Novel excerpt: My Name is Scout

Novel Excerpt:
MY NAME IS SCOUT

     Context: The cult known as the Children of Sydelle have kidnapped the mother of Youssou Hadebe. To effect her rescue, Magistrate Jomoro al-Amain has called in an elite fighting force, the Rangers. Youssou meanwhile has persuaded Jomoro to release Jamai Dlamini from an unjust prison sentence for the duration of the operation. She has come to a point where she has won the Rangers’ respect, enough to have earned a nickname…
     Narrated by Youssou:

     The Rangers seemed to have a penchant for enclosed spaces. We congregated in the command tent, what Cobalt’s men referred to as the Eagle’s Den, no doubt because of the eagle-head on the flagpole hoisted behind us. Cobalt stood at the head of a map table which took up most of the available space of a rather sizeable tent. As before the participants in this particular briefing we all wedged ourselves around the table.
     “Now that we have our guide we can get started,” Cobalt began. With his swivel stick he tapped at different grid sections that divided the relief map. “We’re going to divide into four squads of 24 men each. You will each be assigned a grid with sniffer drones.
     “These drones will be enabled to spit additional mini-drones--gnats, essentially--which will explore each abandoned facility. No doubt the enemy will mistake these minis for fleas or some other pest. These will be exploratory missions. Do not attack unless you have a reasonable chance of success. Our objective is to locate the enemy, assess and report back.
     “Bear in mind this is a process of elimination. There are 1,500 monasteries and churches spread over a thousand kilometers in Gondar and the Simien Mountains. Some of these churches are still active, some have been abandoned, and one of them might be the one where our enemy is squatting. We’re going to sort the good ones from the bad, starting with what we assume are abandoned sites.
     “It is probable we may encounter bands of shiftas on our patrols. Should you do so, douse them with anesthetic gas. We’ll see whether Intel Section can squeeze any actionable intelligence out of them. Corpsman will distribute filter masks and remote-control leash pods for each sniffer.
     “One more thing. There was an innocent woman taken by these devils. Our primary objective is her safe recovery. Now then, any questions?”
     Beside me at the far end of the table, Jamai’s hand hesitantly went up. “Why do they call him ‘Corpsman’? Doesn’t he have a name?”
     “Umm, that is my name,” he replied in a soft almost effeminate voice.
     “That’s what they call you?” Jamai asked.
     The man offered a thin shrug. “Exactly. They always call ‘hai, Corpsman’. It suits me, so it’s kind of stuck.”
     “Huh. It’s a lucky thing I won’t be here long enough for you gentleman to slap a designation on me!” As she was saying this, Cobalt paused in his habitual rapping of his swivel stick on his thigh. He tried to shuffle to one side as his eyes rolled.
     I unfortunately was not as quick. She suddenly found herself in a sea of abashed faces. “Don’t tell me it’s the same thing Sydelle’s idiots call me,” she groaned.
     “There was a vote,” Cobalt responded. “It was precisely because the enemy gave you that label that it was a non-starter. Given the choice between ‘Pythoness’ and ‘Scout’, the majority voted for the latter.”
     It was a quick briefing. Cobalt suggested we all get a good night’s rest; tomorrow would be a good day for hunting. Once in our tent, Jamai commented, “It’s a good thing they hadn’t decided to give you a name, rafiki…oh no. What is it?”
     “’Angry Scowl’,” I said and rolled over.

Sample, 'Points of Reference'

“Colonel, what happened to the Naga Sentry?”       

He wouldn’t, or couldn’t look at me. He kept his eyes on the double vault of airlock doors ahead of us. There were guys in spacesuits a lot like my skinsuit, but with helmets, preparing a spacepod just for me.    

“Your parents were good people. All of the people on that ship were good people. I couldn’t stand the sight of that thing. I had orders to bring it in to port. I was commanding a brig carrying it in our cargo hold. When we passed behind the star to make  a standard orbital approach, I flushed it into Alexis’ photosphere.”             

I nodded. “Good.”       

“You’ve never talked about the seven months you spent as a Loner on that ship.”       “

Why would I want to?”          

I shut my eyes tight. Just like that a flash of memory returned, as real as when it happened. My father standing over my mother’s body, staring at his hands. His running screaming into the calesthetics ring between sleep pods until another crazy passenger shivved him.        

Me, seven years old, wheeling my parents’ bodies on their own sleep cot to the science lab freezer where we stored cellular samples for seeding on A-Seven. I secured them on their mat, spooning them together in death as they’d been in life, before this fucking voyage began. Then I shut the freezer door.      

“It’s ready,” the Colonel grunted. “How about you?”               

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

[a very short chapter for a story using my DeviantArt character Lianna]

Enjoy.

www.mike3839.deviantart.com

This Should Come as a Surprise to No One: The Female Doctor

Remember when Lenny Henry became the Doctor? He was a black man, a comedienne who for one glorious, brief, hilarious sketch became the universe’s most famous Time Lord. Nobody whined about that. Well, I suppose it might have had a little to do with the fact that he wasn’t really the Doctor. It wasn’t CANON!!! The BBC gave Colin Baker the year off, and Lenny Henry stepped up. But, he could have been, and I would have been happy with it.

             I would love to have seen him do more as the Doctor. Alas, I knew this skit only as an extra included on the Comic Relief VHS, “The Curse of Fatal Death”, which to be honest was the best Doctor Who program we were given in 20 years. Sure it was; it was written by Steven Moffat, wasn’t it? That was his first foray into the world of Who, and what a debut.

            So, sorry, Thick-Of-Skull here, not getting why y’all getting so uppity because the new Doctor is (gasp) a--A WOMAN! AAAAUUUGHHH!

            Yeh. Calm down and let ‘em regenerate.

13th Doctor Jodie Whittaker

            Why are you so surprised at this? You didn’t care when the General (Ken Bones) , the old British white guy, regenerated into T'nia Miller—a BLACK, BRITISH woman. EEEKKK! And oh man, was she relieved to be a woman again! You got down with that, but you object to the Doctor we know changing gender?

            This is not a PC plot, so you can yank that stick out from up your proper white male ass. This is not a surprise. They’ve been hinting at it for 41 years, ever since the newborn Eldrad made that throw-away line in “The Hand of Fear”: “Oh come, Doctor, you sound like Professor Watson. As a Time Lord you should be well acquainted with the process of regeneration.”

            Yeh, that was waaaay back in Tom Baker’s era. And every single time since then when it was announced that a new actor would be taking the role, the fans started clamoring for a woman Doctor. I’m excited for this. I can’t wait for 13 to get snarky with Davros, or Missy, or the Cybermen. You know what, screw all you white dudes and you PC paranoia. I’m setting my gear up for Season 11.

http://www.doctorwhonews.net/2017/07/bbc-responds-to-complaints-about-casting.html

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GPbiGb_JVLI

"Adorable moment young girl reacts to new Doctor Who announcment"

Taking Down the Cameras (short fiction)

This was the day I’d always dreamed of, since that first afternoon I saw those spycams on their spindly rods posing over our traffic signals. Only a few appeared at first but as time moved on, they began to multiply like fleas at every traffic stop. I fumed every day, even sped past those electronic signposts screaming “Speed limit exceeded”, just to be contrary. Maybe it was cowardice not acting on our frustrations sooner, but the generations pass, new voices arise with the balls of the young, and I was proud to be invited to stand with my grandson as we tossed a tow cable around the spycam’s neck and yanked hard.

[New short short story. Enjoy. ]

Nooses? Not on my watch, sonny

Grow up, you idiots.

https://www.nytimes.com/2017/07/05/us/nooses-hate-crimes-philadelphia-mint.html?mcubz=0

Yep, the noose is back. Across the Southern U.S. these things have been cropping up too frequently, symbolic of the bigotry that's been simmering to the surface since last November's election. One incident that made national headlines came towards the end of June, when a white male coin maker carried a noose across the factory floor at the U.S. Mint in Philadelphia to the workstation of a fellow African-American coworker.

The veneer of civilization is thin in the best of times; all it takes is a little stress to bring the Neanderthal roaring back. That's not acceptable.

No, actually, this is obscene. You're telling me in the 21st Century, white males feel privileged enough that this sort of intimidation is going to be allowed? How about NO. Fuck NO. Keep your nooses in the gutter with you, where they belong. This is not anything that I'll tolerate.

PDF Midnight Interruption

Short excerpt from 'Sanity's Edge', a novel in progress

     I slipped off the ship after dark, once I could sense that everyone in the village was asleep. The forest was new but Mama had found me a new friend. We stared at each other under the shade of a mango tree as the Moon climbed into the sky. Its tongue flicked the air in the three-meter space that divided us. 

     This wasn’t one of the gen-altered snakes I was accustomed to from my home. This bugger was all wild, possibly the first of its kind that I’d seen since childhood, possibly the first I’d ever seen in my life. Sweet Ngai, was she massive! Her trunk was thicker around than my thighs.

I sensed her full belly, so I had no worries on that score. Her scales had a fresh gloss, as though she had just completed shedding not too long ago. I suppose she wouldn’t object to a warm body to enfold. I closed the distance between us and stepped into her embrace.

     I knew this would be a problem as soon as a hundred kilos seemed on my hips, pressing me down. My knees buckled at first, but I kept to my feet as a second curl of muscle wound behind my legs, brushing the skin of my thighs before plopping atop the first coil, in the process pushing up my breasts.

     Both were solid rippling muscle. A thrill shuddered through my chest, and perhaps a little excitement. I’d never given myself to such a beast before. A third coil slipped past my shoulders, pressing my breasts into flattened ovals between them. Sweat trickled over them and down the middle of my back; but that was probably just the heat of this place. For now, I was content. As I held out my hand, the last meter of its tail settled in my palm, circling twice before cinching tight. With my eyes shut, we dropped as one bundled mass into the soft grass.

     Of course that wasn’t the end of it. When was it ever so? The sun had barely emerged as a pink fingernail on the horizon when my hand comm chirruped in my waist pouch. This was ten meters away, along with the rest of my clothes.

     Brutus, for so I named her, showed no inclination to release such a rich source of warmth, and gods, I didn’t want to leave this body hug just yet, either. Oh well. I stretched forth my free hand, the new new left one.

     The hand comm made an oddly hard thump as it whipped through the grass into the false meat of my false hand. I settled back in Brutus’s coils, pillowing my neck on hers as I put the comm to my ear. “Jambo?”

     “The correct greeting would be I ni sogoma, young miss, but we will let it pass this time,” a firm male voice replied. “Am I speaking to Miss Jamai Dlamini?”

     “Yes,” I said, suddenly a little nervous.

“My name is Oumar Hadad, the local prefect for this hamlet. Would it be possible for you to spare me a few minutes?”

     “H-have I done something wrong?”

     “Not at all. Your Captain Ismalla discovered you missing this morning and got it into his head that you would be in the fields, with a snake. And so you are.”

     My body seemed to have frozen, even snug in Brutus’ coils, though my stare darted left and right. “Don’t be alarmed. The local children spotted you sleeping from some trees they were climbing. They almost took you for dead, but for the fact that you were snoring.”

     “I snore…?”

     “My deputy has been watching you via long-range glasses, to see to your safety. He will escort you to my office, in your own time.”

     My own time…I could make them wait another hour… 

     No, best to be done with it. “Whenever he’s done masturbating, I’d like to dress in peace.”

     A deliberate pause followed. “Let me speak with him. You can pull yourself together while I’m berating him.” And the comm chirrped off.

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Deviantart link 

Red River Range (1938) feat. John Wayne as Stoney Brooke

Another George Sherman time-spender, this Western is a curious mix of old & new throwing in cowboys, automobiles and trucks loaded with rustled cattle. Early on is a funny scene where the cattleman’s association can’t figure where all their cows are going, and al their 10-gallon hats are piled on the table in front of them. Naturally the Three Mesquiteers are the first people the governor sends for to help.  

Which is not to say they’re the first to the scene. Stony switches places with an old friend, Tex (natch) to infiltrate the rustling gang. Tex has been sent by the Meat Packers association to investigate, and he’s quite a singer as well. It’s actually a clever scheme where they slaughter the cattle on the spot and then bury the hides. It’s a bit of a dark subject, which would probably receive a gorier interpretation if it were made nowadays.

This is my fourth Mesquiteers oater, and the Duke’s last string of B-movies before his fortunes changed forever with Stagecoach. I hadn’t noticed before that the surnames of two Mesquiteers are Smith & Johnson. That subject came up while all three heroes show up for dinner at the same time so they can all hit on the same girl, Jane Mason; she is played by Republic serial star Lorna Gray. 

Stony (ie Duke) for his part is hit on by Mrs. Maxwell, a fat lady rustler played by vaudeville star Polly Moran. All hi efforts to evade her are for naught. Duke proves to be very talented at pretending he can’t ride a horse. 

“Think them trucks are involved in the rustling?”  

“Nahh, (they’d) never get enough of them in there.”  

“Well, what do you think (they’ve) been doin’?”    

     -actual movie dialogue

An agreeable time-spender, this nonetheless has its clichés, which is what you can expect from a 1930’s flick. Of course there is the stereotypical subservient black servant, and of course the man in charge of the cattle rustlers is the town’s leading citizen. One of the Duke’s last flings before he walks into legend.