Evil Editor's Blog, page 72

Face-Lift 1281

Guess the Plot

Little Boar

1. There is nothing interesting about you. You talk and talk but never say anything worth listening to. You never want to do anything fun. You never have any good ideas or suggestions. Plus, you look like a pig with a serious dental problem.

2. Little Boar has a problem: no one wants him in the neighborhood. Apparently, rooting, wallowing, and trampling are frowned upon by the domesticated hoity-toity farm animals, not to mention Farmer Brown. When the old man revs up the ATV for a feral pig hunt with the more than 5000 members of the American Pawnbrokers Association, it’s every hog for himself!

3. The true, tragic story of Edward of Middleham, Richard III's legitimate heir.

4. Little Boar is a pilot with the Red Army in WWII. Her career seemingly ended in a dogfight with Luftwaffe pilot Gerhard Rademacher, Little Boar becomes addicted to morphine. But she vows she won't rest until she gets reinstated and takes her revenge, even if it means flying missions while numbed out of her mind on drugs.

5. After the forest fire, Priscilla Porcupine leads the woodland creatures into Green Valley. Farmers chase them away until Priscilla and her friends rescue prize-winning piglet Little Boar. When Farmer Jack sells him to a new bacon restaurant, Oink's, Priscilla organizes a protest and Oink's switches to turkey-bacon. But the local gobblers protest so Oink's settles on tofu-bacon which everybody agrees sucks. After the restaurant's failure, it is replaced by Jim's Southern Bar-B-Que'd Ribs.

6. Little Boar lives in the prairie. Little Boar eats carrots. Little Boar plays with his baby brother. Little Boar gets hit by a truck on Ranch Road 2243.

7. Tommy is seven, over-privileged, and never has anything interesting to say. One day, he fails his spelling test, and as a punishment, his mother orders him to pen a sign to wear around his neck, identifying him as a 'Little Boar.' Then he joins the circus.

8. Little Boar has been separated from his family and must find his way home with the help of new friends that he meets along the way. He and his friends must out-wit the hunter and his pack of dogs to reunite with his family.

9. When a missile hits a Midwestern farm, the animals are bathed in gamma rays. A newly foaled pig is shrunken to microscopic size, and he wants revenge! It begins to crawl into human's bodies, eating them inside and out. Only his former master can find a way to stop . . .  Little Boar.



Original Version

Dear Evil Editor,

Nadezdah “Little Boar” Buzina, a pilot with the Red Army’s 586th all-female fighter regiment, dreams of becoming an ace. Those dreams shatter after a dogfight with Gerhard Rademacher, a crack Luftwaffe pilot, leaves her as the sole survivor from her flight and too badly burned to fly in combat.

Struggling with survivor’s guilt, Nadya vows to shoot down Rademacher and give peace to her fallen sisters-in-arms. To that end, she secretly starts using morphine to manage her pain and succeeds in being reinstated as a pilot. Her drug use, however, turns into addiction, and she soon realizes she can’t safely fly while numb, but she also knows if she quits [without] the morphine, the returning pain will keep her forever on the ground [grounded] and Rademacher out of her sights.

To complicate matters, the skies are vast, making Rademacher impossible to find. [Trying to find the specific plane of the guy who shot you down by flying through the sky is like trying to find the specific whale that bit off your leg by sailing through the ocean.] Nadya, fearing she’ll never cross paths with the man again, takes her wingman on increasingly dangerous patrols deep into German territory where the Luftwaffe reign supreme. [You'd think a crack pilot like Rademacher would be flying missions over enemy territory, not defending the homeland. Apparently not.] After a few brushes with death, Nadya has to decide if killing Rademacher is worth not only sacrificing [risking?] herself but also the girl flying at her side. [Few are aware that the term "wing nut" originally referred to any wingman who agreed to fly with a drugged-up vengeance-obsessed pilot.]

While there are numerous World War II novels, none focus [focuses] on any of the all-female flying regiments of the Red Army Air [Force?] . [Not necessarily true, depending on whether you count this novel.] [Agent specifics, pub creds].

LITTLE BOAR is completed at 90k words.

Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,


Notes

Are there nonfiction books about the 586th? 

Did you make up the nickname "Little Boar"? Seems like a strange nickname for a fighter pilot.

That one sentence at the end may not be enough to clarify that the Red Army’s 586th all-female fighter regiment was the real deal. You don't want readers thinking you made the whole thing up. Perhaps if you began the query:

Few Westerners are aware that the Red Army’s 586th all-female fighter regiment played a major role in preventing Nazi Germany from adding Russia to its early conquests.  My novel Little Boar is the story of Nadezdah Buzina, a pilot with the 586th, who dreams of becoming an ace. These dreams are shattered when Gerhard Rademacher, a crack Luftwaffe pilot . . . 

In searching to see if Nadezdah Buzina was a real person, I discovered real people named Nadezhda Buzina. I also was directed to a Goodreads Beta reader request in which you say:

Through the last half of 1942, she struggles against crack Luftwaffe pilots, a vengeful political commissar, and a new addiction to morphine, all the while questioning her worth and purpose in a world beyond her control. It’s not until the Soviet counter-offensive at Stalingrad that she finds her unlikely answers, and only then after she’s saved the life of a mortal enemy and fallen in love with another who tried to kill her.


To me, some of that seems more interesting as a wrap-up than the decision of whether to risk her wingman's life in dangerous patrols (I assume if you became a member of the 586th, you expected to fly dangerous patrols) especially if the person she saves or falls in love with is Rademacher. 

Does Nadia consider the possibility that her enemy had been killed in a dogfight or that his plane took enough damage that he's now flying a different one? She could shoot him down and not even know it.

Eight Days of Halloween Films Dredged Up from the Vault

#3

Eight Days of Halloween Films Dredged Up from the Vault

#2

Eight Days of Halloween Films Dredged Up from the Vault

1. Campfire Tales

New Beginning 1049

The darkness was overwhelming. It made his entire world. There was no way to anticipate where the next pain, probe or pinch would come from.

His attacker never spoke, except through actions. Caresses ended with pain. Bite marks covered his entire body but were then covered with kisses.

Love and hate combined as one; becoming neither.

His world of darkness hides a bundle of rags for a bed and a couple of dishes for food and water, similar to a dog’s. They were always full of fresh food and water; yet no one appeared to fill them. There were four walls and what felt like a door that had no handle on this side of the room. No matter how high he reached or jumped, he could not touch a ceiling or window.

He knew of these from his last life, when he had a family, or so he imagined in the darkest moments.

He seems to remember a mother; all loving and warm with kisses and hugs and peanut butter cookies and pushing him high on the swing. He remembers or imagines being tucked into bed and cuddled with stories of dragons and knights in shining armour who conquer all evil. THEY WERE LIES!

"Excuse me!" He shouted. "Can anybody hear me?" No one replied.

"A blanket," he said. "I just need a blanket! It's so, so cold in here." But his pleas went unnoticed as the room hummed and shook around him.

He brought his knees up to his chin, tried to make himself as small as possible, tried to ignore the pain. It was to no avail. There was to be no release, until... Until the journey was over.

And as though this were not punishment enough, he'd had to pay $30 to check his suitcase.


Opening: DW.....Continuation: ril

Feedback Request

The author of the query for the Mother Nature book would like our opinion on which opening is more effective:



Sixteen-year old Theia Bryar has no idea she is the daughter of Mother Nature. She has never understood why the sun has always shone when she’s happy, while thunder answers her cries of anger. Or why plants grow unnaturally fast with her touch. But when she is abducted and taken to an island inhabited by the Naturae, people who can control earth, air, fire or water, she finally learns the truth. As the only blood relative of Mother Nature, Theia has power over all four elements.

OR

Sixteen-year old Theia Bryar believes she is being abducted. She is actually being taken home. On an island inhabited by the Naturae, people who can control earth, air, fire or water, Theia learns why the sun has always shone when she’s happy, while thunder answers her cries of anger. She is the daughter of Mother Nature, and has power over all four elements.

Face-Lift 1280

Guess the Plot

Winter's Queen

1. Handsome rapscallion Robin Winter has been commissioned by the Darklings to capture Queen Eldyrianaleselore of the Outerlands so they can take possession of the Opal Dragon Charm and rule the world. He captures her all right -- but she captures his heart.

2. Teenager Arial is kidnapped by the Winter Prince, who demands that she marry him and become his queen. Or die. If she marries him she'll become immortal, which is kind of the opposite of dying. But dying might be better than being married to this clown for eternity.

3. Seventeen-year-old Winter Hayes falls hard for the beautiful Phoebe Jackson, only to find that "she" is actually a gay drag queen whose real name is Jason. When hilarity ensues, can love conquer all?

4. Adrian Winters is famous for elaborate sacrifices that win chess tournaments across the globe. But when his wife becomes terminally ill, can Winters make one last sacrifice, donating his heart so his queen might live?

5. Experimental musician Edgar Winter, of Frankenstein fame, decides it's time for a resurgence. He decides to focus his next hit on the Bride of Frankenstein, but falls in love with his subject along the way. Then he decides to pen an ode to Freddy Mercury. Same problem.

6. Ilyenna is fatally wounded when a neighboring clan attacks her village. Instead of letting her die, the winter fairies heal her and make her their queen...but it comes at a price. Her humanity, her emotions, her memories, her family...her love.

7. Moscow, May 1876. A talented young student from a wealthy family commits suicide out of decadence and boredom. Or does he? Young sleuth Erast Fandorin is on the case.

8. Kevin Bixter just wants to be a drag queen. But he arrives in San Francisco the day a hyper-conservative congress passes a law forbidding his new lifestyle. Now he receives a cold reception from the once welcoming community. Kevin is the last drag queen in a new frozen culture. He is . . .  Winter's Queen.



Original Version

Dear Evil Editor:

Sixteen-year-old Ariel Hawk doesn't simply believe in the Fae—she knows full well they exist. They’re not the sweet, sparkly little pixies most people imagine: they’re dark and decadent, proud and powerful, capricious and cruel. [They're the Republican Party.] So when their Winter Prince kidnaps Ariel to the realm of Faerie, she's not shocked or confused. She's pissed. [More suitable would be "incensed."]

Ariel’s abductor—His Royal Smugness, Prince Fiachra—wants nothing more than to marry her. He won’t tell her why he needs a wife so badly, [Does the wife have to be Ariel?] nor will he take no for an answer. But for Ariel, a fairytale wedding is [would be] a waking nightmare, not a dream come true. [A three-cliche string! Impressive. I'm told someone once managed four, but I never saw the evidence.] Living in Faerie would eventually make Ariel part-Fae herself—as inhuman, immortal and amoral as her husband-to-be. [I can live with amoral and inhuman if you're throwing in immortal.] [If she's just as amoral, immortal and inhuman as Fiachra, why is she considered part-Fae? What aspect of Fae-ness is she lacking?] Returning to Earth [The realm of Faerie isn't on Earth?] after that, with or without Fiachra’s consent, would kill her. [How come going to Earth to kidnap Ariel didn't kill Fiachra?]

Loathing all that Fiachra is and what he would have her become, Ariel resists his fickle attempts to woo and subdue her by turns. He tries to force-feed her enchanted fruit, and she spits it back in his face; [That's some pretty lame force-feeding if the food is still in her mouth and spittable.] he proposes with a beautiful silver ring, and she drops it into her chamber-pot. Even an icy dungeon can’t hold Ariel for longer than it takes to hack her way out with a stolen knife. [She should have stolen an ice pick.] [So she hacks the ice away from the door and it's unlocked?]

As Fiachra’s patience crumbles, Ariel’s desperation mounts. If she marries Fiachra and becomes the Winter Queen, she’ll be bound to her kidnapper and tormentor for eternity. But if she refuses him or fails to escape, she’ll be killed. [I'd go with "and" rather than "or." Better yet, "if she tries and fails to escape..." She has, after all refused him several times already without being killed.]

WINTER'S QUEEN is a YA fantasy of 81,000 words. Thank you for your time and consideration.

Sincerely,


Notes

Does anyone know why Fiachra insists on marrying Ariel, but won't tell her? For instance, do you know? If so, I see no reason to leave it out of the query. For instance, if he must convince her to marry him without telling her why or everyone in Faerie will die, I wouldn't be too hard on him. His reason seems to be a key point. If not marrying him has dire consequences for anyone else, she has a difficult choice. Otherwise, she obviously would try to escape and either die or make it home.

If Faerie isn't on planet Earth, I'm not sure where she hopes to escape to. How can she get to Earth?

The query causes me to ask questions that you presumably know the answers to. Answer those that you need to, and reword it so the others don't arise.

Face-Lift 1279

Guess the Plot

The Blood Blade

1. Eduardo Rodriguez has had it. Starting tomorrow he's trashing his razor and getting an electric shaver.

2.As the king lies on his deathbed, his youngest son slays his older brother and marries his widow. Then the Bahari tribe forms an alliance with the nobles to overthrow the ghostlings. Oh, and everyone wants . . . the blood blade.

3. 14-year-old Jacob Moonbright is destined save his hometown of Ivaline from the armies of Shadowguard, and he needs the Blood Blade to do it. There's just one problem: the blade is in the clutches of the over 5000 members of the American Pawnbrokers Association.

4. A scientist, stricken mad by the loss of his lover, goes on a quest for a mythical weapon fabled to raise the dead. But when he finds the Blood Blade and uses it to resurrect his gigolo lover, he unleashes an ancient evil on a modern college campus.

5. The prince of Troander is driven from his kingdom by monsters and mercenaries who don't realize that in the dead of night the prince will magically transform into a deadly assassin, wielder of . . . the blood blade.

6. A surgeon. A scalpel. An appendectomy gone horribly wrong. Can Detective Mary Dunning find the murder weapon before the mad doctor turns his attention on her? 



Original Version

Dear EE,

Seventeen-year-old Arek Pa’Gorin, the orphaned prince of the Kingdom of Troander, is oblivious he has an alter ego- an infamous assassin named Rykter. [I recommend changing his name to Rhektum. It's appropriate for a guy whose occupation includes the word "ass" twice.] [Also, I can tell already this story needs a little comic relief.]

Wielding the mystical vampiric Blood Blade and bent on ridding the world of evil men, the assassin only manifests while Arek is sleeping. [It sounds like "virtuous" would be a better description of the assassin than "infamous" if his goal is to get rid of evil.] Though they inhabit the same body, neither is aware of the other. [You already said Arek is oblivious, so this doesn't add much.] That is, until the Lord Regent hires the assassin Rykter to kill Prince Arek. [Is Prince Arek evil? Or does Rhektum take jobs on the side to pay the bills?] [Not clear how being hired to kill his alter-ego makes him aware he has an alter-ego.]

Prince Arek flees the kingdom, but danger continues to stalk him. [It sounds like he's fleeing because the Lord Regent hired an assassin, but it also sounds like he now knows he doesn't have to worry about the assassin. So why's he fleeing?] Not only are the Lord Regent’s mercenaries on his trail, [Usually you hire a hitman because if you send your mercenaries to do the dirty work you'll be blamed. Usually if you don't care about being blamed, and you've got mercenaries on your payroll, you don't spend money on an infamous assassin. That would be like the president, despite being surrounded by Secret Service agents all the time, hiring The Jackal to protect him.] but he is also pursued by a horde of mutated creatures known as the Dragonspawn. [Not only that, but no matter how fast and far he goes, he can't seem to get this Rhektum dude off his tail.] Now that Prince Arek has left the protection of the castle walls, the Dragonspawn see their opportunity to recover what was once theirs. [Which is what? The castle? The kingdom? The throne? Maybe the Dragonspawn will kill the Lord Regent when they attack the castle, solving Arek's problems.]

With a mage’s apprentice, an assassin and a handful of King’s Guardsmen to protect him, Prince Arek must travel to seek the sanctuary of family he has never known. [I'd feel safer with the assassin and the guardsmen than with family I've never known. Why must he do this?] On his journey he wonders if killing people as Rykter makes him a bad person. [Of course it doesn't. Didn't he ever watch Dexter?] Worse yet, he worries that he will wake and find all of his protectors brutally massacred. By him. [Isn't he aware that his alter-ego kills only evil men?]

Dealing with his assassin alter ego and avoiding the pursuit of both men and monsters, Prince Arek must live long enough to reach his eighteenth birthday so he can return to Troander and claim his throne. [Yes, those men who drove him away and want him dead and the monsters on his trail will all suddenly relent and welcome him home with open arms when he turns eighteen.]

The BLOOD BLADE, complete at 83,000 words, is the first installment of an epic fantasy series. [If the book has a satisfying ending and can stand on its own, say so. The reader will want to know how many books you expect them to invest in.] Thank you for taking the time to consider representing my work.


Notes

I assume the Lord Regent wants Arek dead so he can rule over the kingdom. If Arek turns eighteen and then gets killed, who rules? If it's the Lord Regent, then I'm not sure turning eighteen makes Arek any safer.

It seems like the idea of being hired to kill someone and that someone is, unknown to you and the person who hired you, yourself, is the most interesting aspect (I found it cool in A Scanner Darkly), but your character somehow immediately knows he's after himself. Did you consider leaving it that he thinks Rhektum is always right behind him?

Combine the first two paragraphs. The fourth paragraph doesn't have much of interest. If you dump it you might have room to tell us why characters do what they do. 

Henceforth, until further notice, the more than 5000 members of the American Pawnbrokers Association must make at least one appearance in the fake plots of each query critique. 

Story Day 2

Here's a story that appeared in a now-defunct British magazine called Farthing (May, 2006). I don't have it in my current computer, so I made copies of the pages. You can click on each page to enlarge it. Sorry, too lazy to retype it into Blogger.


Family Time
by Evil Editor

Story Day

As the query and opening queues are empty, here's something to pass the time, a story I contributed to the Autumn, 2008 issue of GUD magazine. Not sure if they still exist. They still have a website, but it doesn't seem to have been updated lately.


Benkelstein and the Time Warp
by Evil Editor
Benkelstein, trying to recall the lyrics to a Rice Krispies jingle while driving eastward on Highway 70, almost missed the new sign.  It was green, with white lettering.  “To I-40,” it read, with an arrow pointing to the right.  Benkelstein hit the brakes, just hard enough to slow to twenty-five miles per hour, and pulled off at the new exit.  “It’s about time!” he said to his wife.  “I was beginning to think they’d never get this road finished.”

“Hmm?”  Mrs. Benkelstein said, looking up from her book.

“Why, this’ll cut a full ten minutes off our trip easily,” he went on.  “Let's see, that’s twenty minutes round trip, and since we visit your mother once a month, twelve times a year--twelve too many, I might add--we should--”

“I’m not listening,” Mrs. Benkelstein said.  She went back to reading 101 Ways to Slice a Batard.

Benkelstein pressed on the accelerator as he mentally calculated the number of years it would take this new short cut to save him a full twenty-four hours behind the wheel. 

Fifty yards in, Benkelstein passed the new road’s first sign.  “840,” it read, and below that, the word “Future.”  “That’s interesting,” he said to Mrs. Benkelstein.

“What's that?” she said, mildly irritated.  She was reading about the diagonal crosshatch heel slice.

“Apparently this is the road to the future,” he told her.  He checked the speedometer, which had reached 60.  “Hmm, 840 miles. At this speed, we’ll be there in fourteen hours.”

"Be where?" she asked him.

"In the future," he replied.

“What are you babbling about?” she asked, looking up.

“That sign we just went past.  It said, 840, Future.”

“What about it?”

“I think I know what it means,” Benkelstein answered.  Already he had discarded his original theory and formulated a new one.  “We’re in the future,” he said.  “Don’t ask me how; we must have passed through some kind of time warp.  And while this is the year 2006 in the present, it’s the year 840 in the future.”

Mrs. Benkelstein rolled her eyes.  “Correct me if I’m wrong,” she said, “but if this is the year 840--which it most certainly is not--then this would be the past, not the future.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Benkelstein said.  “There were no asphalt highways in the year 840.”

“As Columbus didn’t reach the new world until 1492,” Mrs. Benkelstein countered, “who’s to say what was here in the year 840?”

“A valid point," Benkelstein acknowledged.  "But you’ll at least have to admit that there were no road signs printed in the English language in central North Carolina in the year 840.”

“There were no cars, either," his wife noted.  "And as we’ve seen no other cars since you pulled onto this road, I persist in claiming this could as easily be the past as the future.  Or are you saying that cars no longer exist in the future?”

“Not at all,” Benkelstein said.  “I was merely suggesting that you think outside the box for a change.”

“Darling, I was so far outside the box, I almost fell out of the car,” she told him.

“Keep in mind,” Benkelstein said, “that time did not begin with the birth of Christ; only the calendar does.  And before the birth of Christ, they didn’t refer to the year as, say, 250 B.C.”

“What did they do?” his wife asked.  

“They undoubtedly measured time from some local historical event.  The year 52 since the end of the first Punic War, or The year 6 since Moscovicz got his tunic caught in the water wheel.”

“Uh huh.  So what, exactly, is your point about the calendar?”

“Just this: for all we know, some momentous event takes place in the year . . . oh, say 2340, and they decide to start a new calendar, start it with the year zero.  And now it’s 840 years later.  That would make it the year 840 to them, but the year . . . 3180 to us, which means--”

“Which means you’re a very old, very senile man.  Did you forget to take your pill this morning?”

“I don’t think--”

“By the way, even if we have gone forward in time, and this is the year 3180, it’s the future only to us.  To everyone who's already living here, it’s the present.  So your road sign should have read, ‘840, Present.’  Case closed.  Now may I go back to reading my--”

“Not so fast, dear," Benkelstein said.  "Maybe this road itself is the time warp, and is seen only by those traveling to the future--”

“The past.”

“And when we reach the end of the road--and our destination year--the road will vanish from sight.”

“It’ll vanish, all right, because you’ll pull off of the future 840 bypass, and onto Interstate 40, leaving your so-called time warp behind.  And I don’t mean a thousand years behind.”

“Oh my God!”  Benkelstein’s eyes grew wide.  “I just thought of something.  What if the entire population of the Earth is dying out sometime in our future?  What if the last few scientists still alive created this time warp as a means to bring a few people forward in time, beyond the year of the comet or the plague or whatever was threatening to kill everyone?  What if the road sign was there just to let us know we’ve come forward 840 years, so we won’t freak out when we see all the changes?”

“What if, what if, what if.  What if you keep your eyes on the road and your mind in reality?” Mrs. Benkelstein suggested.  "You're scaring me."

“If my theory’s correct," Benkelstein continued, "it would mean that the current year is actually 2846.  It would mean that by pulling onto this road, we’ve randomly been given the responsibility to maintain the human species, so that--”

“It would also mean that we are among the few people now on the planet,” Mrs. Benkelstein said.  “Possibly the only ones.”  Apparently she had given up on reading, and had decided to humor Benkelstein.

“Until we pass another car, I’m afraid we must assume that to be the case,” Benkelstein conceded.

“Passing another car won't prove anything,” Mrs. Benkelstein said.  “If this is the future, the driver of the other car could be one of the aliens trying to destroy all human life.”

“Aliens?" Benkelstein said.  "Yes, of course.  That’s one possibility, an intergalactic fleet of war birds.  Scientists knew they were coming and built this time warp so a few of us could escape to the future before the aliens wiped out humanity.  And now ground forces are no doubt driving around, looking for any survivors.”

“What kind of car would an alien drive?” Mrs. Benkelstein asked him.

“Klingons would drive SUV’s,” he replied confidently.  “And the Ferengi would drive PT Cruisers.”

“Vulcans, with their logical minds, would probably drive one of those cute hybrids,” Mrs. Benkelstein said.

“Wrong,” Benkelstein told her.  “Sports cars are the one weakness of Vulcan men.  Not only would they drive Porsches, they’d be leaning out the window half the time, hooting and whistling at Vulcan babes.”

Mrs. Benkelstein laughed at the image.  “Do the Vulcan women have a weakness as well?” she asked.

“Karaoke,” Benkelstein said.

“I see.”  She looked out the rear window.  “You know, it does seem odd that we’ve seen no other cars.”

“Yes,” Benkelstein agreed.  “Whether this is the future or the past or the time warp or even the present, you’d think someone else would find his way onto this road.  Perhaps we are the only remaining--”

“Aha!” Mrs. Benkelstein exclaimed, pointing ahead.  A bus was approaching on the other side of the median.  “What does that do to your theory?” she asked her husband.

“A bus,” he said.  “Hmm.  Interesting.  The Borg would need a vehicle that size, in order to house their . . . ”

“I can see that trying to get you to drop this routine is futile,” she said as the bus went past, moving at high speed.

“The Borg,” Benkelstein said.  “They’re going in the opposite direction.  If this road is a time warp, they’re heading for the past!  Possibly for 2006!  We’ve got to stop them!”  He swung the steering wheel to the left, veering onto the median.

“What are you doing?!!”  Mrs. Benkelstein shouted.  “Have you lost your mind?  Stop this instant!”  The car was bumping down a grassy embankment.  It reached the lowest point and started up the other side, tires spinning in the grass, Benkelstein ignoring his wife’s hysterical screaming.

Eventually Benkelstein eased the car onto the pavement and headed back toward highway 70.  The bus was no longer in sight.

“This has gone too far,” Mrs. Benkelstein said.  “Enough is enough.”

Benkelstein drove on, his eyes locked on the road ahead.

“What are you trying to do, catch up with that bus?” Mrs. Benkelstein said.  “That bus is long gone.  And even if you’ve gone so far off the deep end that you’ve convinced yourself the Borg really are in that bus, what are you planning to do if you catch up to them?  The Borg would absorb you so fast--”

“Assimilate,” Benkelstein corrected her.  It was the first word he’d spoken since he’d turned the car around.

“I know what’s happening here,” Mrs. Benkelstein said.  “You knew we were about to reach Interstate 40.  You knew we’d see the usual heavy traffic, knew we wouldn’t see some fantastic futuristic world of rocket cars, or some devastated lifeless shell of a planet . . . ”

Benkelstein kept his eyes on the road.

“You knew we’d find ourselves not in the year 3180, not in the year 2846, not in 840, but in good old 2006.  So to save face, you turned around, on the flimsiest of excuses, just so I could never have the satisfaction of saying, ‘I told you we weren’t driving down a time-warp to the future.’  Well, thanks to your childishness, instead of saving ten minutes, we’ve lost ten minutes.  Maybe twenty.”  She sank back in her seat.  “The Borg, riding in a bus,” she muttered.  “That’ll be the day.  The Borg have their pride, you know.”

Benkelstein refused to waver from his mission.  He pulled off at the Highway 70 exit and slowed as he approached the stop sign.  Suddenly Mrs. Benkelstein popped back upright.  “Quick, turn to the right,” she said.  “The Borg are above us; they’re trying to get us in a tractor beam!”


Benkelstein looked at her quizzically.

“Do it!” she said.  “This is no time for indecision.”

“But--”

“Okay,” she said.  “You would have figured it out sooner or later.  I took your wife’s place three months ago.  I’ve been surgically altered to look like her.  I’m Captain Janeway.  Now Hurry, Benkelstein!”

Benkelstein was about to speak, but his passenger stopped him.  “Focus on the road!” she said.  “I’m counting on you.  We all are.” 

Benkelstein turned onto highway 70 and floored the accelerator.  His eyes were shifting wildly, his face taut with stress.  Janeway? he thought.  How could--?

“Janeway” rolled down her window, stuck her head out and looked to the sky.  “They’re still back there!” she said.  Slow down; we can’t afford to call attention to ourselves.”

“Where are we going?” Benkelstein asked.  He could barely breathe.

“The Borg have set up headquarters at the Butner Psychiatric Hospital.  Do you know where that is?”

Benkelstein nodded.

“Then get me there.  Your life depends on it.  All of our lives do.”

Benkelstein gripped the steering wheel and flew eastward down highway 70, his blood racing, and his heart fluttering.  And the slightest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.