Issue 37 January 01, 2008

 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 Ever Dark, An Aston West Tale
ear/sanity saver for Overlord Lee
Paul Christian Glenn - PR, sounding board, strong right hand
by T. M. Hunter
L. S. King - Lord High Editor, proofreader, beloved nag, muse, 11 Featured Artist: Finn Clark
webmistress
Johne Cook - art wrangler, desktop publishing, chief cook and bottle 14 The Pasadena Rule
washer
by Ben Schumacher
Slushmasters (Submissions Editors): 20 Deuces Wild, Interlude
Scott M. Sandridge
John M. Whalen by L. S. King
David Wilhelms
Shari L. Armstrong 25 The RGR Time Capsule
Jack Willard
December 15 - December 30, 2007
Serial Authors:
Sean T. M. Stiennon
John M. Whalen
Ben Schumacher
Lee S. King
Paul Christian Glenn
Johne Cook

Cover Art: “Dovebot” by Finn Clark

Without Whom... Bill Snodgrass, site host, Visit us online at http://raygunrevival.com

Web-Net Solutions, admin, webmaster, database admin, mentor, confi-
dante, liaison – Double-edged Publishing All content copyright 2008 by Double-edged Publishing, 
a Memphis, Tennessee-based non-profit publisher.
Special Thanks:
Ray Gun Revival logo design by Hatchbox Creative
Rev: 20080101d
Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 37, January 01, 2008
 Pg. 3

Overlords’ Lair

Ifaces
knew it was the new year when I walked into So let’s dig into the stories in Issue 37. We start Sad to say, it wasn’t the first dead body I’d
my local athletic club and saw the crowd of new with Ever Dark, An Aston West tale by T. M. ever seen, and wouldn’t be the last. The same
working out their New Years resolutions. Hunter. A solitary captain of a tramp freighter could be said for a being who took his own
It would be easy to sneer at the newcomers, gets more than he bargained for when he finds life. Sometimes the darkness of death was
but despite the fresh faces competing for the an abandoned freight ship. preferable to the alternative.
machines I like to use and the racquetball
courts that I frequent, I applaud their desire A hatch in the right wall split apart as I Chapters 9 and 10 of The Pasadena Rule by
to make things better, whether they ultimately approached. Three more piles of ash lay at Ben Schumacher picks up after one of the more
stick with it or not. various spots around the rectangular bridge. selfless, daring acts I’ve ever read in fiction.
Only one energy weapon was nearby, which told Katya was trapped on the planet’s surface, and
I know that the hard fact is that they won’t all me someone had disintegrated unarmed victims. Jack jumped out of a perfectly good orbiting
stick with it, and for many of them, things will I shuddered. craft to try to help her. Talk about leaping to
return to ‘normal’ before you know it. However, someone’s aid.
I’m pulling for them. The console stations around the bridge were all
functional, so it didn’t take long to find the cargo “Talk to me, Jack!”
Here at Ray Gun Revival magazine, we have bay controls at the aft end of the room. Fortunate
our own short list of things we’d like to do this for me, they weren’t locked down, so I ejected It has been conclusively established from my
next year. We have a number of serial novels the first four bays and lifted my transmitter. suit data record that I was unconscious for no
concluding, and will be making them available “Jeanie, pull those containers in.” more than two minutes. You couldn’t prove
as printed books. We have others waiting in “Acknowledged.” that by me. When Katya’s urgent voice dragged
the wings, including one by noted sci-fi author me back to awareness, it might have been two
MKeaton. Behind the scenes, we’d like to I heard the far-off clunk as Jeanie hours or two weeks later. At first I did not even
cross-train our development so that more broke free from the docking station. know where I was. (Remembering that datum a
of us are able to help do the nuts-and-bolts With time to kill, curiosity stepped in and I few seconds later did not exactly cheer me up.)
development of the magazine. We’re looking walked toward a small door half-open in the
for more Slushmasters to provide better and corner. A golden plaque lay at chest level Finally, Season One of Deuces Wild has
faster feedback to story subs. Bill Snodgrass and marked the room as Captain’s quarters. Slap’s homewhen concluded Slap and Tristan returned to
planet and took down the Mordas
from Double-edged Publishing continues I pushed the door aside and saw a grey-haired crime syndicate from
to provide us with author and editor tools. head atop a wooden desk. The attached tells us that we’ve just within. finished
Author L. S. King
the introduction.
And we’d like to create new formats for the body was slumped forward in the matching
magazine so you can read RGR on your favorite chair. He had a loose grip on a small energy The real story starts now with a little difference
hand-held device. But most of all, we’d like to weapon, same as the others I’d seen. I snuck between who is the owner and who is the
release the magazine on time. We’re working a glance at his left temple where a scorch captain.
on that, too. ; ) mark was etched into his leathery skin.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 37, January 01, 2008

  Pg. 4

“Y’know,” said Slap’s voice from behind him,

“the best cabin should belong to the owner.”
“It’s called ‘the captain’s cabin,’” retorted
Tristan.
Chortling, Slap held out an e-pad. “We have
two cargoes heading out, and three to pick up
and bring back.”
“Turning me into a legitimate businessman?”
“I’m sure you’ll find side stuff for yourself. But
I do appreciate that you’re helping my people
and the Guilds and Merchants.”
Tristan didn’t deign to answer. He strode
toward the bridge, but from down the hall
Carter’s voice called, “Captain? Someone here
to see you.”
Tristan spun and headed for the side hatch.
Carter’s huge eyes were glued to the visitor,
and no wonder. Tanya looked as alluring as
ever. Distracting as ever.
“We need to talk,” she said without preamble.
The hard fact is that we probably won’t get to
all of our desired ideas for the coming year.
However, I hope you’ll all be pulling for us! ;)
May 2008 be a great year for you and yours, and
thanks, again, for reading Ray Gun Revival.

Johne Cook
Overlord, RGR
Breezeway, Wisconsin
January, 2008

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 37, January 01, 2008

Ever Dark, An Aston West Tale by T. M. Hunter
Ever Dark
An Aston West Tale
by T. M. Hunter
S pace is a glamorous place, at least so
spaceship salesmen and travel agents would
have you believe. In reality, journeys through
the darkness bore one to near-death and
usually get exciting when you least expect it.
Or want it to.
My ship’s computer broke the silence with
her female voice. “We’re in range.”
“Full stop.”
On my forward viewscreen, a background of
dismal black was sprinkled with tiny pinpoints
of light. A shiny metal sphere hovered a couple
kilpars ahead, its sole purpose to span informa-
tion throughout the darkness. Identical devices
were placed around the galaxy, marked on
every space chart one could buy. Even in the
dark regions of the galaxy, we still needed to
communicate with one other.
I leaned back and folded my hands behind
my head. “Hack in, Jeanie.”
“Already done.”
I smiled. It was cheaper than paying for a
login subscription.
“Retrieve. Start with the newest.”
“Three new messages, the first from Tabor
Yurick.”
I was tempted to skip his message, but
Ray Gun Revival magazine
there was always a slim chance he might say
something useful. Tabor’s ragged voice carried
over the internal speakers.
“West? You’re still alive? I thought you’d
have stumbled across the wrong end of a blast
rifle by now.”
I rolled my eyes as he continued.
“Not a lot of takers around here for
low-value cargo. Bring me something I can sell,
or don’t bother.”
It didn’t matter what people were buying, as
my four cargo bays were all empty. “Delete.”
“Second message, sender unknown.”
I sat up. “Pause and explain.”
“It appears the sender’s identity has been
masked.”
Rather odd, but intriguing. “Continue.”
A quiet voice mumbled, to the point I could
barely make it out. “Mr. West, I received your
name from a mutual acquaintance and would
like to hire you for a cargo run. If you’re inter-
ested, proceed to Mahs system spacedock.”
I was.
The message continued. “We’ll find you.”
“Save for later.”
Pg. 5
“Last message, from...”
A white flash filled every spot on my views-
creen and disrupted the beacon’s signal. A
vessel appeared a few kilpars the other side of
the beacon.
I cursed and shielded my eyes too late.
“Jeanie, report.”
“An Ursulan freighter just dropped out of
hyperspeed.”
I blinked, then squinted at the viewscreen
as spots danced before my eyes. Six exhaust
nozzles at the back of the vessel were dormant
against the starfield while the mammoth ship
raced along on its own momentum.
The hairs on the back of my neck rose.
Cargo freighters didn’t make unscheduled
stops, especially in the middle of nowhere.
“Freighter’s status?”
A few moments passed as Jeanie gathered
information from the freighter’s computer.
“Original destination was the Triton system.
The ship is out of fuel.”
“Triton? I’d say the crew is having naviga-
tion problems. We’re not on any shipping route
to Triton.”
“The crew does not have a navigation
problem.”
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Ever Dark, An Aston West Tale by T. M. Hunter
“How’s that?”
“I find no life signs to indicate a crew.”
Her statement made me pause, though
some of my best scavenging efforts had been
from crewless ships.
She continued. “They are transmitting on
the emergency channel.”
I had to take a golden opportunity for what
it was, and quickly.
“Move to intercept.”
I watched the squashed hexagon of a ship
as our aft thrusters fired and we closed the
distance. Every usable amount of space on the
hull was covered with a cargo bay door, five
rows down the length and eight bays around
the perimeter. A large spherical dome rested
on top of the freighter at its front end. A pair
of docking stations waited for us, one on each
side.
“So, any idea what happened to the
crew?”
“There is evidence of video logs, but
they can only be accessed from the captain’s
quarters.”
There was a more pressing issue at stake
anyway.
“What’s the cargo?”
Jeanie paused a little longer than she
probably should have. “According to the
manifest, all of the bays are filled with contain-
ers of platinum ore.”
Ray Gun Revival magazine
I let out a laugh of excitement. “Can you
drop the bays remotely?”
Again, she paused. “Negative.”
If not for the fact she was a machine pro-
grammed to obey, I would have thought she
had just sabotaged my efforts.
“Guess I’ll have to do it myself.” I shook my
head and sighed. “Take us in.”
I stood and made my way to the back as
we adjusted course toward the port docking
station.
# A hatch in the right wall split apart as I
The air inside the Ursulan freighter was
stale as I stepped out of the airlock. I licked
my lips, then looked up and down a narrow
corridor with bland tan walls and floorboards.
The stench of burnt flesh lingered in the air.
I pulled my Mark II blaster out of its holster,
then gripped the handle of the stubby weapon.
My palm was moist as I switched over to a
three-shot burst. I raised my other hand and
spoke into the cuff transmitter.
“Jeanie, I’m going to need directions.” I’d
only seen Ursulan freighters from the outside
before.
“Are you still at the airlock?”
“Yes.”
“Go left down a small corridor and the
bridge should be around the corner, the first
hatch on your right.”
“Thanks.”
Pg. 6
I stepped down the hall and the hairs in
my nose curled. As I turned the corner, a pile
of light gray ash lay on the floor along the left
wall. A handheld energy weapon rested next
to the debris.
Disintegrator cannon fire was one of the
more horrific ways to die and nothing a decent
person would wish on even their worst enemy.
Out of paranoia, I lifted my wrist.
“Jeanie, let me know if you see anything
inside or outside the freighter.”
“Acknowledged.”
approached. Three more piles of ash lay at
various spots around the rectangular bridge.
Only one energy weapon was nearby, which
told me someone had disintegrated unarmed
victims.
I shuddered.
The console stations around the bridge
were all functional, so it didn’t take long to
find the cargo bay controls at the aft end of the
room. Fortunately for me, they weren’t locked
down, so I ejected the first four bays and lifted
my transmitter.
“Jeanie, pull those containers in.”
“Acknowledged.”
I heard the far-off clunk as Jeanie broke
free from the docking station.
With time to kill, curiosity stepped in and
I walked toward a small door half-open in the
corner. A golden plaque lay at chest level and
marked the room as “Captain’s Quarters.”
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Ever Dark, An Aston West Tale by T. M. Hunter
I pushed the door aside and saw a grey-
haired head atop a wooden desk. The attached
body was slumped forward in the matching
chair. He had a loose grip on a small energy
weapon, same as the others I’d seen. I snuck a
glance at his left temple where a scorch mark
was etched into his leathery skin.
Sad to say, it wasn’t the first dead body I’d
ever seen, and wouldn’t be the last. The same
could be said for a being who took his own life.
Sometimes the darkness of death was prefer-
able to the alternative.
I lifted my sleeve. “How’s it going out
there?”
“One container retrieved. I am bringing the
second into the ship.”
“Let me know as soon as you have the last
one.”
“Acknowledged.”
I ventured behind him and looked at a
small monitor sitting on the corner of his desk.
A menu of available log videos was on the thin
screen, so I reached over and tapped the most
recent entry.
He appeared on the screen, with his
attention on the camera embedded in the
upper edge of the monitor. Pounding echoed
in the background of the recording. “This will
be my last entry.”
A cold chill ran up my spine.
“We were ambushed, and the rest of the
crew…massacred.”
The energy weapon in his hand shifted.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
“Our computer is back to minimum
operation and she has been programmed to
engage the hyperspeed engines as soon as
she’s able. The ship won’t stop until the fuel
tanks run dry. Hopefully these scumbags will
be stranded on this ship until they’re caught.”
My guess was they’d discovered his plan
and abandoned ship. It would have been hard
giving up forty bays of platinum ore. But all
that wealth wouldn’t have helped any if they
had no way to take the ship anywhere.
Bad for them, good for me.
Tears fell in crooked lines down his face.
“They say a captain must go down with his
ship. But I have seen the horror that goes with
disintegrator cannons and there is a reason
civilized societies outlaw them. I won’t become
another victim.”
He raised the weapon to his temple and I
flinched as he emptied the discharge chamber.
His eyes went wide just after the bright flash,
then rolled up into his head before he fell
forward.
Death, destruction—I’d seen so much out
here in this vast wasteland. You never really
got used to it as much as you became better
armed to deal with the emotional baggage.
My normal weapon of choice was a bottle of
alcohol, but I’d have to wait until I got back to
my ship to pull the trigger.
Jeanie’s voice echoed. “All cargo containers
have been retrieved.”
“Meet back where you dropped me off.”
“Acknowledged.”
Pg. 7
I stepped back around the desk and
glanced at the piles of ash on my way through
the bridge. If there was one major reason why
I stayed in the scavenging business, this was it.
I couldn’t attack innocent people, especially if
it meant they’d suffer in the process. I steered
away from more direct forms of piracy for a
reason.
Jeanie’s frantic voice returned as I walked
down the main corridor. “Aston, three AP-2s
have appeared on long-range sensors.”
Patrol ships. They weren’t out for a stroll.
I ran for the port docking station. “Mask
the cargo. I’ll be right there.”
“Acknowledged.”
#
I jumped into my chair as we broke free
from the docking station and moved away.
“Incoming message.”
I breathed deep and settled myself. “Put it
through.”
The left half of my viewscreen switched
to a communications view. A man with light
skin and jet black curls stood tall in a dark blue
uniform. Two crewmen in similar uniforms sat
at segregated consoles in front of him, both
with their heads down.
“Commander Jameson of the Triton Security
Service.”
“Aston West. How can I help you,
Commander?”
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Ever Dark, An Aston West Tale by T. M. Hunter
He snarled. “You can start with what you’re
doing with this freighter.”
“I was accessing a communications beacon,
when it dropped out of hyperspeed.”
“An automatic emergency beacon was
activated on the freighter. We decided to check
it out.” He curled one corner of his mouth to
make a point.
“It’s out of fuel.”
He turned to one of his crew. “Get a fuel
transport out here on the double.”
I moved my hand up to the console on my
left and gently shut off the audio portion of the
transmission. I moved my other hand up and
mimicked a cough.
“Jeanie, where are the other ships?”
“Docking with the freighter.”
Another mock cough. “On the views-
creen.”
I brought the audio back as Jameson noticed
I was muted. “Sorry. Must have something
caught in my throat.”
On the other half of the viewscreen, I
watched the two ships move closer to the
freighter. Their bulbous front end tapered to a
single engine at the back, all on top of triangu-
lar delta wings.
He folded his arms across his chest. “We
noticed you were docked to the freighter.”
“My ship’s computer informed me there
was no crew aboard. I wanted to see for
Ray Gun Revival magazine
myself.”
Was it really lying if you just omitted facts—
little things, like the fact I’d dumped four bays
of precious cargo in the process?
“And did you find anything?”
“Looks like they were massacred in an
ambush.”
“Of which I’m sure you’re completely
innocent.”
I snorted. “I don’t have the firepower to
stop that freighter.”
“So you had help.”
“They weren’t ambushed here. Check the
last video log, in the captain’s quarters.”
“We will.”
One of the crew interrupted a short while
later as he turned back to his commander.
“They’re in. Looks like everyone’s dead.”
“Have them check the log.”
“I can tell you what they’ll find. The captain
killed himself rather than get disintegrated.”
Jameson passed between the consoles and
approached his viewscreen with another snarl.
“You’ll understand if I don’t just take your word
for it.”
“Suit yourself.”
A few moments passed before the crewman
jumped in again. “They’ve checked the log. It’s
just like he said.”
Pg. 8
I smirked. “You’re welcome.”
“They say there are four bays of ore
missing.”
Oops.
The commander sneered. “Know anything
about that?”
I paused a moment to collect my thoughts.
Jeanie had the cargo masked, so there would
be no evidence for them to connect me to the
missing ore...unless, of course, they boarded
my ship.
“Nope, not a thing.”
He knew I was lying, from his raised
eyebrow.
I shrugged. “Scan my hold if you don’t
believe me.”
“I have a better idea. How about we come
over and look for ourselves?”
I muted the audio and mocked another
cough. “Jeanie set a course for Iopeia. Get
ready to jump to hyperspeed.”
“Acknowledged.”
I rejoined the conversation. “Sorry about
that. Guess I must be catching something.”
“Prepare to be boarded.”
I was a moment away from making the
jump before my mind kicked in. I held back a
smile.
“Not to be a stickler for the rules,
Commander, but aren’t you a bit out of your
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Ever Dark, An Aston West Tale by T. M. Hunter
jurisdiction?”
He frowned. “You’re trying to get out of
this on a technicality?”
His ship closed on my position.
“If you’d like, we could have the local
authorities settle this.”
I watched for a sign of his next move behind
the frown on his face. Time was running out,
and a hyperspeed jump was looking more and
more viable with every moment.
Jameson glared at me. “Get out of here
before I blast your ship apart.”
“Glad we could come to an understanding,
Commander.” I smiled as he turned and walked
back to his chair.
All’s well that ends well, even if I had no
idea whether the local authorities would make
matters worse or not. With victory now in hand,
I nearly terminated the transmission when I
caught sight of a disintegrator cannon tucked
away on the floor beside his chair. There was
no mistaking the long-barreled heavy weapon.
Every nerve ending in my body fired off at
the same time.
I tried to keep my mind off the obvious. “If
you don’t mind, Commander, I have one last
communication to send out, then I’ll be out of
your hair.”
“Make it quick.”
The conversation was terminated, and the
full viewscreen displayed the freighter and two
patrol ships already docked on either side of
Ray Gun Revival magazine
the spherical dome. Jameson’s ship moved
toward the freighter.
“Take us back to the beacon, Jeanie.”
I reached down beside my chair as we
turned. I pulled a bottle of Vladirian liquor out
of the pocket. A large dose of the pale yellow
liquid was just the thing to take the edge off.
I didn’t really need to make this transmis-
sion. Tabor didn’t really care if he had advance
notice of my arrival. Time was what I was after,
to process what I’d just seen.
My ship wasn’t capable of taking on three
patrol ships, and it looked like this group
of sadists was going to get away with mass
murder. I felt sorry for the crew. They’d likely
trusted these lawmen, and had given their
lives in exchange.
Jeanie caught my attention. “We’re in
range.”
I sighed and sent out a useless message.
“Message to Tabor Yurick. I have some high-val-
ue merchandise. See you soon. End message.”
“Message packaged.”
I took another drink. “Send it.”
“Done.”
“Course still laid in for Iopeia?”
“Yes.”
I watched Jameson’s vessel as it drew
closer to the two patrol ships docked with the
freighter. Anger burned inside me, an intense
hatred for murderers who took an innocent
Pg. 9
crew’s life for their own greed. I took another
drink.
“Jeanie, are you still inside the freighter’s
computer system?”
“Yes.”
“Does it have a self-destruct setting?”
“Yes.”
I guzzled the liquor one more time, then
placed the nearly empty bottle back in its
pocket. “Set it.”
“Any specific amount of time?”
I watched as Jameson’s patrol ship skimmed
the upper surface of the freighter.
I didn’t plan to let them have a chance to
get out like the first time. “Just blow it now.”
The Ursulan freighter burst apart in a
sequence of huge fiery explosions. Each
firestorm collapsed just moments after it
escaped the outer hull, but not before the
destructive blasts took out all three patrol
ships. As debris scattered, I smiled with the
knowledge that justice had been dispensed,
almost in the way the freighter’s captain had
wanted.
Sometimes the darkness of death was pref-
erable to the alternative.
“Hyperspeed.”
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Ever Dark, An Aston West Tale by T. M. Hunter Pg. 10

T. M. Hunter
T.M.Hunter has been writing space opera
for many years, and is currently trying to
break into publication through his various
characters, the most notable being Aston
West and Gabriel Peters. Look for more short
stories featuring these two coming soon.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 37, January 01, 2008

Featured Artist: Finn Clark Pg. 11

Featured Artist
Finn Clark
Name: Finn Clark
Age: 17
Hobbies: Drawing, music, and playing guitar
Favourite Artist: Bruno Gentile or Joao Ruas
What media do you work in? Mostly, I just draw with
pencils, but I started using pens and markers too. I
first tried Digital Painting in 2005, and still do it from
time to time, but at the moment I’m trying to get to
grips with
traditional
mediums.

Where your work has been featured? I have had a feature in the FXpose section of
ImagineFX magazine and on the website deviantART.
Where should someone go if they wanted to view / buy some of your works? http://
larkin2.deviantart.com/
I don’t have prints enabled at the moment, but might consider it people are interested.
Who are your current influences? David Levy, Russ Mills, and Joao Ruas
What inspired the art for the cover? I love the expressive robot characters created by
Ashley Wood and Jon Foster, and I wanted to do one for myself. It’s just an abstract
figurative piece, and there’s really not a lot of meaning behind it.
What are your favourite tools / equipment for producing your art? Most pictures
start off as small thumbnails in my sketchbook, and most of the time I don’t know
what I’m out to create. I just let the pencil explore the paper. When I have a stronger
sense of direction with a piece, I put the drawing onto computer and continue work in
Photoshop.
Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Featured Artist: Finn Clark Pg. 12

What tool / equipment do you wish you had?

A scanner. I would spend longer drawing and
painting, if I knew I could retain the quality of it
when it was finally put onto computer.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 37, January 01, 2008

Featured Artist: Finn Clark Pg. 13

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 37, January 01, 2008

 The Pasadena Rule, Chapters 9 and 10 by Ben Schumacher
The Pasadena Rule
by Ben Schumacher
9.
“T alk to me, Jack!”
It has been conclusively established
from my suit data record that I was unconscious
for no more than two minutes. You couldn’t
prove that by me. When Katya’s urgent voice
dragged me back to awareness, it might have
been two hours or two weeks later. At first I
did not even know where I was. (Remembering
that datum a few seconds later did not exactly
cheer me up.)
“You bastard, you stinking bastard, you
will not do this to me! Do you hear me? Jack,
acknowledge this transmission!” The radio
reception was fuzzy and had echoes.
“Katya,” came another static-distorted
voice. “Katya, please—”
“Shut up, Max. Jack, I will not take this. Do
you understand? Answer me, Jack!” Katya’s
voice was hard and angry and more than a
little hysterical.
I groaned and tried to move.
The communications channel got very quiet
all of a sudden. Katya said softly, “Jack? Is that
you?”
“Yeah,” I croaked. “Still with you. Stand
by.”
I moved again and groaned again. I felt
like I had been kicked to a bloody pulp by six
bad-tempered rhinos, then run over by a train.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Actually, weirdly, in some ways I felt better than
I had before touchdown. My system had done
some catching up with the pressure, and I was
no longer dizzy. Come to think of it, there had
only been three rhinos in the kicking squad,
and the train had only run over my left ankle.
“We are standing by,” Katya said.
I opened my eyes and frowned, trying to
focus. I was sprawled on some flat, broken
stones that lay on the mountainside. The eagle
had definitely landed, and I was on terra firma,
or whatever you called it. I knew Virgil was
someplace nearby, over that way perhaps, but
the landing had been confusing and I wasn’t
sure. No matter. The details would sort them-
selves out soon enough.
I tried to read my suit status display. “Jack
here,” I said. “I’m on the surface. Sorry about
the blackout; I had a rough landing. My suit
seems to be okay.”
“Thank God,” Katya said.
Max came on and added, “Great, Jack! We
thought we’d lost you there.” I could hear some
happy noises behind him on the flight deck of
Gamma.
“I’m glad to report otherwise,” I said. There
was a burst of static, and I added, “Say again,
Max?”
“What’s your condition?”
“I’ve hurt my left foot. I’ll get up and try it
Pg. 14
out.”
“Negative on getting up, Jack,” Max said.
“Dr. Martinez says to stay put for a few minutes
and let your suit systems catch up.”
“Okay,” I said. I wasn’t too eager to stand
up anyway. “Listen, Max, you and Katya are
coming in rather broken up. Let me check my
suit communicator.”
There was another distorted message: “…
kilometers...this circuit. We suggest...relay
through Virgil. Over.”
Of course. I was still routing my suit com-
munications through Gamma, which was now
hundreds of kilometers to the east. The local
terrain was probably bouncing things around
a bit. “Confirm that. I will switch over to relay
through the lander.”
Katya came on. “Jack, switch your...one
toggle six, repeat, one toggle.”
“Copy that. Switching my comm to one
toggle six.” When I’d reset the helmet control,
the static in my headphones died away and
Katya’s voice came loud and clear.
“Check communications. Do you hear me,
Jack?”
“I read you fine on mode one. I’m toggling
to alternate.” I bumped the switch with my
chin. “Mode six is the private surface channel,
right?”
“Just you and me, on vox,” she said. “Mode
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
The Pasadena Rule, Chapters 9 and 10 by Ben Schumacher
one gets relayed on up to the satellite.”
“Good idea.”
“How are you? We were worried.”
“I’m beat up, but I’ll live,” I said. “The
landing knocked me out.”
“Your landing almost killed me.”
“Sorry about that. I’ll do it better next
time.”
“Arkasha is beeping us. Back over to mode
one.”
“Okay. Love you.” I chinned the toggle.
# not seriously. The suit was doing something to
With the touchdown, we were handed over
from Max (my “flight controller”) to Aphrodite,
where Arkady Rudin was doing the sky-to-
ground comms. Arkasha came on the line with
a cheerful voice. “Jack! This is Arkasha. Very
well done. I was betting on you.”
“Did you win much?”
“Not a dime. No one would bet against
you.”
I’m not sure I believed her. “You should
have asked me,” I said. “I might have taken
your bet, just to cover the bases.”
For the next few minutes, Arkasha had me
relay various readings on my suit status, my
biomeds, and the environmental conditions.
My suit was in great shape, my biomeds could
have been better, and outside the conditions
were extremely nasty. In short, everything was
Ray Gun Revival magazine
as good as could be expected. While we went
through this I sat myself up and got my bearings
with the suit’s navigational display. The lander
was two hundred meters away, above me and
around the curve of the mountainside. From
seventy kilometers up, that counted as a bull’s-
eye.
My suit was feeding me pain-killer, which
was finally doing its job. Only my ankle
continued throbbing. A blurry head and a
slight muscle tremor were ordinary fatigue, so I
instructed the suit to add a dose of a stimulant
to my system. I might pay the price later, but
the stim would keep me going for now.
I tested my left ankle before getting up. It
was sprained but not broken, or at any rate
keep the swelling down. With a little caution, I
could probably hobble around on it. That was
good enough. I had some ground to cover to
get to Virgil, and I didn’t care to do the whole
distance on hands and knees. My head swam
when I finally managed to get to my feet.
“Okay to go, Jack?” Katya asked.
“Okay enough,” I grunted. “It may take me
a while to reach you.”
It did take me a while. The slope had once
been covered by a broad sheet of smooth lava,
which had broken up into pieces about the size
of a lunch tray. The footing was treacherous,
and the pain shooting up my left leg forced
me to stop every couple of minutes and stand
on the other foot. As Katya directed, I slowly
worked my way up the slope and over toward
where Virgil lay, out of my sight. The air had
the odd thick feeling of really high pressures.
My diaphragm had to work harder to draw
Pg. 15
breath in and push it out again. I waved my
arms as I walked, paddling the air to help keep
my balance. Even more than before, I felt as if I
were moving along the ocean floor.
The landscape, red and gray rocks heaped
on a desolate mountain, was as lifeless as the
Moon. In fact, the Moon was less forbidding,
with the Earth and the Sun and the stars above
you for companionship. Here was only a fea-
tureless ceiling, immensely far away. Distant
parts of the vista seemed tilted upwards by
refraction.
The rocks were worth looking at. Much of
the surface material around was a smooth,
dark lava rock with a very fine texture, not
quite like anything I’d seen. “Hey, Katya,” I said,
when I’d paused to give my ankle a rest. “You
were right. These rocks are interesting. Did you
get some samples?”
“I must have left them outside,” she said.
“Perhaps I should collect a few.”
“Jack, if you are interested in rocks, we
have more than we need right here..”
“Right.” For a moment, I’d almost forgotten
why I was there. I hobbled a few more meters
up the hill.
I came to a short stretch of steeper slope
that angled up to my right, and I awkwardly
scrambled up it—taking care of the shiny outer
layer of my hotsuit, the one that was keeping
the outside inferno pleasantly outside. At
the top I came to the flat area of the landing
zone. There was the long chaotic track of the
landslide, demolishing the far side of the LZ.
And there, at the edge of the slide, less than
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
The Pasadena Rule, Chapters 9 and 10 by Ben Schumacher
a hundred meters away, was the silvery shape
of Virgil.
I climbed onto the edge and waved my
arms. “I’m here. I see Virgil.” Even better, I
could see into the cockpit, where a small figure
was waving back at me. I grinned and limped
toward her.
Arkady was relaying the congratulations of
practically everybody, but I wasn’t listening.
My eye was running over Virgil, taking in the
situation. The images Katya had sent up had
shown the main details, but this was the first
time anyone aside from her had gotten a look
at the overall picture. It was amazing that the
lander had survived. Twenty meters further
over and it would have been smashed; forty
meters, and the wreckage would have been
dragged down the mountain.
I came to the nose of Virgil. The cockpit
windows were a meter above my head, but I
managed to get my good foot on the knee of
the front landing skid and hoist myself up.
“Zdravstvuytye,” I said.
“Hello,” Katya said. She looked drawn
and haggard, but she was right there and she
was smiling at me. Whatever happens next, I
told myself, this is worth it. She raised up six
fingers. I nodded and toggled to the private
comm channel.
“You don’t look so good,” she said.
“I had a rough trip. How are you?”
She shrugged and waved an hand to
indicate her own body. She was sitting in the
pilot’s seat. I could see that she had shed her
Ray Gun Revival magazine
outer thermal garment but was still wearing
both inner layers of the hotsuit, her life-sup-
port umbilical plugged into Virgil’s own system.
Over her right leg and much of the right side
of her body, the second layer of her suit was
blackened and discolored. Heat damage, I
realized; the damage to her insulation must
have been on her right leg. My eyes widened.
“How bad is it?”
“Bad enough. I don’t walk even as well as
you do. I had to crawl most of the way. The suit
computer kept telling me to lie down and wait
for help.”
What would that be like, to drag yourself
along with your right leg roasting, the heat
of it—and maybe the smell of it—filling your
suit? I could not imagine. Without the hotsuit
systems to maintain her, she would have gone
into shock and died. Even with them, she
would not last forever down here. “Well, help
has arrived.”
“I know. Thank you.” She kissed her fingers
and pressed them to the window. I put my own
glove on the outside of the window, our fingers
about four centimeters apart. That was as close
as we could get..
The call light flashed on channel one. “Back
to work,” I said. I hit the toggle with my chin.
#
For the next few minutes, I made a verbal
report to the engineers up on the Aphrodite.
The aerodynamic surfaces were battered but
intact. The landing skids were bent, but those
could be dropped away once we took off. I saw
why the directional antenna wasn’t working:
Pg. 16
a rock the size of a cantaloupe had sheared it
clean off. The secondary propulsion jets, used
at high altitude, were closed up, but there was
no visible damage to the vents. I could only
hope they’d deploy when the time came.
Beside the airlock outer door I spotted
something shiny on the ground. I stooped
over and picked it up. It was a ragged strip of
a silvery material, about five centimeters by
twenty. I rubbed it between my fingers.
“Jack?” Arkasha said after a moment. “Are
you still there? Have you found something?”
I realized that this was a piece of Jules
Bertillame’s hotsuit, the fragment that Katya
had found after the landslide. Poor J. B. “It’s
nothing,” I said, dropping the strip on the
ground. “Continuing down the port side....”
10.
Now it was time to see about the main
problem, the big ducted fans. Both of them
were blocked by several wheelbarrow loads
of rock fragments that had spilled over the
landing zone from the edge of the landslide.
The portside job actually looked a little easier
than the pictures had suggested, but the
starboard propeller, on the uphill side of the
lander, was jammed tight. I started portside.
Rocks are rocks, and on Venus they are
almost as heavy as they are on Earth. It was
a hell of a job to move them without even so
much as a crowbar to help. Some of the rocks
were awkwardly placed. I fetched a piece of
the broken high-gain antenna to try to pry up a
fifty kilo monster, but, predictably, it snapped
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
The Pasadena Rule, Chapters 9 and 10 by Ben Schumacher
on the first good shove. The good news was
that I didn’t have to cart the rocks very far. Just
heaving them out of the way of the fan was
enough. I made slow progress. I was vaguely
aware of conversations going on between Katya
and people aloft and in orbit, making plans for
steps two through twelve while I labored on
step one.
“Uh oh,” I said.
“What is it, Jack?” Katya asked.
I had finally uncovered the outer rim of one
of the fan blades and found to my horror that it
was badly damaged. A rock twenty centimeters
across had broken off part of the blade and put
visible cracks in the rest of it. If the portside
fan were spun up, this blade would shatter and
shower the rest of the propeller assembly with
high-speed fragments. I briefly reported what
I’d found, trying to keep my voice even.
Everyone took the news a lot better than
I expected. “Which blade is it?” asked an
engineer from the Aphrodite. (I recognized the
voice, but could not recall her name.)
“Number two,” I said, glancing at the hub
to be sure.
“Well, of course we’ll have to remove it,”
Katya said.
“And you’ll need to take out number eight
as well,” the engineer said. “Otherwise the
turbine will be unbalanced.”
“Oh.” It seemed that this contingency had
been discussed. “How am I supposed to take
the blades off? I don’t have any tools.”
“Relax, Jack,” Katya said. “The airlock is
Ray Gun Revival magazine
cycling now. You should be able to open the
outside door in about two minutes. The EVA
toolbox is in there.”
I thought about it for a second or two.
“Copy that,” I said. “Going to six.” On the private
channel, I said, “Katya, the starboard side may
be even worse. This is going to cut our lift.”
“I know,” she said calmly. “We just have
make it work somehow.”
# tired. Nothing the suit could do to my blood-
The airlock held the toolbox and a lot of
loose equipment that Katya had dumped to
lighten the ship. The whole load didn’t amount
to two percent of Virgil’s gross weight, but
every bit would help. I tossed the surplus stuff
out the door, grabbed the tools, and headed
back to the portside fan.
Moving rocks had been a bad job. Trying
to remove an aerofan blade with a collection
of miscellaneous hand tools, not all of which
were working properly under the conditions,
was a nightmare. The variable-pitch widget
that held the blade to the hub was pretty well
secured—it had to be, to take the revs of the
fan at high speed.
On the other hand, I knew the lift system as
well as anyone in the solar system. I had helped
to design it, and could probably have drawn a
fair diagram of the innards of the motor from
memory. These blades were designed to be
replaced in a maintenance bay on one of the
dirigible platforms. The trick was adapting the
procedure to “field conditions” including an
ambient temperature in the low five hundreds.
Metals and ceramics expand with temperature,
Pg. 17
but they don’t all expand the same amount.
Things that would have moved easily in a cool
maintenance bay were wedged tight down
here in the oven.
In the end, we did manage. But it took five
times longer than anyone expected.
#
On to the starboard fan, which was worse.
There was more rock to move, and I was getting
stream could mask this fatigue. Dr. Martinez
recommended a rest period, preferably
involving some sleep, but he was overruled.
Delta was on its way, pulled along with the
Venerian jet stream at a kilometer every ten
seconds, and it was our only ride. If we missed
it, there wouldn’t be another chance for for-
ty-eight hours, till the Alpha platform came
around again. The engineers were sure Virgil
could not last that long. Carlos Ruzhany, the
skipper of Delta, was driving his ship at full
throttle against the wind, but that would only
add a couple of hours to our timeline.
Practice helped, and I did move the rock
a lot more efficiently this time around. The
broken pieces from the other fan made dandy
crowbars. As we expected, there were bad
propeller blades on the starboard fan too. Both
blades eleven and three had to come off—but
the good news was that we could restore
balance by removing only one additional blade,
number seven. I cast a worried eye on blade
number twelve, which had sustained some
superficial scratches. If there were cracks in it
that I could not see, it would probably fail cata-
strophically in flight. If we removed too many
blades, we’d never get off the ground. I might
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
The Pasadena Rule, Chapters 9 and 10 by Ben Schumacher
exchange it for the undamaged blade from
the portside fan, but replacing a blade would
take far longer than removing one. I reported
number twelve as “good to go.”
A warning light in the edge of my helmet
display began to flash between yellow and red,
so I stopped working for a second to check it
out. “Arkasha,” I called, “I’ve got a thermal max
warning in my suit.”
Dr. Martinez himself came on the line.
“Jack, you’ve been working pretty hard. You
passed the four hour mark some time ago.”
Four hours was the recommended maximum
stay at high temperature in a hotsuit. There was
a safety margin built in, but I was coming to the
edge of the margin as well. The problem was
thermal, as usual. In the middle of this inferno,
the hotsuit had no place to dump the waste
heat I generated by working. So it did what
Virgil did, storing the waste heat in an ultra-
high capacity heat sink in the life support pack.
But that small heat sink was limited, and I was
approaching its limit. The harder I worked, the
worse it would get.
“I could plug the heat exchanger into Virgil’s
system,” I said. “That would help.”
“Yes it would,” said Dr. Martinez. “But I’ll
tell you, boy, I don’t think you have the time.
You need to be nose up in less than thirty
minutes.”
I looked up at the starboard fan. The first
blade was about half done, with two more to
go. Oh crap. “I get the picture,” I said. “What
can I expect?”
“Uncharted territory. Give me some
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readings and I’ll suggest some adjustments
that might help.” We spent a minute or two on
that, and then I went back to work, unscrewing
the bushing on the number three blade like a
maniac.
# now.” Katya said. “No margin left. How much
The yellow flashing stopped presently and
was replaced by a steady red warning light. The
approach of heatstroke at ninety atmospheres
was not altogether unpleasant—rather like
spending too long in a really hot bath. If it
weren’t for the frantic pace of my work on the
propeller, it might even have been relaxing. I
felt sleepy and weak.
The first two starboard blades were off.
Now I was working on number seven, the
“good” one. It was easier than the others, but I
felt myself slowing down even as I watched the
seconds tick away. I fumbled with my wrench
and tried to recall which way to turn it to loosen
the nut.
Katya was watching my work over Virgil’s
cameras, talking me through it over our private
channel. “Almost there, Jack. Just disconnect
the pitch actuator cable next.”
“Hot,” I said, yanking the cable awkwardly
out of its socket.
“I know it’s hot. Just finish that one and you
can come inside. We’ll get out of here. Okay?”
That was okay with me. I concentrated
on removing the actuator assembly for the
number seven blade. Once done, I could see
underneath, where the blade was actually
attached to the hub. Two more screws, hard to
Pg. 18
get at. I picked up a screwdriver, but it slipped
from my fingers. Oh, it had been the wrong
driver anyway. I got the right one and went to
work.
“Jack, they’re telling us we need to be going
longer?”
“Not long.” Sweat was in my eyes, or else
my face plate was fogging, but I knew this job
well enough by now that I didn’t need to use my
eyes. “One screw out,” I told Katya. Jesus, I was
hot. My body temperature had been elevated
for a while, another little yellow warning light
in the periphery of my vision. Actually, there
was a whole constellation of yellow and red
over there in the biomedical corner.
“Got it!” I shouted. The last screw came
and the blade slipped out of its socket. I helped
it out and pushed it away from the fan. It fell
oddly in the dense air.
“Head for the airlock,” Katya said.
“Just a second.” I scraped the last few tools
and fragments from the blades and stumbled
back around the nose of Virgil to the airlock on
the portside. I’d had the good sense to leave
the door open.
Even as I reached the door, Katya had started
the big blades turning. The current from the
propwash—you could not really call it a wind in
air this thick—sprayed gravel on me. I heaved
myself into the airlock and pulled the door
inward. My hands remembered how to work
the latch mechanism. The whine of the motors
got louder and changed pitch, and I felt Virgil
move. It tilted to one side, and I fell against a
locker. “Sorry!” Katya shouted. A shudder, a
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
The Pasadena Rule, Chapters 9 and 10 by Ben Schumacher Pg. 19

rattle of small rocks sliding off the outer skin,

and suddenly we heaved up into the air. We
circled a moment, but then the nose pitched
upward and the prop sound changed again,
and we began to climb. It was all I could do
to plug my suit into the ship’s systems before I
passed out.

Ben Schumacher
I am a physicist who teaches at Kenyon
College in Gambier, Ohio. My major
research field is quantum information
theory, though I have also dabbled in
black hole physics and thermodynamics.
I’ve been a science fiction writer longer
than I’ve been a physicist, however,
having sold my first—and so far only—
story to Analog magazine at age 16.

Ray Gun Revival magazine Issue 37, January 01, 2008

Deuces Wild by L. S. King
Deuces Wild
Interlude
by L. S. King
“H ow did you sleep?” Gran asked, pouring
coffee into a cup and sliding it across the
table to Tristan.
“Sleep? With that thing snoring?” Tristan
jerked his head toward the bedroom door.
“And wondering how he didn’t murder his
wife in his sleep with his thrashing...” Tristan
shook his head and rubbed bleary eyes before
reaching for the steaming cup.
Gran chuckled and turned back to the wood
stove. Tristan was pleased the old woman didn’t
chatter on or try to ask probing questions. She
seemed to understand he liked quiet and gave
it to him.
A second cup of coffee and two pancakes
later, Slap stumbled into the kitchen, yawning.
“Good morning,” Gran chirped. “How did
you sleep?”
Slap scratched his head, scowling at Tristan.
“Well, I woulda slept a’right if that yahoo hadn’t
pulled the covers offa me and kicked me outta
the bed twice.”
“I was trying to wake you up to stop the
snoring.”
“Ya coulda just shook me.”
“I could have set off an explosion and it
wouldn’t have awakened you.” Tristan sipped
the hot coffee. “And it wasn’t twice I kicked
you out of the bed. It was five times. You never
Ray Gun Revival magazine
even realized it—crawled back into the bed
like a zombie.”
Slap snorted and dropped into a chair with
a grunt. Gran set coffee in front of him.
The cowboy squinted at the plate of
towering pancakes in the center of the table.
“You done eating?”
Tristan nodded, cup to his lips.
With a satisfied sigh, Slap pulled the plate
to him, and picked up the pitcher of syrup.
Tristan shook his head.
Halfway through the stack, Tristan was dis-
tracted from the amazing sight of Slap’s gor-
mandizing abilities by clopping sounds outside.
He rose and went to investigate, Gran trailing
him.
Slap’s father-in-law was astride the con-
founded horse Slap had adopted, his son
following in a wagon with a passenger beside
him. Of course—no modern equipment could
be used in the valley; one couldn’t merely rent
a rover to travel out here.
“Brought a guest out, Son,” Ewan called.
“And thought you might like to keep Príncipe
for a few days, until you leave.”
“Staying for coffee?” called Gran.
Ewan shook his head as the tall, thin
man alighted from the rustic conveyance, his
Pg. 20
familiar, crooked grin easing the stiffness in
Tristan’s spine.
“Got chores to tend,” Ewan said, “but I’m
certain Brìghde will insist on a visit before
they leave.” He and his son-in-law embraced,
slapping each other on the back.
“Hello, Captain,” Carter said, his Adam’s
apple bobbing. “I heard your ship might need
an engineer.”
“Not his ship anymore,” Slap said as Ewan
climbed into the wagon. “I own it now. But he’s
still captain and pilot. How ya doing, Carter?”
He stepped over to Carter and pumped his
hand.
“The ownership issue is a technicality,
Tristan interjected, “and you know it.”
Slap chuckled. “Yeah, since technically we
stole it from the Mordas in the first place. But I
still got a document saying I’m her owner.”
“Well, whoever is in charge now,” Carter
said, “I need work.”
“Great. Come on in and we’ll talk over
breakfast.”
Gran stuck her hands on her hips.
“’Breakfast’ will have to wait until I cook up
more pancakes, you Scallywag.”
“Sorry,” Slap said, hunching his shoulders.
But the smile on his face belied the sincerity of
his apology. He waved to the departing wagon,
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Deuces Wild by L. S. King
then slapped Carter on the shoulder as they all
walked back to the little house. “So what are
you doing here anyway?”
“The captain and I have kept in touch. He
asked for my help in a recent matter.”
“Oh?” Slap peered sideways at Tristan, who
glared as an answer.
“Yeah. And when the job I had fell through,
I thought, well, it can’t hurt to at least visit, and
maybe sign on if he needs me.”
Carter had sidestepped right around Slap’s
tacit query. Nice work.
“Well, I think it’s a swell idea. Don’t you,
Tristan?”
Whatever happened to being blessedly
alone? Tristan silently mourned as he reseated
himself at the table. But he had found himself
surprisingly pleased about Slap wanting to
come with him on Giselle. Carter’s specialties
might come in handy too. Tristan downed his
now-cool coffee before answering. “Sounds
good.”
The lines in Carter’s face relaxed a bit as
he sat. “I’m glad to hear that. It’s...hard to find
work—good work—when you...don’t have a
background or résumé to your name.”
Slap caught Tristan’s eye with a knowing
look. Of the three of them, the only one with a
legitimate history was the cowboy.
“Well,” Slap drawled, “I don’t see that as a
worry with us, huh, Tristan?”
Refusing to be baited, Tristan merely
inclined his head.
Ray Gun Revival magazine
# to drop into your lap?”
Tristan carried the plates to the sink. Gran
batted at him when he offered to do the
dishes.
“The hot water makes my old hands feel
better. You go on and visit. I’m certain I’ll have
chores for you later.”
“I’m certain you will too.” Unable to keep
from smiling at her, Tristan left her humming
at the sink and wandered outside.
Slap was racing the stallion around the
property, and Carter sat on a bench in the
shade by the by the house, watching. Tristan
joined the engineer with a nod.
“He seems to be much better than right
after Eridani. Is he all right now?”
Tristan stared hard at the cowboy. “He’s...
healing. I don’t know what they did to him, but
it left deep wounds on his soul. Whatever his
alien friends did to help him, it got him past
the worst of it, I think.”
Carter fell silent for a time, then asked,
“How soon are you leaving?”
“I’m not sure. We have several orders for
cargo from the Separatists, but legitimate
runs don’t net the kind of money black market
does.”
“Well, considering there’s no Mordas and
no government yet, there is no black market at
the moment, is there?”
Tristan snorted. “Nothing I’d touch.”
“So you’re waiting for more lucrative deals
Pg. 21
“No, actually. I’ve been waiting for replace-
ments for some personal items I need. When
I was brought here, injured, everything I had
was...rendered ineffective.”
“Ah.” Carter nodded. “Your vest’s toys… I
heard about the strange effect this valley has
on electronic equipment. I’d love to learn more
about that.”
His eyes on Slap’s antics with the horse,
Tristan replied, “I’m sure you could, if we have
the time, but since you’re here, you can see to
any work needed on Giselle.”
“Glad to. I’m surprised you’re staying here
though and not on the ship. This is so out of
the way, and hard to get to.”
“Precisely. The people have a mistaken idea
I’m some kind of hero. I’ve had three requests
to go to the city to help with discussions on the
government they’re trying to set up.”
Chuckling, Carter leaned back and stretched
out his legs. “I see. So...are you heading to the
city soon?”
Tristan nodded. “This afternoon.”
“You, young man,” Gran’s voice called from
the doorway.
Carter twisted around. “Me, ma’am?”
“You two can be useful while you visit. Come
get these buckets and get busy shelling.”
“Shelling?” Carter rose and walked over,
staring into the buckets.
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Deuces Wild by L. S. King
“Don’t dawdle. Take them over, and you
two get busy, or you won’t have peas for supper
tonight.”
The engineer complied, and both men
stared at the long, slender green pods in the
buckets.
“Peas?” Carter murmured.
“Oh, landsakes!” Gran set a pot on the
ground in front of them. She picked up a pod
and deftly split it open, then thumbed the peas
into the pot. “There. Don’t tell me you spacer
types can’t figure out how to shell peas.”
With a laugh, Gran went back into the
house.
# Tristan spun and headed for the side hatch.
Tristan viewed the captain’s cabin with a
sense of homecoming, especially since he had
replaced most of his library.
“Y’know,” said Slap’s voice from behind him,
“the best cabin should belong to the owner.”
“It’s called ‘the captain’s cabin,’” retorted
Tristan.
Chortling, Slap held out an e-pad. “We have
two cargoes heading out, and three to pick up
and bring back.”
“Turning me into a legitimate business-
man?”
“I’m sure you’ll find side stuff for yourself.
But I do appreciate your helping my people
and the Guilds and Merchants.”
Tristan sniffed, reading the contents. “Have
Ray Gun Revival magazine
you stocked the galley?”
“Stuff’s been ordered, and should be
delivered in three days. You still planning on
leaving then?”
“Yes.” Tristan opened a new file on the
e-pad and began making a list. “Here are some
items to add.” He finished and handed the pad
back to the cowboy.
Slap read it and grinned. “You gonna be
cooking, too, huh?”
Tristan didn’t deign to answer. He strode
toward the bridge, but from down the hall
Carter’s voice called, “Captain? Someone here
to see you.”
Carter’s huge eyes were glued to the visitor,
and no wonder. Tanya looked as alluring as
ever, and distracting as ever.
“We need to talk,” she said without
preamble.
With a wave of his arm, Tristan indicated
the door to the rec lounge. Her straight back
and solid stride as she walked ahead of him put
him on guard.
He sat in one of the cushioned chairs on
the side and looked up in anticipation.
Her eyes flashed as she stood before him.
It was cliché but true—she was gorgeous when
angry. And it made the ache inside spread.
“They want to disband the guild and make
my profession illegal. I warned you this would
happen.”
Pg. 22
“Push. Fight. You have the drive and will.”
“Not against all of them.” Her shoulders
drooped slightly. “And with many of the
wealthy leaving the planet, it isn’t as lucrative
as it was, either.”
Tristan shrugged. “You might look into a
different career.”
Her lips thinned. “You would say that.
Perhaps you’d like that—want that to happen.
Perhaps you’d rather I not work in this business,
and this might make me run to you, be your...
what? Little wife? Clinging to you like a helpless
damsel?”
Tristan rose, glaring. “You talk of a wife as a
diminutive thing instead of a partner, someone
strong enough to stand shoulder to shoulder
with her husband.” He stopped, looking away
and grinding his teeth to keep from saying too
much. Never since his youth had he been so
close to opening his heart. She had no idea
the affect she had on him. Did she think it
was merely her body that attracted him? Her
mind, her drive—what a team they could have
made! But she had made her choice. And he
had made his.
When he looked over, she wore a stunned
expression.
He swallowed, trying to get control. Finally,
he said, “Don’t presume about me. You made
it clear I was merely an ‘interest’ as long as I
stayed tied to this planet. I’m not. Now excuse
me,” he pushed past her, “but I have business
to conduct.”
She whirled, grabbing his arm. “You have
business with me!”
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Deuces Wild by L. S. King
With a quick snatch, he replaced her grip
with his own on her wrist. He held her arm
between them, meeting her eyes evenly.
“Focus your will on what you want, and you
can attain it. But don’t come to me to be your
Prince Charming and rescue you. You don’t
play the damsel convincingly.”
He released her and waited. She regarded
him warily, eyes narrowed. “It was a mistake to
ask you for help.”
“I hope that was rhetorical.”
Her nostrils flaring, she swept out of the
lounge.
He waited, heart thudding, then strode
out—out of the room, out of the ship. Damn
her for making him dream. Damn himself for
letting himself dream. The fresh air hit him,
and he closed his eyes for a second. Business.
Yes. He had some personal items to collect.
# weight from foot to foot.
Today is the day, Slap thought, setting the
meats in cold storage. I’m leaving the planet
again. The going-away party with Gran and his
family had been mostly happy. Aylish hadn’t
made any scenes, but still looked moon-eyed.
Brìghde had cried.
He shut the door and glanced at the rest of
the food littering the counter. They’d eat well,
anyway.
“Hey, Slap, we have a visitor,” Carter called,
wiping his hands. “Mr. Lejeune wanted to talk
to the owner.”
Slap dumped onions in their bin and turned
Ray Gun Revival magazine
to see a short, spare man standing in the galley
doorway with the engineer.
“Well, you found him.” Slap grinned and
held out his hand.
“I deal in gems and jewelry, Mr. McCarty.”
Lejeune said, shaking Slap’s hand. “You might
think my business was lucrative with the large
population of wealthy people, but the Mordas’
cut went deep into my pockets as well. I am
now looking to expand my market. And I have a
salesperson I wish to entrust with this task.”
Lejeune hesitated. “She is my youngest
daughter, Adamant. She is a good person,
Mr. McCarty, but without a mother, she has
become headstrong, and I...I have not been
good in giving her direction.”
Slap’s stomach told him something was
coming, and he might want to duck. But he
owned a ship now and had to do business,
didn’t he? He waited while Lejeune shifted his
“I thought this job might instill some
responsibility in her. And...some sense. If you’re
willing to take on my daughter as a passenger,
to be my salesperson, I would greatly appreci-
ate it.”
“Well,”—Slap scratched his head—”I don’t
see why not...”
“The thing is,” Lejeune said, “you’ve already
met her.” He held his hand out to the door
and the curly-headed Addie stepped around,
scowling.
Slap let his weight settle onto one leg and
crossed his arms. The wildcat as a passenger?
Pg. 23
What would Tristan say? A vision of his friend’s
reaction made a smile tug at Slap’s mouth,
and he found himself replying, “Mr. Lejeune, it
would be a pleasure.”
#
“Do you have the galley stocked now?”
“Sure do.” Slap grinned across the galley
at Tristan and nodded at the volume tucked
under his friend’s arm. “What’s that?”
“A book.”
“I know that,” Slap said, rolling his eyes.
“What’s in it?”
“Poetry.” Tristan tipped his head. “I don’t
suppose you have any interest in poetry.”
“Sure I do.” Slap straightened and began,
“There once was a man from Nantucket—”
Tristan sighed—making Slap grin—but
before he could leave in a huff, Slap said, “We
have a passenger.”
Tristan stopped, staring at Slap. “We’re not
a passenger ship.”
“She’s a salesperson for a jeweler. She’s
unpacking in her cabin now.”
Tristan seemed to consider the prospect.
“I suppose that’s acceptable. But you know I
don’t like—”
Addie bobbed up at the doorway beside
Tristan. “I don’t either.”
“You!” The look on Tristan’s face was worth
it all. Slap bit his lip to keep from laughing.
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
Deuces Wild by L. S. King
Their mutual glares seemed about to set off
a fire. Tristan turned to Slap, hooking a thumb
at the girl. “She’s the salesperson?”
“Adamant Lejeune,” Addie said, lifting her
chin. “Sales rep for Lejeune Jewelers.”
“Lejeune?” Tristan’s eyebrows rose.
“French?”
“Belgian.”
The smidge of interest on Tristan’s face
vanished, and he turned away from her,
shooting Slap a black look. “You approved this,
without asking me?”
“Well, I am the owner.”
The dark man spun and left, muttering
under his breath.
Addie stared after him. “Not very friendly,
is he?”
“Well, he don’t cotton to being shot at, I’d
reckon.”
“I said I was sorry.” She crossed her arms.
“Besides, he started it, wanting to space me,
then stranding me on that planet.”
Slap busied himself putting away the rest
of the produce. “Best make sure you’re settled
in; we should be taking off soon.”
After Addie left, Slap let himself laugh out
loud.
# To catch up on previous episodes of
“Where’s Carter?” Tristan asked, looking up
at the old ship. She’d been through so much,
and despite the refit looked her age, a century-
old Canary-class freighter. “I need to know if
Ray Gun Revival magazine
Pg. 24
Giselle is ready to go.” L. S. King
“He’s in engineering, where else?” Slap L.S. began martial arts training over thirty
replied. “I asked him how ol’ Bertha was years ago, and owned a karate school for
earlier. He started rambling about secondary
something-or-others and other stuff I can’t a decade. When on the planet, she lives
make heads or tails of, but finally said she was in Delaware with her husband, Steve, and
fine to fly.”
their youngest child. She enjoys garden­
“Good.” ing, soap making, reading, and all things
Tristan climbed the ramp, Slap following, Myst. She also likes Looney Tunes, the
but a voice behind him said, “Excuse me. Are color purple, and is a Zorro aficionado,
you the captain?” which might explain her love for swords
Turning, Tristan saw a port supervisor at the and cloaks.
edge of the dock-pad, carrying a clipboard.
“I am.” Like Londo Mollari, she wants to know
if the Hokey Pokey is really what it’s all
“I have a list of port fees due for this ship.
They have to be paid before you can leave.” about.
“Let me see them.” Tristan held out his
hand. Looking over the fees, he saw many were
new ones—the power vacuum was sucking
everyone’s greed, it seemed. He handed
the clipboard to Slap. “This is the owner’s
headache.”
Leaving the cowboy stuttering, he entered
the ship with a smile.
the adventures of Slap and Tristan, visit:
http://loriendil.com/DW.php
Deuces Wild is dedicated to the memory of
my best friend; my inspiration for an enduring
friendship...http://loriendil.com/Starsky/
Issue 37, January 01, 2008
  Pg. 25
The RGR Time Capsule
December 15 - December 30, 2007
Sci-Fi news from the Ray Gun Revival forums
RGR Date: December 19, 2007 8. Crysis (PC)
Disappearing car doors!
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1658
http://www.disappearing-car-door.com/
RGR Date: December 18, 2007
Peter Jackson to film The Hobbit after all
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1657
gsemones wrote:
Here’s what I think will happen. The first
movie will be The Hobbit. The second movie
will be a bridge movie between the end of
The Hobbit, and the beginning of the Lord of
the Rings. That’s the rumor I heard long ago
anyway.
Tolkien left time lines of the between years,
and though not a lot happens from the Shire
standpoint, a lot happens with Aragorn
(childhood, loss of his Father, moving to
Rivendale, etc.)
Look between the years 2890 and 3017 in
the Third Age:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Timeline_of _
arda
RGR Date: December 17, 2007
Wired’s Top Ten Games of 2007
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1656
10. Crackdown (Xbox 360)
9. Desktop Tower Defense (Flash)
Ray Gun Revival magazine
on their shelves.
7. Call of Duty 4 (PC, 360, PS3) Rowling said: “This is really where I turned
my life around completely. My life really
6. Mass Effect (360) changed in this flat.”
5. The Legend of Zelda: Phantom Hourglass
(DS)
RGR Date: December 23, 2007
4. The Orange Box (PC, 360, PS3) Battlestar Galactica Propaganda Posters
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1660
3. BioShock (PC, 360)
There are a full set of five of these delightful works:
2. Super Mario Galaxy (Wii)
http://www.quantummechanix.com/
1. Rock Band (360, PS3, PS2) BSGPropaganda.html
RGR Date: December 24, 2007
J K Rowling Goes Home
http://raygunrevival.com/Forum/viewtopic.php?t=1662
Harry Potter creator JK Rowling has made
a tearful return to the flat where she first
dreamed up the boy wizard.
Now the most successful novelist in his-
tory, Rowling was a struggling single mother
when she began writing her first book Harry
Potter And The Philosopher’s Stone.
An ITV1 show took her back to the flat in
Leith, Edinburgh, where she lived at the time.
Visiting the small flat for the first time since
she moved out a decade ago, Rowling wiped
away tears.
She was thrilled to find that the new occu-
pants had copies of the Harry Potter books
Issue 37, January 01, 2008