Scenes From A Wandering Mind

By Rory Steves

from 700 years in the future to middle ages ireland to today, rory's writing explores reality and what might be reality if reality would just get out of the way. we look in on vegetarian dragons, thawed out heads from cryogenic storage, the perils of truck driving both today and many centuries hence, and the future relationship between dogs and cats.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rory Steves
• Release date: Sep 23, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301764549

Rory Steves

As a child my parents and teachers used to try to curb my "wild imagination", they said my mind wandered too much. Now I write science fiction, and a little mystery-thriller. My short story collections will give you a taste of my writing. My first novel is still in progress, I hope you enjoy it. My beautiful wife Roslyn has put up with me for nearly 20 years. Our dog, Bogey, thinks my main duty is taking him for walks. I enjoy gardening. Other than that you'll have to read my work to get an idea of how my mind works. Say hi if you see me at a Star Trek or scifi convention.

Book preview

Scenes From A Wandering Mind

By Rory Steves

Copyright 2012 by Rory Steves

All Rights Reserved

Smashwords Edition

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be reproduced, re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Design and Formatting by Caligraphics

Table of Contents

Collaborator’s Mother

The Floating Head Employment Agency

Dragon Forge

Not an Iota of Doubt

Deja-Who?

Future Tense

Heebie-Jeebies

Retirement Party

Let Them Come

Time Merchants

Captain Bogey of Canine Command

Red Star Recall

Star-Jacked

Vagabonds

Level 10

Ganaranok’s Lament

COLLABORATOR'S MOTHER

The assassin crouched in her bedraggled old coat behind the ancient oak, thinking it was almost as old and gnarled as she was. She chuckled silently to herself, gripping her stolen, and heavy, cast iron frying pan in her right hand; her left clutched her scarf snugly around her neck. Autumn was chilly this year in County Cork.

If the little green bastard didn't appear soon, the killer might escape, and that, she thought, just would not do. It had taken some planning, and a generous dash of luck, for each piece of the puzzle to fall into place. Now if the victim would be so kind as to put in an appearance, her plan could become reality. And he who would betray her family would go to the mines instead of her son.

Bartholomew would have been so proud of her. Unfortunately her beloved husband had died in the rebellion, which had been crushed without mercy by the greenies. The little green bastards had truly horrific weapons, not including their mounts.

She hated their mounts nearly as much as she hated their masters and cursed whatever hell that had birthed them.

She became motionless, silent. Yes, she had heard the gentle beating of leathery green wings; The Governor, as he liked to be called, was coming near. His outriders were off to the sides; the little green bastard liked to ride in solitude, thinking himself safe.

The assassin listened, smiling when she heard the mount swooping down to dive under the nearly horizontal branch of the old oak. She swung her purloined frying pan with all the strength she possessed, managing a glancing blow to the governor’s head and a nearly fatal blow to the outstretched neck of the flying lizard he rode. Both tumbled top over tea kettle through the air, landing hard on the forest trail.

In two steps she was there. A second hard blow finished the mount; a hard throw sent her weapon down the trail, easily found, just as she had planned. Then she knelt down on her arthritic knees and screamed.

No! Governor, no! her scream echoed through the trees, then, Riders! Riders! her voice a desperate wail as she gently lifted up the little green bastard, smaller than a newborn babe, and wrapped the monster in her scarf, cradling him in her arms as she wept, Gov'ner, Gov'ner, my dear, dear Gov'ner.

A flurry of lizard wings swept around her as the riders, the governor’s bodyguards, answered her cry for help.

I'm sorry, I'm sorry, she wept, I'm too old, too slow, I couldn't stop him, couldn't even shout a warning in time. Oh, Gov'ner. Her face was covered in tears.

Who did this? demanded Ort, the chief bodyguard. Where did they flee? Ort and his men were enraged; a crime this heinous demanded blood.

He's still alive, I can feel his heart, she told them. I didn't see his face, but he ran down the trail. She pointed. I think he dropped something. I'm so sorry.

You have no fault in this, Old Mother, Ort said, using the respectful title she had as mother to the Collaborator, her son, who worked daily with the little green bastards that had killed his father.

This cold wind isn't good for him, she said, unbuttoning her coat and cradling the governor inside. This selfless behavior impressed Ort.

Here! called Dor, Ort's subordinate, as he and another of the little green bastards examined the splash of lizard blood on the frying pan.

McLough! Old Mother gasped, naming the traitor she had stolen the pan from, the same man who wanted her son’s job.

Rage boiled on Ort's face; McLough was trusted and repaid it with treachery!

Let the mounts feast! he ordered, sentencing the traitor to the most horrifying of all deaths, being eaten alive by the carnivorous mounts whose sharp beaks were already clicking open and shut in eager anticipation. The sky above had filled with riders and mounts, all of whom wheeled about and sped after the one who had dared attack the Governor.

I will get him to Safety, Old Mother told Ort, using the little greenies name for their fortress, as she hobbled back toward her village.

You will be met, Ort called to her as his own mount joined the hunt, eager to feast.

McLough's screams began before she was halfway there. She smiled. He wouldn't be betraying his people, or her son, again.

*

Hearing the whirring sound everyone associated with one of the little beasties floating buckboards, Old Mother slowed her pace and allowed her limp to become more pronounced.

I’ll get you to Safety, Gov’ner, I will, she wailed quietly, her anguish obvious. You just hold on, Gov’ner, I’ll get you home; see if I don’t. No villager or greenie could have guessed the depths of her hatred for the little green monster she carried. As the Old Mother of their Chief Collaborator, she already had the greenies respect. Her culinary skills, and the governor’s weakness for wild mushrooms, had earned favor and even a bit of fondness; today would earn their trust. She forced herself not to smile at the thought. Attacking the governor would make her the most trusted human female in the county.

Old Mother, a greenie wearing the red vest of a healer, a Medico they called them, spoke kindly to her. He too loved mushrooms. Lay him down here. He pointed to the buckboard’s flat surface.

I do not dare, kind sir, she said, a catch in her voice. The Governor’s head is badly hurt; I fear his neck might not support himself, she took a ragged breath, and I’ve got him wrapped up warm in me coat. If you could clear the way for me, I’ll get him there.

Her abject selflessness moved the Medico; she truly seemed to adore the Governor, even using her own body’s warmth to aid him.

Old Mother, he said in a tone of respect, please then sit on our skimmer. Allow us to bring you the rest of the way.

Oh, I couldn’t, kind sir. She looked with longing at the buckboard, no, skimmer he had called it. An old hag like me, ride on your beautiful buckboard? No, no, I want no part of you getting yourself in trouble over me, kind sir, I can walk. She intentionally stumbled a bit, shrieking in fear as she nearly dropped the governor, her exhaustion obvious.

Old Mother, please, I must insist, the Medico said. Please, for the governor; the sooner we get back, the better for him.

Well, she looked with near reverence at the governor’s unconscious form, if it’s best for the gov’ner. She gingerly sat on the side of their skimmer, Promise me now, you won’t get yourself in any trouble for your kindness.

No trouble, Old Mother, the Medico said to the harmless old woman, as he waved a few pretty pieces of metal over the unconscious form, then studied them carefully.

Is that your magic you’d be doing now? she asked, fear and wonder in her voice.

He smiled, something she wished the greenies wouldn’t do. It made them look like they were truly demon spawned, which of course they were.

No magic, they tell me his condition.

Ah, like throwing the bones is it?

The Medico wasn’t sure how to answer that one, so he continued his exam.

It’s a good thing you supported his head and neck while you carried him, he told her.

It’s broken? Oh no, no, no, oh my dear gov’ner, no, she wept.

No, it’s not broken, but sprained. The Medico tried to reassure the weeping human female. He’ll be fine in a couple of days. He then added, unintentionally, You can come visit him if you wish.

No human was ever allowed inside Safety, not even her miserable son, who was merely allowed to stand at the gate for his reports.

Oh, can I, thank you, thank you. Fresh tears ran down her cheeks. Maybe I could bring him a spot of lunch?

I’m sure he would like that. The Medico made a valiant effort to keep the envy out of his voice. The Old Mother’s culinary skills were legendary throughout southern Eire.

Oh, my, Old Mother raised her hand to cover her mouth, me basket. I was picking some wild mushrooms, hoping the governor would visit for supper. She, of course, knew full well the governor always dropped by every Friday evening to discuss matters with her son. I must have dropped it when I ran to the governor. Oh, dear me, it was me favorite basket for the mushrooms.

I will personally visit the market, the Medico favored her with another demon smile, and purchase a new one for you. And earn himself a wonderful mushroom dinner, he thought.

Oh, you’re a dear lad, your mother must be so proud. The Old Mother returned the Medico’s smile, stroking the governor’s face like he was merely a sleeping babe.

The maternal behavior was not missed by the Medico or the driver of the skimmer. They shared a look.

The governor! The Collaborator was red faced as he ran, puffing, up the trail from the village. What has happened here? His condition? He was breathing hard as he met the skimmer, awed to see his mother riding on it.

Old Mother wept, allowing fresh tears to run down her face. Oh, son, it was McLough; he’s betrayed us and attacked the governor. The governor’s badly hurt, and his dear mount is dead.

Fury filled the Collaborator’s face. His body shook from the rage he seemed barely able to control.

He must be punished, severely. He was my aide. I trusted him. The punishment must be most severe. The Collaborator spat.

The Medico nodded. The mounts have feasted well.

Good. The collaborator was puffing to keep up with the skimmer.

Old Mother smiled at the green Medico. Kind sir, could you be so kind as to allow my son to sit with me? My balance is poor, and him next to me would be a blessing. Unsaid went the message that she might fall while holding the governor.

Of course, I’m certain the governor would approve of allowing our Chief Collaborator to assist in his care. The skimmer slowed momentarily, allowing the collaborator to sit next to his mother. He put his arm around her shoulders to help steady her. He also knew it was a sham; his mother was nearly as strong as an ox. She just wanted him to enjoy the ride with her.

Thank you. It’s Chief Surgeon Kot, isn’t it?

Yes. The Medico smiled, enjoying the recognition. He nodded to the greenie driving the skimmer. My aide; Kel.

Kel turned and smiled at them. The Collaborator nodded respectfully.

Old Mother recounted her story as they sped down the path, veering away from the village to the meadow where Safety stood, the greenies shining fortress.

Mother and son shared a look when they entered through the gate and continued into the courtyard; none of the human cattle had ever been allowed here.

Yes, trust can be most useful.

*

Old Mother paced back and forth in the open area inside Safety's shining fence, but outside the entrance to the actual fortress. Her son had once told her, long ago, that this was their ship. That they had used to sail here from the stars. How she had laughed at his joke; this big metal thing didn't have a prayer of floating on the water, and where was the mast and sail? Her son had long since given up trying to explain it; she would just start laughing again.

No one, not even her son, noticed how her worried pacing gave her sight lines into nearly every corner of the enclosed yard.

She stooped to feel the fabric of one of the many tents the mounts preferred to sleep in when her fretting turned into a shriek.

I'm so sorry, so sorry; no offense, m'lord. She stumbled over her words as she stumbled backwards. So very sorry, I meant no harm.

Her son, the collaborator, had jumped to her side, and with one arm around her trembling shoulders, led her back to where he had been sitting. He spread his cloak out, making room for both of them.

Oh dear me, dear, dear me. Bless me, but old eyes like mine should never see such a sight. Dear, dear me.

What is it, Mother? What has frightened you so badly?

Well, I was, I, oh dear, dear me. Her hand covered her mouth. In all her years, nothing had prepared her for that sight.

It's okay, Mother. Slow down, take a few breaths, no one seems upset with you, whatever the cause.

Well, I was lifting a piece of tent flap, feeling the fineness of the weave, when I saw, oh my stars. She hesitated. I saw a rider and a mount, well, her voice trailed off.

What would frighten you about a rider and his mount? The Collaborator was confused.

Old Mother seemed both frightened, and embarrassed.

It was what they were doing. Oh, dear, dear me.

Curiosity was driving her son crazy. Tell me. What were they doing?

She put her mouth close to his ear and whispered.

Fornicating!

Her son looked at her, aghast. Mother, are you sure?

I may be old, but I do remember how it's done. By the blessed Saint himself, that's what I saw.

He held his mother close for a long time, trying not to laugh out loud at the mental image of a rider and mount doing that!

*

We are in your debt, Old Mother. Kot and Kel guided their mounts over to join the collaborator and the old mother. We have been able to repair the damage; the governor should be fine in a day or two.

Oh, the Saints be praised!’ Tis truly blessed news. The Old Mother’s face radiated her joy at the news and gained more of her enemies trust.

There is none as skilled as Kot. Kel received a polite nod from his mentor and idol.

The Collaborator beamed. Chief Surgeon Kot, your reputation for excellence is well deserved!

And that’s why the little bastards like you. You’re a butt kisser of the highest order. My son, where did I go wrong in the raising