Kaman's World

by Bartholomew Thockmorton

  Their consciousness had been firmly linked every since he had followed her to this insane underground world. He simply reached a little harder, probing her mind, and with unspoken thoughts, touched the deepest parts of her core being, asking permission to mentally join with her. If not for their close bonds, the merging would have been nigh impossible. But for them, it was less than child’s play...and in that instant, their thoughts were one and the attack could proceed.

  After her few steps towards the creature, Betty stopped, standing motionless, opening her eyes and locking onto the beast, now more than halfway through its leap. Marty did not need to explain what to do, it came instinctively to the woman, sprang outward from the depths of her soul, and together, she and Marty looked upon the beast as one, and projected...

  BAD ANIMAL!

  Suddenly, an unseen, irresistible wall of will and mental force slammed into the large predator. With unimaginable violence, the creature was crushed by the energy ripping through every portion of its body at the speed of thought: bones snapped like twigs, organs split asunder, and the heart pulverized by the mental cyclone tearing it apart. In that instant, the creature was hurled backwards, crashing to the ground at the edge of the forest, rolling again and again, forced back into the brush, coming to rest motionless and devoid of life.

  Later, Kiro Wantanabe would be unable to recall anything of the encounter. For even though he stood behind the woman, the physic feedback also struck him, knocking him senseless.

  How Marty and Betty’s mental bolt managed to merge and combine with the simultaneous arrival of the gravitrino shower would perhaps forever remain a mystery. For without some outside, independent means of measuring this existential oddity, there was no one to put the two together. Certainly not Charlie; when the wave of insubstantial subatomic power reached the Flipper-Doodle, every activated circuit onboard sizzled and fried with the induction of a hundred-trillion electron volts...per cubic centimeter.

  This, of course, slicked the core programming of the Doodle’s main computer, and the cybernetic entity known as Charlie ceased to exist—as least as far as the Doodle was concerned. Fortunately, on the Puddle-Popper and the Lilly-Pad, the Doodle’s two shuttles, an extension of Charlie still resided, so the “death” of the computer’s artificial intelligence would remain a debate for philosophers and persons imbibing mellow-vapor.

  As it was, the Doodle’s use as a starship ended instantaneously and irrevocably, and Sam and Betty were down another vessel.

  In the cavern, Betty helped Kiro to a sitting position and poured him a cool drink from his water-skin. When Marty appeared from the jungle’s edge, Betty ran to meet him, and he leapt into her arms, licking her face in greeting. After hugging him fiercely, she held him high in the air, looking into his eyes.

  “Well now...that wasn’t very hard was it?”

  And before Marty broke the remnants of their mental connection, came the silent reply: No...no it wasn’t...

  ***

  Betty and Kiro were busy with some campsite chores shortly after the next day began, and didn’t see the warp-hole open over the forest, or the Lilly-Pad fly through, moments later. Sam located them without difficulty and soon landed their smallest shuttle to one side of the camp’s clearing.

  Betty met Sam as he exited the craft, hugging him as she whooped in excitement. When they kissed, Marty jumped about at their feet, anxious to be included in the reunion. When Kiro ambled over, Betty motioned for him to join the group hug.

  Since Kiro had nothing in the way of personal effects, and the spears were less than unneeded where they were heading, they immediately boarded the Pad, preparing for take-off. Betty had protested at first since even the shuttle’s warp-capacitors needed 12-hours to recharge, but Sam asked in puzzlement why she wanted to hangout in this tiny side chamber when they could do some exploring in the nearby, main cavern.

  To this, Betty needed not feign ignorance, as she really had not the slightest clue to what her husband was talking about. Imagine her surprise when Sam flew the shuttle but a short distance and entered an unseen, immense cave that could have held the smaller section a couple of dozen times over.

  “Kiro! Why didn’t you tell me about this?” chided the woman, playfully punching his arm.

  “Trust me, Betty,” he replied, in an earnest, sincere manner. “If you thought the predators back there were bad-asses, you don’t even want to see the ones in here!”

  Even the jungle was bigger, thicker in this larger complex. The terrain held a series of hills roughly bisecting the cavern, and there were even a couple of lakes below with streams running between them. In the ceiling, at regular intervals, appeared objects that looked for all the world like skylights. For from them shined genuine sunlight, channeled down from the surface by some, as yet, unknown mechanism.

  Betty’s awe left her speechless for much of the time, and as far as Sam was concerned, it was just another routine day on the job as a System Searcher. During the necessary wait, Sam filled them in on what had transpired in the period after Betty’s disappearance, along with the news the Doodle was now nothing but so much scrap. Betty kept her own council regarding her time below ground, and seeing her reluctance to tell Sam of the dangers, Kiro also kept certain things to himself.

  As far as how he and Kaman became separated, he had only this to say: “Bloody hell! As usual, that sorry mutt was as drunk-as-a-skunk! I could have fallen into the sun and he would have been none the wiser!”

  So the hours passed in idle conversation as they flew over every section of both chambers, allowing the shuttle’s onboard scanners to record data until they could warp to the surface world.

  Chapter Eight

  Doctor Samuel Lewiston entered the bar, slowly looking through the low lighting for the pair he was supposed to meet there. This mining outpost was one of the most remote in the entire Oort cloud; people came here when they didn’t want to be found, or have too many people ask the wrong kinds of questions. Business here usually played out via cold cash, or whatever sort of barter system could be agreed upon.

  He spotted them towards the back of the room and made his way through the tables to where Sam and Betty sat. He took the only seat, his back to the patrons and the entrance, but he trusted Sam to keep a lookout, and knew the man’s intentions were completely honorable.

  “I guess it would be useless to ask if anyone followed you.” said Sam.

  Betty not so gently punched her husband on the arm, giving him a scolding frown. “Don’t mind him, Doc,” she hissed. “He’s been watching too many detective vids!”

  Lewiston had to smile. He’d only known Betty for a couple of years and Sam for but a short time longer. But they were the most devoted couple he knew. In this age of open marriages as well as no guilt, and little commitment, they were a throwback to a by-gone age a thousand years past.

  “Glad to see you two have returned! We had no way of contacting you and even less of an idea as to where you had gone. Ah...where’s Marty, by the way?”

  “Why do you ask,” said Sam, quickly blocking the punch Betty threw at his shoulder. “Is somebody still looking for him?”

  “Not at all,” replied Doc. “And that’s the strange part! Not too long after you disappeared, Claire and I did some checking, and it was as if you two never existed!” As he spoke, Marty popped his head up over the edge of the table. Of course he was lying in Betty’s lap—where else would he have been? Doc could have sworn the little animal gave him a big smile, but Marty always did have that effect on people.

  “What do you mean, Doc,” asked the woman, pushing Marty’s head back down. “Is it some kind of ploy...a ruse to catch us off-guard?”

  “That’s what we thought, at first. But then we started poking around. First, we checked into the lab where they got hold of your blood...nothing! Not a single record! We even had some of our agents do some routine questioning around that particular facility...still nothing! They didn’t even recognize your name...
and had absolutely no idea who Marty was!”

  Sam and Betty exchanged questioning looks, but held their peace, letting Doc continue.

  “We finally got hold of Admiral McNally, met up with him when he was out here on official business—even managed to have him and the Misses over for dinner. You won’t believe this, but Randal seemed to have no recollection of your doings since your retirement from the service! He was even surprised when I told him you were married! And that you two were System Searchers!”

  “Doc...what the hell’s going on? He was at our wedding, for crying out loud!”

  “That’s the thing, Sam...it’s as if all records of you and Betty have been slicked...erased everywhere! Claire and I just can’t figure it out!”

  “Xanadu’s still ours, right?” asked Betty.

  “Oh yeah...no problems there. And I registered Kaman’s World for you, just like you asked...no hitch there either! You sure you want to name her that? Yes? Well, it’s done. You two will be richer than me and Claire if you keep this up!”

  “Well, that’s good news,” said Sam, handing Doc a data card. “Here, we’d like you to make these mods to the B.O.B. They might have to stretch the hull a bit! Use as much of our funds as you need...spare no expense, you’ll find all the specs there.

  “Oh, and before I forget...the Flipper-Doodle is dead in the water, so to speak. You’ll find her orbiting Kaman’s World...they’ll have to tow her back here...fix her up too!”

  “What about you two?” asked Doc. “Still going to lay below the radar?”

  “For the time being,” answered Betty. “We’ll be in touch, but don’t look for us...cause you’ll be wasting your time!”

  “Roger that,” Doc made as if to stand. “Anything else?”

  “Oh, yeah! Sam, you almost forgot!” said the woman. “Give him that package...and that other thing, too!”

  Sam reached down beside his chair and handed Doc Lewiston a small box and another data card.

  “The box holds Charlie’s backup AI program,” said Betty. “Make sure it’s installed on the ships! We lost him back on Kaman’s World...there’s a small portion of him on left on the Puddle-Popper and the Lilly-Pad...but only because the shuttles were shut down when...aw hell! It’s all on that first card Sam gave you!

  “That second data-card is another business detail...something other than the ships...it has our seal and all...could you take care of that too?”

  “You know I will!”

  Doc finally stood, cradling the box under an arm. “You guys take care now...Claire sends her love.”

  The man turned and retraced his way through the room. When he reached the entrance, he turned one last time, but the table in the back was empty, and there was no sign of the two people that were there but a moment before.

  ***

  Kaman Wantanabe sat at his usual table in the Oasis Seaside Bar and Grill. Before him, several empty glasses lined the table. He glanced again at his pinky watch, the time he had been given in the cryptic note delivered the day before had come and gone, and no one had showed up.

  He sighed in disgust and drained the last of his drink, wondering if he should order another. He decided against it and slowly stood, tossing some change on the table.

  “Good, god, old man! You always were a suck-ass tipper!”

  Kaman froze and his face went pale at the voice. He turned in astonishment and sure enough, there stood his dead brother. He took faltering steps, covering the scant distance separating them. Then reached out, hesitating at first, afraid this might be an apparition, or a sign he had at last grown senile.

  But, Kiro stood there...somehow, someway...it was Kiro.

  With a wail of unrestrained joy, the elderly gentleman burst into tears, grabbing his brother, hugging him as though he might disappear like some ethereal wraith, or a ghostly memory. Patrons at the nearby tables looked fondly at the elderly men, obviously meeting again after some long, unknown separation.

  After a period of sobs mixed with stammered greetings, both sat down, questions pouring forth as freely as the tears. As Kaman finally accepted this was not a dream or some illusion, his server approached, and with murmured apologies at the intrusion, handed the old man a data-card. A note attached read:

  Dearest Kaman,

  Here’s the deed.

  I’m keeping the planet, you can have the Oasis!

  Love,

  Betty

  The End

  Thockmorton Territory

  Oh, what shall we talk about today?

  Of course Betty isn’t in that one. It mostly concerns the trials and tribulations of Doc Lewiston, and how he meets his future wife, Claire. Admiral McNally is also a major character, and he is mentioned several times in this yarn. (Samuel) Roy Hinderken plays a small part in the story as a guest-star, but it’s a small role.

  The second story in the series, Throwing Snowballs at Xanadu, (originally entitled: Throwing Rocks at Paradise) mostly dealt with Betty and Sam discovering the first Earth-normal planet outside our solar system. Some folks might say that’s a mundane sort of story, since the current state of science fiction often deals with fantastic civilizations, aliens of superior intelligence everywhere you look, and seemingly under every stone you might overturn on just about any world you might land your rocket ship upon.

  Therein lies the problem that has actually turned some people away from sci-fi, in my humble opinion: the sky seems to be the limit and just about anything goes. And that’s exactly the problem...people simple have gotten away from the true heart of science fiction. What they are actually reading is science-fantasy. Period. That and the fact once you’ve vacationed in Paris, a stroll to the corner store seems rather dull.

  By no stretch of the imagination is The Dragon Riders of Pern science fiction...never was, never will be. Nothing wrong with those stories, heck, I’ve read them many times myself! But, seriously...dragons in a sci-fi tale? I mean, really.

  Now, don’t get me wrong, sci-fi in its purest form can get fairly mundane and boring, too. But at its heart are stories where human beings exist, live, adapt and use science extrapolated to some extent, often extreme.

  I like stories that get back to the basics. Sometimes, the far-flung novels get to be too much for me. A good example is Frank Herbert’s Dune books. Loved the first one! One of the smashing classics, to be sure. Second book was also a tremendous work, but something in the back of my mind began to nag me. When the third one came out, the cover picture of Paul as a giant worm just killed it for me. I’ve never read that one and I cannot imagine anything that will ever make me go back and read it, either. I’m sure it’s another classic, but I’ll likely never know. I just hate to see good, carefully constructed characters slowly deconstructed—all for the sake of money.

  Truth be told, I don’t read many fiction books, these days...maybe I’m just getting too old and too tired. One of the reasons, of course, is I don’t want anything influencing my writing. If there’s something in one of my stories that reminds folks of some other recent book (or series of books), I want it to be by chance.

  Here’s a good example: many, many years ago, I began working on a series in which an American solder is terribly wounded in battle, but is rebuilt using science, and this fellow becomes sort of a secret weapon for the government....well, you get the idea. It wasn’t too long after I’d started writing this great series when along came a show on the telly...something called The Six Million Dollar Man and...

  See what I mean? Simply distroyed it for me. I threw my completed pages, the outlines, the story plots, and title list...basically everything about my idea in the garbage.

  Life is like that. Wasn’t it Homer that first said “there’s nothing new under the sun”? And I don’t mean that Simpson fellow either!

  Something I do indulge in is movies! And hasn’t there been so many good ones lately?

  I love all the films Marvel Entertainment is turning out! The Thor and Captain America movies were just
smashing! I can hardly wait for the Avengers film coming the summer of 2012!

  On the opposite side of the spectrum, Wife recently bought me the Green Lantern DVD. Whoa...what is it about DC characters that makes the movies so...well...hate to say it...bad? And for the love of heaven, will they ever make a decent Superman film? Let’s hope so. Here’s a hint for them: DON’T PUT LEX LUTHOR IN THE NEXT ONE, YOU TWITS!!! And YES, I meant to yell! Christ on a stick! Why not let A. Moore or Neil G. write it? Neil’s recent Doctor Who script was crack on! Grow a brain, you nimrods!

  Anywho...back to the real world.

  The point about all my rambling is I try to write simple, fun stories that folks will not mind taking a delightful afternoon and spending it with Betty, Sam and Marty. And I do fancy Marty! He is so much fun...of course you could argue that he makes my stories science-fantasy...and you’d be right! Fancy that!

  I came across an article a year or so ago that bemoaned the fact that so many blighters fancy themselves writers, these days.

  Not too hard to figure it out, mate...computers have made writing, and rewriting, and rewriting, and over and over again so much simpler! I mean, when I was in college, all we had were typewriters! Gads! For all you seniors out there, remember those? And while we’re at it...why are you old farts reading my stuff? Go back to your AARP magazines, for goodness sakes!

  But, I digress...

  Writing something completely new and refreshing is sometimes hard work, and I simply wish to do my best to insure my stories are untainted. And as you can probably tell, I love having fun with words!

  But allow me to complain in earnest, for a brief moment. Not too long ago, I had entertained the idea of sending one of my stories off to one of the big-name science fiction magazines still littering the literary landscape, and visited their website first to print a copy of their guidelines. Nothing surprising there: one-inch margins, 12-point courier, double-spaced and all. But I paid particular notice to the description of the type of material they wanted “we like our stories to be blah, blah, blah”, and so on. And, of course there’s the “buy a copy of our magazine so you’ll know blah, blah, again”.