Pete Simons's Blog, page 2

A Picnic on Mars

The red disc grew slowly larger in the viewing window as the spaceship converged with its orbit. Sandra Duncan couldn���t pull her eyes away. Very soon I���ll be walking on that planet, she thought. First woman on Mars.

The individual who was soon to become the first man on Mars looked over her shoulder. ���That���s some view, isn���t it? It���s almost worth having to spend the last six months cooped up in this tin can, eating processed food and listening to Jerome���s ancient new wave music.���

���You know it���s totally worth it, Michael. Not to mention the six-month trip back. And I���d do it all again to get the chance to set foot on another planet.���

Michael Summers put his finger to his lips ���Shush, Sandra. Jerome might hear.���

���Jerome CAN hear,��� came a voice from the cockpit. ���Haven���t we already established that sound carries unusually well in this capsule? Now I���ll say it again: you don���t need to dance around the topic of your surface excursion. It doesn���t bother me that I need to stay with the mother ship while you prance around like idiots on the ground. Someone has to cart your sorry asses home. And for the record, new wave music is the bomb.���

Michael turned to respond. ���It���s the bomb? What does that even mean? Is that an 80s expression, Jerry? Because that was a half-century ago. It���s 2037 now. Get with the times.���

Devo���s ���Whip It��� began playing. Michael put his hands over his ears. Sandra smiled.

���You know it annoys him when you call him Jerry,��� Sandra whispered.

���And that���s why I do it,��� replied Michael. ���I���m not oblivious,���

Michael Summers, Ares Mission Commander, maintained a running diatribe with Jerome Freeman. It was all an act, designed to relieve the tension of living together in a confined space for such a long stretch of time. It was mostly an act, Sandra thought. There had been a few times on the trip when tempers threatened to flare. But Michael and Jerome were both consummate professionals and never let their disagreements get out of hand. Truth be told, there were times when I had to count to ten during this trip as well.

Jerome had a particularly tough job, Sandra thought. To fly six months out here and six months back without even a chance to step outside in a spacesuit must be hard. But someone had to pilot the Command Operations Module (COM for short) when it separated and later re-docked with the Mars Excursion Lander (lovingly called MEL) that would take Sandra and Michael down the planet���s surface. Jerome never complained about it, though. ���It���s the job,��� he said. ���There are thousands of people who would give their right arm to do what I���m doing.��� And he was right.

Michael looked at his watch and said, ���Hey, isn���t it time for your next transmission?���

Sandra nodded. She had agreed to broadcast a series of science lectures from space, targeted at middle school children and above. There were to be seven episodes: three on the trip to Mars, one from the surface, and three on the way back. She positioned herself in front of the camera and got ready to record.

���Hello, I���m Sandra Duncan and this is another episode of Notes from the Red Planet. Our spacecraft, Ares 1, is getting very close to Mars now. It���s easy to see why the Romans named this planet after their god of war. The reddish color makes this world look angry and forbidding. But the pigmentation is simply due to the presence of iron oxide in the soil. Incidentally, NASA named this the Ares mission because Ares was the name of the Greek god of war. Personally, I think it should have been named Pax instead, for the Roman goddess of peace. But they didn���t give me a vote.

���Since we���re traveling much faster than the planet, we���ll need to slow down to avoid passing it. In a few hours we���ll be firing our retro rockets and getting into position for a stable orbit. Pretty soon after that, Michael Summers and I will get into the Mars Excursion Lander, which we call MEL for short, to make our way down to the planet.

���We���ll only have three days and two nights down there before we���ll need to start back to Earth. You���ll remember from our last episode that the distance to Mars varies a lot because Earth and Mars revolve around the Sun at different speeds. Objects closer to the Sun have to move faster to maintain a stable orbit. The Earth speeds by Mars about every six months. The closest they come to each other is about 35 million miles. But when the two planets are on opposite sides of the Sun, the distance is over 250 million miles. We have to make our trip back to Earth when the planets are close to one another. That���s about now, since they get close every six months and it took us six months to get here. If we miss this launch window, we���ll have to wait another six months for the next one. That would be really unfortunate because we don���t have an extra half-year���s supply of food and water. Don���t worry, though. We won���t miss it.

���MEL will drop to the surface pretty fast, so we���ll need to slow down a lot to make a soft landing. We���ll deploy a parachute, but that alone won���t be enough because the atmosphere around Mars is pretty thin. As we get closer to the ground, Commander Summers will fire MEL���s retro rockets. They���ll reduce our speed and we���ll gently set MEL down.

���Once we���re on the planet, Commander Summers and I will take a little time to let our bodies get used to gravity again. Even though Mars��� gravity is only about a third of Earth���s, it will still take a bit of adjustment after six months of weightlessness. Once we���re acclimated, we���ll do some exploring. I���m so excited for the chance to be the first woman on Mars!

���The NASA folks chose a terrific landing spot which is close to the base of Olympus Mons, the highest mountain in the solar system. It���s three times as tall as Mount Everest, and it used to be an active volcano. It has a very gradual slope in most places but we won���t be climbing to the top, unfortunately. It���s way too far to walk in our spacesuits. But the mountain should make for some fantastic photos!

���My next broadcast will be from the surface of Mars. I���m really looking forward to that one, as you might imagine. See you then! End transmission.���

As usual, Michael and Jerome gave her a floating ovation when she was done.

���Oh, cut it out, guys. Stop the applause.���

���But you���re a star,��� said Jerome. ���When we get back, everyone will know your face. But poor Michael and I will fade into the woodwork. No one will recognize us.���

���Oh, yeah, you���ll be practically invisible, I���m sure.���

���I kind of wish that was true,��� said Michael. ���I can���t stand all that media attention.���

���Bullshit, Michael,��� said Jerome. ���You know you love it.���

���Well,��� Michael admitted, ���maybe a little.���

-���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

The entry into Mars orbit went smoothly. The retro rockets fired and the spacecraft slowed down to just the right speed to allow it to circle the planet without falling in. Ares would complete a full revolution around Mars every ninety minutes.

After one orbit, the time came for the descent. Michael and Sandra hugged Jerome. ���You won���t be too lonely up here, I hope,��� Sandra said.

���Are you kidding me? I���ve been waiting for this day for six months. I get the COM all to myself. It���s party time! Duran Duran at full volume!���

���That���s rad,��� said Michael. ���Just make sure you don���t head home without us.���

���I wouldn���t think of it, Dude. You still owe me a hundred bucks for that bet we made. I need to collect.���

���What bet?��� asked Sandra.

���Oh, nothing,��� replied Michael, sheepishly.

���I bet that you���d refer to yourself as the first woman on Mars during one of your broadcasts. He said you wouldn���t.���

���Oh. So that���s why you guys watched me do every transmission, huh?���

���No, no,��� said Michael. ���We would have watched anyway.���

���But it did add a little excitement,��� said Jerome.

���Not that your shows weren���t riveting,��� said Michael.

���Fascinating,��� added Jerome.

������ and educational,��� finished Michael.

���Enough!��� laughed Sandra. ���But really, do you think I shouldn���t have said it? Was I being too vain?���

���Don���t be absurd, Girl,��� said Jerome. ���You are going to be the first woman on Mars. You should milk it for all it���s worth.���

���Just remember whose boot hits the ground first,��� said Michael.

���Oh, I thought you���d be chivalrous and hold the door for me, Commander. Ladies first, right?���

���Not in this case, Sandra. We���ve got to follow protocol.���

������ said the first man on Mars,��� mocked Jerome. ���Anyway, I hate to break this up, but it���s time you get the hell out of here. Godspeed, my friends.���

After another set of hugs, Michael and Sandra climbed into the MEL.

As he closed the hatch, Michael said, ���See you in three days.���

���Not if I see you first,��� said Jerome.

Inside the MEL, the Commander took his seat next to Sandra and said, ���That guy always needs to have the last word.���

���Speaking of words, Michael, what do you plan to say when you step onto the planet?���

���My first words will be ���Drink Pepsi.��� They offered me $500,000.���

���You���re going to use man���s first landing on another planet as an opportunity to advertise a soft drink?���

���For half a mil? You bet I am.���

���You���re not.���

���No, don���t be silly. Did you honestly think I���d sell my soul for only half a million? I could auction those rights off for a lot higher. I���m no dummy.��� Michael clicked the communications link to Earth. ���Houston, this is Ares 1. Captain Duncan and I are in the MEL. We are about to detach from the Command Operations Module. Over.���

���I���m not sure why you bother. At this distance from Earth it will take them ten minutes to respond.���

���And that���s why we don���t necessarily wait for orders from them unless it���s super-important. But they still like to be kept informed. Makes ���em feel important and all. Hey Jerome, you there?���

Jerome���s voice was heard clearly over the radio. ���I���m here, big guy. You ready to detach?���

���Ready when you are.���

���Okay. Approaching the zone now. Seven minutes to detach.���

���Roger that.���

Seven and a half minutes later, the Mars Excursion Lander separated from the Command Operations Module. When they were sufficiently far apart, MEL fired a short burst of propellant that sent them hurtling toward the planet. The descent took about 40 minutes. Halfway down they lost radio contact with Jerome as the COM swung around to the opposite side of the planet.

There was some heat and buffeting due to friction with the atmosphere, but much less than they���d later experience on the descent to Earth. Michael started a running commentary to advise Earth on their progress. They���d hear it five minutes later.

���Olympus Mons sighted. The landing area will be to the south.���

As they grew closer, the parachute was deployed. Then the reverse thrusters were ignited.

���Approaching target landing area. Surface appears smooth.���

���Landing gear engaged. 3000 feet.���

���Roll 20. Stable. Small crater. Shifting to port. Elevation 2000 feet.���

���1000 feet. Looking good. 500. 200. 75 feet. Touching down.���

���Houston, this is Olympus Base. MEL has landed.���

Ten minutes later, the radio crackled, ���Olympus Base, this is Houston. Roger your landing. There���s a big celebration happening all around the world down here. Congratulations to the entire Ares crew. Take a moment to revel in your achievement��� Okay, guys, that���s long enough. Now get back to work and perform your post-landing checklist. After that, we have you scheduled for two hours of downtime. Try to get some rest; you���ve got a big day ahead. As you know, a day on Mars is only slightly longer than a day on Earth. We estimate local Mars time when you receive this message to be 10:25 am. Your first two-hour excursion is planned for 2:00 pm local time. We���ll give you a wake-up call at 1:00 pm. Darkness falls at 6:10 pm.���

���Roger that, Houston. Talk to you in a few hours.���

���Are you really going to sleep?��� Sandra asked.

���Not on your life. But we should try to relax as much as possible. The next few days will be tiring, and we need to be at our best. First, though, let���s go through the post-landing checklist.���

���Roger that, Commander.���

-���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

Two and a half hours later, the speakers began playing ���Start Me Up��� by the Rolling Stones. Jerome���s voice followed, with ���Wakey, wakey guys! I���m back and I can���t say how pleased I am to find out you touched down without a hitch.���

Michael wiped his eyes, surprised that he had fallen asleep after all. ���Hey, Jerome. How was your swing around the planet?���

���I���ve done two loops while you���ve been getting your beauty sleep. The dark side of the planet is mostly boring. You���ve seen it once, so you know. It���s too dark to see anything on the surface. It���s just a big black void. I did get a glimpse of Jupiter, but we���re still pretty far away so it���s not much bigger than it would look from Earth. I took advantage of the darkness and radio silence to get some much-needed shut-eye. Without your snoring, I might add.���

���I don���t snore.���

���Ask Sandra.���

���He snores,��� confirmed Sandra.

���Thanks for that,��� said Michael. ���Someone on Earth is recording these conversations for posterity.���

���We just call ���em as we see ���em, man,��� said Jerome. ���Enjoy the rest of your day.���

���You too, Jerome.���

An hour later, the two astronauts were ready to make history by becoming the first humans to walk on Mars. As previously determined, the Mission Commander was the first to step out of the MEL. He abandoned the potential for millions in advertising fees by saying, as his foot touched the Martian dirt, ���Imagination and courage brought us here; with such guides at our side, there is no place we cannot go.���

For her part, Sandra said as she stepped off the ladder, ���Mars, we bring you greetings and peace from the women and men of your neighbor, planet Earth.���

Sandra stepped away from the MEL and looked around. If NASA was looking for the most photogenic spot on the planet, they chose well, she thought. The surface was an alien desert with a reddish complexion. But the horizon was dominated by Olympus Mons, which towered skyward for nearly fourteen miles. They were too close to see it in perspective. It had a diameter of about 370 miles, about the width of France. Most of the volcano had a mild incline of about five degrees, as she had mentioned on her broadcast. What she had neglected to say was that most of its edges were sheer cliffs rising as high as five miles from the Martian surface. Minor detail. They had landed about four miles south of the mountain���s edge and the cliffs towered above them now. Sandra laughed at the thought of someone even attempting to climb this monster. There was a more gradual approach on the southwest side, without any cliffs to scale. But it would still take a week or more to reach the summit if you were walking, and scientists believed that the surface was covered with a thick layer of dust which might make progress difficult.

Sandra noticed an odd shadow on one of the cliff walls and pointed it out to Michael. After some discussion they decided to send a drone camera to the location for a better view. They prepared the drone for takeoff and would launch it when they were back inside the MEL. In the meantime, they had plenty of work to do. They collected rock and soil samples, took a slew of pictures, and set up equipment to monitor radiation and seismic activity. The two hours slated for their walkabout passed quickly, and both astronauts were reluctant to return to the MEL when it was over.

Once they were safely back inside, Michael sat down and reached for the drone controls. The small aircraft lifted off and Michael sent it speeding toward the wall of Olympus Mons. Video from the drone appeared on the MEL���s monitor and was simultaneously streamed back to Earth.

It took about six minutes for the drone to cover the four miles between MEL and the cliff. As it got closer to its objective, Michael and Sandra became more excited.

���There���s no reason for a shadow to be there,��� Michael said. ���There���s nothing nearby to cast it.���

���That���s because it���s not a shadow. It���s a cave,��� said Sandra.

���I think you might be right,��� said Michael as he stared at the image. ���It could be a lava tube.���

Olympus Mons used to be an active volcano, and some scientists think it might become active again in the future. Lava tubes can form when the lava near the top cools and hardens, leaving the molten magma below to keep moving below the surface. If the upstream lava suddenly starts moving in a different direction, the magma inside the tube can drain out, leaving an empty cave.

The drone was nearing the target now. Michael slowed it down and did a scan of the cliff face. The shadow was clearly a cave.

���Well spotted, Sandra. This is awesome.���

���You know we have to go out there and check it out, right?���

���Um, I don���t know about that, Sandra. It���s a long walk, and the cave is a hundred feet or so up from the base of the cliff. It might be too risky. Not to mention that it���s not in the schedule.���

���Screw the schedule, Michael. Caves could be a possible harbor for bacterial life. There might still be evidence of heat-seeking bacteria on the cave walls or floor. Think of it, Michael. We could confirm the existence of life on Mars!���

���Yeah, I see your point, but this is a major deviation from the plan. We need Houston to weigh in on it.���

���They���ll debate it for a day and a half and then tell us it���s too dangerous,��� moaned Sandra.

���In which case, we won���t go. There will be other missions. But I���ll transmit the suggestion. Right now, let���s use the drone to identify the best approach to the cave in case they give us a green light.���

They spent the next hour scanning the cave and the surrounding cliff wall. The drone found a narrow ledge leading to the entrance which might be climbable, assuming it was solid enough. When they���d seen as much as they could, Michael flew the drone back to the MEL and radioed Houston with a request to do manned exploration.

Ten minutes later the intercom blared, ���Olympus base, Houston here. Thanks for the video feed from the drone. We are analyzing it now and will get back to you with a response to your request for manned investigation. In the meantime, please keep to the existing schedule of activities. Night will be falling in about an hour. It���s going to be a cold one, guys, so bundle up. We will check in with you again at 5 am Mars time.

Night on Mars fell suddenly. Unlike Earth, the thin atmosphere here didn���t disperse light. As soon as the sun dropped below the horizon, it became pitch black outside. Nor did the atmosphere have much capability to store heat. The temperature quickly plummeted from plus 60 degrees Fahrenheit to minus 100.

Sandra noted the temperature and looked out of the capsule window. Phobos, the larger of Mars��� two moons, could be seen low in the sky. It was much dimmer than the Earth���s moon. Sandra couldn���t see the other one, Deimos. But since it was only eight miles wide, she figured it would be nearly impossible to spot with the naked eye.

���I can see why NASA didn���t schedule any night walks for us,��� Sandra said.

���Yeah, night on Mars is no picnic, that���s for sure.���

���You really think people will colonize this planet someday?���

���Oh, it���ll happen, yeah. They���ll eventually build a permanent outpost here. But it���ll have to be continually supplied from Earth, so it���ll be extremely expensive.���

���What about the idea of terraforming?���

���Whether we can terraform this planet to make it suitable for terrestrial life is an interesting question. It would likely take thousands of years, even if we had the technology. Which we currently don���t, despite all the theorizing that goes on about it.���

Sandra considered this. Then she asked, ���Have you ever read Kim Stanley Robinson���s novel, Red Mars?���

���Of course. It���s brilliant. I���ve also read the sequels, Green Mars and Blue Mars. But the first book was the best, I thought.���

���I must admit that after viewing Mars in all its glory earlier, the idea of transforming it into some kind of alternate Earth smacks of hubris, if not lunacy.���

���Yeah, but two hundred years ago, someone seriously suggesting that man would walk upon Mars would have been committed to an asylum,��� said Michael.

���True. You up for a game of chess? I brought my miniature magnetic board.���

���You���re on. But no betting this time, Sandra. I only gamble when I have a chance of winning.���

After the game, Sandra recorded another episode of Notes from the Red Planet. She described how exciting it was to touch down on the surface with MEL, and even more so to set her foot upon the Martian soil. She explained the workings of some of the equipment they set up outside and why these measurements mattered to planetary scientists. She talked about Olympus Mons and its steep cliffs. She discussed the drone flight and the cave, but Michael noted with satisfaction that she diplomatically refrained from mentioning their request for permission to visit it. NASA definitely wouldn���t have taken kindly to that.

When it was over, Jerome radioed in his approval. He and Michael applauded.

It was their first night on Mars, and time for bed.

-���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

At five a.m., the astronauts wake up to the sound of ���Spaceman��� by Harry Nilsson.

���Oh, Lordy, where���d you dig that song up from, Houston?��� Michael asked.

Ten minutes later: ���It was a recommendation from your buddy Jerome.���

���Of course it was,��� mumbled Michael.

The transmission continued. ������ And I���ve got some bad news and some worse news for you. Which do you want first, Commander?��� There is a slight pause. ���Belay that. I���m advised we can���t wait ten minutes for you to answer that question. I���ll give you the bad news first. Your recommendation to visit the cave is declined. Repeat, do not attempt to visit the cave. It was determined to be not worth the risk. I���ll give you ten seconds to confirm before I continue.���

���Shit,��� said Sandra.

���Not unexpected,��� replied Michael. He clicked the microphone and said, ���Ares 1 confirms, Houston. No Martian spelunking.���

In a moment the transmission continued. ���Okay, Olympus Base, I assume you confirmed that. Now here���s the worse news. There���s a sandstorm headed your way. ETA 2 pm local Martian time. Wind speeds of up to fifty miles per hour. We recommend you batten down the hatches and protect the external equipment as best you can. It will probably last about three hours, assuming no changes to its trajectory and size.

Now it was Michael���s turn to say, ���Shit.���

���Should we be worried?��� asked Sandra.

���Worried? No, not particularly. It���s mainly a nuisance. It means we have to cut back the schedule. No wonder they denied the cave excursion.���

���Fifty-mile-an-hour winds sound pretty bad.���

���Yeah, but the winds here don���t create much force due to the thin atmosphere. The storm will blow dust everywhere and it may disrupt communications for a few hours, but it shouldn���t cause much actual damage as long as we secure the equipment.���

An hour later, the sun was up and the astronauts were ready to do another surface excursion. They went outside and completed the scheduled morning tasks, then covered the surface equipment with tarps and staked the ends into the ground. They brought some of the more sensitive electronics back into the MEL, including the drone. After checking in with Houston, they relaxed and waited for the storm.

���Ares COM to Olympus Base. You there, Michael?���

���Roger that, Jerome. Go ahead.���

���Hey, I���ve got some more bad news for you, buddy. I���ve been visually tracking the storm from up here, and I���ve detected some lightning flashes. You���d better power down whatever you can until it passes.���

���Roger that, Jerome. Thanks.��� Michael started flipping some switches.

���I didn���t even know Mars had lightning,��� said Sandra.

���It���s pretty rare, and the energy levels are much lower than in lightning strikes on Earth. But I imagine a direct hit could still do some damage to our circuitry.���

���What can we do about that?���

���Just pray it doesn���t hit us.���

When the storm came, the dust flew everywhere. They could no longer see out the viewing window. The MEL shook slightly, but Michael was right. The force was pretty low. Nowhere near the strength needed to do any real damage or (God forbid) tip the MEL over. They listened for thunder but didn���t hear anything apart from the sound of sand particles hitting the side of the spacecraft.

Thirty minutes in, they lost radio contact.

Two hours in, there was a loud cracking sound and the cabin lights went out.

���Oh shit,��� said Michael. ���That was a lightning strike. We���ve been hit.���

���Michael! What���s that smell?���

���Electrical fire! Help me find the source!��� Michael grabbed the extinguisher and started ripping off panels.

���Here! It���s over here, Michael! I see smoke!��� They removed the cover panel. Some dark black vapor was given off as the wiring sheathing melted, but there were thankfully no flames. Michael sprayed the area and the smoking stopped.

���That was a close call,��� said Michael. ���Be on the lookout for other issues. We should advise Houston.���

���Still no signal. We���ll have to wait until the dust settles. Wow, I can���t believe I just said that. Anyway, what���s the damage look like?���

���It will take a while to figure it out. Hand me the emergency manual and help me work through the checklist.���

-���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

It took several hours to assess the situation, by which time the storm had passed.

Michael was lying on the floor of the MEL, looking at an open panel box. ���Well, that���s it. The wiring from the main fuel cell is fried. I���ll have to repair or replace it. We can���t ignite the burners for liftoff without it. Is the radio working yet? I���ll want Houston���s advice on this.���

Sandra picked up the microphone. ���Houston, this is Olympus Base. Are you receiving us?���

They sat back to wait ten minutes for the reply but were interrupted a few seconds later by the speaker.

���Olympus Base, this is Ares COM. Are you okay?���

���Yes, Jerome, thanks. We���re fine. Unfortunately, though, the MEL was struck by lightning during the storm. It shorted out the main wiring cables from the fuel cell. We���re trying to contact Houston for advice on emergency procedures.���

Jerome and Michael discussed the problem for several minutes. The sound of the Houston controller broke into their conversation. ���Olympus Base and Command Operations Module, this is Houston. We just wanted you to know that we received your transmission and we are currently monitoring your two-way discussion. Please provide all relevant facts and your diagnosis, and signal to us when you are done. We will then analyze the situation and get back to you with further questions and our thoughts on next steps. Over.���

Knowing Houston was in the loop, Michael provided all the data he had on their status. He signaled when he was finished, and they waited for Houston���s response.

Ten minutes later they received an acknowledgment that Houston had received the information and was working on it.

An hour after that they were still waiting.

���Shouldn���t we request a status update?��� asked Sandra.

���There���s no point,��� replied Michael. ���They know we���re waiting. When they have something to say, they���ll contact us.���

It took another 45 minutes.

���Olympus Base, this is Houston. Grab a pen and paper guys, this will be a long message.���

There was a pause, presumably to allow them to get something to write on. As if they hadn���t been ready two hours ago.

���Okay, Olympus, we recommend you replace the faulty wiring from the fuel cell.���

WITH WHAT? Michael thought.

���We know you do not have sufficient wiring in your repair supplies to do this. You will have to salvage wiring that is being used for non-essential systems. We believe you will have enough to complete the job. What follows is a detailed list of the location of such wiring and instructions for retrieving it.���

Oh, great, Michael thought. And what about the fact that most or all of these wires will be of lower gauge than the main fuel cell cables?

���We are aware that the wire you will be using is a lower gauge. We believe it will still be sufficient to trigger ignition. You will need to stand by with your fire extinguisher to ensure that the wiring does not flame out afterward.���

Oh, great. Michael glanced at Sandra, who was playing it remarkably cool under the circumstances.

���Okay, Olympus Base, get ready. Here are the details.���

The message droned on for another fifteen minutes. Michael and Sandra scribbled furiously as if their lives depended on it. Because they did.

-���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

They worked through the night, stripping wire, soldering, and twirling wires together and wrapping them in duct tape. It was cramped, feverish work but somehow they kept going. They had no time to despair. Not if they wanted to survive.

Jerome called in periodically to check their status and offer encouragement. But not too often, as he didn���t want to slow them down. The scheduled lift-off time was 11 am Mars time. Failing that, they would have subsequent launch windows every 90 minutes, which was based on how long it took the Command Operations Module to circle the planet and get into position for an intercept.

But at some point, Michael knew, Jerome would be ordered to leave orbit without them. If he waited too long, the orbits of Mars and Earth would diverge too much, and the Command Operations Module would be unable to get back home.

Michael wasn���t sure how much cushion for possible delays had been built into the flight plan. One day? Two? It couldn���t be much, he knew. Every minute that passed meant the spaceship would need more fuel to get back, and there was a limit to how much extra fuel they were carrying. Houston would know the answer. But so far, they weren���t sharing that information and Michael figured it would be premature and defeatist to ask.

So they worked on. Finally, it was done, with thirty minutes left to spare. They completed the pre-flight checks. Michael was at the lander controls, while Sandra sat next to him with the fire extinguisher in her lap. They���d want to put out any flames before they reached zero-G because fire in a weightless environment is a hellish thing.

They prepared for the final countdown and held their breath.

3 ��� 2 ��� 1 ��� Ignition. Michael pushed the button.

There was a loud ���pop��� and the replaced wiring split open and burst into flame. Nothing else happened. Sandra extinguished the fire quickly, but they could both tell it was game over.

Michael relayed the news to Houston and the Command Operations Module. There was a pregnant silence. Then Jerome said, ���That���s all right guys. Just try again. I���ll be back around in just ninety minutes.���

Sandra and Michael examined the burned wiring. It was beyond repair. Sandra looked at Michael and said, ���There���s not going to be a Plan B, is there?���

���No. I don���t think so, Sandra. I���m so sorry.���

Houston sent another message a few minutes later, saying they were sorry to hear that their first solution hadn���t worked. They would revert shortly with further thoughts.

An hour later, Houston confirmed there was no more wiring available to strip out. Everything still left was essential for the flight back into orbit and docking with the Command Operations Module. They insisted that their best minds were working on the problem, but Michael could tell from the controller���s voice that they were out of ideas. Right now, he figured, the head honchos at NASA were debating how soon to instruct the COM to leave Mars without them. They���d want to wait as long as possible, to make it seem as if they were doing everything they could to rescue the two brave astronauts on the surface. But Michael knew there could be no rescue. If he and Sandra couldn���t get this thing off the ground, they were dead.

Sandra had been watching Michael���s face. She said, ���Let���s go to the cave.���

���What? Are you serious? Now?���

���Do you have any hope at all that Houston is going to find a way to fix this?���

���No. Not really.���

���Nor do I. So instead of sitting here waiting for a solution that doesn���t exist, let���s do something useful. Let���s explore the cave and see if we can find any indications of life on Mars. I don���t know about you, but for me, a discovery like that would make this trip worthwhile, regardless of whether we get home.���

Michael thought about it. It was a crazy idea. It was an awesome, crazy idea. He picked up the microphone. ���Houston, this is Olympus Base. While we wait for your response, we���ve decided to make an excursion to the cave. We will be back in several hours and will contact you immediately upon our return. Olympus Base out.���

Michael was glad the COM was currently out of communication range on the other side of the planet. He didn���t want to hear Jerome tell him what a moron he was being. He and Sandra suited up quickly, hoping to get out of the MEL before Houston ordered them to stop.

-���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

The atmosphere was still clouded with dust from the storm, but there was plenty of light to see by. The walk to the base of the cliff was fairly easy. There were a few small to medium-sized craters they had to circle around, but none of them presented any real difficulty. They found the ledge that they had seen on the drone footage and carefully began to climb to the cave entrance, now clearly visible.

It took some effort. Sandra almost lost her footing at one point, but Michael had been quick to catch her. A tumble here could result in a ruptured suit, which would be disastrous. They arrived at the cave door without further incident and stepped inside.

It was dark, and they turned on the flashlights built into their helmets. Sandra walked to one of the cave walls and chipped off some samples. ���There are some small striations in the rock that could be due to microorganism activity. This could be really important. I just wish we could get this sample back to Earth.���

���Holy shit,��� said Michael. ���Am I going crazy? Tell me I���m not. Or tell me I am, because I don���t know which is better.���

���What are you going on ab��� Holy shit, Michael! Is this some kind of joke? Did you bring that with you?���

���You know I didn���t. How could I hide THAT from you on the long walk out here? It was just sitting there.���

They both stared at the picnic basket.

The basket that could not possibly be here.

In a cave.

On Mars.

���Open it,��� Sandra said.

���You open it,��� Michael said.

���You���re the Commanding Officer.���

���And I command you to open it.���

���Michael!���

Michael approached the picnic basket and slowly lifted the lid, ready to jump back if necessary. He knew it was impossible for anything to be alive inside the basket. But he also knew it was impossible for the basket to be here at all. So what did he know about what was possible?

When it was open he stared at the contents and said, ���No ��� frigging ��� way.���

Sandra stepped forward and they both looked down.

Inside the basket were two letter-sized envelopes. And several coils of high-gauge wire.

���We���ve gone insane,��� Michael said. ���That���s the only logical explanation.���

���And we���re both having the same delusion?���

���Must be.���

���Well, hell, Michael, let���s pick up the basket and see if our mutual delusion can get us off this goddamn planet before NASA decides to send our ride home without us.���

Michael closed the top of the basket. He picked it up by its convenient carrying handle and they began the walk back to the MEL.

���How on Earth are we going to explain this?��� Michael asked.

���We can���t say anything about it, Michael. They���re going to say we���re crazy. No one will believe this. Hell, I don���t believe this.���

���Then how do we explain where the cable came from?���

���We don���t. We say we found it stuffed behind one of the access panels. We don���t know how it got there.���

���How do we explain the envelopes?���

���We don���t. We examine them when we get off this planet and try to figure out what it all means.���

���How do we explain the picnic basket?���

���We don���t. We leave it outside the MEL and forget we ever found it. I don���t want to go straight to an insane asylum when we get back to Earth. Do you?���

When they got back to the MEL, they contacted Houston and indicated that the cave visit had been successful and that they were carrying samples that might indicate the past existence of microbial life on the planet. More importantly, on a second search of the MEL they found some spare high-gauge wire behind one of the access panels. They were connecting it now.

Ten minutes later the speakers transmitted, ���Olympus Base, I was instructed to give you hell for making that unapproved excursion, but after hearing your message I don���t have the heart. Congratulations on your find at the cave. Hopefully the sample will confirm your assumption. And we are extremely excited about your discovery of the high-gauge wire. No one down here was aware that it was on board, but we are sure glad that you found it. If possible, please depart Mars at the next blast window, which should be 25 minutes from the time you receive this message. Over.���

Michael laughed. ���You can bet that they are going bonkers down there right now, trying to figure out how that wire got on board.��� He connected the new wires.

When the COM returned to their side of the planet, Jerome was overjoyed to hear the news. The replacement cable worked like a charm and the MEL blasted off without incident. Once they were in orbit and waiting to intersect with COM, Sandra picked up the two envelopes.

���You won���t believe this, Michael. This letter is addressed to both of us, by name.���

���You���re right. I don���t believe it. What���s it say?���

���It says, ���Please forgive the use of a picnic basket. It���s all I had handy at the time. I hope I purchased the right kind of wire. Congratulations on your success and have a pleasant journey home. Z���.���

���Z? Who the hell is ���Z���?���

���I haven���t a clue. The other letter is addressed to ��� Susan Parsnip! Oh, my God!���

���What? What���s the matter, Sandra? Who is Susan Parsnip?���

���She���s my 93-year-old maternal grandmother. This just gets weirder and weirder. Should I open it?���

���Hell, no, you shouldn���t open it! It���s addressed to your grandmother, and this ���Z��� person just saved both our lives. You will deliver this letter in person to your grandmother. And I want to be there when you do.���

-���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

Six and a half months later, Sandra and Michael sat at Susan Parsnip���s dining room table and enjoyed a cup of tea and a slice of chocolate cake. They told Susan the story of the picnic basket and handed over the envelope.

Susan took a letter opener from the side table and inserted it into the fold with a shaky hand. She opened the envelope and removed a slip of paper.

���My Dear Susan,��� she read aloud, ���I hope you are well and that life has treated you with the respect you so greatly deserve. I know you have a wonderful granddaughter, at least. First woman on Mars! Isn���t that something? Anyway, I think you will agree now that we are officially even. My best wishes for your life and afterlife. Always remember: magic is real. Yours truly, Barry. (a.k.a. The Great Zucchini).���

As she finished reading, Susan noticed there was something else in the envelope.

It was a playing card.

The four of clubs.

���Grandma? I hope you have an explanation for this,��� said Sandra. ���Michael and I have been debating whether to seek psychiatric treatment.���

Susan smiled, looked at her granddaughter and her friend, and began to tell her story.

���I first met The Great Zucchini in 1965, following one of his late-night shows in Harlem. After being sawn in half and put back together, his previous assistant had run screaming from the theater������

-���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������

Pete Simons

Sneak Peek at my New Book

Here���s an advance look at my forthcoming novel, called White as Snow. It���s a ���Rock and roll fairytale murder mystery��� which uses the Snow White story as a very loose backdrop. The ���Snow White��� character and her ���dwarf-like��� college friends are being killed, one at a time, by a person or persons unknown. Who would do such a thing?

Here���s Chapter One.

*****************************

White as Snow

Chapter One: Ice Ice Baby

On a frigid winter���s night in Providence, Rhode Island, chubby flakes of snow are dancing around an attractive college sophomore as she trudges across campus. Suddenly, she stops, removes a compact mirror from her pocket, and gazes at her reflection. With her ebony hair and fiery red lipstick, her skin appears to glow a frosty white. She smiles with satisfaction.

As the young woman puts her mirror away, she notices three beads of crimson blood falling onto the field of silvery powder. She looks down at her scratched wrist and curses to herself, ���That goddamn bitch!��� Digging into her pockets, she finds a couple tissues and wraps them around the wound. After peering again at the perfect triangle formed by the blood droplets, she continues on her way.

With each step, Bianca Snowden converges with her unfortunate fate. Although there have been plenty of opportunities for providence to intervene in her favor that evening, none have materialized. Tonight, Providence is anything but divine. If only they had never met. If only she hadn���t agreed. If only she hadn���t drunk so much. If only she hadn���t walked home by herself. If only it hadn���t snowed. If only, just once upon a time, any of these things had been different. Yet not all fairy tales have happy endings. Or, in this case, beginnings.

Bianca���s gait is unsteady as she passes through one of the two smaller side entrances of the Van Wickle Gates and enters the area known as the Quiet Green. The large center gates are unlocked only twice a year. They swing inward when the new freshmen arrive at Brown University in the fall, and they open outward as the graduates and faculty march through them on commencement day. Superstition has it that a student who walks through the main gates more than twice will not graduate.

As she negotiates the snow-covered walkway, to her left is the elegant belfry called Carrie Tower, a rectangular clock column constructed of red brick and white stone, standing ninety-five feet tall. A businessman gifted it to the college in 1904 to memorialize his wife, who happened to be the granddaughter of the college���s namesake, Nicholas Brown. Bianca notes the inscription on the base, which reads, ���Love is as strong as death.��� She smirks and thinks, That may be, but death always wins in the end. Indeed, sometimes its victory comes much sooner than expected.

Even in her inebriated condition, Bianca appreciates the eclectic architecture of Brown University���s main campus. The English Georgian facade of University Hall looms over and heartens her. The building was the first one constructed for the college and was used as a barracks for American soldiers during the Revolutionary War. Now it houses the college administration offices. Someone had placed electric candles in the windows for the holiday season, and the four-story redbrick building glows comfortingly in the falling snow. Bianca wishes she had her camera with her so she could capture the scene.

Perhaps it would have been better if Miss Snowden were less enamored with the edifice and more focused on her foot placement, as she trips for the third time since starting her climb up College Hill and tumbles into the snow. She is back on her feet in a moment, laughing instead of cursing this time, due to some internal logic known only to her.

Bianca���s thoughts, usually well-ordered and insightful, skip all over the place. Life���s just a story and we all play a part, she thinks. Frigging McDuck. What a poor excuse for a leading man. That surly son of a bitch doesn���t even know what he���s screwed up. Oh, someone made a snow angel over there. Almost home now. God, the wind. It will serve him right when I���m not around anymore. Snowflakes. How they dance! They���ll all be sorry. All the supporting characters. Surly, Sleazy, Breezy, Lazy, Drowsy, Queasy, and Dud. Screw them. Whoa. Black ice beneath the snow. I need to watch my step. Where���s my Walkman? Time for some tunes.

She stops again for a moment, removes her bright-red backpack, and rifles through it, finally pulling out her prized Sony Walkman. She purchased this wonder of modern technology just after its release to the market in March 1979. That was almost a year ago, and now she can���t remember how she had managed to cope before the thing had been invented. She takes it pretty much everywhere she goes.

Bianca puts on the headphones, flips over the cassette tape, and punches the play button. The sounds of Foreigner flood her head. That���s more like it. That���s what I���m talking about. I love this album. I���m glad I made this tape. ���Long, Long Way from Home��� begins to play, and she thinks, No, it���s not really that long. My dorm���s only a few minutes away. Oh, my God. This headache is killing me. S_he looks in her bag and finds an aspirin bottle. _Only one left. Shit. She swallows it and drops the empty bottle into the snow.

Bianca re-shoulders her backpack and starts to walk again, passing between University Hall and Manning Chapel (somewhat ironically modeled after the Greek Temple of Diana) to emerge onto the College Green.

And don���t get me started about some of the professors here. What role do they think they play in this fairy tale? Almighty wizards? Doesn���t Gandalf the Gray realize how goddamn awesome and talented I am? No appreciation. He takes me for granted, just like McDuck. And Saruman the White dared to place his hand on my knee. They think they can take whatever they want. Thieving bastards.

The next Foreigner song on the tape, ���Feels Like the First Time,��� starts to play.

First time. Oh, yeah, And then there���s The Little Prince. Every fairy tale needs a prince. I wonder what the Evil Queen would do if she found out? It wouldn���t be pretty, that���s for sure. She���s got the King wrapped around her little finger. Conniving bitch.

As Bianca crosses the College Green (now, temporarily, the College White), she examines several of the ice sculptures that students had created. Some are amateurish, but others are sublime. There is a four-foot-tall ice dragon with a tail that stretches for seven feet. Beyond it lies a sleeping tiger and the Taj Mahal. Unfortunately, all the sculptures are now covered in a layer of new snow, and it won���t be long before the work is lost. Then the artists will return to fix them or, more likely, create something entirely new. Bianca thinks that maybe she should try it. Then she recalls that she has other priorities.

���The Damage Is Done��� is next on the playlist. The music begins, and Bianca sings along for a while. Then her thoughts start racing again.

Yeah, the damage is done. You got that right. They stole my Honor. My Pride. My Achievement. It���s my Loss. Loss of Virginity. How dare they take that, and why did I allow it? But the story���s not over. It���s just beginning, in fact. I made a decision. I���ll show them. They���ll be sorry. All of them will. They���ll regret what they did to me. Each in his or her own way.

Having crossed the College Green, Bianca continues down the path leading to the Lower Green, which runs between Sayles Hall and Wilson Hall, both of which were constructed in the Romanesque style during the late 1800s. Bianca likes Sayles Hall much more, with its impressive granite central tower flanked by two smaller turrets on either side. The interior of the structure is quite beautiful, she thinks, and its central hall is large enough to hold dances. Last year, she attended an open lecture given there by a professor of history, whose name she can���t recall. His talk was entitled ���Captain Kirk and the Moonies,��� and it dealt with the dichotomy between offering assistance to other cultures and interfering with their principles and ability to self-govern. Fascinating stuff, and good jokes. The room also contains a marvelous old pipe organ, which is still played on occasion.

Behind Sayles Hall stands the equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius, a Roman emperor and author of a philosophical treatise on Stoicism called The Meditations, written around 150 AD. Bianca had heard a rumor that a few years ago some frat boys had drilled a hole in the top of the hollow bronze statue and filled it with water during the following several nights. Then they drilled a small hole in the bottom of the horse. The horse reportedly pissed for a week, although she assumes that was an exaggeration.

As Bianca passes the statue and emerges into the Lower Green, she spots an ice sculpture that she hadn���t seen before and staggers across the snowy lawn toward the object. As she gets closer, she recognizes the form as a sleeping woman. S_leeping Beauty, perhaps? Or Snow White?_ It had been wonderfully rendered. It���s a shame that the falling snow is covering her, Bianca thinks. She���ll soon be unrecognizable.

As Bianca turns to leave, her foot gets caught on a piece of the sculpture that was already buried, and she falls heavily to the ground. She laughs and starts to get up, but the quad seems to be spinning around her. I���ll just rest here for a bit, she thinks. Lying back in the snow, she looks up at the drifting flakes lit by the streetlamp on the path. It���s beautiful. Foreigner���s still playing in her ears, and she grows calm as her thoughts dampen.

Betrayal ���

Theft ���

Loss of ���

Virginity ���

I want ���

��� it back.

The final song on Bianca���s cassette, ���Cold as Ice,��� begins to play.

So tired.

���Cold ������

I���ll just

������ as ������

have a little

������ ice.���

nap.

���

The snow continues to fall.

A snowflake lands on Bianca���s bloodred upper lip. It does not melt.

The music is loud enough to be faintly heard by anyone standing close by. But no one is there.

���Cold ��� as ��� ice.���

The last notes trail away. After a few more seconds, the tape clicks off.

The snow falls harder. By five o���clock that morning there���s an extra eighteen inches of fresh powder on the ground, and her body is completely covered. Due to the strong winds, not even a bulge in the snow remains to indicate her presence. It will be several days before Bianca���s face���by then as white as snow���will be seen by anyone again.

And in the silence of the dawn, the snowflakes continue their frantic dance.

They do not care that Bianca Snowden���s song has ended.

********************************

Pete Simons

(I expect to publish White as Snow within the next few months. Watch my webpage or Facebook page for further developments.)

The Tale of Sir Mildew

The following short story is from my first novel, The Coyote. It is told by one of the main characters to pass the time while he and the hero are being held in captivity.

*****************************

Once upon a time, when knights-errant still roamed the land and dragons were known to be real creatures (that is, before the government convinced people that dragons were just fictional creations because it sounded better than admitting that they had been driven to extinction), there lived a king by the name of King Puffinjay. The king had been waging a war with a terrible dragon who lived in a cave in the mountains. Well, the king called it a war. In practice, it consisted of the king sending one of his knights to kill the beast every year. The knights thusly commissioned never returned, and no one could even say whether they were alive or dead. But it was a dragon, right? The smart money was on dead.

No one could remember what had triggered the war. It started long before the king was even born. Had the dragon stolen a maiden, or laid waste to the fields, or destroyed an entire village, or burned down an outhouse? No one from that time was still alive, and the story, unlike this one, had been lost. But, said the king, if the war was good enough for my father, and for his father before him, and for his father before him, then by gosh it was good enough for me.

Apparently, in all that time no one had seriously considered the option of sending several dozen knights all at once to kill the dragon and be done with it. The king���s rationale was that if one knight a year is what his father sent, and his father before him, and his father before him, then by gosh one knight a year was all he was going to send as well. The Puffinjay dynasty was very big on the importance of precedent.

It was on the first of May, when the snows had finally melted on the mountains, that the king would dispatch his worthiest (or unluckiest) knight to slay the dragon. Unfortunately, however, with the economy being what it was for the past couple of decades, and the slowing of the population growth rate, and the constant stream of young men who left the kingdom in search of jobs in the big cities, the King���s Round Table was no longer as well-attended as it once was. Truth be told, not many young men found the calling of knighthood particularly attractive anymore. Although there was some prestige to the job, and the pay was good, and the wenches willing, there was also the small matter of certain death if your number was called to kill the dragon. So whereas the Round Table had once held over 40 knights, loudly pounding the silverware on its surface and calling for more mead, it now seated only the king and one elderly knight, the last remaining. His name was Sir Mildew.

As the winter progressed, Sir Mildew knew that the time of his deployment to slay the dragon was fast approaching. There was hardly any need to continue the old practice of drawing lots to see which knight would be called upon to perform the dragon feeding duty, as it came to be known within the ranks of the knights. Every year the king and his knights would each place a small ball, with their names inscribed upon them, into a cup. The cup was shaken and the king would draw one of the balls and read off the name of that year���s dragon dinner ��� I mean winner. Although in theory, the name of the king himself could be drawn with a statistically equal probability, none of the knights had ever really believed that this egalitarian claptrap actually worked in practice. Nor would they have complained even if they had known that the little ball representing the king was just slightly smaller than all of the others, and that with sufficient shaking of the cup it tended to fall through an appropriately sized hole in the bottom. Knighthood was their job, after all. And he was the king.

But although Sir Mildew knew that the odds, so to speak, were not in his favor this year, he chose not to request early retirement, which the king would simply have refused, nor to run away and make a new life in the city, which would have been shameful. He knew his duty, and he would not disgrace himself in the eyes of all those worthy knights who had gone before him, now drinking mead in Valhalla, or Florida, or wherever it is that good knights go when they die. And thus it was, that on the first day of May, Sir Mildew entered the Great Hall and took his seat at the now unnecessarily large Round Table. And he idly wondered what the King would do next year when the first of May arrived.

King Puffinjay entered the room and sat at his throne on the opposite side of the table. ���Greetings, Sir Mildew. We trust you are well?���

���As well as can be expected, Your Highness. And Your Exalted Self?���

���A touch of the gout, but we are otherwise well.���

By tradition, no mention of the dragon was made until the dinner was over and the plates had been cleared. The mead and turkey legs arrived, and Sir Mildew enjoyed his last meal with the king. For dessert there was cherry pie with custard, Sir Mildew���s favorite. But although the knight ate slowly, and had a second helping of pie, the dinner eventually came to an end. When the serving wenches had all departed, the king cleared his throat. Here we go, thought Sir Mildew.

King Puffinjay decreed, ���As Sir Tweedledum has not returned from the quest that we sent him upon last year, we must send one of our worthy knights to complete his mission and avenge his presumed death.���

Sir Mildew thought, ���one��� of our worthy knights? Plural?

King Puffinjay continued, ���In keeping with our prior custom, therefore, we and each of our knights shall place into this cup a small ball ������

Sir Mildew cleared his throat. ���Yes, Sir Mildew? You have something to say to us?���

Sir Mildew thought, oh, why not? It won���t make a bit of difference anyway. ���Sire, on this occasion I would like to volunteer for the mission to smite the dragon and avenge all those knights who have bravely gone before me.���

King Puffinjay replies, ���That is very honorable, Sir Mildew. We appreciate and accept your chivalrous offer. You have our thanks.���

Sir Mildew thought to himself, why not ask him? What harm could it do now? And he spoke again, ���Sire, before I depart on my mission, I ask that you grant leave that I may ask a question.���

King Puffinjay responded, ���Of course you may ask us anything, Sir Mildew. Do we not pride ourselves on the openness of our court? Please proceed.���

���Well, Sire, my question is this. Why is it necessary to kill the dragon?���

The king was taken aback by the question, which no one had either thought of, or dared to ask, for four generations. ���You���re asking me ��� us ��� WHY we must kill a DRAGON?��� His face turned red.

Sir Mildew nodded. Normally at this point he would have been extremely fearful. But he was now facing the prospect of certain death, and the king���s anger suddenly did not seem as threatening as it once did.

���We���.and our ancestors ��� have fought this dragon for over one hundred years! Untold numbers of brave knights have met their death at its claws!���

���Well, yes, sire, that is true. But the knights were the aggressors. They were sent to kill the dragon in its own cave. At least in our lifetimes, the dragon has never flown here to attack us. What has this dragon done to deserve death, apart from simply defending itself?���

The king considered this question, and his face turned a shade of purple which Sir Mildew had previously not known existed. Sir Mildew was about to call for the royal physician when the king finally sputtered, ���But ��� if the dragon ��� does not deserve ��� death, then we ��� and our ancestors ��� would look ��� foolish!���

Ah, well, it had been worth a shot, thought Sir Mildew. And he said, ���Quite so, Sire. Forgive my impertinence. I shall leave on my mission at first light.���

********************************

At five a.m., Sir Mildew woke his squire, Peter Honeypot, and had him prepare the horses for the journey. Sir Mildew was more than a little surprised that the boy, a lad of 17, was still there. After all, none of the squires who left on this quest before had ever come back, having very likely suffered the same fate as their masters. It was no secret that Sir Mildew would soon be departing on ���The Quest From Which There Is No Return,��� being the only knight left. Peter���s remaining presence was evidence of an exceptional degree of loyalty and dedication. Or of paramount stupidity. In either case, Sir Mildew resolved to save the boy from his predecessors��� destinies, if at all possible.

By six a.m., Sir Mildew and Peter were on their mounts, riding out of the town gates. Consistent with tradition, Sir Mildew wore his full armor on the ride out of town, to signify that he was on an official quest commissioned by the king. When they were several miles away, he would then dismount and remove the heavy metal suit, and pack it away until it was required for battle.

When they were about two miles outside of the town gates, they crossed a stone bridge over the river Gallifray, which rushed by underneath them with considerable force, caused by the spring thaw. As they approached the other side, Peter called out, ���Sir! There is an old woman in the river! She is drowning!���

Sir Mildew rushed to the side of the bridge and looked over. Peter was right. Sir Mildew recognized the woman, who was reputed to be a witch. Other knights might have looked the other way, given the woman���s identity. But not Sir Mildew. Yet he had a major problem. If he were to jump in the river in full armor, he would sink like a stone and drown, without question. ���Peter! I cannot save her! It is up to you.���

Peter recognized the knight���s problem and was already off his horse before Sir Mildew had even spoken. In a moment, he scaled the side of the bridge and jumped into the freezing water, close to the woman. He reached her and dragged her toward the shore, while Sir Mildew brought the horses down to the riverbank. The worthy knight waded into the water in his armor, and grabbed the woman as they got close to shore. ���Well done, Peter,��� he said to the exhausted boy. ���I shall never forget your bravery today. It is an inspiration to me, young squire.��� The trio reached the shore and collapsed on the ground.

The woman coughed up some water and slowly recovered. After a few minutes, she sat up and said to the knight, ���Beware the claws of the dragon, Sir Mildew.���

���I am heartily glad that you are well, Madam, thanks to the efforts of my trusted squire. I shall indeed beware of the claws, as you advise. Now we must return to our quest. But first, please allow me to transport you home on my horse. You shall ride, and I shall walk beside. As soon as I remove this wet armor, if you don���t mind.���

Peter offered his own horse to the woman, but Sir Mildew waved him off, saying he had done enough. He packed away the armor and helped the woman onto the horse, throwing a blanket around her shoulders. Then she directed them to her home. They arrived in half an hour and helped the woman off of the horse. ���I am indebted to both of you for your kindness and heroism today,��� she said. ���Listen closely now, for I am going to tell you something you must remember.��� The woman closed her eyes and lifted her hands in the air. In a moment she began to chant in a singsong voice:

High in its cave doth the dragon await.

Heed you these portents if you would be safe.

No shield take you, nor armor. No weapons but one.

Take thee only the staff of Ombudsman Malone.

Bring the heart of a Unicorn, but remove not its horn.

Let compassion and logic your visages adorn.

And know thee the story of righteous Sir Gawain,

By whose axe Sir Green���s neck was sheared clean in twain.

If these portents guide thee, and thou take not affright,

Then avoid ye the fates of the previous knights.

The woman then lowered her arms and opened her eyes. ���Fare thee well, kind gentlemen. Thank you for my life, which I have now repaid to thee both, though thou dost not knowest it yet. See me on your return.���

���By our faith, Madam, if we are successful, we shall return to you, ��� said Sir Mildew. And they rode off.

********************************

Although it required them to return to the town, the knight and the squire decided to heed the old woman���s prophecy. And therefore, they turned their horses around and set out for the home of Ombudsman Stanley Malone.

Ombudsman Malone lived alone in a well-appointed cabin in the woods, just outside the town. He was a trusted advisor to the king and had been given the task of investigating potential wrongdoing by knights, nobles, and members of the Court. No one was protected from his inquiries, save the king himself, which made Ombudsman Malone one of the most powerful persons in the kingdom. And one of the most feared. Fortunately, Stanley Malone was as honest as he was meticulous, which is why the king had appointed him to this role. He never used his authority for personal gain, and he readily admitted when he was wrong. On the other hand, he had a deserved reputation for being confrontational, cantankerous and disagreeable. His staff was made of copper and was the symbol of his office, given to him by the king. He would not part with it lightly. Or at all, considered the knight. Sir Mildew ruminated on how best to request the staff, and he decided that complete honesty was the only possible approach. Ombudsman Malone had an amazing ability to detect an untruth, which was a great asset in his job.

The pair approached the ombudsman���s house and dismounted from their horses. They knocked at the door. A moment later it was opened by a tall, imposing man with a severe countenance. ���Yes, well?��� the man commanded. Then he paused. ���Sir Mildew? Are you not supposed to be on a quest for the king? What brings you to my home?���

The knight replied, ���That is the reason I am here. I need your help, Ombudsman. And may I introduce my squire, Peter Honeypot.���

Ombudsman Malone raised his bushy eyebrows, and replied gruffly, ���Is that so? Well, I don���t know that I can help you to defeat a dragon in mortal combat. But I suppose you had better come in and explain yourself.��� They entered.

They all sat down. ���Very well, then. How can I help you, Sir Mildew?���

Sir Mildew explained all that had transpired with the old woman, and repeated her cantation word for word. He emphasized the words, ���Take thee only the staff of Ombudsman Malone.��� The Ombudsman���s face grew dark.

���And so you expect me to hand over my staff because of the words of some crazed old witch? What trickery is this? The king himself gave me that staff. You shall not have it, except by his direct order. Or from the hand of my dead corpse.���

Oh, dear, thought Sir Mildew. This was off to a bad start. He could not return to the king without first completing his mission. It just wasn���t done. Nor would the king be likely to grant his request for the staff, despite his desire to see the dragon vanquished. Taking back something that was freely given by his hand would have involved a loss of face, which this king would never abide. And Ombudsman Malone knew all this. No, the staff must be given willingly by the ombudsman or taken by force, the knight concluded. And if taken by force, Sir Mildew would never be able to return to the kingdom, even if his mission succeeded. Sir Mildew was at a loss. And then, his squire found the way.

���Dear Sir Ombudsman,��� said Peter, ���Why do you use such a tone? My master would never affront your person. He is a faithful vassal of the king, as you are. He came here not to steal your staff but to give you greater honor in the eyes of the king, if such a thing is possible, Sir.���

���What is this? Does a mere boy dare address the Ombudsman of the King? But what���s this you say of honor? Speak.���

Peter continued, ���You are well aware, Honorable Sir Ombudsman, that the king has desired the demise of the dragon ever since he was a boy. What would he think when it becomes known that your staff was the instrument of the dragon���s destruction, even though it was not wielded by your hand? And knowing your love for this gift, how would he feel upon being told that you relinquished it willingly, simply upon being informed that there was a chance it would be useful in Sir Mildew���s mission?���

The ombudsman was silent for a moment. Then he asked the boy, ���And what if you fail?��� (Oddly, he asks this of the boy, not of me, noted Sir Mildew.)

Peter replied, ���The honor would be yours in the king���s eyes, whether we succeed or no. Do not volunteer this information to the king. Wait until the king notices that the staff is missing, and then tell him the news reluctantly when he asks. Your star will rise as a result, and I would not be surprised if the king orders a new staff to be forged that very day.���

Stanley Malone considered this, and judged the boy���s advice to be worthy. ���Very well. Sir Mildew, take my staff and use it to vanquish this dragon, if you can. If you succeed, do not clean the dragon���s blood from the staff. Return it to me as it is. The king���s peace go with you.���

Sir Mildew rose and bowed deeply, saying, ���Thank you, Ombudsman.��� He took the staff and exited quickly before Stanley could change his mind. Once outside, he turned to his squire and said, ���Boy, you are worth your weight in gold, and I would not part with you for twice that sum.��� They mounted their horses and went on their way.

********************************

Sir Mildew knew of a book entitled ���Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.��� Although he had never read it, he had heard there was a copy in the Monastery of Saint Galoshes, in the Western hills. Luckily it was more or less on the way to the cave, and they directed themselves there. As to the last requirement of the cantation, Sir Mildew had no idea how they would find a unicorn, since he had never seen one, nor had he spoken to anyone else who had. But he hoped that an opportunity would present itself.

After a hard day���s ride, they knocked at the doors of the monastery as the darkness grew around them. A monk answered the call and led them to a clean but bare room with two beds, where they were bid welcome to spend the night.

At first light, the monk returned and escorted them to the monastery office. A sign on the door read ���Abbot N. Costello.��� The room was empty when they entered. In a few moments, an older man in white robes arrived to greet them. ���I am Abbot Costello,��� the man said, ���How may I help you?���

���I am Sir Mildew, in the service of King Puffinjay. This is my squire, Peter Honeypot. We are on a quest for the king.���

���Ah, to kill the dragon, I assume.���

���Yes, how did you know?���

���We have sheltered many a knight on many a night, who have stopped to rest here on their way to the dragon���s cave. Sadly, none has ever returned.���

���Yes, well, shelter is not the only reason for our visit. We understand that you have a book which we shall need in our quest. It is called ���Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.������

���Ah, yes. I am familiar with it. We have only one copy, which is very valuable. It is being duplicated now by Friar Tummytuck.���

���We should like to examine it, if possible.���

���Yes, of course. The library is this way. Follow me.���

As they walked out, Sir Mildew noticed the sign again. ���Abbot N. Costello. If you will pardon me for asking, what does the ���N��� stand for?���

The abbot responded, ���Norman. Norman by name, Norman by race. Ha ha ha ha. My little joke, you see. My mother always told me I���d be a comedian when I grew up.���

The three men walked along the stone floors of the monastery until they reached a flight of wooden stairs ascending in a spiral pattern. They climbed the stairs and entered the library, which contained several hundred volumes, all bound in leather, of various sizes. There were about a dozen monks at work, painstakingly copying the old manuscripts onto new parchment. Some of the books had elaborate pictures which would also be copied, by another group of monks who were expert in that function. They walked over to one of the monks and looked over his shoulder at a beautifully drawn book, which the monk was busily transcribing.

���Friar Tummytuck, these are our guests, Sir Mildew and Peter Honeypot.���

Friar Tummytuck bowed and said, ���Pleased to meet you, kind sirs.���

Abbot Costello continued, ���They are interested in your book about Sir Gawain. Could you please tell them a little about it?���

Friar Tummytuck brightened. ���Ah, yes. It is a brilliant work. Unfortunately, we do not know who the author was. It is a poem of 2,530 lines which tells the tale of one of King Arthur���s knights, Sir Gawain, and a mysterious adversary called the Green Knight. The Green Knight arrives at King Arthur���s court one day and challenges anyone to take one swing at him with an axe, with the stipulation that the Green Knight may return the blow in a year and a day. None of Arthur���s knights step forward to meet the challenge. To save face, King Arthur himself begins to rise. Noticing this, Sir Gawain jumps quickly to his feet and volunteers. He wields the axe, takes a clean swing, and completely beheads the Green Knight. But the Green Knight���s body remains standing and it simply picks up his severed head. The head reminds Sir Gawain of his promise and tells him where they shall meet when the day comes. Then the Green Knight���s body mounts his horse and rides off, carrying the head in its lap.���

���Charming,��� said Sir Mildew.

���About a year later, Sir Gawain rides off to find the Green Knight. On his way, he stops at a castle and meets a lord and his lady, who invite him to rest there until his battle four days hence, which is close by. The next day, the lord goes hunting and he strikes a deal with Sir Gawain. He will give Sir Gawain his catch from the hunt, and in exchange, Sir Gawain will give him whatever he has won that day. After the lord leaves, his lady comes to Gawain���s room and seduces him. But Gawain allows her only a single kiss. When the lord returns he gives Gawain a deer, and Gawain gives him a kiss but he does not tell the lord who it was from. On the second day, the lord exchanges a wild boar for two kisses. On the third day, the lady presses three kisses upon Sir Gawain and tries to give him a gold ring, but he refuses. Instead, she offers him her silk girdle, which she says is enchanted and will protect him from harm if he wears it in battle. Knowing he will meet the Green Knight tomorrow, Sir Gawain takes the girdle. When the lord returns that night, he gives Sir Gawain a fox, and he receives three kisses in return. But Sir Gawain says nothing of the girdle.���

���That���s a little dishonest on his part,��� observed Peter.

���Yes, quite. The next day, Sir Gawain rides off to meet the Green Knight, wearing the girdle. He exposes his neck to the Green Knight, who swings but holds his hand back at the last moment such that Gawain is unharmed. Sir Gawain flinches, though, and the Green Knight makes fun of him. He swings again, and the blade barely touches Sir Gawain���s neck. But Sir Gawain does not flinch this time, and he tells the Green Knight to get on with it. The knight takes his final swing, and this time he deliberately gives Sir Gawain a non-fatal wound. He then reveals himself as the very same lord of the castle where Sir Gawain had just stayed. The lord tells Sir Gawain that this has all been a test of his worthiness. The wound that the lord gave Gawain on the third blow was because Sir Gawain broke his promise on the third day, by not offering the girdle to the lord. Sir Gawain is severely embarrassed by this, but the lord laughs and says that he still passed the test, having refused his lady���s advances and the gold ring. Sir Gawain returns to King Arthur���s court and truthfully tells them the story. All the knights decide to wear a green sash from then on, to remind them of the need for purity and honesty in all their exploits.���

���A brilliant story,��� observed Sir Mildew.

���Yes. There is a great deal of symbolism in the tale. The Green Knight is sometimes taken to be Christ, since he overcomes death and treats others with compassion.���

���Fascinating. Abbot Costello, as it happens we have need of this book in our quest. It was foretold to us that we must know the story of Sir Gawain in order to defeat the dragon. May we please borrow this volume for a time? I promise to bring it back unharmed, once we are successful.���

The abbot scowled, and responded, ���That will be quite impossible, at least until the copy is finished. We have only one volume. It cannot leave the monastery.���

Peter asked, ���And when will the copy be finished?���

The abbot turned to Friar Tummytuck. ���Let���s see. How long have you been working on it, Friar?��� Friar Tummytuck whispered into his ear. ���I see. And what time is it now?��� The friar whispered again. The abbot did some calculations in his head and looked up. ���Twelve years. More or less.���

Sir Mildew excitedly replied, ���Twelve years? We cannot wait even twelve days. Please loan us the book, Abbot. We are on a mission from the king himself.���

The abbot responded, ���I���m sorry, but here we answer to a higher King. You may stay here as long as you like. But the book remains in the monastery.���

The pair decided to spend another night in the monastery, in the hope that the abbot would change his mind. Sir Mildew briefly considered stealing the book, but could not bring himself to be dishonest. Then Peter had an idea. ���We will appeal to a higher King,��� he said.

That night, well after all the monks were asleep, Peter and Sir Mildew crept out and stood beneath the window of the abbot���s cell. They brought with them a hollow drum they had noticed in one of the rooms. Peter pounded the drum, which woke up the abbot. Peter shouted in a deep voice, ���Hey Abbot! Heeeaaay, Abbotttttt!��� He banged the drum again.

���Who is it?��� shouted the abbot.

���I am the Angel Pikachu. The Lord is much displeased. The Lord hath sent you two travelers doing His work, and you dare to send them away empty-handed?��� He struck the drum. ���Repent, thou sinner, and do right by God.���

���But the books must be protected.���

���Trust in the Lord to protect the book. This is your final warning. Heed the message of the Lord. The Angel Pikachu has spoken.��� He pounded the drum again, and they returned to their cell.

The next day, to Friar Tummytuck���s shock and indignation, the abbot delivered the book to Sir Mildew, asking him to take special care of it. He gave the two men his blessing, and they rode off.

*****************************

The knight and his squire traveled for several days, and finally entered the woods at the base of the mountain where the dragon���s cave was located. They heard a thrashing in the bushes, and when they investigated they were shocked and amazed to find a young unicorn caught in a tangle of ropes which had been set by a poacher to catch a deer.

���The Lord is truly watching over our quest,��� Sir Mildew said as he dismounted his horse. He withdrew his knife and approached the unicorn, who cowered in fear.

���Wait, Sir Mildew. Sheathe thy weapon,��� said Peter.

���But we must have the unicorn���s heart,��� explains Sir Mildew.

���But we must also act with compassion,��� replied Peter. ���Killing this poor beautiful beast just seems wrong.���

���But if we do not do so, how shall we fulfill the prophecy?���

���Please, gentlemen, if I might venture a suggestion?��� said the unicorn.

���Thou canst speak?���

���So it appears. And I can also make promises. And I promise you that I will go with you wheresoever you wish, if you will spare my life.���

���Sir Mildew, there is nothing in the old woman���s verses which indicates that the unicorn���s heart must be removed from its body when we take it into the cave. Let us agree to the unicorn���s request.���

���Very well,��� says Sir Mildew, who himself was loathe to harm the majestic animal. ���Let us see then if we can free you from these ropes.��� And this he did. ���What shall we call you, unicorn?���

���Call me Ishmael.���

He wasn���t sure why, but for some reason Sir Mildew didn���t like the sound of that.

********************************

After one more day���s ride, they finally arrived at the entrance to the cave. They found evidence of previous encampments from earlier years. They made some torches for use in the dark cave, and they decided to leave their horses untied, in case they are unable to return to them. They supposed that in past years the other knights and their squires did the same, since they found no remains of other animals.

Sir Mildew removed his sword and daggers and placed them on the ground. ���I hope we know what we���re doing by entering unarmed,��� he said.

Peter responded, ���All of the other knights entered with swords and full armor. It didn���t seem to do them any good.���

���True.��� Sir Mildew turned to the unicorn. ���Ishmael, we are pleased to have your help in this quest. But I cannot ask you to enter this cave under coercion. You are hereby released from your promise. It is up to you if you wish to accompany us.���

Ishmael replied, ���You honor me, sir. I shall go with you.���

Unseen by Peter, Sir Mildew then whispered in the unicorn���s ear. ���I thank you, Ishmael. But I must ask you for one more favor. If I should die, or if it looks like we shall not survive this encounter at any point, I would like for you to knock young Peter Honeypot unconscious, toss him on your back, and exit the cave as fast as possible. Can you do that?���

Ishmael whispered back, ���I can, and I shall. For the sake of your squire I shall do it; not for my own sake.���

���I am truly sorry that harming you ever crossed my mind for a second, Ishmael. You are noble indeed.��� He turned to Peter. ���I have the staff. Do you have the book?���

Peter nodded, and they all entered the cave.

They had not traveled far before they found the remains of the first knights. Their armor lay on the ground, melted. Their bodies must have been completely vaporized. The walls of the cave were scorched black and were smooth as glass. It must have taken tremendous heat to do this, Sir Mildew thought.

The cave opened into a rectangular room, from which there appeared to be no exit. There were at least twenty suits of skeleton-filled armor scattered around. All of them had been crushed so as to be unrecognizable. As they were examining the remains, a hidden panel slid down, blocking their way back to the cave. They were trapped in the room. After a moment they heard a deep rumbling in the walls. Two of the walls on opposite sides started to move closer together. ���Well, I guess we now know what happened to these fine knights,��� said Peter. Sir Mildew was busy pushing against one of the walls. Which, not surprisingly, was of no use whatsoever. As the walls continued their inexorable movement, Peter cried, ���The staff !��� Sir Mildew immediately understood, and the two of them held the staff such that it lay perpendicular to the approaching walls. They waited for the walls to reach the ends of the staff, and they prayed that it would hold. The walls reached the staff and stopped moving. The staff quivered, but it did not buckle.

���That���s great, but we���re still trapped,��� said Sir Mildew.

���There must be a way out. Let���s look at the fourth wall.���

They examined the wall and found a hole. Perhaps there was a lever inside. ���My arm won���t fit into the opening. Peter, you try.��� Peter did, but his hand was also too large to fit in the hole. They both looked at the unicorn. Ishmael lowered his head and inserted his splendid horn into the hole. There was a click, and suddenly a section of the wall opened, leading to another cave. ���Quickly. The staff might break at any moment.��� The group exited the room, and the wall panel closed behind them.

They continued through the cave. They saw more melted armor, the same as before. ���We���re not the first to make it this far,��� the knight observed.

���True. But we���re probably the first to be here unarmed,��� said Peter.

���Not completely. We have the torches. And Ishmael has his horn.���

Ishmael said, ���If you think I am going to rush a fully-grown dragon and butt it with my head, you���d better think again.���

���We have the torches.���

���Which I���m sure will absolutely terrify the fire-breathing dragon who can vaporize bodies and melt metal armor with his breath,��� said Ishmael.

���Good point. We have your biting wit, anyway. Perhaps you can needle him to death with it.���

After another few minutes, the cave opened up to reveal a vast underground room. Inside was a treasure trove of gold and jewels. There were several melted armor suits scattered around.

���Well, now. This is new,��� rumbled a deep voice from the dark interior of the cavern.

���Who���s there?��� asked Sir Mildew.

From the darkness came the answer, ���I���m a lost knight. Thank God, you���ve found me. I killed the dragon but I���ve been stuck here ever since.���

���Really? What is your name, good sir knight?���

���Sir Cuitous the Confused.���

���I���ve never heard of a Sir ��� oh, no. You���re the dragon, aren���t you?���

A giant pillar of flame erupted from behind the treasure pile and struck the opposite wall.

���I���ll take that as a yes,��� muttered Sir Mildew.

���The only reason that you are not already dead,��� roared the voice, ���is that I must know what knight would be so foolish as to enter my cave unarmed and unprotected by armor.���

���You mean, as opposed to those knights who would be so foolish as to enter your cave armed and protected by armor?���

���Well, you have me there,��� said the dragon, who finally emerged. He looked like your everyday, normal dragon, towering twelve-feet high, green and scaly, with numerous sharp teeth and claws (memo to self, thought Sir Mildew: avoid those), and altogether terrifying.

���I���m not here to kill you, dragon,��� said Sir Mildew.

���You���re not?��� asked the dragon, Honeypot, and Ishmael, all at once.

���No,��� replied Sir Mildew.

The dragon said, ���Well, that is extremely wise of you, Sir Knight. Since you have no weapons or armor, I mean. What, then, is your purpose here?���

���To ask you a question. My name is Sir Mildew, and my friends here are named Peter Honeypot and Ishmael. What is your name?���

���Is that the question you entered my lair to ask? Because frankly, it seems rather pedestrian. Hardly worth risking almost certain death for. Or so I would have thought. But to each his own, I suppose.���

���No. That is not the question. I just wanted to know how to address you, is all.���

���I see. Well, you have told me your names, so that seems fair. I will not count this as your question. Well, then, you may call me ���.��� (the dragon paused for maximum effect) ������DRAGON BUTTERCUP!���

������um ��� Buttercup. OK. You are a girl dragon, then?��� and Sir Mildew hastily added, ���And that is not my question either. I���m just seeking clarification.���

���DO I LOOK LIKE A GIRL DRAGON TO YOU? I AM THE MOST TERRIBLE, FEARSOME MALE DRAGON THAT YOU HAVE EVER SEEN! NONE CAN COMPARE TO ME IN MY MALENESS! IN DRAGON LANGUAGE, BUTTERCUP IS THE MOST HORRIFYING, THE MOST AGGRESSIVE, THE MOST VIRILE NAME THAT A DRAGON CAN HAVE! UNLIKE YOU HUMANS WE MUST EARN OUR NAMES, WE ARE NOT BORN WITH THEM. IT TOOK ME A THOUSAND YEARS OF CONSTANT BATTLES AGAINST BOTH HUMANS AND OTHER DRAGONS TO EARN THIS NAME! DARE YOU QUESTION MY DRAGON SEX??���

And the dragon let loose another pillar of fire which unfortunately melted three or four chests of gold, but thankfully left our heroes only slightly singed.

���Um, OK. Male dragon. Got it,��� replied Sir Mildew. ���And so, may I ask you my question?���

���NO. First, you must answer one of mine. And you must answer correctly. If you do, then I will answer your question.���

���And if I answer incorrectly?��� asked Sir Mildew.

The dragon stared pointedly at the pools of melted armor around the room. Then he looked Sir Mildew in the eye. ���I suggest that you answer correctly,��� he said, ominously.

���Very well. Ask me your question, Dragon Buttercup.���

The dragon sat up and said, ���Tell me, Sir Mildew, what is the most important treasure a knight may keep? Take your time, and consider well. You, and you alone, may answer. There is no second chance.���

Peter whispered, ���Think of Sir Gawain! Consider his mistake!���

Sir Mildew tried to recall in detail the story the monk told them. In a moment, he had the answer. He was sure of it. ���The Truth,��� he said.

The dragon was surprised. He did not expect the correct answer. He responded, ���You are wiser than you look, Sir Knight.��� The dragon looked at Sir Mildew more closely. ���Considerably wiser, in fact. Very well, ask me your question.���

���OK, then. Here it is. Just what happened here?���

���What?��� asked the dragon.

���I mean, all of this. Our kings have been sending knights to this cave every year for almost a hundred years to vanquish you. Why? We no longer even know. This quest has just become force of habit.���

���You���re kidding,��� said the dragon.

���No. Seriously. No one in the kingdom knows what this fight is about anymore.���

���Oh my God. I never saw this coming. Very well. About a hundred years ago, I stepped on a tree and a large piece of wood became embedded in my foot. It was extremely painful. The bottoms of our feet are actually fairly soft, you see. A man happened to walk by, and I asked him for assistance. In those days men and dragons were still on speaking terms. The man, an ancestor of your king, pulled the piece of wood out of my foot, and then he bandaged it. I was so grateful that I offered him the highest honor that we dragons can give to one another.���

���And what was that?���

���I told him, in my fiercest voice, that I would dig his grave and the graves of all of his offspring, as long as I should live. And then the man ran away, screaming. I have no idea why.���

���Um��� I think he most likely took that as a threat to his life and that of his descendants.���

���What? That is absurd. Why would I threaten his life? He had just helped me. I was simply doing him honor by offering to dig his grave whenever he should die. It���s a dragon thing. It is the highest honor that we can bestow on each other.���

���Oh, dear,��� said Peter.

���I retired to my cave, for it was my time to hibernate. And then what happens? Every single year, I get awakened by some idiot in a tin can suit and his little helper, who try to kill me. Have you ever tried to sleep when someone is waking you up every fifteen minutes? It���s not very restful, and it puts one in an extremely bad mood. After several decades, I began to enjoy toasting knights. And I certainly did NOT dig the king���s grave when he died. Or his sons��� graves. Serves them right.���

Peter said, ���May I make a suggestion, Dragon Buttercup?���

���Well, what is it, boy? I���m about ready to kill you three and get back to sleep.���

���If you let us live, we will head back home and tell everyone that you are dead. You will never be bothered again, and will be able to sleep in peace.���

���And why would you do that?���

Sir Mildew answered, ���Because you do not deserve to be tormented, and we cannot afford to continue losing knights and squires.���

The dragon considered. ���You would need to stay silent about the treasure. Otherwise, I will get no rest at all.���

���If you will allow us, we will take a little treasure with us. Just what we can carry. And we will tell the king that there is no more.���

���If I let you go, how do I know that you will keep your end of the bargain?���

���The Truth is a knight���s most important treasure,��� said Sir Mildew, solemnly.

���But you will be lying about my death. And about the treasure,��� the dragon astutely pointed out.

���It���s not exactly a lie. You will be dead asleep for the rest of our lifetimes. And you would kill anyone who came to get the treasure, so for all practical purposes it does not exist.���

���And you can live with that?��� Buttercup asked.

���There is factual truth, and there is the Real Truth,��� opined Sir Mildew. ���We shall be telling the Real Truth.���

And thus the bargain was agreed. Buttercup allowed the trio to take all the treasure they could carry, and he gave them a viscous black substance which he told them to spread over the cave entrance. They were to throw a torch upon it and stand well back. Then Buttercup laid down to sleep.

���When will you awaken again, Dragon Buttercup?���

���Oh, somewhere around the year 2020, I should think. Give or take a few years.���

���By the way, how do we get out of here?���

���The way you came. Do not fear, the walls will not close in on you again. But do not tarry.���

���Farewell, then, Dragon Buttercup. Sleep well.���

���Goodbye, little men. Do not forget your promise, or I shall return to dig your graves. And not in a good way.���

The cave doors opened and the walls returned to their original positions. On the way out, Sir Mildew picked up Ombudsman Malone���s staff, which was lying on the floor and appeared to be unharmed. When they reached the cave entrance, they spread the black substance as instructed, stood well back, and threw a torch upon it. There was a huge explosion and a great deal of smoke. When it cleared, there was just a pile of boulders where the cave entrance had once stood.

*****************************

Sir Mildew and Peter thanked Ishmael for his help, and they parted.

They returned by way of the monastery, where the Abbot Costello and Friar Tummytuck were rapturously overjoyed to see the return of their book, unharmed. They took the book, kissed it, and got down on their knees and prayed for two hours to thank the Lord for its safe return. And they were pleased to see the knight and his squire still alive as well, although they were not quite as expressive about it.

After leaving the monastery, the heroes stopped at a small village, where Sir Mildew found a butcher and asked him for some pig���s blood. He gave it to them at no charge, since he had plenty. Sir Mildew took it and rubbed some upon the ombudsman���s staff. Then they purchased a variety of cured meats and breads, which they gave to the old woman whom they had pulled from the river. They left her a very small portion of the gold as well, which she later used to buy a beachfront condo in Tampa.

Their final stop before they reached the king was to the home of Ombudsman Malone, to whom they returned the staff. They told him that it was covered in dragon���s blood, and thanked him for its use. And they said they would be sure to tell the king how grateful they were for its loan.

King Puffinjay was amazed to see Sir Mildew again and hear of the completion of his mission. Sir Mildew introduced his squire, Peter Honeypot. He told the king that the victory over the dragon was Peter���s, and his alone. He explained how it was Peter who had saved the old woman in the river. It was he who had convinced Ombudsman Malone to loan them the staff, and Abbot Costello to grant them the book. It was he who had stayed Sir Mildew���s hand from killing the unicorn. It was he who had suggested they use the staff to hold back the walls of the cave. And it was he who had felled the dragon, which would never be seen again in their lifetimes.

The king almost wondered if indeed all of what his knight told him was true. (For example, how was the staff used to kill the dragon when it was busy holding back the walls of the cave?) But upon seeing the treasure that Sir Mildew delivered to him, and considering how badly he wanted to end this unprofitable war, he decided that he really didn���t care. And so the king directed Peter to kneel before him, and he touched his sword to each of Peter���s shoulders and named him Sir Honeypot. And the king never had cause to regret that decision, for Sir Honeypot served well and truly, and was one of the best knights that the king had ever had.

Sir Mildew happily took his retirement later that year and was reported to be writing a novel.

And the dragon slept peacefully on. Up until now, at least.

THE END

*****************************

Pete Simons

Corona Blues

Sittin��� in front of my TV

Watchin��� the mornin��� news.

I���m sittin��� in front of my TV

Watchin��� the morning��� news.

They���s talkin��� all kinds of bullshit

An��� I got the corona blues.

*

I used to have some money.

I used to paint the town.

Yeah I used to have some money.

I used to paint the town.

Now all the bars are closed an���

Both my stocks and me are down.

*

Some blame it all on China.

(They shouldn���t eat no dog.)

Some blame it all on China.

(They shouldn���t eat no dog.)

Me I don���t care how it started,

I jus��� sit and write my blog.

*

If I had some toilet paper,

I���d wipe myself all day.

If I had some toilet paper,

I���d wipe myself all day.

But Costco got no paper.

Guess I���ll buy me a bidet.

*

Talkin��� with my son now,

A board game we do play.

I���m talkin��� with my son now,

A board game we do play.

But it���s hard to reach the dice when

You sit six feet away.

*

President on my TV.

Top o��� the evenin��� news.

President on my TV.

He���s top o��� the evenin��� news.

He���s talkin��� all kinds of bullshit

An��� I got the corona blues.

*****************************

Pete Simons

An excerpt from ���The Coyote���

To start this thing off, here���s one of my favorite bits from my novel ���The Coyote���:

The Munchkin Brothers (Dimmy, Tintin, and Leo) are waiting for the detective to arrive in Interview Room 7 of the 1st Precinct. The brothers are in their sixties, both in terms of age and their hippy lifestyle, and are dressed a bit incongruously.

Leo (the eldest brother, but not necessarily the smartest���not that such a distinction would be worth much here) is short and stocky and might have been a wrestler in his youth, if it hadn���t been for the fact that he wasn���t. He wears a yellow T-shirt, black trousers, and a furry orange jacket. His hair and beard are mangy and have a strange orangey tinge. The T-shirt has a V neckline that reveals a Megadeth tattoo on his chest, which is also hairy. (For clarity, his chest is hairy, not the tattoo.)

Tintin (whose parents named him after a comic-book character that sported an orange Mohawk, long before Mohawks became fashionable) is of slight build and is attired in a black Metallica concert T-shirt, a silvery vest, and shiny silver pants. A large Ozzy Osbourne medallion hangs on a silver chain around his neck, and his gray hair is slicked back with a prodigious quantity of Brylcreem. He does not have a Mohawk.

Finally, Dimmy (the only brother who doesn���t need a parenthetical descriptor, which disrupts the sentence and confuses the reader)[1] wears blue denim farmer���s overalls, a straw hat, and a white T-shirt. He has a tattoo on each arm: ���Killer Dwarfs��� adorns his left arm, and ���Ethel the Frog��� is featured in green, glow-in-the-dark tattoo ink on his right. His bright-yellow hair is unkempt and appears to have the consistency of straw. It flows from underneath his pointy black wool knit hat and hangs down to his shoulders.

They���ve been sitting here for over an hour, and there is a faint odor of marijuana in the room. It is safe to assume that the odor, with which their clothing is infused, was not present before they arrived.

To relieve the boredom, Leo says, ���OK, let���s play a game of fantasy concert. You know the rules. We have to come up with the greatest lineup in the history of rock and roll. There are seven bands in the program, including the headlining act. Any band or artist is allowed, living or dead. Who���s on first.���

Tin: ���What? Who?���

Leo: ���That���s right. Who���s next?���

Tin: ���The album?���

Dim: ���I thought they was first. They can���t be next if they���s first.���

Leo: ���I mean next up.���

Tin: ���OK Go.���

Dim: ���No, you go.���

Tin: ���No. The band. OK Go.���

Dim: ���The next group is The Band?���

Tin: ���No. It���s OK Go. Leo, you pick the third band. Dimmy���s such an idiot.���[2]

Leo: ���U2.���

Tin: ���Are you calling me an idiot? You moron.���

Leo: ���U2! You���re the moron. Oh, forget it. Dimmy, it���s your pick.���

Dim: ���No Doubt.���

Tin: ���Yes, Dimmy, it really is your turn, OK? Go.���

Dim: ���I took my turn. And I thought we already picked them.���

Leo: ���What?���

Dim: ���OK Go.���

Tin: ���No, it���s your turn.���

Dim: ���I said No Doubt.���

Leo: ���Oh. No Doubt, the band.���

Tin: ���Are we back to The Band again?���

Leo: ���No. Then it���s Yes.���

Dim: ���Make up your mind. Who���s next?���

Leo: ���No, they���re first. Yes.���

Tin: ���Yes?���

Leo: ���Yes. For the next group I vote Yes.���

Tin: ���How can you vote yes when you don���t even know who it is yet?���

Dim: ���I know The Who. They���re first.���

Tin: ���What?���

Leo: ���Yes.���

Tin: ���I can���t stand it. Next up.���

Dim: ���Them is next.���

Tin: ���Who are them?���

Leo: ���That���s incorrect grammar. Who are they?���

Dim: ���Not they. Them.���

Tin: ���Who?���

Dim and Leo together: ���No. Who���s on first!���

Dim: ���The band is Them.���

Leo: ���The Band? Weren���t they picked already?���

Dim: ���No! I pick Them now.���

Leo: ���You pick The Band now?���

Dim: ���Yes. It���s Them.���

Tin: ���The Band?���

Dim: ���No. Them.���

Leo: ���I get it! Them is next. Yes. And the final act? The headliner? The big cheese? Who are we off to see, boys?���

All three shout in unison: ���The Wizard! The Great Oz! Ozzy Osbourne!���[3]

The door opens, and Detective Cervantes enters, holding a folder���

[1] Oh, damn. I guess he does now. And a footnote as well. Unfortunate.

[2] If you���re not a fan of Abbott and Costello, you might as well skip forward a couple pages. Yes, that���s right. There are several pages of this.

[3] For those of you keeping score, the correct order of the concert is: (1) The Who; (2) OK Go; (3) U2; (4) No Doubt; (5) Yes; (6) Them; and (7) Ozzy Osbourne. One point for each band. The Band is not on the program. Minus five points if you included them (but not if you included Them).

Pete Simons

Welcome to my Blog!

Welcome.

When my daughter-in-law Courtney asked me if I���d be willing to start a blog, I had two questions.

The first was, ���What is a blog?���

Too embarrassed to confess my ignorance to my daughter-in-law by asking this question directly, I did what any 21st-century American male would do. I Googled it.

A blog, apparently, is an online diary of sorts. They have art blogs, music blogs, video blogs, blogs that are educational (edublogs), very short blogs (microblogs). There are blogs about every type of topic imaginable.

Or unimaginable. There is a blog dedicated to describing the contents of various people���s pockets. There is a blog that transforms pop songs into Shakespearean sonnets. One guy cut a hole in a piece of bread, put it over his cat���s head, and took a picture. People submit similar photos to him, which he posts on his blog. It���s called Breaded Cats.

I���m afraid mine will be much more sedate. I���m a boomer, after all.

Oh, yeah, so the second question was ���Why should I do a blog?���

I���m still trying to figure that out, but I told my daughter-in-law ���yes��� anyway.

What do I expect to post? Jokes and puns, almost certainly. Travelogues. Random lists. Perhaps some ���microstories.��� Excerpts from my so-called books, published or unpublished. Musings on various topics. You can suggest motifs to me, which I will either enthusiastically adopt or (more likely) bemusedly ignore. Make your own blog.

What am I NOT going to post? My thoughts on politics - there is too much of this going around as it is, and we only want to read stuff that we agree with, right? Ditto for spirituality/religion. Photos of breaded cats.

Andy Warhol was wrong. In the future, not everyone will be world-famous for fifteen minutes.

But I predict that everyone WILL have a blog.

Well, we���ll see how this goes for a while.

Pete Simons