TAKING OUT THEIR LEADERS seems as good a starting place as any. John Luke guides you down a sleek, clean white corridor and opens a door marked with some strange symbol.
“You know where you’re going?” you ask him.
“Yeah.”
“What’s the skull and bones stand for?” you ask as you examine the image on the door more closely. “It can’t be a good sign.”
“Haven’t figured that out,” John Luke says. “Unless it’s for the pirates—the aliens dressed as pirates.”
You come to a winding stairway heading up and begin climbing it.
“I can use the cowbell,” John Luke says.
“For?” you ask, already out of breath after a dozen steps up the stairway.
“On the misters. The leaders.”
“So these guys are the misters? Like Mr. Mister?” you ask.
“Just the misters. That’s what everybody else calls them.”
Soon you can hardly talk anymore, the steps being so steep and so many.
“Just a few more, Uncle Si.”
“I’m . . . fine. It’s just . . . climbing stairs . . . in space . . . is a little . . . more . . . difficult.”
You’re nearing the top and can see a door up there with a small slot, like the kind a mailman might put letters through. Except this slot is higher, at eye level.
The slot happens to be open—you see light coming through it. The stairwell is mostly dim, so it’s easy to see the light.
You start to walk toward it, but John Luke pulls you back.
“Maybe we shouldn’t look through it,” John Luke whispers.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. Just a feelin’ I’m getting.”
“A feelin’?”
“Yeah.”
Maybe it’s something minor, but still. You gotta choose.
Do you look through the slot? How harmful could it be? Go here.
Some things are best left to the imagination. And some slots shouldn’t be spied through. So if you don’t look through it, go here.
UNCERTAINTY
AT THE BOTTOM OF THE STAIRS, you take a doorway that leads into some strange chamber with light-blue walls, like one of those places where you play laser tag.
Oh no.
This can’t be good.
It’s a large room. Strike that, Jack—it’s gargantuan!
“Uncle Si?” John Luke asks.
He’s not sure about this either.
Do you stay here in the light-blue laser tag room? Go here.
Do you try to get out of here and find another escape? Go here.
KNIVES OUT
YOU REACH INTO YOUR POCKET and produce an official Duck Commander folding knife. You were one of the few to get an early prototype of this model, and now you finally get to use it.
Something rumbles underneath you again. It’s a low, vicious sound.
“Uncle Si?” John Luke’s worried.
But you have everything under control. “I got this. It’s all good.”
The sound is louder now. You’re surrounded by debris—metal, wood, plastic, Chinese food take-out boxes (hey, wait a minute), machine parts. It’s also wet and gunky like a swamp in here. Anything could be hidden in this garbage.
Something blasts up and hits the wall. Then you see a tiny head popping out of the debris.
The first thing you notice are the eyes.
They might be the cutest things you’ve ever seen.
These large eyes are positioned on a round head with a narrow snout. This is an animal that you’ve seen back on Earth—in the zoo, anyway.
“Wait—what’s that thing called?” you ask John Luke.
“I think it’s a slow loris. I remember doing a report on those.”
“Aw, look at it,” you say, closing your knife.
“Uncle Si—they’re dangerous. Their bites can be lethal.”
“This tiny thing?” you ask. “It’s harmless.”
You start to head toward the loris until it opens its tiny mouth. It lets out an awful howling sort of sound.
“You were really gonna try to get me with that knife, weren’t you?”
You jerk your head around. Who said that? You peer into the corners of the square garbage disposal unit but can’t find the source of the voice. It sounds like a New Yorker.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m talkin’ to you. You think you’re gonna do that to me? Nobody does that to Johnny.”
You look back at the slow loris.
“Did that thing just talk?” you whisper to John Luke.
“Yeah.”
“That’s right, boys,” the loris says. “And you know what? There’s more of me where that came from.”
With that, little heads emerge left and right. There might be fifty of them surrounding you.
“You can’t see what you’re really standing in,” the one with the New Yorker voice says. They all start to laugh.
What an awful way to end. Stuck in a pile of garbage and being mocked by a clan of slow lorises.
Or is that slow lori?
THE END
Start over.
Read “Look at the Stars: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
MAD WORLD
YOU REACH THE DOWNED ESCAPE POD in about an hour via dune buggy. It’s intact, and both Ben and Jada appear to be okay inside. They grab their necessary gear and accompany you back to the landing craft.
Once inside with your helmets off, able to breathe in oxygen and talk without your headsets, you all discuss the obvious: the explosion of the DC Enterprise and your chances of survival.
“There is still the Starsailor,” Ben says. “And we haven’t heard yet from Wade, Kim, and Franco. But we’re gonna keep trying.”
“Did something go wrong?” Commander Noble asks.
“No. All signs report that they got on board safely. Last transmission I heard came from Wade. He said everything looked fine and he’d report if and when he found any signs of the Starsailor crew.”
“Well, hey—isn’t that the moment all chaos is supposed to rain down?” you say. “When someone says everything looks fine?”
“So we head back up there and try to connect with them,” Ben says.
“Hold on,” Commander Noble replies. “Let me think about our options.”
The small landing craft you’re in is already tight. It’s sorta like the Millennium Falcon, except the outside is just round and not that cool-looking. But it’s the only ship any of you have right now.
“What was that duck call thing, anyway?” Ben asks.
“That thing was dancin’ to the groovy tunes,” you say.
“We won’t fully know until we can conduct some experiments,” Jada says. “That’s why I picked this up.” She shows you a few pieces of dark glass. “It’s from that object. We’ll take it back home and try to figure out what it was made of.”
Commander Noble appears agitated. “Look—we need to either make our trip back up to the Starsailor or figure out what to do down here.”
Suddenly a telephone rings. Everybody looks at each other with strange faces.
Who’s calling, Jack? And how in the world are we getting cell coverage way out here?
The commander answers the call, listens for a minute, then gives the phone to you. “It’s the publisher.”
“No,” you say.
Everybody looks like someone died. No, worse. This could be lights out. All it takes is one simple press of the Delete button. Then boom. All of this, gone.
You put the phone to your ear. “Hello?”
“Uncle Si?”
“You got that, Jack.”
“This is Karen Watson, associate publisher at Tyndale House. First off, I’m a big fan.”
You’re not quite sure what to say. “Okay.”
“Look—we’ve got a bit of a problem. I understand your spaceship just blew up, and I’m very thankful nobody died way out on Mars. And I also realize that you’re about ready to get on board
the Starsailor to check things out. I’m sure that could be exciting and funny, but the thing is—we have a bit of a word count problem.”
“A what?” you ask.
“A word count issue. See, the story’s going a little long. And we can’t have that. I know you guys have some things to figure out and all that, but could you just—you know, skip ahead? Hurry it up? Make one choice and go for it.”
Everybody is looking at you with grave concern.
“Well, of course, Mrs. Watson. You’re the boss.”
“That’s great. Thanks. I’m also gonna need you to come in here on Saturday. Yeah, thanks a bunch.”
The phone goes dead.
So now you have a quandary. Do you disobey the lady at the publishing house and continue your adventures? Or do you make one choice and get everybody home safely?
Hey, Jack, is that how it works here in this universe of words?
Disobey and go here.
Obey and go here.
BLACK DOG
OPENING THE DOOR APPEARS to produce some kind of chain reaction. First comes the smoke. Then the glowing, trembling lights. Then the low, pulsing sound.
“Hey, Jack, this is like a Led Zeppelin concert.”
“Stay focused, Si,” Wade says.
“Buddy, focus is my middle name.” You lead the way into the foggy, disorienting room. You can barely see the floor you’re stepping on.
You try to reassure yourself. “There’s no sneakin’ up on me.” But after a few more steps, you turn around.
“Wade?”
You shine your flashlight here and there but can’t see Wade or anything else. You decide to head back in the direction you came, only to find the door closed. You try to open it, but it doesn’t have a handle or a button to work with.
“Wade? Wade, you hear me? You out there?”
Nothing.
“Commander? John Luke? Hello? Is anybody out there?”
But nobody’s responding over the headset.
Great.
“Wade, you around?”
The smoke is starting to disperse, revealing an orangey glow from several lights in the ceiling.
Good news.
Until you see the center of the room.
It’s more skeletons. Maybe half a dozen of them.
All piled on top of each other.
Like in the longest wrestling match you’ve ever seen.
“Uh, Wade, we got a problem here.”
You scan the walls for any way out, but there’s nothing. This room looks like it used to be the sleeping chamber for whatever these things were.
There’s a set of drawers built into the wall. In one of them, you find what appears to be some type of weapon. A gun. A laser pistol. Or maybe a space blaster. Whatever it might be called.
A door on the other side of the room opens. A figure in a black suit of body armor walks into the room, aiming a rifle at you. He’s got on a space helmet that looks sinister, just like the barrel of his weapon.
You grab the blaster from the drawer, expecting it to fire some colorful laser shots. And of course, you expect to hit him and take him down.
That’s what happens in the movies, Jack.
But in this story, your “blaster” only emits a little stream of black stuff. Like you’re spraying some soy sauce on this stranger with the rifle. It barely makes it onto him. Jason Bourne would be better prepared.
You look down at the gun, then throw it as hard as you can at the armed stranger. He doesn’t seem to notice. So much for being a hero.
“Silas, you’re a fool,” you hear Wade say.
Hold on! That’s coming from the figure right in front of me. Is this the big twist? The double-crossed fist?
You always thought this guy was trouble. And, as usual, you were right. You could have avoided this situation. Maybe next time.
Good thing this isn’t really . . .
THE END
Start over.
Read “Look at the Stars: A Note from John Luke Robertson.”
TWO FELLAS
“JOHN LUKE, TRY TO OPEN THE DOOR AGAIN,” you tell him as you feel the shifting, wet, slushy goop underneath you.
Junk of all sorts surrounds you. Engine parts. Pieces of metal and plastic. Cans of Chef Boyardee beef ravioli (wait, huh?). All in a juicy, sticky soup.
Yummy. I’m hungry now!
“But if I open the door, won’t they find us?” John Luke asks.
You hear the sound of something deep and deadly underneath you again.
“We better get out of here. I don’t think that belongs to someone friendly.”
Maybe it’s a corny time to pray, but why not? Heavenly Father, we got ourselves into a little pickle. Sure would be nice to let us out of here.
The grumbling noise is getting louder.
You look around the garbage dump you’re mired in. There’s the door where you came (or fell) in. And wait—there’s another door on the opposite side of the chamber. You didn’t notice it before.
You slog through the garbage and stand in front of the other door. You can hear some sounds right outside.
You wait to see if your prayer has been answered.
Sometimes God seems silent. But you know those are the times he’s helping you get out of the messes you’ve made for yourself.
“What should we do?” John Luke asks, his pants covered in sludge and slime.
You smile for a moment. Think for a second. Then start pounding on the door and screaming.
Suddenly the door opens.
At first you can only see the shadows of a couple people.
“Whew, that was a close one, Jack,” you say.
Then, when you get a good glimpse of the two figures at the door, you shake your head.
First pirates and now this? What’s going on? Like a Halloween convention?
“What’s up, guys?” you ask.
The two figures don’t say a word, however. They do raise round, shiny guns at you and John Luke and blast you.
End of story.
So you assume.
But it’s not over.
The first thing you hear, almost before you wake up, is heavy breathing. Then coughing.
You open your eyes and see you’re in a chair with your hands tied behind your back. John Luke is in the same position in a chair right next to you.
Come on, what’s this all about?
“Welcome, Silas Robertson.”
The two figures who were standing at the doorway are now right in front of you. And they’re still in costume—dressed all in black, wearing motorcycle-type helmets. One helmet is silver and the other gold.
“John Luke, did you know we’d been kidnapped by Daft Punk?” you joke.
“Uncle Si, you know about Daft Punk?”
“Know? Are you kiddin’, Jack? Come on. I know my Grammy winners.” You turn back to the disguised men. “So what’s happening?”
“Is this the moment, D.?” the silver helmet says.
“I think so, P.”
D. and P. That’s cute, really funny.
“I know you’re suspicious, and that’s fine,” Silver—aka P.—says.
“But we might as well give you your options now,” Gold—aka D.—says. “So, Silas, or Uncle Si. And John Luke. Two of our beloved Robertsons. Do you want to hear the truth about our plans? Or would you like to simply be shipped back home without knowing anything?”
“Maybe I wanna hear the truth,” you say.
“And maybe the ducks wanna hear something besides those calls y’all make.”
You think P. might be making fun of you a little bit.
“So you guys pick. Which will it be?”
Do you ask for the truth? Go here.
Do you decide to be sent back home without remembering anything that happened here in space? Go here.
STRANGE NEW WORLD
IT’S SO HARD TO SAY NO to John Luke when his face looks like that. You give in. It might be nice to have him along.
<
br /> There’s something really strange about this moon. Your spaceship landed in a barren field made of stone. Hey, looks like everything’s made of stone here. Commander Noble leads your group of five—himself, you, John Luke, Wade, and Kim—toward where the distress signal is coming from. The worst part is that this place happens to be full of the thing you hate the most.
“You okay, Silas?” Noble says over the radio.
“It’s the dark.”
You’re all carrying heavy-duty flashlights that brighten twenty yards in front of you. But it’s not enough. Not for you.
Silence presses in. Darkness creeps. Some gremlins gotta be close by.
“What about the dark?” Kim Sampson says after a minute.
“I hate the dark. Always have.”
“So naturally you end up going into space, which is completely black, you know.”
You nod and stare out of your helmet. “I can deal with space and the stars. It’s just this kind of darkness I’m not a big fan of.”
There’s something else on this moon that you’re not crazy about. It’s not the craters or the swirls of dust. It’s the odd shapes you can see all around you in the dimness. “What are those things?”
Rows of the tall, pointed objects tower above your path like monster skeletons guarding a mysterious castle.
“They look like dead tree limbs,” Kim says in her pleasant voice.
“Dead tree limbs?” you reply. “Look, I know tree limbs, and those aren’t limbs. Those look like deer antlers.”
“They look like that, but they can’t be,” Wade says, breaking his habitual silence. “I don’t see any signs of wildlife here, do you?”
“Listen, Jack, do you see any signs of trees here?”
“They look like antlers to me,” John Luke chimes in.
Ha, you think to yourself. This boy recognizes an antler when he sees one. These space guys don’t know anything about wildlife.
But they’re pretty big antlers, you have to admit. The deer would have to be ten times the size of regular deer on Earth. Then again, this ain’t no Earth, is it?
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