Issue 34 November 15, 2007

 Pg. 2
Ray Gun Revival
Table of Contents
Overlords (Founders / Editors):
Johne Cook, L. S. King, Paul Christian Glenn 2 Table of Contents
Venerable Staff: 3 Overlords’ Lair
A.M. Stickel - Managing Copyeditor
Shannon McNear - Lord High Advisor, grammar consultant, listening
5 The Wrong Place at the Right Time
ear/sanity saver for Overlord Lee by Mike Lynch
Paul Christian Glenn - PR, sounding board, strong right hand
L. S. King - Lord High Editor, proofreader, beloved nag, muse, 14 The Final Harvest
webmistress by Drew Arrants
Johne Cook - art wrangler, desktop publishing, chief cook and bottle
washer 21 Featured Artist: Alexei Kozachenko
24 The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, Part 2
Slushmasters (Submissions Editors):
Scott M. Sandridge
A Jack Brand story
John M. Whalen
David Wilhelms
by John M. Whalen
Shari L. Armstrong
Jack Willard
32 The Adventures of the Sky Pirate
Serial Authors:
Chapter 17, A Cleric for Alacrity
Sean T. M. Stiennon by Johne Cook
John M. Whalen
Ben Schumacher 43 The RGR Time Capsule
Lee S. King
Paul Christian Glenn November 1 - November 14, 2007
Johne Cook

Cover Art: “Pillars of Loki” by Alexei Kozachenko

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Special Thanks:
Ray Gun Revival logo design by Hatchbox Creative
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Visit us online at http://raygunrevival.com
Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 34, November 15, 2007
 Pg. 3
Overlords’ Lair
Welcome to November. This is that weird time
of year between Halloween and Christmas,
when Indian Summer is winding down and
winter hasn’t yet gripped the land. But it’s
coming.
There’s no better time than right now to settle
in and read some great space opera and sci-fi,
and we’ve got what you need right here (hot
chocolate not included).
Johne Cook
Overlord, RGR
Breezeway, Wisconsin
The Wrong Place At the Right Time, by Mike
Lynch The Final Harvest, by Drew Arrants
Malcom Lee just wanted to get out of the cold
and have a warm drink. When he is arrested on
Vega Prime for a crime he didn’t commit, things
take a turn for the worse.
They hadn’t taken more than a handful of
steps when another astro-officer suddenly
appeared. He came around a blind corner,
humming a song to himself. His attention
was fixed on a clipboard in his hands. Lee
considered turning around and heading
back the way they came, but it might
arouse the officer’s suspicions. Before he
could figure out what they should do, Max
marched forward without a seeming care in
Ray Gun Revival magazine
the world.
The officer barely gave him any notice. He
just offered a cursory, “How’s it goin’?” and
continued on his way without breaking his
stride.
It was only when the officer went into a
room near the end of the hallway that Lee let
his feelings be known. “Are you crazy?” he
asked rhetorically. “You could have gotten
us busted. You’re lucky that guy didn’t take
a good look at you.”
Max’s expression fell blank. “If you act like
you own the place, then no one’s going to
bother you.”
A grandmother from a starving world comes to
Earth to harvest food for her grandchildren. Her
grandchildren, like all members of her species, “Farley!” Ziggy said. “What are you—”
are obligatory carnivores.
First Officer Drahos looked up from the
command console. “No, ma’am,” he
answered. “So far we haven’t detected any
electronic tracking signals at all from either
Earth or Mars. Could it be they really aren’t “No!” Brand said, as Ziggy fumbled for the
expecting us to come back after all this
time?”
“Don’t underestimate the humans, Drahos,”
Admiral Oksandr said. “We got too cocky
after the first two harvests—didn’t suspect
that next time they’d be waiting out in space
to intercept us. We can’t afford another
debacle like that.”
In the half century since that military disaster,
no further harvesting attempts had been
made—until now.
The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, Part Two,
A Jack Brand story, by John M. Whalen
A mysterious carnival seer reads Jack Brand’s
medalion and sees more than she bargained for,
including the fate of Jack’s long-missing sister.
“That’s very touching,” a voice behind them
said. Everyone turned. It was Boone. Farley
stood next to him. Both had weapons in
their hands. Brand started to move for his
pistol. “Don’t even try,” Boone said.
“Shut up,” Farley said.
Ziggy took a step backward and reached for
the pistol Brand had given him.
gun and stepped in front of Calystra.
Boone’s Plasma Gun belched purple and
Ziggy dropped on his back.
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
  Pg. 4

The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 17:

“A Cleric for Alacrity” by Johne Cook
Despite his own misgivings, Cooper Flynn bites
his tongue and finds a cleric to match the
spiritual desires of his crew.
As usual, he overachieves.
“Another ship passed us while we were
fighting,” said Yhen. “I thought I saw
something but couldn’t be sure, so I came
up here to get a better view of it.”
“Good thinking. Whose colors?” asked the
captain.
“That’s the weird part, Captain. It looked to
me like she was one of ours.”
“Let me have the spyglass. Where is she
now?”
“She’s there, tacking away from us, using
the sun to try to hide herself.”
“Well, well. Somebody doesn’t want to be
seen.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 34, November 15, 2007

The Wrong Place at the Right Time, by Mike Lynch
The Wrong Place at the Right Time
by Mike Lynch
L ee knew he was in trouble—again. He dashed
back down the alley from which he had just
come, foamy puddles of thick, black liquid
splashing up into the air after each fleeting
step. Other footsteps echoed in the distance.
Lee knew a squad of astro-officers was closing
in on him.
A half-opened door under a flickering red
light caught his eye, and he threw himself
inside. To his dismay, he was back inside Club
Midnight. The alien who had picked the fight
with him stood in the narrow hallway, waiting
expectantly. “Well, well,” he crowed. “Look
who’s back.”
A pair of muffled voices from outside asked
if they knew where the suspect had gone. A
third, higher voice answered back, but Lee
couldn’t make out the words. He assumed the
worst and figured his only way of escape was
out the front, except that it was blocked by the
tall Argellian standing before him. “Blast,” he
cursed aloud.
“Blast?” the hulking monstrosity asked in a
low, throaty tone. “I’m gonna blast you.”
Lee lunged towards his adversary. His left
fist swung wild into the air, but somehow hit
bone. Stunned by the unexpected blow, the
alien tumbled backwards. Throwing a left as
he fell, the Argellian missed by a wide margin.
Dissonant sounds of police whistles filled every
corner of the bar as they burst through the
Ray Gun Revival magazine
front doors.
Grabbing his opponent by the arm, Lee
flung him into two approaching officers. It
caused enough of a commotion for him to
make a mad dash for the entrance. As he flew
into the street, he tripped over something and
found himself face down in the gutter. Lee
turned back and saw Lieutenant Ngoc standing
over him, a look of contentment spread across
his face. It was only then that he realized the
astro-officer had felled him with his nightstick,
something he held prominently in his right
hand.
“I think it rather fitting to say hello to you in
the gutter, eh, Lee?” he said without bothering
to conceal the contempt in his voice.
“I wasn’t doing nothin’!” Lee shouted. “Just
mindin’ my own business. Then, for no reason,
this guy jumps me—said I stole his money.”
Lieutenant Ngoc’s face held a cool, hollow
smile.
“You have to believe me. I only took off
when someone blew the whistle.”
His expression turned cold. “That’s a good
sob story, Lee. The judge will love it.”
Three anti-grav ships flew in overhead.
A subtle, rhythmic pulsing sound resonated
above as each pilot guided his ship onto the
ground. Lee visibly surrendered. If Ngoc had
Pg. 5
any intention of letting him go, he would have
done so already.
A high-pitched, motorized noise preceded
the back door swinging open. When it had
come all the way down, Ngoc gave Lee a quick
shove inside. He landed on the cold metallic
plate, hard. Moments later, the back door
slammed shut with an unmistakable bang.
Lifting up his head just enough to see the
darkened interior, Lee focused on three other
prisoners sitting across from him—all human.
He tried to make out their appearance, but
none of them looked familiar.
Lee picked himself up and steadied himself
against a bulkhead.
One of the three prisoners, a bearded man
with a hunched back said, “Findin’ life on Vega
Prime ain’t all it’s talked up to be. Bet you wish
you’d never left Earth now, don’t ya?”
The middle-aged prisoner sitting next to
him, heavy with a noticeable paunch, turned
towards Lee and laughed wildly. The third man
did not respond. He just kept his place, staring
at the side of the ship, as though he was in
some kind of trance.
Lee didn’t respond and didn’t sit. He just
stared at them and held onto the bulkhead
above. This is going to be a long night, he
thought, and then let his attention drift off into
the darkness.
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Wrong Place at the Right Time, by Mike Lynch
When the pilot activated the anti-grav
drive, the same hum as before returned. The
ship vibrated for a moment, and then took off
in a flash. Time almost seemed to stand still as
their wagon banked left, and then right. Since
there weren’t any windows, Lee couldn’t say
which direction they were headed, though he
had a pretty good idea.
Before any of them knew it, they were back
down on the ground again. When the back
door swung open, fiery red light flooded the
interior. Lee held up his hand and tried to block
out the piercing rays of both suns, Belux I and
II, bearing down on him.
“Come on, you dogs,” Ngoc shouted. “This
isn’t Club Zed. The judge is waiting for you.” He
banged his nightstick against the hull a couple
of times to roust the prisoners out.
After the night sergeant had taken Lee’s
mug shot and made a digital scan of his fin-
gerprints, he was brought to the orange room.
Why it was called the orange room, Lee would
never know. It was more of a puke-green
than anything else. “Cell number seven—very
spacious,” he chided the sergeant. “I was so
cramped in cell number four the last time I was
here.”
When the sergeant pressed the button
just to the left of the door, it slid open with a
whoosh. The officer shoved Lee into the cell in
stony silence, and the door slid closed behind
him just as quickly as it had opened.
Four sets of double-bunks lined the walls. A
sink and toilet stood across from him. Above, a
single flickering incandescent light illuminated
the interior.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Lee’s attention settled on a man lying on the
bunk. His plaid shirt and baggy pants carried
an air of familiarity about them. “I’ve seen you
somewhere before,” he said after studying him
for a moment.
Motionless at first, the man popped his
head up. “The name’s Max,” he replied. “I
came in the wagon with you.”
Curious, Lee asked, “What are you in for?”
“Got me grabbin’ money out of the till. I
thought I would give it a shot. Can’t hurt to try,
you know.” Max lifted his chin. “What about
you? What’s your story?”
“The name’s Lee,” he replied, then shook
his head, “but I didn’t do anything. I was a
victim of circumstance.”
Max rolled over onto his back, grinning.
“You’re jok’n right? That’s real funny.”
Lee became indignant and took an aggres-
sive step towards him. “What do ya mean
funny?”
“Who isn’t a victim of circumstance?
Everyone locked up in this sink hole is here
because of circumstances.” The man sat up and
pushed himself off his bunk. “But as engaging
as this conversation is, I believe we can better
spend our time trying to figure a way of bustin’
out. I was hoping someone might be brought
in before I met with the judge.”
Lee looked around the cell. “Get out of
here? How we gonna do that? I mean, I’m all
for putting as much distance between me and
this place as possible, but if we get caught this
won’t be no weekend stay, if ya know what I
Pg. 6
mean.”
A sinister grin blossomed on Max’s face.
“Why not take a chance? Life ain’t gonna
get any better on this blast-hole of a colony.
Besides, I’ve got an almost bullet-proof plan.”
The words, why not? rattled around in
Lee’s head for several moments. What was he
objecting to? He hadn’t worked in months. And
his apartment was nothing more than a flea-
ridden rattrap. If they did get caught, the police
couldn’t make his life any more miserable than
it already was. “All right—I’m in. What’s this
bullet-proof plan of yours?”
Max went over to the door and craned
his neck over so he could get a better look
down the hall. “I’m a little out of practice,” he
admitted, “but I think the best way of getting
their attention is smashing up the place. Makin’
lots of noise really gets ‘em mad.”
Lee cocked his head over. “Noise? You
want to bring the whole station down on top
of us?”
“Relax,” he grinned. “Only the sergeant and
his assistant are on duty after midnight. Trust
me. They’ll be the only ones who come.”
Lee shot a glance at the cell door. “So what
do you suggest?”
“That’s the easy part.” Max lifted up one of
the bunks and tipped it over. The sudden crash
reverberated off the smooth, metallic walls.
He then hurried over to the bars and started
yelling at the top of his lungs. “Hey…ho,” he
yelled. “He’s got me.”
Lee jumped into the fray and shouted back.
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Wrong Place at the Right Time, by Mike Lynch
To anyone within earshot, it sounded like both
of them were on the verge of a major brawl.
The faint echoes of hurried footsteps
approached from around the corner.
When the sergeant arrived, he pulled out
his immobilizer and pointed it at Max. “Stop
that right now!” he shouted. His assistant
appeared just a few seconds later.
“Not before I put a dent in this guy’s face,”
Max replied, trying to bait him. He raised his
right hand and balled it into a fist.
“If you don’t stop busting up the place, I’m
gonna put you both to sleep for sure.”
“Just give me a chance to clock this piece of
garbage first,” Lee said in exaggerated tones.
The sergeant let out a quick, angry breath.
He positioned his immobilizer in between two
of the bars and took aim.
Max recognized his opportunity. He spun
around and threw part of the broken bed frame
at the narrow opening. The sergeant’s weapon
flew out of his hand, smashing into a thousand
pieces after striking the wall.
Lee ran up to the cell bars and grabbed
the assistant’s arm before he could reach for
his weapon. Cold-cocking him on the jaw, Lee
dropped him limp onto the floor like a sack of
wheat. Just as the sergeant turned to run, Lee
dropped down on one knee and pulled the
immobilizer out of the officer’s holster. A tight
beam of photonic energy hit its target square
in the back. He stood in place, frozen for a brief
second, and then slumped down onto the floor,
unconscious.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
”Gotcha!” Max brayed in triumph.
Lee came up next to him. “Now what?”
A knowing look appeared on his face.
Rather than respond, Max reached through the
bars and pulled out what looked like a shiny
grey card from the officer’s pocket. He pressed
up against the slatted opening and reached
around the corner. The door slid open with the
same kind of swooshing sound as before. “See.
What did I say?”
“We haven’t made it yet. There’s still the
small matter of getting out of the station
without being spotted.”
The accusation seemed to catch Max off
guard. He looked back and forth a couple of
times before an idea registered on his face.
“Get theses two guys into the cell before
someone sees them.”
Lee was beginning to wonder if his partner
of convenience really did have a plan. Rather
than argue, he grabbed the sergeant and
dragged him inside. Max got a firm grip on the
assistant’s arm and laid him down next to his
new cellmate.
When the door slid closed again, Max gave
the hallway a good, long look. “The only way
out of here is past the front desk.”
Lee stood upright. “Front desk?” he
protested. “You never said anything about
going past the front desk.”
“Unfortunately, the back and side doors are
kept magnetically sealed at night. Nothing less
than an ion cannon fired at point blank range
would ever budge them. The only way outta
Pg. 7
here is through the front.”
Lee looked back over his shoulder. “I don’t
know. The moment we step into the foyer,
they’ll be all over us. There has to be a better
way—the roof, underground access pipes,
something.”
“Trust me. The front way is it.” His eyes
began to sparkle in the muted light. “And our
two friends in there are going to help us.”
A look of protestation crossed Lee’s face.
“Those guys will be out for hours. Besides.
Even if they were awake, you don’t think they
would just escort us outside, immobilizer or no
immobilizer.”
“They won’t, but their uniforms will.”
Lee’s eyes narrowed. “You mean put on
their clothes?”
Max smiled brightly. “Exactly. As long as
we keep their police hats on low, covering our
faces as much as possible, we’ll be home free
before you know it.”
Lee looked down at the two officers, looked
back up at Max, and then back down at the two
unconscious men. His confidence in the plan
went up about a hundred fold. “That just might
be simple enough to work.”
After a quick change, Lee and Max approxi-
mated the walk of an astro-officer to the best of
their ability. With both shoulders thrown back
and standing erect, they made their way down
the hallway, trying to stay as quiet as possible.
Their uniforms weren’t an exact fit, but close
enough; at least that was what Lee hoped.
Max peered around the corner when they
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Wrong Place at the Right Time, by Mike Lynch
reached an intersecting corridor. “It’s as empty
as a church on Monday,” he whispered.
They hadn’t taken more than a handful
of steps when another astro-officer suddenly
appeared. He came around a blind corner,
humming a song to himself. His attention was
fixed on a clipboard in his hands. Lee consid-
ered turning around and heading back the way
they came, but it might arouse the officer’s
suspicions. Before he could figure out what
they should do, Max marched forward without
a seeming care in the world.
The officer barely gave him any notice. He
just offered a cursory, “How’s it goin’?” and
continued on his way without breaking his
stride.
Only when the officer went into a room
near the end of the hallway did Lee let his
feelings be known. “Are you crazy?” he asked
rhetorically. “You could have gotten us busted.
You’re lucky that guy didn’t take a good look
at you.”
Max’s expression went blank. “If you act like
you own the place, no one’s going to bother
you.”
Lee let out a deep sigh. “Maybe you’re
right, but you shouldn’t take those kinds of
chances.”
“Look. This is getting us nowhere. We can
argue about this later when we’re a hundred
miles from this place.”
Lee answered with a simple nod.
The hallway curved to the left a good forty
meters, and then made a sharp right. When
Ray Gun Revival magazine
they reached the end, Max pressed his face
against the wall and peered around the corner.
He saw several astro-officers talking to each
other mingling about in the lobby.
“There are more policemen around than I
would have expected at this time of night,” he
observed before adding. “That’s strange.”
His palms grew sweaty. “What? Anything
wrong?”
Max pulled back into the relative safety of
the corridor. “Some of them are wearing riot
gear,” he whispered.
Lee let out a short snort. “You mean like
nightsticks and helmets?”
He took a second peek into the lobby.
“Yeah. A few of them even have shields, but
they don’t seem to be in a hot hurry to get
out of here. Maybe it’s some kind of drill.”
He paused a second time. “I think we can slip
through without too much problem.”
Lee responded with a hesitant nod.
They re-adjusted their hats and straight-
ened their uniforms. The two-day old stubble
on Lee’s face might be a problem, but there
wasn’t anything he couldn’t do about it now.
He drew in a deep breath and stepped into the
foyer with all the confidence he could muster.
The automatic doors were only fifteen
meters away—a distance both men could
cover in twenty seconds if they were walking
down the street. But right here, right now, it
felt more like a mile.
Just as they were about to reach their goal,
a voice called out to them. “You two. Come
Pg. 8
here.”
“Blast!” Lee screamed in his mind. The jig
was up.
Both of them stopped in mid-stride, as
though some unseen force blocked their way.
Lee felt his heart thumping in his chest as his
breaths drew short. He briefly considered
making a run for it, but he wouldn’t get ten
feet before an officer tagged them with his
immobilizer.
Lee had no choice but to turn around and
offer his surrender. Max, on the other hand,
held his place.
“And just where do you think you two are
going?” The man approached from behind.
He paused, and then added, “You know every
spare officer was ordered to report to the
station.”
Officer. Station. They hadn’t been found
out. He thought they were one of them. “Uh . .
. we were on our way to night patrol.”
“Nigh patrol?”
“Yeah, that’s right. We’ve been ordered to
the civic center area.”
“Why were you going out the front door?
That’s the long way.”
Lee shot a glance in Max’s direction. He just
shrugged. “I guess we forgot about that. We’ll
remember next time.”
“You forgot?” The officer scrutinized them
both and then took a sniff. “Have you two been
drinking?”
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Wrong Place at the Right Time, by Mike Lynch
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No…yes,” the officer said. “Which is it?”
“Maybe a little,” Max replied. “Before we
got on duty.”
The officer pulled out his nightstick and
held it in both hands. “I should bust the two of
you,” he said, his tone sharp, “but I need every
man I can get.”
Lee and Max looked at each other, uncertain
what he meant.
The officer eyed them both before respond-
ing. “We’ve just gotten a call from downtown.
Seems that there is some kind of riot going on
there. As far as we can tell, the whole thing
started between two rival asteroid freighter
crews…something about claim jumping.”
A heavy sigh pushed through Max’s lips.
“That’s just great,” he complained. “Digger
crews are the worst. Nothing but a bunch of
thugs and cutthroats.”
The officer stepped up close, until their
noses were almost touching. “What was that
you said?”
Max had made a mistake, and he realized
it. He needed to correct himself, and fast. “I
apologize, Sir. I should not have got out of line
like that.”
“I need you guys ready to go in five minutes.
If we don’t contain this thing fast, the whole
city could explode.” He turned back and faced
the other officers. “I want you up on the hover
pads just a soon as you’re ready. Your wagon
Ray Gun Revival magazine
will be number five.”
“Yes, Sir,” Lee replied, and then followed
the other astro-officers down the corridor.
When they reached a set of stairs at the
end of the hallway, Lee stopped and pretended
to look for something in his pockets.
Max came alongside, a look of confusion
draped over his face. “What are you doing?”
“I should ask you the same thing?” Lee
snapped back. “First, you admit you were
drinking. And then you go off about those
freighter crews.”
“Look, I’m sorry. When he told me about
the riot, it was the first thing that popped into
my head.” A strange expression crossed his
face, one that denoted a look of regret. “I’ll try
and guard my mouth a little better.”
Lee just shook his head.
When he turned to go up the ladder, an
officer bumped into Max from behind. “Watch
where you’re going,” he barked. “You a newbie
or something?”
Lee rolled his eyes back. It would be a
miracle if they made it through the night.
Fortunately for them both, the hover pads
were well marked. Large white letters painted
on the tarmac gave everyone the impression
that Lee and Max knew where they were
going.
When they walked up the angled incline to
their wagon, the other officers were already
inside, waiting. They were divided into two
groups, each side facing the other on long,
Pg. 9
metal benches.
A couple of officers scooted over and
formed an opening of sorts. Just as Max was
going to take his place, another astro-officer
came running on board and tried to sit down
in the newly created space.
Max rose up just a little higher. “These are
our seats,” he bellowed.
“But this is my assigned station.”
“The lieutenant over there said this is our
place,” Max lied. “If you want to argue about it,
you take this up with him.”
The officer looked at the lieutenant, and
then at the bench. Lee could see the war
waging within him. He wanted the spot for
himself, but if it meant arguing with a senior
officer, the price was just a little too high. He
stormed off without another word said.
Lee leaned over. “I think you might
be pushing things a bit,” he whispered.
“Remember? We need to keep a low profile.”
“From my dealings with these astro-ze-
roes, they only respect strength. If they see us
backing down and acting polite, they’ll figure
something’s up.”
Lee cast a surreptitious glance in their
direction. “Maybe you’re right. But try not to
get too much into the role.”
Before Max could respond, the lieutenant
came out of the front cabin. “I just got off the
radio. It seems the fight is bigger than we first
thought. A full-scale war has erupted in the
downtown sector. A number of men have been
hospitalized, and fires are breaking out all over
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Wrong Place at the Right Time, by Mike Lynch
the city.” He tossed Lee and Max one helmet
each. “Here, you’ll need these. Also, make sure
your weapons are at their highest settings. We
can’t take a chance if some of those pirates are
able to shake off anything under a hundred
terrawatt stun.”
Just as he finished, a high-pitched motorized
noise sounded inside the wagon. The back door
swung up until the latching mechanism slipped
into two magnetic clamps. When the mechani-
cal sounds ceased, the lieutenant returned to
the front cabin.
“That’s just great,” Lee exhaled.
Max bent closer. “What’s wrong now?”
“With all those officers crawling all over
the city, it’s going to be a whole lot tougher
making a break for it. We’ll stick out like a sore
thumb if they see us heading off in the opposite
direction. One discharge from their immobiliz-
ers, and it’s goodnight for us both.”
“Are you kidding? I can’t think of anything
more fun right now than knocking a few heads
together.” Max took out his weapon and stared
at the dark, shiny finish. “This makes all the
difference. This makes us legal. As civilians, if
we’re the ones shooting up the place, they’d
toss us in a cell. Kind of ironic, isn’t it?”
Lee didn’t answer. He just sat back against
the side and exhaled. Two hours ago, he just
wanted to get inside where it was warm and
have a drink. Despite his best intentions, he
had gotten into a fight, found himself face
down in the gutter, been arrested, thrown in
jail, broken out of jail, and now drafted into the
police. There’s just no way around the truth,
Lee thought, disappointed in himself. He was
Ray Gun Revival magazine
at the wrong place at the right time.
The hover ship came to an abrupt landing.
“Okay, this is it,” the lieutenant said. “Stick
with your partner, and remember your training.
If you need additional help, call for back-up.”
The same high-pitched motorized sound
preceded the back door dropping open. “Let’s
move it everyone! Move! Move! Move!”
Every officer scrambled to his feet and
hustled outside. There, they were met by
scenes of thick, billowy smoke wafting up into
the nighttime sky. Smashed glass and burning
hover cars were everywhere. The place looked
more like a war zone than the downtown
district.
When some of the looters a dozen or
so meters away saw the officers pour out of
the hover ship, they turned and tore off in
the opposite direction. The bundled objects
clutched in their arms fell onto the ground in
lifeless heaps.
“Come on!” Lee shouted at Max. “This is
our chance. If we don’t go after them now,
they’ll get away.”
Max furled his brow, as if to suggest
he didn’t understand what his partner was
saying. Then a look of recognition crossed his
face. “Uh…yeah. We’ll track down those guys
and arrest them.” His words sounded forced,
almost rehearsed.
Lee buried his chin into his chest and hurried
after the fleeing looters. Max kept pace, staying
a step or two behind. Just as they reached the
intersection, Lee stopped dead in his tracks. He
looked both ways after taking in several deep
Pg. 10
breaths. It was only then that he realized they
weren’t alone. Two other officers were not far
behind. In his fervor to make a break for it, he
hadn’t noticed them guarding their rear. He
cast a furtive glance in Max’s direction. If they
had any chance of getting away, they needed
to shake their back-ups.
The sound of a window breaking just up the
street shattered the brief silence. Lee looked
up, just in time to see several men brawling.
Like it or not, he was an astro-officer now,
and stopping the fight was his responsibility.
“That one’s ours,” he said to Max, and then ran
towards them.
“Break it up!” one of the officers shouted
when all four of them reached the melee.
Two men, beaten and bloodied, continued
striking each other without the slightest regard
for the officers huddled around them. The
other two combatants threw up their hands
the moment they were ordered to do so.
Max’s countenance darkened when he
realized the pair still fighting weren’t going to
stop. He pulled out his nightstick and shoved
it in between the men locked in a death grip,
grunting and tussling with each other. “That’s
enough!” he shouted.
One of the back-up officers grabbed the
man closest him by the shoulders and pulled
him back with a quick jerk, slapping a pair of
metallic handcuffs on his wrists in the blink of
an eye. Lee seized the other one and threw
him down onto the ground.
“I give,” he pleaded.
When both men were subdued, the back-up
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Wrong Place at the Right Time, by Mike Lynch
officer pulled out his radio. “We’re secure here
on Nostromo Lane. Bring in the wagon for a
pick up.”
“Roger that,” a crackly voice responded on
the speaker. “We’ll rendezvous your position in
two minutes.” The radio fell silent.
The other backup officer came into the
middle of the group. “I’ve just received word
there’s some looting taking place two blocks
over.” He pointed towards the center of town.
“As soon as these guys are out of here, we’ve
been ordered to move in that direction.”
Lee stepped ahead of the others. “All
right,” he said, approximating the tone of a drill
sergeant, “we’ll take this one. You can follow
us after the pick up.”
A knowing smile blossomed on Max’s face.
As they started jogging down the street, he
came up alongside Lee. “This is better than I
anticipated. I’m enjoying roughing-up people
on this side of the law.” He held up his night-
stick. “I think I picked the wrong career to go
into.”
As both men jogged past looted and burning
buildings, they heard sporadic sounds of metal
banging against metal and men shouting at
each other in the distance. The closer they got,
the louder the dissonant noises became. Lee
and Max turned the corner and saw a dozen
men fighting each other in the street. Some
had bats and clubs, while others had immobi-
lizers.
Lee looked past them. The avenue was long
and straight, and devoid of astro-officers. This
was their chance. Just as he was about to make
a break for it, Max let out a wild, almost ani-
Ray Gun Revival magazine
mal-like scream, and ran at the brawling mass
without any regard for his personal safety.
“Max!” Lee yelled. “Have you lost your
mind?”
He watched him knock over a couple of
rioters like a wrecking ball plowing through a
condemned building.
“Crazy fool,” Lee said to himself, and then
ran into the same group with equal abandon.
He used his stick to push back one brawler after
another. One of the men jumped to his feet and
pulled out a weapon. Just as he took aim, Max
smacked him square on the jaw, and the man
crumpled onto the ground, unconscious.
“Thanks,” Lee said. “I owe ya.”
Just as the words passed through Lee’s lips,
another brawler grabbed him from behind and
held on tight. Lee managed to spin around
and was about to crack him with his stick.
Instead of cowering back, the man’s eyes lit up.
“Malcom?” he said, a tone of recognition in his
voice. “Malcom Lee?”
At that moment, Lee recognized the man
standing before him. He was Spike Nelson.
They had flown together some years back for
Orion Space Cruises. He needed to think fast.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m…”
He glanced down at his badge. “The name’s
Stewart.”
Nelson didn’t surrender. “No. I’d recognize
you anywhere.”
One of the backup officers came running up
to them. “Is there a problem here?” he asked
between winded breaths.
Pg. 11
“I know this man,” Nelson repeated. “This
is Malcom Lee. The last I heard you were a
navigator for an asteroid prospecting business.
You an astro-cop now?”
Lee pulled down his riot helmet just a bit
more, but he felt just as exposed. If he didn’t
figure a way out of this now, this whole charade
could blow up in his face. “Look!” he shouted.
“I’m not this Lee guy. Name’s Stewart. Got
that?” He held up his sidearm and brought it
close to the man’s head. “If you don’t move
over there and wait with the others, I’ll put you
to sleep for sure.”
Nelson visibly shrunk as he threw up both
hands. “Okay, okay. You’re not who I thought
you were. My mistake.”
“Come on,” Max pointed. “We’ve got some
cleaning up to do down there.”
“I’ll stay with this lot,” the first back-up
officer offered. “Go on without me. I’ll catch
up with you when the next wagon picks up this
haul.”
“All right,” Max replied. He tightened his
chinstrap as far as it could go. An unmistakable
gleam twinkled in both eyes, one that denoted
he couldn’t wait to go out there again.
Lee nodded in reply.
Together, all three officers hustled down
the street. It didn’t take them long to find
another freighter crew barricaded in a liquor
store. Firing off random shots into the air and
shouting out every vulgar remark in the book,
the crew seemed to have drunk themselves
into a state of oblivion. By the time Lee and
his companions reached them, two other
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Wrong Place at the Right Time, by Mike Lynch
squads rendezvoused at their position from
the opposite direction. They cleared the crew
from the store in a matter of minutes, some
barely able to stand, let alone put up a fight.
In the meantime, the city slowly fell back
into order. Just as both suns crested the
horizon, most of the fires had been put out,
and all the rioters hauled off to jail.
Lee and Max shuffled over to a parked
wagon at the end of the street, exhausted.
They had long abandoned the idea of making
a break for it. There were just too many astro-
officers around. While Lee couldn’t speak for
Max, as the night wore on, he felt a growing
awareness that what they were doing was in
actuality a good thing. They were saving lives
and property. Admittedly, despite their best
efforts, parts of Crater City were nothing more
than smoldering ruins, but it could have been
much, much worse.
Both men sat down on the ground and
leaned up against the hull, their legs heavy.
“I just wanted to say that was some of the
best police work I have ever seen,” an unknown
voice complimented.
Lee’s attention drifted upwards, until it
settled on one of the back-up officers. He drank
in the words through a drowsy haze. “Thank
you,” he replied, too tired to say anything
else.
A second officer walked up to the first. They
spoke with each other for a moment, when he
inexplicably stopped in mid-sentence. “Well,
well, well,” he said, obviously pleased with
himself. “Look what we have here?”
Ray Gun Revival magazine
That condescending tone could only belong
to one person. “Lieutenant Ngoc,” Lee replied.
He looked up and caught sight of his immobi-
lizer pointed right at him. “It’s good to see you
too, Lieutenant.”
“What you have here are two escapees.”
The other officer furrowed his brow.
“These two? They’ve been with me all night. I
don’t think we could have done as good a job
squelching the riot without them. I’ll admit
their methods were a bit unorthodox, but—”
“But nothing,” Ngoc interrupted. “They
broke out of their cell last night. We didn’t
have the manpower to look for them, but I
knew they would turn up, sooner or later.”
He paused for a moment, a look of satisfac-
tion spread across his face. “Looks like they
delivered themselves.”
“Is that true?” the officer asked.
Lee’s hand drifted down towards his
sidearm.
Ngoc jerked forward. “Nice and slow, so we
don’t have any…accidents.”
Lee felt his stinging glare burn into him
through those cold, dark eyes. “It was fun
while it lasted,” he said, and then handed his
weapon over to Ngoc. Max likewise pulled
out his sidearm, handle first, and stared at it,
as though he couldn’t quite part with his new
toy. Without any fanfare, he threw it onto the
ground at Ngoc’s feet.
“I wish I could let the two of you go,” the
officer said, “but I swore an oath to keep the
law.”
Pg. 12
Ngoc grinned. “That’s right. Your cell is
waiting for you back at the station.”
The hover ship fired up its anti-grav drive.
After an initial hum, the back door started to
move upwards, but not before the back-up
officer jumped onboard. He worked his way
towards the front cabin, moving past Lee and
Max sitting on one of the benches. As he came
up behind Lt. Ngoc, the officer tripped on
something and fell forward, knocking him onto
the ground. The officer tried to catch himself,
but in doing so, pushed Lee and Max out the
back just before the door closed.
With the final blast of its engines, the wagon
flew high into the air, and out of sight. Both
men picked themselves up and wiped the dust
off their shirts and pants. They stood there for
a good long while, staring at the crisp, autumn
sky, until Max finally spoke up. “Do you think
he did that on purpose?”
Lee shook his head. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”
“Either way, I bet Ngoc is steaming mad
right now.”
Lee took in his surroundings. “Well I’ll be…”
he said, his tone hopeful. “We seem to have
ended up right where we started.”
Max looked around, puzzled
“I know a place around here where we can
get a drink.”
A knowing smile parted his lips. “I sure
could use one.”
“You should like it well enough. Nice atmo-
sphere. Very friendly.”
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Wrong Place at the Right Time, by Mike Lynch Pg. 13

“Who cares about that. As long as it’s fully

stocked, that’s good enough for me.”
Lee extended his arm and started down
the street. Through the smoke and haze
hovering over the city, a faint image began
to show itself. A blinking red sign just above
a darkened doorway beckoned them forward
like a silent magician casting a strange spell.
Both men passed through the front doors of
Club Midnight and disappeared inside.

Mike Lynch
Mike currently resides in San Jose,
California with his wife, Kathleen, and two
children. Mike’s first book, Dublin was
released in July 2007. He has published a
short story, “No Revolution is Too Big,” in
Ray Gun Revival magazine in the August 15,
2007, RGR 28 issue. In May 2008, Mike’s
first novel, When the Sky Fell, is scheduled
to be released by Silver Leaf Books.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 34, November 15, 2007

The Final Harvest, by Drew Arrants
The Final Harvest
by Drew Arrants
“A re our forward probes picking up any
scanning activity?” Admiral Oksandr
asked. She stood on the flight deck, watching
Mars on the main video screen. Earth was
plainly visible in the background, a small sphere
that beckoned with both exotic delicacies and
lethal danger.
First Officer Drahos looked up from the
command console. “No, ma’am,” he answered.
“So far we haven’t detected any electronic
tracking signals at all from either Earth or
Mars. Could it be they really aren’t expecting
us to come back after all this time?”
“Don’t underestimate the humans, Drahos,”
Admiral Oksandr said. “We got too cocky after
the first two harvests—didn’t suspect that next
time they’d be waiting out in space to intercept
us. We can’t afford another debacle like that.”
In the half century since that military
disaster, no further harvesting attempts had
been made—until now. Admiral Oksandr knew
that the United Planetary Council was taking
a huge gamble by ordering another harvest,
but the spreading famine on her home planet
required desperate measures.
She wiped a tentacle across her upper beak
in a gesture of relief, as the ten-ship armada
slipped past Mars without incident. Admiral
Oksandr was afraid that the humans were again
planning some kind of trap, and she wondered
why they were letting her forces get so close
Ray Gun Revival magazine
to Earth.
There was now nothing between her
starships and Earth except 50 million miles of
open space, so she ordered the general alert
level to be lowered to “Two.”
“Well, we can relax for a while, Drahos—so
I’m going down to the dining hall and have
some lunch.”
The Officer’s Mess Hall was nearly empty,
since most of the armada’s crew had been
required to remain at their duty posts during
the high general alert. Admiral Oksandr saw
the science officer, Lieutenant Edemsk, and the
intelligence officer, Lieutenant Rattko, sitting
together as always at a small corner table,
and she suspected that they were curling their
lower tentacles together behind the tablecloth
as they ate.
The young lieutenants had recently asked
her if she would be willing to perform an
onboard wedding ceremony, at a convenient
time after the armada had completed its mission
and was homeward bound. The journey back to
their home galaxy would take over six months,
a wait that the love-struck couple considered
unbearable. Admiral Oksandr knew that they
were eagerly awaiting her decision, but were
afraid to approach her directly about it.
She sat down alone at the designated
Admiral’s Table and opened the menu, although
she already knew what the main course would
Pg. 14
be—the same unpleasant meat that Lieuten-
ant Edemsk and Lieutenant Rattko were eating,
and that her daughter was preparing for her
beloved grandchildren back on their home
planet, and that every member of her species
was now forced to eat. Her people were obliga-
tory carnivores who could not survive without
a daily intake of animal protein.
“Ovekian rodent,” she muttered with
disgust. “Ah, well, let’s see what the chefs have
done to disguise its taste today.”
Once the meat-producing animals on
her home planet had been so plentiful that
extraterrestrial meat sources like human flesh
had been considered a delicacy, an expensive
luxury for the rich. Poor conservation practices
had resulted in the slow, steady decline of the
traditional meat animals, and then the sudden
appearance of a virulent, highly contagious
virus had killed them off.
Now the only edible creature left on their
world in sizeable numbers was the lowly
Ovekian rodent, and even with strict rationing
that resulted in widespread malnutrition, the
rodent population was diminishing, as demand
for its flesh outraced its ability to breed.
Admiral Oksandr’s world was slowly starving
to death, and its only hope for survival was an
abundant harvest of humans that would put
decent, plentiful food on its tables at last. There
was even hope that enough humans could be
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Final Harvest, by Drew Arrants
kept alive on breeding farms to create a new
indigenous livestock, so that future harvests
would eventually become unnecessary.
After the meal, Admiral Oksandr walked
back up to the flight deck, where First Officer
Drahos seemed entertained by the scene on
the video display. “Look at this, ma’am,” he
said. “Earth has moved directly between its
star and our ships, forming a solar eclipse.”
She glanced over First Officer Drahos’
shoulder at the screen. From their position in
space, Earth looked slightly smaller than the
sun, and now the planet appeared as a dark
sphere surrounded by a ring of light.
Suddenly the small black image of Earth
disappeared, as an intense brightness covered
its surface and continued to expand until it
appeared larger than the sun.
“What in the world is that? Drahos—get
Commander Habart on the—”
First Officer Drahos raised one of his
tentacles and placed a second over his
earphone, signaling that he was receiving a
radio communication.
“Ma’am, we’re getting an urgent message
from the electronics surveillance ship—Com-
mander Habart’s already calling us.”
An apprehensive voice came through the
flight deck speakers. “Habart here, ma’am. Our
sensors have just detected what appears to be
an incredibly powerful energy surge emanating
from Earth—and it’s coming directly toward
us.”
“I just saw it on our main screen,” Admiral
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Oksandr said. “But the humans couldn’t
possibly have any weapon capable of firing
concentrated energy over that distance—could
they? Can you tell me what the surge’s specific
components are?”
“Well, if it’s some type of pulse weapon,
its wave structure is pretty disorganized. It
seems to be a random mixture of energy
waves covering the entire electromagnetic
spectrum—I’ve never seen an energy weapon
like—
“Wait a minute. ma’am—this energy field
is much too intense to be originating from any
planet. This has got to be a solar flare—a huge
one—and it’s going to slam into us in less than
twenty minutes.”
“Blessed Croix,” Admiral Oksandr said, using
language that was very unusual for her. “We
don’t even have time to—okay, Commander
Habart, start shutting everything on your ship
down. I’ll be issuing general orders momen-
tarily.”
Admiral Oksandr directed all the ships in
the armada to take immediate action to limit
damage from the approaching solar flare,
including shutting down all nonessential elec-
tronic equipment. There was no time to turn
the massive starships to one side to reduce
direct exposure of the front-mounted external
scanners and sensors, so the commanders
were told to switch off their propulsion engines
and hold in place until the energy surge had
passed.
Seventeen minutes later, the flare reached
the armada in full intensity, and for almost an
hour the starships were bombarded by the
powerful electromagnetic storm.
Pg. 15
Finally it passed, and the various sections
slowly began to resume normal operations.
Admiral Oksandr directed her command-
ers to assess the amount of damage in their
squadrons, and to be prepared to brief her
on their findings in an emergency senior staff
meeting in three hours.
During that staff meeting, she sat with a grim
expression on her face while one commander
after another stood up and presented bad
news.
The long-range radar in her command
starship, a mighty intergalaxy-class destroyer,
was no longer functional. Until that radar was
repaired, it would be impossible to detect any
approaching human warships before they were
dangerously close.
Commander Habart’s electronics surveil-
lance ship had sustained the most damage.
Four of its large sensor units—the infrared
scanner, the radiation monitor, the chromo-
graphic analyzer for atmospheric gases, and
the long-range MRI scanner—would require
many hours of repair before they could even
safely be turned on for testing.
In addition, most of the small external
radio antennas on the other ships had been
burned out. They could be easily replaced, but
the other repairs would not be so simple, and
priorities had to be set.
“We don’t dare approach Earth without
long-range radar,” Admiral Oksandr told the
assembled officers. “We’ll have to hold here just
beyond Mars until that’s operational again. The
long-range MRI scanner will also be essential
for a successful harvest if the humans go into
hiding. So I want the Engineering Squadron to
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Final Harvest, by Drew Arrants
get those two units repaired first, and the less
essential sensors will just have to wait.”
The Engineering Squadron Commander
raised his tentacle to speak. “Er, ma’am, we
don’t have enough transistors and circuit
boards to repair all of the damaged equipment.
So some of it is going to have to wait until we
get back to home port—after the mission is
over.”
Admiral Oksandr frowned. “Well, we aren’t
planning on doing any harvesting at night,
so the infrared scanner won’t be needed,
anyway—and we already know Earth’s atmo-
spheric composition and background radiation
level from measurements taken during the
previous missions. So we can proceed with the
harvest once the long-range radar and MRI are
functional. How long do you estimate that will
take, Commander Ludmille?”
“Six to eight shifts, ma’am—even with
double work crews going at it around the clock,
that’s as fast as we can do it.”
The unmanned forward probes which had
been launched toward Earth well before the
armada had reached Mars were no longer
sending signals back, and were presumed to
have been destroyed. Admiral Oksandr ordered
replacement probes to be sent out, destined
for orbit around both Earth and its moon. They
would be in place by the time the armada
reached near space around Earth.
The last person to brief was the science
officer. “Since Earth was directly in the path
of the solar flare—and is considerably closer
to its star than we are—we at least have the
consolation that the humans’ own electronic
defense systems have been damaged,” Lieu-
Ray Gun Revival magazine
tenant Edemsk said. “There’s no doubt that
a number of their satellites were burned out,
and some of their regional power grids are
probably also temporarily down. The humans’
ability to spy on us is definitely crippled to an
unknown degree.”
She concluded her presentation and sat
back down beside Lieutenant Rattko.
“Well, thank Deity for some good news,”
Admiral Oksandr said. “Now if no one else has
anything to say, this meeting is adjourned.
The next staff meeting will be at my call. Carry
on!”
With the meeting over, Admiral Oksandr
and First Officer Drahos walked back to the
flight deck together, while the other officers
rode shuttlecraft back to their ships.
“You know, it just occurred to me,” Admiral
Oksandr said. “That solar flare must be why
the humans didn’t try another ambush from
behind Mars—I’m sure their scientists monitor
their star’s periodic flare activity, so they knew
it was coming and couldn’t risk the damage
to their fleet. That’s the only explanation that
makes sense from a tactical military stand-
point.”
“Why, yes, that could’ve forced the humans
to change their tactics,” First Officer Drahos
said, prudently agreeing with his commanding
officer. Then he changed the subject somewhat
hesitantly. “Uh, ma’am, maybe this isn’t a
good time to bring this up—but just before
the meeting started, Lieutenant Rattko and
Lieutenant Edemsk asked me again if you’d
reached a decision on their—”
“You’re right—this isn’t a good time,”
Pg. 16
Admiral Oksandr said, cutting off the discus-
sion. “Tell them that I’ll give them my decision
after the harvest has been successfully
completed, when we’ve started on the voyage
back home.”
She had already decided to deny their
request, on the grounds that military regula-
tions forbade married couples from serving
together on the same starship, and she didn’t
want to give them discouraging news that
might impair their work performance before
the mission was accomplished.
The equivalent of four Earth days passed,
and the Engineering Squadron finally reported
that the command ship’s long-range radar
had been repaired. Work was still being done
on the long-range MRI scanner, but that was
expected to be completed by the time the
armada reached Earth.
So Admiral Oksandr ordered the starships to
move onward and they were again underway.
Two shifts later, the armada was a mere 300,000
miles from Earth, and all ships were placed on
full alert status.
“Ma’am, the probes in moon orbit aren’t
finding any artificially modulated electromag-
netic signals on its surface, and there are no
spacecraft behind its far side,” First Officer
Drahos stated. “The only frequencies that the
Earth orbiters are picking up are the standard
wavelengths normally reserved for commercial
broadcasting and telecommunications—but no
scanning activity aimed in our direction.”
“Hmm,” Admiral Oksandr said. “Unless the
humans are planning to launch a counterattack
at the very last minute, they may actually be
waiting to fight us down on Earth—I wonder if
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Final Harvest, by Drew Arrants
they could’ve developed some new, advanced
ground combat weaponry that they didn’t have
before.”
She tapped a tentacle repeatedly against
the command console as she vented her frus-
tration. “Fifty-three years is a long time—our
intelligence information on the humans is so
ridiculously outdated.”
By the start of the next shift, the armada
had reached its holding position for the
harvest, with its ships grouped together in a
high stationary orbit over Earth.
Only four of the armada’s ships—its assault
harvester craft—were capable of landing on
solid terrain. These would go down to Earth to
capture the humans and then ferry them back
to the massive orbiting cargo ships, where the
hapless humans would be kept in suspended
animation during the long trip back to home
galaxy.
The targeted harvesting area was Mexico
City, where unmanned probes sent to Earth a
decade earlier had confirmed a dense popula-
tion of millions of humans, easy prey for skilled
harvesters.
The first harvester ship flew down into
Earth’s atmosphere just before dawn, landing
on the outskirts of the city. Its initial task was
to evaluate harvesting conditions and potential
security threats. If no significant human resis-
tance was encountered, the other harvester
ships would soon join it. Overhead in orbit, the
destroyer starship stood ready to rain down
savage firepower from the skies if major force
were needed.
Admiral Oksandr paced around the flight
Ray Gun Revival magazine
deck nervously, waiting for word from the
commander of the advance team. Two hours
after the harvester ship’s initial landing, his
report came in.
“Major Varinen here, ma’am. We’ve
encountered no resistance—in fact, no human
activity at all. The city appears to be entirely
deserted. The airport and nearby military
bases are also empty. There’s evidence of a
hasty evacuation—rubble scattered on the
streets, and a few vehicles that look like they
were abandoned at the roadside. I’ve moved
the ship to a large open park near the city
center, and we’ll hold here awaiting further
instructions.”
“I knew the humans were expecting
us,” Admiral Oksandr said. “They must have
detected our initial forward probes, to have
had time to evacuate the entire metropolitan
area.”
She turned to First Officer Drahos. “Direct
Commander Habart to maneuver the electron-
ics surveillance ship into a low orbit over that
landmass and obtain a broad-area MRI image of
the entire region. There are millions of humans
down there—and if they’re foolish enough to
have hidden together in large shelters, they’ll
be very easy to trap and harvest.”
Admiral Oksandr knew that it would take
almost a full shift to get high-definition scans
of a land area of that size, and she decided
to take advantage of a historic opportunity
that her predecessors had not had—free time
down on Earth, without constant combat with
the humans.
“Drahos, I’m going to send a second
harvester ship down to join Major Varinen’s
Pg. 17
team and set up a base camp there in the
park—and I’m going to go down with that ship
to take a firsthand look at Earth for myself.
Notify Lieutenant Edemsk and Lieutenant
Rattko that they’ll be coming with me—we
have a unique chance to gather information
about human culture and scientific capabilities
that should be very useful in the planning of
future missions.
“We’ll keep the other two harvester ships
up here in orbit for now. Then after Commander
Habart tells us where the humans are hiding,
they can fly directly to those coordinates,
and the two ships down in the park will join
them.”
An hour later the second harvester ship
touched down in the park, and everyone on
board began putting on their bulky environ-
mental safety suits. The oxygen in Earth’s atmo-
sphere was toxic to their species, so these suits
were an uncomfortable but necessary require-
ment for survival.
Finally, the ship’s air lock could be opened,
and Admiral Oksandr stepped onto Earth for
the first time in her life. The science officer and
intelligence officer were right behind her, and
they all stared at the bizarre, alien terrain.
“I can’t believe how barren it all looks,
ma’am,” Lieutenant Edemsk remarked. “All the
dead trees, nothing seems to be growing—”
“Well, you’re the science officer,” Admiral
Oksandr said. “What do you think might have
caused this desolation? Isn’t this the winter
season here?”
“”Yes, ma’am,” Lieutenant Edemsk
answered, “but this location is too close to the
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Final Harvest, by Drew Arrants
equator for winter alone to produce condi-
tions like these—” she paused as if she didn’t
have a good answer. “It, er, could be due to a
prolonged drought. I’ll try to determine the
reason before we leave Earth.”
Lieutenant Rattko spoke up. “Ma’am, how
much time do we have to gather data down
here? Er—you don’t want us to go along on the
actual harvesting operations—do you?”
Admiral Oksandr grinned at his naive
question. “Of course not—you two would only
be in the way. It’s going to take up to a week to
harvest a sufficient number of humans. During
that time, you and Lieutenant Edemsk will
remain down here collecting your data. Major
Varinen’s team is setting up an artificial envi-
ronment module for you to eat and sleep in,
and they’ll leave a ground shuttle vehicle here
for your use.
“Tomorrow I want both of you to drive over
to the abandoned air force base and spend the
day gathering as much information about the
humans’ current military technology as you
can. You can brief me on what you’ve found
tomorrow evening.”
“Ma’am,” Lieutenant Edemsk asked, “do
Lieutenant Rattko and I have permission to
leave the base camp at this time? I’d like to go
ahead and get started on a preliminary explo-
ration of the city area adjacent to the park.”
As the two lieutenants walked away,
Admiral Oksandr saw a large bronze statue
in one corner of the park. Its subject was a
military officer riding a charging steed and
waving a sword high in the air.
She noted the primitive weapon and use of
Ray Gun Revival magazine
the horse as transportation, but she was more
interested in the appearance of the human
figure. She already knew that humans were
bipeds with only four limbs, but had never seen
a clear, detailed image of one before. So she
walked over to the statue and looked closely
at its face, and was particularly repulsed by
all the hair, including the thick sideburns and
bushy moustache.
“My, what a dreadfully ugly species these
humans are,” she thought. “I certainly hope
they taste better than they look.”
Actually, Admiral Oksandr knew that human
flesh would taste infinitely better than Ovekian
rodent, and she smiled at the thought that her
grandchildren would soon be able to eat well
at last. She looked forward to sitting down to
a delicious, joyful dinner with her family in the
not-too-distant future.
Standing in the center of the large metrop-
olis that her forces had taken without firing a
shot, she already felt a sense of triumph. She
was the first starship commander in many
decades to walk the soil of Earth, and the sup-
posedly fierce humans were afraid to even face
her. Perhaps she had overrated them after all.
Two hours later she and Major Varinen were
talking in the newly erected headquarters tent,
when she looked up and saw Lieutenant Rattko
coming through the entrance. He was clutching
several paper documents in his tentacles.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” he said, “but these
are old-style print newspapers that Lieutenant
Edemsk and I found in vending machines along
the streets.
“I can’t translate the headlines—the Intell
Pg. 18
Corps doesn’t know nearly enough about
the human language for me to do that—but
we are familiar with their crude symbols for
numbers, so I was able to read the dates on
these papers.
“They all appear to be seven days old—at
least when compared to the Earth dates
displayed on several still-functioning building
clocks that we saw.”
Admiral Oksandr was mildly irritated at
being interrupted for trivial information that
could have waited for the intelligence officer’s
trip report, but she simply said, “Well, yes, lieu-
tenant, that sounds about right. That’s when
the humans probably detected our forward
probes and started the evacuation—thank you
for this information.”
It was late afternoon when she received
a more important communication from First
Officer Drahos, who informed her that the
electronics surveillance ship had completed its
broad-area MRI scan.
“Ma’am, Commander Habart reports that
the scan has located several million humans
within a 300-mile radius of the base camp.
They’re in about 50 huge bunkers scattered
over the countryside—and the closest one is in
the mountains 73 miles due north of the city.”
“At last!” Admiral Oksandr said. “Now we
can finally erase the humiliation of our last
encounter with the humans.” She glanced
down at the timepiece on her environmental
safety suit. “Ah, yes, there’s still enough time
before nightfall for each ship to harvest one
shelter—and then we’ll move on to other
shelters in the morning.
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Final Harvest, by Drew Arrants
“All right, Drahos, I’ll have Major Varinen
get the coordinates for the two closest shelters,
and the ships down here will be taking off for
immediate deployment. I’ll be going along in
Varinen’s ship to oversee the initial harvest.
You have the other two harvester ships break
out of orbit and head for the next two closest
shelters. Okay, let’s start the ball rolling.”
Shortly after Major Varinen’s harvester
ship took off, he turned to Admiral Oksandr
and said, “Ma’am, our navigator says that the
immediate terrain around the target shelter is
too irregular for a safe landing—so we’re going
to have to set the ship down in a high plane
almost a mile away. We’ll disembark there, and
then move personnel and equipment forward
with the shuttle vehicles.”
After the ship landed in the designated
area, Admiral Oksandr stood to the side while
Major Varinen barked orders to his harvest-
ing team, and the weapons and demolition
supplies were loaded onto six small shuttle
vehicles.
They were at a moderately high elevation,
and she noticed that the sun was approaching
the horizon somewhat earlier than she had
anticipated. It would soon be dusk.
The group finally moved forward, with the
wheeled vehicles bouncing over the rough
ground, until Major Varinen halted it about
100 yards from a very large concrete structure
built into the mountainside. The structure had
a single massive door and no visible windows.
“I don’t see any weapon turrets,” Major
Varinen said to Admiral Oksandr. “Even if some
of the humans inside have small arms, they
won’t have a good line of fire through that
Ray Gun Revival magazine
doorway, so they won’t be putting up any real
resistance in any case—and it looks like that
door is the only way in and out, so the humans
should be very easy to contain.”
“Well, you’d better get on with it,” she said.
“It’s starting to get dark.”
Major Varinen ordered his demolition team
to set explosives on the door, while his assault
troops prepared to charge inside as soon as
the entranceway was clear.
While Admiral Oksandr was observing the
troopers, the communicator in her environ-
mental safety helmet beeped.
“Drahos here, ma’am. I just got a call from
Lieutenant Rattko down in the base camp. He
asked me to inform you that he made a mistake
in his first reading of the dates on—”
“Drahos, I don’t have time for this now,”
Admiral Oksandr snapped. “Why are you telling
me this when we’re in the middle of an active
harvesting operation?”
“Well, ma’am, I think this may be signifi-
cant. Rattko states that he got the numbers for
the date of the month and of the year mixed
up. He says those newspapers aren’t seven
days old—they’re seven years old.”
That got Admiral Oksandr’s attention, but
she quickly said, “Oh, that’s impossible. Rattko’s
just not familiar with the way human dates are
written—listen, don’t interrupt me again until
this operation has been completed.”
There was a loud explosion as the doors
disintegrated and bits of concrete fell to the
ground. Once the dust began settling, the
Pg. 19
armed troopers rushed in.
“They aren’t meeting any resistance,”
Major Varinen said. “We can go on in, ma’am.”
Admiral Oksandr’s heart began to race in
anticipation as the shuttle vehicle drove the
short distance to the shelter entrance. She was
about to see living humans for the first time,
and she hoped that her eagerness wasn’t too
obvious, because she wanted to project the
calm demeanor expected of a commanding
officer.
As she and Major Varinen walked into
the shelter, she was surprised to see that the
troopers already inside were standing almost
still, and most of them didn’t even have their
weapons raised.
Then she saw the humans. The shelter was
indeed filled with thousands of them—men,
women, and children. They were all crowded
together, huddled in family groups.
And they were all quite dead, and quite well
preserved, as if they had died very recently, or
something had rendered their bodies impervi-
ous to decay.
Major Varinen spoke first. “What the hell
could have happened here? Could they have
all suffocated?”
He yelled an order to two of his troopers.
“Gaafe—Semyon—find the shelter’s air cir-
culation pumps, and see if they’re working
properly.”
Admiral Oksandr couldn’t believe what she
was seeing. “They don’t look like they suffo-
cated,” she muttered. “They look like they died
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Final Harvest, by Drew Arrants
almost—instantaneously.”
Major Varinen rushed back over to her.
“Ma’am, until we get some idea of what’s going
on here—maybe you should go back outside—
until we’re absolutely sure it’s safe in here—”
As she turned to leave the shelter, Admiral
Oksandr received one last call. She could hear
the dread in First Officer Drahos’ voice.
“Sorry, ma’am, this can’t wait! Go ahead,
Commander Habart—”
“Habart here, ma’am—we just got power
restored to the radiation monitor, and it’s—well,
it’s showing highly abnormal radiation levels
for Earth’s surface. Either its calibration circuits
still have some damaged transistors that the
Engineering Section overlooked, or—”
Admiral Oksandr heard his words, but her
attention was focused on the view outside the
shelter. Night had fallen, but it had not brought
darkness.
Seventy-three miles away, back at the
base camp, Lieutenant Edemsk and Lieutenant
Rattko were taking full advantage of the oppor-
tunity to be alone together for the first time
on the long mission. They had set aside the
newly discovered Earth documents, and were
engaged in a more universal and intimate type
of research, when Edemsk caught her breath
and tapped Rattko’s beak to get his attention.
She pointed over his shoulder toward the
window of their artificial environment module.
Lieutenant Rattko turned around and stared,
then got up and walked over to the window.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Pg. 20
Lieutenant Edemsk joined him a moment later, outskirts of Phoenix, Arizona, where he
after modestly wrapping herself with a bed occasionally writes short stories. His works
sheet, and together they looked at the eerily
have been published in several European
beautiful scene.
and American print magazines.
“Blue moonlight—?” Lieutenant Edemsk
said in an awed voice. “What a strange planet
this is.”
But the light wasn’t coming from the
moon. Somehow everything—the ground, the
shuttle vehicle in front of their module, even
the military statue on the other side of the
park, and the buildings beyond—was emitting
a faint bluish glow, like an iridescent landscape
in a dream.
Admiral Oksandr had triumphantly reached
Earth, and the young lovers had blissfully
enjoyed their unauthorized honeymoon. And
now death would reap the final harvest.
Drew Arrants
Drew Arrants is a retired psychiatrist
and military flight surgeon. He spent 21
years in the U.S. Air Force, becoming fluent
in two foreign languages while stationed
in Europe, Asia, and the Middle East. He is
currently living in the sunny desert on the
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
Featured Artist: Alexei Kozachenko Pg. 21

Featured Artist
Alexei Kozachenko
Name: Alexei Kozachenko
Age: 19
Hobbies: Friends, movies, graphics, Halo
Favorite Book / Author: Eric Nylund
Favorite Artist: Greg Martin, Dylan Cole
When did you start creating art? July 2006
What media do you work in? Digital art, sci-fi. Mostly space art
but some 3D work too.
Where your work has been featured? DeviantART, various sites,
and ImagineFX magazine.
Where should someone go if they wanted to view / buy some of
your works? http://nameless-designer.deviantart.com
How did you become an artist? Started out quite simple—forum
signatures. I couldn’t make any, and no one made any for me. So
I took matters into my own hands, and tried Photoshop. Some
time later, I came upon some great sci-fi art, and that inspired me
deeply.
What were your early influences? Greg Martin’s work
What are your current influences? Many space artists on
DeviantART
What inspired the art for the cover? Originally made for a
Terrapsace contest, I tried to add more 3D elements into the
Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 34, November 15, 2007
Featured Artist: Alexei Kozachenko Pg. 22

scene. The landscape was made with

Cinema 4D.
How would you describe your work?
I’ve been told, and I agree, that I have
a “painted” feel to my work. It’s not so
much gritty, dark, and plain as it is free
and colorful.
Where do you get your inspiration /
what inspires you? Things in everyday
life, music, strong emotions, anything
really.
Have you had any notable failures, and
how has failure affected your work? My
biggest setback was when my previous
PC decided to die. All my files where lost,
and I had to start over. It took awhile
for me to remake and recreate a index
of source files and base textures that I
needed, but it worked out well in the end.
What have been your greatest successes? How has success impacted you / your work? My biggest
success to date is probably a feature in ImagineFX and in your current issue. It only motivates me to
continue.
What are your favorite tools / equipment for producing your art? My mouse, and my rather old but
still functioning Wacom Volito2
What tool / equipment do you wish you had? A Wacom Intuos tablet

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 34, November 15, 2007

Featured Artist: Alexei Kozachenko Pg. 23

What do you hope to accomplish with your art? To inspire people to be more creative and original
with their art.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 34, November 15, 2007

The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, by John M. Whalen
The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul
A Jack Brand story
by John M. Whalen
Part Two
T hey fell a considerable distance before
Brand’s boots hit the stony bottom. The
impact of the landing knocked the wind out
of him and sent him sprawling. The rifle flew
from his hands. In the dim light that came
from above he could see Ziggy’s head strike
the stone wall of the pit they had fallen into,
and the Kelorian fell unconscious. Calystra had
tumbled over on her side, but appeared to still
be conscious.
Brand sat up slowly, shaking his head.
He soon saw that they were not in a pit at
all, but rather a long tunnel that seemed
to run some distance under the palace. He
looked back at Calystra. The woman’s face
suddenly contorted with a look of terror and
she screamed, pointing at something behind
him. Brand turned. A large shape, close to the
ground, came lumbering straight for him. It
trotted closer and Brand saw gleaming fangs.
Yellow eyes flashed and the thing growled as
it sprang. Brand managed to get halfway to
his feet when the beast struck him full in the
chest. Calystra screamed again.
Brand caught the animal’s head with two
hands, his fingers digging deep into the fur at
the top of its neck. The force of the animal’s
charge sent them both flying back, crashing
against the side of the tunnel. The animal
cracked it head on the wall and it was momen-
tarily stunned. Brand jumped free of the
animal and could see that the beast appeared
Ray Gun Revival magazine
to be a Saber-Tooth Tiger, the likes of which
he’d only seen before in text book illustrations.
He reached for his Beretta. The cat leaped up
on its hind legs, and a mighty paw knocked
the gun from his grasp. With the tiger still on
its hind legs, man and beast clashed, head to
head. Brand pressed his forearm hard against
the tiger’s throat, the fingers of his other hand
gripping the fur on its head. With a savage
grunt, Brand forced the cat back against
the wall. He pushed his forearm in harder
against the animal’s throat, trying to crush
its windpipe. But the beast was too powerful.
With a vicious snarl, it uncoiled the muscles
in its hind legs and pushed itself away from
the wall. Brand flew back and fell to the tunnel
floor in a heap. The Saber-Tooth dropped to all
fours, crouched low, its tail swishing back and
forth, its eyes gleaming in the dark. Brand got
up slowly and tried to back away, but then the
tiger sprang.
A blue streak of lightning zapped through
the tunnel darkness. The tiger in mid-air
screeched in sudden agony and fell to the
ground, a black smoking hole in its side.
Brand looked beyond the cat and saw Calystra
standing with his Beretta in her hand. He stood
up.
“Are you all right?” the woman asked.
“Yes,” he said, looking at her. “I didn’t know
you knew how to use one of those things,” he
said, pointing at the gun.
“To survive, I’ve learned to do many things
Pg. 24
in my journeys,” Calystra said. There was a
low moan in the darkness. “Ziggy,” the woman
said, and ran to him. Ziggy sat up with his back
against the wall for support. He rubbed his
fingers through his dark blue hair and shook
his head. “What happened?” he asked.
“Can you stand up?” Brand asked.
“I think so.” The Kelorian got up stiffly. “I
don’t think anything’s broken.”
Brand took his gun from Calystra and
pulled a radium torch out of his back pack and
ignited it. Ziggy saw the tiger’s carcass. “Hello!
What’s that?”
“Somebody’s pet,” Brand said.
“Somebody? You mean there’s somebody
living in this place?”
“It’s a possibility,” Brand said. “It could be a
wild animal strayed in from the desert, except
for one thing.” He went over to the dead animal
and grabbed hold of a leather collar buried in
the fur around its neck. “That trap door could
have been set long ago and been activated by
our weight stepping on the stones in the floor.
Or it could have been set off by someone.”
“But who?” Ziggy asked.
“I have a feeling we’ll find out before too
long,” Brand said. He glanced over at Calystra.
“Any idea which way to go now?” he asked.
The woman looked off into the darkness
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, by John M. Whalen Pg. 25

in the direction from which the Saber-Tooth step he took, the bridge shifted slightly. A piece a comfortable space in the center of the rocks.
had come. “This way,” she said, and started of stone on the edge of the bridge fell off and Brand broke out some energy bars and handed
walking. dropped into the speeding current. Calystra and Ziggy his canteen. “We can grab
a small bite and have some water,” he said, as
# Calystra was close behind him, followed they sat down. “We’ll need energy to get up to
by Ziggy. Brand got nearly to the other bank the top of those steps.”
and stopped to grab hold of Calystra’s arm.
Brand took the lead, beaming the radium The woman stepped gingerly around him, and They each took a swig from the canteen
torch ahead of them. The tunnel progressed he helped
only twenty or thirty yards, when it began a turned andher step onto the other shore. He and munched quietly for a moment on the
steep downward slope. As they carefully made did, a section of theout
reached for Ziggy, and as he power bars. Brand looked up at Calystra. She
stone under the Kelo- didn’t seem very strong. She was thin and pale,
their way, again voices whispered in Brand’s rian’s feet crumbled away, dropping
ears. Unintelligible gibberings hissed and river. Ziggy stood with one leg on theinto the and there were lines of weariness and tension
bridge, around her eyes. He wondered if she would
snickered in the dank air all around him. He another kicking in the air. His arms waved like make it up the long steep shaft. He’d find out
halted. He swore he heard the skittering of semaphores as he tried to keep his balance. soon enough. But at the moment there was
footsteps in the darkness beyond. He turned Brand
and aimed the beam of his torch back up the his feetcaught his wrist. He felt the stone under another question on his mind.
moving, and put one foot on the bank.
tunnel. It was empty. “Tell me something, Calystra,” he said. “Are
With a hard yank he swung the Kelorian onto
all the people on Kelor like you?”
“Pay no attention to what you hear,” Calystra the shore and jumped himself.
said quietly. “They are only shadows.” “No,” she said, handing the canteen to
“Thanks, Brand,” Ziggy said. “I thought I
was a goner.” Ziggy. “I wish that were the case. I wish I had
Brand turned and proceeded onward. The been born the same as all the others on my
tunnel leveled off and Brand heard the rushing They walked to the entrance to the tunnel planet. From the first days of childhood, I was
sound of swift running water. He pointed the here on the opposite side. different. I would say things to my parents that
radium beam and saw that the tunnel widened frightened them. I told them things that they
out ahead. They came to a large grotto. Imme- “We must go there,” Calystra said. thought I could not possibly know things that
diately ahead an underground river rolled were supposed to be secret. When I was only
under a stone bridge. The sound of the rushing Brand went up a few steps inside the tunnel four, they took me to a doctor. They did tests.
water was loud and the air in the grotto was and saw that it sloped upward at a sharp angle. They kept me in a hospital and gave me treat-
cooler than it had been in the tunnel. On the High up he saw a pinhole of light in the center ments to remove this thing that frightened
other side of the river Brand saw steps leading of the darkness. It was more like a mine shaft them.
into another tunnel. than a tunnel, he thought. He wondered what
was at the top. “Soon I understood that this power was
The bridge was very worn looking, with something that I should not have. So I shut it
deep cracks. Brand stepped onto it and tested “We better rest here,” he said. “That’s going down of my own will. And they released me
its strength. It seemed solid enough. The others to be quite a climb.” and sent me home. But the power would not
followed close behind.
There was a small circle of rocks several die so easily. In my teens it grew strong, so
“Step carefully,” he said. Brand stepped out yards away from the tunnel and a few feet strong I could not control it any longer. And
over the rushing water. The air was moist. He back from the river bank. “That looks like a I began to speak again of the things I saw, in
could feel his clothes getting damp. With each good place to sit a spell,” he said. They found hope that someone would understand. But no

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The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, by John M. Whalen Pg. 26

one did. Calystra said. “He told me that if I pretended “Farley!” Ziggy said. “What are you—”
what I had was just a trick, something to amuse
“My own mother and father drove me away and entertain, people could accept that. And “Shut up,” Farley said.
from my own home. They told me that I must so I became an entertainer, amazing people
be possessed of some evil spirit and that I Ziggy took a step backward and reached for
every night, leaving them wondering in awe
would only bring danger and sorrow. They told the pistol Brand had given him.
how I do it.”
me to go far away.”
Brand had the knife out of the sheath and gun“No!” Brand said, as Ziggy fumbled for the
Brand had been listening with rapt attention, took another step closer to the Black Death. and stepped in front of Calystra.
but suddenly he saw something move behind The viper’s double-edged tongue flicked the air Boone’s Plasma Gun belched purple and
Calystra. His blood turned cold. A poisonous only an inch above Calystra’s shining blue hair. Ziggy dropped on his back.
viper known on Tulon as Black Death, slithered
over the top of the rock against which Calystra “From planet to planet we two have “Ziggy!” Calystra shrieked. “No! Ziggy.” She
had been leaning. Its wedge-shaped head traveled, meeting so many people. But all knelt down next to him, sobbing. “Don’t leave
hovered above her. The red diamond-shaped strangers, strangers who can never know us, me.” She cradled Ziggy in her arms and turned
spots under its eyes seemed to blaze with some or understand us. From one lonely hotel room to look up at Boone. “You animal! How could
inner fire against the backdrop of the shiny to the next, never meeting anyone who really you do such a thing?”
black skin that covered its face. Brand saw its mattered, or to whom we mattered. No one
long narrow tongue fork the air, as it seemed we could call a friend.” “Hey, lady,” Boone said, laughing. “I thought
to be deciding where and how to strike. you were supposed to be psychic. How come
The snake’s head darted suddenly. Brand’s you didn’t see that coming.”
“Keep talking,” Brand said and got up on his hand shot out. His fingers locked around the
feet slowly. base of the snake’s head. His blade flashed Calystra looked at him with disbelief in her
and the serpent’s head flew away from its long, eyes. She said nothing and looked down again
“And so I left my home planet and wandered writhing body. Brand swung the decapitated at her slain companion.
from city to city.” Calystra was aware there was snake in the air and with a grunt threw it into
danger but she continued speaking calmly. “I the rushing waters of the river. “There was no call for that,” Brand said. “He
was friendless, penniless. And then I met dear didn’t even know how to use that gun. I never
Ziggy. There was an immediate understanding “No one we could call friend,” Calystra said should have given it to him.”
between us. Not like lovers. But like brother again, her eyes full of warm tears as she gazed
and sister. He knew what I needed and he at Brand. “Until now. Now there is one friend, “Well, hello, Brand,” Boone said. “Been a
has always been generous enough to give it, at long last, someone who cares.” while hasn’t it? Not since Shy Man’s Bluff. It’s
expecting little in return. Why, I’ll never know.” great to see you again.” He kept the barrel of
# the Ruger Plasma Gun pointed at Brand’s chest
Brand was up and took a careful step to the and laughed. “Suppose you take that Electric
right and slightly forward. He reached down “That’s very touching,” a voice behind them Fryer out of that holster with just the fingertips
carefully for the long knife that he carried in said. of your left hand and drop it on the ground.”
a sheath hanging from his belt. He couldn’t stood Everyone turned. It was Boone. Farley
risk using the pistol. The snake was too near hands.next to him. Both had weapons in their Brand did it. “Now kick it over here.” Brand
Brand started to move for his pistol. complied and Boone picked the gun up. “Got no
Calystra’s head. “Don’t even try,” Boone said. time for these. Prefer Plasma. More accurate,
“It was Ziggy who taught me how to survive,” and faster.”

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The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, by John M. Whalen Pg. 27

“Depends on who’s using it,” Brand said. “Harm him,” Calystra said, “And I’ll show finding,” Boone said.
you nothing.”
Boone grinned and tucked the gun under “Shut up, Boone,” Farley grumbled. “Let’s
his belt. “You might have something there,” he Boone shot her a sideways glance. “I believe keep going.”
said. you mean it,” he said. “All right. Let’s go. Brand,
you’re a lucky man. Stay right in front of me.” Brand turned and swung his fist through
“All right,” Farley said. “If you two are done, the darkness at Boone’s face. But the big man
let’s get this show on the road. I believe you Calystra looked down at Ziggy one last time was ready for him. He brought the butt of the
were heading for those steps, Brand. They and then started for the mouth of the tunnel. Smith & Wesson down hard on top of Brand’s
seem to go a long way up. What’s up there?” skull. Brand fell onto his hands and knees. He
# saw stars.
“I wouldn’t know,” Brand said. “Ask Calystra.
I’m just following her.” “That was a pretty stupid move,” Boone
It was a long slow climb. How many steps said. “Get up.”
“What about it, Calystra?” Farley said. “Is there were, Brand couldn’t tell. The tunnel
the treasure up there?” inclined upward at a nearly 45 degree angle. Brand saw Calystra moving steadily upward,
It was narrow enough for only one person not even turning to see what had happened.
“Is that what you think we came here at a time to ascend. Calystra was in the lead
for?” she asked Farley. “Is that why you killed followed by Brand, Boone, and then Farley. “Get moving,” Boone snapped.
Ziggy?” Although there was light higher up, inside the
tunnel it was pitch dark. Brand gave Calystra Brand resumed the climb. The blow to his
“What else is out here? Now if you’re smart, his radium torch so she could see where she head had made him a little dizzy, and his legs
you’ll quit stalling and take us to it. I can be was stepping. Boone had a torch of his own felt weaker. But he said nothing and continued
generous. I hear there’s a lot of treasure and kept it in his left hand. He held the S&W to trudge on. After what seemed like an eternity,
hidden in these ruins. I’ll share it with you. plasma pistol in his right. The Ruger was slung they reached the last step. Their eyes had to
There should be plenty for all of us.” over his shoulder. adjust to the bright sunlight, as they climbed
up out of the shaft.
Calystra looked at Farley with a bemused About halfway up, Boone slipped the pack
smile on her face. “All right, Farley,” she said. off his shoulders and let it fall on the steps. They found themselves standing on a solid
“I’ll take you. I’ll share whatever I find with you. marble floor, inside the burnt out shell of an
Just as you say.” “That thing’ll get a lot heavier before we ancient building. There was only a partial roof,
get to the top,” he said. “I’ll pick it up on the and most of the four walls, which hade been
“That’s more like it,” the night club manager way back.” of solid oak, were missing. There was a marble
said. “Let’s go. Calystra, you lead the way.” pillar in each of the corners. The pillars and
Brand marveled at the way Calystra kept marble floor all were streaked with charcoal
Calystra kissed Ziggy on the forehead and steadily going up the steps. If she was getting and soot. The building had been gutted by fire
lowered his head to the ground. She got up tired, it didn’t show. He could feel his own leg not very long ago.
slowly. muscles starting to ache.
The wind whistled through the building,
“I might as well save you a long hard climb, Finally, they had to stop to get their and shook the cracked and broken walls. There
Brand,” Boone said. “I can give you yours right breath. was a wide open space that must have been
now.”
“There better be something up here worth the building’s main entrance. Brand could

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The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, by John M. Whalen Pg. 28

see the surrounding mountain peaks rising “They thought they had to sacrifice their The room was in disrepair with debris
up even higher than the peak upon which the own people,” Calystra said, “to appease the scattered everywhere. The radium beam from
building stood. And between the peaks and god who lived in the mountain. To keep him Farley’s torch caught a large trunk standing by
further beyond, the desert stretched out to the from destroying them.” the wall on the right side of the room. Farley
horizon. As he stood there, Brand felt strangely ran to it, grabbed the lid and flung it open.
that there was some energy here, some force “What god?” Boone said. He threw light from the torch down into the
that made him feel lighter than normal. He got “Most likely a volcano now long extinct,” interior.
the weird sensation that he could almost rise Brand said. “It probably threatened to erupt “It’s empty!” he said. “There’s nothing
up off the floor and float out into space. periodically and scared the hell out of them.” here.” He flashed the light to the corner of the
He thought something moved at the edge “That’s all very interesting,” Farley inter- dank-smelling room and found another trunk
of his peripheral vision. He turned but saw no rupted. “But we didn’t come here for a history “Cleaned out!” He went to it and opened it.
of similar size.
one. lesson. Where’s the gold?”
“What is this place?” Boone asked. There were several other trunks in the
Calystra suddenly began to descend the room. They were all empty.
“Looks like it might have been some sort short flight of stairs to the platform below.
of religious temple,” Farley said. He started The others followed. They circled around the “What is this?” Farley said, flashing the light
toward what he assumed was the building’s ominous-looking altar. Calystra seemed to on Calystra. “Where’s the gold?”
main entrance. “Let’s see what’s out here.” cringe from it, her eyes wide with terror. Then
she turned and pointed and they saw an open “No one ever said there was any gold here,”
He ushered Brand and Calystra ahead with doorway that had been built under the base of she said.
the gun in his hand. In a moment, they stood the temple. There was no door, and there was
looking down at another short flight of steps only darkness inside. “Then why did you come here?”
that led down to a square flat area made of
“In there, you will find what you are looking “She came because she thought she could
carved stones. It jutted out from the bottom of help me,” Brand said. “She believes my sister
the building a good ten yards. Another incred- for,” Calystra said. has been here. She was kidnapped seven years
ibly long flight of stone stairs ran down from the “Come on,” Boone said pushing Brand with ago.”
platform to the buildings of Dar-Zul far below.
A large block of marble stood in the center of the barrel of his gun. “I heard about that,” Farley said.
the platform. The marble block and the stones They entered a fairly large-sized room but
on the inside of the platform were all dark red could see nothing at first. Boone and Farley “Yeah,” Boone said. “Everybody’s heard of
in color, while the stones on the outside were shone their torches about the place and they the man who won’t quit looking for the kid
all a natural grey. soon came to see a large bronze statue at the sister he let get taken by some Nomad scum.
end. It was a likeness of something they It’s a sad little story.” He locked his eyes on
“The people of Dar-Zul must have sacrificed far never seen before, something that was Calystra. “But that’s not the only reason you
their own kind to their god,” Brand said. “This hadhalf-human, half-reptile. It’s lizard-like head came here, is it? We were in the room next
was their sacrificial altar.” sat on a human torso. Its bottom half coiled to your dressing room and we heard you tell
“I’ll be damned,” Boone said. “Bloodthirsty around like a snake. It sat on a throne made of Brand there was something here you were
red stone. looking for, something you needed. If it wasn’t
critters, weren’t they?” gold, what was it?”

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The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, by John M. Whalen Pg. 29

“You wouldn’t understand.” “Now, little lady,” Boone said. “Looks like wall, swinging outward as though it were on
you led us here for nothing. And I think you hinges. Behind the statue was a darkness from
“Well, try me.” He pointed his Colt at her. “I knew what was going to happen to Farley. But which an ancient looking man emerged. He
didn’t come all the way out here to listen to a you won’t do me that way.” was followed by several women and children.
lot of double talk.” Then everything went black for Brand.
Brand lunged for Farley’s gun. He grasped
“I told you that in here you would find what the weapon and pointed it at Boone from a
you are looking for,” Calystra said. #
prone position.
“Yeah,” Boone said. “So how come I don’t “Boone, don’t do it,” he said. “Drop the Brand opened his eyes and he was spinning
see it?” gun.” in a black void. He flew among planets and
stars and far off in space he saw Tulon, a planet
“Look there,” she said and pointed at the Boone stood facing the girl and could only of orange and blue. He zoomed down to it,
bronze statue. see Brand out of the corner of his eye. He could and was swallowed by the expanding horizon.
tell Brand had picked up the weapon. There was the desert, Tulon Central to the
“It’s in the statue?” Farley said. He and north, the mountains south. He landed on his
Boone ran to it. “Well, aint this a nice fair-thee-well,” Boone feet in Dar-Zul and stood on the marble floor
said. “You know, Brand, I’m not so sure there of the ancient temple. The temple was on fire.
Farley knocked on it. “It sounds hollow,” he aint gold here somewhere. Could be, it’s behind The walls and roof were burning; the flames
said. “Maybe there’s a secret compartment.” that statue. Be a shame if I put this gun down leaped in the cool mountain air, turning the
There were many protuberances on the statue and didn’t get to that treasure.” supporting pillars black.
that might serve as buttons that could trigger
the opening of a compartment of door built “There’s nothing here for you, Boone,” Inside the temple, Brand saw Jesse
into the statue. Farley began pushing down Brand said. “Put the weapon down.” Wilkerson with his brothers Jebediah and
on them with his finger. There was a sudden Ezekiel—three of the scurviest Nomad scum
“Pphhhttt!” and a rush of cold air. Farley “Maybe its time to see which is faster. he’d ever laid eyes on, the three who had
staggered back. His mouth gaped open and Plasma or Electric.” He turned and fired. The ambushed him and Terry seven years ago and
his eyes bulged. A small arrow jutted out of shot went over Brand’s head. Brand squeezed kidnapped her. They were busy setting fire to
his bleeding forehead. Boone stood watching the trigger. A blue pulse of electrons rayed the place with torches. The oak walls and the
Farley continue staggering backwards until he across the room and caught Boone in the roof burned quickly. They too had come to
collapsed on the floor. He looked up at Calystra, chest. With a scream he stepped backward Dar-Zul to look for treasure and found none.
his eyes glaring with rage. and staggered back through the open doorway. They were venting their rage the only way they
He fired a shot into the floor of the sacrificial
“Why you!” He lifted his pistol. Brand dove platform and fell down. knew how.
for him. Boone spun and pulled the trigger. And then he saw her—Terry, his sister,
Brand felt fire from the plasma ray tear into Brand suddenly felt cold all over and standing near the steps that led down to the
his side and he went down. He fought not to realized he was going into shock. Black spiders sacrificial altar. She was dressed like a Nomad—
let the pain send him into shock. He lay not of unconsciousness started to creep through high boots, blue jeans, and a loose-fitting red
far from Farley and he saw Farley’s pistol lying his mind. He saw Calystra running toward him. shirt. A bandolero over the shirt. Her blonde
only a few feet away. He looked up and saw Then he heard a deep, scraping sound and a hair was long and swept back in a pony tail.
Boone aim his gun at Calystra. The woman heavy vibration shook the floor. He looked at He wanted to call her, but he knew she could
stood unafraid. the statue and it began to move away from the not hear him. He ran to her, but when he tried

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 34, November 15, 2007

The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, by John M. Whalen Pg. 30

to touch her, his hand went right through her. “I hope not,” a soft deep voice said. “Far-Non,” she said. “He gave me a potion.
He realized she was not really there. He was Three days of torture, three nights of torment
seeing her in a vision of some kind. Brand turned and saw the little ancient man followed. Everything around me seemed to
who had emerged from behind the statue. close in. I could feel emanations from every
She looked changed. And it saddened him. object. The dark forces surrounded me. They
She stood with a gun in her hand and waited. “I hope not too, Far-Non,” Brand said, sought my destruction. I was sick. I thought I
He didn’t understand. She had a gun. Why looking down into the ancient one’s deep would lose my mind. Until the dawn of the last
didn’t she shoot them? Why didn’t she try to chestnut eyes. The old man was dressed in a day. And then my mind grew still silent. The
get away from them. All she did was stand there loose fitting linen shirt and pants and had a red voices, the visions were gone. Vanished. And
with a look of deep resignation on her gaunt scarf tied around his forehead. Long silver hair I knew peace.”
face. They’ve changed her, Brand thought. fell down from the scarf.
“And you believe you can live here with
He wanted to do something to get through “Once Dar-Zul was a very rich city, but also these people?” He looked through the trees at
to her but knew it was impossible. And then, a very evil one,” Far-Non said. “It took many the pueblo-like village beyond the gardens.
suddenly, she looked up in his direction, centuries, but eventually our people learned
startled. She looked all around quickly and that one can conquer the world, but if he is not “For a while,” Calystra said. “I need time.”
then back at him. Her clear blue eyes searched master of himself, he is no better than a slave.
the air in front of her. So we gave up our old ways and found peace. I They stood there for a moment. From not
wish peace for you too, my brother.” too far off, Brand could hear water running in
“Jack?” she called out. a brook.
“Thank you Far-Non,” Brand said.
Slowly, he felt himself lifted up off the floor. “I saw her,” he said.
He floated up through the burning hole in the “You are welcome to stay with us, as your
roof toward the clear blue sky and looked down companion has chosen to,” Far-Non said. “I know,” Calystra said. “In the first long
one last time at the sister he had lost. night, I came to your hut and put my hand
“I can’t stay,” Brand said. “There are things on your head. Before my powers were gone
I must do.” forever, I wanted to transfer the vision I had
#
to your mind. It was all I could do to help you
“So be it, Brand,” the old man said. “May find her.”
It was days later. The wound in his side had you walk in a gentle wind.” His lined and
healed. Brand walked through the lush gardens weathered face smiled up at Brand and then “She was changed. She seemed to be with
and came to the small cemetery at the back of he walked off. them.”
it. He came up on Calystra. She stood looking
down at the freshly dug grave with the newly “So you’ve decided to stay?” Brand said. “Would she have had any other choice?”
carved headstone. “You’ve found what you’re looking for?”
“No. I suppose not. Not if she wanted to
“I think Ziggy would have liked it here,” “Yes,” Calystra said, a quiet smile on her lips. survive.”
Calystra said. “It’s so peaceful.” Brand saw that she was changed. She seemed
younger, and almost looked serene. “I found it. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s hard to believe all this is here in this No more visions.”
valley hidden behind the mountain,” Brand “She knew I was there,” he said. “For a
said. “I doubt its existence will ever be discov- “How?” moment I thought we could communicate.”
ered by the outside world.”

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The Secret Treasure of Dar-Zul, by John M. Whalen Pg. 31

Calystra looked up at him, her eyes full of

compassion.
“At least I know she survived her kidnap-
ping,” Brand said. “From her look, I’d say she
had aged maybe five years. So at least two
years ago she was still alive. Maybe she still is.”
“I wish I could tell you, but I don’t know.”
“Maybe she is and maybe she isn’t,” Brand
said. “But one thing’s certain. If she’s alive, I’ll
find her. And if the Wilkersons are still alive, I’ll
find them too. It’s not over.”

John M. Whalen
John M. Whalen’s stories have appeared
in the Flashing Swords E-zine, pulpand-
dagger.com, and Universe Pathways
magazine. His Jack Brand stories are a
staple here at Ray Gun Revival magazine.

Contact the author here.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 34, November 15, 2007

 The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 17, A Cleric For Alacrity, by Johne Cook
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate
Chapter 17, A Cleric for Alacrity
by Johne Cook
The story so far:
After the Riven survived a plunge into the ocean,
it found and torched the Florence, leaving an
indelible emssage for captain Cooper Flynn.
The captain struggles with aspects of life
onboard ship, but realizes that the best thing
for the crew of Alacrity is also the worst thing
for him. However, he’s willing to do whatever
it takes to support his crew, even if that means
finding a holy man, a cleric, for Alacrity.
L ieutenant Gillings listened as Captain Flynn
addressed the crew of the airship Alacrity.
“Every ship needs competent people in at least
four key positions: a captain for clear-headed
leadership—thank you for that; a medic or
doctor for physical healing, and Dr. Prentiss has
that well in hand; an accountant to keep an eye
on the bottom line; and a holy man of some
stripe to attend to the perceived numinous
needs of the crew. After all, a happy crew is a
productive crew, right?”
“Huzzah!”
“On Alacrity, we are currently two for
four, and can pick up a sand-counter almost
anywhere, but that is about to change. I’m
pleased to announce that we will actively
pursue finding a shepherd to oversee the needs
of our little airborne flock!”
“Huzzah, huzzah!”
Gillings clapped along with the others,
but wasn’t fooled for a moment. Despite the
captain’s best efforts to put a good face on
Ray Gun Revival magazine
it, Gillings saw the truth as plain as day; the
captain was deeply unsettled about bringing a
cleric onto the ship, and he wasn’t saying why.
More to the point, Gillings wondered if the
captain even knew why, himself.
Leaving the crew to their work, Flynn strode
off toward the wheelhouse. Gillings fell into
step beside the captain. “That was well done,
Captain, even if you aren’t completely pleased
about it.”
Flynn looked over, alarmed. “Is it that
obvious?”
Gillings grinned. “It wasn’t at all obvious
until you just confirmed my suspicion.”
Flynn slowed down and stopped like a
watch winding down, reappraising Gillings on-
the-spot. “Yes,” Flynn said carefully, “you will
bear watching.” Flynn smiled to take the sting
off, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Those eyes… Gillings felt himself staring into
the captain’s unblinking black eyes, suddenly
aware of a vast depth there, a staggering force
held in check by some internal strength of will.
Gillings shivered despite himself, and shook
himself out of the moment.
“Yes… Captain. I just wanted to tell you I
approve. The crew is learning you are different
than the other captains, who take the best for
themselves, who give out whippings instead
of praise, who lead from behind instead of in
front, who don’t care a lime about the unique
Pg. 32
foibles and belief systems of their possibly
superstitious crew.”
Flynn started walking again. “I knew we
were doing something different when I took
this commission,” he said. “I knew when we
put this crew together that a ship like ours is
different in nearly every way. We have to be
prepared to adapt to survive, to thrive. I want
the crew to know that I lead because I care,
not just because I can. Despite my private…
uneasiness…I want the crew to know that I
really do care about their preferences where
at all possible.”
Gillings said, “You have a gift for that,
Captain. It’s almost eerie.”
Flynn smiled breezily. “Why, Mr. Gillings,
that’s what I do!” He sauntered off, whistling.
Gillings mustered a weak smile and wiped
the sudden sweat off his brow. Gillings reminded
himself then and there that while the captain
was a good man, he was not necessarily a safe
one, and escaped with as much dignity as his
shattered confidence could muster.
#
Mr. Murfree was on watch when the shout
went up. “Sails ho!”
They gathered at the bow of the ship and
took turns looking down at the distant ship
scudding back North.
The captain accepted the spyglass from
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 17, A Cleric For Alacrity, by Johne Cook
Murfree. “It’s Sylvan, all right.”
“What is she doing this far South?”
“Raiding Haddirron and Menorran holdings,
islands, and lands. They take what they can
and burn the rest. That one’s riding low in the
water. It could be a treasure ship heading back
North to Sylva.” He handed the spyglass back
to Murfree. “Good eye, Mr. Murfree. Let me
know if they change course. Mr. Humble, call
All Hands on Deck, if you please.”
Mr. Humble produced his whistle, grinning
fiercely.
The sailors lined right up, reflecting a
good training from another ship. The angle of
the deck was canted down toward the bow.
Gillings noted with approval that Eggplant was
getting the hang of Alacrity. They were not
only descending, they were swooping down
toward their prospective prey as they rapidly
approached from the rear.
Flynn strode out in front of the little force,
his black hair pulled back in a knot at his neck,
black eyes animated. Mr. Pitt stood silently,
expressionlessly behind him, the large shadow
he cast a giant reminder of his formidable
presence. Bola sat idly off to the side on a
stack of crates, one foot on a barrel, sharpen-
ing various edged implements as she listened
to the captain address the little band.
“We have been given a chance to do
something constructive with our frustrative
energy. Mr. Murfree has spotted a Sylvan raider
ship running back north with what appears to
be a full load of undoubtedly stolen and raided
Haddirron goods. We are going to relieve them
of her stolen booty. We are also going to relieve
Ray Gun Revival magazine
them of her ship. If we receive any opposition
from any of her ‘sailors’—and I use that term
loosely—you are to disable and imprison them.
If they resist too vigorously, I will not prevent
you from defending yourselves with whatever
lethal force you deem necessary. These are
hard, determined men from the same govern-
ment that developed and released the Riven.
“I realize that we have not formally trained
in what to do when we mount a boarding party,
however, I have seen you work, and I have seen
you play. I know you are capable, and more.
Despite the odds, at the end of this action, I
expect that we will have command of this ship
and will have turned her around, staffed, and
on her way to the nearest Haddirron port under
our command.
“Up until now, all I have known from you
new men is that you were sailors in good
standing on HMS Florence. Do any of you have
experience in command? We will need hands
to return her to the proper hands and escort
the treasure and any surviving prisoners back
to port.”
Mr. Smyth stepped forward and cleared his
throat. “I have experience, Cap’n. I commanded
a small sloop for twelve years before I joined
Her Majesty’s Navy.”
Flynn stopped in place. “Excellent! You’ll
command the prize ship after we take her.”
The solid Mr. Smyth actually blinked.
Gillings thought he looked a little breathless.
“Just like that?”
Flynn’s energy was infectious. “Why not?
You’re the perfect candidate. What do you
say?”
Pg. 33
Mr. Smyth was rocked just a little, but
composed himself with a confident smile. “I…
I say yes!”
Flynn slapped his leg and one of the
sailors flinched. “Right! Make your way east
to Roarke’s Island and deliver the ship to the
harbor master with my blessings, and kindly
alert him that we will be sending many more
his way. We’ll stop there in the next few weeks
and pick you back up if you have a taste for this
sort of adventure.”
“It would be my great honor, Captain,” said
Mr. Smyth, saluting.
The captain then looked at Lieutenant
Gillings and smiled. “Mr. Gillings, Captain Smyth
here is going to need a strong right hand. Do
you think you’re up to the task?”
Gillings had been following the inter-
change closely, but even he was taken aback
at the rapid turn of events. His cheeks flushed
furiously and he snapped quickly to attention.
“Captain! Yes, Captain!”
The barest hint of a smile flashed across
Flynn’s face and then he was all business
again. He tossed off a salute and shook hands
with Smyth and Gillings. Gillings was basking
in the glow of the moment when he suddenly
stopped cold and the realization of what the
captain had done swept over him—he’d taken
a situation where they were outgunned and
outmanned and turned it into something they
were all looking forward to.
Gillings spun on one heel and looked after
the captain as he walked away talking to Bola.
“Frustrative energy?”
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 17, A Cleric For Alacrity, by Johne Cook
“I just made that up.”
“Can you do that?”
“Sure, if you’re a captain…”
Gillings turned and raised his hand for the
captain’s attention, but caught Mr. Pitt watching
him. Cowed by the sudden attention, Gillings’
mouth snapped shut, and his hand went limp
of its own volition. The moment passed, and
Gillings’ hand dropped awkwardly to his side.
It was possible that the barest hint of a
smile reached Mr. Pitt’s eyes, and then he
strode off after the captain, leaving Gillings to
wonder at what had just happened.
The officers convened and concentrated on
their first battle boarding action. Mr. Humble
gave everyone a musket pistol from the hold
and spent some time going over the most rudi-
mentary of tactical plans. After taking their
questions and providing the best answers he
could, he found the captain and presented his
sailors as ready.
They would soon find out if that were so.
# gave a shout and Eggplant drew Alacrity slightly
Mr. Gillings allowed that they’d learned
some things already since their first boarding
action. As they ran down the Sylvan ship,
Eggplant brought Alacrity alongside in finely
polished style, canting her gently down so
he could see until she was at altitude, then
bringing her steady. He also brought her over
so that Alacrity was right over her prey. Gillings
nodded in grudging approval. He hadn’t been
sure what to think about this mongrel crew,
but they showed some promise.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Plus, they weren’t pompous and oblivious.
That counted for much with him.
It was pretty clear that their prey hadn’t
spotted them approaching before this. It was
equally clear that they saw her now.
The Sylvans were hardened sailors, but
they were clearly taken aback by the sudden
appearance of an antigravity ship above and
abaft their stern. They yelled and pointed up
in the sky at Alacrity. There were some booms
as they fired two cannons, but the cannons
were meant to fire horizontally at a ship pulled
up alongside, not vertically at a ship hovering
above them.
Some light arms fire thudded against the
hull of Alacrity, but Mr. Yhen had that covered.
He was lying down in the netting up in the
bowsprit with a rifled musket, picking them off
at range. Three men went down in short order,
and then Alacrity was overhead.
This time, when the grappling hooks came
out, they simply had to drop straight down to
the deck. As it was, two of the four hooks hit
sailors down on deck, knocking them out of
action. When the hooks hit deck, Mr. Humble
off to port, drawing the grappling hooks back
against the deck to the rail and bringing the
lines nice and taut.
Gillings’ hands were sweaty and his face
was flushed, but he had the sudden, strange
taste for action. His blood was up, and he was
ready to fight.
The captain yelled, “For Chellsey!” and they
echoed his cry with a roar of approval. Then
the crew of Alacrity dropped down onto the
Pg. 34
deck. The captain and the original crew swung
over on ropes and floated down in skypacks,
dropping lightly onto the surface of the deck,
while the new crew swung over and dropped
onto the roof of the wheelhouse and jumped
down from there.
Bola swung over with a huge swing and
released with the others but missed the
skypack switch on her chest and dropped right
into the sea.
The fight took place on the main deck.
Captain Flynn had his sword out and the crew
formed up on him. The Sylvans had drifted
back against the portside rail as the sky rained
Haddirron sailors, but now pressed forward,
having superior numbers. Flynn parried three
thrusts, then stamped forward and swept aside
the blades of three men in one great swipe,
going down to a knee.
“Now,” he cried, and his sailors quickly
drew musket pistols from their sashes and fired
point-blank into the line. Five Sylvans went
down in that one volley. The captain darted
back up to take out two more stunned Sylvans
with lightning-fast strikes of his sword.
The Sylvans fell back to the starboard side
of the ship to regroup.
As providence would have it, that was when
Bola shot up out of the water in her skypack,
trailing spraying water and a vile temper at
missing some of the action. She grabbed the
underside of the rail as she shot up and that
catapulted her over the top of the raiders. She
cut out her pack and landed with a spray right
in the middle of the group of them. She dis-
appeared from view amid the Sylvan sailors.
Gillings noted some of them turning around
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The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 17, A Cleric For Alacrity, by Johne Cook
to see what had happened. Gillings gritted his
teeth—it didn’t look good for Bola.
It was as if the lot of them exploded, bodies
flying every which-way. Still standing, one
made to grab her but she pulled a pistol and
shot him in the chest, sending him flying back
across the deck, knocking fellow sailors off as
he fell. One tried to wrap his arms around her
from behind. She stomped on his instep and
connected with his jaw with her elbow, felling
him instantly. Another rushed her but she
turned and trained the pistol on him, too, and
pulled the trigger. He flinched and skidded to
a stop, and Bola expertly flipped the pistol in
the air. She grabbed it by the barrel and swung
it so hard that when she hit his jaw, his head
cracked sideways and he dropped like a sack of
spuds. She released the dropped the pistol to
the deck and calmly stepped over the stunned
bodies at her feet, kicking one in the jaw to put
him back on the deck
The captain of the vessel, a large man with
an unmistakable air of command, roared out
of the wheelhouse with two large crewmen
flanking him. Captain Flynn darted forward to
meet him in a clash of swords and sheer will.
Two great sweeps with his sword forced Flynn
to dance back, his own sword crackling and
sparking in the heat of battle. Another great
sweep pushed Flynn back and he tripped over
a body, going down on a knee. One of the two
crewmen with the captain raised his sword and
stepped forward but was struck by a shell from
Yhen’s gun and sent tumbling backward, the
sword falling out of his lifeless hand.
Flynn bellowed and regained his feet,
darting forward and bouncing lightly off the
deck, soaring up over the captain in a skypack-
Ray Gun Revival magazine
assisted mid-air flip, landing nimbly behind the
captain and running him through from behind.
He pulled his blade free and pointed it at the
last sailor, who drew back and dropped his
blade.
The felling of their captain took the fight
out of the remainder of the crew and they
quickly dropped their weapons, earning a dis-
appointed howl from Bola who was still soaking
wet and hopping mad.
“I hereby claim this ship in the name of Her
Majesty, the Queen,” Flynn announced broadly,
and that was the end of their first full-blooded
fight.
# captain. “Ah, Captain Smyth. It’d be a good idea
“How did we fare in the fight?” asked the
captain.
“The ship carried more sailors than
expected,” said Mr. Humble. “We were lucky
to gain the victory. They have nineteen dead
while we have one dead and two wounded.”
“Who are they?”
“Nomherst is dead by sword, and Bells and
Lamur are injured. I doubt Lamur will last until
evening. It appears they were sailors and not
fighters.”
“We need to get better at both,” said
Flynn.
“Captain!” yelled Humble.
“Yes?”
“It’s Yhen, on Alacrity. He’s trying to get
Pg. 35
our attention.”
“Ok, you men escort the prisoners into the
hold for now. Where are Bells and Lamur?”
“On the port deck, Captain.”
“Very well. Mr. Pitt, please arrange with Mr.
Humble to have our men returned to Alacrity
if possible.”
“What should we do with the enemy
corpses?”
“Find the next highest surviving ranking
officer and put the question to them. If they
want to provide a decent burial at sea for
their dead, see to it.” Flynn turned to his new
if you conducted a search of the ship and have
the deck cleaned and the ship made ready for
sail.”
Flynn strode over to his own dead and
wounded sailors. Nomherst had taken a strike
squarely through his heart, Bells had a musket
ball in his thigh, and it appeared that Lamur had
a punctured lung. He closed Nomherst’s eyes
himself. He moved on to the next man. “How
are you, Mr. Bells? Are you in much pain?”
“It smarts, Captain, but I’ll be alright after
Dr Prentiss patches me up.”
“Good man. I’d like you to return with the
ship, here, and go with them to Roarke’s Island
to heal up. When you’re mended, I’d consider it
an honor if you’d look us back up. We’re going
to need many good men before this is over.”
“Aye, Captain. I’d like that.”
“What do you know of Mr. Lamur, here?”
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“He’s a theist, Captain, a good man.”
Bola wandered over, still damp. “A what?”
“A man of faith,” said Flynn.
“Do you think a holy man would make him
feel better if we could find one?”
“I’d say so, yes. You can try asking him
yourself.”
The captain nodded and moved over
to where Lamur was lying on the deck. His
breathing was labored and he had red flecks
in the foam on his mouth. The captain ripped
a piece of cloth out of his sleeve and gently
wiped Lamur’s mouth.
“Mr. Lamur. If you can hear me, I under-
stand that you are a man of Cyl.” The captain
was gratified to see Lamur’s eyes flicker open,
focus. He was granted the slightest nod.
“As a theist, you’re interested in truth,
so I’ll tell you what I know. Your injury looks
severe and there is some concern that you
may not last the day here with us. That pains
me greatly. I can’t tell you how much I appre-
ciate your service and your sacrifice. If I can
find a holy man, would that help to ease your
remaining time with us?”
Lamur’s eyes refocused and he gave the
captain a stronger nod before wincing and
resting his head back on deck. The captain
grasped his hand firmly for a moment and then
said “I can’t make any promises but will do
everything I can to bring this to pass for you,
Mr. Lamur. Rest easy.”
He rose and spoke to Smyth and Humble.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
“I’ll be right back. I’m going to go see Mr.
Yhen and then there’s something I’ve promised
to do. I don’t have much confidence in miracles
but I’ve promised to try, and that’s what I’m
going to do.”
“Aye, Captain,” said Smyth.
Flynn grabbed one of the tether ropes and
lifted off into the sky rising back up to Alac-
rity’s rail, climbing over with agility. “Where is
Yhen?”
“Up in the Crow’s Nest,” said Eggplant,
pointing up.
“Huh,” he said. “Haven’t had anybody up
there yet this trip. That was good thinking
going up there. Ok,” he said, and hopped up
into the air, floating on up using his skypack.
“I’ve got to get me one of those,” said Yhen
idly by way of greeting as the captain rose up
to where he was sitting in the basket up top.
“In due time,” chuckled the captain,
climbing in. “They’re not as easy to control as
you might think, but you men seem to be a
quick study. So what have you got?”
“Another ship passed us while we were
fighting,” said Yhen. “I thought I saw something
but couldn’t be sure, so I came up here to get a
better view at it.”
“Good thinking. Whose colors?” asked the
captain.
“That’s the weird part, Captain. It looked to
me like she was one of ours.”
“Let me have the spyglass. Where is she
now?”
Pg. 36
“She’s there, tacking away from us, using
the sun to try to hide herself.”
“Well, well. Somebody doesn’t want to
be seen. You’d think that a good countryman
would come help out.”
“Maybe she’s not helmed by a good coun-
tryman, then. Unless she’s been taking captive
and is being returned to Sylvan.”
“Hm, good point. Well, if she’s under
Sylvan control, we’ll liberate her. If she’s ours,
we’ll just do the courteous thing, introduce
ourselves, and see what she’s hiding.”
#
Alacrity sent word to the Chellsey—for so
they dubbed their captured prize ship—that
they were going to leave for a short spell
and would return. With this communication
accomplished, they recovered their tether
lines and grappling hooks, let out all their sail,
and hurried after the fleeing ship.
Flynn went back and had a word with
Chain, who allowed he could accommodate
the captain. Chain quickly got to work on a
special pet project.
Flynn stopped by the wheelhouse and
checked in on his pilot. Eggplant was feeling
out the air currents from his vantage in the
wheelhouse. “Captain, I’ve been getting used
to the controls, and I’ve been thinking. I see
we have much more altitude adjustment than
we’ve used. We may be able to get more
favorable air currents if we ascend a bit more.
Can we try it out?”
“There’s nothing to lose, I guess,” said
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The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 17, A Cleric For Alacrity, by Johne Cook
Captain Flynn. “Just keep an eye on the altitude
gauge. The most important thing to me right
now is catching up with that vessel. If you can
get more favorable air currents a little higher
up, be my guest.”
“Aye, Captain.”
Thus emboldened and driven, Eggplant
raised her nose and let Alacrity stretch her
‘wings’ higher into the clouds.
The captain passed the word to the sailors,
who all donned skypacks just in case. He
stayed by Eggplant and watched the altimeter
rise as they fought for better, stronger winds.
They passed 300 feet, 400 feet, finally finding
that they were having a better, cleaner shot
at catching the ship at an agreeable prevailing
wind at an unthought-of altitude of 550 feet.
The captain clapped Eggplant on the shoulder
and bade him “steady as she goes” as they
started to close the miles between them and
the fleeing ship.
Flynn made his way forward to Yhen who
was back up in the bowsprit netting keeping
on eye out.
“How are we doing?”
“We’re making good time, Captain,” said
Yhen. “They don’t see us yet, although I would
be more than a little surprised if they did.
Lookouts are used to scanning the horizon, and
we’re nowhere near that low.”
“There will be many surprised people
as Alacrity starts to make her presence felt,”
promised Flynn. “This is a whole new way to
oppose the forces that are gathering against
the islands and the monarchy. These first weeks
are the diciest as we continue to build the crew
Ray Gun Revival magazine
and our abilities. Before the summer is out, we
will have a full complement of rotating crews
ready to step in and stem the tide of the raids.
If we’re successful enough, we can turn make a
strong impact in the course of a war that hasn’t
quite broken out yet. It would be something if
we could avert war altogether, but it will take a
great deal of fortitude on our part, giving all of
our creativity, our will, our very lives to protect
the island nations and the extended nation of
Haddirron.”
“Captain? Do you think that would cause
the Sylvans to call off the Riven?”
“We can only hope. By the end of the day,
we should also have someone aboard able to
pray.”
Yhen asked, “Do you really think that will
help?”
Flynn said, “On that score, it doesn’t really
matter what I think.” He clapped Yhen on the
shoulder and went below to his cabin.
# knowledge that having the right sort of man
There was a knock on the cabin door. “It’s
open,” he called.
It was Mr. Pitt. “How are you doing?” Pitt
rumbled.
Flynn offered him some water, which he
gladly accepted, then they retired to the chairs
around his desk.
Flynn said, “How does the crew think I’m
doing?”
“The crew thinks you’re actually eager to
recruit a cleric for Alacrity.”
Pg. 37
Flynn said, “Between you and me, the very
last thing I want on this ship is some meddling
holy man.”
Mr. Pitt nodded.
“And yet, here we are, sailing higher than
ever, faster than ever, chasing a sister ship with
suspect motives, and I have to ask myself what
we’re hoping to find. More crew? Surely. More
supplies? Probably. But a holy man? Especially
a good holy man?”
Pitt fixed the captain with an understand-
ing gaze. “You don’t figure that it’s worth the
effort, and yet you’re giving Providence every
chance to make good.”
Flynn snorted. “When I left the Abbey, I
promised myself that I’d never have anything
to do with religion again, with the belief system
that promoted a being who allows righteous
people to die and wicked people to flourish.
And yet here I am, chasing just that despite
my own deepest preferences. I can’t let my
own feelings about holy men interfere with my
onboard could make all the difference in the
crew’s morale. Without overstating things,
even though I don’t believe in it, having a cleric
onboard could be the difference between
accomplishing our goals or not.”
He got up and started pacing. “It’s like some
cosmic joke, like a test administered by a court
jester, where I am the one jumping and dancing.
This challenge removes all my honor and com-
petence and leaves me stripped bare, defense-
less, before the belief systems of others. All I
want to do is protect our own and ensure that
nobody else has to die just to raise a family
in peace, just to till a field or fish a coastline
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The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 17, A Cleric For Alacrity, by Johne Cook
or walk in the sand on a beach without fear.
The raiders are killers of the worst sort, and
yet religious zealots can be even worse in the
name of ‘faith.’ It is a cosmic irony that I need
the latter to combat the former!”
Flynn plopped down in his chair and
kicked his boots up on the desk. “You know,
it’s funny. I’m more afraid of Cyl than I am of
the Riven. While the latter is implacable and
far fiercer than any normal man, at least it is
something that I can understand, something
with one purpose and one purpose only—to
destroy Mankind. I have the feeling—deserved
or not—that Cyl would seek to save me from
the Riven, and then destroy me anyway for
my ‘sins.’ That’s probably just my time at the
orphanage talking. I guess I just want to keep
the freedom to destroy myself while keeping
my people from destruction.”
Pitt listened quietly.
“I think I know what it is,” said Flynn after a
moment. “Once we’re successful, the challeng-
es will be gone, and all I’ll have left is this last
fight with the supposed Divine, where I don’t
know the rules, and will have no weapons.
Better the antagonist that you know, you
know?”
Flynn smiled wryly, sighed loudly, and
shook his head. “Oh, who am I kidding? That
made no sense. These discussions never do,
it seems. Give me a sword and a choice and
I’m content. What will men of action like us
do when we have no more need for swords,
and our women have taken our freedom with
pretty battings of their eyelashes?”
Mr. Pitt smiled and said, “Well, on that
day, perhaps we’ll make feisty little sons and
Ray Gun Revival magazine
daughters who will choose their own fights.
We will give them the freedom to pick their
own battles.”
Having nothing more sage to add than
that, the captain smiled, nodded, and raised
his glass.
“Here’s to picking your battles,” said Flynn.
# smooth flourish. “Ahoy there,” he said brightly,
Alacrity came out of the clouds and
approached the fleeing ship. Captain Flynn
strode to the railing and saw a single dazed
crewman watching him. Flynn waved, pointed
at their flag demonstrating that they were on
the same side, then raised the grappling and
pantomimed throwing it over.
The sailor wisely stepped back. In fact, he
turned tail and disappeared below deck.
Flynn didn’t figure to waste any time from
there. With a practiced backswing, he dropped
the grapple on the deck and drew it taut. Then
he waved Eggplant to bring Alacrity over and
angled just to port.
“Hold it there,” he said, followed by “Be
ready with the cargo nets—we won’t be long.
Have Mr. Humble come front-and-center, and
be ready to take any ‘volunteers’ under order
as soon as they are drawn up.” Turning to Mr.
Pitt, he asked, “Ready?”
Mr. Pitt nodded once. Flynn started running,
picking up speed as he approached the railing.
He threw himself into the air, his legs together,
toes pointed, and arms out to the side, arcing
up and over and down toward the ship below.
Flynn had just engaged his skypack when an
Pg. 38
armed knot of men appeared up on deck.
He must have appeared like an avenging
spirit fluttering down toward the ship. The
Haddirron sailors stared, mouths agape, as he
fell toward the ship. They drew cutlasses and
pulled out musket pistols.
Flynn slapped the switch on his chest and
landed lightly on the deck. He bowed with one
“Captain Cooper Flynn of Her Majesty’s
Airship Alacrity requesting permission to come
aboard.”
He stood back up. “And this is my XO, Mr.
Pitt,” he said as Mr. Pitt touched down on deck.
Mr. Pitt saluted and stood at attention. “Please
convey my greetings to the captain, and ask
him to meet me here at his pleasure.”
A grizzled, pompous man pushed forward
through the assembled sailors. “What’s the
meaning of this?” he asked, buttoning up his
captain’s jacket.
Flynn repeated his introduction. “I’m sorry
to disturb your afternoon, but we had a bit of a
scuffle earlier, and now we require your assis-
tance. We tried to hail you through the usual
means but had the bad luck to be just out of
your range and sight, apparently.”
“How did you get here? What do you
want?”
The captain stepped to the side and
indicated the airship with a flourish. “This is
Alacrity, one of the new airships that will turn
the tide of the upcoming hostilities. I have Her
Majesty’s full empowerment to prosecute this
effort in any way I see fit, and have need of
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The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 17, A Cleric For Alacrity, by Johne Cook
what you possess.”
“I have no such orders.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Flynn, presenting
the Queen’s Writ. “We represent the new front
line in the upcoming struggle, and we have
urgent matters to attend to. We boarded and
overthrew a Sylvan treasure ship and raiding
party a mere two hours ago, and sustained
casualties and wounded sailors. Your ship
passed by without rendering assistance. Think
of this as a second chance to provide service
you should have volunteered earlier.” Then
Captain Flynn smiled a feral smile. “I trust you
will respond more positively to this more direct
request.”
# he was looking for, and nodded. “First, we’ll take
They had something like seventy five sailors
there on deck arrayed around Captain Flynn
and Mr. Pitt, and yet, looking at the looming
form of the floating airship, there was a feeling
of impasse.
The captain pressed his position. “We
represent the first and best of her airships. We
are, in essence, the flagship of a new airborne
Navy.”
Captain Argen of the Grenville snorted.
“Flagship of the new ‘air fleet’? I remember
you from the academy. You are no Navy man,
not anymore. And yet you want me to believe
that you’re now not only ‘Captain Flynn’ but
‘Admiral Flynn’? I think not!”
Flynn met Captain Argen’s gaze. “‘Captain
Flynn’ is sufficient for now,” he said, lightly.
“We’ll let the queen confer any additional
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titles, won’t we, Mr. Pitt?”
Captain Argen said, “So, ‘Captain,’ what
brings you to my deck?”
Flynn said, “Captain Argen, ‘your deck’
surely saw that there was a boarding action
going on to port. ‘Your deck’ surely saw our
colors. ‘Your deck’ flew past without rendering
assistance. Now ‘your deck’ will support our
action by providing us certain resources that
we require in the aftermath of the action.”
Captain Argen’s eyes narrowed sharply.
He clasped his arms behind him. “And what
is it that you ‘require’ at this time from us,
‘Captain’?”
Flynn looked around the deck, found what
fifty men, good sailors. We’ll split them twenty
five each to help get our prize back to port and
for Alacrity. Next, we’ll need two week’s provi-
sions, bandages, and other medical supplies.”
“Finally, we need him,” he said, pointing
at the man standing at the rail behind all the
others.”
Captain Argen nodded, brought his arm up,
and motioned forward. Twenty armed men
trotted up the port deck and surrounded Flynn
and Pitt, the first ten stopping and kneeling
with weapons drawn, and the back ten standing
with their own weapons trained on the two
interlopers. Captain Argen looked Flynn in the
eye. “Now you’ve gone too far, Cooper Flynn.”
He walked up to Flynn. “I don’t think you’re
a captain in service of Her Majesty. I don’t think
you’re somebody that I should entrust my men
or my resources to. And I don’t believe I’ll give
Pg. 39
you our cleric. The only thing I’ll be giving you
is a trip in the hold of my ship clapped in irons.
Mr. Percival!”
Flynn leaned over toward Mr. Pitt. “They
don’t seem inclined to be cooperative,” he
murmured wryly, sotto voce.
“No, Captain,” said Mr. Pitt. “At least we’ll
get a chance to try out the secret weapon.”
Captain Argen looked like he wanted to roll
his eyes. “‘Secret weapon.’ Is that so.”
“Hm?” said Flynn, holding out his wrists as
if to be manacled. “Oh, nothing. Please proceed
with your monologue and then take us away.”
By this time, Captain Argen looked ready to
spit glass. “Monologue?”
“Yeah. You see, we’ve done a number of
these by now, and the over-confident captain
usually has a long, smug speech that he trots
out right about now when we appear to be
outnumbered. By all means, please proceed so
we can get this part of it over with.”
Captain Argen stood there, thinking
furiously, with a full complement of guns
waiting for his next word. He noticed the two
of them inching slowly back toward the rail.
“You there! Where are you men going?”
“What usually happens now is the object
lesson.”
“Object lesson?” He clearly hated having
to repeat what they were saying, but he was
just as clearly trying to find out what they were
talking about.
“Yes,” said Captain Flynn. “This is where we
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demonstrate some of the differences between
what you’re used to and what we’re used to.”
“‘What I’m used to,’” said Captain Argen,
who was practically spitting nails by this time.
“Yeah. You’re used to being a big ship on
the sea, having all these guns and all those
men. But you’re used to fighting in two dimen-
sions, and neither of them are helpful in the
kind of fight you’re looking at now. “ With that,
Captain Flynn raised one hand and made a
gesture and there was a boom above them just
before there was a large splash in the water off
to starboard of the Grenville.
“What was that?” said Mr. Percival, rattled,
but Captain Argen knew exactly what it was. He
looked up and saw two cannons mounted on
heavy wood fixtures and pointed right down at
his deck.
Flynn replied, “That, Mr. Percival, is a dem-
onstration of how they are prepared to fight in
three dimensions. You see, basic arithmetic uses
an X- and a Y-axis, however, these gentlemen
are demonstrating a proficiency with an addi-
tional aspect, the Z-axis, the vertical element.”
Captain Argen looked at Captain Flynn. “I
can see two cannon—how many do you have
around there looking down?”
Captain Flynn gave a little half-bow and
answered, “Enough, Captain.”
Captain Argen looked thoughtful. “Enough?”
he repeated.
“Yes, Captain. Enough to punch enough
holes in your ship, disabling your ship for a
time, and killing some portion of your crew. I
Ray Gun Revival magazine
would be loathe to order a strike down on the
Grenville. As much as you have a command,
and I have a command, we both serve the
monarchy and Her Majesty with the best of our
abilities and resources. But you are fighting the
same old enemy in the same old way, and we
are fighting a whole new menace. That takes a
new way, and that’s where we come in. There
are forces at work that you are not yet privy to.
I don’t blame you for being skeptical. I don’t
like you, Captain Argen, but you are a sharp
thinker and a capable leader. However, you are
not yet seeing the bigger picture, and I am not
in the position to reveal to you everything that
has been revealed to me—that is not my job.
My job is to stop the Sylvan raiders from plun-
dering the outer islands, to smash the growing
Steamdriver armada, and to draw attention
away from Menorra.”
Captain Flynn stepped forward until he was
face-to-face with Captain Argen. “And now,
Captain, I’d like to arrange for my sailors, my
provisions, and my cleric. Oh, and make them
men of good composition, able to handle a
sword and musket, not just sailors, but good
fighting men. We don’t want for any innocent
sailors to get nicked up when they just signed
on to sail the big seas.”
Captain Argen considered this with a mean
temper and a short fuse, his eyes as flinty and
slitted as anyone Captain Flynn had ever faced.
Captain Argen said, “I can give you fifteen
sailors, medical supplies, and some rice and
beans. You cannot have my cleric. He performs
an invaluable service here, of which I cannot,
in turn, reveal it’s entire nature to you. I’m sure
you understand.”
Flynn thought it over, nodded, and casually
Pg. 40
raised his left hand. A cannon fired from above
and sent up a large plume of water over the
bow.
Captain Argen was startled, and then his
eyes narrowed.
Flynn smiled. “Perhaps you’d like to recon-
sider.”
Captain Argen looked ready to spit nails. “I
can give you forty men, and all your provisions,
but I really cannot let you have our cleric. I can
let you speak to him for as long as you like, but
he must remain on the Grenville. It’s that or
nothing, and you can explain to Her Majesty
why you felt compelled to fire on a fellow
Haddirron ship in Her service.”
Flynn thought it over and then nodded. “I’ll
accept that. Perhaps I could just talk with your
cleric for a moment, then, and he could answer
some of the questions that have been asked of
me by my crew. That might do until I can find
one of my own for Alacrity.”
Captain Argen grudgingly agreed. The
gunners put down their weapons and they
all stepped back to the railing at parade rest.
“Mr. Percival,” Argen said, and the XO got to
work selecting sailors and getting together the
supplies.
Mr. Pitt waved and Alacrity descended
down closer to the deck. The cargo net came
down over the edge and they threw over a rope
ladder for the new sailors. They started to load
up the medical supplies and some provisions
while the sailors who were going to make the
switch to Alacrity gathered their belongings
and loaded their duffel bags. In the meantime,
Captain Argen waved the cleric forward. “You
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have ten minutes,” said Captain Argen, then he
whirled and stalked off.
The cleric moved more like a cat than a
holy man. He had tanned skin, close-shaved
hair, and piercing green eyes. He was as tall as
Flynn and his muscles were as sharply defined
as Bola’s.
Flynn wasted no time. “Cleric, I’m Captain
Cooper Flynn, of Her Majesty’s Airship Alacrity,
and this is my First Officer, Mr. Pitt. We are very
pleased to make your acquaintance,” Flynn
said broadly, sticking out his hand for a friendly
shake.
The cleric sized them up and then spoke in
a melodic voice that indicated that he was not
a native of Haddirron. “Come, Captain, let us
not get off on the wrong foot. You are not any
more pleased to make my acquaintance than
I am yours. You’d do just about anything else
rather than be anywhere near a man of the
cloth. You put on a good show for the people,
but you’re not fooling me. I am Cleric Mathen
Vaneras. I am not just a scribe, a student of the
manuscripts. I am an actual man of faith and
take an active interest in the worship of Cyl
and the custodianship of Cyl’s people. I am a
flawed man with a colorful history, but Cyl is
perfect, and Cyl’s timing is perfect. My ministry
is not with your ship. Fear not—you will find
the right shepherd for your ship when the time
is right— blessed be the name of Cyl.”
Flynn’s eyes clouded over and started to
spark. He maintained his smile, but it was now
steely. “Well, this is an honor; a man of the
cloth who doesn’t hide behind empty pleasant-
ries. I can respect a man of action, as, in fact,
I am, myself. I should make something very
Ray Gun Revival magazine
clear—I, myself, would rather sail the entire
ocean without benefit of spiritual ‘assistance,’
but my crew depends on the crutch of spiritual
routine to live, and I depend on my crew. So,
strictly speaking, I am not myself in any great
spiritual need, but my crew is. It is for my crew
that I am here.”
Cleric Vaneras bowed his head slightly.
“Captain. If I didn’t know better, I’d say that
your being here has less to do with sailors
and provisions and more with...other things. I
have had enough of intrigue in my life. No, my
place is here with these men, and then with
the islands that I will shepherd. That is the way
it must be. Cyl has set my feet on this ground,
just as he has given you wings. I will walk my
way, you must fly in yours.”
Captain Flynn said, “I, also, am something of
a shepherd to the islands, and to best perform
my stewardship requires a more complete
staffing complement than I have had to-date.
I would do anything to support them, and
that means sometimes engaging in the sort of
intrigue of which you claim to have nothing to
do. However, I am somewhat gifted—to use
the terminology of the faithful—in this area,
and use my ‘gifts’ to their fullest so that men
may live free and families not feel the terror
and ruin of being sacked, nor fear the terror of
being overrun. We will beat back the interloper,
and mend the wounds of the damaged. A man
of your role can surely understand that.”
“I understand that you’re stalling, Captain.
Good day.”
“With all due respect,” said the captain,
who noticed that the cargo had been hoisted
and the sailors had boarded, “your perspective
Pg. 41
in this remains too firmly focused on the cares
of this plane. You need to change your view.
Your future is looking up!”
And with that, Flynn grasped the cleric
by one arm while Mr. Pitt grasped the other.
They quickly struck their chests as one, rising
smoothly up and off the deck, lifting the strug-
gling cleric between them.
#
“Keep struggling and you’ll wish you had
wings,” growled Mr. Pitt. It was sound advice
and appeared to be taken to heart, for Cleric
Vaneras stopped struggling. His sudden steely
quiet, however, was not taken as acceptance.
“Come now, Cleric,” said Flynn cheerfully.
“It is the rare shepherd who gets to experience
his own ascension while still in the prime of his
ministry.”
They rose up close enough to the rail to be
lassoed and brought over the deck of Alacrity.
The captain noticed that the rope ladder was
still down and had it drawn up before they
released Cleric Vaneras, who dropped lightly
to the deck.
Flynn said, “Cyl be praised, you have now
joined us for life here above the world.”
“Cyl didn’t kidnap me, you did!” Cleric
Vaneras thundered.
“Cyl didn’t stop me and just maybe Cyl
meant for this to happen. I think you need to
expand your thinking and embrace plans that
you didn’t intend when you arose this morning.
Believe me, I didn’t plan on going out looking
for a damned cleric on my ship. The ways of Cyl
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
The Adventures of the Sky Pirate, Chapter 17, A Cleric For Alacrity, by Johne Cook
are multi-faceted and mysterious.” The smile
fell from Flynn’s face. “Blessed be the name of
Cyl,” he said, flatly.
The captain turned to the rail and waved
his hand jauntily at the Grenville. “Next time, I
strongly advise rendering assistance when it is
needed,” he shouted, then turned and hailed
the crew. “Mr. Humble, please inform Eggplant
that I want to return to the boarded ship as
soon as possible. I want to be back and settled
before night-fall.”
Flynn turned and looked at the cleric.
“Welcome aboard Alacrity.”
“Why am I here?” thundered the cleric.
Flynn delivered the news like a death notice.
“This flock needs a shepherd, and you’re it.”
“A shepherd...for your flock?” Cleric
Vaneras was frankly disbelieving. “Who makes
up this flock—flying fish?!”
“That’s funny,” said Flynn, completely
devoid of humor. “Mr. Pitt, show the cleric to
his quarters.”
“Captain!” thundered the cleric. “I don’t
have my books, my scriptures, my papers, my
clothes or personal effects.”
Flynn looked over his shoulder at the cleric.
“We can send for them. With any luck, you
should have them within a year.”
“I don’t believe in luck!”
“Then we two have something in com-
mon—there are widespread things that many
embrace that I don’t believe in, either.”
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Pg. 42
The crew on deck made a great show of cleric’s side. “He making fun, Parson?”
being busy, but they weren’t fooling anyone.
The cleric was clearly thinking furiously. He Cleric Vaneras watched Flynn saunter off. “I
cocked his head once. He nodded. Finally, he don’t know what the captain is thinking at this
said, “As much as I don’t care for your methods moment,” he said. “But I will.”
nor your lack of regard for my wishes, it is not
“Shepherd?”
right to get in the way of my duty to a needy
flock, and I will not let my pride interfere. The cleric looked at the crusty sailor with
But we need to get this straight—if I’m the deep, unblinking eyes, his force of presence
shepherd, what are you?” almost palpable. “It is what I do.”
The air was pregnant with tension. The
gauntlet had been thrown down at the feet of
the captain, and everyone within earshot knew
it.
End of Chapter 17
One of the new sailors, Old Chackie, leaned
over to the man next to him. “Cleric’s scrappy. The Adventures of the Sky Pirate continue next
month.
‘S good.” The sailor grunted softly, listening for
the answer.
The rebellious sheets rattled and snapped,
loud in the arrested moment. Flynn looked at
the cleric from under furrowed eyebrows, his
arms crossed casually over his chest. However, Johne Cook
when he spoke, his tone was a study in
playful acquiescence. “For the purpose of this
metaphor, I am a member of the flock, although Johne is a technical writer, help author,
I’m not sure I belong in this discussion at all. creative writer, and editor.
Maybe that makes me a black sheep. Where
supposed supernatural issues are concerned, He likes prog rock, space opera, film noir,
you have the lead. Happy?”
and racquetball.
The cleric nodded thoughtfully. It was his
turn to take on a guarded expression. “Thank
you for your support,” he said, finally.
“That’s the spirit!” Flynn said, brightly. He
stepped forward and clapped the cleric on his
shoulder.
Old Chackie scowled and stepped to the
Issue 34, November 15, 2007
  Pg. 43
The RGR Time Capsule
November 1 - November 14, 2007
Sci-Fi news from the Ray Gun Revival forums
RGR Date: November 01, 2007
Joss and Tim Minear with new sci-fi series:
Dollhouse
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1533
Whedon’s new Fox series, called Dollhouse, stars
Miss Eliza Dushku, best known as Faith to you
Buffy the Vampire Slayer fans. And this show
isn’t just a pilot. It’s already been given a seven-
episode commitment by Fox. Woo!
Here’s how Fox describes the series:
Echo (Eliza Dushku) [is] a young woman who
is literally everybody’s fantasy. She is one
of a group of men and women who can be
imprinted with personality packages, includ-
ing memories, skills, language—even muscle
memory—for different assignments. The
assignments can be romantic, adventurous,
outlandish, uplifting, sexual and/or very illegal.
When not imprinted with a personality pack-
age, Echo and the others are basically mind-
wiped, living like children in a futuristic dorm/
lab dubbed the Dollhouse, with no memory of
their assignments—or of much else. The show
revolves around the childlike Echo’s burgeon-
ing self-awareness, and her desire to know
who she was before, a desire that begins to
seep into her various imprinted personalities
and puts her in danger both in the field and in
the closely monitored confines of the Doll-
house.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
RGR Date: November 03, 2007
P2P downloaders buy more music?
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1539
An anonymous reader writes “Michael Geist
posts to his site about a study commissioned
by the Canadian government intended to
look into the buying habits of music fans.
What the study found is that ‘there is a
positive correlation between peer-to-peer
downloading and CD purchasing.’ The report
is entitled The Impact of Music Downloads
and P2P File-Sharing on the Purchase of
Music: A Study For Industry Canada, and
it was ‘conducted collaboratively by two
professors from the University of London,
Industry Canada, and Decima Research, who
surveyed over 2,000 Canadians on their mu-
sic downloading and purchasing habits. The
authors believe this is the first ever empirical
study to employ representative microeco-
nomic data.’”
RGR Date: November 08, 2007
SFWA Copyright Exploratory Committee recom-
mendations
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1545
The SFWA Copyright Exploratory Commit-
tee made its recommendations back on
November 1st. This is the group appointed to
figure out a direction after the Scribd fiasco
back in August.
http://sfwa.org/contracts/copyright-2007report.htm
It describes a pretty involved process to try
and make all parties happy, and depends a
lot on various check-points along the way. It
could be made to work.
I particularly liked this line: “e) That no single
member of the committee work unilaterally;”
RGR Date: November 12, 2007
The real culprit in the money-losing film industry
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1557
As it turns out, the pot of money that the
producers and writers are fighting over may
have already been pocketed by the enter-
tainment industry’s biggest talent.
That is the conclusion of a surprisingly bleak
new assessment of financial dynamics in
the movie industry titled “Do Movies Make
Money?” The researchers’ answer: not any
more.
The report, by the research company Global
Media Intelligence in association with its
partner Merrill Lynch, concludes that much
of the income - past and future - that studios
and writers have been fighting about has
already gone to the biggest stars, directors
and producers in the form of ballooning par-
ticipation deals. A participation is a share in
the gross revenue, not the profit, of a movie.
Through the twists and turns of contempo-
rary deal-making, major studios in theory
give away as much as 25 percent of a film’s
receipts under such arrangements.
Issue 34, November 15, 2007