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Eeek! I spent the whole morning working on Sunday's story, and now I'm out of time. Next week's story might actually be a good one. It has a lot of crying, and some sexy bits. I'm hoping you'll like it. But now, it's time for me to shut this thing down and go to work.

Love you guys, see you in 24.

Blog KenGreen

The writing group I'm in only lets me bring ten pages worth of story every week, which is difficult for me, because I have a hard time telling a story in less than 3,000 words. What can I say? I'm self indulgent. I really like stringing words together. Anyway, below is an earlier story, cut down to 2300 words, which is how many I can cram into the ten page limit.

DIPLOMACY
By Ken Green
“Golly,” Ensign Ellen Carter said, “Look at all this kooky food. I want to try everything!”
In space, there’s two things you can depend on: the speed of light is always the same, and all diplomatic missions feature a buffet.
“I wonder if any of this is Vegan food,” T’Haan said.
“Vegan?” Carter asked, puzzled, “I thought you were Sophian.”
“I am Sophian. I was born on Sophia Prime. But I only eat Vegan food.”
“Oh, I get it,” Carter smiled and nodded, “Veganism is a religion!”
“Yeah,” T’Haan nodded, “Pretty much.”
Carter piled a mound of quasishrimp on her plate and gazed at the big, tacky reception hall. The world government of Lozenge 03378 was petitioning for membership in the confederation, and they had gone all out. Table after table was covered in heaps and platters of exotic foods and drinks.
“The only thing that would make this better,” she said, “Would be a chocolate fountain. I love a good chocolate fountain.”
Behind her, a chocolate fountain binged into existence.
“Did you hear something?” Carter asked.
“Yeah. A tiny, bell-like, ‘Bing’ sound,” T’Haan said, “I figured it came from you.”
“Why would I go ‘Bing’?”
“I have no idea. You’re always saying weird things. I mostly tune you out.”
Carter grumbled and turned back to the buffet. She was delighted to see the newly formed fountain, and eagerly ladled sweet, sticky syrup all over her quasishrimp.
“Go easy on that, Sweetie, leave some for everybody else,” T’Haan cautioned.
“Hey,” Carter said, her pretty brow furrowed, “Was this fountain here earlier? Like, a minute ago?”
“It had to have been. Things don’t just Bing into existence.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” Carter tried one of her chocolate-covered quasishrimp, “Oh, my gosh, this is so good. You have to try this.” She held one out for T’Haan to sample.
“No, thanks,” T’Haan declined, “I’d rather have some nice, simple tamrack soup.
Right before their eyes, a huge steaming tureen of hot tamrack soup appeared. Bing.
“Okay,” T’Haan said, “Did you see that?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s just weird.” T’Haan turned to her datapad and brought up the tricorder app, “Quick, wish for something else.”
“I don’t want to seem greedy,” Carter said, greedily cramming quasishrimp into her mouth.
“Dammit, woman, this is science. Ask for something.”
Carter chewed and thought.
“Some strawberries and cocktail sauce would be nice…”
Bing. A generous bowl of strawberries, smothered in cocktail sauce appeared.
“This is the best planet ever!”
“Just as I suspected,” T’Haan said, peering intently at her pad, “As the item appeared, I read an enormous discharge of energy.”
“Neat,” Carter said, “But how does the soup taste?”
“What difference does that make?” T’Haan asked, “The important thing is…”
“Blah, blah, science, science. Try the soup. It’s impolite not to.”
“Fine,” T’Haan ladled soup into a bowl, blew on it, and tasted.
“Oh,” she said, in a distant voice, “Oh, by the stars and heavens,” she stared at the bowl in disbelief, tears in her eyes, “That…is the most perfect tamrack soup I’ve ever tasted.”
“Wow, that must be some amazing soup,” Cater stuck her finger in it and stuck it in her mouth, looked puzzled, then frowned, “That’s cream of celery.”
“Yes,” T’Haan said, her eyes dreamy, “So good…”
“You are so weird.”
“You don’t understand. This is the taste of my childhood. Running home from school, climbing the steps to my hab unit, the smell of tamrack soup coming from the kitchen. I would run to the kitchen, and my nana would scoop me up in her arms, and hold me so tight I feared I would pop. In those moments, I felt so warm, so safe, so utterly loved. Love just poured out of her like light from a star, engulfing me, filling me with its warmth…”
“It needs some paprika and maybe a little oregano.” Carter said.
T’Haan held up a hand. “Carter, please. Do me a favor. Just don’t talk for a few minutes. Let me savor this memory.” She closed her eyes and turned away.
“Yeah, okay,” Carter went back to her strawberry cocktail, lifting the bowl to her face and pretty much making out with it, finishing by licking the bowl. Then she switched back to the chocolate quasishrimp sundae, and made it a menage a trois.
T’Haan wiped her eyes and turned back in time to witness the appalling spectacle. She took a deep breath.
“Carter, I’d to perform another experiment.”
“Okay,” Carter said, throwing the bowl over her shoulder, “What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to wish for a nonfood item,” T’Haan did stuff with her pad, “I’m configuring this to get a directional reading on the energy discharge. So wish for a warm, wet, towel.”
“Why would I wish for…”
“Because you need one. Just do it already.”
“Fine,” Carter held her hands out to the empty air, “I wish I had a warm, wet towel.”
A warm, wet towel binged into existence and fell into her hands.
“Got it,” T’Haan said, gazing at her screen, “Whatever is doing this is directly below us. Five meters below us.”
“That’s great,” Carter said, holding the towel, “What do I do with this?”
“Hand it to me.”
She did.
T’Haan wiped the chocolate and cocktail sauce off Carter’s face.
“Honestly, Woman, I can’t take you anywhere,” she gently scolded, “Now show me your piggys.”
Carter held her hands up, and T’Haan wiped them clean.
“So what do we do now?” Carter asked.
“We’d better find the lieutenant, and tell him something weird is going on.”
They tracked down the lieutenant. He was still hobbing and nobbing with the bigwigs. They had fixed him up with a brace of very expensive looking floozies who were pouring champagne or something like it down him.
“Lieutenant,” T’Haan interrupted.
“Oh,” he said, annoyed, “What do you two want?”
One of the floozies looked speculatively at Carter. Carter pooched her lips out and threw her an air kiss.
“I’ve detected some large energy discharges stemming from…”
“Oh, gross! I don’t want to hear about your lady problems, I’m negotiating a trade deal here! Go away.”
“But, Sir…”
“I mean it, Ensign. Whatever you have going on down there, I expect you to take care of it yourself. Show some initiative.”
T’Haan sighed and turned away.
“Well, you heard the man. We’re on our own.”
“Good,” Carter said, “He’s dead weight anyway, Let’s go find some stairs to the basement.”
They wandered around till the found a door. On it, a sign read:
BASEMENT ACCESS
AUTHORIZED PERSONELL ONLY
“Is it locked?” T’Haan asked.
Carter tried it. It was.
“Well, that’s that. We tried. Back to the party, I guess.” T’Haan turned away.
“Wait,” Carter said, “That is not it. We’re StarForce officers, and that means we don’t give up. There’s a mystery on the other side of that door, and I’m going to solve it.”
“Yeah? How are you going to do that?”
“The way I do everything. With style, poise, and a little gentle brutality.” She squared up in front of the door and adjusted her boobs.
“Okay, door,” she said, “We can do this the easy way, or…” She leaned back, snapped her thigh up, and launched her foot into the door. The corridor echoed with the mighty impact. The door did not fly open. Carter wound up on her back, looking at the ceiling.
“Ow. I am killed,” she lamented.
T’Haan brought up the diagnostic app on her pad. She scanned her crewmate.
“Nope,” she said, “You still live.”
“I think I broke my foot.”
Scan, scan, scan.
“You did not. Get up, you slacker. You’re embarrassing me. Even more than usual.”
Carter stood.
“Maybe you could try your kooky Sophian Kung Fu powers on it,” she suggested.
“I can’t nerve-pinch a door, Carter. It’s clearly not a vertebrate.”
“Perhaps we should try a different tactic,” she said, “Oh! I’ll wish the door open. I wish this door would open for me.”
It did not.
“Hmm. That’s interesting,” T’Haan said, peering at her pad, “I registered a charge building up, but it seemed to short out or something. All our successful wishes have been for objects. Try wishing for a key.”
“Good idea.” Carter held out her hand. “I wish for a key that will unlock this door.”
No dice.
“There it is,” T’Haan said, again staring at the screen, “Something is interfering with the process.”
“Can I help you two ladies?” asked the maintenance guy who had happened by.
“Why, yes,” Carter said, smiling her big, big smile, “My sexy friend and I would like to go to the basement, for completely innocent purposes. So if you could just open that door for us, we’d be very grateful.”
“Yeah, right,” he said, “Why would I do that?”
“Well, maybe if you opened the door, we could all go in, and you and me could have a little fun together. And by fun, I mean sex. Dirty, dirty sex.” She winked.
T’Haan rolled her eyes and quietly stepped behind the maintenance guy.
“Yeah,” he said, “And then I might get fired, and I’d get to go home and tell my wife how much fun I had getting fired today. Take a hike, Lady.”
“But,” Carter protested, “I’d let you touch my boobs…”
T’Haan rabbit punched him and he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.
“What did you do that for? I almost had him.” Carter asked.
“When is your birthday?” T’Haan asked, “I’ve just decided to buy you some dignity. ‘I’ll let you touch my boobs.’ What is wrong with you, Carter?” She went through his pockets and found the key.
“Stop being so mean. I was improvising.”
“Is that what you call it?” T’Haan unlocked the door, and they began their descent.
#
“Holy petunias,” T’Haan swore (It means something completely different in Sophian), “What is that thing?”
In the basement they found an enormous sphere of pseudo-liquid suspended in midair. Glowing, swirling, streaky multicolored pseudo-liquid, held in place by high voltage electro-probes.
“I think that’s the wish machine,” Carter said.
“It looks like a giant booger,” T’Haan observed.
A pseudotentacle extruded toward them, and formed itself into an approximation of a face.
“I am not a machine, and I am not a booger. What you see is the merest fraction of my being, that protrudes into your limited three dimensional space.”
As it spoke, the electro-probes discharged intermittently, sending lightning bolts through the massive volume of space snot.
Despite the torment, the giant not-booger continued to speak.
“I came to this planet on an errand of mercy. From N-space, my home dimension, I noticed the planet’s mantle becoming unstable. I knew the inhabitants of this word were doomed, unless I worked quickly. I stabilized the planet, but doing so nearly killed me. I lay broken and drained, too weak to move. Left alone I could have regained my strength and healed. But the residents of this planet had seen my power and desired it. So they built this prison for me. I have been their slave ever since.”
“But…” Carter cried out, “That’s horrible! We must set you free!” She rushed to the control panel.
“Wait, Carter,” T’Haan said, “We can’t do this, we don’t have the authority. This is interference with a planet’s culture, and we have rules about that.”
“Rules, shmules, Haan. This is wrong. All thinking, feeling, sentient creatures deserve to be free, even the icky and gross ones.” She reached for the release lever and pulled it. The restraining fields dropped. The space booger was free.
“Thank you, Carter. As your reward, I shall grant you a final wish, and allow you to escape before I wreak my vengeance upon this planet.”
“Vengeance?” Carter gasped, “What kind of vengeance?”
“The people of this planet imprisoned and tortured me. They will all die screaming. But you will be spared. Now name your reward, whether it be immortality, a planet of solid gold, a diamond the size of a star. Now that I am free, nothing is beyond my power.”
“I can have anything I want?” Carter asked.
“Anything. But decide quickly. I must have my vengeance.”
“I wish for forgiveness, then. Not for me, but for the people of this planet. I ask that you leave in peace, and let them live.”
“I cannot do that. They have hurt me greatly.”
“Yes, and hurting them must seem like justice. But I beg you, let your justice be tempered with mercy.”
I cannot. Their crime is too great. They all must die.”
“If that is the case, then kill me too. Kill me first. Look into my eyes, know my soul, and destroy me.” Her voice quivered, tears welled up in her eyes, but she did not look away.
“Why do you ask this? What have these people ever done for you? Why are you trying to save them?”
“I’m not,” Carter said, “I’m trying to save you. You came here on an errand of mercy. You have goodness in you. Don’t let the actions of cruel and greedy men destroy that goodness. Show them that you are stronger. Show them that they could not break you.”
“Very well, Carter. Your wish is granted. I shall spare this planet.” It folded itself into N-space, and was gone.
“That was a beautiful thing you did,” T’Haan said, “I am so hot for you right now.”
Carter frowned, “I can never tell when you’re kidding, and when you aren’t.”
“I imagine that must be terribly confusing for you,” T’Haan said, “We should get back to the party.”
Upstairs, there was chaos. The Lozengians ran to and fro, in a panic.
“Disaster!” one of them cried out, “All is lost! Our society has collapsed!”
“Golly,” Carter said, “What could cause such a sudden and unexpected calamity?”
“We should get back to the ship,” T’Haan suggested.
End.

KenGreen Blog Blogs Member Public

Today's offering is another false start. Or maybe some good will come from it. Who knows?

THE GIRL IN THE TREE
By Ken Green

Chance awoke to the sound of some idiot calling her name.
“Chance?” Olivia called out, as she stumbled over a tree root, “Chance, are you out here?”
Her. What is she doing in my woods? Chance looked down from her treehouse, wishing she had a rock to throw. Stupid townie woman, go back to your streets and houses. This is my home. Go back to yours.
Olivia did not go away, although she looked like she wanted to. These woods were ancient, deep, and dark. No place for a pretty townswoman.
Soft as a cat, Chance jumped to another branch to get better look. The stupid townie was carrying a bundle. It looked like a blanket or something.
What are you thinking to do, townie? Do you plan to sleep here? This is my home, go back to yours!
“Chance, are you out here, Honey?” Olivia called out, a hint of worry in her voice, “Is this where you live?”
Chance jumped down, landing behind Olivia.
Startled, Olivia spun around. She looked scared.
Good.
“Oh!” Olivia said, “There you are. Hi.”
“Why are you here?” Chance asked.
“Well, I…” Olivia adjusted her bundle and extended a hand, “Hi, I’m Olivia…”
“I know who you are,” Chance said, making no attempt to conceal her contempt, “You’re the fancy woman that Darla likes.”
“Yes, yes,” Olivia smiled and nodded, “That’s right, Darla and I are business partners.”
“Why are you here?” Chance asked.
“Well,” Olivia took her hand back, see that Chance had no interest in shaking it, “Darla told me that you live…out here…”
“Yeah?”
“…and, well, I brought you this,” she held the blanket out, offering it.
Chance looked at the offering. It was a damn fine blanket, probably Eightfinger Hanna’s work. Eightfinger was a wizard with her loom, and it looked like firstshear wool. Somebody had paid dear for that blanket.
“I have no trade goods,” Chance said, “Not for something that fine.”
“I’m not looking to trade,” Olivia said, “I’m giving this to you.”
“Why?” Chance frowned. What do you want? You took Darla, what else do you want from me?
“I just,” Olivia hesitated, “Everybody says you live out here, and I just thought…maybe you needed something.”
“Are you here to make pleasure with me?” Farm boys used to come around sometimes, looking for that, but Hexweaver put a stop to that.
“Make pleasure…Oh. No! God, no. Why would you even think that? I just thought…I want to make sure you’re okay, out here.”
“Why?” I’m not your get, I’m not even your clan. Why would you care how I live?
“I don’t know, I just thought, maybe…listen, if it ever gets too cold out here, or you need somebody to talk to, you can come to the Bull. If you need a place to sleep.”
“I have a place to sleep,” Chance said, angry, “Do you think I am weak? Do you think I am stupid? Do you think I need you, and your blanket, and your tavern, and your town? I’ve seen fifteen summers without your help, I don’t need you, go away!”
“I’m sorry,” Olivia said, backing away, “I’m sorry, I did this wrong, I shouldn’t have come, it was my mistake, I’m sorry…”
“I don’t need your sorry!” Chance screamed, her face red, her eyes wet, “Go away!”
“Okay,” Olivia said, taking another step back, holding up a hand for peace, “You’re right, I’ve intruded, I’m leaving now.” She backed up another step then turned started walking quickly away.
Chance watched her retreat, sighed, and caught up with her.
“You’re going the wrong way,” she told the stupid townie.
“Oh, I must have gotten turned around. Which way…”
“I’ll walk you out. Stay close to me. You’re not safe here.”
“Thank you.”
Chance led her to a game path, walked her to the forest’s edge.
“Don’t come back,” she said.
She pointed to the plowed fields and cleared land beyond the forest, “That’s where you belong. Go back to your town.”
Olivia nodded, “I’ll remember. Thank you. I’m…”
“I don’t need your sorry.”
“Of course. I’m…I’ll go now.” She started to leave.
“Wait.”
Olivia waited.
Chance reached out to touch the blanket. I was good work, she could trade it for fishhooks. And the salmon would be running soon.
“Does Darla live in the tavern with you?” Chance asked.
“Yes, the tavern is her home, and mine.” Olivia said.
“Do you take care of her? Are you nice to her?”
“Yes,” Olivia said, “We take care of each other. It’s a big tavern, and the fire is always warm. There will always be room for…”
“No!” Chance screamed, pushed Olivia to the ground, and ran back into her woods.
Olivia stood, sighed, shifted the blanket in her arms, and began the long walk home.
#
Olivia walked into the Bull, through the back door, hoping to slip in unnoticed.
Luck was not with her.
Darla was in the kitchen, chopping onions.
“Where have you been, Squire?” she glanced at Oliva’s boots, “Have you been to the woods?”
“Maybe…” Olivia looked for a clean place to put the blanket down.
Darla lay the knife on the counter and wiped her hands on her apron.
“My love, God gave you a lovely pair of ears. Why do you not see fit to use them?”
“I just wanted to see her, see if she’s okay. I tried to give her this.” She held up the blanket.
Darla’s eyes widened.
“You spoke to her? Did she hurt you?”
“No, we just talked. Why would she hurt me?”
“She wouldn’t need a reason. The girl is mad. She has fits.”
“Fits? You mean like epilepsy?”
“I don’t know what that word means.”
“It means…” What? I had it, and now it’s gone. “It doesn’t matter. What happens when she has a fit?”
“She has a fit. At times, her body shakes, and she can’t control it. Other times, she flies into rages, or laughs for no reason. She’s mad.”
“That poor girl. Doesn’t anybody help her?”
“Help her? How?”
“I don’t know, there has to be something we could do.”
Darla pulled a stool out and sat.
“When she was younger, I took her to see the vicar. He found no evidence of possession. The barber said bleeding wouldn’t help. What else could we try?”

I just got an idea for my next story, so I'm going to go work on that for a while. Thanks for reading, I hope I'm giving you a laugh, see you in 24.

Page 15 Blog KenGreen

Today's offering comes to you from the declining days of the Second Empire.

DIRECTOR
By Ken Green
“Is it safe to touch?” Jessica asked.
“Yes, Madame Director, “It’s a jube tree. Perfectly harmless.”
She reached out to touch the rough, leathery bark. Everything was so weird here, so funny. When Mummy died, Jessica had inherited her directorship, and all the landholdings. Jessica marveled at the thought. She owned a thousand planets! And she had never stood on a single one.
Not until this day. This was the day Jessica visited Cyan, her latest acquisition. Along with her guards and Isaac, her tutor and lawpriest, she walked on real dirt, under a real sky.
There was a commotion. She turned to see two of her guards struggling with one of the blue-skinned natives of this strange planet. Using their fists and stunsticks, they quickly subdued him.
“Madame Director,” Cerebus, Master of the Guard, said, “I’m sorry you had to see that. I’ll have this man dispatched…”
“No,” Jessica said, her voice hushed, “Bring him to me.”
Cerebus frowned, but one does not question a director. He gestured, and the guards brought the captive to her.
She gave him a long appraising look. Like all Cyans, he was tall and slender, compared to proper humans. He wore only a loincloth and sandals. His savage black hair hung down to his shoulders. His eyes were the same amazing blue as the rest of him.
“Were you spying on me?” she asked him, a taunt in her voice, “Are you so eager to meet the new boss? Well? What do you think? Do you like what you see?”
She threw her shoulders back and posed for him. In bustier and riding pants, she looked stunning. She knew that for a fact. All her servants told her how beautiful she was, every day.
The Cyan said nothing. His face showed no expression.
“Does he understand me?” she asked, “Do they understand speech?”
“They speak a debased form of Galactic,” Isaac said, “They can be trained…”
“Then let’s give him something he’s sure to understand. Make him kneel.”
With their stunsticks, the guards drove him to his knees.
“That’s better,” she said with a smile, “This is the way it should be.” She reached out to touch his face.
“Do I own this man, Isaac?” she asked, “Do I own his life?”
“Yes, Director, you own the planet and its entire population.”
“I own this man,” she whispered. The thought was electrifying. She had already known it, but until this moment, it had always been just an abstract idea. But touching him, feeling the solidity of his flesh, made it real for her. She ran her fingers along his jaw, down his neck, to his chest. She could feel his heartbeat, strong and true. His living heart, and it belonged to her. Amazing.
“Take him to my ship,” she said, dismissing him with gesture.
“He may have a family, Director,” Isaac said.
“Well, if they come looking for him, they can join my household staff. Perhaps they can be my gardeners,” she laughed.
“Very well, Director. Arrangements will be made.”
Jessica smiled. Any other member of her staff would die by inches for being so tiresome, but she adored the old man. He had been with her as long as she could remember. He had taught her how to read. For all Jessica knew, he had been the one who taught her how to speak. Sweet, loyal Isaac. He had earned her indulgence, and he knew not to push his luck. He had seen what happened to those who had.
“So, this is a jube tree,” she said, returning to the subject at hand, “What good is it? Do we make paper from it or something?”
“It produces fragrant flowers in the springtime,” Isaac said, “It’s fruit is indigestible.”
“Ah. Diet fruit,” Jessica said, “I knew I smelled profit. Have a team of marketers and geneticists get on that immediately. This tree will look good in my new garden. When will my villa be ready?”
“Soon, Director. Two weeks at most. The excavators have removed the last of the bodies.”
Jessica had acquired Cyan by hostile takeover, and the previous owners had put up a good fight, until she called in her orbital artillery. The enormous tungsten bolt drove the resistance underground, quite literally. Jessica would have been content to let her enemies rot under her new home, but intercorporate law dictated that the remains of executives be treated with respect. She would have preferred to use their skulls as garden ornaments. Cyan would be the jewel of her corporate crown, and her villa would be a masterpiece, no matter how many had to die to make it so.

New full story tomorrow, so see you in 24.

Blog KenGreen

Here is this week's story. One again, it's too long to do in one post, so I split it up.

WEDDING BELLES, part one
By Ken Green
“Ensign, activate the transit beam,” Lieutenant ordered.
Ensign Ellen Carter’s pretty brow furrowed in concentration. She slowly moved the slidey thing that, for reasons related to intellectual property law, in no way resembled the controls of a transporter.
The transit beam machine made woo noises. A glowing pillar of light appeared in the beam containment chamber, pulsing and sparkling until it resolved itself into the shape of a woman.
Carter goggled in amazement as she recognized the passenger. She grinned a big goofy grin and waved.
“Hi there, Mrs. Haan, T’Haan’s mother!”
“What? Who…” the woman squinted, stepping off the transit platform. “Oh, you. Ellen. T’Haan’s…friend from the academy. How nice.”
“You remember me!” Carter rejoiced.
Mrs. Haan smiled a strained smile.
“You make an impression, Dear. You appear to be in good health,” she said without joy, “Have you been wearing that red shirt I sent you?”
“No, Mrs. Haan, I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. It’s so nice to see you!”
Unable to contain herself a moment longer, she ran to the woman and hugged her.
“Yes, Dear, that’s very nice,” Mrs. Haan cringed.
“Wait,” Carter pulled away, “Does T’Haan know you’re here on the Vasco de Gama?”
“No, Dear. I was hoping to surprise her.”
“She’s going to be so happy!” Carter gasped, “I’ll page her!” She ran to the spiral staircase, and yelled up to the astrogation deck, “T’Haan, come down to the transporter room!”
“Don’t call it that!” T’Haan yelled back, “We’ll get sued!”
“Oh, Whatever!” Carter yelled, “Just get down here, it’s super important!”
Clomp, clomp, clomp, T’Haan’s go-go boots clomped down the stairs.
“Carter, what in the name of Space are you bellowing about? I was in the middle of… Oh.” Her tone changed, and not for the better.
“Mother. What a pleasant surprise,” she said, her voice flat.
“Daughter. How nice to see you.” Her mother replied, her voice flatter.
“It’s so funny, when you two talk to each other,” Carter chuckled, “You sound like bored androids.” She put an arm around each woman’s shoulder and pulled them into a group hug.
“I’m so glad you came to visit, Mrs. Haan, we’re going to have so much fun together, this is the best surprise ever!”
“Oh, no, Dear, I have an even bigger surprise for the both of you.”
“Really?” Carter squealed with delight, “What is it? Is it a present?”
“You might say that,” Mrs. Haan said, her voice brightening, “Do be a lamb, and go work that transit beam again, will you?”
“Ohmygosh, Ohmygosh,” Carter ran back to the controls, waving her hands in excitement.
“Mother, what you up to?” T’Haan asked.
“You’ll see in a moment, child. Hush now, I don’t want to miss a single detail.” She licked her lips.
“Oh, Lieutenant,” she sing-songed, “One more to beam up, with your permission, of course.”
“Huh, What?” Lieutenant snapped to wakefulness, “Yeah, sure,” he waved to Carter, “Do the thing to the thing.”
Carter did the thing to the thing. Again, the transit beam glowed and sparkled. This time, it produced a man in a very expensive suit.
Carter’s jaw dropped.
“A man? What kind of gift is that? What is T’Haan going to do with a man, Mrs. Haan? You do know your daughter is a …”
“Kai-Shek?” T’Haan gasped, “Is that you? What are you doing here?”
“Hanni,” Carter said, calling T’Haan by her pet name that I hadn’t bothered to mention previously, because I’m a lazy writer, do try to keep up, it’ll make everything go faster, “Who is this guy?”
“Mother,” T’Haan asked, staring in disbelief, “What is going on here?”
“Daughter!” Mrs. Haan admonished, “Have you forgotten your manners? Aren’t you going to introduce your friend to your fiancé?”
“Fiancé?!” Carter shouted, running to confront T’Haan, “What is she talking about?”
“I’ll explain later,” T’Haan said, pushing Carter aside, “After all these years, you decide to exercise your option?” she asked Kai-Shek.
“As is my right, by time-honored custom,” he said, “I have three days till the deadline. This is perfectly proper…”
“No!” Carter shouted, stomping her foot, her eyes filling with tears, “You can explain it to me now, Hanni! Tell me what’s happening!
“Carter,” T’Haan said, trying to sound calm, “Please, let me get this sorted out…”
“Let me explain, Dear,” Mrs. Haan offered, “I’m a mother. I know to break this to her gently…”
“You stay out of this, Mother, You evil, poisonous…”
“Break what to me?” Carter cried, “What’s happening?”
“Now, Dear,” Mrs. Haan said, taking Carters hands in hers and smiling sweetly, “It’s really quiet simple. T’Haan is going to leave you, and you will never see her again, you horrible, disgusting pervert.”
“No!” Carter screamed, backing away, “No, this can’t be happening. Tell them, Hanni. Tell them you’re not leaving. Tell them!”
“Carter, please. I can explain this… ”
“Oh my God, you are!”
Carter ran from the room, crying.
#
“Carter, are you in there?” T’Haan asked, climbing up to the bunk.
“No,” Carter said, from behind the privacy curtain, “Go away.”
“Oh, for Space’s sake, Carter, you’re a StarForce officer, and an alleged adult. Stop acting like a spoiled child.”
“I don’t want to!”
“Well, I don’t care what you want, this is ridiculous. I’m coming in.”
“No! Don’t you dare… ”
T’Haan parted the curtain and crawled in. The bunks on the Vasco de Gama were barely adequate for one occupant, so they were a very tight fit for two.
Carter rolled onto her side and flattened herself against the back wall.
“Is it later enough?” she asked, “Are you here to explain what’s going on?”
“Ellen, I…”
“Why do you that?” Carter asked, “Why do you only call me Ellen when there’s nobody else around?”
“I don’t know; it just seems like the right thing to…”
“Yeah, you do know. You do it to maintain distance between us. You do it to control me. You do it to keep me in line.”
“Is that want you want to talk about right now?” T’Haan asked, “Our level of intimacy, and who controls whom?”
Carter considered the question.
“No. Tell me what’s going on. Tell me why you have a fiancé, and why it isn’t me.”
“Okay,” T’Haan took a deep breath and released it slowly, “How much have I told you about my father?”
“Almost nothing. Other than he’s dead, and you don’t seem very broke up about it.”
“There’s a reason for that. Late in his life, my father developed a taste for gambling, but he never acquired an aptitude for it. Once he squandered the family fortune, he borrowed money to pay his debts. But he instead of using the borrowed money to pay up, he gambled it away. So he needed to borrow more money. Eventually, he burned through all his credit, so he secured his last loan with the only collateral he still had. That collateral was me.”
“Wait. What? Back up a bit. How could you be collateral for a loan? That doesn’t make sense.”
“In Sophian culture, a man can sell his daughter’s betrothal, and a man who has purchased a betrothal can sell it to a third party. It becomes void when she reaches her twenty-fifth birthday, but until that day, any man who owns her paper can claim her as her bride.”
“Huh.” Carter said, “When you’re telling me this, I mean when you are actually saying the words you just said to me, do you have any idea how completely insane they sound?”
“To your ears, perhaps. But I am Sophian. It is my way.”
“Hanni, you are a citizen of the Confederation, and you live in the twenty-sixth century. Slavery is illegal. Kai-Shek cannot legally compel you to marry him. You don’t have to do this.”
“Ellen, I know that. But this is not a question of law. It is a question of honor. And I do have to do this.”
“Why?”
“Our lands are all sold, and our fortune is gone. Honor is all that my family has left.”
“Are you serious? Are you really going to abandon your career, leave me, and throw away every moment we were ever going to have together, just for the sake of an abstract concept?”
“For honor, yes, Ellen. I cannot do otherwise. It is what I am.”
“Great. That’s just great. Do me a favor, huh? Go be what you are someplace else, somewhere I can’t see you. Because looking at you, and knowing that you’re leaving, hurts.”
“I’m sorry that you feel that way…”
“What are you, deaf? Weren’t you listening? I don’t want to see you! GET OUT OF MY BUNK!” Carter screamed.
T’Haan, shocked by the outburst, rolled away, almost falling out of the bunk, and fled.
“No,’ Carter sobbed, shaking her head, “Don’t go.”
#
Miserable, Carter took the stairs down to the engineering deck. She found Larson in the tool cage.
“Larson,” she said, “Can I borrow a screwdriver, some hyperpliers, and instructions on how to sabotage an airlock?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” he said, not looking up from his work, “You’re not going to kill yourself.” He hooked a stool with his foot and pulled it out for her.
“Why wouldn’t I?” she asked as she sat down, “If T’Haan leaves, I don’t want to live anymore.”
“You’re being ridiculous. The galaxy is full of women…”
“But it isn’t full of T’Haans! Why doesn’t anybody understand that? I need her. Before I met her, I was such a mess…”
Larson glanced up at her.
“Carter, you’re still a mess,” he said.
“Yeah, which just goes to show, I still need her. Am I talking to myself here? Do I need to make you flash cards? We had it all planned out. We were going to stay together once we left the service, buy a place, set up a bed and breakfast, grow old and fat together.” She sagged forward, rested her head on the desktop, sobbed.
Not knowing what to do, Larson reached over and started petting her back.
“Yeah, well,” he said, “Life is like that. You make all these plans, and the universe just comes along, and kicks a hole in them.”
“It hurts, Larson. It hurts, so, so much…” She sobbed big racking sobs, tears rolling down her cheeks, “And she doesn’t even care. All she can do it talk about duty.”
“Yeah, I know, breaking up always hurts.” He skootched his stool closer to her, “Get over here,” he pulled her to him, hugging her, stroking her hair, “I know it hurts, but sometimes you just have to accept what happens. What else can you do? She’s made up her mind. It’s not like you can sabotage the wedding.”
Carter pulled away from him.
“Sabotage the wedding? That’s a brilliant idea! Larson, you’re a genius!” elated, she kissed his cheek and leapt to her feet, “I’ll do it!”
“Wait. What? No, I didn’t say that…”
But she was already gone.
#.

Will Carter sabotage the wedding? Will true love prevail? Find out tomorrow, when I post the conclusion of this epic tale! See you in 24,

Edited: KenGreen on 29th May, 2016 - 7:32am

KenGreen Blog

And now, the conclusion to Wedding Belles:

Wedding Belles, part Two:

“Buzz, Buzz,” The door buzzer buzzed.
“It’s open,” Carter purred, her voice low, husky, and seductive, “Do come in.” It had taken some persuasion to reserve the private lounge on such short notice, but Carter had done it. Her hair was done up, her makeup was perfect, and she was wearing a beautiful synthosilk dressing gown over absolutely nothing.
Kai-Shek walked in.
“I got your message. What was so…Oh, I was expecting T’Haan…”
“T’Haan?” Carter chuckled, “You’ll have the rest of your life to see T’Haan. A whole life time of seeing her at the breakfast table. But you and me have just this night. One night of mad passion.”
“Look, Miss…Carter, is it? I don’t know what you have planned, but I can tell you it’s doomed to fail. You have nothing to tempt with.”
“Don’t I?” she shrugged, and the robe fell to the floor, revealing a truly amazing body, “We both know T’Haan has nothing like this.” It was true, T’Haan was lithe and thin, with the body of a dancer. Carter was voluptuous, with the body of a goddess.
“You’re right,” Kai-Shek nodded, clearly enjoying the view, “But one thing that T’Haan does have, and the only thing I care about, is her family’s landholdings on Cyan. With her pastrami farms, and my pumpernickel orchards, I will build a Reuben empire.”
“Pastrami?” Carter gasped, “Is that what all this is about?
The door flew open. T’Haan ran in, gasping for breath.
“I got your message. What’s the emergency…What in the holy name of Space is going on here?” she shouted.
“Oh!” Carter gasped, grabbing Kai-Shek’s hands and putting them on her breasts, “Unhand me, you cad! How dare you? Help me, T’Haan, your fiancé is raping me!” She pulled his face to hers and was kissing him, “Stop it! Stop it, you beast, you monster!”
T’Haan rolled her eyes stepped around the two, and gave Carter a nerve pinch on the shoulder.
Carter stood paralyzed, her face and body rigid.
T’Haan pried Kai-Shek loose.
“I’m sorry about this,” she said, straightening his suit for him, “She’s a little…”
“She’s insane, that’s what she is,” Kai-Shek said.
“Yes,” T’Haan nodded, “Please, I…I need to talk to her, explain things. She won’t cause any more problems, I promise you. I will see you at dinner.”
He left.
T’Haan stood and regarded Carter, who was still locked in a comical pose.
“I should leave you like that,” She said, “What were you trying prove, you lunatic? You know, if you’re very, very lucky, he won’t file an assault charge.” Her expression softened, “Please, Carter, please stop making this harder than it already is.”
Carter said nothing, she just stood there paralyzed.
T’Haan sighed, put her hand on Carter’s shoulder, and un-nerve pinched her.
“What should I do?” Carter asked, rubbing her shoulder, “Should I make it easy for you? Should I make it easy to break my heart? Because that is what you’re doing. You’re killing me.”
“No, Ellen, I am not killing you. And please put your robe back on.”
Carter bent down to retrieve her robe. She draped it over her arm.
“Yes,” she said, “You are killing me. You’re taking my life. The life we planned. The life we were going to have together. A life of waking up together, walking hand in hand, going to new places, a life of laughing and kissing and taking care of each other, a life of joy, a life of falling asleep in each other’s arms. That is what you’re taking from me.”
T’Haan’s lip quivered, and tears welled up in her eyes.
“Do you think I don’t want that? Do you think I don’t want all those things? I love you! The idea of not being with you is agony.”
“Then don’t leave, Hanni. Don’t marry him. Stay with me.”
“I have to marry him. It is my duty. My family…”
“The only family you have left is your mother, and you hate her. Why are doing this for her? You owe her nothing.”
“I owe her everything. Everything I am came from her.”
“Don’t leave me,” Carter begged, “Send him away. Don’t leave this.” Carter pulled T’Haan and kissed her, slow, deep and tender.
T’Haan pulled away.
“I’m sorry,” she said, tears running down her cheeks, “I’m so, so sorry, but I will marry him. It is my duty. I’m going to move the wedding up to tomorrow morning…”
“No!” Carter protested.
“It’s better this way. Let this be done quickly. Your heart will heal, and so will mine. The sooner we start, the better.”
“But, no…” Carter’s knees gave out, and she fell to the floor.
“Goodbye, Carter,” T’Haan said, “Goodbye forever. I will always love you. I can only hope that someday this pain will fade.”
She left the room.
#
“Well, isn’t this nice?” Mrs. Haan said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
It wasn’t, not really. T’Haan had enlisted Tabitha and Larson to decorate the mess hall, but they didn’t really have a lot to work with.
“It’ll serve,” Kai-Shek said, “We have the marriage contract, we just need to sign it, this ceremony is just window dressing.”
“No,” Mrs. Haan hissed, “It is not. My daughter will have a wedding. I have waited her whole life for this moment. I will sign that contract when this ceremony has ended, and not one minute before.”
The captain stood at a makeshift podium, not quite resplendent in his dress uniform. Tabitha, a big feleen sensors technician, held a bouquet of paper flowers in her big furry paws.
“Right,” Captain coughed, “We just need the bride, and we can proceed. Ah, there she is now.”
T’Haan entered the mess hall, her gown as white as the nitrogen snows of Titan, her eyes red-rimmed from crying.
Lieutenant Doodad, the ship’s token android, who in no way resembled a beloved character from a time-honored but increasingly crappy TV and movie franchise, began emitting the Wedding March from his hidden speakers.
Utterly alone, T’Haan walked down the aisle.
“Noo!” The door flew open. Carter launched herself in a flying tackle. T’Haan took a step forward. Carter crashed to the floor, her arms wrapped around the T’Haan’s thighs.
“Carter, what are you doing?” T’Haan hissed.
“Desperately hoping you didn’t have broccoli for breakfast today,” Carter said, “And stopping this farce of a wedding.”
“Get off her, you hag!” Mrs. Haan screamed, “Leave my daughter alone!”
T’Haan half-turned to look down at Carter.
“Carter, please. Try to act as if you had some dignity. You can’t keep me from getting married.”
“I can keep you from walking to that podium,” Carter tightened her grip, “You can’t get married if you don’t reach the podium.”
“That’s not how this works, Carter. This is a wedding, not a football game. Tell her, Captain. Tell her she has to let me go!”
Captain sighed, “I’m sorry, Carter. But she’s made up her mind. You,” he pointed to Kai-Shek, “Stand by your bride.”
Kai-Shek moved to stand by T’Haan. Captain lifted the podium and placed it in front of the happy couple.
“Dearly beloved,” he droned, “We are gathered here today…”
“No, T’Haan, don’t do this!” Carter pleaded, crying, “Don’t marry him! He doesn’t love you! He only wants you for your pastrami!”
“Pastrami?” T’Haan asked, “What are you talking about?”
“You may as well know,” her fiancé confirmed, “Your friend is right. I’m marrying you only to acquire your family’s vast holdings on Cyan, specifically the pastrami farms.”
T’Hann threw her head back and laughed, “The pastrami farms? We no longer own the pastrami farms. Daddy sold those years ago, to cover his gambling debts!”
He was outraged. He turned to Mrs. Haan.
“Is this true?” he hissed, through clenched teeth.
Mrs. Haan cringed, “Yes, it’s true.”
“You lied to me,” he hissed, “This wedding is off. I want nothing to do with any of you. I release you from your bond.” He turned away and left the room.
“What does that mean?” Carter asked, “Does that mean you don’t have to leave?”
“Yes, you lunatic, that is exactly what it means,” T’Haan said, “You can get your face out of my ass now.”
Carter smiled, blew her nose on the hem of the wedding gown, and sprang to her feet.
“Well, I hope you’re happy,” T’Haan’s mom said, clearly not.
“Well, then you’re in luck, Mrs. Haan, because right now, I’m the happiest little nerfdiver that ever nerfed a nerf!”
“So there’s not going to be a wedding?” Tabitha asked, and started eating the bouquet.
“No,” said T’Haan, “There’s…Yes, actually, stop eating the bouquet, Tabitha. There will be a wedding today.”
She dropped to one knee and took Carter’s hands in hers.
“What are you doing?” Carter asked.
“Something I should have done the day I met you, my love. Ellen Carter, will you…”
“Oh my gosh. Is this really happening?”
“Ellen Carter, will you do me the honor of…”
“Yes, Yes! I will!”
“Ellen Carter, will you marry…”
“Yes! Of course I will!”
“Ellen Carter, will you please let me finish asking this question?”
“Ask it faster! I want to say yes again!”
“Ellen Carter, will you marry me?”
“Yes! Yes, times a hundred million! T’Haan, I will marry you!”
“Oh, this is just obscene,” Mrs. Haan said, “I don’t have to stand here and watch this. I’m leaving.”
“No, Mother,” T’Haan said, “You went to a lot of effort to make this happen. It’s only fitting that you should see your plan come to fruition. You have earned this moment. So you just stay where you are, and watch the show.”
“Young lady, I do not take orders from you. You can’t make me stay.”
“Maybe she can’t,” Tabitha said, “But I can.” The big feleen placed her soft padded paws on Mrs. Haan’s shoulders, and flexed her claws. Feleen are big as lions and strong as tigers. Mrs. Haan wasn’t going anywhere, and she knew it.
“Just think, Mrs. Haan, we’re going to be family!” Carter rejoiced, “From now on, I’m going to call you Mom!”
“Oh, how nice, Dear.”

End
And that is this week's story. Starting tomorrow, I'm going to try something new: Instead of posting every day, I'll just be posting the weekly stories every Sunday. That way, I can focus solely on making the best story I can, instead of posting random bits of typing in a mad scramble to have something to show you every day. We'll see how it works out. Thanks for reading.

Edited: KenGreen on 30th May, 2016 - 7:37am

KenGreen Blog - Page 15

Starting today, I'll no longer be doing daily posts. I'll just be posting the weekly story every Sunday morning. That way, I'll have more time to write the weekly story, and, who knows, maybe they'll be better stories. So I'll be seeing you Sunday, I guess. And, as always, thanks for reading.

KenGreen Blog Public Member Blogs - Page 15

This week's story:

THE POEM
By Ken Green
Penelope pinned the heavy white sheet to the clothesline. The ever-present wind caught and filled it, like the mainsail on a mighty ship.
“How like a maiden’s breast it swells, yearning to be free.” She smiled and then giggled, shocked at what she had dared say aloud. Papa would not be pleased to hear her say such a thing. He did not care for such flights of fancy.
“Stop filling your head with such fanciful notions,” he would say to her, “You will be a woman soon, and should be thinking only of practical things, such doing your chores. Or finding a husband.” A stern man, he had no tolerance for musings, or fancies. He had been very cross when she had taught herself to read. What kind of man would seek a bookish wife?
But Papa was in the dairy barn, tending the cows, too far away to hear her musings, and the sheet did look like sail of a ship, or a maiden’s breast, yearning to be free.
“To take a maiden in my arms, to hold her and…” she said, tasting each word as it escaped her. She smiled and shook her head. Perhaps some things should always remain unspoken. In any case, such words would not get the laundry done. She squared her shoulders and returned to the task at hand.
A sudden gust of wind hit her from behind, almost knocking her off her feet.
“That was churlish,” she scolded, turning to face the east wind, and that’s when she saw it.
Barreling down the hill, coming from the hayfield, rushing fast and angry, straight at her, a poem.
“What, now? Can you not see that I am busy?”
But Penelope knew there was no reasoning with a poem, for poems are the opposite of reason. Only one thing to do.
She dropped the basket of wet washing, gathered her skirts, and started running.
She stole a glance over her shoulder, and the poem was gaining on her. Of course it was. Unfettered by skirts, boots, reason, or responsibility, poems were free to run as fast as they liked.
“I imagine you think yourself very clever,” she said, “Well, you won’t win this time!” Too many poems had won this race, rushing past her as she fumbled for paper, or a pencil. Poems lost to her forever. Perhaps they were captured by some other poet, living to the west. Penelope would never know.
Still a furlong to the house. Why was the clothesline so far from the house? No time to think. The poem was hot on her heels. If it escaped her, who knew when the next one would come?
She stumbled, recovered, and they were running abreast. She could actually see the damned thing, in the corner of her eye.
“For pity’s sake,” she appealed to it, “Do you not wish to exist? Do you not yearn to be read? I offer you a chance at immortality!”
But the poem did not heed her, having neither sense nor mercy.
“Have it your way, then,” she said to it, “I will have you, even if I have to break my legs. Even if I never run again, you will be mine.”
Now within sprinting distance, she spent her reserve that she had been saving, pulling ahead, her heart beating so fast she feared it would explode. She smiled at the thought, for she couldn’t spare the breath to laugh. To die reaching for a pen. What more perfect death could she ask for?
She reached the farmhouse and crashed through the door. Where was the paper? Papa didn’t approve of her writing, and had taken to hiding her supplies.
But Papa was not clever, and he was cursed with a daughter that was. She ran to the china cabinet, pulled open the drawer. No paper! Papa had found her stash! Wind rattled the windowpanes. There was no time.
To the laundry room! Folded behind the iron sink! She bolted toward it, catching her shoulder on a doorway. It hurt like the devil, but there was no time to wince. The race was almost lost.
The paper was not there, either. She despaired. Was there no paper to be had in this cursed house?
No. Not in this house. But there was another house.
Heedless of pain, she crashed through the back door and ran the short distance to the outhouse. Holding her breath, she reached in, grabbed the heavy Sears & Roebuck catalog, flipped to the order form, and reached down to her boot for the pencil stub she kept there.
The poem rushed past her, laughing its triumph.
“Not this day,” she said, as her hand shot out. She grabbed the poem by the tip of its tail. It whimpered, fought, and cursed, but she held on and pulled it back.
She wrote as fast as she could, then paused to admire her work.
“Oh, very funny,” she scolded the poem, now trapped forever behind the graphite bars of its paper prison.
It was written backwards. Spiteful thing!
“You haven’t defeated me, don’t think for a moment that you have,” she told it, “I shall hold you to a mirror and transcribe you. Now that I’ve caught you, I have all the time I need.” She folded the page and tucked it into an apron pocket. She walked back to the house.
Papa was waiting for her, standing stern, his work-hardened fists at his sides.
“Daughter, how many rods must I break upon you before you become a proper woman?” he asked.
“At least one more rod than God has seen fit to create, Papa. From what I’ve seen, hurting me only hardens my resolve. Shall I go to the kitchen now? Do you wish to beat me?”
“No,” he said, “You are nearly full grown. I leave that task to the poor fool that marries you, if such a man exists. Get back to your chores. The laundry will not hang itself.”
“Yes, Papa.” She went back to her clothesline and hung more sheets. They flapped in the wind. No, they danced. They danced in the wind like wild women, naked and free.
“Come with us,” They beckoned, “Dance with us in sacred groves, far from the eyes of men. You will never be happy as some farmer’s wife, or a storekeeper’s drudge. Come with us, and taste the world.”
“Soon, my sisters,” she promised, “Soon as I find my courage.”
End.