My clone was me.
It was freaky, like looking at a mirror with a mind of its own… No, that metaphor sucks. How about this: It was weird, like watching a video of myself or hearing a recording of my voice. I felt awkward, slightly embarrassed seeing him interact with the world. My denial mechanisms kicked in. I don’t sound like that do I?
Jeeze, I was a goofy-looking kid.
A Preview from Chapter 6.
The Birth of Lucian Dracul
I had just knocked my last smoke off topside, right into the drink, when I saw the ship closing in. Even from a distance, I could see she was a honey. A fifty-footer, twenty across the beam. Twin engines for certain—I bet a thousand horse each. She had her foils out, that sleek hull teasing the waves with the barest kiss. She must have cost a fortune. Not that Jorgi would have paid it. He probably just plugged the owner and left him for shark bait. All so he could send that sweet heartbreaker after me. I guess I should have been flattered.
A gray Sony mini-cassette is tucked inside a smoky plastic case. A hand-written gum label is affixed to the case. Subject: LNU, FNU, “Bill”. Beneath the cassette case, a stack of bond paper, slightly brown with age. The top and bottom margins appear to have been trimmed, so that the pages are 8 ½ by something less than 11. The type is bold and distinct, IBM Selectric.
Schardt, Wernher A.
A gray Sony mini-cassette is tucked inside a smoky plastic case. A hand-written gum label is affixed to the case. Subject: Schardt, Wernher A. Beneath the cassette case, a stack of bond paper, slightly brown with age. The top and bottom margins appear to have been trimmed, so that the pages are 8 ½ by something less than 11. The type is bold and distinct, IBM Selectric.
Lance Steele seems to have hit a nerve in some peoples' funny bones, so let's introduce the rest of the crew before this gets too out of hand. :D
Lieutenant Lance Steele of the Galactic Patrol scowled with grim determination. His airship’s engines didn’t behave like diesels, the weather was implausible, the sentence structure was a nightmare, and his characters wanted to pitch the obvious Russian spy overboard, abandon the expedition to the North Pole, and set course for Florida!
Introducing Lance Steele! For reasons which shall become obvious, I'm thinking of donating him to this community. I bet people could have a HOOT playing around with him.
Stiletto tumbled helplessly, dark and powerless, lost between the stars, so far from home.
On the courier ship’s cramped bridge the emergency lights flickered and came on. Lance Steele shook his head, groaning. He blinked and rubbed his eyes.
“Report,” he croaked.
The Book of Jim
After pondering for another twelve billion years, Jim thought He had this whole angels-on-a-pinhead thing pretty well figured out. So He paused and looked around Himself. And lo, there was Nothing, and darkness was upon the face of the deep.
And Jim frowned, and said "Darkness sucks." And lo, there was light. And Jim looked upon the light and said "Cool! It's sort of a wave, sort of a particle, sort of a statistical function, and not really any of them at all. Even Einstein will never quite figure it out."
PROBABLY UNNECESSARY DISCLAIMER: This is satire. I am not a racist. But if you are easily offended by the use of ridiculous stereotypes regardless of context, you'd better not read any further.
INT. OFFICE BUILDING - OFFICE
The man, MR UNRACIST, is waiting for the man whose office this is.
Finally, a white business man wearing makeup to make him appear vaguely asian emerges from
the door and approaches him.
Chick Lit takes a critical hit. Josie is your typical young goblin, selling freshly grilled human hearts outside the mall, trying to survive her ruthless family, and pining after that dreamy hobgoblin who just stomped into town. Each week (ha) in this podcast, she describes part of her story to you, another human whose heart she will soon be selling on a stick.