Charles Martin's Blog, page 17

The Retrieval: The End – CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

“Hold, please,” David said to Oscar Willington before flicking the monitor off.

When so close to death, David’s mind was always calm and clear. Perhaps it was the simplicity of mortality or an instinctual need to cut out all but the most pertinent details. He was also drunk this time, which helped. Regardless, he was comforted by how the world suddenly felt a bit quieter as he swiveled the captain’s chair to face the Wonderboy clone. The bourbon swished and swirled inside his brain. He took a moment to breathe.

“Okay,” David began. “What can you do to protect me?”

“Nothing,” Lima responded.

“Ah.” David sighed, rubbing his face as if that would somehow make him less drunk. “I thought you were a superhero, man. You don’t have any powers or anything?”

“I did once, but that was so long ago. I am weak and I need to return to Earth to find myself again.”

“Well, your pilgrimage isn’t exactly coming at a convenient time for me,” David responded. “You know what? Hold on for a moment.”

David stood, unsteady, and made his way through the cockpit toward the bathroom. Lima watched him pass. The sound of violent vomiting reverberated throughout the ship as the Wonderboy clone distracted himself by fussing with his cape. The sounds were guttural and vicious, but over quickly. Then there was the sound of water being gurgled and spit. David emerged with a more sure-footed stride and made his way back to the cockpit, now with a cup of coffee steaming from a mug with a picture of Johnny Cash flipping off the camera.

“Feeling better?” Lima asked.

“Like a million bucks.” David swung around to the control panel. He took a sip of his coffee. “Robin, how many ships is Willington sending?”

“Eleven corvettes and a dreadnaught. Better give up the guy in the tights.”

“Sounds like the smart thing to do.”

David turned to look back at Lima.

“Better give me a good reason to be stupid,” David said.

Lima’s eyes were hard, grim.

“The forefather is returning,” Lima said.

“That means nothing to me,” David responded.

“We destroyed his favorite child and he is returning to wipe humanity from the universe, starting with our home planet.”

David rubbed his face again.

“So, Jesus?”

“What?” Lima asked.

“Are you talking about God? I am so confused.”

“What? No. Clint Sohl. Wonderboy.”

“Wonderboy is coming back?” David asked.

“No, he’s dead.”

“So, who the hell is coming back?”

“The forefather is an ancient being from the…”

“You know what,” David interrupted. “I’m drunk and we’re running out of time. I got a wife and kids. If I don’t take you to Earth, they are in trouble?”

“Correct.”

“Good enough.”

David began flicking switches, engines roaring, the ship rumbling and bridling like an angry racehorse.

“Robin? You with me?”

“Don’t do this, darling.” Her voice trembled. She was afraid, or as close as a computer could ever be.

“Just jump us as close to the blockade as you can,” David said, his grip tightening around the sidestick controller. “I’ll do the rest.”

“Baby,” Robin tried. “They’ll follow us. We can’t…”

“Do it!”

A hum surfaced. It grew into a buzz, then a wail, like a choir of tortured demons howling from the depths of hell. Light. All-consuming light. Then the float of the jump. Body and mind severed, reality dissolving into something close to death, but retreating from the precipice, reconstructing. David gasped deep, his mind confused and desperate.

One never got used to the jump, the brief instant of abandoning reality. The terror never eased. The mind never adjusted.

But it was quick. David’s breaths eased, his eyes focused. Earth came into view, surrounded by tens of thousands of ships, satellites, and docking stations. X-Verse ships would register the near-Earth jump and would quickly move to capture David’s ship. Willington would soon appear behind to claim the clone. David would be trapped between the universe’s most influential corporation and one of the universe’s most brutal pirates.

“Throw everything into the engines,” David barked.

“Yes, darling,” the computer said.

David glanced back at the clone.

“I can’t get you to the surface, but I can get you close,” David said.

The clone looked from David to the ship around him.

“Hey! Wake up,” David said. “We don’t have much time. How close do you need to get to Earth?”

The clone didn’t respond, instead turned from the cockpit and walked back toward the cargo bay.

“David, they’re here,” the computer said.

David looked to his monitor, seeing red lights indicating Willington’s ships jumping into space not far from him.

“Get us to Earth,” David said. “Let me know when we near the blockade.”

The ship lunged forward, accelerating fast. David waited for the g-force to ease, then unbuckled from the captain’s chair and moved to the cargo bay. Lima stood before the Chaos Machine with the micro-big bangs casting light on the clone’s face.

“Hey, buddy!” David said. “I’m risking my life right now, I need a little feedback.”

The clone lifted his hand to the glass.

“Amazing,” Lima said.

“Yes, it’s fan-freaking-tastic, but we got other things to deal with right now,” David growled.

“X-Verse ships are thirty seconds out,” the computer said.

“Look at me!” David shouted, but Lima didn’t respond. The clone closed his eyes and placed his palms against the glass.

“Keep this ship alive for two minutes,” Lima said.

“David!” the ship urged.

David shook his head and ran back to the cockpit. He dropped into the captain’s chair, swiveled to the controls and gripped the sidestick controller.  Through the display, David saw an armada of high speed X-Verse fighters descending.

“Should I arm the cannons, darling?” the computer asked.

“No. We fire, they fire. Just put everything into the engines. Set a timer for two minutes and let’s hope for the best.”

The ship groaned as the engines roared. David turned directly into the X-verse swarm.

“David?” the computer called.

“Willington won’t risk hitting X-Verse ships.”

Light glowed to the left as a missile sped by David’s right wing. The missile plunged into the swarm. The ships broke formation, but the rocket clipped one of them and it burst into a fireball.

“What were you saying?” the computer asked.

“Not helping, Robin,” David grunted as he jerked the stick and sent the ship into a roll away from the swarm. “Project their locations.”

A hologram of dozens of red and blue dots appeared before David, with a single yellow dot in the middle of the frenzy. Some of the blue veered to engage the red, but most plunged down after David’s ship. David brought the ship out of the dive, bringing Earth back into the display. Fighters were dropping into his path. Bright orange blasts poured out of their cannons, streaking past his hull. Warning shots.

David turned his ship to the right, out of their path. More ships were speeding towards him. Another salvo of missiles. David rolled the ship out of the way, feeling a blast rattle the rear hull.

“Damage?” David asked.

“Nothing substantial.”

The ship swerved back towards Earth. Willington’s massive dreadnaught was flanking David’s left side as the corvettes were weaving through the fighters to push into David’s right flank. David pulled back on the stick to lift the ship into a straight climb.

“Bring up the timer!”

“1:15″ emerged on the forward display. It ticked backwards slowly.

“Robin, what the hell is Lima doing back there?”

“He hasn’t moved from the Chaos Machine. Willington is hailing you, offering a truce. It’s not too late, darling. You can give up the clone.”

David leveled out the ship, bringing Earth back into view. The dreadnaught was now below him. The fighters and the corvettes were in a frenzied firefight. Two dots blinked out seconds apart.

The engines roared as David sent the ship into a sprint toward the blockade, hoping the confusion created a window. He looked back to the dreadnaught, waiting.

“Get a hold of X-Verse, anyone you can reach,” David said.

Light burst from the side of the dreadnaught. Dozens of missiles plunged into the open space, then arced toward David’s ship. David climbed and veered away.

“:49.”

A young, stern face appeared on the monitor.

“David Brian, you are in violation of…”

“I’ve got to get to Earth! Get these guys off me and you can arrest me and take my ship, just let me through!”

David sent the ship into a tailspin, the missiles briefly coming into view, then disappearing again. “Project the missiles!”

Green streaks emerged amid the dots, marking the paths of the missiles as they coiled in a tight trajectory toward David’s ship. They were closing on the yellow dot quickly.

“37.”

“We can’t get involved in a smuggling dispute, Mr. Brian. Oscar Willington has provided valid documentation for the cargo on your ship and we must…”

“Listen! I have a live Wonderboy clone!”

“What?” the man asked, startled. “Wonderboy?”

“Yes. Lima. He’s alive and said the forefather is returning so I’ve got to get him to Earth.”

“Who is the forefather?” the man asked.

“I have no idea, but it sounds really bad.”

“David!” the computer screamed. “On your left!”

David jerked on the stick and the ship spun to the right. Six missiles soared ahead of him, but quickly turned to reengage. David turned the ship away. The dreadnaught appeared again, sitting in between David and Earth. More bursts of lights as missiles spit from its side. Green tracers appeared, adding more chaos to the swirling dots.

A new face appeared in the monitor. An older woman, an officer wearing a patchwork of medals on her chest.

“Mr. Brian, I am General Sharon Weisteff. If we engage with Oscar Willington, it is going to be problematic. We need some proof.”

“25.”

The green arcs were now closing from four sides.

David spun and dove away.

“Robin, send them video of the cargo bay. Show them the clone.”

“Lima is gone,” the computer said, pitifully. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, what? He’s gone? Where the hell did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“Mr. Brian?” the X-Verse officer asked.

David flicked off the monitor. He gazed at the projection. The reds and blues were no longer fighting each other, but now closing in. The green arcs were like a twisting tornado dropping down on top of his ship.

“12.”

“Tell Real Robin I love her,” David said.

“Yes, darling. I love you too,” the computer responded.

David smirked. He shoved the stick forward, sending the ship into a spinning nosedive.

“5.”

Explosions erupted around the ship as the missiles burst into balls of shrapnel. Sparks and fire consumed the cockpit.

“2.”

David yelled as the heat consumed the air around him.

“1.”

Crimson fog poured all around. Light. A choir of angels and their requiem for the fallen.

Then warmth. Wind. Oxygen. Mist. True gravity.

David collapsed down onto warm concrete. Pebbles dug into his skin. Warm, fresh tar was not far away. Deep breaths. Now the smell of singed hair, then something more lush. Grass. Animals. Dirt. He looked up to a blue sky with little white dots of spaceships zipping across the sky. An orange sun. Around him an empty parking lot. Lima stood before him.

“Thank you, Mr. Brian,” the clone said. Crimson fog poured out around him, then a flash. David opened his eyes to find Lima gone.

A young, Asian boy watched from across the parking lot, mystified.

“Hey,” David called, raising his hand to wave.

The boy returned the wave, timidly.

“Can I use your phone?”

The boy shook his head and ran away.

“Great, thanks,” David responded, then looking back to the sky. Somewhere up there, fake Robin was dead, a mess of steel and electronics abandoned in space, perhaps being salvaged by Willington in hopes of finding the clone intact.

And somewhere, on Earth, real Robin was waiting for him to find his way home. Which he would, once he figured out what side of the Earth he was starting from.

THE END

 

 

Phantasmagoria Blues Pre-Order

From the author of Little Dixie Horror Show comes a new series of rich, Southern-soaked horror stories from the craziest corner of Oklahoma. Pre-order by May 8 to get a signed copy!

Little Dixie.

A place spoken of in hushed voices, where hard men dangle cold carcasses of meat to bleed from low-hanging trees and old women speak with the dead. A shadow country where old traditions bleed into new ideas, ghosts are all too real, and unnatural things stalk the roads in the skin of the familiar, waiting for you to let your guard down. Haunted throughout every tin-roofed shotgun house and trailer park. Haunted within every empty schoolyard and laundromat. Haunted to the core.

Seven sinister tales to chill your blood and put a tickle in your prickly parts.

Little Dixie welcomes you back.

She’s missed you.

 

Literati Presents #5 Release Party

Third Thursdays in the Paseo: Prairie Wolf Mixology

6-9 pm Thursday, April 16

Bombs Away Art

3003A Paseo in Oklahoma City

Five issues in already! Can you believe it? The theme of the latest Literati Presents is “What The Stars Must Think Of Us” and features a wicked image by “Welcome to Ralton” artist/writer, Don Rosencrans. Inside we have stories by:

Mary Skaggs & Michael Sheyahshe,

Kristen McCarty,

The Jerry Bennett,

RJ Woods,

Eric Dean,

and a collaborative back cover piece by Jennifer E. Hudgens and Clint Stone.

The release party will be part of Paseo’s new Third Thursdays, a quarterly event hosted by Bombs Away Art, AKA Gallery, and The Project Box. Third Thursdays is debuting with a mixology event featuring Oklahoma’s own Prairie Wolf Vodka with cocktails cooked up by the best bartenders in the district.

THE RETRIEVAL IV – CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE

The coffin was a re-purposed shipping container for mining explosives. Re-enforced, radiation-proof, air-tight, the perfect seal to preserve a body. David watched from his cockpit as sentries pushed the container across the loading docks, led by Oscar Willington and flanked by a dozen other sentries. Score of a lifetime.

David had encountered human traffickers before. Everyone in the smuggling business dealt with them or, at the very least, shared a room with them from time to time. Human traffickers were considered the lowest of the profession, even those that were coyoting undocumented workers into colonies with strong union contracts.

Human traffickers were all vile. Every damn one of them.

“He was alive, Robin,” David told the computer.

“I know.”

“When did you know?” David asked.

“I registered a heartbeat thirty-four minutes after you brought him on board,” the computer said, the electronic voice almost perfectly toned to empathetic regret.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“This was your score, darling. This is what you’ve worked for your entire career. You were going to be rich, but if I told you, I knew you’d have second thoughts.”

David rested back in his captain’s chair and forced his eyes off the coffin.

“I still sold him, didn’t I?” David asked, but the computer knew enough to not answer.

As the procession disappeared behind steel doors, yellow lights around the docks began flashing. Personnel began walking to the nearest entrance. The lights dimmed and the bay doors groaned open above. Red dust swirled into the docks.

“Shall we, my dear?” the computer asked.

“Get me out of here.”

***

“Congratulations, Robin Brian, you are a billionaire!”

A red circle spun on the screen, indicating the computer was still recording.

“I will tell you more later, but I am on my way home now. Don’t tell anyone, but, well, we are very, very rich. I, uh, I’m not quite sure what to say. I guess I’m a little numb, but, damnit, delete message.”

“Do you want to try again, darling?” the computer asked.

“No, just let her know that we are on our way back.”

“Of course, whatever you need.”

David stood from the captain’s chair and moved to the cargo bay. He punched a button that slid a door around a cylinder. Inside was the Chaos Machine, a tall glass tube flashing with micro Big Bangs, supernovas, racing comets, clusters of universes all contained within a thin shell. The most important advance of human civilization. David leaned toward the Chaos Machine, a hand pressing against the glass. A tiny comet veered off course and smashed against the glass where his index finger pressed. The comet burst into a spray of dust drifting back out into the heart of the machine. David leaned further against the machine, his cheek pressing against the glass. A small universe fell toward him. A large, gaseous, swirling cluster of millions of stars, floating toward the glass, sweeping along the surface, trying to touch David’s cheek. David reached around the machine, curling his arm to the very back where his fingertips felt the neck of a whiskey bottle. He clutched it between his fingers and pulled it out, leaning off the Chaos Machine. The universe moved off the glass, recollecting into its previous shape and gliding back out amid the empty space inside the Chaos Machine. The door swept shut and David sat down on the cargo bay floor as he cradled the whiskey.

David wasn’t sure why he felt compelled to sneak the whiskey on board his ship every time he left home. Robin probably wouldn’t say anything, but David didn’t like the way a lonely bottle looked on board his ship. He didn’t like what it said about him and his ability to withstand the isolation of space. Most trips, he wouldn’t even crack it open, but still liked that it was there. A comfort. A luxury. An “In Case Of Emergency”.

“How soon until we can jump?” David asked, as he cracked the seal of the whiskey.

“Ten minutes. We just need to move a little further into open space.”

“Roger that,” David said, spinning off the cap and taking a pull.

A bourbon. An angry, aggressive bourbon at that. He drank. He drank a little more, then a little more, then a little more.

“So, is fake Robin going to turn me into scrap?” the computer asked.

“No, why would you even think that?”

“Because she said that when you retired, she’d turn me into scrap?”

David chuckled. “She really say that?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, fake Robin says a lot of things,” David said. “Real Robin, I mean. Real Robin.

Another long pull and a third of the bottle was already gone.

“Hasn’t it been ten minutes, yet? Robin? Why aren’t we jumping?”

“Um, David?”

“Yes, Robin?” David responded, then took one last pull.

“We have a problem.”

The burn tightened his throat, making him grimace and shiver. He pushed himself off the wall and onto his feet, the whiskey swishing around in his brain. He looked at the bottle, noticing the cap was gone, then checked his pockets. He turned in a tight circle while gazing at the ground.

“I want to get home. Can we deal with it later?”

The circles made him nauseous, so he stopped and closed his eyes, reaching out for the wall.

“Not really,” the computer insisted. There was borderline panic in its voice. “Can you please come to the cockpit, like right now?”

The whiskey was hitting faster than David expected. He opened his eyes slimly and looked back down to the floor, seeing the cap inches away from his feet. He gingerly leaned down to pick it up. His fingers fumbled with it, forcing him to chase the rolling cap around the cargo bay floor. The whiskey dripped from the tilted bottle as he went, marking David’s unsteady path.

“David?”

“Give me a minute, I got problems of my own right now.”

David latched onto the cap, carefully gripping it with his fingers as he brought it up with an intense gaze fixed on the cap. He then noticed the spilled whiskey and laughed. He rubbed at the puddles with his boots, then tightened the cap on the bottle. He staggered back to the Chaos Machine, opened the swiveling door and struggled to reach the bottle back into its hiding spot. A cosmos tickled his nose smashed against the glass.

“David!”

“I’m coming, damn!”

David pushed off the Chaos Machine and took a few moments to let the world settle from its spin. He took cautious baby steps across the cargo bay back toward the cockpit.

“Alright, what’s the problem?” David asked as he staggered across the cockpit and collapsed into the captain’s chair.

“Are you kidding me? Turn around.”

David swiveled the captain’s chair around to see the Wonderboy clone standing a few feet away. David had walked right past him.

“Take me to Earth,” the clone said.

“Also, there’s this,” the computer said. The monitor blinked on. Oscar Willington glared at David, then saw the Wonderboy clone behind him.

“David,” Willington began with his strained, tight smile. “You’ve been in the game long enough to know that stealing from me is a very big mistake.”

“Umm,” David turned from the monitor to the clone, then back to Willington. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“Really? Then what is it?”

“Take me to Earth,” the clone repeated.

“Oh, no, you are coming back to me Mr. Lima,” Willington said. “I bought you fair and square.”

The clone looked to David.

“You sold me?” the clone asked.

“Umm,” David struggled, now wishing away the alcohol muddying his thoughts. “It isn’t what it looks like?”

WHAT DO YOU DO?
TAKE LIMA BACK TO WILLINGTON      OR     ESCAPE TO EARTH
PREVIOUS / NEXT

New Prints At Bombs Away

Tyler Wardlaw

7-9 pm Friday, April 3

Bombs Away Art

3003A Paseo in Oklahoma City

Tyler Wardlaw is a sweet-natured and obnoxiously talented high schooler who is dipping his toes into the art world with an exhibition at Bombs Away Art. Opening during First Friday and hanging throughout April, the show features illustrations by Wardlaw that waver between the comic-inspired and the surreal. His work will be joined by three pieces from the Marvel Action Auction, whose proceeds go to help funding the Cleveland Elementary Arts Program.

Also, Bombs Away’s newest print is an ode to Issei Aoyama, a fantastic guitar player and formidable sparring partner who will also be performing on Friday.

Let’s Make Comics!

Let’s Make Comics!

6-9 pm Friday April 3 and 10

District House

1755 NW 16TH in Oklahoma City

Art will swallow you whole. The creative process is long, lonely, and cavernous. It consumes, breaks your heart, then redeems with a glimpse of something sublime just at the moment that you’ve nearly broken its spell on you. This is why you love it so, why you cannot walk away no matter how battered and forlorn you become. It is a torturous affair that rarely yields, but when it does, it becomes your everything.

But, hey, me too! So, let’s do art together a bit. Maybe it’ll be less lonesome and a lot more fun. Literati Press Comics & Novels is hosting a crash course on comics this Friday and next Friday at District House in the Plaza District. Informal, free, come and go, and for all ages and all skill ranges, Let’s Make Comics! is an opportunity to explore sequential art. Don Rosencrans and I will be on hand to answer questions, review portfolios, offer pointers, and put the final touch on your eight page masterwork with our Mondo Stapler.

Do we have an ulterior motive? Of course! The comics scene in Oklahoma is really coming to life and sequential art is the gateway drug to novels, poetry, painting, nonfiction, and all manner of other wonderful things. Also, with a more literate society comes a more informed and just society.

I like these things and I bet you do too. And even if you don’t, whatever, make a comic about it.

So, draw comics, save our beautiful state. How amazing is that? Am I overstating? Perhaps? Who knows? Who cares? Comics are fun and we want all of your bright and beautiful talents to join us in building a better comics scene one staple at a time.

Click HERE FOR THE FACEBOOK EVENT PAGE!

The Retrieval III – Choose Your Own Adventure

Oscar Willington was never easy to find. Though he’d amassed a staggering fortune that dwarfed the gross domestic product of the wealthiest nations on Earth, he was not one for audacious estates sprawling across dead moonscapes like other space barons. There were no mountain fortresses or bio-domes in semi-habitable green worlds, not even a luxurious Community Pod in an eternal drift across the galaxy, ruled by his own idea of utopia. Willington was old money. Respectable money, though taken from a very unrespectable industry. Wealth was not a goal for men like Willington, but rather victory. He wanted to dominate. He lusted after it, the brutal game of deep space exploration where lives and fortunes swung by whose will was the strongest. Money was merely an aspect of the game, a weapon that sometimes applied leverage, and other times merely served as a distraction.

Also, Willington believed that luxury begged attention and he was not interested in drawing the ire of X-Verse, the only corporation capable of dismantling Willington’s empire.

David guessed that Willington would likely be at one of his seven major mining operations, overseeing the extraction of ultra-rare elements and staying a few steps ahead of the swarm of assassins and kidnappers always trailing the wealthy in deep space. Though David had run four salvage missions for Willington, he’d never actually met the man in the flesh and doubted the baron would happily buzz him into whatever fortress Willington was holed up in. The man did know David’s name though, as did all of the universe’s pirate kings after David managed to sneak into Regency’s near-Earth command to liberate a crew of smugglers.

That was the stupidest thing David had ever done and he thought Robin would never forgive him for taking such a dumb risk for a relatively small bounty. But he had friends in that crew. Stupid or no, it was the right thing to do.

David spent a week scouting out mining colonies, watching supplies go in and shipments go out. All Willington’s largest mining operations were at smaller, Earth-like planets. They were all in the orbital sweet spot where, had asteroids, solar flares, or other extraterrestrial calamities not wiped life clean off the planet’s surface, they could have been ideal spots for colonies and terraforming.  Some were the ashen white-grey of the Earth’s moon, other’s a dark red, and one was still covered with water but also an atmosphere choked with acid and soot. It was a new strategy for Willington after he’d spent decades mining gas giants where the most sought after elements were abundant. Some attributed Willington’s new approach to the more stable climates on earth-like planets, but others wondered if Willington wasn’t after something else aside from natural resources, something everyone else had overlooked.

But the mysteries of the ultra-rich didn’t interest David. He was eager to be rid of the Wonderboy clone packed inside his ship.

Of the mining colonies David had scouted, only one had any semblance of green, if only faint stretches. Long, mad-made rows of green amid the vast red and iron-rich landscape that looked something like Mars, but brutally scarred from a massive asteroid impact thousands of years prior that cracked its side and splintered out deep caverns that stretched almost across the entire planet face. The thin atmosphere meant heavy radiation on the planet’s surface. The lack of life meant for blistering hot days and brutally cold nights.

But there were genetically modified shrubs and trees capable of withstanding incredibly harsh climates in an effort to alter a planet’s atmosphere. It was slow, but organic and more successful than more ambitious projects that only made environments worse. David was always amused by terraforming. In a space race noted for speed and urgency with hundreds of companies scrambling to find the next revolutionary breakthrough to rival the Chaos Machine, terraforming was instead a very patient investment in the future. Even the most ambitious attempts would take centuries to finally yield tangible results. An Earth-like planet with an atmosphere slowly building over thousands of generations of plants fighting for life within inhospitable soils. There was no technology that could accelerate the process, only the resilience of nature. If only humans had the same long-view investment on Earth, then David wouldn’t be so eager to relocate his family into the stars.

Light flashed, bent into a spectrum, then darkened. A large craft appeared outside the orbit of the planet below. The light show thanks to the Chaos Machine hacking reality. A swarm of fighters broke from an armada hovering over a cluster of space elevators. The fighters sped to the cruiser, flanked it on all sides, and escorted it toward the planet’s surface.

“There you are.”

“This is a dumb plan, David,” the computer said.

“You’re not helping.”

“I told fake Robin and she said it was a dumb plan too and she doesn’t want you to do anything until she can talk to you.” The computer almost sounded giddy.

“One. She’s not fake Robin. You are fake Robin. Two. What did I tell you about being a snitch?”

“Snitches get stitches?” the computer asked.

“Correct.”

Silence as David watched the cruiser enter the planet’s atmosphere, a red glow burning bright from the ship’s froward hull.

“I’d like to see you try, you son of a bitch,” the computer said.

***

With a promise of a salvaged X-Verse hard drive, David was allowed to land within a sub-surface docking station. Like most barren planets, the sand storms were devastating to almost all equipment, so operations were moved underground. Most sub-surface bases were cavernous labyrinths only lit artificially, but with abundant plant-life maintained throughout as well as an encouragement to keep pets. The illusion of a natural world was key to a sane mining colony, but even with all of the reminders of Earth shipped in, a colony was not the place for the weak-minded.

This mining colony was different. Long stretches of windowed ceilings streaked through the red dust, flanked on both sides by rows of desert palm trees and dense bushes that seemed to bow and peek into the colony like stray dogs desperate to be let inside. The complex was a web work of translucent underground walkways, using the daylight to save money on energy, but also give humans the sunshine that we’d grown accustomed to over the course of hundreds of thousands of years.

David stayed in the loading dock, keeping close to his ship. The on-board computer was programmed with an “all-or-nothing” protocol. If David didn’t get paid and anyone tried to forcefully board his ship, the computer would blow the engine and incinerate everything within a half-mile radius. It was extreme, but the threat was helpful in keeping negotiations polite.

From a rest area overlooking the docks, David watched small cargo freighters swooping in through the ceiling with massive steel doors open like the arms of a welcoming lover. Above David’s head, workers in bulky atmosphere suits were busy sweeping red dust off the windowed ceilings looking up into the red sky. A hell of a job, David thought, but worth it for the natural sunlight.

The rest area was empty and David had set up in the corner so he could watch his ship over one shoulder but also face the door, just to be safe. David noticed four sentries in atmosphere suits walking out onto the docks. They didn’t head directly for his ship, but he knew that’s why they were there.

“I am always amazed every time I see you still alive,” a voice called.

David turned to see an old man dressed in a military uniform with a vaguely naval feel. His name was Xing and he was most certainly not military, but as it was with many career pirates, adopting the image of war lord was better than just being known as an unrepentant thief. Xing’s once-handsome face was swept with a deep spider-web of scars from a radiation leak during a battle with a Regency supply ship. Unlike David, Xing didn’t appreciate the nuance of a calculated retreat and often fought forward toward certain death rather than losing face in front of his crew.

Though word spread years ago that Xing had retired into the job as enforcer for Willington, David was still surprised to see the old pirate in the role of a leashed attack dog.

Xing and David stood only a few feet away. Normal men would close the distance to shake hands, but smugglers and thieves were not normal men.

“I lied,” David announced. “I don’t have an X-Verse hard drive.”

“Is that so?”

“I’ve got something much, much better and I’m gonna need to talk to your boss in person,” David continued.

“And what makes you think he will want to waste his time with you?” Xing asked. Xing didn’t wear diplomacy comfortably, annoyed at having to fetch a smuggler. This was a job for a butler, not one of the most feared men in the universe. David wondered what Xing’s angle was, why he was under Willington’s command. Couldn’t just be about a comfortable retirement.

“Keep your men away from my damn ship,” David said. “You won’t pick up any readings, but believe me when I say that Willington wants to hear about what I have and that you don’t want to be the reason that Shahid Mamnoon bought my cargo instead.”

“That good?” Xing asked, looking from David to the loading bay below. He examined the ship. “Perhaps I could buy it from you instead?”

David’s adrenaline surged at the offer. He wasn’t tempted by it, but was reminded of how dangerous this man was. He didn’t understand why Willington would bring a pirate so deep into his organization.

“Thank you, but I would prefer to talk to Willington,” David said.

***

Xing and two sentries escorted David back to his ship. Though the doors were shut and the atmosphere normalized, the red dust still swirled off into the corners where workers attempted to brush it into piles and dump it into trash bags. The battle with dust would only end once the planet was successfully terraformed, and that wouldn’t be for hundreds of years. Not bad job security for a deep space janitor.

A dozen other sentries took position around David’s ship, armed with non-projectile stun guns, like a shotgun blasting out electricity which dispersed after a few feet so as not to do any damage to surrounding structures or electronics. David had been hit with one before. He didn’t much care for it.

The cargo bay doors eased open while David approached. He saw figures already inside. David paused.

“Damnit.”

“Keep moving,” Xing said.

David collected a deep breath and eyed the sentries around the ship, formulating a Plan B which would likely just consist of him darting off in a random direction before getting shot. Again.

A ladder descended from his ship to greet David. He grabbed a rung, sighed, and climbed up.

David knew Willington on site. Perfect artificial blonde hair and rich, bronzed skin. Suit as sharp as a thumb tack and a cologne that wafted like a pleasant smog. A near-permanent smile thanks to modern science that replaced age with a progressively smoother and more rigid facades. The resting face that looked young in photos, but looked as creepy as a wax statue in person. The ultra-rich were always like this—one part post-evolution, two parts Frankenstein’s monster.

“Robin? Still with me?”

“They’ve shut off all my emergency protocols,” the computer responded. “Be careful darling.”

David glanced across the sentries, then settled back on Willington.

“If this is an assassination attempt,” Willington began in a clipped lisp resulting from his overly taut facial skin. “Then I would suggest going back to looting shipwrecks.”

Sentries settled around David as Willington watched him in something that seemed like an evil grin, but could have just been gas.

“That’s not my bag,” David said. “I’m just here to sell you something.”

“A dead body?”

“Didn’t you look at him?” David asked.

Willington glanced toward the storage space where the Wonderboy clone remained. He then looked to a sentry who gave a subtle shake of the head.

“I don’t deal in bounties, my friend,” Willington said.

“This isn’t a bounty, but more of an artifact. I found it, free and clear. It is worth way more than what I am asking for it. If you’re not interested, fine, I’ll take it elsewhere. Trust me, though, you want to see him.”

Willington’s clear blue eyes were the only thing real about his face and they measured David carefully. Willington waved his hand toward the storage space, so David eased over, keeping his distance from the sentries and their stun guns. David pressed a red button set into the wall and a long shelf hissed out. The Wonderboy clone was wrapped in a clear plastic. Willington stepped around David with Xing close behind. They examined the body without saying a word. A long breath whistled out of Willington’s perfect nostrils. He motioned to the sentries and they began climbing down the ladder to leave Xing, Willington, and David alone.

“Of course I will need a record of the salvage operation,” Willington said.

“Of course. You’ll find it unaltered and complete.”

“How much?” Willington asked.

“How much you got?”

Willington released a smothered chuckle.

“Xing, fetch me my treasurer.”

Xing nodded and moved to the ladder. He allowed a quick glance of the Wonderboy clone, then caught David watching him. Xing smirked, then descended.

“Robin, queue up the salvage video please,” David called and a monitor near the cockpit door glowed. Willington moved to watch the video and David glanced back down at the clone.

The plastic near the clone’s mouth fogged. Then the plastic drew in as the dead man attempted a breath.

WHAT DO YOU DO?
Sell the clone and run      OR       Refuse the offer and escape with the clone?
PREVIOUS / NEXT

Cute is the new punk

MystiKawaii Kloud Kastle

A group exhibition curated by Jenna Bryan

Closing Reception: “Kick It and Create” Wednesday March 25, 8-11pm

Dope Chapel

115 S Crawford Ave, Norman

Kawaii (じゃない), “cute” – a Japanese aesthetic that is best embodied by Hello Kitty. This subculture is an invasion of pastel adornments, adorable keychains, stuffed animals, stickers and baby talk.

 

 The history of kawaii as a predominant Japanese sensibility is recent. It started with schoolgirls who used bubbly handwriting and infantilized speech as a code. These acts of mico-rebellion were banned by a sterile Japanese school system more concerned with neatness and perfection.

Kawaii is punk.

MystiKawaii Kloud Kastle, curated by artist Jenna Bryan, features thirteen artists who explore the kawaii through their work at Norman’s premier alternative art venue, Dope Chapel.

MystiKawaii is hot on the heels of Byran’s Spotlight project Kamisphere at Momentum OKC, which explored cute as a means of communication through hand-printed images of themed worlds and paper dolls with a build-your-own avatar interactive experience.

In MystiKawaii, Bryan explores the themes of kawaii through the lens of other creatives. Bryan invited artists and non-artists alike to create works that had a cute aesthetic.

“Corndog Boy” by Steven Loggins, pen and ink, 2015

The show itself is a giant installation of cute. Fluffy purple and pink clouds by Laura McPheeters and Katherine Willard hang from the ceiling; the adorable-yet-creepy soft sculptures of Laurie Grace rise from the ground; artwork is scattered frenetically all over the walls, bordered by Christmas lights and chains of origami stars.

Two large murals flank the gallery, each featuring a kawaii “kloud kastle”. The first, by Jenna Bryan, is light and glittery, cotton-candy-like textures and colors to frame the large, white, floating castle made of clouds. The second mural, by Manda Shae Dickinson and Eric Piper, is dark and brooding, featuring a nightmarish horse and snakes in the bottom of the purple composition.

What doesn’t translate in the word “cute” is the supernatural and sexual tone associated with kawaii. The mystical, otherworldly and carnal aspects are explored by artists in this show.

“How the artists worked and interpreted the theme reflected their own personalities,” Bryan said. They, the artists and their work, are cute, warm, and fun; but, beneath this surface, raw dark themes often emerge.

Until now, Steven Loggins never referred to himself as an artist, but the curator thinks his drawings are “the best example of someone’s personality in their work.”

His blobby humans and animals doing both mundane and violent actions, invite us into a mythic surreality combining cute and danger.

Allison Campbell (center) performs at the exhibition opening.

Taking this costume challenge to the extreme, artist Alli Campbell wrapped herself in glittery fabric and wore a cardboard box over her head at the opening. Her impromptu costume and subsequent performance confused and entertained exhibition-goers. Unable to understand her or clearly see her face, visitors were hesitant to approach Campbell as she continued dancing with friends and strangers, exploring awkwardness-as-cute.

The centerpiece of the show, Kawaii Sugiru, by Jenna Bryan, is also the inspiration for this exhibition. The screen-printed mask, reveals Bryan’s thesis: that cute, kawaii, an essential part of her personality and identity, is a diversion.

“Cute is not an emotion,” Bryan says “It takes the place of emotions. It becomes a spectacle. You can hide behind cute.”

The aesthetic of kawaii can be applied to anything. “We can inject innocence, a childlike quality, into something, anything, and it becomes more interesting to us. Even things that are creepy and sexual become approachable with kawaii,” Bryan said.

Because of this, kawaii has been quick to succeed in the western markets. The subculture’s obsessions with bright colors and fun mascots lend themselves well to commercialism.

Center: “Kawaii Sugiru” by Jenna Bryan, papier mache and screen print, 2012
Right & Left: lithographs by ShiQuiang Tracy

But cute is cheeky, and cheeky is rebellion. Kawaii is not merely a commercial selling point.

The majority of the artwork at Dope Chapel is not necessarily hung neatly, but tacked on the walls, or clipped to a string around the gallery. Murals on cardboard lean against the wall. The lighting is sparse: a mixture of clip lights, string lighting and the fluorescent glow from the back room.

The DIY feel, mixed with the variety of punk music shows that occur at the venue through the duration of the exhibition, adds to the kawaii atmosphere.

From the outside, the kawaii overload could be seen as superficial. “It could look just like some shit from Juxtapoz,” one anonymous artist said in advance of the exhibition. “Where’s the content?” As it is highly marketable, the cute aesthetic can be a shortcut to an increase in sales.

To avoid the commercialism, Bryan deliberately chose a variety of artists, known and unknown, and focused on exhibiting work for its content.

“I could have just hawked my shirts,” she said. “Though some stuff was sold or sell-able, I really wanted the artwork to provoke.”

MystiKawaii’s punk playfulness is accentuated by the rawness in this chapel of all things “dope”. Dope Chapel frequently hosts exhibitions by international artists, but few shows fit the space’s identity as well as MystiKawaii with its ironic, subversive charm. Perhaps that’s why the show’s opening was such a success: the approachable nature of cute better introduced the community to this up-and-coming venue.

A variety of works are on display at MystiKawaii Kloud Kastle, up through March 25 at Dope Chapel in Norman.

 

The Retrieval II – Choose Your Own Adventure

David watched through the air lock porthole as the retrieval claw pulled in the Wonderboy clone, Lima. He knew some of the powers of the clones from the countless movies, documentaries, and books. Many could fly, one had giant raven’s wings, another could read thoughts, and one was said to be powerless. The runt of the litter. But he couldn’t remember anything about Lima. He wasn’t a major player in the wars, just one of many clones to fight and fall during that terrible time.

He was unsettled by how alive the clone looked. The computer didn’t pick up any vitals, so the clone had been long dead, but that didn’t keep his instincts from firing warning flares in his mind.

“Your wife sent a message,” the onboard computer said, as if the spectacle of a superhero being plucked from deep space was as boring and routine as recycling his urine.

“Yeah?” David asked, his eyes still fixed on the dead body as the hull doors closed. “I’ll listen to it in a bit. Did it arrive just now?”

“Nope, about three days ago.”

“Three days?” David snapped, turning from the porthole and storming to the cockpit. “You’ve had a message from her for three days and you are just now telling me?”

“I don’t like her.”

“You don’t like my wife?”

“No.”

“The person whose personality you were made from?” David asked, sitting down in his pilot’s seat and punching on his communications monitor.

“What can I say? I think you settled.”

“Go to hell, Robin.”

“Love ya,” the computer cooed, then faded as an image of his wife, millions of light years away appeared on the monitor.

“Hey, baby, how is pirating going?” the real Robin asked.

“I’m not a pirate,” David muttered to himself.

“Things are good here. Everyone misses you. How is other me? Still being a crazy bitch?”

David chuckled, knowing the computer heard and would seeth.

“I imagine you are busy, so I don’t want to take much of your time. Just send me a message when you can. I miss your stupid face.”

David smirked and his heart did the little twist it always did when he realized how much distance separated him from home. He loved the life of a smuggler, he loved the money, he loved the danger, but he hated the space it created between him and his family. But jobs were scarce on Earth. The economy was dying as all the best and brightest went off-world to find fortune. It was a global brain drain that sucked him away from his family alongside the scientists, miners, techs, and mercenaries. It was hard on Robin, though she never let it show. The kids always looked at him differently when he came home. It would take days before they stopped treating him like a stranger. The traveling broke their hearts, he knew, and that was why this Wonderboy clone would mean everything. It would be an end to the salvage missions, to the weeks of picking through ghost ships, to only feeling contact with those he loved through strained and brave video messages sent across the universe like corked bottles amid the greatest and most desolate of all seas.

His breath was heavy and cold. He stood from the monitor, promising himself he would send back a message when he felt able. But not now.

He walked back to the cargo hold. Artificial atmosphere was pressuring inside. Radiation was being measured. Normal bodies would need to be bagged and stored to protect from contamination, but he had no idea what to expect of a Wonderboy.

“So, how is other me?” the computer asked. “Still a crazy bitch?”

“Call Robin a crazy bitch again and I will turn you back into Chewbacca.”

“Roger that,” the computer replied, followed by a subtle giggle. It brought a quick smile to his face. He hid it quick, but he knew the computer saw it. This is when the computer felt the most like Robin, pushing buttons in the way that only lovers can.

He looked into the air lock, seeing the body drifting down to the floor as artificial gravity eased on.

“You better make me rich.”

“He will, darling,” the computer said. “The cargo hold is safe. No radiation or other contaminants. Wanna get a closer look?”

“Yes.”

The air lock opened. David stepped through, approaching the body slowly as if it was a wild dog. He knelt down beside Lima.

“So, who are you going to sell him to?” the computer asked.

Two names came to mind. Both dangerous. Both lording over black market empires run out of the darkest, most savage stretches of the universe. Not the types that David liked to doing business with, but the only ones with the resources to buy a god. Oscar Willington controlled the only interstellar, black market trade route absolutely free from X-Verse and Regency intervention. Born from wealth and the deepest of blue bloods, Willington used his family’s influence to corrupt a chain of deep space colonies that would be converted from city-building to mining the lucrative, ultra-exotic narcotics and rare materials from within their planets’ cores. The other, Shahid Mamnoon, inherited his black market empire from a long line of energy barons. Mamnoon specialized in asteroid farming. The brutal process was among the most lethal careers in the history of man, but anyone who survived five missions retired into a life of opulence. Mamnoon survived twelve missions, which turned him into both a legend and a savage nihilist.

Neither men were to be trusted, but the same could be said of anyone with the money to buy a Wonderboy.

WHO DO YOU CHOOSE?

Oscar Willington          OR         Shahid Mamnoon
PREVIOUS

Let’s Raise Money For An Elementary Arts Program!

Marvel March Action Auction

7-9 pm Thursday, March 26

Bombs Away Art

3003A Paseo in Oklahoma City

Three excellent reasons to stop by Bombs Away Art in the Paseo this Thursday night:

1. We are raising funds for the Cleveland Elementary Arts Program with Marvel-inspired art from some of our favorite artists in Oklahoma. Really amazing pieces at super-low prices. You’d be a fool to pass this opportunity up and you’re no fool.

2. Clint Stone’s PROMISE OF A BRAND NEW DAY OR WHATNOT: Vol. 1 is in stock! And his piece “Endless Bummer” will make you chuckle as much as it makes me chuckle. Silly Thing. Stone men don’t surf!

3. Trent Lawson’s submission, a velvet painting of an alcoholic duck and a canine space traveler, is getting love from James Gunn, director of Guardians of the Galaxy!