There was nothing like a challenge and, free of its former inhibitions, Interceptor #7 plowed on through the opposing Interceptors, ignoring the rockets that were scoring direct hits on its weaker points, ignoring the ‘pain’ it was feeling in several systems now, ignoring the sudden loss of power in its engine output and trying to ignore the fear that was pushing it harder toward a victory that was fast looming just out of reach.
But there would be no retreat, that course of action was completely out of the question. Although engaging in almost certain doom, Interceptor #7 fought on...
THE END
THE DUPLICITY OF DWARVES by Christopher J. Piatti
Of all the legends about dwarves, perhaps the most deceptive is that they coerce mortals into smoking the leaves of the masipi plant. This is simply not the case, mortals began the experimentation themselves and then became addicted to having the hallucinogenic molecules moving freely through their veins.
And, as if the hallucinogens from the masipi plant weren’t enough to contend with, along came the ravens. When the ravens were around food was always mysteriously overcooked, furniture was found upside down and a whole array of other oddities. Fortunately the raven’s term was short lived and the mortals felt no sorrow at the loss of the ravens. Then they realized that with the absence of the ravens all their troubles dissipated. No more devil eyes to watch over them and find way’s to enchant them into debauchery.
The dwarves had a history of causing rivalry amongst mortals and at present seemed to enjoy playing mind games with the mortals and the mortals’ masipi smoking ways made them easy targets. The allegiance between the dwarves and pixies was at an all time high. And when the pixies became bored and started straying further and further away from their village it added a most curious mixture to the debacle.
Now, if you were to wander down the main lane of the mortals village you would see stand upon stand of pixie paraphernalia. Everything from hand written books, to mystical music boxes.
Rumors of pixie life began to run rampant throughout the mortals’ village. Then, the curiosity of four young mortals got the better of them and they decided not to heed the warnings about how mischievous the pixies could be.
And so one evening after much ale drinking and masipi smoking the group of young mortals decided to head out first thing the next morning after breakfasting at The Jester and the Jackal Pub.
Mirial, and her boyfriend Clive were the first to arrive and had a couple cups of coffee before Tanya was able to rouse her boyfriend Camor from his sleep.
“Sorry about the wait. I’m afraid I over indulged on ale last evening,” said Camor, pushing back his uncharacteristically unkempt bangs.
“Well I'll let it slide this time,” said Mirial. “But we’ve got a five day journey ahead of us, lets not make it a ten day one.”
“You'll get no argument from me on that account,” said Camor, in a sardonic tone.
The others began to laugh, but they silenced themselves when the dwarf waitress approached them because they recognized the waitress and knew she would throw them out without a second thought given half the chance as she despised jovial mortals.
“What will it be?” asked the waitress impatiently.
“Coffee, steak and eggs for the whole lot of us, on me,” said Clive. “I’m feeling generous. I still haven’t blown all the money I won at cards last weekend and it’s burning a hole in my pocket.”
As soon as the waitress was out of earshot Tanya spoke up. “This pub is the lamest around, I hope the Pixie Pubs have a whole lot more to offer in the realm of fascination.”
“From what I heard we won’t be disappointed. Apparently you can drink ale around the clock and they don’t even mind if you smoke masipi in their pubs,” said Camor.
“Yeah, and the music from their mystical music boxes keeps you chipper all night long, unlike the lifeless gibberish they try to pass of for music in our village,” said Clive.
The girls giggled for a moment and then they all consumed their meals in a hurried frenzy as they were anxious to hop on their horses and ride into happier times.
The group rode their horses to the limit and were well ahead of schedule when just as dusk was setting in Mirial called out.
“Let’s hold up. My backside feels like it has been horsewhipped a thousand times.”
There was no complaints from the others, as they all wanted to stop but they didn’t want to feel they were holding the group back. The group was exhausted and only managed to drink a couple of ales each and smoke a couple pipes of masipi before they turned in for the evening. The girls awoke first and collected a vast amount of vegetables. When the boy’s awoke they had a quick coffee and then left to hunt on horseback, not knowing what type of wildlife to expect in these parts.
They hadn’t made it very far of the main trail when Clive spotted a bird that looked somewhat similar to a chicken but had green fur instead of feathers. Clive got the bird on his first pistol shot.
“Excellent work,” said Camor. “It should make for good eating, there is lots of meat on it and the girls will be glad we didn’t take that long.”
They made their way back to their campsite quickly and were surprised to find the girls looking at them with noses upturned in disgust.
“What in the world is that?” asked Mirial.
“We’re not quite sure,” said Clive. “But we need to eat.”
The girls passed on the meal of bird. Camor and Clive roasted the bird themselves as the girls refused to have anything to do with it. And to the boy’s surprise it made for a good meal after thoroughly roasted over a fire with some roasted potatoes. The girls ate the potatoes only for which Mirial had thoughtfully brought some garlic, cheese and butter.
The next few days passed without much ado. And on the forth day the group of mortals found themselves wondering whether the journey to the newly heard of village in search of new alehouses was worth the hassle. On the fifth day they made the climb to the top of a cliff that overlooked the pixie’s village.
“I wonder how old the village is?” asked Mirial.
“Those stones have been weathered for centuries,” said Camor.
“I heard they are great novelists,” said Tanya.
“I heard they possess powerful magic,” said Clive.
Camor produced a book that was hand written by a
Pixie. It had impeccable script and penmanship. Camor proceeded to recite a sample:
In olden days of glee and bliss
Nothing ever went amiss
But complacency made us stale
Now we are forever at the mercy of ale
“Well, we’re never going to see what this village is all about from up here,” said Clive. And the group bravely made the decent into the valley of the mountain.
The trees in the village were finely trimmed and arranged in a garden like fashion. The large cliffs held the moisture down in the valley.
Mirial wondered about the high stone perimeter wall. For whom was it to guard against?
As soon as they made their way onto the clear cutting that surrounded the pixies village they were greeted by a group of female pixies that couldn’t contain their laughter.
“Greetings mortals,” said the tallest pixie.
“Thank you,” said Mirial.
“What brings you to our playground?” asked another of the pixies.
“We admire your artistry and we would like to experience the night life in your ale houses,” said Camor.
“We’ll be glad to see that you experience our night life to the fullest,” said another pixie and the group of pixies began to laugh even more vivaciously.
The mortals were led into the largest building in the village and ushered before an older male pixie, with a long white beard that sat on his throne with a look of amusement.
“We’ve brought you some new jesters, sir,” said one of the female pixies.
“Good, have them start tonight at the Enchanted Forest
/> Pub,” said the Pixie King. “Until then, lock them up in the dungeon.”
The young mortals protests fell on deaf ears.
When dusk arrived the mortals were led out of the Pixie King’s castle in chains and driven by horse and carriage, to the pub to perform. Night after night the young mortals were dragged out of their dungeon to perform. They were told the only way they could leave was if they made the King laugh so hard he fell of his throne.
Dwarves began coming to the pixie pub and laughed at the mortals, almost as much as the pixies did. Weeks passed and the young mortals parents became distraught. Camor’s father eventually sought out help from a wizard that resided near the mortal’s village. Camor’s father had plowed the wizard’s field when he first moved in and planted him some corn, potatoes and carrots. The wizard was very pleased and told Camor’s father that if he ever needed a favor to just let him know. The wizard gladly promised to return the young mortals home safely.
The wizard, being the wise man he was, knew exactly what happened and called a dwarf leader to his estate.
“You can’t expect us dwarves to rescue these mortals from the pixies. It’s none of our business, besides it would have an adverse effect on our commerce with them.”
“They are friends of mine so you better make it your business. I’d do it myself but I have more important matters to attend to and besides, I can’t stand the smell of pixies.”
“Alright then, now that you put it that way,” said the dwarf, knowing full well if he didn’t agree the wizard would no doubt practice some magic upon his dwarf personage.
The dwarf leader and a band of fifty dwarves freed the young mortals that very same day. The young mortals in turn stuck to the alehouses of their own village, realizing the grass isn’t always greener on the other side.
THE END.
THE PERFECT GIRL by John B. Rosenman
Speed dating might be the wave of the fast-paced future, but would it ever find him a viable date? Todd stood nervously before the restaurant where Romantic Dreams had arranged for tonight’s meat market to be held.
He suppressed his cynicism. Twice before he had exposed himself (if that was the word) to this painful and humiliating ordeal, and the fact that this time he had chosen a different dating service did not bode well when he considered he was an acne-scarred, balding, twenty-nine-year-old nerd who had not had a decent date in . . . well, never. He did not even like to think of the money he had spent to have his hopes dashed yet once again.
To hell with it. Swallowing his fear and anxiety, he entered the restaurant, appropriately called Journey’s End. Twenty dates in an hour, three minutes each, with thirty seconds allowed for you to wait at your table to endure another humiliation. Twenty women, half of them too old and most of them obvious losers, but none of them bad enough to write your name on a slip of paper to give to the hostess.
Inside, the restaurant felt different. The lighting seemed dim and the atmosphere . . . He tried to define it, but a young woman with a starched bouffant hairdo and an overly-bright smile approached him with a clipboard. “Good evening, are you here for tonight’s Dating Event?”
Dating Event. That was rich. Try Rejection Marathon.
“Yes, I am,” he said.
A plastic smile. “And your name is . . .?”
My name is Loser. “Uh, Todd Whitney.”
“Todd Whitney. Here it is.” She checked off his name and produced a label. “May I?” she asked, applying it above his shirt pocket. Her hand, like magic, whisked away before he knew it.
Another smile. “Do you know how tonight’s Dating Party operates?”
Now it was Dating Party. “I believe so, I’ve participated in two of these events before, though with different companies.”
“I see.” With excessive good cheer, she indicated a section of the restaurant toward the back. “Just go straight ahead. A guide will escort you to a table where you’ll find both your first date and a passion pad waiting for you.”
Passion pad? It took him a moment to realize she meant a pad of slips to write his preferences on.
“Thank you,” he said. He moved toward the back.
It felt like a thousand miles during which he felt everyone was staring, especially the girls. Yet he reached his destination before he wanted to. Another woman herded him to a special well-lit area where he stood with other guys, some of them obvious losers like himself.
This was odd. At Todd’s first two “events,” the guys had waited at tables for the girls to come visit them, not the other way around. Not only that, at neither event had the men been set aside under a bright spotlight so the ladies could scrutinize them in advance. The focus this time seemed to be overwhelmingly on the men, and it made him feel even uneasier than usual.
They waited for the dating party to start, swapping small talk and too embarrassed to meet each other’s eyes. At the same time, they sized each other up while trying not to be too crude about it. After all, Todd thought, they all must realize this was a beef farm where they competed for women who recorded their choices on heartless little pleasure pads, just as the men did. What you prayed for was that the most desirable women would write your name down.
Near Todd, two handsome young studs were chatting with confident smiles. Todd assessed their charms and found that he fell several cosmic realms short. With such merchandise on the counter, he had little hope. Resentment and loneliness sat in his belly like old friends. They tasted bitter and cruel, and he started for the door, determined to leave.
Suddenly they were given the nod, and he found himself being directed to a table where a young brunette sat waiting. He hesitated midway, gaping at her.
She was beautiful!
A slender figure. Large breasts. A lovely face.
Todd swallowed. What chance did he have? Muscle memory propelled him on. He sagged into the chair across from her, aware of distant sounds. The clash of silverware. The murmur of diners’ voices.
The beauty greeted him with an angelic voice. “Hello, Todd.”
How does she know my name?
Stupid. Of course she’d read his name tag. He read the flowing script on hers.
“Hello, Amanda.”
She smiled as if he’d just given her the most precious gift. Cockteaser. She was leading him on when she’d already torpedoed him halfway to her table. But he dug deep and soldiered on, even managed to look casually around.
“Looks like the mating dance is in full swing,” he said.
She laughed as if he’d just showed the greatest wit and leaned toward him with apparent interest. “I’ve never been a great fan of these parties,” she said.
“This isn’t your first? You don’t like them?”
“No on both counts,” she said. Her hand stole across the tablecloth and captured his. “But I do now.”
* * *
At the second table, the flowing, ornate script on the girl’s name tag read Betty, but he barely noticed. This one was a blonde, and if anything, she was more gorgeous than the first. She even had a subtle, haunting fragrance—the same scent, he realized, as the first girl.
“Hi, Todd,” she said. “I’m so glad to meet you.” Her eyes sparked with apparent interest.
That’s funny. I don’t recall her even looking at my name tag. Come to think of it, I’m not sure Amanda did either.
“Hi, uh, Betty. It’s nice to meet you.”
“I’m so glad you came,” Betty said as if she meant it. Her eyes didn’t glaze over or look away like those of the women in the first two dating parties, and she didn’t appear to be at all disappointed or disgusted with him. No matter how well disguised they were, Todd could always read disappointment and disgust.
“So what do you do?” Todd asked. Boy, talk about a smooth line.
“I’m in acquisitions,” she purred. “I handle my company’s purchase of other companies. What about you?”
“Me? I, uh, work at a computer store.” As a lowly flunky clerk.
“Really?” She caressed the pad of paper before her. “That sounds fascinating. Tell me more.”
* * *
After Betty came Candice. Diana. Emily.
Todd continued from table to table, reading name tags in that flowing, sensuous script and wondering not only why all the names were alphabetically arranged but why he was the one who had started at the beginning of the alphabet. What struck him even more was that all five women were sexy foxes who had clearly indicated they found him highly mate-able and would request him for a real date. Also, they had the same haunting, elusive fragrance. Perfume, perhaps? Or just their natural scent?
After the third encounter, Todd floated giddily on, feeling as if he were having the best dream of his life. But surely it was only a dream, and he was asleep in bed. Otherwise, why would these heavenly creatures be interested in him or even attend this event? They should have handsome playboys and millionaires lined up like dogs in heat sniffing at their tails. Yet here he was, racking up home runs on his scorecard. What was he hitting so far? Five for five.
A trick, that’s what it is. Someone is playing a cruel joke on me.
He halted halfway to his next table. Sure, that’s what it is. I’m Todd Whitney, and I’m a half-wit if I think I have a prayer in hell of interesting even one of these goddesses. In a minute the light will come on, and everybody will have a rousing laugh at my expense.
But the light stayed dim, and he didn’t hear even one giggle. What he did hear, though, was a girl calling his name from the next table.
“Oh, Todddddd . . .”
He looked. Like the others, Faye had a face and figure to die for. And oh God . . .
She was waving at him.
* * *
After Hope, the eighth girl, Todd noticed something strange. It wasn’t that, like the others, Hope burned with almost immediate passion for his company. In a crazy, dreamlike way, he had actually come to expect such adoration, along with an eight-home-runs,-no-outs scorecard. What he did find remarkable was the rising number of casualties about him, the hopeful lover boys shot down in flames wherever he looked. He saw them shuffling off the floor with heads lowered in defeat as if they had been blasted by an enemy barrage.
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