Lisa Knight's Blog, page 31

SPOTLIGHT: VOICES FROM A COMA – ISSUE TWO – THE CHALICE BY PAUL MELHUISH

YOU CAN DOWNLOAD IT FOR FREE HERE: VOICES #2

The Zombie Blackmailers of Panocadia Three by Dave Fragments

The Train Set by Matthew Wilson

The Chalice by Paul Melhuish

Sylvia’s Pictures by DJ Tyrer

Burned Toast by Michael McGlade

Mum’s the Word by Bryn Fortey

Siphon by Kerry Lipp

Edited by Shaun AJ Hamilton

Artwork by Iestyn Rhobet

I lost my job a few years ago. I worked in sales and didn’t particularly like it, but the money was good. My wife was a manager in retail. She’d lost her job the year before so with me out of work we could no longer afford our four-bedroom detached house in the suburbs. Her mother, a Polish refugee from the Second World War, had gone into a care home leaving her squat, semi-detached bungalow, located in the small Bedfordshire town of Stilford, empty. Of course, I was pissed off at having to downsize but we simply couldn’t afford to live in relative luxury.

50 Mannet Road. Dirty pale brick supported a rough-tiled roof where crows landed, cawing into the air as if to celebrate our arrival. The windows stared out darkly. There was a tight driveway leading to a tiny garage with a faded pale blue door. The front door wasn’t at the front of the house at all but located at the side. A grab handle had been fixed into the wall next to it; fitted by the council when Lucy’s mother still lived there. Ivy snaked up the brickwork, ruining the rose trellis put up against the bungalow’s side some years before.

I’d been there many times before to visit Lucy’s mother, falling asleep on the sofa while mother and daughter gabbled away in Polish. The décor never changed. The place was covered with wallpaper that was from the seventies; all faded oranges and chunky square patterns.

YOU CAN READ MORE HERE: VOICES #2

MORE ABOUT PAUL MELHUISH:

Paul Melhuish is an Occupational Therapist by trade but writes by night and at weekends.

He has had had stories published Murky Depths and Dark Horizons magazine and has several stories available from Greyhart press as E-stories

He had a story was included in the Newcon Press Anthology Shoes, Ships and Cadavers: Tales from Northlondonshire. Edited by Ian Whates with an introduction by Alan Moore.

His first novel, Terminus, came out in 2011 as an E-book and paperback. Described as a ‘gothic space opera’, Terminus spawned a follow-up collection of stories set in the same dark universe as Terminus entitled Unauthorized Contact. Both of these are also published by Greyhart press. Paul is currently editing his latest novel, Highcross, due to be published by Bad Day Books in summer 2015.

Paul is also a Member of the Northampton Science Fiction Writers Group.

STEVE GILMORE’S MUSIC REVIEWS: JAYMZ LEE SHAW – OLDER

You can listen to this artist on MP3 Unsigned

Jaymz Lee Shaw (or Smalllife depending on where you are standing I guess) is a new name to me from MP3 Unsigned singing about my favourite occupation – getting older. Mind you, his major preoccupation is blaming all and sundry for the fact that he has to vocalise on this track on alien abductions, so I think he probably has the ‘this is madness’ edge there. He carries that mopy ‘why me?’ tone into the track with him and – despite the usual teenage why me? whine – makes a surprisingly good thing of the whole deal. I admit that it took me more than a couple of plays to snuggle up to this baby, but it won out in the end, although not unscathed.

The intro on this track seems a lot longer than the one minute, twenty that it actually is, definitely a case of chop chop here I think. Older is essentially an acoustic rock tune, sweetened by the addition of beautiful violin line and a sparse bass line, overlaid with the aforementioned vocals. To be truthful I have heard vocals a lot, lot worse than this so do yourself a favour Jaymz, just practice a bit more, and it’ll get a lot better. Not that anyone listening to this track would think that you’d need practice, they would think that it was a decent even track with a slightly odd vocal that kinda stops as if it were out of breath…

The thing that won me over, after the overlong intro and the slightly repetitive chord progression, is that this is a song, and should be judged by that criteria. As a song, it’s surprisingly effective reminding me, at least, of the early vocal work of Pink Floyd (in their quieter, ‘the sky is falling on our heads’ moments). Despite all his protestations to the contrary, Jaymz IS a singer – at least by my sliderule. Anyone who can pull off a tune effectively and emotionally (even if it is all a bit ‘poor me’) and have it connect with the listener IS a singer. Cut a minute off the top and tail of this quite long track and bring it in around the three minute mark and this would count as a very decent track indeed – and certainly for the genre it lives in.

Written by Steve Gilmore

FAN FICTION: EXILES #2 TWIXT THE DRAGON’S CLAWS… (BECAUSE I COULD NOT STOP FOR DEATH PT.1)

While being teleported into not only a different universe, but a different time within that universe didn’t exactly hurt, it was certainly a nauseating experience – especially for first timers. And in the group of expatriated superhumans that were just whisked away from a barren planet in an unknown timeline into a new world full of adventure there were quite a few.

“Eugh!” the man called Ph-Eros cried as he rematerialised on the sandy desert ground that served as his group’s arrival point on the new universe. “That is absolutely gut-wrenching!”

He waited a few moments for each of his teammates to gather together. Aleta Vaughn, a thirty-first century Arcturan superhero with the power to create objects made of solid light had pretty much appointed herself the leader of the group as she seemed to be the only one with any idea of what was going on.

Beside her stood the man called Joseph, a human mutant with the power to manipulate magnetic fields. With long white hair that trailed down to his waist and wrinkles formed from many months of frowning while on adventures with the team of outlaw mutants called the X-Men, he looked older than he truly was.

Nearby, the two young super beings called Firefly and Scamp, stood together. Firefly had not yet displayed any superhuman abilities, but Ph-Eros assumed that with a codename must come powers. Scamp, on the other hand, had showed a level of bravery in attacking Joseph* that could only belong to someone with mighty superhuman powers to fall back on.

[ * – see last issue ]

Not far from Firefly and Scamp, stood the incredibly attractive man called Daywalker, in the shade of an outward-jutting rock pile. He, too, had not yet displayed any superhuman abilities, but Ph-Eros surmised that he must come from a world where being diurnal is rare, as he seemed to be going to a fair amount of trouble to avoid the light.

One team member was unaccounted for, however.

“Hey, where’s Doc Savage?” Ph-Eros asked.

“I am here,” said a voice behind him. “Please do not call me Doc Savage while I am in this form.”

“Sorry,” Ph-Eros said as he turned around to face the mysterious stranger that was Doc Savage. “Hey, I’ve got a good name for you, Doc – the Mysterious Stranger.”

“I would much rather be called by my real name, Ph-Eros.”

“Your real name is Ph-Eros? Cool! Maybe we’re twins!” Ph-Eros said, grinning.

“If you were not the only one among this assemblage capable of preventing my return to the form of Doc Savage, I would smite you with a hex most powerful, my friend,” the Stranger grated.

“Dr. Strange,” Aleta called over from where she and Joseph stood, “are you having any luck finding a mystical way home?”

“If I had found a way home, Aleta, I would most certainly not be here right now,” the Stranger remarked scathingly. “I imagine that whatever force has placed us in our current position has also prevented us from using the considerable powers at my disposal to return us to our rightful timelines.”

The considerable powers at my disposal? Ph-Eros thought. The Doc’s almost as conceited as me! Almost.

“Everybody gather around so that we can discuss our next move,” Aleta said. “We need to form some kind of plan. I don’t want to just stand around in this desert indefinitely.”

“Who chose you to make our decisions, woman?” the Stranger asked. “I will do as I wish.” And with that, he took to the sky and quickly flew out of sight.

“That went well,” Aleta muttered, “but he has a point. I just assumed that since I’m apparently the only one of us being given instructions that you would all just follow my lead. Do the rest of you have any problem with that?”

No-one did – at least no-one said that they did – and in moments, everyone had assembled around Aleta and Joseph. Even Daywalker had, squinting and shielding his face from the sun, stepped out into the open.

“I think we should try to find some semblance of civilisation,” Aleta said. “I sincerely doubt that whoever – or whatever – has sent us here simply wants us to experience what the desert is like. Perhaps we could split up and – “

“Ah’m not goin’ anywhere with Magneto,” Scamp interrupted. She had made a point of standing as far away from Joseph as possible while remaining part of the circle.

“I wasn’t going to suggest that, Scamp,” Aleta said. “I think that you should go with Firefly, Daywalker with Ph-Eros, and I with Joseph. Any objections?”

No-one spoke up, but Daywalker and Ph-Eros glared at each other and turned away from one another.

“I suggest that we head to the south, Aleta,” Joseph said. “The magnetic field of this planet is an odd one. There appear to be lines of magnetic force running below ground, and they increase in intensity to south. This could be explained by a heightened use of electricity there – perhaps a power plant.”

“Okay, we’ll go south. Scamp and Firefly, you two should head north. If Joseph is correct, whatever is using the plant’s power would be there. Daywalker and Ph-Eros, head east. Dr. Strange has already flown off to the west. If anybody finds anything, stay with it. We’ll all find each other eventually, although it would be nice if we had some kind of signaling system…” Aleta said.

“Let’s go,” Daywalker said to Ph-Eros. “But if you try to make even one joke, I will break your arms. Understand?”

“Yessir!” Ph-Eros replied, saluting.

Scamp and Firefly

They walked together, standing a few feet apart as the crossed the dusty desert that they had been ordered to explore. Scamp looked sullen and was upset that Magneto had been thrown into this motley assemblage of heroes. She had seen him kill her mother… or had she?

This man, despite looking almost identical to Magneto – albeit a little younger – and displaying the same mutant power as the Master of Magnetism, didn’t call himself Magneto. Instead, he identified himself as ‘Joseph’. And he referred to being attacked by Magneto. Did Magneto have a younger sibling that the Mutant Underground was unaware of?

However, as Scamp well knew, Magneto was pure, unadulterated evil. His hatred for humanity was so strong that it was impossible to conceive of anyone who even looked like Magneto being anything but.

“Penny for ‘em,” Firefly said after almost an hour of walking across the dry, sandy plains.

“Huh?” Scamp asked. “What’d you say?”

“I asked what you were thinking. You’ve been silent for this whole trip.”

“Sorry, ah was just daydreaming. Y’know, this’d be a lot faster if we could fly.”

Firefly grinned.

“What?” Scamp asked.

“I can fly!” Firefly paused and furrowed his brow in concentration. Before Scamp’s eyes, two oblong and translucent wings, like that of an insect, grew out of Firefly’s back through two slits that, until now, Scamp had not seen on the back of his shirt.

Growing the wings didn’t appear to hurt Firefly, and Scamp thought that they might not be breaking through the skin on his back. Perhaps, she surmised, he has open slits there, too.

Within moments, Firefly’s two wings stretched out behind his back and, flapping them eagerly, he began to lift off from the ground.

“Unfortunately,” he said, “the heat and humidity here is a hindrance rather than a benefit. These are wasp wings, not bird wings – I can’t ‘ride the thermals’ like they do. I have to flap.”

As Scamp watched, Firefly began to flap his wings more and more furiously, until they were moving so fast that it appeared that they were not moving at all. A loud buzzing noise accompanied the movement, so loud, in fact, that Scamp had to cover her ears.

“Sorry!” Firefly said, and he began to concentrate again. In less than five seconds, he had shrunk down to a size that rendered him almost invisible. Scamp could barely see him against the light blue backdrop of the sky.

“I can shrink, too,” he said, his voice so quiet that Scamp had to struggle to hear it. “I’ll fly a few kilometers ahead, and see what I can see. You follow. I’ll come back if I find anything.”

Firefly buzzed off, leaving Scamp to think about Joseph again.

Doc Savage

He hovered over a small rocky outcrop, surveying everything around him. As far as his magickally-enhanced vision could tell, there was nothing but desert and rocks for miles around. He began to descend when he heard a small voice calling out to him.

“Sir! Sir! Please help, sir!” the voice squeaked.

“Who…?” the doctor wondered.

“Please sir, I need your help!”

The doctor looked around once again and saw a tiny figure on the desert below. It couldn’t have been more than four feet tall and was half-buried in the sand already. He gently lowered himself down to a spot only a few meters away from the creature and rushed to its side.

He grabbed the figure’s arm and pulled, noticing how easily the tiny man moved through the sand. In moments, they stood side-by-side on the sandy ground.

“Who are you?” the doctor asked.

“Me? I’m Gethimnow!” the man replied.

“Gethimnow?” the doctor asked. “That sounds a lot like ‘get him now’.”

“I’m glad you noticed that,” the man said, frustrated. “Guys! Get. Him. Now!”

From between rocks in the nearby outcropping that the doctor had been hovering over before came four tall men, each wearing a skull mask and black, tight-fitting clothing. They carried large black and silver guns and ran straight towards the doctor and a small man that he had just rescued. In seconds, the doctor was surrounded.

“‘Who are we?’, you asked?” Gethimnow said. “We are the Flying Skulls. We play The Game.”

“Yeah! The Game!” one of the other men cried. “We kick all over Dragon’s Butts! And you’re our prisoner!”

“Yes,” Gethimnow said, “Bat-like Cranium is right. You are our prisoner and will be instrumental in luring Dragon’s Claws into a battle with us.”

“I can assure you,” the doctor said, “that I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Gethimnow scowled. “Do you think I’m an idiot? What, are you from another universe or something? Everyone knows what the Game is.”

“Except me, obviously.”

“Never mind. You’ll learn soon enough.”

Daywalker and Ph-Eros

“So, like, there’s this guy, right, and he – “

“No.”

“Okay then. What about the one where – “

“No.”

“When – “

“Ph-Eros. Stop.”

“Then what am I supposed to do, tall, humourless and handsome? Aside from the half dozen times that you’ve threatened to make me eat your fist, you haven’t said a word for this entire trip!” Ph-Eros complained.

“And?”

“And? And? We need to do something. Say something. Eat something. We can’t just walk around in silence! It’s stupid! It’s madness! It’s just not right!”

“We have nothing to talk about, Ph-Eros. Once we’re done with this stupid little escapade, I will return to my world and save it once and for all. And thankfully, from then on I’ll have nothing to do with you.”

“There’s something we can talk about!” Ph-Eros exclaimed. “Your world needs saving. Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Daywalker didn’t reply. He just kept walking, leaving Ph-Eros struggling to catch up.

“Well?”

“Don’t you get it, you little freak?!?” Daywalker shouted. “I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO YOU!”

Daywalker stormed off angrily, separating himself from Ph-Eros.

Aleta and Joseph

Aleta flew over Joseph’s head as the mutant master of magnetism traced the route of electricity flowing beneath the ground, interfering with the area’s magnetosphere. From her vantage point, she could see everything for several hundred meters in all directions, and in the distance ahead of her a long but flat building had appeared on the horizon.

“Joseph,” she called down, “straight ahead there’s a… ugh…”

Before she could finish her sentence, Aleta fell towards the ground, unconscious. Using his control of magnetism, Joseph moved the small amounts of metallic elements inside Aleta’s body in such a way as to slow her descent and drop her into his waiting arms. He placed her gently onto the ground and examined her for any injuries.

“Aleta.” The strange voice once again invaded Aleta’s unconscious mind* but thankfully did not take over her body as it had done previously.

[ * – see last issue ]

What is it now?

“You are in the year 8162, just prior to the arrival of the time-travelling bounty hunter Death’s Head. You need to prevent his arrival as he is needed elsewhere. A gang member, Spratt, will be instrumental in helping you.” Along with the words, Aleta’s mind was flooded with images of a giant robot with a head like that of a goat and a young man wearing an old army cap and khaki uniform.

Why must we do this? Why have you chosen me to be your messenger?

“You know why you must do what I ask, but fear not – I will not speak to you again, yet you will know what to do.”

What is that supposed to mean?

“…”

“Aleta? Aleta, are you alright?” Aleta awoke to find Joseph hunched over her, a concerned look on his face. When he saw her eyes open wide, his face relaxed, and Aleta thought that she even saw a quick smile cross his face.

“I am fine,” Aleta replied. “Our mysterious master just chose to speak to me again, that’s all.”

“What did he say?” Joseph asked.

“We need to stop a giant robot named Death’s Head from arriving in this time period so that he can go and be of use somewhere else. Sounds easy enough, doesn’t it?”

“I sincerely hope that you are joking,” Joseph said.

Aleta smiled. “Before I went down, I saw a building in the distance. We should go and examine it.”

“Agreed,” Joseph said. The two superhumans used their respective powers to leave the ground and sped as fast as possible toward the distant structure.

Firefly

This is awesome! Firefly thought as he raced away from Scamp. Back on Warworld, Mom and Dad never let me cut loose like this. Here, I can fly wherever I want and as fast as I want… and those other guys all seem way cooler than the Avengers or the X-Men, or even Thor…

He flew for over half an hour, experimenting with his wings in a way he’d never been allowed to at home. He even managed to perfect a few little flying maneuvers before, in the middle of an open area of desert, he spotted a group of small buildings.

He flew back to Scamp, who had managed to keep up pretty well. Firefly noticed for the first time how fit Scamp was. Her body showed signs of extensive physical training, quite unlike his own skinny and twiggy little body. He landed beside her and told her what he had seen.

“Maybe they’re houses,” Scamp suggested. “Did you see any people?”

“No,” Firefly replied, “but I didn’t really stay and look.”

“Ah, say we go an’ check it out. There may be something there that we can use to contact the others if we need to.”

“Right,” Firefly said, “and failing that, once I’ve rested up I can go and gather them all.”

Scamp nodded. “Let’s go.”

Daywalker and Ph-Eros

They had been walking in silence for almost forty-five minutes following their last altercation. Ph-Eros had remained a few feet behind Daywalker and had been sulking in a very visible way. Daywalker didn’t care. While he didn’t want to be a part of the group, he knew he had no choice – but that didn’t mean he had to try and make the best of it.

Suddenly, the pair found themselves face-to-face with a rocky outcropping that they had been too preoccupied to notice until then. They struggled to climb over it – well, Ph-Eros struggled, anyway – and when they finally stood on top of the moderately-sized pile of rocks, they saw something that quite surprised them: Doc Savage, surrounded by a group of men in tight black clothing.

“Looks like Doc Savage didn’t keep flying west after all,” Daywalker muttered. “I suppose we have to help him.” He turned back to look at Ph-Eros but discovered that the mutant was already clambering down the rocks and heading toward Doc Savage and his assailants. Daywalker hastily followed.

When Daywalker finally caught up with Ph-Eros, he asked, “Do you know what you’re doing?”

“No, but I knew you’d have a plan,” Ph-Eros said without slowing his pace.

“You knew I – damn it!” Daywalker hurried to keep up with Ph-Eros as they charged at the Flying Skulls. “I don’t suppose you can control them from a distance…?”

“Nope. I need direct physical contact. Can’t even do it through clothing.”

“You’re useless then, aren’t you?” Daywalker muttered. They kept running and didn’t stop until they barreled into the surprised members of the Flying Skulls gang.

“Stop them!” Gethimnow roared. “They’ll ruin everything!”

The Flying Skulls were better trained than their earlier actions had suggested. They quickly regrouped and, training their weapons on Daywalker and Ph-Eros, fired.

NEXT ISSUE: Things get EVEN WORSE!



Written by Adrian J. Watts of SoftPixels.net

FAN FICTION: GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY #81 – A NEW DIRECTION BY ADRIAN J WATTS

The Planet Rylof-4, in the Crant System

As the Crant system’s twin suns began to dip below the horizon, two young men in the full body armour of the Rylof Elite Guard made their way down a deserted street, talking quickly to one another. They walked briskly, knowing full well the horrors that lay in wait for any Rylovian who dared walk the streets at night.

“I tell you, M-Plt,” one of the men said, “the Nega-Lord is just a myth. The Nega-Bands were lost years ago. My grandfather himself saw them when they were hidden safely from the clutches of the Gold family.”

“And I tell you, K-Frt – your grandfather wouldn’t have seen a human in his entire life.” M-Plt smiled at his friend, letting him know that it was just a joke. They continued to walk, and after awhile, they stopped at the front of a door set into the stone wall on the side of the street. “So, K-Frt, think she’s home? She told me to drop by on Frn-sday, but I can’t wait three whole days.”

“She’s a Waore, M-Plt. Of course she’ll be home.” K-Frt chuckled.

“I hope you’re right.” M-Plt reached out and placed a hand on the door handle, but froze as a very strong, black-covered hand grasped his wrist. “What the -?”

The two men looked up and saw the masked face of a black-garbed attacker. He wore long black cloaks which obscured his entire body from view, but he was big. Very big.

“You are M-Plt Kutz and K-Frt Lumph of the Rylof Elite Guard? The warriors named most valiant of the Cryll battle?” the figure asked in a dull, but deep voice.

“Yes!” K-Frt shouted. “Now let my friend go, or – “

The dark figure raised his free hand, and with a slight gesture toward K-Frt, the young man was hurled against a far wall.

“I am General Rylax Krey-ft, the last survivor of the planet Cryll. It is my duty to find the most valiant warriors of the galaxy and do battle with them until one defeats me. I have yet to meet my master, but rumour has it that the two of you are mighty warriors indeed!” Rylax seemed to hiss as he said the last word, reminding the two men of the Serpent Lords of Oderii-IX.

“Fine!” M-Plt shouted. “Let go of my hand, and we will fight you!”

Rylax took a deep breath as he released M-Plt’s hand. Quicker than the eye could see, Rylax whipped his hands around in an ancient arcane gesture, and a blue pulse of energy illuminated the entire Rylovian street. When it’s bright light faded, M-Plt and K-Frt lay frozen solid against the walls.

“They were no sport at all…” Rylax hissed, looking up at the now star-filled sky of Rylof-IV. “I must find other warriors, and quickly…” He turned into a dark corner and vanished.

The Chamber-World of the New Galactic Council

The Keeper floated in the center of the main council meeting forum, the various lights that were directed upon him reflecting off of his silver skin. His red sash whipped wildly around him, as he looked upon each of the council members with eyes weary from his experience of over one thousand such meetings.

He waited patiently for the hubbub of the councillors to cease, and looked to the council leader – the Kree warrior Kay-Den – for permission to speak.

“The council acknowledges the Silver Surfer,” Kay-Den said, raising a hand to silence the other councillors. “We must hear him out. He claims to have news of a dire threat to all of our member worlds.” He nodded down at the Silver Surfer, letting him know that he had permission to speak. “Speak, Norrin.”

“Thank you, Kay-Den,” the Silver Surfer said gratefully. He looked upon the councillors again, wondering how each would react to his words. “I am here today to speak of a dire new threat, one which threatens each and every one of us. I am here today to speak of the being called Rylax.”

There was hushed murmuring throughout the forum hall as various councillors gasped in shock or whispered hasty comments of disbelief to one another. They’d all heard reports of a man named Rylax, although they had all chosen not to believe the stories they had heard. Kay-Den motioned to silence the crowd again, but one councillor spoke anyway.

“Statement: Rylax does not exist.” A small, brown and green robot spoke with an expressionless face that looked down on the Silver Surfer, whose clean silver skin had darkened slightly in rage.

“I care not for your opinion, tyrant!” the Surfer snapped. “You, who have enslaved the noble citizenry of Rigel, should have no turn to speak in these chambers!” Kay-Den shot the Silver Surfer a quick glance, which seemed to calm him down. “My apologies, councillors. I should not have spoken thus. But the Recorder is wrong. I have seen Rylax with my own two eyes – yes, I have even faced him in deadly combat!”

Again, gasps of shock echoed throughout the chamber as the councillors of a thousand thousand worlds discussed the Surfer’s words. Again, another councillor decided to speak openly. He was another Kree, like Kay-Den.

“Silver Surfer, while I have never felt the need to accuse you of deception before, I must see proof of your battle with Rylax.” As the Kree finished speaking, murmurs of agreement wafted down to the Surfer’s ears. He waited a moment, deciding what to do, but finally he removed his red sash and showed his badly scarred flank to the council.

“Rylax penetrated my right side with massive claws, glowing with the Power Cosmic. I knew, in the instant that he struck me, that I would stand no chance of defeating him, and that it was my duty to retreat here and warn you all of the danger that even now imperils the cosmos!”

The councillors looked shocked but were even more so a few moments later when Kay-Den once again addressed the assemblage.

“Councillor T-Rn of Rylof-4, the council extends its apologies. Your world has been decimated by a being reported to be Rylax. Members of your Elite Guard managed to escape, but the number of deceased citizens is already in the thousands,” Kay-Den solemnly announced.

Councillor T-Rn fainted from shock, and numerous councillors moved to his side. Some, however, simply stood still with smug looks on their faces. One of which was the Snark ambassador Rommel.

“Yesssss… ‘twould ssssseem that Rylax hassss returned. Would be mosssst unsssseemly were he to desssstroy Snarkworld-Ssssssix…” He nodded his scaled head in the Silver Surfer’s direction, the cybernetic joints in his neck making loud whirring and clicking sounds as he did so. “You have the aid of the Ssssnarks in any plan you may posssssess, Ssssilver Sssssurfer.”

The Rigellian Recorder looked at Rommel, and it’s expressionless face betraying no emotion. The Surfer sensed that the Recorder was calculating some type of response that would cover up its error of judgement.

“Statement: We have no proof that Rylax was responsible. Question: Can we trust the Silver Surfer? Observation: This could have been his doing,” the Recorder suggested. To the surprise of Norrin Radd, many of the councillors expressed agreement to the Recorder’s words.

“I will not stand for such perfidy!” the Surfer announced, floating higher into the air. “If the council does not trust me implicitly, then to Hades with all of you!”

“ENOUGH!” Kay-Den yelled, bringing silence to the council chambers. “The Silver Surfer has never steered my people wrong in times past, but the Kree cannot aid him in this task. I do implore each of the member races of this council to consider the Surfer’s words. If Rylax is real, we must do all we can to vanquish him forever.”

The Kree ambassador Tor-Quin rolled his eyes at Kay-Den, an action that did not escape the Surfer’s notice. He turned back to the council chambers and prepared to suggest his plan to defeat Rylax.

“Rylax has shown himself to be a competent warrior,” the Silver Surfer began, looking at each councillor present in the council chambers individually, “and it will take more than a handful of skilled combatants to end his evil efforts. I propose that you request the aid of the Guardians of the Galaxy. They could be instrumental in defeating Rylax.”

“NEVER!” an ambassador shouted, backed up by words synonymous with his own. “The Guardians of the Galaxy are outlaws. Until they agree to abide by the laws of the New Galactic Council – “

“More worlds will die!” the Surfer cried. “They are needed here.”

The Surfer waited for a response, but no-one spoke. After several minutes of deliberation, however, most of the councillors nodded their reluctant assent to the Surfer’s plan, and he flew into the black void of space, his famous surfboard at his feet. He flew in a somewhat random pattern, leaving trails of shining silver in his wake. It was a signal, one proposed long ago by Firelord, to ensure that neither he nor the Surfer would need to face danger alone. Firelord had taught it to the Guardians, in the hopes that if they ever saw the Surfer’s signal that they would rush to his aid. The Silver Surfer was confident that the Guardians would respond – if they were able.

Meanwhile, as the many councillors that formed the Galactic Council awaited the arrival of the Keeper’s champions, Kay-Den and Tor-Quin walked through one of the many corridors which formed the tall citadel in which the council met.

“I tell you, Kay-Den… I am against all of this lying and deceit. The Silver Surfer has been an ally to our people for centuries. Why must we Kree work against him now?” Tor-Quin asked with a look of sorrow etched across his blue-skinned face.

“Because,” Kay-Den began, “the Kree Stealth Squadron needs time to complete its plans. If the Supreme Intelligence’s new plan is to be thwarted, then Rylax must be available to fight the Supremor’s army. As much as I hate to say it, Rylax is more valuable to us in combat that the Silver Surfer or the Guardians of the Galaxy.”

“But Rylax… he is our doing. The first of the Supremor’s ‘Ruul’. Shouldn’t we warn the Surfer? Give him some kind of advice to help him defeat it? If we had rylax captive, we could find a way to force him to obey us…”

“Rylax will be stopped, in time. But now, if he can distract Norrin Radd just a short while longer… then perhaps his existence can be tolerated a short while longer.”

The Dy Asteroid Belt

Since the Silver Surfer’s impassioned speech to the New Galactic Council, the Dy asteroid belt had been busily prepared as a beachhead at which to halt Rylax’s advance. Phoenix-IX, on orders from the council, had arrived to help fight Rylax upon his arrival – and the Silver Surfer, unable to find the Guardians of the Galaxy, had returned to defend the belt as well.

“The defenses are ready, Silver Surfer!” A Snark general said proudly, pointing in the direction of large battlements erected by the Snarktroopers, under the command of High Snark Rommel. “I am confident that we will defeat Rylax this day!”

“It worries me that the Guardians of the Galaxy did not come to our aid, Phoenix,” the Surfer said, turning to his former-Guardian companion. “If they made contact but refused to fight, that would be one thing – but I am concerned that I could not even locate them…” The Silver Surfer looked concerned but quickly regained a confident expression. “Still, I believe these battlements will suffice.”

“I hope so – because here comes Rylax!”

The black-garbed figure was upon them in seconds, passing through the rapidly firing Snark laser cannons as though they were nothing. He hovered, perfectly still, in front of Firelord and the Silver Surfer for a few moments before speaking.

“You want to fight me?” he hissed from beneath his cloak.

“Yes!” the Silver Surfer cried. “You must pay for the crimes you have committed!”

“Crimes…?” Rylax asked. “I fight only those who agree to face me.”

The Silver Surfer ignored him. Instead, he lashed out with a blast of the Power Cosmic, knocking Rylax back several meters, but the cloaked figure simply laughed maniacally.

“You’ve improved, Keeper, but not enough!” He raised a hand, and the Silver Surfer was raised into the air, and thrown into an asteroid that Rylax had brought up behind him. Acting quickly, the Silver Surfer summoned his surfboard. It moved toward him at almost impossible speeds, hitting Rylax in the stomach and pinning him next to the Surfer on the small asteroid.

“Now, Giraud!” the Surfer shouted.

Phoenix-IX moved swiftly into action, lunging straight for Rylax, his fists fuming with the power of the Phoenix Force at his command. He aimed for the black cloaked warrior’s throat and connected. “Do you yield?” he asked, but Rylax simply laughed. Reaching forward, the cloaked figure grabbed the Silver Surfer’s surfboard and hurled it at Phoenix, sending him flying into the distance.

“Don’t make me laugh, human-mutant,” Rylax said, turning his attention back to the Silver Surfer. “Now what about you?”

The Council Chamber-World

“The Silver Surfer is failing, Kay-Den!” Tor-Quin shouted as he watched, via a viewscreen as the Silver Surfer and Rylax fought. “He needs aid, and I think we both know just how to help him.”

“How?” Kay-Den asked.

“Call the Guardians of the Galaxy. They are the Surfer’s only hope.” Tor-Quin insisted.

“Very well, but I shall claim no responsibility for their presence when the Council next convenes. Go. Send them a communique.” Kay-Den ordered, and Tor-Quin set to work.

The Captain America III, Mobile Home to the Guardians of the Galaxy

Captain-27 sat at the ship’s main controls, surveying all of the monitors and displays as he kept the ship cloaked and in orbit around the planet Haven II. It was there that the Guardians of the Galaxy had lived since the end of the conflict with Immortus and the grand realignment of the universe, in which the new Galactic Council had been formed.

He was startled to find an incoming communique on the frequency used by the Galactic Council. Since the Guardians’ decision not to support the utilitarian style government that had emerged in the galaxy, they had been branded outlaws and orders had been given to execute them on sight. The only place where they could safely reside was the one planet deemed as a sanctuary for all galactic citizens: Haven II.

He quickly decided that given the group’s status, the Council would only be violating their own laws and contacting them in a dire emergency – and so he punched up the message. The holographic form of Tor-Quin appeared before him, already part way into it’s message:

“… help. The being called Rylax, who you met during the battle at Cryll, was not as dead as we thought. He has already decimated more than a dozen worlds and bested the Silver Surfer and Phoenix-IX in combat. You are our only hope. The co-ordinates of the Dy asteroid belt have been downloaded to your system. Please note that this is not an official request for help from the Galactic Council. It is a personal request from me, and the Kree Empire promises to do everything in it’s power to prevent the Council from interfering with your activities in regard to defeating Rylax. We are desperate. Thank you for your time.”

The holographic image faded into nothingness, and Captain-27 frowned. He wasn’t sure what to do – ever since the Guardians had left their longtime friend and ally, Vance Astro in the twentieth century, things had been going wrong. The great war between Latveria, Galactus, and Thanos. The conflict with Immortus. Repairing the timestream. Nothing had gone right. They needed Vance.

“Why haven’t you given the ‘go’ order yet, Chunks?” Captain-27 turned to find his friend and fellow Guardian, Nicholette Gold, standing behind him. She had greatly matured in the last year, and this saddened him. She had once been child-like, reckless, and vivacious. Now, she had the worried look of a battle-hardened general. “We are going, aren’t we? Giraud needs us.”

“So did Mainframe, Firelord, and Autolysins, and look what happened to them,” Captain-27 muttered. “Do you think we should go?”

“What I think doesn’t matter. You’re the boss, Chuck. It’s your call.”

“Fine. We go,” Captain-27 decided. “Make sure everyone is locked down.”

“What about Replica?” Nicholette asked. “She’s on the planet surface with Hollywood.”

“Leave her. I don’t want to endanger her again.”

The Dy Asteroid Belt

“Prepare to die, Silver Surfer!” Rylax gripped the Keeper by the throat, ever tightening his grip. “It’s a pity you cosmic champions die so easily, or I might get a sense of satisfaction, no?”

In a burst of light, a large spacecraft left hyperspace and appeared in the middle of the asteroid belt. From the ship came three costumed figures in spacesuits, ready to face Rylax. While Nicholette remained aboard the Captain America III, the other Guardians charged straight at Rylax. The Centaurian Yondu nocked and fired one of the whistle-controlled Yaka arrows, hitting Rylax squarely in the back. The behemoth cried out in pain as the sharp tip pierced his skin.

Captain-27 acted next, grabbing Rylax roughly by the shoulders and pulling him off of the Silver Surfer. He used his immense strength to slam Rylax into a nearby asteroid with such force that a depression was made where the monster’s body hit.

Martinex attacked then, encasing Rylax in a sheath of ice so thick that it would hold even him for a time; and then it was Nicholette’s turn. She brought the ship to bear and fired its main plas-cannons, obliterating the rock to which Rylax was attached. The ice sheath that surrounded him shattered, and his limp body drifted through the asteroid belt before being collected by a Snark craft.

Once Rylax was secured, the Snark ships trained their weapons on the Guardians and their craft. The Guardians prepared to defend themselves, but a look from the Silver Surfer warned them to stand down.

“Go with them, Guardians,” the Keeper said. “It’s time to settle the issue once and for all!”

NEXT ISSUE: A new hero of the future makes his debut, and with him comes an old, old, villain!

Written by Adrian J. Watts of SoftPixels.net

STEVE GILMORE’S MUSIC REVIEWS: WAXKO – THE SCREAM OF THE NIGHT (VERSIONS 1&2)

You can listen to this artist on Soundclick

Here’s a sad fact of internet (including Soundclick) life – nobody gives a flying fekk. I know for a fact that Jorge Conde (aka Waxko) has been on Soundclick for over three months because this is the third month I have reviewed him, AND he missed a month. His first track, Heroes Of The Daily Grind (December 2005), is a positive delight, an epic slice of music that has more muscle than The Governator. I wasn’t as taken by Deeper (February 2006) but only because it wasn’t as immediate and gripping as Heroes. In sheer musical muscle and power of production and performance it was every bit as good as its predecessor. So why is it then, that this most excellent artist has only ONE comment in that time, and no radio stations picking up on him at all.

Let me tell ya straight: WHAT IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE!!

I love a good Rhodes sound, and The Scream Of The Night (version 1) features a particularly fruity example and it’s fair to say that it won me over from note one. Either that or the vibes whizzing about my ears like bats in the belfry, such production tricks being a staple of this artist in the three tracks I have of his. Version 1 is the softer, gentler side of Waxko and as such I liked it technically but felt a little divorced from it emotionally. I shouldn’t have felt that way because if the lyrics were going on above this music track I think this would be a monster. One of the main reasons I came to this conclusion was because of the lyrics, some of which I quote here and I very rarely do that. If you’ve got something to say don’t do it in darkness. Go into the light, let the sun illuminate your words, Shout them to the shining brilliance. Sear the blue with your tongue. So the lightning of your cry doesn’t die alone in the night.

Lovely jubbly :D A big VOCALIST NEEDED sign here methinks.

Version 2 is a v-e-r-y different proposition, a very poppy Spanish guitar flavoured that rocks along nicely propelled by some very tasty drum moves. Of course, it’s obvious that these instrumentals are made with a vocalist in mind because of the way they are structured but again it shows – to me anyway – just how good Waxko is about writing music that pushes your emotional buttons before a note is sung Please note my italics. While it’s true that there are many musicians around of Waxko’s calibre – and of course his tracks do miss the vocals – but his music speaks to you regardless with the right vocalist he will do wonders. In the meantime if tracks like The Scream Of The Night (either version) are what we get, then I am one happy bunny because – musically – this is mighty fine. (coughs politely) VOCALIST NEEDED!!!

Recommended (Version 1), Highly Recommended (Version 2).

And please people, give this guy a listen and say hello while you are at it. Support your local artist. You know it makes sense.

Written by Steve Gilmore

POETRY: CELTIC BY PAUL TRISTRAM

If I were to cut a chunk

out of the side of my Soul

you would see it veined,

marbled and ingrained

completely through

with Celtic knot-work.

Like the age rings

inside of an oak tree

and the candy writing

inside of Porthcawl rock.

I am absolutely riddled

through with Welsh Pride

and Celtic Ancestry,

from top-most leaf

right down to deepest root

Written by Paul Tristram

STEVE GILMORE’S MUSIC REVIEWS: ZALLANAYVER – PAMPER ME

You can listen to this artist on Soundclick

No idea what ZallaNayver means so don’t go asking. What it means to us is – apparently – ‘two grown men that should know better’ making music under this name? What kind of music? Full of questions tonight, aren’t we? Electronica: Mellow seeing as how you were asking, and I bet you wish you had never started this conversation now eh? Mind you, as we’ve discovered in the past, there’s mellow and then there’s mellow (i.e., dead). There again anyone who cites Frank Zappa and Peter Hammill as influences gotta have a bit more going for them than making music to have a nice little kip by. Kip means sleep btw for all those confused ‘mericans who don’t know how to spikka da Inglish like wot I do.

Pamper Me (now that’s something I could do with, peel me a grape Beulah!) is – again apparently – the band’s most popular track on myspace, which may or may not excite you. James Boyle and Andrew Biscoe are the protagonists here and – after several plays – I must admit to being thrown initially by that extremely mellow introduction, not to mention the mind-boggling length of almost 8 minutes in length. Surely, I sighed miserably, you can’t expect me to listen to almost eight minutes of go to sleep music and NOT fall have a likkle doze. Luckily for me, and ZallaNayver, the tracks secret ingredient kicks in around 1:20 and saves everyone from a good old nut crunching session.

The glue that holds all this together is an altogether wonderful female vocal line, and I do wish the band had put the lyrics online with the track because I sure would have liked that. Nonetheless, the track made a good enough impression on me, so I’ll forgive them this once :D Truth is Pamper Me is a sharp, intelligent take on relationships and the price we all pay to keep them going, set in some excellent acoustic rock cum mellow electronica that sits up and begs for attention to be paid to it. I’d suggest you do pay some attention to it as well because Pamper Me will not hit you right off, but give it a play or two more and it’ll have you hooked before you can blink. An excellent, highly professional introduction to a new artist I will definitely be looking more at in the months to come.

Recommended

Written by Steve Gilmore

FLASH FICTION: GRAINS OF POLLEN, IN TWILIGHT BY GUY T MARTLAND

‘I guess we’ve reached pollen season.’

‘Yeah, I can hardly breathe for the stuff.’

‘Maybe you should take some anti-histamines.’

‘They’ve never worked for me.’

‘You’re not the first person to say that.’

‘So, why suggest it?’

‘I’m just trying to be helpful.’

‘If that were the case, you’d have found me an alternative.’

‘What am I, your doctor?’

‘Friends are supposed to do things for each other.’

‘You’ve got a short memory!’

‘Whatever! So, how long were we underground?’

‘A few months, maybe…’

‘Really? That’s a long time.’

‘I must say… it feels good to be outside.’

‘Yeah, I’ve missed my allergies.’

‘I haven’t.’

‘The view is amazing.’

‘Yeah, it’s incredible.’

‘Where exactly are we?’

‘You’re standing in the control tower of an airport.’

‘What’s left of it, you mean?’

‘Come on! Name me a building that hasn’t suffered any damage.’

‘Fair play! So, you said you’ve made this trip before?’

‘Once… with my mother.’

‘How did planes land back then? Right now, there are plants and pollen everywhere.’

‘We’ve talked about this before. I need you to understand that what you’re facing is dangerous.’

‘You’ve told me everything.’

‘So, you know—’

‘Pollen is flammable.’

‘Exactly! The pilot doesn’t want to get burnt so his descent must be perfect.

‘Why?’

‘So the ground staff can ensure that any vegetation, surrounding our makeshift runway, is cleared before he lands.’

‘How long will this whole thing take?’

‘Half a day.’

‘Great! Do you know what I’ve never understood?’

‘What?’

‘Why?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Why does it combust?’

‘If something is suspended in midair, at a certain concentration, it can become an explosive mixture…’

‘I get its chemistry, but why? The explosions aren’t exactly beneficial to our alien friends.’

‘Their crops always grow back.’

‘Unfortunately. I hate those plants.’

‘My mother told me that they pollinate once a year, in order to survive.’

‘We must disrupt this process.’

‘It’s too late for now as the pollen grains have already blanketed Earth’s landscape.’

‘I know! I’ve breathed a lot of it in.’

‘The explosions disperse grains while implanting nutrients back into our land.’

‘What about the Xenophants that feed on plants?’

‘I can only deal with one thing at a time!’

‘Surely, victory is all we should be concerned about.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Everything has to be taken down.’

‘As botanists, we must always keep in mind the idea that what we see has not been designed, but rather, evolved.’

‘Are you quoting your mother again?’

‘Their activities support her theories.’

‘I think the Snouts engineered them.’

‘Really? From what I’ve seen, Xenophants avoid pollen whenever they can. Have you ever come across one?’

‘Of course.’

‘I believe they’ve adapted to the Xenoc Creepweeds and Heartskins…’

‘Humanity must follow their lead or we’ll become extinct.’

‘We are because we’ve been using our minds as tools.’

‘Intelligence is an accident of evolution, not necessarily an advantage.

‘Are you quoting that damned prophesy?’

‘Maybe.’

‘If we can get Fenix’s machines working, they will aid our resistance. There’s your intelligence, right there, helping us to survive.’

‘What’s that woman doing?’

‘She’s signaling… asking us if we are ready to go.’

‘Is it safe up here?’

‘As long as you cover your ears.’

‘…’

‘…’

A large dust cloud billows upwards from the land below as tongues of flame lick a twilit sky…

‘I can’t see.’

‘The air will soon clear.’

‘Is that…’

‘Yes!’

‘It’s a beautiful craft.’

‘The fires will halt our opponents’ advance until we take off.’

‘I can hear something. What is it?’

‘The times that are changing.’

Written by Guy T Martland

POETRY: AS STUPID AS MYSELF BY PAUL TRISTRAM

I saw the Daughter of Scum.

She stood on the corner of the Estate

where now the Street Whore …faded.

She began to show

a fresh ring piercing

in her female hood.

Her blonde hair,

groups of dirty dreadlocks

as manky as her ripped Levi gown.

Often had I wandered in the Drunken Town

of misty rain

with no prostitute with me.

A Thief she seemed

a Liar and a Disgrace,

Hard as Stone

and just as Stupid as Myself.

Written by Paul Tristram

STEVE GILMORE’S MUSIC REVIEWS: SHORTHAND PHONETICS/NOVEMBER SKYLINE – THE SWEETHEREAFTER

You can listen to this artist on Soundclick

Having just downloaded Shorthand Phonetics new FanFiction album (all the favourites and then some) I’m about to overdose this month on Soundclick’s favourite Indonesian band, this time in partnership with Canadian alternative rock band November Skyline. Can’t tell you much about the Canadian end of this partnership but I can tell you loads about Shorthand Phonetics. A couple of years ago I reviewed this bloody awful track from this band and disliked it enormously, even while ruefully admitting that it had a certain presence to it. It was called Whistleblower, and it was an apt introduction to a band that was to develop into one of my favourite SC artists. Like them or loathe them, you’ve got to admit that SP pump out more energy psi than most artists around, especially when they are doing their All Too Platonic/Green Apple Garden type thing…

Rough as a bears butt, yes, but nothing like as smelly ;)

Tell ya what, you gotta love the kind of world that allows a bunch of kids in Jakarta to interact with a similar outfit in Canada. Ain’t progress grand? The one thing that pokes out at you from the get-go is that is sounds NOTHING like SP, although I think that is probably Ababil Ashari and Alfon Tanoto on vocals. It’s a much softer, gentler outlook than the one generally taken by the aforementioned Rowdy Bunch. Therefore, I’d say it was a safe bet that November Skyline came up with the tunage. Musically, it’s very much acoustic rock (indie notwithstanding) and I’m sure there will be a great many takers for this very likeable, light confection. Oh dear, that doesn’t sound promising does it? Well, it IS a bit too light for my tastes but that doesn’t stop me appreciating that many other people would think differently.

It’s also another side of M Ashari that I long suspected, underneath that brash and extrovert facade; there’s a serious musician struggling to get out. Maybe I’m kinda overdosed on ‘merican versions of ‘rock’ right now but The Sweethereafter – as nice and pretty as it was – didn’t do anything dramatic with me. Maybe that’s because I can’t get my mind past the SP stuff I so obviously like, or maybe it’s because I just think the arrangement and styling of this track is a bit weak. Can’t win ‘em all I say, but that’s just me and it shouldn’t worry you too much if you like pretty, ‘sensible’ soft rock tunes. Btw, I think the vocals could have done with being a bit higher in the mix and maybe a bit more effected??

Pick, pick, pick,pick….

Written by Steve Gilmore