Spectacular Tales: A Science Fiction and Fantasy Collection

By The Indie Collaboration

'Spectacular Tales' is yet another thrilling anthology of short stories from the Indie Collaboration. In this latest collection, written by the rising stars in independent publishing, we bring you a ship’s locker full of great Science Fiction and Fantasy.

In this collection you will find stories about warriors, thieves and rocketship pilots. There are stories about cell phone apps that can give you your heart’s desire; primitive stone-age societies, only barely aware of the intergalactic wars that once raged around them; the memoirs of intergalactic energy beings and fables about a greedy kings, beautiful princesses and cunning thieves.

So strap on your jet pack and grab your broadsword and come join us in exploring these Spectacular Tales.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Peter John
• Release date: Aug 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311312860

The Indie Collaboration

The Indie Collaboration grew out of a group of like minded independent authors. Together, we decided to show the world how great works of fiction can be created without the involvement of any large publishing companies; creating a direct channel between ourselves and our readers is of the utmost importance to us. Each author has freely donated their time and work and are committed to the Indie Collaboration's cause of: Offering the best of indie authors in bite size pieces for free. We hope you enjoy our books

Book preview

The Indie Collaboration Presents

Spectacular Tales

A thrilling anthology of short stories by some of the rising stars in independent publishing. In this collection we bring you a ship’s locker full of great Science Fiction and Fantasy. There are tales about beautiful princesses and cunning thieves, intergalactic wars, cosmic energy beings, warriors and rocketship pilots.

So strap on your jet pack and grab your broadsword and come join us in exploring these ‘Spectacular Tales’.

ISBN: 9781311312860

Smashwords Edition

Edited by Chris P. Raven

Copyright retained by the Authors

Cover Art by Book Birdy Designs

The Indie Collaboration grew out of a group of independent authors who decided to show the world how great works of fiction can be, without the involvement of any large publishing companies, by creating a direct channel between themselves and their readers. Each author in this anthology has freely donated their time and work and are committed to the Indie Collaboration's cause:

We offer the best of indie writing in bite size pieces and wherever possible, for free.

We hope you enjoy our books.

CONTENTS

Rocketships of BRASS (Part One) by Chris Raven

The House of Treasure by A.L Butcher

<> By Adam Bigden

Sparks by Donny Swords

Rocketships of BRASS (Part Two) by Chris Raven

Dino’s Papers by Alan Hardy

A Hard Day’s Night by Raymond Foster

The Secret Kitchen by A. L. Butcher

Rocketships of BRASS (Part Three) by Chris Raven

Empty Classrooms by A.L. Butcher

End of Days by A.L. Butcher

About the Authors

Other Publications by ‘The Indie Collaboration’

Rocketships of BRASS (Part One)

Ten Minutes to Total Destruction

By Chris Raven

By Hercules Himself

The Rocketship Gordost' Shotlandii, Scotland, 1935

This is going to be aces, Henry Dunston grinned as he gripped the control stick with both hands. The cockpit shook and rattled around them as Andy Yurika looked at him from the co-pilot seat and raised a disapproving eyebrow. Andy returned to her pre-flight checks and listened to Emerson Kavanagh’s tinny voice through the radio set’s small round speaker as he continued the countdown. Joseph Kerr, the mission’s engineer, whimpered and groaned in his seat below them.

How are you doing down there Jo? Andy called out over her shoulder, her voice clear, precise and distinctly Russian.

The three crew members lay on their backs, strapped to their seats while the rocketship stood poised on the Vertical Launch Slab. Once in space, the seating would make more sense, pilot and co-pilot in the front, looking out through the reinforced glass window, with the two secondary seats behind for the rest of the crew. A hatch in the wall between the two rear seats gave access to the rest of the ship. On this, the Rocketship Gordost' Shotlandii’s maiden flight, only Joseph sat in the back row and he was clearly less then excited about the prospect of being hurled into space.

Twenty-two, twenty-one, twenty, Emerson continued over the radio set.

Jo! How are you doing back there? Andy repeated more urgently.

Nineteen, eighteen, seventeen.

OK I guess, Jo finally replied, his voice tense. The walls of the cockpit around them vibrated and buffeted loudly as the rocketship’s massive engines continued to ignite.

Sixteen, fifteen, fourteen.

You must try to stay calm Jo, Andy shouted over the noise, her eyes fixed on the control board in front of her, Remember to breathe slowly."

Thirteen, twelve, eleven.

Everything is going to be, how do you say? A-OK, Andy continued while she pressed buttons, pulled levers and tapped dials with her fingertips, Isn’t it Henry.

Ten, nine, eight.

What? The rocketship pilot replied, momentarily snapping out of his adrenalin fuelled euphoria, Oh sure, yes. You hang on in there Jo. You’ll be just fine, you wait and see.

Seven, six, five.

Because we are all about to become blinking famous, heroes even, how’d you like that Jo?

Four, three, two.

Chocks away chaps, here we blooming well go!

One, blast off.

*****

With a huge roar the rocketship lifted itself off the Vertical Launch Slab. Slowly at first, as the mighty engines strained against Earth’s gravity, but finally the long slender cylinder rose and quickly gathered momentum as it thrust itself up into the heavens like a silver javelin cast into the sky by Hercules himself.

You Must Be the Pilot

Scotland, 18 months earlier

Senior Lieutenant Andrievicha Yurika of the Russian Air Force was led to the polished wood-paneled door of the Briefing Room. Her escort, a British Military Police Sergeant, she hadn't thought to ask his name, leant past her and gave the door a sharp and practiced knock. His other hand was occupied by the two kit bags Andrievicha had been permitted to bring with her.

You just get them to give me a shout Miss, when they've finished with you and I’ll show you up to your quarters, the Sergeant told her as he straightened up.

Andrievicha gave him a raised eyebrow and a weary look; she had given up correcting him. He was obviously not trying to be disrespectful, just the opposite really. He was just not used to women being in the military, especially women who outranked him. Besides, she had only just arrived at the military base and she wasn't sure of their protocols or even why she was there. She decided it best to settle in and see how things were done. She was no stranger to controversy. Being a female fighter pilot, even in 1935, had been far from easy and she had met more than her fair share of misogamist officers and disgruntled enlisted men. Many had tried to block her progression from cadet to frontline military officer, despite her government’s initiative of total equality in the armed forces. Regardless of the hurdles, she remained certain and very proud of the fact that if she was going to make it into the cockpit of a fighter plane as a woman, then there was only one nation that would allow her to do so, her mother Soviet Russia.

*****

Comrade Senior Lieutenant, Ma'am or Sir, Andrievicha had originally told the Sergeant earlier that morning. He had met her at the compound’s main gates, when she was dropped off by military jeep and had offered to take her bags.

Miss?

The Sergeant looked blankly at her, as if she had reverted to her native Russian. For a few seconds she thought that maybe she had.

My rank Sergeant, The emphasis was on Sergeant Is Starshiy Leytenant or Senior Lieutenant if you find that simpler to say. The Sergeant quickly stood to attention.

Begging your pardon Miss! Madam! Lieutenant, Sir! He spluttered. Andrievicha guessed that the man must have been nearing his fifties, not a local, London accent, seen service according to his demeanour, probably a veteran of the Great War. Even as he stood uncertainly to attention, she noted his eyes resting on the kit bags in each of her hands. She knew it bothered him; he was obviously struggling with his own sense of chivalry, so she insisted on carrying them herself, to demonstrate her independence and authority. As she crossed a small courtyard towards another identical jeep she realized that this was a mistake, she had only succeeded in undermining herself. As an officer, there should have been no issue at all about the bags; the Sergeant would have been expected to carry them regardless of her sex.

Chyort Voz’mi! She cursed herself under her breath.

Pardon me Miss? The Sergeant had asked as she lifted up the first of her bags and tipped it over into the back of the jeep. He picked up the second bag and casually tossed