PLANET MAGAZINE

Just before midnight on a Saturday, a young astronomer in Puerto Rico became the first to spot the small object sputtering toward the sun. It came in past Pluto, riding a spark that moved clearly against the millions of hard, bright stars behind it. Within two hours of e-mailing his colleagues at various universities and institutions, the young astronomer became temporarily famous, his news roaring around the globe in a vast electronic exhalation. As the next few days passed, everyone but infants and the infirm became engrossed in the progress of what was now clearly an interstellar vehicle, steadily moving toward the big, blue egg called Earth.

The first messages from the visitor were transmitted soon after its bronzey, boomerang-shaped ship popped and fizzled into a steady, tight orbit around the moon.

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All the lights were on inside the little, bright-red Mustang. Even the dome light was cutting through the darkness on either side of the road. She really didn’t care that she might be pulled over. For her, at this point, nothing mattered. She told the bear buckled firmly into the seat next to her this fact several times. The animal was made up of polyester fiber and PE pellets and was incapable of responding. Its brown felt face registered no emotion as the dark scenery flew by its black button eyes. She kept going over the same ground conversationally, and she kept referring to the inanimate object beside her as “Pookie.” Occasionally she grabbed a fluffy paw and gave it a squeeze.

“I thought this was going to be different,” she told Pookie around a ghastly nasal sniffling. “He was so good at telling me how much he loved me.”

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Author’s note: This translation of “The Fall of Leuyoldedd”, also known as “The Second Coming of Skell’aenthid”, represents only parts five, six, and seven of the full tale. The other parts have never been found.

“How could I possibly say ‘no’ to the Queen’s Champion?”

In response, Sir Leuyoldedd put on his well-known, woman-swooning smile, but said no more. The old man had, after all, spoken true — he could not refuse Sir Leuyoldedd, the Queen’s Champion, not if he wanted his business to continue to thrive. A slight to Leuyoldedd was as good as a slight to the Queen herself. And though refusal of a man like Leuyoldedd was by no means treason, word of such denial would spread quickly. The small crowd already gathering around the two would see to that. People wouldn’t trust a man who didn’t trust the Queen’s Champion. Sir Kape Leuyoldedd: not just the Queen’s Champion; the People’s Champion. Leuyoldedd maintained his smile as he held out the sword.

“Look at this,” the old man said. “Nitre’d good, she is.” His bony fingers scratched at the calcified deposits layered over the old blade, dislodging a few flecks onto his rickety table. “A sight shabby fer the likes of you, sir, but nothing a good rasping won’t fix. But a fine eye for sword craft you have, sir; I do believe her blade is still keen!”

The small crowd around Leuyoldedd and the scrutineer leaned in to get a better look, ever cautious not to jostle the brown-haired Champion.

“Strip her, then!” Leuyoldedd called, for the crowd’s benefit as much as the old timer’s. “Let’s see what fine lines she has beneath her modest shell!” Sure enough, Leuyoldedd heard the intended sighs from the women and emboldened chuckles from the men.

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Dear Editor:

Sea Garden is my online futuristic/philosophical ‘book’ composed of voice and illustration.

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He lay back on the gurney, staring at the lights suspended above him. The bright glare burned his eyes, but he scarcely had the strength to close his weary lids. He was dimly aware of shapes around the edge of his vision, but moving his head was completely out of the question.

He concentrated on trying to breathe. His chest felt like a great weight bore down on it, and each painful intake was accompanied by an echo of artificial bells and whistles.

He tried to speak, and was instantly aware of something lodged in his throat. Not cold metal, but definitely something artificial. It pressed his tongue down while wedging his mouth open.

Instinct drove him to try clawing at his face, to try and remove whatever it was, and he somehow found the strength to tense the leaden muscles in his arms. But something held his wrists fast.

His confinement only began to add to his panic. The anxiety gave him fresh strength, and he increased his efforts to break free.

He was aware of shapes leaning over him, their features cast into deep shadow. He could hear their muffled voices — low tones that seemed distant, as if they were underwater.

He relaxed, concentrating on the voices. Gradually they grew clearer, to the point he could make them out.

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Editor’s Note: This story has been removed at the request of the author.

About the Author: Zia Ahmed lives in the Boston area and reluctantly aids corporate world dominance for a living.
(c) 2004 Zia Ahmed ziahmed@yahoo.com

About the Artist: Romeo Esparrago is one man, but his artwork can be many places at once.
(c) 2004 Romeo Esparrago http://www.romedome.com