by M. D. Cooper
Helo burst out laughing. “I happen to know that his balls aren’t cybernetically enhanced,” he said, mimicking Zenith and bringing them all to tears with laughter.
Zenith got up and mimed statue-Helo trying to walk across the room. And then she detailed the look on Carl’s face when Celeste buzzed right into Carl. “He was freaking out and trying to get her off.” She waved her arms dramatically.
Vermillion chimed in, “And then Helo slid the Galaxy Dragon across the floor so that I could use its power to free you guys. It also boosted my scrambling capabilities. Those ships are going to need new motherboards.”
“Hey, Vermillion,” Zenith said, “that was amazing what you did back there. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
Celeste raised her hand. If Zenith had to guess, the look on her face was confused. “Hey, Zenith what did you throw at Carl, anyway?”
Zenith grinned. “It was a toy. A little magnet popper. I used to play with them as a kid. Carl was never in any danger, but he didn’t know that, did he? And anyway, there’s one thing you should know about Carl.”
“What’s that?” They all asked her in unison.
“He’s one paranoid cyborg. I knew he’d assume the worst.”
“Wow,” Helo said, “he had you cornered, and you bluffed your way out of it. Well done.” He whistled. “Remind me never to play poker with you, Zenith.”
In the next room, a chirp sounded. They all knew what it was. It was another Civil Customer Service assignment. They looked at each other and then to Zenith. Zenith put her feet up on the couch like Helo. “Oh, you guys don’t have to be worried about me answering that. I think we’ve earned a couple of days off. Trust me, I’ve seen the way of the slacker, and I like it. Actually, I think I could get used to this.”
THE END
— — —
Want to read more by L.A. Johnson?
Neon Octopus Overlord Series Book 1: Destroyer of Planets
Enter a galaxy full of snarky comebacks, inappropriate use of tentacles, and a mythical warrior girl on the edge in this fast-paced, Douglas Adams style space romp.
A life of captivity is getting to Kirian, the self-styled Destroyer of Planets. She has never actually destroyed any planets, but getting to choose your own title is one of the few perks you get when you work against your will for an evil Octopus Overlord.
In an attempt to regain her freedom, Kirian defies her tentacled boss and secretly saves Ari, the human she is supposed to kill. Can the two of them and a band of misfits join forces to thwart the Octopus Overlord? And can a revolutionary rock song from an illegal grunge band save a planet?
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About the Author
L.A. Johnson lives in beautiful Colorado with her husband, three kids, and three dogs. She writes fun, original Sci-Fi you won’t find anywhere else. Look for book 3 in the Neon Octopus Overlord Series in November.
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Gli+ches Wild
by Drew Avera
With Lady Luck on his side, Ben doesn’t need any enemies. In a game of high stakes, he puts in all on the line, and probably loses.
They said he was lucky to be alive, that surviving his perilous journey and ultimate crash was a blessing in disguise. Ben isn’t one to agree, though, as he tries to up his “reward” in order to facilitate repairs to his ship, the Shistain in a poker match against Buck Rodgers; the richest man in West Virginia. Ben soon discovers that poker isn’t his game as he loses his ass in more ways than one. But maybe there’s a silver lining to being the unluckiest man on Earth. Or maybe that’s the lie he holds onto to help himsleep at night. Either way, with Lady Luck on his side, Ben doesn’t need any enemies.
Chap+er One
“Fold.” The word fell on the air with a deep exhalation It wasn’t the first time someone said the word that evening, and with each utterance, a part of the speaker died. For this one, in particular, he thought he might have negative lives remaining with as many times as he said it.
“You’re not having such a good string of hands, are you?” the man seated across from Ben said. The smirk on his face was borderline disrespectful as he thumbed through his cards. The faint sound of a whistle as he breathed out grated on Ben’s nerves and he had the slight inclination that the man feigned politeness as part of a ruse, but it was hard to tell with the alcoholic consumption and smell of opiates floating in the haze around him. Ben did not partake in drug use, but he thought he might be high despite that little fact. Why do I feel so farked up?
“Things will pick up soon,” he said as he set sat his cards on the tablecloth. The old, green velvet was worn around the edges and smelled like cigar smoke and cheap beer. Ben thought it was funny, though, considering one of the wealthiest men in West Virginia held the seat across from him. Carl “Buck” Rodgers was that man, and he wanted everyone to know it at all times. That was why he always had an entourage singing his praises and laughing at his jokes.
A round of chuckles from the other players seated at the table was directed at Ben as the man with the smirk continued to stare over his cards, toying with the situation. “Now, now, fellows. Let’s not get too rowdy while our friend here is giving me all of his money,” he said, causing another stir of chuckles the fill the room. Ben didn’t know which was worse, the whistling sound each time Buck exhaled loudly, or the onlookers lapping at each word the man said, hoping to get in good with the ornery, old codger.
Ben shifted in his seat, wiping his eyes and trying to clear his head. His plan to take his royalties from selling his story to GNN had been a lot bigger a few hours ago. Now, it was an ever-dwindling pile of chips looking pitiful and lonely as the other players’ chips were stacked high. I wonder why they make poker chips red, white, and blue, Ben thought as he looked away to avoid eye contact with Buck. “All I need is one more good hand,” Ben started to say before trailing off, knowing that one good hand wasn’t likely before he lost everything. Surprisingly, no one laughed.
“Well, I guess I’m gonna call it,” Buck said as he placed his cards on the table, revealing one by one the royal flush he had been thumbing for the last three and a half minutes.
Mother farker, Ben thought, the third time this farking hour. He shoved his cards back towards the dealer and forced himself to acknowledge the winner, yet again. “Congratulations, sir,” Ben said, fighting to cover up the fact that he didn’t mean a word he was saying. “Another good hand by the master.”
Buck chuckled. “I don’t know about the master,” he said, “but I’ll take ‘winner’ any day.”
Ben wiped his sweaty palms on his pants’ leg and tried to not look at Buck as he stared him down, pulling the chips in the center of the table towards himself, adding to his wealth.
“Another hand?” Buck asked. “One-hundred and fifty-dollar ante”
Ben looked down his chips and counted them. Fark, he thought. “That’s all I have,” he said. “
Buck leaned forward, causing Ben to look up at him. “Something tells me your luck is about to change. I tell you what; I’ll even pay your ante.”
All I need is one more good hand, and I’ll be on a roll, Ben thought. “Fark it.” He grabbed the chips Buck had provided. He heard the soft chuckle of a few men against the relative silence of the room as Buck looked at him, one of his eyes closing slightly as if he was about to wink at Ben.
“Fark it,” he replied, shoving his anti towards the center of the table as the dealer handed out the car
ds. “I have to say, Mr. Dale, you have a lot of balls. Not many men would take me up on another hand after so much, shall we say ‘abuse,’“ Buck said.
You should see them, Ben thought, fighting a grin as he thought of the way Chip would’ve delivered the line. Instead, he maintained his silence as he pulled the cards from the table one by one, staring at them with the expression he would have had if someone kicked him in the dick. Not a single farking card over a six of diamonds. What the fark? When he looked up at Buck, the older man had a wide grin on his face. It was the kind of look that let Ben know once and for all that he was going to lose. It was a look he had seen in the eyes of many people while standing on the losing side of his life and it made the blood drain from his face
Fark.
“Is everything all right, Mr. Dale?” Buck asked while thumbing through his cards.
Ben sat there, feeling crushed that he let things escalate to this point. This was supposed to be easy, he thought. Win a few hands of cards, and double or triple the money. Instead, I have nothing to show for anything. “I’m fine,” he lied. I don’t have much choice. I can either fold and lose my ass or keep going and lose my ass.
“I’ll take two,” Buck said as he placed two of his cards face down on the table near the dealer. The dealer, a skinny young man with a pencil-thin mustache, pulled two fresh cards from a stack and placed them gently on the table. Other than explaining the rules of the game, in the beginning, the dealer never said a word unless he was responding to Buck. It was something that made Ben grow more and more uncomfortable as the game progressed.
Scanning his cards, Ben grew more frustrated. The good news, if you call it that, was he had three of the same suit and a potential straight if he could get the other two cards necessary. Here goes nothing, he thought as he pulled two strays from his hand and placed them on the table. “Two, please.”
The dealer placed two cards in front of Ben, and with a shaky hand he grabbed them, turning them over and fighting the urge the smile as his bad luck made a small, but satisfying turn. “You look pleased, Mr. Dale,” Buck said with a smirk. “Does this mean our game will go a little longer?”
“If Lady Luck is on my side, it does,” Ben answered.
“Well, that’s good to hear,” Buck replied as he pushed a stack of chips towards the center of the table. Ben looked at him and grew more curious. “I always like to tease Lady Luck myself,” he said with a leer.
“What are you doing?” Ben asked, without wanting to.
“I’m just making the game a bit more interesting,” the man answered as he shoved his second stack of chips towards the center of the table. “Are you in?”
Ben looked down at his hand, staring at the straight, knowing that it was not the best hand he never had, but it sure as hell beat each hand he had the last hour or so. “I’m all out of chips.”
Buck smiled, “do you know what business I’m in?”
Ben eyed the man warily, shrugging his shoulders before answering. “Little bit of everything.”
There was a bit of brief laughter in the room before it died out in time for Buck to speak. “I guess that’s one way of putting it, Mr. Dale. But I built my business transporting goods from Earth to the Moon for the lunar station. It turns out that your ship would be a useful part of my fleet.”
Ben’s stomach turned as he thought about his ship, and all the damage it’d taken crash landing during his return. “The ship is severely damaged, sir. I’m not even sure it’s serviceable, much less worth anything to you.”
“I own all types of businesses. I’m sure ship repair is within my realm of getting shit done,” Buck replied.
Ben thought about it for a moment, eying his hand again before looking back at the two large stacks of poker chips standing between him and Buck. What do I have to lose? It’s not like I can do anything with the Shistain anyway. “Fark it,” Ben said, “Fine, I’ll put my ship up,” Ben said, trying not to sound too confident about his hand.
Buck looked at Ben, then back down at his cards, and smiled.
Ben suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere of the room, almost like the air turned stale. The spectators in the room grew quiet, their snickering fading, as Ben realized Buck was no longer making the whistling sound as he breathed. Ben moved uneasily in his seat, uncertain of what was happening, but afraid that whatever caused the sensation in the room to melt into such discomfort wasn’t going to be good for him.
“Do you know what I just don’t seem to understand, Mr. Dale?” Buck asked as he collapsed his hand of cards into a small stack and set them face down on the table.
“What’s that?” Ben asked.
“You travel all the way to Europa,” Buck said after a deep breath, “and knowing that you’re running low on fuel, you zoom past Mars, which has a refueling station and would allow you to restock your ship, but instead, you continued towards Earth and put yourself in grave peril. Are you crazy, or just plain stupid?”
The tone of Buck’s voice and his accusation made Ben angry, but he knew better than to start a scene with a man like Buck. “I couldn’t afford to stop; I put everything I had into what I thought was going to be a one-way trip,” Ben replied. “The job on Europa was supposed to be lifechanging. It just turned out to be a figment of my imagination, instead.”
“So, I guess you’re going to go with stupid then?”
Ben’s jaw tightened as he fought to smother the rage building inside - him. Who the fark does this guy think he is? He’s just farking with me; Ben thought as he tried to settle his nerves. “I was going to say unlucky.”
Buck had a smirk on his face and a gleam in his eye. “I’m beginning to think the same thing,” he said, lifting a finger and pointing towards Ben’s cards. “Why don’t you go ahead and call it?”
Ben looked at his hand, at the small straight that was either going to win him enough money to repair his ship or cause him to lose it all together. “Why don’t you?” Ben shot back.
Buck leaned back in his seat, tugging at the whiskers on his face. “I’m growing tired of being the one always having to call the shots,” he answered, “I like to put it in someone else’s hands from time to time.”
Ben sat quietly for a moment, contemplating what to do, but knowing every second he sat there with his cards in his hand was more time he was wasting. Before he left Earth, he had been irrational, taking a plunge no matter the cost, treating life like a band-aid he had to rip off as quickly as possible to get the pain over with. After so much time in space, and his near-death experience, Ben questioned whether he had grown as a person or if he was just scared shirtless. Fark it, he thought, spreading the cards out so each could be seen easily. “I’ll call it,” he said as he set the cards face up on the table, revealing his straight.
Across from him, Buck leaned forward, eyeing Ben’s cards as he continued tugging on his whiskers. “Well, I’ll be damned. I told you luck was starting to change,” he said happily.
Ben took in a deep breath and felt relieved. I did the right thing, he thought, watching Buck pick up his cards, fanning them in his hand before moving to place them on the table.
“Unfortunately,” Buck said as he placed his cards on the table one by one, ace by ace and ending with the king of hearts. “Your turn of luck just wasn’t enough.”
All the air and Ben’s lungs evaporated as he looked at Buck’s cards.
Oh, fark.
“I’ll be by to pick up my ship tomorrow at noon, Mr. Dale. I trust you’ll be there?”
Ben looked up at the man who had just taken the last thing he had to his name from him. Trying to find the strength to speak, he glared at the smug bastard smiling across the table from him. “I —”
Buck rose from the table and stared down at Ben. “There’s no need to finish that sentence, son; I know you’ll be there. Gentlemen, please see Mr. Dale to the door.” And with his words, two men grabbed Ben by the arm and pulled him from his seat, He was too dumbfounded to fight back as the
y dragged him towards the door. The nightmarish image of the men laughing at him followed him all the way to the door.
The only thing bouncing through his mind was that he had been had. He watched, eyes wide, as Buck placed a kind hand on the dealer’s shoulder. Reading the old man’s lips, Ben’s hatred grew as Buck said stoically, “Well played, Mr. Blake. You make your employer proud.” Buck placed a stack of chips into the man’s hand and turned to leave. Ben stood there gawking, not realizing he was already outside, as the heavy- wooden door slammed shut in his face.
Outside, under the chilly nighttime sky, Ben smelled the odor of the Hudson River and it nauseated him. “What the fark just happened?” He said to no one.
“Mr. Rodgers took it all, didn’t he?” A withered old man asked as he sat up from a bench at the bottom of the steps.
Ben turned, startled by the voice. He looked through bleary eyes to see a man in worse shape than himself, but he still reeled from his loss. “Yeah, the asshole took farking everything.”
Without the slightest hint of a smile, the old man nodded his head. “I’ve heard that before,” he said, pulling a flask from his dirty coat and swigging on it before extending it to Ben. Ben shook his head. “Suit yourself. That bastard takes everything from anyone willing to give it all away. Hell, he even took his own brother’s house.”
“Shitty,” Ben said.
“You’re telling me. I’m the brother.”
Taken aback, Ben felt a tinge of anger, not for himself, but for the old man. “I’m sorry for your loss,” Ben said. “I would offer to help you out, but I don’t have anything to offer.”
The old man smiled weakly and reclined back onto the bench. “That’s very kind of you, but I’m not looking for a handout.”