The Nether Mind: 33 Flash Fiction Stories

by E.A. Wicklund

  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” said Jun. “The U.S. and China aren’t exactly friends, you know. I could get in big trouble.”

  “Oh, stop worrying!” The waitress handed Ryan the check in the usual small, leather folder. He opened it, and found the following computer-printed onto the guest check:

  TO: Ryan Desmond Gillman of 3416 Hallbrooke Ln

  FROM: SIO Headquarters

  In the future, you should know the agency disapproves of referring to our headquarters as, “that ugly behemoth.”

  Furthermore, while the agency does not believe you intend to blow up our state-of-the-art headquarters, we take all such statements seriously.

  Please do not return home for two hours, while we investigate.

  Your Dachshund, “Pookie” sends his regards.

  Protecting the American people,

  Special Intelligence Operations

  P.S. Please tip the waitress handsomely. She’s an expert in Jiu-Jitsu, and is having menstrual cramps.

  With shaking hands, Ryan paid, added a substantial tip, and said, “Let's go.”

  “Where to?” asked Jun.

  “As far away from that fu…lovely building as possible!”

  Invaded Again

  “Are you serious?” Captain Rebecca MacEnroe glared at President Greenbaum.

  “I’m truly sorry, Captain. The Eventi have already gone.

  “You couldn’t have told us this before an expensive battalion of Interstellar Marines landed?”

  “They damaged our hyper-space transmitter. We couldn’t tell you.”

  MacEnroe’s shoulders sagged. A feat with battle-armor on. “Very well, Mr. President. I guess, we’ll be going now.” MacEnroe stepped out of the colony’s capital building, a prefab structure about the size of a cottage, and into the giant Redwood analogs of Agrenus IV. Her executive officer stepped up beside her as she stomped her way to the command tank. “Recall the troops, Holt,” she grated. “False alarm.”

  “Already done, Ma’am. Tech group reports that eight battle-drones have gone offline.”

  “That many?”

  “Unusual, but not impossible. Shall I dispatch repair teams?”

  “Leave ’em. They're supposed to be disposable anyway. We’ve wasted too much time here. It’s not like these bark-chewing, candy-ass, hippies would ever go near them.”

  ***

  In the capital building, President Greenbaum wiped celebratory cookie crumbs off his jeans. “Another successful operation I’d say, Greg.”

  The town mayor moved a chunk of Tiljon bark to the other side of his mouth. His eyes were already red from the THC content in the fibers. “Worked like a charm.”

  Greenbaum’s aide, sitting across the table continued his litany of acquisitions. “Twenty-four landing sleds. They always leave those behind. Seven battle-drones hacked successfully. They’ll be handy as construction equipment.”

  “Bottom line,” said Greenbaum. “What can we build with all this?”

  “We could make one hundred self-sustaining, multi-family homes with all the power generation they need.”

  “This is stupid,” whined Greenbaum’s son. “Why the charade?”

  Greenbaum sighed. “Edward. You know this planet lacks the rare-earth minerals to make the good-for-anything molycircs for electronics.”

  “So requisition them!”

  “Takes forever. We ordered twelve quantum-control networks, what, four years ago? Still haven’t seen them. A week ago, we put in a distress call regarding Earth’s arch enemy, the Eventi, and Hazzah! Molycircs for the next 10 years left behind.”

  “What about in 10 years?”

  “Easy. We’ll just have to be in invaded again!”

  Passing Intelligence

  Italian intelligence liked to pass vital objects embedded in food. A key reason Kent requested this posting.

  As he stood looking over the Coliseum, a passing vendor offered him conchiglioni. Kent gobbled up the stuffed shell with relish.

  “Idiote!” cursed the vendor. “That contained the data card!”

  “Hmm. I thought it was kinda crunchy. Can't you make another copy?”

  The vendor spat. “Be here in three days,” and he trundled off, cursing.

  Kent remained, enjoying the sights and smells. The longer the job took, the longer he stayed in Rome. He smacked his lips.

  Maybe they’ll try manicotti next time.

  The Delivery

  The famous and the rich swirled around him like planets orbiting a star. The bravest man in the world, Rex D. Stoneman, took it all in with the majesty of a king. He shook hands and signed posters, gracing each and all with his patented smile. Eventually Rex reached the two scrubby scientists standing alone at the base of the structure. He shook the hand of the elder one first. “Good to meet you at last, Professor Balfur!”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Stoneman.” He gestured to the man beside him. “My colleague, Dr. Harrison.”

  Stoneman shook Harrison's hand and looked up at the massive spoked structure. The Balfur Projector was the largest and most complex construction in human history. Even the great Stoneman was awed. He grinned bravely and the eager press caught the moment faithfully. “So I'll be the first man to try this beautiful machine out."

  "That's right, Mr. Stoneman," said Balfur.

  Rex whispered in Balfur's ear, "What is it?"

  “It’s a wormhole generator.”

  Rex spoke up for the press. “I’ve eaten more than one worm in my record-breaking swim through the Amazon!”

  The crowd cheered.

  “Not that sort, I’m afraid, but testing it will be incredibly dangerous,” said Balfur.

  “Danger is my middle name!”

  The crowd cheered.

  “How does it work, Professor?”

  Balfur cleared his throat. “Well, it starts spinning until a critical factor is reached. You’ll be injected into the middle of the maelstrom where your flesh and bone will be shredded into the consistency of hamburger. Further, even that will be disintegrated into component atoms whereupon you’ll be hurled to distant space and mashed back together, hopefully in your original form. Your chances of survival are dismal, but if it succeeds, it will be glorious!”

  Silence.

  The bravest man in the world was gone.

  Balfur and Harrison stood alone.

  Harrison murmured in the awful quiet. “I think you need to work on your delivery.”

  Explain That

  The Merman was handsome, said “Love me, Jenny!”

  So she opened up for him and loved him plenty.

  His babies are growin’

  Her tummy is showin’

  And doctors are askin’ why there's fish in her belly!

  Wyvern Harvesting

  Magic returned to the world in 2024. It didn't come back in a figurative sense. None of that hippie kumbayah stuff. No, it was full-blown witches, sorcerers, demons, dragons, fire in the sky and all of it blasting humanity full in the face. Wyverns were just one part of the sudden flood of magical creatures. Luckily, the news wasn't all bad news, and good things came from animals like the wyverns.

  The small dragons carried a powerful poison in their stings, but that same poison, administered properly, could cure one thousand people of cancer. The Wyvern Harvesting Department (WHD) soon formed and the creatures were slaughtered for their cure.

  Headquarters sent our team to a home in Piedmont. They said a wyvern lived there and curiously, wasn’t killing off the whole neighborhood.

  Jack and I rang the bell at the house in question. We worked in two-man teams. I fired weapons. Jack was the wizard, the best in the country. A middle-aged man opened the door. I flashed my badge. “WHD. We’re here for the wyvern.”

  He opened the door wide. “Hope you updated your will.”

  “We can handle it. We’re professionals,” I said.

  “I’m not talking about the wyvern.”

  On t
he back patio stood a fourteen-year old girl. April's blond curls were perfectly coifed and she wore pink ribbons in her hair. Behind her, an eight hundred pound wyvern crouched. It’s tail poised to strike.

  Instantly, I was in combat mode. “April! Don’t move! A wyvern is behind you!”

  “YOU’RE NOT TAKING PINKY!” screamed April. A bolt of lightning erupted from her finger and slammed Jack into the wall.

  The wyvern curled a protective wing in front of April.

  “Jack!” I said. “It’s a pet! Can you believe it?”

  Jack stood up, smoke curling from his shirt. It was clear we'd have to get past the girl to get to the wyvern. I couldn't have done it, but Jack loved a good magical match, even if it meant battling a little girl in pink. “So you wanna play rough, eh?”

  “You can take her, Jack!” I cheered.

  She launched a telekinetic spell and hammered Jack into the wall, hard enough to crack it.

  “Boo!” I teased. "She’s kicking your butt!”

  “No way! I’m gonna…” He collapsed.

  This was going badly. “April. We only want the poison.”

  “Sure," scowled April. She could look remarkably menacing for such a young child. Of course, the deadly spell she slowly began summoning had to be part of her terrifying demeanor. "But cutting off his tail will kill Pinky!”

  Sadly, this was true. But here was a chance that never existed before. I mean, nobody as far as I knew had ever been chums with a wyvern.

  I held up a syringe. “Would Pinky ‘let’ you take some with this?”

  The gambit worked. Pinky…and Jack, survived. Cancer has been eradicated with weekly contributions from Pinky. April grew up and is fighting giant-sized dragons that regularly wiped out whole army battalions.

  And you know what?

  She’s winning.

  Meeting Dad

  “Mom. I want to meet, Dad.”

  “How did we meet? Well, it was on the family boat.” She pointed at the meter-long model sampan in its glass case. The detail was exquisite. Remarkably life-like. Even scraps of food left on dirty dishes were present.

  “No, Mom, I said…”

  “I was the most beautiful girl in our fishing village during the war,” she smiled wistfully. “Some say the most beautiful in all Japan. But I was alone. Momma and Poppa had died in a storm. Everyone was hungry, but no young men knocked on my door to help me or even court me. Everyone knew I was a sorceress, taught the old ways by my grandmother. The whole village shunned me.

  “One day, I saw an American parachute from his plane. He was bleeding to death when I pulled him out of the water. I used my powers to heal him. He was no good to me dead, because I couldn’t turn him in for food. When he awoke, he looked at me with his wonderful green eyes, like the finest jade. I decided to put him to work on the boat until I tired of him. Weeks went by working together, his muscular body shining in the sun, a ready smile that warmed me inside. One day he touched me. I felt a jolt from that tiny contact, and a heat burned inside me.

  “I could resist him no more. I was lonely, and here was this glorious man, needing me, wanting me. I fell for him, and we became lovers. I never imagined gaijin would be so well…equipped.”

  “Eww, Mom. Please don’t!” begged Hiro. “Just, what happened to him?”

  “Well, I kept him hidden until the war finally ended. I was seven months pregnant when American soldiers came to my door and discovered him. That’s when I learned he was married,” Her eyes darkened. “I could have forgiven that, but in a mere moment, he decided to return to her. He wanted to leave me. ME! Pregnant! He could do no better than me! So I did what I had to do.”

  “Mom, you didn’t…”

  “I didn’t hurt him, mostly, but the fool scorned a sorceress. He deserved it.” She knocked on the glass case, and a tiny man emerged from the sampan. He shook his fist at her from the railing. She pointed. “Go ahead, talk to your father. He knows some Japanese. Mostly curse words.”

  Never Stop Searching

  “I’m meant to be shared,” said Victor, preening before the mirror.

  “But you’re my love-bot!” wailed Heather.

  “Sex-bot. I need new lovers, new relationships.”

  “I won’t share you. Never!” Heather’s cheeks streamed with tears.

  Victor crossed his arms. “I’ll never stop searching for new experiences.”

  “Is that your final word?”

  “Yes!”

  Heather held up a special tool. “Okay then.”

  She left his parts on East 60th Street, the most dangerous neighborhood in the city. Soon, the notorious Slasher Gang found him.

  “Hey! We found our shooting practice robot,” said 2-Money. "We needed this. It’s like I always say, Icepick, never stop searching!”

  The Secret Life of Otters

  GRANDVIEW, OREGON – Secret Life Of Otters (SLOO) Correspondent, Kari Yamashita reporting.

  For the past eight years, a group of revolutionary zoological scientists and naturalists have maintained the web site: www.secretlifeofotters.com. Between all of us, we have seventy-two years of experience observing animals in their natural environment and studying their behavioral patterns. Ten years ago our founder, Greg Gulbrandson, noted uncanny behavior in the river otters he studied. Having established himself as a non-threatening entity within their environment, Gulbrandson observed behavior that described uncanny intelligence. He recorded tool use never before observed in otters. His relationship with these beautiful and wonderful creatures evolved until he gained unprecedented access into their most intimate lives, and became exposed to a world no human could ever have imagined.

  He observed tool use. Not the simple sticks chimps use to snare termites, but advanced tools beyond the ken of human technology. He learned that they read and can even speak (albeit with difficulty) the English language. He submitted paper after paper of findings to scientific journals only to see every one squelched beneath the heel of the almighty institution. He recruited some of the most brilliant minds in science to join him. All of whom agreed Gulbrandson’s findings were valid scientific miracles. Yet still the hoary institution of so-called scientists turned their heads.

  Since starting www.secretlifeofotters.com we’ve shown you articles, scientific logs, drawings of their intricate constructions, and even pictures of their activities. Seven times our site has been the target of government DOS (Denial Of Service) attacks. The U.S. government has branded our team of peaceful scientists a subversive organization. Despite this unwarranted assault upon seekers of the truth, we prevail. It’s a good thing we have, because we can now bring you something truly revolutionary. An actual interview with an otter. Here's a transcript of my talk with this extraordinary creature.

  Secret Life Of Otters (SLOO): First of all, thank you for agreeing to this interview. Please state your name for the record.

  Olli: Oh shoor. Olli Bechelknessen

  SLOO: That sounds like a human name.

  Olli: We kyna liked it, ya nou. An’ we knew this daye would coom sometyme, soo we adopted it.

  SLOO: Forgive me if I have trouble with your accent. I expected something closer to English.

  Olli: Whit th’ fook dae ye expect? Aym a fookin’ otter! You, wee gel, hae the accent. [translation: Well, it’s expected that cross-species communication may be difficult.]

  SLOO: Your species have been observed with highly advanced tools. Is this true?

  Olli: Aye, ’tis troo, but ye ooughta nou: woon of yer pics shoos me uncle yoosin’ a fookin’ piss-pot. Poor ol’ Gran’ woos scandalized! [Translation: Yes, this is true]

  SLOO: Some of our naturalists claim otters have been observed working on advanced spacecraft. Can you confirm this?

  Olli: Shoor! Ye don’na expect to mayke orbit with’oot a workin’ hyper-dimenshunal intra-fregulatin’ coompressor now do ye? Ye moos replace that shite woonce in a wile [translation: Yes. Periodic maintenance on the (technical gobbledygook) is nece
ssary]

  SLOO: After all this time, why have you decided to speak directly with humans now?

  Olli: Well, it seems to us, ye lot tayke yourselves too serioosly. Wat wi’ all yer wars and political pearties an’ gettin’ shite-all oot of it, ye can’na fyne th’ forest for the bloomin’ trees. [Translation: Congress sucks.]

  SLOO: Amen, brother.

  Olli: An’ yer all starin’ at those fookin’ cell foons lyke they were portals straight to God’s eye, and ye don’na see the bloomin’ flowers beside ye. An’ then ye wonder wye yer depressed? Fookin’ dobbers. [Translation: There are unpleasant side effects from excessive cell phone usage]

  SLOO: Yes, we’ve begun documenting such things.

  Olli: Can ye no see th’ irony of ‘Reality TV?’ Whit minky basturt tot of that? [Translation: Reality TV is unenlightened programming that corrupts the mind]

  SLOO: Did you ever meet Greg Gulbrandson?

  Olli: Aye. Fookin’ pansey! [Yes, the flowers were lovely that time of year]

  That was all the time, Olli had for us. Apparently, it takes time for his ship’s interstellar overdrive time to warm up, and he was late for a date in Proxima Centauri. As you can see, humans must take these amazing creatures more seriously. We should sit at their knees with humility and respect, and learn from them.

  Please, visit our site as often as possible at: www.secretlifeofotters.com. Don’t believe it if you get a, “Server Not Found” error. It only means the government is attacking us once again. They are denying our rights to free speech, but we’ll keep trying and bring the site back up as soon as we can.