The Tao and Rip Roaring Adventures of Captain Nik Ve and his Flying Junk the Om Book One: The Tao and Rip Roaring Adventures of Captain Nik Ve and his Flying Junk the Om

By Charles Samuel Watson

Pirates, witches, flying things, and interdimensional travel. What else could anyone want? 

A giant ship's cat, perhaps?

These are the voyages and adventures of Captain Nik Ve aboard his flying junk the Om.

He and his friends live in an alternative post-apocalyptic world not far from our own, where things are not always as they seem….or are they? 

With the ancient techniques of shamanism and plant journeying, Captain Ve navigates his way through the chaos and majesty of his world. 

Read on, if you dare, and experience first hand this most peculiar and intriguing of tales!

This book is the first of a series. 

Approximately 130 pages.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Charles Samuel Watson
• Release date: Feb 29, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393594581

Book preview

Prologue

Captain Nik Ve stood on the bridge of his small junk, The Om, and scanned the shoreline for movement in the half light of the spring evening.

He could smell wood smoke carried on the increasing breeze that had forced the landing in the first place, from somewhere in the woods that surrounded the lake.

The drone of the small but powerful diesel engine and large parafoil wing always announced his arrival, wherever he went.  Even so, he had seen no one though he had been there several hours now.

One last look and he would get some sleep.

This was an unfamiliar place to him.  He had flown over many times but never used the lake to land as he trusted his instincts and had never felt easy.

There was a settlement about five miles north of the lake, a religious sect, one of many that had sprouted up out of the chaos.  He was not sure whom he despised and to a degree feared the most. The religious fanatics? The remnants of the military, or rather what the military had become? The various semi-nomadic scum? Pirates?

He was not altogether happy. The wind that had forced him to find a decent body of water on which to land the good junk Om, was steadily getting stronger. He was headed back to a small island in the centre of a flood plain, a flooded reservoir where he felt safest and where he had been holed up over the winter.

It was the first time the Om had flown in over two months, a foray to replenish dwindling supplies. Maybe he had become complacent.

No, nothing, only the smell of smoke.  It was early spring and the woodland was green, no chance of this being an unattended or accidental fire, he thought.

Damn it! muttered Captain Ve; only ten miles or so from the relative safety of the flood plain but he couldn't risk a take-off now. The weather had changed beyond being able to predict with any degree of accuracy its moods.  

No point in worrying or moaning or cursing, but something wasn't right.  The wood smoke indicated to the Captain people were abound and he was well aware how curious, even in these times, people were.

It wasn't the military - they would have been on him in a second. The cultists maybe, but these usually stay in their settlements, tempting people to join with false rumours of food and safety. The nomads? The Captain shook his head. Then who?  The few sane people left would not want to be caught out here alone .... Or maybe there were no sane people left!

Now the Captain could not only smell the smoke, he could see it.  The lake was being slowly engulfed in white smoke from green wood being burned and darker smoke now from what smelled like rubber, rubber tyres.  He had been observed coming in to land!  And now was being trapped by acrid blinding smoke.

He needed to get away NOW!  The smoke was getting thicker.

Hurriedly, he pulled up the long bamboo pole he had driven into the lake bed to act as an anchor and started the engine. The Captain was no fool and always observed an escape route. What was the most important thing you need to know before you go in? How to get out!  he mumbled to himself. Even so this would be a difficult and dangerous take-off, but the alternative was to be trapped and blind.

Captain Ve pushed the throttle forward and the engine began to power the twin fan props at the stern of the Om. He pointed his vessel, blindly, toward what he knew to be a long enough run to achieve the speed needed to lift off. It was a cross wind, the worst kind, the sail would not be easy to raise and would take longer than he would have wanted.

He was up to speed now, but the two small drone chutes were being blown back and forth and could not do the job they were designed for, to slowly drag out the main wing.

The Captain tried once more to release the sail using the drones but to no avail, blinking as he did so in the thickening toxic smoke. He dropped the engine to half revs while he winched in the chutes and brought her about. Pushing the throttle fully forward again, he tried once more to get the ship aloft. Releasing again the drone chutes, they caught this time. He skillfully matched the release of the winches to the natural pull of the mainsail as it was dragged yard by yard until fully extended.

His ship was being battered as it struggled against the wind to lift them from the lake; the junk wasn’t built for strength, she was built for flight more than anything, and weight was always at a premium. The hull was not built to take such abuse. The wind was billowing and folding the wing as the Om got closer and closer to the banks of the lake. 

Full throttle, wing fully extended now.

Come on! Come on my beauty!!  the Captain was now screaming. He would rather crash and burn than let someone else have his ship.  They were linked, joined on a level few would understand, he looked after the Om and the Om looked after him, and as far as he was concerned, without his vessel he was as good as dead.  He had designed and built the junk and knew what it could do, and was old enough and ugly enough to know what he could do.

The sail caught and filled and he felt the distinctive tug as it worked to pull them from the lake. 

Captain Ve was now totally blinded by the smoke and had to trust that he had remembered his escape route well. The engine laboured and was struggling, working against the crosswind and trying to lift the junk from the water. The wind was causing the Om to pitch and yaw but once enough altitude was achieved Captain Ve knew he could compensate.  Landing again, however, would be another matter.

The bow began to lift, the drag from the water lessened, less drag more lift, she was up.

The old junk felt its way through the wind, climbing up until the Captain could start to fly with the turbulence rather than against it.  It was a rough ride and Captain Ve needed to hang on to the wheel, making adjustments as best he could with the lift webs.

The Om was now fully airborne, above the smoke, above the lake, and above the creatures that had laid the trap. 

Captain Nik Ve and the good junk Om circled the woods from where the smoke was still wafting onto the lake.   Nine maybe ten fires, he observed, had been started deliberately and seemingly for the express purpose of trapping a vessel capable of flight. The Captain circled once more but could see no one and turned the Om towards the floodplain, toward safety, toward home.

Chapter One

Mulysa

––––––––

The early morning mist wafted gently over the flooded reservoir. It was the first week of spring, but there was still a chill in the air.

Captain Nik Ve was going through his usual routine. At first light he could be found at the top of the water tower on the island in the centre of the man-made lake, looking for signs of movement on the surrounding banks of the mainland. As usual, he could see nothing. Just how he liked it. There was much to do after a long winter hold up alone moored to the water tower that had acted as a storage unit for his supplies and a makeshift dock for his junk.

The Om had been put into semi-hibernation mode with just a bi-weekly engine run for about half an hour to keep things lubricated, loose and to stop any damp, rust or wintry effects damaging the mechanics. Even so, a full service and a few small maintenance jobs should still keep the Captain busy for a few days.

The Captain put down his binoculars and sat himself down, legs dangling over the edge of the water tower. The Captain was troubled. He was still trying to make sense of what had happened a few days previously. On a test flight and reccy he had been forced to land, due to bad weather, on a lake and was almost trapped by smoke from fires lit expressly to engulf the lake and cut off his escape. Or were they? Questions, questions... Not only relating to the events, but also and more sinisterly, about the Captain’s sanity. 

Solitude could bring about paranoia and alienation, not only physical alienation but also mental, he thought. Am I losing my mind? he muttered. No, no, that would be impossible; after all, mad people talk to themselves.

Although he hated the idea, he had to concede that maybe a little human contact was needed.  Just a little, mind, to ascertain his mental state, and there was only one place he knew of that he could go, Mulysa, the location of which was about sixty miles east of where the Captain’s makeshift docks were. It was a shanty town that had grown up from a small hippy commune into a neutral, relatively safe, trading settlement. The Captain sporadically frequented this place, when he came into possession of goods he could trade.

He had made one or two good contacts there and, above all, Mulysa was situated next to a river.  It had been several months since he had last visited and it could be advantageous not only for his peace of mind, but also to catch up on any news and possibly to find something useful for himself or the Om.  And of course, he would visit Max. That was that. He would busy himself until the light went, on readying the junk, and leave at first light tomorrow morning.

Next day, bright and early, in a still and quiet part of a country once called England, a deep drone could be heard, and in the sky a small flying junk made its way eastward through the dim light of the new spring day. The Captain was at the helm.

It was cold and he was wrapped up, in his favourite Captain’s garb: a multi-pocketed waistcoat over several layers, thick trench coat, turban-like scarf about his head and face, and his favourite gauntlets. After all, there would be people there and he had to maintain certain standards. 

It would take a good three hours, as the crow flies, or rather as the junk flies, to reach Mulysa.  During this time, observations could be made, as there was always a possibility of spotting something interesting and useful or equally something to steer clear of.

The Captain had some trade goods: tobacco and alcohol which were always good, along with some luxury items he had stumbled across. Soaps, shampoo and chocolate. The Captain always tried to keep a good stock of everything for himself, except tobacco and alcohol. These were for trade only as he neither drank nor smoked. Well, certainly not tobacco at any rate.

Weight was always a factor. The Om could carry a fair load, but some things were either impractical or downright impossible. He smiled to himself as he recalled a certain trader, whom he hoped to see later that day, asking him if he ever came across earth-moving equipment. The Captain had smiled and said Yes, often but it would be a lengthy process, he had explained, as it would have to be delivered one nut and bolt at a time.

The time passed quickly. The Captain loved to fly early in the morning on a calm day. It was as if everything and everyone were asleep. He would