation.”

“My designation is ShipClotilda Level Two Berth Two Hundred Forty-Six Bunk Delta, generation four maternal-paternal-paternal-maternal.” I was once again grateful I was an oldest child of an oldest child going back to the ship. Third or fourth born cadet lines got really complicated in their designations.

He opened his mouth, showing a perfect pink tongue, which rolled into a circle, then flattened, then rolled again. Watching his downloading of my ink gave me way too many ideas of how I would be using him tonight while the barracks were sparsely inhabited. Eventually, his mouth popped shut. An almost living sparkle touched his eyes and a gentle smile pressed those wide lips. “I see your common use name is Delly, may I call you that?”

“Of course.” I put my hand on his arm. “Are you okay to walk and talk?”

“Whatever is your pleasure, my sweet Delly.” His voice dropped and roughened while talking to me, until it sent a shiver down my spine when he said my name.

“Whoa, what is that?” I managed as we walked slowly away from the bot stall.

He responded softly, his voice like velvet against my ears. “Protocol adjustment to personalize behavior.”

“Well,” I panted a little, gripping his arm tightly, “tone it back in public areas.”

The bot nodded, smiling a private smile at me. “Noted, my sweet Delly.”

“Good.” I smiled politely back, missing the roughness, but thankful for the one step up from panty-dropping bass he had pinged me with as a personalization. Damn, it had been everything I never knew I needed.

A few heads turned as we made our way through the crowd, his blue-black iridescent gleam catching the eye until his mechanical purpose became clear and people frowned and looked away. Sex-bots were to be owned, not seen. Especially not seen with someone as far down on the cultural pole as I. But they had to be transported home, and today is the day people bought them for reasons ranging from amusing gag gifts to enhancement of breeding contract. If my hand wasn’t on his arm, the crowd wouldn’t be so judgy. They would assume I was assigned by my employer to bring home the new equipment.

Well, suck it world. This one is mine.

(words 1,478; first published 9/30/2022)

Market Day Series

  1. Market (8/27/2019)
  2. Armfield (5/30/2020)Not canon. Sometimes you start down a path and the story is just wrong. I kept at it and it didn’t get better. Going to try again though.
  3. Market Day Purchase (11/1/2020)This one worked MUCH better, expanding the original.

Writing Exercise: 50-Word Prompts 2019

WRITING EXERCISE

Remember last year working on a couple of 50-word prompts. (50-Word Prompts 2018) I’m just back from Pennsic and really don’t have the energy to come up with a new writing exercise, so here we go again!

Write two 50-word flashes. Aim for 50 words, give or take five extra words. Don’t read my attempts until after you do your own. Writing them directly in the comment section below will help you focus on the flash aspect – just getting words out.

How does this exercise help you as a writer: (1) just write things out quickly; (2) learn to work from prompts (important for the anthology world); (3) practice writing to a word count.

TEXT PROMPT FOR 50-WORD FLASH: Market

VISUAL PROMPT FOR 50-WORD FLASH

Photo by Emiliano Vittoriosi on Unsplash

My Attempts

TEXT PROMPT: Market

“How much for him?” I waved at the male sex bot behind the counter. I never considered buying one ever before, but today’s town mating fair had left me feeling unexpectedly lonely. Too old to join the youngsters on the breeding platform, and too poor to join the contract buyers. (first published 3/21/2022; 50 words)

VISUAL PROMPT

She stared, a brunette tress falling in front of her right eye. I didn’t have money to give her. The wind cut us both, slicing skin with Jack Frost knives. Me, I would be going home and a warm bath would ease the ice wounds.  I passed her my blanket. (first published 3/21/2022; 50 words)

Author Spotlight: Elisa Hansen

Book Cover from Amazon

Editing can be a long journey, and I started the journey with Elisa Hansen over a year ago when I first read her “The Company of Death” and told my boss at Falstaff Publishing I wanted the book. During that time we did a minor rewrite, a couple other editing passes, brought on new staff at the publisher, and dealt with bottlenecks in getting books out the doors into hands. Also during that time I got to know Elisa Hansen as a person. And she is a pretty awesome person.

On one hand, she is a vlogger about Vampires of all sorts. Check out her youtube channel “The Maven of the Eventide”. Wonderfully camping, she explores books and movies on this long-running vlog (four years and counting). If it has fangs, it is fang-tastic for her channel. (Also includes her announcement about this book.)

On another hand, she is a mother of a soon-to-be expanding family. Her present spawn is adorable in his madness, and I think present-parasite-soon-to-be-outside-body shall be equally entertaining in her ability to tear through the house faster than the progenitors. 

A third hand is devoted to her writing career, with the publication of her second book this week and working on other vlogs.

Want to get to know this awesome lady too? Her website is here. And her patreon is here. If you are into vampires and camp, I highly recommend her vlog. If you just want to dive into an urban fantasy about Death (not humor-oriented), check out her book on Amazon (and other outlets).