Space Cadets #4

Hanson Lu on Unsplash

Previously…

“What’s that noise?” yells Stevens over the resonating sound.

“Sounds like the Tardis.” I reply, still wondering what happened to the Borg Cube which a moment ago had been poised to assimilate our space craft.

“The what?”

“It’s the doctor.” I say confidently. “That’s who I just thought of. You know how it works.”

“Doctor who?” the boys turn to be, puzzled expressions on their faces.

I roll my eyes. “Yes, that’s right. Doctor Who. From the British TV series. You know, late 20th, early 21st century? Goes around space and time saving people.” I raise my eyebrows. “Like he might be able to get us out of this mess..?”

They shake their heads. Then their eyes slide past me, widening. I spin around in my chair to see the familiar blue box start to materialize. Relieved, I try to jump up from my seat, but the safety belt restrains me.

Suddenly the ship is rocked by a huge explosion. Over my shoulder the viewing screen flashes on, showing a ball of flames and massive pieces of dark black debris scattering across the void.

“Gotcha!” cries Harris, punching the air.

“Way to go!” cheers Stevens, leaning across the console to give Harris a high five.

So that’s what’s happened to the Cube. “How did you do that?” I ask.

“Hit the red button,” Harris indicates the joystick in front of him.

I turn back to see the Tardis start to fade. “Come back, Doctor!” I cry. “We need your help!”

“We don’t need help from some old doctor. We’re fine,” says Harris smugly. “I just blew up The Borg.”

“Er, I’d not be so sure,” says Stevens pointing at the viewing screen.

black hole guardian.com

How will the Cadets escape from the Black Hole? And who imagined that??
Tune in next week for the next episode of Space Cadets!

Space Cadets #3

Space Cadets by Chris Hall lunasonline
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Previously…

The music fades out as we leave the planet’s atmosphere. The viewing screen blinks.

[STARDATE: 2607.7 – DESTINATION: SECOND STAR ON THE RIGHT]

The letters dissolve. The screen is filled with huge rocks, hurtling towards us.

“Asteroids!” yells Stevens.

The warning siren starts to wail and the red light flashes.

“Does this thing have shields?” I wonder out loud.

[SHIELDS ACTIVATED]

A medium-sized asteroid glances off the screen; the ship slews. Only our seat straps save us from being thrown to the floor.

“How do we steer?” shouts Harris.

A joystick, with a large red button on the top, sprouts from the console in front of him. He grabs hold and his eyes fix on the screen. His tongue pokes out of the side of his mouth; his gaming face. The control is hyper-responsive. Harris dodges nimbly through the asteroid belt, blowing rocks to smithereens with a dab of his thumb.

Then we’re through. The asteroids are behind us and all we can see is the inky blackness of space, peppered with bright pinpricks of light which are the stars.

All is quiet. We sit back and admire the view. My thoughts wander.

 

A huge black cube appears on the left of the screen. It glitters menacingly.  

[You will be assimilated]

Stevens peers at the screen. “The Borg Cube!

The ship is being pulled towards the vast angular vessel. Sirens wail, warning lights flash. 

“But that’s not real!” Harris protests as he wrestles desperately with the joystick.

The ship judders ominously.

[Resistance is useless]

Stevens turns to me. “Hold on. Remember what the Zyborgatron said?”

I think for a moment. “Something about the ship being ‘guided by your imaginations.’ “

“Okay, who imagined The Borg?” Harris growls.

“Never mind who’s responsible. Just think of something else; something friendly!” I yell. “Hurry!”

The Borg Cube fills the screen. Harris jabs the red button repeatedly.

The viewing screen goes blank.

 

Then I hear a familiar sound.

Tune into episode #4

Home

Home by Chris Hall lunasonline
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Take a last look at the world we call Home. You’ll never see it again. After this generation, and maybe the next, nobody will. It won’t exist.

And we, brave comrades, will not see our next home, nor the several generations which will succeed us. Our new home is far, far too distant. Almost too distant to contemplate. It lies beyond our own planetary system, beyond anything visible to our eyes. Only our most powerful telescopes can see; reached only by a single exploratory probe which has travelled over many of our lifetimes.

Thus our new home has been identified. All available data indicates it is suitable for life. Or was. Remember we are travelling such a very great distance across the galaxy, that what we know about this planet is only its past.

But we are optimistic. No other race could have been so stupid. No other beings would wantonly destroy their planet.

So, brave comrades, we boldly go, across to the westward arm of the great spiral galaxy, to a group of eight planets which orbit a sun, just like ours. Our destination is the third from that sun, a blue planet, and we will call it Home.

Space Cadets #2

Hanson Lu on Unsplash
Photo by Hanson Lu on Unsplash

Previously…

Lights flicker into life. We remain strapped into high-backed chairs. The Professor has vanished. The spherical console in front of us rotates, lights flashing amber and green. A countdown commences: ten, nine, eight… A screen flips up showing the surface of the barren planet outside.

An engine powers up beneath us. The countdown continues: five, four… Behind us a siren wails and a flashing red light reflects on the console. The engine judders: two, one…  We are thrown back in our seats. Lift off. The siren ceases. All lights turn green.

The screen shows the planet’s surface receding rapidly. I can just make out the shape of the Professor’s Space Machine on the ground below where we left it.

I turn to Harris on my right. “Who’s flying this thing?”

On my left, Stevens points at the screen where the picture has changed. It is not a life-form I recognise. Humanoid certainly but…

“I am the Zyborgatron,” it says. We look at each other. It continues. “This craft is powered by your minds and guided by your imaginations. Welcome to the Fantasy Tribute Space Opera.”

The signature tune to my favourite TV series from the mid-20th century starts to play…

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nHhePr0TKfc

 


Look out for the next episode of  Space Cadets

The Hatter

The Hatter by Chris Hall lunasonline
‘1920s Hat Shop Girl’ (photographer unknown)

She makes hats for a living. Every kind of hat, for every kind of occasion. Very special hats.

She’s famous in the town for her hats and what her hats can do. You see, she’s a crafter of dreams, a bringer of good fortune and her hats are enchanted.

They bring you health and wealth and happiness. But there’s a catch. You must pay her your dues.  And once she’s caught you in her net, there’s nothing you can do.

Try to speak out against her? Denounce her actions?

Better not. Not if you want a long and happy life.

Woman scorned no more

woman no longer scorned by chris hall lunasonline

She holds the golden sphere in the palm of her hand. It glows, warm with all that remains of him. She has him now, resting in the palm of her hand. His soul, trapped. He in her power; not she in his.

Revenge is sweet, she thinks.

She curls her fingers and feels the sphere pulsate. She turns and walks the few steps to the bridge. Leaning on the rail, she watches the greasy, grey river flow beneath her.

She tosses the sphere in the air and catches it. Tosses again; lets it fall.

Goodbye traitorous heart, she whispers.


Written in response to The Aether Prompt: May 22nd, 2019

Flight of fancy

Flight of Fancy by Chris Hall lunasonline
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I watched a dragonfly today

Blue-bright body, wings of lace

Like a little ‘copter

or a miniature drone.

 

I watched a dragonfly today

Circle, hover, perch, take flight

Like a tiny bi-plane

or a teensy flying-boat.

 

I watched a dragonfly today

And this time looked more closely

Admired its engineering

Saw the faerie in the cockpit.

The Secret Ingredient

magical realism challenge by teresa 040419
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The restaurant was closed the following day and I was leaving that afternoon. What potent ingredient had been in the aperitif which caused the world to change before my eyes?

A seemingly innocuous ruby concoction which rendered people’s reflections invisible and gave me a voracious appetite for the steak tartare.

 


50 word story written in response to Teresa, The Haunted Wordsmith‘s Genre Writing Challenge. I’m not quite sure that I pulled it off, but it’s just a bit of fun!
Based on a strange evening I once had in Seville. I’ll tell you about it sometime.

Cepha’s Revenge

Cepha's revenge

Cepha observed the two galleons turn broadside. As greed and hatred erupted into sea-churning canon fire, she flung a tentacle into the pool beside her, summoning the sisterhood.

They came, they writhed, and the sea boiled. They pulled timbers apart with zealous suckers. Masts crashed onto splintering decks. Water gushed in.

For the humans must pay: creatures, so new to old Mother Earth, now plundered her riches and fought over them.

Cepha stirred the pool again.

Coins and trinkets emptied from chests were gathered up by eager tentacles, while sailors sank into the murky depths.

Calm returned.


Written in response to The Aether Prompt: March 13th, 2019

A Candlelit Evening

Candlelit evening by Chris Hall lunasinline photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash
Photo by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

Wrapped in her fluffy pink robe she glides into the beautiful bathroom. Hot water gushes from swan-shaped tabs into a large claw-footed tub. The light is subdued. Rose-scented candles glow seductively, reflected in the slightly-smoked full length mirror with its glittering frame of hand-picked pink quartz tiles. She pauses and turns around. What has she forgotten?

Moments later she reappears carrying a large crystal glass containing her favourite mouth-filling red wine.

The white-tiled floor is glossy, and slippery with an unnoticed sheen of steam. She strides forward and suddenly…

She’s on the floor, prone on those pricey ice-white tiles. She hesitates for just a moment and then rises to her feet. She stands facing the mirror, but something’s wrong. Where’s her reflection? She focuses on the one missing tile on the far corner of the frame, still not mended, but when she looks back, her face is still absent.

Her gaze travels down the misting mirror. What’s that on the floor behind her? She turns and sees a pink robed figure. Spilled red blood mingles with spilled red wine. She raises her hand to her mouth to suppress a scream, but there is no hand, no mouth.

There is nothing.



Written in response to The Haunted Wordsmith’s
Main March Madness13 ‘A Ghost’
and with a nod to a scene from Michael Connelly’s ‘Dark Sacred Night’.