by Dani J Caile
"I can sense you, Paladin! Muhahaha!"
With spoon in hand, like a ninja in the night, I moved from pillar to pillar, searching, smelling, making not a sound. The comm started up, an old western-style tune blasted out across the ship.
"Paladin, Paladin. Where do you roam? Paladin, Paladin. Far, far from home..."
"We can work together, Paladin. You can be my right-hand man," sneered the jar of Nutella. The song continued.
"Have Gun Will Travel reads the card of a man..." The song played on under the evil jar's words.
"Paladin, do you realise what this means? What wonders we will find on the other side?"It was babbling in its own ingredients. "We can be kings, Paladin! Kings of the universe! Muhahaha!"
I entered Doctor Weird's quarters and ripped the needle off his antique record player, the song stopping with a scratch.
"You... you found me!" The jar's voice was shaky, afraid.
"Where else would you be, Nutella? No one else on the ship eats the crap," I said, spinning the spoon in my hand. What I was about to do would make me sick, so sick I would puke for hours, but it had to be done.
"Now, Paladin, we can talk about this..." If I wasn't mistaken, the jar was vibrating with fear. I took the chair from the table, sat down and pulled myself towards the table where the jar stood. I banged my spoon on the table, putting it down next to the jar.
"Your senseless murdering stops here," I said and grabbed the jar in both hands, twisting off its lid.
"No! Don't do it, Paladin! You'll... you'll regret it!"
I punched the end of my spoon into the paper seal and ripped it off, and with one powerful stroke, I scooped up a dollop of Nutella and ate it. I choked on it and my head hit the table, my mind spinning.
"Ha-ha! You fool! When you all got your monthly jabs the other day, I included the genomes which create nut allergy! Goodbye Paladin! Goodbye!"
I grasped for breath which was not forthcoming...
Challenge 116
Elements: The Fibonacci Sequence, an Airedale, a possessed car, a love triangle
Professor Krubben drove his old Audi Fox down the country lane, with all of us bouncing around in the back of the old Nazi-looking rust bucket. His Airedale Terrier squealed in fright and hid in one of the back corners of the open boot, possibly never to come out again that day. The Prof swerved around a corner again.
"Oh, this car is possessed, I say, what?" said the Prof.
"Can you slow down a little, Professor? Your dog is frightened." I asked. He wasn't the only one.
"It's not me, it's this damn car, Possessed, I say, what?"
“Ha, good one, Professor,” I said.
The Prof had many irritating habits. Another one was his obsession with the Fibonacci Sequence. In fact, he'd spent his whole life on it, collecting data and information on the integer sequence within all that was nature: flowers, grass, trees, bees... you name it, he'd tried to find that damn sequence of numbers. Spirals, spirals were the key to life for him. What he didn’t know, though, was that his car WAS possessed. Oh yes. You see, we, that’s me and my sister, the Prof’s student assistants who needed a job to pay for our educational fees, were paranormal. We could sense things out of the ordinary. My sister, Quaine - okay, doesn’t the name say it all? – was busy keeping the cat on the road as the Prof raced on to his destination, a field of poppies.
“I must take this car to the service once we get back, I say, what?”
What the Prof didn’t know was that the car had been built from recycled metal, metal taken from a disused toaster factory. The car was in love with the toaster back at the Prof’s house. Unfortunately for the car, the toaster was in love with the blender. And the blender was in love with the roaring sound of the car. A love triangle of sorts. Lord knows what would happen if they ever got together. Yes, the Lord would know. But the car only ever got to see the toaster from the kitchen window, and also the toaster’s swooning love for the blender as it chopped up fruit and vegetables for soups and souffles.
“Quaine, my dear, are you ready with your notepad? We are nearing the field and I want to get started straight away, I say, what?”
The car swerved and Quaine almost lost it. The problem was, the Prof had changed a few things in the kitchen and now the toaster sat next to the blender, pleasing the toaster no end. The car was even more jealous and wanted nothing more than to get home, trying to steer its course back to the Prof’s little cottage. If only the toaster knew that the car was built from recycled metal from a toaster factory, all would be well! That was my expertise… I was working on it but the toaster refused to hear me. But then, it was a ‘German’ toaster…
Challenge 117
Elements: Sent back in time to teach a caveman to create a wheel or to start fire because (fill in the blank), a cracked china water pitcher, a star shaped opening, a Stone arrowhead
"It works!" he shouted, coming out of the contraption. Felix pressed some buttons on his remote and his time machine settled down, humming away in the corner.
"Yeah, right," I said, getting back to the game on my phone.
"No, really, look! A china water pitcher from the Shang Dynasty." He held up a china jug, tripped and knocked it against the table. "Damn, it's cracked."
"What?" I put my phone down and inspected the jug. It sure looked old.
"I'll go and get another." Felix hit a button on his remote and walked back into the contraption. On an impulse, I followed him in.
"No, wait!" A flash of light blinded me and we were travelling in some strange tunnel.
"Why did you do that?"
"You owe me 60 bucks."
"You do know, however, that I didn't calculate for your weight in the time universal constraint and that we could be going anywhere now?"
"No, I did not know that, Einstein."
"Felix." A moment later, we were falling from the sky.
****
"Wha... what happened? Ouch, my leg! And... and who's the monkey?" said, screamed and asked Felix.
"We are in prehistoric times, you broke your leg from the fall, and the monkey is Ogg, from a tribe of cavemen I met."
"Ogg! Ogg!" said the caveman.
"Hello. I broke my leg? We must get back, I need a doctor!"
"Easier said than done," I replied.
"Where... where's the remote?"
"That's the problem. It's over there." I pointed way down in the valley.
"Oh good. Go and get it and I'll take us back."
"Problem. Look over there." A pride of lions sat between us and the remote, watching.
"Oh shit."
"Yes. So, I'm trying to teach Ogg here..."
"Ogg! Ogg!" The caveman showed off his best stone arrowhead.
"Yes, very good, Ogg, very good. He's the brains of the outfit. Really. Believe me. I'm trying to teach him how to create a wheel."
"For what?"
"The only way we can get to that remote is if we can outrun those lions, but with your broken leg..."
"I see...a go-kart would do it."
"Exactly."
"Why don't you make one?"
"Watch." I went to pick up a stone tool and Ogg attacked me. "He's a bit possessive of his stuff."
"Let me speak to him." Felix spat out some noises and Ogg nodded and went off. "I spent some time in Leeds," said Felix as an explanation. Ogg came back with some wood and gestured me to use his tools. In no time at all the go-kart was ready. Felix pulled himself aboard and I climbed on. Ogg looked extremely pleased with our work. Glancing at the lions, Felix pointed at the remote and spouted out a few more noises. Ogg gave us a shove. Shocked, the lions stood up and took chase.
"Are we going to make it?"
Felix picked up the remote as we flew by and hit a button. A star shaped opening appeared in the air...
Challenge 118 (Summer Prelims)
Elements: A time clock, ice cream, a Parachute, told from POV of an alien on the planet Nibiru, as the Nibiru enters our s
olar system. Nibiru technology is no greater or worse than Earth’s.
My name is Ubira, and this could possibly be my first and last entry in the video log. Let me start from the beginning… or perhaps let me start at this ending. I don’t know who will see this, perhaps no one.
I am copy number 23,541 of the original Nibiru posted on this ship many thousands of years ago, sent from the planet Nibiru to explore the closest solar system to us which we think may contain life. I am told that the original plan was that this ship would be manned on its journey not by the ancestors of the very first Nibiru to pilot this contraption, but by DNA copies, created in a test tube and grown and nutured until mature. A specialised education system controlled by the main computer would then bring the copy up to speed on their mission and purpose in life.
I feel that somewhere along the line, something must have got screwed up. Here are some pictures of the first Nibiru, Enthura, and I see no indication of any third arm, a sixth eye or a limb resembling a toilet brush sticking from her butt. There are other things which seem a little strange at the moment but maybe it’s just me, maybe I don’t know. How do I know what I should look like. Should ice cream be coming out of my nose right now?
I think that perhaps over the years, the original DNA may have become corrupted, but for sure the computer went a little scriffy… whatever. Here I am, a six limbed, six eyed creature who was about to make contact with a form of life in this universe, which may or may not exist… and I find out that when I was brought out of my incubation cubicle, the ship’s time clock had stopped. It stopped over fifty years ago and the whole system messed up. That’s why I’m here right now, aged ninety six instead of the intended thirty, infirm, dying, and stuck on the edge of this solar system, many, many years out from my destination. I will be far gone before this ship reaches orbit of the third planet. That wouldn’t be a problem, as I should be replaced by the next copy, number 23,542, but unfortunately, without the time clock to count, there will be no copy. It’s just me. I am the last. And so close. Thousands of years of Nibiru journeying through this universe to reach other life ends with me.
Sad, really. There’s nothing I can do about it. I researched all I could, thought about all actions I could take. Nothing. I looked through the whole ship, looking for something to help, something for such an emergency, anything. And what did I find? Other than two boxes of plasters, I found two syringes of insulin, a scalpel and a parachute. A parachute? What can a space traveller do with a parachute? I could make a new dress, I guess…
Grudge Match 15
Elements: An unfortunate insult, a large patio umbrella, an unsolved Rubic’s Cube, tights, a happy ending
I found her on the walkover, crying. It was late and the traffic driving under was light, but the rain heavy.
“Anna!”
She turned her head away as I stood next to her, umbrella in hand, covering the both of us.
“I’m sorry, alright?”
“No, no, you’re right. I don’t know why I bother. I’ll never be more than just a checkout girl,” she whimpered, saturated from the downpour.
“I was wrong, Anna. Okay, so you couldn’t solve that Rubic’s cube, so what? It’s a stupid toy, that’s all it is!” I put my arm around her shoulder and she buried her head in my chest.
“I just… I just…” She cried some more.
“Look, if you really want to get somewhere, enrol on a course, get into college. You can do evening courses, weekend lectures…” A hand gripped my jacket.
“I’m too dumb, Trev, I can’t do that. School wasn’t for me, I was always the dunce of the class, everyone laughing at me. I can’t go to college, they won’t let me.” She fell to her knees, ripping her tights on the wet concrete of the walkover. A few trucks flew past underneath, drowning out the sound of her tears.
“No, you’re not! Okay, maybe you can’t do crosswords or wordsearches or Sudoku or any kind of crazy stuff like that, but you’re smart, you can add up a customer’s basket correctly with just one swoop of your eyes! You can sort out a dodgy till in a second! You’re not dumb, you can do anything once you put your mind to it!”
“But… but the cube! I couldn’t do that, could I? You said so yourself!” She continued weeping.
“I was wrong! I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said what I did! I didn’t mean to insult you, it was… unfortunate… you know how I am when the football’s on…” It was all my fault. She was like this because of me, because of what I’d said.
“Anna, I’m sorry, really I am. I’ll make it up to you, I’ll…” What could I do? I cared for her. Sure, she wasn’t what I’d always dreamed of, but…look at me. Mr Nobody. “I’ve, err, got some money set aside,” I said. “I know some people. Ask the right questions, give the right amounts, and ‘Hey Presto!’ you’ve got a degree. The students do it all the time!”
“Can… can you do that for me?” She wiped her eyes.
“Of course! They’re all at it! Academia, my arse! If you have the money, you can buy your degree.”
She flung her arms around my shoulders. “Oh, thank you, Trev, thank you!” With a big smile on her face, she kissed me and looked deep into my eyes. “I’ll never forget this, Trev.” I nodded, happy. “And I’ll never forget that you brought a large patio umbrella with you, either.”
“It was all I could find!” We laughed together as we made our way back to the flat in the rain.
Challenge 119 (Summer Final)
Elements: A Hapi drum, a strange, odd spirit takes you to the past and the future where you meet your successful self and your failed self at the same time, a paper crown, Survivors guilt
He looked up, bodies and metal strewn across the field.
"Why me?" he said as his head fell.
The plane was flying to Paris. He was going to have a special, romantic weekend with his partner, Sheryl. And now? He'd awoken to consciousness to find her beside him, his Hapi drum imbedded into the front of her head, the only hand luggage he'd brought into the plane. After seeing such a sight, he would never play again. Walking around the crash site, he'd realised he was the only survivor from the crew and passengers, the plane crash landing into a field. Some cows stood by a fence, watching, munching. Why him?
"Why not?" someone said by his shoulder. He fell to the ground as he spun around to see... a spirit, a ghost.
"Who... who are you?" he said, shaking.
"I am your, let's say 'spirit helper'. Remember that time you were working with your 'energy field' and 'self-awareness' in that teepee workshop weekend?"
"Not at this particular moment, no," he said. He was talking to a... ghost?
"Well, I found you there, or you saved me from an eternity. Whichever version you want to take. I saved you this time, almost makes us square. What you're experiencing now is called 'survivor's guilt'."
He sat down on a crumpled part of the plane's fuselage. "Who... what...?"
"I've shown myself to you now to show you something very important," said the spirit.
"I've... I've lost everything. My... my Sheryl, my love..."
"Yes, and that's why I'm here. Please don't give up, she doesn't want you to suffer a life of misery. She lost hers, don't lose yours."
"What?" he asked.
"Look." The spirit moved his arms about and a cloud appeared. Inside was an image, a moving picture of someone...him! A little younger but it was him. He was playing the Hapi drum to a large audience. He remembered that time, it was a very successful concert he'd performed. A review from that time said he was the best player ever.
"And look at this." A second cloud opened up, and showed another image of him, but this one was a little older. There was something wrong. He could hear Christmas carols, see the decorations, even the paper crown from a Christmas cracker on his head. But in the centre of the image was his depressed, sullen face.
"What is this?"
"A success in the past, a failure in the future. Unless..." said the spirit.<
br />
"Unless what?" he asked.
"Unless you begin to live again. You're a musician, a Hapi drum player. Don't give it up just because it was the object which killed your partner. Pick it up again, be the success you were meant to be!"
"Yes, yes, of course, you are right. Sheryl would've wanted it that way," he said as he made his way back to his seat. When he got there, he ripped his Hapi drum out of Sheryl's crushed face and began to play.
Challenge 120
Elements: A rundown business, the Old West, a will, anxiety
The doors swung open and in walked a pair of dusty worn boots. A saddle hit the floor and the doors creaked closed. Cleaver pushed himself off the bar to face the intruder of his peace.
"Yep?" asked Cleaver.
"Whiskey," said the man, dust leaving the brow of his hat as he spoke and chewed.
"Ain't got none," he replied. The man stood there, the sun shining through the muck on the windows, creating shadows across the tables and chairs throughout the room.
"No whiskey?" the man asked.
"Nope, no sir-ree. Not a drop." Cleaver took his dirty towel from his shoulder and flicked off some dust from the bar. The man continued to stand in one spot.
"What do you have?" asked the man.
"Nothin', absolutely nothin'," said Cleaver, his eyebrows raised for a second.
"What kind of an establishment are you running here, with nothing to quench a man's thirst?" the man asked. Cleaver leaned back against the shelf holding old empty bottles of liquor in front of the bar mirror decorated with cobwebs and cracks.