Dolfin Tayle

by J. R. Rain

  We were doing it! All we needed was to angle it a little bit so that it missed our solar system.

  Then my beam slipped and the eye got loose. It charged at me like a malignant brand. I could not reorient fast enough to catch it again. If its magnetic storm got too close to me it would blind me and destroy my system. Tayle screamed.

  A blue beam from the side caught the eye and hurled it back. That gave me the chance to reorient my own beam and catch the eye again. “Thank you!” I said.

  “Welcome, tidbit,” the orca said, and moved on to look for other dolphins in trouble. That was his job.

  We stayed at it for hours, magnetically deflecting the Pulse. I was tiring, but could not rest; I had already seen how any mistake could be disastrous.

  And finally it was done. The Pulse continued, for it was virtually indestructible, but now it would miss the solar system. That was all that was required.

  “Return,” Hrump said. “Congratulations on our success.”

  There was a cheer from the space-borne spheres.

  I set my sphere for home, and was back in the ocean. It turned off and I swam out into the real sea. “That was awesome!” Tayle said.

  I just wanted to get with Hrump and relax and sleep. I did.

  Next day we held a dolphin meeting to review the situation, and the orca was allowed to join. The trackers had verified that the Pulse had been slightly deflected, just enough to miss us. Our mission was indeed a success.

  But there was another thing. Jon reported it. “While we were busy in space, a mystery developed here in the sea,” he said. “Three fishing boats turned up drifting, their crews mysteriously dead. One had a blue circle with a fish inscribed. They appear to have been poachers going after illegitimate harvesting. Of course we have no idea what happened, but illicit fishing has abruptly diminished. Meanwhile the human effort to outlaw the killing of dolphins, whales, and large squid continues, and will surely succeed in due course.”

  Tayle giggled, and there was a murmur-song among the dolphins, who somehow did not seem to be unduly dismayed by the ugly mystery. Neither was I. I remembered that blue circle on the craft that had killed my mother and my pod. Now they, too, were dead.

  The future of the world, human, dolphin, and Millennial, was opening out before us.

  The End

  ~~~~~

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  Also available:

  Dragon Assassin

  by Piers Anthony

  and J.R. Rain

  (read on for a sample)

  Chapter One

  It was another unproductive day.

  I don’t like unproductive days, especially as a self-employed private investigator living and working in the city of Los Angeles. Unproductive days meant I don’t eat, pay my rent or pay my alimony. Hell, I hadn’t had a haircut in months. I made it a new manly style, but the truth was I couldn’t afford regular cuts. Unproductive days meant creditors would come knocking, and I hated when creditors came knocking.

  Most important, unproductive days meant I didn’t get to drink myself into oblivion, which is exactly what I’d been doing these past few months.

  I was in my office, alone, my feet up on my old desk.

  It wasn’t much of an office—or a desk, for that matter. The office was just a small room with stained carpet, a couch on the far wall, where I had napped one too many times. The often-broken ceiling fan did little to disperse the hot air. A water cooler occasionally gurgled by a sink and faucet, where I kept my booze. An old TV sat on a bookshelf that was filled with novels I’d always meant to get to, but haven’t found the time yet.

  Not much of an office...and not much of a life, either. When I was working, I was usually tailing cheating wives, one or two of which I ended up cheating with myself.

  Now, as the ceiling fan wobbled above, as the drone of traffic reached me from nearby Sunset Boulevard, I idly wondered how I could drum up more business. Perhaps start a Facebook account? Or even Twitter? Maybe both? Maybe now was a good time to see what, exactly, a Twitter was.

  I hadn’t a clue.

  Truth was, I could barely use those new-fangled cell phones. You know, the ones that are practically a computer. Hell, I had a hard enough time with my laptop, let alone a computer the size of my palm.

  I shook my head, and absently longed for the days when people actually used a land line. When a phone sounded like a phone, and not the latest Lady Gaga song.

  I’d always suspected I was a man born out of time. As a kid, I often wore a cowboy hat and toy six-shooters to school—back when they allowed kids to bring toy guns to school. I longed to be a cowboy—hell, I still did. Now that was the life. No computers, no smart phones, no Twitter. Just me, my horse and the open range...

  I awoke with a start.

  How long I had been asleep, I didn’t know. I’d been dreaming of the Wild West, of the Great Plains, of beautiful showgirls, and of whiskey. Mostly, I had dreamed briefly of long rides on my trusted horse, of its hooves pounding hard through the hot desert sand, kicking up dust a mile long behind me.

  Oddly enough, as I sat up and rubbed my eyes, I was hearing just that: the sound of hooves.

  “What the hell?” I mumbled.

  I knew the sound of horse hooves well. Although I didn’t have much, I always made a point of keeping a horse at a nearby stable, just outside of LA. Whenever I could, I took this horse out—and longed for simpler times.

  The sound came again. Yes, hooves. In fact, many hooves.

  “What the hell?” I said again, a little louder.

  And just as I slid my cowboy boots off the desk and stood, I heard another strange sound: heavy boots approaching my office door. I’ll admit, I briefly considered going for my gun located in the top right drawer, a gun I now kept nearby since an incident with a client’s husband. Long story.

  And so I stood there, undecided. I mean, was there really a horse just outside my door? Or had I imagined that? After all, wasn’t I just dreaming of horses?

  I nearly laughed. Of course, that was it.

  I’d dreamed of the horses.

  Maybe. I certainly wasn’t dreaming of the approaching boots, which grew louder and louder. I considered again the gun in my drawer, and was just reaching for it when my office door opened.

  All thoughts of my gun disappeared when I got a load of the man standing there in my office.

  A man out of time, indeed.

  * * *

  The stranger was short, no more than an inch or two over five feet, and was wearing clothing that I was certain I’d never seen outside of the Renaissance fair. And even then, the clothes still seemed off. Just damn unusual. The man’s shirt had a ruffled collar and wide stitching down the front. It appeared hand-stitched, and of a rough material that I was certain I’d never seen before.

  Oh, and he wore a cape. Yes, a cape. As in Superman, minus the giant “S”. It hung from his shoulder and nearly touched the ground and was embroidered with a material that looked, to my eye at least, like actual gold.

  “What the hell?” I whispered yet again. Admittedly, my day had taken a dramatic turn to the weird.

  Strangest of all, was the sword that hung from a scabbard at the man’s right hip. Strange because it was an actual sword. A sword. Here in my office. And a highly unusual one at that. A bejeweled pommel poked up from the s
cabbard, a jewel unlike anything I’d ever seen before. Mostly because it seemed to be...

  Glowing?

  I shook my head. Surely, I was dreaming.

  I was about to ask what the devil was going on when the stranger opened his mouth and...began to sing? And beautifully too...except he sang in a language I was certain I had never heard before.

  And then it hit me—a singing telegram!

  An old-fashioned special message. I nearly clapped, and was briefly relieved. After all, I’d been about to question my sanity. Yes, times have been rough of late. I was beginning to suspect too rough, that I’d finally lost it.

  But, yes. A singing telegram.

  And the guy sang beautifully...albeit in another language. Hungarian maybe?

  I laughed and clapped and sat on the corner of my desk and enjoyed the show. One of my buddies had obviously set me up. Granted, I didn’t have many buddies these days—and most were fellow private investigators. And, as I knew all too well, private investigators often had a lot of free time on their hands.

  The man sang and sweated, and when he was done, I clapped again and offered him some water.

  The little man frowned, scratched his head, then finally nodded. He next removed something from his pants pocket. It was a small pouch, held together with strips of colorful leather. The little man pulled open the pouch and proceeded to tap out something onto his open palm.

  A white powder. Cocaine?

  Next, the man did something highly unexpected. He raised his open palm to his face—and blew hard. The dust exploded out and quickly filled my small office.

  “Hey,” I said. “Why the hell did you do that?”

  “I did it,” said the man after a moment, “so that we might communicate. Can you understand me now?”

  “Of course I can understand you,” I muttered, coughing.

  “The spell worked, I see. Very good. It’s one of my own creations, in fact. The princess will be pleased.”

  “Spell? Princess?” I said, admittedly confused as hell. “Oh, I see, you’re still in character. So, what are you, like a magician or something?”

  “A wizard, in fact.”

  “Like Harry Potter and all that?”

  “Harry Potter—” the man paused, cocked his head slightly. “Ah, you are referencing something in your popular culture. Yes, I suppose I am a little like Harry Potter and his gang of adventurers. There is, of course, one big difference.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I’m a real wizard.”

  I grinned. “Of course you are.”

  “I see by your smile and easy agreement that you are using sarcasm. You are humoring me. You don’t really believe me.”

  “I believe that you’re quite a showman.”

  “In more ways than one, my good man.”

  “Now that I believe.”

  The man frowned slightly. It was almost as if he was, in fact, trying to understand me, or the intentions of my words. This day, certainly, could not have gotten any weirder.

  He said, “Well, kind sir. My name is DubiGadlumthakathi—but you may call me Dubi—and I have no doubt that you will believe soon enough. You are Roan Quigley?”

  I nodded, still grinning through all this madness.

  He continued. “You are something called a private investigator?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we are presently in the city of Los Angeles in the third dimensional physical realm of the planet Earth?”

  I was about to grin again, but something suddenly stood out: the man sounded so...sincere. And so odd. I still could not place his accent. And had he really ridden up on an actual horse?

  “Very good, then,” said the man and reached inside another pocket. He extracted another pouch, this one clearly heavier than the first. I was certain I’d heard the clink of metal. And not just any metal. Gold? “We are here to hire you, Mr. Quigley.”

  I was momentarily caught off guard. “Hire me?”

  “Of course. You do assist those in need, correct?”

  “Yes, of course,” I said, knowing that my grin was faltering a little.

  “Well, Mr. Quigley, the Realm is very much in need of your expert services.”

  “The Realm?”

  “Yes, Mr. Quigley. The Realm, from which we hail.”

  “Of course, right. And who’s we?”

  “Myself and the princess.”

  “Princess?”

  “Yes, she’s right outside your door. Would you care to meet her?”

  “Er, I’m really quite busy—”

  “I understand, which is why I’ve brought this.”

  And with that, the little man emptied onto his palm a dozen or so golden nuggets that looked, at least to my untrained eye, very real. Dubi said, “I trust this will be enough to retain your expert services?”

  “Is that...?”

  “Gold? Yes, Mr. Quigley, and there’s more where that came from.”

  My mouth, inexplicably went dry, because I was certain—dead certain—that it was real gold. Real, honest-to-God gold. And tens of thousands of dollars worth of it.

  “Sweet Jesus,” I muttered.

  “Your realm’s deity, I assume?” asked Dubi.

  “You assume correctly,” I said, and did my best to get a handle on the situation. I sat back and crossed my arms over my chest. “So who set you up? Rick? My brother maybe?”

  “Neither ‘set me up,’ or directed me to be here. I am here by the princess’s directive only.”

  “Princess,” I said. “Who’s right outside the door?”

  “Yes, with the others.”

  I stared at Dubi. He stared at me, smiling politely. I stared at the gold in his open palm. Then I pushed myself off the desk, and marched past the little man, who turned and followed me.

  I stepped outside...and was not entirely prepared for what I saw...

  * * *

  The summer sun was high in the sky, baking the mostly empty parking lot. Mostly empty, since it was presently filled with six massive horses and four riders. Three men and one woman. Three heavily armed men, with broadswords that reached well below their boots. Even more weapons hung from various scabbards along the saddles.

  They all regarded me curiously, especially the woman. I blinked in the bright light, trying my damnedest to comprehend what I was seeing, but I couldn’t. For the life of me, I couldn’t get a handle on what I was seeing: six horses, three warriors and a woman. Here in the middle of LA. On horseback.

  And not just any woman, either. A stunning beauty who took my breath away—and who regarded me shyly.

  I realized my mouth had dropped open, but I didn’t care.

  I was dreaming, of course. Or this was a seriously elaborate joke. Or I had lost my mind.

  “I can see you’re confused, my good man,” said Dubi, coming up behind me. “I do not doubt that you are. Truth be known, this is a new experience for us all, too.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked, still staring at the horses, at the weapons, at the stunningly beautiful woman sitting high above me.

  “We’re here to hire you, Mr. Quigley.”

  A very troubling thought suddenly occurred to me, one that made me doubt my sanity and to immediately swear off another drink: this is real.

  “What, exactly, do you need me to do?” I heard myself ask.

  “We need you to help us find a killer. An assassin, actually.”

  “An assassin?”

  “Yes.”

  “And who did he assassinate?”

  “The king, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said. “The king. That makes perfect sense. And the young lady...?”

  “Is his daughter.”

  I nodded, trying my damnedest to wrap my brain around what was happening to me...and couldn’t.

  “So why me?” I asked.

  “We can explain that on the way,” said the little man. “Really, we don’t have much time to lose. The killer is getting away as we s
peak.”

  I felt dizzy. “I need to sit.”

  “We have provided you a horse, Mr. Quigley. We understand you are an expert rider.”

  “I...I feel sick.”

  “I am an expert at curing ailments, my good man. Please. We must hurry. We have a killer to catch. Will you help us?”

  I looked at him, and looked at the horses—the beautiful horses. I longed to be astride such a beautiful creature. And then I looked at the princess. I sensed her sadness, her grief. Had her father actually been murdered? Assassinated?

  And then she did something that warmed my heart and caused all doubt and confusion to melt away. She smiled at me.

  “Yes,” I said, barely able to believe the words that were coming from my mouth. “I will help you. I think.”

  “Very good!” said Dubi, clapping me on the shoulder and striding past me. “Then we must hurry. We haven’t a moment to lose. Your mount awaits.”

  Dragon Assassin

  is available at:

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  Amazon UK * Apple * Smashwords

  Paperback * Audio Book

  About the Authors:

  Piers Anthony is one of the world’s most prolific and popular authors. His fantasy Xanth novels have been read and loved by millions of readers around the world, and have been on the New York Times Best Seller list twenty-one times. Although Piers is mostly known for fantasy and science fiction, he has written several novels in other genres as well, including historical fiction, martial arts, and horror. Piers lives with his wife in a secluded woods hidden deep in Central Florida. Please visit him at www.hipiers.com for a complete list of his fiction and non-fiction and to read his monthly newsletter.

  J.R. Rain is an ex-private investigator who now writes full-time. He lives in a small house on a small island with his small dog, Sadie, who has more energy than Robin Williams. Please visit him at www.jrrain.com.