App Store

Google Play

BE - Details page - Device banner - 894x1036

Onbeperkte toegang tot een oneindige bibliotheek vol verhalen - allemaal in 1 app.

Luisteren én lezen

J. R. Kruze

"I don't see why I have to wear this - it's completely impractical! How would you ever, ever fix anything if you have to worry about getting a run in your stockings?"

Steve just shrugged, again. "Orissa, it's just a swimsuit with garters on it. And it's all for show. We need hot-blooded backers for finance. So a little leg, a little suggestion, then their blood heats up and loosens their check books."

"But that's just your theory. I'd rather be tuning that new carburetor for the meet."

"Better you than me. And that hired model bugged out at the last minute. Besides, you're the best judge of character we've got. We don't want ringers, we want real angels."

He had me there. One look in any man's eyes and I could tell the real deal from the wannabes.

Then I saw him. That one...

Excerpt:

"Sir, can I get you a refill?" I asked as I pointed to the smaller of the two groups. Their bottle of the good stuff that my brother was holding was fuller than his buddy's.

"Not right now. How much can you tell me about that plane?"

I caught a twinkle in his eye. This was a test.

"Standard body for the racing monoplane type. Custom engine, custom prop, and safety features you won't find anywhere else."

"What's so custom about that engine?"

"Radial outboard pistons backed by a turbine for higher speeds."

"So you have two engines there. Interesting."

"And safer if you have a bird strike."

"But you can take lower altitudes slower."

"And can utilize much shorter runways. Plus, the turbine can be clutched into the piston half for an emergency start in case of any stall."

"Meaning that you are more comfortable in a jumpsuit with a wrench than showing off your legs in a get-up like that."

"What gave me away?"

He smiled. "Other than knowing the difference between radial-outboard and turbine engines? How you walk in heels, and the number of fingers you bent back today, not to mention that wrenched shoulder."

I smiled back and tilted my head. "So you aren't interested in either of these bidding wars." Said as a matter of fact, not a question.

"No. You're the genius behind this plane, aren't you." Another statement of fact.

"Yes."

"Then you are actually who I came to see today." He looked around our hanger, and spied the tarps covering our tool kits. "And this is where you've built this - or just tuned it?"

"Where we assembled it."

His smile was genuine. I relaxed a little. He wasn't trying to hit on me in the slightest.

"Impressive plane. This isn't a standard monoplane racing body. You've had to make subtle changes in it. It may look the same on the surface, but..."

"And you're trying to pick my brain for secrets?"

Midwest Journal Press

Short Fiction Young Adult Science Fiction Fantasy

The Girl Who Saved Tomorrow

R. L. Saunders

C. C. Brower

At the beginning was The Games. Because they were running out of people.

The gangs were killing each other off too fast. And the city was running out of money to keep them all on free food and free medical.

The Games put everyone in the city to work. They competed with each other for production bonuses. Citizens that didn't work, hardly ate. There was a Plan, and the Game was part of the Plan.

In this plan, the cities were going to rise up into space, and remove almost all humanity from this polluted planet when they did.

While into this scene, two healers showed up. Someone needed their help. Or several someone's. But their deadline was coming up. Soon that city would lift off, forever.

And those healers were told they had to be out of there before 'Cagga did…

Excerpt:

It was like that big video they showed every time you jacked in - cities flying off the planet to new worlds, leaving the polluted mess behind, along with the Deplorables who were "unenlightened" enough to want to stay out in the boonies with their guns and Bibles. Scratching for a living out there while all the 'Leeters were “leading the core of civilization toward greater heights. ”

My Ma didn't see it that way. Like me, she didn't have a choice when the walls went up. They'd decided that for her when they seceded from the rest of the country. And soon after that, no one was allowed in or out. So we wouldn't get “contaminated" by the Flyover ideas and diseases. The politico's had chosen for us.

And now I had my own new baby to add to this mix. She was a darling, with cute blond hair and the brightest smile. While I worked, my Ma took care of her the most, good days and bad. Because Ma had something wrong with her, and so did my little Sue.

Doc came by when he could, but he was pretty much the only doctor outside of their clinics that could go in between the gangs. That meant most of 'Cagga.'Cause their clinics were all at Central, and had visiting hours the same as our work hours. But those were staffed mostly by interns, as the 'Leeters got the best doctors working on sucking the fat out of their guts and hips, or making their faces prettier, or simply listening to them complain about their aches and pains.

While Doc said Sue was born with something he couldn't fix without operating, and he couldn't operate anymore since he lost off a couple of his fingers in an "accident". One that happened right after he told one of those 'Leeters what they could do with their faked-up illnesses. Now Doc got what he wanted most, helping people who needed it more. But he was by himself, mostly.

Doc said baby Sue had a tough road ahead of her, but she could make it. And my Ma could have a lot more years ahead of her. Could. But I saw his face and how he looked away at times. He didn't like what he saw, but he kept smuggling medicines to us when he could.

Anyone with a too-quick wit and tongue found themselves too soon working with the rest of the 'gangers out in the streets. In whatever gang their housing fit into…

For the Love of 'Cagga

Why I was brought in to solve a mystery of people getting and staying healthy was a bit curious on its own. 

They were all terminally ill. And in quarantine. Yet one nurse and her student "angels of death" had been able to reverse this deadly disease that modern "medicine' had created through their own negligence. 

Most of the big city hospitals had these outbreaks, and had sent their worst cases out to live their lives in suburban hospices - often unknown to those locals. And if their quarantine security failed, an incurable plague could spread and decimate the human population by at least half - to start with.

Whoever had hired me wanted to know what those healed people were going to do - for anyone could see a huge litigation potential from being cured. But not if they died. For dead people can't talk - or sue.

At least to stay anonymous, my financiers had to stay off my radar and out of my hair. 

Or the head nurse would help me find out how they created this mess that she was solving without their help…

Excerpt:

It wasn't any real surprise to me that these patients started getting better.

But my methods were unorthodox, and had been kept a secret for nearly half a century at this point. I was called in as a last resort by some very insistent, and very connected family of one of the patients.

And now he's fine, but neither I or him or anyone else can talk to anyone outside.

Well, I've got this detective fellow named Johnson who somehow wangled a way into my over-booked schedule. 30 minutes a day. Uninterrupted. And that's a miracle all on its own.

Typically, we are understaffed. And all volunteer. None of us were expected to ever return from the quarantine. But all their doctors and nurses had gotten ill as well, so they'd asked - no, begged for people to basically suicide in order to help these people live out their last days with some sort of dignity.

They got half the number they wanted, which was twice what they actually expected.

But they were city folks. Pretty cold and pessimistic. Hard to get a smile out of them.

And that was our secret weapon - infectious smiles. Works every time. Because you have to heal from the inside out, not just pile on more drugs and pills.

The main trouble was with the quarantine security equipment. The technicians to fix it were also sick. If it failed before we got this outbreak under control, it would roll through all the population of this suburb and those beyond it like no plague before it. And the infected would spread it further, all within a few hours of contacting it. All innocent carriers.

What was worst, it left babies alone. The ones that needed help the most. That was why we were here, originally. To solve why the babies weren't getting sick - and feed them and change them and cuddle them meanwhile.

But when the last of the nurses collapsed, we had to break into the worst areas and sacrifice ourselves. Because the walls were all glass, and we could see the entire ward from the maternity section. Damned if we were just going to stand there and watch them all die…

The Case of the Forever Cure

She was different - and could be mankind's saviour, or it's worst enemy.

The third generation born after a freak accident, her kind were shunned by humanity. Because they meant walking death. Until one human showed her compassion. Then her gifts came to view.

Her parents and their parents only knew death, could only give death. But they only wanted to be understood.

Rochelle was searching.

For the one thing that could save all of mankind from itself.

To find it, she would have to live among them as one of them, in disguise.

As she still could wipe out an entire city through her touch. If she wanted to. But she didn't know what she was supposed to want. 

So she came here, to surround herself with strangers. Some her natural enemies, but maybe some friends. It was up to them, for she didn't really care whether they lived or died.

But she knew she needed to find out…

The Lazurai Returns

Some vacation. Not like I'd planned - or the brochures.

Now I'm in a space suit after some sort of freak accident. Lucky I knew how to get in one, and one was nearby. First time for everything.

But now, I had just so much air, and a huge gap to jump. Because the explosion left a big hole behind. Guess there's a first time for more than one thing…

Excerpt:

No power. Little air.

Deep space, off the trade routes.

Helluva way to start a vacation.

The explosion had happened in hyperspace. It threw us out of “warp” and we appeared in normal space several parsecs from where we could be found.

My problem was more immediate though. Power and Air existed on the other half of the ship.

Separated from me by a big hole that explosion had left.

And, no, I wasn't trained at this spaceship survival stuff. I worked in a research group, back of a library, in a college town. My training wasn't in surviving space-liner wrecks. We all had to take the required emergency drills before we could board for the vacation. Not that it gave us much experience with these things. Like those boring lectures flight attendants give on airlines about what to do when the plane gets in trouble. (Yawn)

But now we were in real trouble. Deep in it.

At least the suit I found mostly fit. Too big is better than too small.

And why I was able to find one near that bathroom I was using at the time - that wasn't my main question right now.

There were few air minutes left and a big gap to travel. Then somehow getting in on the other side without tearing my suit open.

Let's see, give a straight push, not too hard. Because I'd have to cushion my "fall" on the other side. Looked easy in the movies.

Here goes…

Well, here I am, floating.

Getting there.

Closer.

Oh, come on.

Here we go. A little more…

Watch that rotation. (Like I could do much other than move my arms, but then everything else moved in turn.)

Hope my gloves hold.

"Be still, poor heart." Breathe. Breathe regular.

Here we go.

And…

Bonus Stories: 

The Emperor's Scribe - How a young scribe taught new truths to an old Emperor through his calligraphy, and disappeared one day…

The Snow Cave ( Part 1) - When a sudden winter storm blew in, a rescuer has to find shelter. Luckily, she remembered an old cave on the maps. The partially-open door to it is large enough to fit a semi-truck. If she's lucky, she'll be able to squeeze in behind it. If not, they'd find her here, frozen…

Long Overdue Santa - An older pet misses the children and Santa as much as her Masters. It's another Christmas, and this family dog finds a red hat on the driveway that shouldn't be there…

Vacation Amok: Four Short Stories

When there are no more governments, other than on paper, one Corporation will rule and solve all poverty and warfare. The solution enabled people to stay "jacked in" and code 24/7, loving the opportunity.

***If the Matrix had a prequel, this would be it.***

Excerpt:

We were called to war. And all volunteers. Not for god or country but for our corporation. 

The global one. The one we were all warned against. It came in the back door that had built into our culture. The China-Russia pact had founded it, and gradually its handouts and bribes co-opted all the governments until it was just the U.S. and a handful of holdouts that weren’t on board. Until they were. 

Our job was simple. We coded. All day, all night. Jacked in and plugged in with all the nutrients we needed to keep us going. All volunteer. Dopamine rushes on intervals for meeting quotas. Adrenaline when needed and appropriate. 

And it was all good. We had all the pleasures we could want. Plenty of pay and bonuses. The trick, that the “Corp” as we called it, was that we were all losers until we were winners. In our pods, jacked in, we had access to about everything we could want. As long as we did what we were asked, then we could get anything we wanted. Anything. The only thing that didn’t really work out was being unplugged. The horror stories we found out were very, very bad. Coders had come back after "vacations" and didn’t want to talk about them. You could tell by reading their endocrine levels. They came back exhausted, in shock, and their production nowhere near what it should be to compete in the Games. 

That was all there was. The Corp and the Games. All else was secondary. Our job was simply to do the coding, create the new world we wanted to see, everyone wanted to see. And let the old world rot because that was all it was good for. 

No one in here wanted the “real world.” It was only filled with horrors. All our friends and family were online, And the ones that worked outside had troubles. Sad. We were inside and happy. 

Because the whole world was Corp. It controlled everything. Literally. All the power, all the food production, all the entertainment and news. Sure, people could say and do whatever they wanted. But if they wanted to talk to someone else, they had to go through the Corp. If they wanted a better job, they had to do through the Corp. More pay, better living, all Corp. 

In the old days, it went by many names. And they eventually bought out each other, or had the principles on the boards of the others, and they all were jacked into each other’s lives so much, it became obvious that they couldn’t work without cooperating with the rest. And sooner or later, the Board ran everything. It wasn’t a CEO here and a CEO there, it was a few people who made the top decisions, and the sub-boards they controlled would then get their marching orders, They then sent their marching orders downstream to other boards and everything got done. 

If you didn’t produce, you missed the pay raises, the bonuses, the promotions, the perks. We saw this every day. The Code shows everything. Our view is the “matrix” as it used to be called. We don’t need our eyes or our bodies as everything is cared for. 

The Game is to build a new world. Because the old one is rotting out from under us. The Enviro’s got on board quickly. Particularly after they found their funding depended on tweaking their policies slightly, or protesting a different government agency instead of the one they'd picked out. And the leaders of these enviro groups got promoted into high board positions inside the Corp, up their own chain of leadership. 

Politicians were able to keep playing their game of getting elected, getting kickbacks, staying in office indefinitely. Because all the votes were electronic. All the media was electronic. It was all in the Code. Media and votes got people re-elected. Simple. All Code. Everyone who was anyone was online. And everyone else had to plug in someway in order to get what they wanted. Surveys were online. Payments were online. 

Bonus Short Story: Peace: Forever War - A disaster left Jerusalem underwater. And protecting it as a international religious worship area for all humans was a perfect way to test an impregnable and self-sustaining defense shield...

The War Bringeth: Two Short Stories

Light, Seasonal Reading by New Author C. C. Brower

Contains three short stories to fill your holidays with cheer:

Long Overdue Santa - 

The house seemed so empty now with the children all grown up and on their own. Just [ ] and his masters. A view of the holidays through the eyes of the family dog.

But this holiday has surprises for all, and a heartwarming surprise ending.

A light read to cheer your heart.

The Emperor's Scribe - 

A young apprentice teaches the Emperor truths found in recording the day-to-day events of the Royal Court. What he found changed an empire...

When Vacation Plans Revise - 

He was in the bathroom when the explosion left him alone in his emergency spacesuit. Ahead is the greatest challenge of his life - survive with the little training he'd gotten before setting out on this vacation in the stars...

About the author:

C. C. Brower is a new author and rapidly gaining an audience for her fresh approach to storytelling. These short stories give you a taste of her style and approach. Perfect for filling in the idle moments.

A Long Wait for Santa

Carol and Reggie were different. They thought different. Reggie could talk "the ears off a corn stalk." He was an expert on history, like a walking Wikipedia on ancient times (if people could stand to listen to him. ) Carol hardly talked, but her hugs could tell you the world. She could solve quintic polynomial equations. And a 4x4 Rubic's cube with one hand.

They were autists. "Special needs" people. Savants, kind of.

They were perfect for each other. Or maybe not. So different.

Between them, they understood the universe.

It was no small surprise that they were part of the next stage in human evolution. The one that's already here. Of course they knew it. But most of humanity didn't…

Excerpt:

Reggie could talk until tomorrow came. Gawd that guy liked to talk. 

When he couldn't talk, he'd write.

Me, I liked to hug. 

And children. I love children. 

And what most people think are “difficult” math problems. 

They just don’t try to understand what that equation wants. How it smells right when it’s accomplished what it wants. 

So they use math to solve really dumb things like how a rocket jerks in flight. Instead of looking for things that want to fly, they have to build something truly inefficient that makes a big sound and blows up with a louder one. Because they don’t feel when it’s right. 

I moved into Reggie’s apartment after we danced that one time. His room mate swapped apartments with me, since I lived near a bunch of other girls and he was tired of listening to Reggie. (But I don’t think so, it’s probably that he’d rather listen to girls giggle while they co-flirted. )

[Is “co-flirted” a word? Too bad if it’s not. Bag and Cat are now disjointed from mutual proximity. ]

So I’d come back in from work to find Reggie tapping out yet another over-long essay on his computer. 

I’d hug him and he’d pause. And his heartbeat would slow to match mine.

Then I’d let him go and move into the kitchenette to make a couple of sandwiches for us. I knew he probably hadn’t eaten. Or he would eat a sandwich I made just to make me happy. 

And he would finish up whatever he was blogging about. I’d have the sandwiches on a plate and a big mug of sweet tea or something cold (or hot, depending on the season) with two straws. Then I’d come out of the kitchen and bring them all out into the great room. (Why people call it a “living” room is non-sequitur. Living is an action. But they sit and watch do-less TV in it, which is couch-potato logic. )

Our big screen was set to a live feed from one of Cal-Tech’s telescopes. (No commercials. No fake news. )

We’d sit and cuddle the night away watching stars without having to be uncomfortable outside. 

Sometimes we’d have sex or make love.

Felt good either way…

The Autists

An Epic Road Trip and Fantastical Semi-Memoir

Living life is nothing that any moron or better couldn't accomplish, even without setting one's mind to it. The trick is to do something with that life. Or live several at once, so that one could at least be a success in one of them. 

Herbert, having endured his mid-life crisis with all the aplomb possibly available to him, now was set on making a new life for himself. This is his book. 

Such a book has parallels with our own. That is life for you - it sneaks up on you and drops some odd segue or link into some other person's scene and then just nips away, as if it was mainlining pixie dust or some super-quantum Dune drug. Blue eyes and all. 

You see, Herbert does live more than one life at once. Shackled to the mundane world of the Midwest warehouse laborer, he yet lives in worlds of extreme science, wild fantasy environments and incredibly sensuous surroundings. For Herbert reads books, surfs the Internet and has an overactive imagination. 

But let's meet our hero… 

- - - -

Excerpt:

Driving down Interstate 40 after leaving LA was a bit of a non-scene. Desert and highway didn't change that much after Barstow. Modern highways are built to be safe and wide in America. Deserts were designed by God to be hostile and unforgiving for any who broke down out there. Highways had the occasional road-side phone and also Patrol coming along. Deserts had cacti, dust and not much else. 

Herbert. That's me. There's about 5 or 6 variations of that name, but only one I would answer to. Comes from 
being raised in a family of 10. You had to pick an identity and stick with it, or drown in the uncertain melange of other lives around you.

This is my life, at least as I recall it. 40+ years old and leaving the known for the formerly known in order to make some sense of my life. Not that I was confused. But what I had been doing didn't make sense anymore, so I was now driving from LA, away from the nonsensical, toward the sensible. 

Barstow itself hadn't changed much since I had been there some 20 years ago. I had gone to Vegas to get married and found that Barstow was an interesting rest stop. I was the only one with a license, and so was the elected driver. We took off late after work - two couples in one car, both seeking an instant marriage and
abbreviated honeymoon on the way back. We had essentially 48 hours to pull the whole thing off. So, with the late start and nerves keeping me up the night before, lack of sleep started taking its toll after midnight. Pulled over by a trooper, who noticed the car was weaving.

So we stopped in Barstow for a couple of hours - they went in and had some food, I slept (but first my wife-to-be and I "made out"

in the front seat, just short of having sex - which was forbidden as part of the Center. 

A rise in the highway brought my attention back to the current, swerving the heavy loaded rental truck to stay between the lines. Topping the slight rise, I saw only the black parallel bars of highway stretching again into the darkening desert, the sun behind me along with a tail wind, pushing me ever home and away from Center forever. 

Center had been something which promised answers to all my many questions about how the universe operated. They said that you just had to follow their exact path and keep studying the books and lectures of their founder. One day, in an ever-increasing but gentle gradient, you would know Truth and this hope kept you going - along with the required annual celebrations you were required to attend where the official PR was read out by executives…

Toward a New Dawn

When Sue crash-lands back on Earth, she didn't know what to expect. What she found was a telepathic wolf pack, capable of reasoning and the dominant life form on the planet. The were in a fight for survival with the feral species of wolves, as well as the remnants of humankind. 

In the first part of this, Sue learns to communicate and to travel with the pack as they fight and escape from the hunting ferals. In doing so, she fights alongside Tig, the hunting pack leader, to save both their lives. 

What she wanted was to get back to the moon base to rescue her family. She didn't know how bad the collapse was. 

But before she can get anywhere, she has to prove to the sentient wolf pach that she can be trusted. This means a "probe." Something no human has survived. Sue has special talents and information the wolf pack needs. 

While she is preparing for this process, the wolves are fighting for their own survival as a species. The ferals know where their hidden valley is and how to get in. The Sentient wolves intend to attack first before anything can happen to them.

Within the pack itself is a conflict between Snarl, and Tig, who were both raised to lead the pack. The Chief is old, too sick to lead the hunt any longer. Snarl has something planned…

Excerpt:

The wolves had selected an old hooman foundation for the probe site.

It was circular, and legend had that the old building was mostly for storage and sheltering livestock. Hooman's called it a "barn". Those that hunted in and around it said it was a slave building, trapping the beings within. Supposedly, this was by mutual consent, as the beings who sheltered in that barn had few defenses without hoomans around. 

Those days were before the hoomans leaving in their sky-ships. Sentience wasn't widely available until after they were gone. After the plague took most of the remaining hoomans. 

Today, that foundation would be for the ceremony.

It would mark where the probe would take place, and where the sentient wolves and their cubs could watch in relative safety. 

Or so they thought. No hooman had survived the probe before. But this one was different. No hooman had been to the valley since the days of the hooman plague. 

This was completely new. 

And yet, more vital than ever. The ferals knew where the valley was. And the hooman settlements had been growing in size. Not just locally, but in every area where hoomans still survived. This news was brought by the migrating birds and insects. 

Unless a way was found to communicate with hoomans and ferals, it would mean a new world war that would destroy both sides. A war that would never end until one or the other side was exterminated.

Tig-she led Soo-she up to the circle and then stopped. The wolf looked at her and sent her a faith-filled prayer for the best outcome. 

Soo-she nodded in reply, then entered the circle. 

A hawk flew in lazy circles overhead, riding the thermals. With a cry, she dove to earth. Soo-she ducked, but the wolves didn't flinch.

On landing with a graceful back-sweeping, the hawk alighted without a sound. 

Eying the assembled wolves, the hawk bowed its head. 

A shimmering covered that form, which showed a wolf when it cleared. Grey, almost white fur - it was Teacher…