Tra-Con-Per-Ski!

By H. M. Reynolds

This is a sampler of four of my short stories. Please leave a review if you like it.

If you like them, I have other books available online. These include:

The Eight Hour Hell - a paranormal action thriller

Emergency Protocol Nine - a collection of science fiction, fantasy and horror short stories

Ecocide - an ecological sci-fi thriller

• Language: English
• Publisher: H. M. Reynolds
• Release date: Jun 16, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311687173

H. M. Reynolds

H M Reynolds is an accountant by day, adventurer in the unfathomable worlds of the imagination by night.He has been writing for over twenty years, although has only recently taken up writing about himself in the third person.Bristol born he has lived in the area all his life - apart from a significant stint in Cardiff - although one of his most favourite pastimes is travelling other parts of the world.He enjoys rambling, both in the literary and the cross-country sense.********If you like the sampler book I have published on Smashwords please look up my other books on AmazonAlso by H M Reynolds:Novella:The Eight Hour HellProbability ManNovels:EcocideLlyn Ar Bryn FallsThe Alt-WorldersShort Story Collections:Emergency Protocol NineFast Stream Rehab

Book preview

Tra-Con-Per-Ski!

By H. M. Reynolds

Ω

Tra-Con-Per-Ski!

H. M. Reynolds

Smashwords Edition

© 2014 H.M. Reynolds 2014

Contents:

Travelogue Of An Alien World

A Conversation In Modern Myths

The Sniper’s Apprentice

The Shedding Of The Skin

Travelogue Of An Alien World:

The door of the shuttle juddered up and a wave of heat barged in over the passengers, neutralising the effect of the air conditioning, which had been super cool for my tastes anyway.

Bewildered and not quite believing the experience was real, I shuffled off the spacecraft, following the crowd, a mix of locals and other, even more wide-eyed, visitors.

One boot on the tarmac of the landing space and my presence on this extraterrestrial world could no longer be denied – I was actually here, on Fricasan soil. All my life I had known this other world existed, so far across the void of space, at the other end of the known universe from Earth. Yet, I had never imagined I would find myself here, experiencing the trials and tribulations of the daily life that Fricasans took for granted.

The journey had been made on a whim – a mere three month’s impulse. A whirlwind of genetic adaptations and viral inoculations had carried me through from that moment’s decision to now. It seemed I had barely had time to shop for what I needed for the journey. What had appeared a shuttle-load of equipment was now compressed into one rucksack, whose slightly uncomfortable weight pressed down on my shoulders and back as I surveyed my surroundings.

The spaceport was shorn of characteristic Fricasan tentacle trees, but it was unmistakably Fricasan nonetheless, in the same way that every country on Earth has its own unique flavour, even when comparing those places only separated by a few dozen metres of border.

I could have stood there for hours, drinking in the feeling, smell, sight and sound of my first metre of Fricasa, but I was being left behind by the other travellers as they bustled on to the terminal, and so, regretfully I trudged after them, my boots kicking up yellow dust , which had been everywhere in pictures I had seen of Fricasa.

My enthusiasm was not dented by an hour passing through customs, but I did begin to feel the effects of the flight – the seats on the space shuttle had been designed to pack us in like embryos at a birthing factory. I might have managed fifteen minutes sleep here and there, but it certainly did not add up to the eight hours a night I require.

Outside, my boots now firmly planted in the yellow soil, I watched the locals dispersing at the end of their journey, no doubt glad to be back from whatever holiday or business had taken them away. Buses picked up other travellers, probably some of the many package holidays following well-travelled routes across Fricasa. I however, had more of an adventure in mind. As anywhere else in the galaxy, the travelling experience becomes more synthetic the more travellers follow the same route. I was looking for something more authentic and had come here with a specific objective in mind. My vision darted around the disappearing shapes of the Fricasans and I wondered: could any of them have guessed my true purposes here and what would their reaction have been? No doubt anger amongst the more conservative of them, for what I was here to seek was taboo to many Fricasans and more so to those not born amongst the tentacle trees.

My Vast Universe guide directed me along a dusty street to an out of the way hotel, which, it assured me, was a hidden gem. Most holidaymakers here were quickly shuffled out of town toward their sterile luxury resorts, but I needed to find my feet before heading on.

The owner stood in his booth, experiencing something on a spongy device that was sat on his shoulder. Not having had time to peruse my guide, I could only guess it was some sort of entertainment, akin to music or a movie, but played out through another sense.

With a degree of what appeared disinterest, he took from my credit stick and slid a key toward me. Again, I might have benefited from the Vast Universe guide in interpreting the meaning behind my host’s body language.

Making no further attempt at conversation, exhausted as I was from the space journey, I took the key, tramped to the room and entered, closing the door firmly behind me. Dropping my heavy rucksack on the floor next to the bed, I sat down, leaned back and looked around, still trying to absorb the reality of my presence here. Within moments my eyes closed and I relaxed into sleep.

Fricasans didn’t stand on breakfast. They seemed to gain some sustenance from a deep sleep. I wasn’t bothered; I was too excited by the adventure ahead to delay it with eating. Besides what passed for food on Fricasa did not sound appetising to me.

Making a cursory attempt at grooming, I washed and dressed, chiefly relying on fresh clothes