Forever Girl (a deeply unapologetic advert)

Some of you will know that as well as writing, I also write… Wait... I mean, I write books as well as these memory-dump things I occasionally inflict upon you here – I think I may have mentioned it before on a couple of separate occasions.

This is what Forever Girl looks like so you aren't confused

My most recent book, Forever Girl, was a collection of unconnected short stories that I wrote over the past year or so.  There were ‘Flash’ pieces, like what I used to write back in the day. (Stories with 500 words or less) There were stories from my Edward Teach universe (More on this later) and then there are just stories based on random thoughts that I had on the bus, or on the tube, or on the toilet, or whilst someone was talking to me and I was just nodding at them and making ‘pew-pew’ noises in my head that drowned out what they were saying.

Does that ever happen to you? You’re nodding away and suddenly the person stops talking and says, “Do you agree?” and your anal sphincter tightens up and your mouth goes dry and you reply, “Erm…” and you look across to your mate who’s making the ‘Careful what you say next, you imbecile!’ face and frowning so heavily that it looks like someone’s just injected malt vinegar into his eyes with an icing syringe. So, because you have to say something, you say, “Yes?” Then he looks all gleeful and goose-steps out of Woolworths while your mate informs you that you’ve just agreed with someone who started their conversation with “Did you know that Hitler was just Ron Mael out of the band ‘Sparks’ wearing a jaunty sun-hat and I’ve got a mongoose in the front pocket of my cargo shorts?”

No?

Just me then?

Oh… Right you are.

Anywho, back to the subject in hand, and the question I was about to ask… I’ll be blunt… Have you bought a copy? No? Well, I’ll tell you what I’ll do as a special favour – I’ll let you know what the included 28 stories are all about to whet your appetite. Then you can get it (from Amazon, I don’t just sell my stuff out of a shoebox by the side of the road you know)

• The train now standing – The first story I ever read out loud at an event. About the passengers in a railway waiting room, on a rainy night in December.

• A walk in the woods – A story set in my ‘Edward Teach’ airship Universe, Where our long-suffering first officer, Mr. Britt, takes a long tumble into danger – on his birthday.

• Born from an egg? – Another Mr. Britt birthday story. This time explaining the plot of his favourite TV program… In detail - You might learn something.

• Nexus 7 – More Edward Teachery, this time a story about my own daughter and her general disregard for authority.

• A nautical gentleman – More birthdays, on airships, this time for Lee’Sahr, a crewman (crew-woman?) who has suffered a great personal ignominy.

• It’s a setup! – A 495 word flash story, the entirety of which is really just a carrier for a groan-inducing final line.

• Virtuality – An Artificial Intelligence (who swears that he most definitely isn’t) discovers that he’s more human than a lot of real humans are.

• A Goswick railwayman – Why do I write so many stories about trains? I don’t even like trains that much. Here Death take things into his own anthropomorphised hands to correct a seventy year old mistake.

• A breath of fresh air – One of the few stories where readers have taken the time to contact me and say that it left an impression on them. A young boy wishes that he’d done no more than been a better son.  A bit like myself.

• A frozen image – Have you ever seen one of those ‘Snails do the funniest things’ clip-shows? Have you ever paused it at the very moment the baseball hit the camera? I wonder what you’d see.

• Horner of the G.A.A. – Horner was an experiment, to see if I could over-describe everything, like Dan Brown does. He might actually star in his own deeply confusing novella one day.

• Nowhere – My shortest story, at 150 words. About the last few seconds of a motorcyclists life.

• I remember when this was all fields – My one and only try at a western/cowboy story. I discovered I was no good at them, so from now on I’m just going to stick to what I know.

• Warning! – My first piece of flash, which despite being about a delivery driver and a bit rubbish – I’m still quite proud of.

• I believe in a thing called love – A Doctor in the far future (If 500 years makes it the far future) discovers the love of his life is not who she seems to be.

• Then: More fire – Our wonderful Doctor once more, finds that fire has become a permanent, and very uncomfortable, part of his love-life.

• It’s been a long time – A birthday story for a good friend of mine. One who, at the time of writing, had been dead some 700 years.

• Forever Girl – Our eponymous story about a normal everyday girl, who happens to work at Oxford University and may have a pet time machine.

• The Baroness’ Birthday – An introduction to the Matriarch of the central family of the ‘Edward Teach’ stories and her ‘no nonsense’ attitude.

• An Inconvenience – Another story about the Baroness, this one taking place both directly after, and also one year later than the previous one. A story of revenge denied.

• The Rescuer – As most of the ‘Edward Teach’ based action takes place in the sky, I thought a story set on the seabed might make a nice change of pace.

• Dale and Samuelson, Solicitors – Steven is a nobody, a worker in a London based solicitor’s office, whose only distinguishing feature is that his trainers are always wet.

• The deluxe model – Mike Tanaka reports from the 2056 Tokyo toy fair. Where attitudes towards gender have changed. But manufacturing methods have not.

• Mirror – A descriptive section about one man’s last, long day of employment in a dusty dystopia.

• And there are no more – Have you ever been on a very long journey where people lay on entertainment to pass the time faster? Our unlikely hero, Archimedes has. (Includes a free song you can sing at home)

• Guns! – A short-short story that I don’t actually remember writing. It’s about a man who overcomes his embarrassment to save his friends lives during the war.

• The good old days – A flash story about a boy and his unusual friends – And how peer pressure doesn’t always end well.

• BEK – The story of a very particular kind of monster, with a very particular set of skills. (I read this at an event in a bookshop last year, and it made at least one of the audience go very pale indeed)

So there you go, almost 30 stories for £7.99 – that’s about 26p each or something – And that’s for the paperback… How can you afford not to buy it?

(Yes, I know that doesn’t technically make sense – Just go with it - I'm a struggling writer, not a using English words properly type person)

You can get it in paperback HERE

*Or*

You can get it for your Kindle (or Kindle compatible device) HERE

Either way, you short-term satisfaction is guaranteed – Although I’m not going to be refunding your money just because you say you didn’t like it.  You strike me as particularly untrustworthy, Have you actually met you? And it goes against all sorts of Amazon rules probably too, I’d have thought.

Oh! I was going to give you some news too wasn’t I?  Well, Over the next few weeks, I shall be publishing the novel that started off this Edward Teach tomfoolery.  It’s 300+ pages of futuristic, airship heavy, swashbuckling, there’s a female main protagonist that passes the Bechdel test (well, most of it at least) and it’s rip-roaring fun of the old-school type… And there may be a talking horse in it too.

Keep your eyes peeled for further updates… soonish.

Better wet than white

Another Birthday story today - This one is for the person whose stay in hospital started the whole idea of my Edward Teach Stories turning into the Windspider Chronicles... She's also the person behind the character Lee'Sahr - Without her, none of this would have happened, so there's that to thank her for... Well, I say thank. In this episode, we're introduced to Carter Landry, who is a Bostonian crew-member (From Boston, in America, not from the planet Boston - Because that would be mental) and I've always thought that he'd be played by the actor Luke Kleintank, should there ever be a film. (Even though he's from Ohio)

-oOo-

“I’ve tried that… We’re still all going to die.” Lee’Sahr shouted into the Intercomm, sounding calmer than she felt.

“Try it again, make sure you shut down the thrusters completely before you try the cold restart.”

“Why don’t you just…?” She hit the fire dampener button with the flat of her hand, the whine of the electric motor confirming that she had completely run out of foam. “If I could stop the engines, or even put out the fire, I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Roger Skimmer Four, hold for instructions.”

“She’s going to kill us you know.” Britt called from the rear seat, “When she figures out we borrowed the skimmer just to get more beer for your Birthday.”

“We’ll be lucky if she gets the chance… Are you making a den?”

Britt stopped jamming floatation devices into any gap he could find and looked up at her. “I’m assuming a crash position for when we splashdown.”

“At the back?”

“Well, unless you’re intending to jam the handbrake on at the last minute, spin us around and reverse us into the ocean, yes… I’m sitting at the back, surrounded by spongy things that float.”

“What about me?”

“You’re driving.”

“What ‘bout me?” Mr. Rax uncurled his orange bulk from between the seats, where he had been hiding his giant Pradilan head and trying to think of happier, drier times.

The Intercomm beeped. “Rax, I think it’ll take more than crashing into the sea at…” She looked at the airspeed indicator, “almost the speed of sound to crack your scaly hide.  Yes?” The last comment was meant for the person on the other end of the Intercomm, but it still managed to put a confused look on Rax’s face, so that was nice.

Landry’s relaxed Bostonian voice rang from the Intercomm speaker, “Skimmer Four, this is Sidi Ferruch base, Carter Landry speaking, are you receiving?”

“Yeah, we’re still on fire, how’re things working out for you today?”

He laughed, “Lookin’ forward to your party, hope you can make it. You have all the beer. Lady Dorleith’s genuinely worried about you… And her skimmer.” There was the unmistakable sound of him putting his embroidered cowboy boots up on the control panel and leaning back into his seat, “Yeah, mostly the skimmer to be fair, she says those things are, like, really expensive…”

Lee’Sahr shook her head, “Look, is this just a social call or have you any last minute ideas on how we might survive the next few minutes?”

“Don’t get your shipsuit in a bunch. I got an idea, used to do it all the time back on the ranch just to show off. Your problem is that your starboard engine is on fire, right?”

“Yes, starboard is right, well done. Is that important?”

“Well, you’re flying over the sea, and the sea is made of water.”

“And?”

“And water puts out fire… All you have to do is dip the starboard air-intake into the water, it’ll pick up some water, shoot it through the engine and put the fire out. Then you can do the cold restart. Simple.”

“Yeah, thanks Landry, nothing to it. I’ll call you back when it’s done.” She flicked off the Intercomm, 

“You hear that Britt?”

A forearm with an extended thumb rose from the pile of floatation devices, then slowly disappeared back inside again.

“OK,” She stretched her fingers and grabbed the control stick. “Counting down to dipping a wing into the water whilst we’re going way too fast that will lead to us cartwheeling across the waves and disintegrating into a giant fireball of death in 5… 4… 3… 2…”

“WAIT!”

She shot a look back at Rax, “Sorry, dropped this.” He pointed at an obviously well-loved teddy-bear with six inches of glossy black claw, then held it tightly to his chest, screwed his eyes closed and nodded.

“5… 4… 3… 2…”

“WAIT!”

She turned around again to see Britt’s head sticking out of his protective mound. “What colour T-Shirt do you have on under your shipsuit?”

“What?”

“Well, whether this works or not, we’re probably going to get wet, and if you’re wearing a white T-shirt… Well, it’s your reputation I’m thinking of you know.”

“By the bare-buttocked Goddess of inappropriacy… ONE!” She jammed the control stick hard to the right and they hit the water…

The Baroness' Birthday

For those of you who don't know, The Baroness, Grand Matriarch of the Lohlephel clan, the main protagonists of my next trilogy of Science-Fiction books is loosely based on my long-suffering wife. This is a story that I wrote for her Birthday - She has kindly agreed to let me share it with you.

See if you can figure out who her husband, The Baron, is based on (I'm not going to give you any clues, but I'm trying to get Gary Oldman to play me... Erm, I mean him... in the upcoming film.)

-oOo-

The Baroness was cornered like a hedgehog.  In all of her years as captain of the airship, The Granthar’s Hammer, she had prided herself on always having a fool-proof escape plan. Not this time though, trapped in the claustrophobic corridor between a supply closet and the hangar bay, she eyed the scarlet steel behemoth in front of her warily. Its thick shoulder armour scraping gouges out of the plasterwork as it shuffled left and right to match her attempts to slip around it. “Get out of my way you idiot!”

Its ironclad head slowly rotated from side to side.

She sighed, “So help me, I will take a can opener to you if you do not get the hell out of my way right now.”

A deep, modulated laugh came from its external speakers and one of its gargantuan hands unfolded menacingly towards her, its flexing index finger indicating that it wanted her to follow it. She took a step back and shrugged out of its way. “I have a patrol to fly. We had a report of Spider activity in the Northern Province and you know how upset Hadleigh gets when I keep him waiting.”

It waved its finger at her admonishingly and gestured to her to follow it again.

Her head dropped to her chest as she exhaled, “Alright, if we have to go through this pitiful charade every time.” She grabbed hold of its finger and climbed up its thick leg armour, “The least you can do is give me a lift.”

It bowed deeply as she clung onto the knot of thick cables that surrounded its torso. It turned and set off at a run through the corridors. By the time it reached the wide open space of the hangar it was travelling at high speed. Its tree-trunk legs pounding into the marble floor like pistons and the Baroness was just managing to keep a grip on it with her thighs, hands and teeth. They passed by the bulk of the Hammer like a blood-red blur. She just had time to shrug at Hadleigh, the pilot, as they sped around the corner and back out of the cavernous room, the steel treads of the giant’s feet struggling to maintain grip on the polished surface. 

“Slow down you bloody imbecile, you’re going to-“ her warning was punctuated by a crash as an unfortunate maintenance construct wandered around the corner, only to be dashed to pieces by a quarter of a ton of kneecap travelling at fifty miles per hour, “- Hit somebody.” She mumbled. They continued along the corridor until they reached the atrium that signified the entrance to the Roost’s living quarters and without warning, the giant leaped thirty feet into the air, its gorilla like hands grabbing the edge of the second floor parapet and effortlessly lifting the pair of them over and onto the sumptuously decorated floor that held the Baroness’ private quarters. Its huge frame crouched as it made to once more accelerate along the corridor.

“Stop!” cried the Baroness, “Let me down, I can walk from here thank you very much.” She slid from her perch at the monster’s waist and massaged the feeling back into her legs. Looking at the crushed handprints in the stonework of the balcony, she shook her head at the featureless face towering above her. “Lead on.”

It stomped, gently but resolutely towards her chambers and stopped at the security door, it’s face on a level with that of the Stalys terminal, the artificial intelligence that controlled the Roost’s systems. There was a decidedly canine growl from the giant’s speakers and the door slid open. It then stood aside as the Baroness entered the room.

“Don’t let your daughter see you do that, she’s got enough of an attitude problem as it is without her developing an abusive relationship with the constructs.” She took off her uniform jacket and threw it on the bed, “So, what did you want? As if it wasn’t obvious.”

The huge figure clutched its hands to its chest as if it had been shot through the heart, “You wound me My Lady.” It laughed as its hands moved to each side of its head and twisted. With a click and a hiss of escaping pressure the helmet was lifted to reveal the smiling, bearded face of Baron Massimo Lohlephel. “Happy Birthday, my sweet, my ghostly tune of the first jackdaw of autumn, my babbling laughter of a woodland stream, I would like to present you with…” The spade-like gauntlets of his armoured suit slapped against his thighs. “With… I have it here somewhere…” He furiously looked around the room, “I’m sure I… Ah!” One of his suit arms went limp as he removed his real arm from it to search the inside of the suit. “Exit!” He commanded and the suit split open from neck to groin. He stepped out of it and climbed down onto the ground, holding out a flat box in front of him, which he presented reverently to the Baroness.

“Oh it’s lovely Massimo,” She gasped, holding up the Egyptian inspired necklace up to the light which skittered along its thick, gold rope. “If I may ask one question though, you old goat?”

“Anything my love, you have but to ask.”

“Do you not usually wear clothes under your power-armour?”

“Not today my sweet, no…”

But what do all 41 mean?

OK, let's get something out of the way first...

Wakka-wakka-wakka Christmas, Wakka-wakka-wakka buy my book, Wakka-wakka-wakka perfect Christmas present, Wakka-wakka-wakka probably won't be delivered before Christmas though.

Phew, glad we don't have to do that again.

Some of you will know, if you follow The Chimping Dandy on Twitter at least, that as well as working on Volume Two of The Collected Chimping Dandy (which shall be called, The Pangolin Yodels),  I'm also trying semi-desperately to finish the first volume of the ten-book series that will eventually encompass the Edward Teach stories and all of their spin-offs.

To keep myself honest, and maybe promote some interest in the Twitterverse, Since about June, I've been tweeting a context-free line every time I manage to write more than 700 words in one day and I wondered, on the way into work this morning, if they would make sense if I bunged them together in order, so here goes:

-oOo-

1. Try it metal-mouth and you’ll be sucking your next recharge from the end of my boot.
2. absolute primogeniture
3. Can any of you dogs tell me why we aren't all dead six times over?
4. Kill field engaged
5. the transgressors were summarily recycled
6. Excellency, I am a singular entity, with five hundred and twelve extremities
7. We heard them screaming and screaming. Then the screams got quieter, and then they were gone
8. I would also appreciate it if the slug-throwers were warmed up, I think we might be on the verge of offending some people
9. I’ve seen most of the Aligned Races naked at one point or another soldier, but none of them keep their faces down there.
10. If the Cloud instructed you to wait whilst it passed you to an organic operator, then it was your time to worry.
11. However, I would lose precisely no sleep whatsoever if you ended up floating face down in the river
12. there were always preachers, trying to convince you that the only way to avoid eternal torment was to put a coin in the slot
13. The taxi turned around in a large, languid circle, back towards the city, gently whistling cowboy tunes as it went
14. and then he died, slowly and painfully, covered in sores, crying for his Mother.
15. Oh yes, he had a bag full of credits that I used to buy drugs… The good kind.
16. If you’d lie face down for me?
17. She drew her finger almost all of the way out, altered the angle slightly and reinserted it,the breath caught in his throat
18. 'Silver Nitrate,’ she remarked as she spat the taste from her mouth onto the deck, ‘You need saline and a topical painkiller'
19. let’s put this old lady back in her bed and make a start on a slightly younger model.
20. 'It’s replacing the…’ The construct’s diminutive sensor cluster waved slowly from side to side. ‘No, installing the…’
21. I hope that they’re geared up for an election. Because they’re going to be needing a new Station Commander.
22. The comestible in question was being used for a purpose for which it was not originally designed.
23. That is hardcoded into my cortex, The Baron was most insistent that that be the case.
24. If I were to inject a massive overload at this point, would that cause a cascade event?
25. if you want a device that can capture the heart of a sun and use it to refrigerate your drink, I can do that
26. Happy that he looked immaculate, he left his quarters and joined Barnes on the bridge.
27. it rose from the surface of the water, growing steadily towards them until it was a hundred feet high
28. With regret Excellency, we do not routinely check for things that are impossible.
29. Now, can I just stop you there Doctor? I would like you to tell me something that I do… Not… Know.
30. whose smile had lightened to that casual grin of a psychopath watching a bag of kittens drown.
31. we have been able to use existing virus bomb technology to improve life rather than destroy it
32. It seems that they enjoy the feeling of its low-frequency radiation on their… bodies.
33. Well Buller was one of the men who procured them. He had his own ideas about quality control too.
34. Nice to see that we’re all still alive. Oh! We seem to have lost one, will you be taking his place Ma’am?
35. I am programmed to assume this position whenever I anticipate an extended period of local stress.
36. The young guard turned, aimed the rocket launcher at the centre of the large metal doors, and pulled the trigger
37. a brief tangle of mechanical legs as a number of Spiders tried, unsuccessfully, to move in two directions at once
38. The nice lady from earlier, the one who accused you of all being murderers and rapists, is waving at you.
39. He mimed the actions of bears dancing whilst swordfighting, but stopped when he realised that she wasn't watching.
40. Confirmed, I will launch when the indicators are green, or when you start making sense, whichever is sooner.
41. Look into having the construct responsible for traffic control re-purposed as a fertiliser dispersal unit will you?

-oOo-

Ah, it seems not, no... Bugger

Well, if they manage to pique your interest then I suppose they've done their job.  Just to let you know, I already have one advance order.  It's from a young gentleman called Archimedes, who like robots and pirates. (Well, I suppose, technically, that it's from his Dad.)

The Minidandy's Birthday

As you can probably tell, by the title of the post, that it's my Daughter, the MiniDandy's birthday.  Her fourteenth in fact.

I couldn't really do anything else than tell a quick story about Lady Dorleith Ahralia, Captain of the Edward Teach, In nominate ruler of the Open Lands and High Voort of the Shattered Spire (whatever that is) and what happened on HER fourteenth birthday.

Or this is what she told me happened at least.

-oOo-

'Wake up!' Her mother's strident voice echoed through her cabin as she was roughly shaken awake.

'Five more minutes, yeah? 'K thanks bye...'

'No, no, no... You need to get up, we're under...' A large munition detonated against the hull, shaking books from the small bookcase by her bed, 'attack. I need you to man a gun.'

She rolled out of bed, suddenly more awake than she had ever felt in her life.  Pulling on a ship-suit, some socks and her favourite old boots, she made her way forward, heading for the bridge.  She was constantly buffeted by a tide of crewmen desperately trying to get to their duty stations, alarms were blaring and Alexander, the A.I. that controlled the systems onboard the Grabthar's Hammer was providing almost constant status updates in his calm, measured voice.

'Attention gunnery crews, we have Spiders inbound on multiple vectors, the Baroness has announced that "firing at will" is the current standing order.'

Dorleith stopped at a corridor junction and tried desperately to clear her head and remember where her gunnery station was.  All of the corridors aboard the Hammer looked the same and her Mother had removed all of the signage, working on the theory that her crew should really know where they were going by now.

Another explosion rocked the ship and she stumbled against the wall, looking up she saw the engraved brass head of Alexander directly above her, staring down.

'Alexander, wh...'

'Ion cannon seven, deck three.  You're welcome My Lady.'

She turned back the way she had come, slid down a steel ladder without touching any of the rungs and made her way to the control nexus for deck three's ion cannons.  Settling into the seat, she put on the gloves and helmet that comprised the control system and activated the interface.  Immediately she became cannon 7, wherever she looked, the barrels that were her arms pointed, whenever she punched, a beam of blinding blue light shot out into the early morning sky.  Her first few shots were wild and uncontrolled, even though she had practiced and been drilled for this moment since she was twelve years old.

Eventually she emptied her mind and relaxed into her position, everywhere she looked there were Spiders.  The targeting scanners that were her eyes picked out the separate targets and displayed details of speed and range and the probability of a clean hit.   She picked out a target that was closing at 200 miles per hour.  Zooming in, she saw that the spider had a huge rotating drill attached to its carapace and was planning to board.

Her first few shots bounced harmlessly off, the spider was obviously shielded.  She clenched her fists and felt the buzz of the stored energy building in her arms.  Her next double punch almost blinded her, but caught the mechanical arachnid straight in the sensor array.   Immediately, the light in its eyes died, the drill stopped spinning and it fell away into the clouds, far below.

Heartened by her victory, she spent the next ten minutes furiously punching Spiders from the air.  whooping and yelling as the force of her blasts removed legs and mandibles wholesale and the creatures themselves spiraled to the ground.

The sky started to clear, the immediate area around the airship was almost devoid of targets, but Dorleith continued to fire at anything that moved.  The trill of the incoming message alert had been playing in her ear for three long minutes before she noticed it.

'Cannon 7?'

'Aye Cannon 7, ceasefire was called five minutes ago, stand down and return to the Nexus.'

She took off the helmet and gloves, stowed them back in their receptacles and ran her fingers through her long, red, sweat-soaked hair.  As her eyes got used to the sudden darkness she noticed that the Gun-Commander was scowling at her.  'You're to report directly to the Baroness on the Bridge... My Lady.'  He bowed whilst simultaneously shaking his head.

She looked at him for a second, perplexed.  He nodded towards the exit lock, 'I think she meant now.'

The adrenaline was still pumping as she entered the Bridge, walked over to her Mother's command chair and waited patiently for her to finish reading the battle reports.   Baroness Bhin-Dhee Lohlephel of the Rustholme slowly turned to address her young daughter.

'Happy Birthday.'

'Thank you Mother, I...'

The Baroness pressed her index finger to her lips. 'I just wanted to explain to you why you weren't currently in the Brig.' She waited for the whorls of confusion to reach their crescendo on her daughter's face. 'The cease fire was called a good five minutes before you actually ceased firing.  What you should have done at that point is explicitly described in the name of the order.  Cease... Fire... Are you suffering from some kind of hearing deficiency?'

'No, I...'

'Insubordination then perhaps?  Did you think that my order was some kind of recommendation?  Something you should only do if you couldn't think of anything better yourself?'

'It's just that I...'

The Baroness waved away the communications officer who had bought her a data tablet that required her authorisation and looked directly at her daughter.  'Do you know how many Spiders you shot down?' Dorleith shook her head. 'I'll tell you, fifteen.  You shot down fifteen of them, including three that were set on boarding my ship and trying to wreak as much havoc as they could have done, which would have no doubt have entailed the death or injury of many valuable crew-members.  After the ceasefire however, you shot down nine ducks, an albatross, one of our camera drones and number four gasbag, which is why we are currently listing...'

Mr Britt turned around and grinned.  'six degrees Ma'am.'

The Baroness nodded at him and continued, 'six degrees to port.  Do not repeat this next time you are manning a gun.  Birthday or not you'll spend a day in the Brig.'

Dorleith looked up and could feel hot tears welling behind her eyes. 'Yes... I mean, no Mothe.. Ma'am.  I will try to be more careful.'  She curtsied deeply and started to slowly back her way towards the door.

'See that you do.  Oh, and Dorleith?'  Her daughter froze and stared at her like a kitten that had fallen down a well lined with rabid dogs. 'The next time you come onto my Bridge wearing mis-matched socks, I'll skin you alive.'

Present Tense

Below is a piece of crossover fiction inspired by my recent trip to Blackpool.  It is set in the same universe as my Edward Teach stories and alludes to some of the upcoming book's plotlines, however - The antagonist is from THIS piece of Flash Fiction, you might wish to read it first.

-oOo-

I flew in from the south-east, down the lush valley between the Liverpool Free Trade Area and the ruins contained by the, in parts still radioactive, Greater Manchester wastelands.   I had originally intended to circle out over the Irish Sea and come in low over the water, but there had been some recent reports that the Welsh Separatists had managed to get hold of some ex-defense force artillery and were taking pot-shots at anything flying low enough not to leave a contrail.  I felt that keeping the crate in one piece made more sense than having a control surface obliterated by a misguided 'Son of Glyndwr' and spiraling into the briny deep with my aft section aflame.

Whilst I'm on the subject, I'm glad that I'm less than fifteen miles from the Aeroport, as I've a nasty feeling that last night's dinner is about to make an explosive re-appearance.  Fox Cheek Vindaloo has a wonderful effect on that palate, but loses something during its trip through one's lower intestine.  I decided to contact local traffic control to see if I could secure a berth near the Gentlemens' Conveniences.

'George Joseph Smith International Aeroport, this is the private flyer Gustavo, requesting clearance to land.'

'Roger Gustavo,' Replies the obviously electronic voice of the traffic control construct, 'please continue on your current heading and land in section Red Seventeen.'

'Acknowledged Control, are there comfort facilities near that particular area? There is a possibility of an impending gastric emergency.'

'Gustavo, do you wish to report a medical emergency?'

'Negative Control, just a minor digestive discomfort... Gustavo Out.'

I lock the navigational system onto the docking beam and proceed to land in the indicated bay.  Even as the landing legs were rebounding, I leap out of the cockpit and open the starboard stowage locker.  I pick out a rather fetching stovepipe hat with matching gecko-skin gloves, and make my way into the terminal building.  Once my urgent business has been taken care of and my composure has been restored, I show my documentation to the security team, and ask to be directed to the Hackney Rank.

The three mile ride into town is fairly uneventful, I am continually unnerved by the robotic horse that pulls my carriage giving me a potted history of the resort - It is not so much that it is, for all intents and purposes a talking silver horse, mainly it is that the damnable thing is looking at me over its shoulder all the time, rather than keeping its glowing blue eyes on the road.

We pass the first of the town's three piers, the silent hulks of the anti-Spider defense cannons still positioned down it's length.  skeins of bright bunting are stretched between them in a jarring juxtaposition.

'Why the decoration?' I ask the horse.

'If you had only come last week Sir, it was the twentieth anniversary of the last Spider attack, a suicide squadron had targeted the Tower and the men of the town shot down every single one.  At low tides you can still see some of the wreckage if you know where to look.'

Ah, the famous Tower, it had been the main landmark of the town for several hundred years, it had seen service as a circus, a ballroom, a radar station and had finally ended up being used as an airship mooring mast.  I crane my neck to look up as I pass it and see that a passenger liner was currently docked, its silver skin glinting brightly in the setting sun.

Moments later the Hackney pulled up at the Metropole Hotel, I disembark, pat the equine construct absently on the head and find my way to the reception desk.

'Reservation in the name of Anderson?' I announce, somewhat questioningly to the young girl behind the desk.

'Yes sir, do you have any luggage?'

Gods damn it! In my rush to leave the aeroport, I had forgotten to pick up my cases.  I am however unwilling to announce this to the general public, so I answer with braggadocio, 'No, not currently.  I would consider it a great kindness if you would ask your concierge to contact the finest local Gentleman's Costumiers and ask them to supply a brown leather dinner jacket and a selection of day-wear suitable for tomorrow's prevailing weather conditions.'

She injects my hand with the digital keys to my suite and I enter the lift.  In some strange quirk of fate, or more likely via some over-zealous research by a bored hotel employee, the music being played over the under-sized speakers is one of my great, great-grandfather's most popular tunes.  He was a local man himself and had enjoyed some small fame with a progressive musical group named after an eighteenth century agriculturalist.

The lift deposits me directly across the corridor from my room, I exit, cross the deep pile carpet and clench my hand against the sculpted mahogany of the door handle.  There is a brief sensation of heat as the key is read and the door clicks open.

I enter the room, the only source of illumination is from a shaft of sunlight streaming through the apparently amateurishly drawn curtains, picking out an ornately detailed silver bottle on the side table.  I pick it up and read the words 'Henri IV Dudognon Heritage' engraved around a golden badge on the side.

The sudden voice surprised me to the point where I almost dropped the bottle.

'Those are real diamonds, set in platinum.'

I turn, still cradling the bottle in my suddenly sweating palms.

'Who?' I ask.  The man stands, he is dressed in a vaguely military style, his impeccably pressed jacket so clean that it almost glows in the half-light.  He smiles, apologetically.

'Ah yes, how remiss of me, my name is Horner, I contacted you via The Great Cloud? You told me your story about the loss of the airship Simon Bolivar.'

'Of course, Mr Horner, I should have known.' I reply graciously, 'Thank you for the invitation I must say that I wasn't expecting this kind of payment.' I lift the bottle, the sun reflects from the thousands of brilliantly cut diamonds and momentarily the room is festooned with a plethora of small, dancing points of light.

He laughs emptily, 'Payment? Goodness me no, your story was interesting, and will definitely be published, but it wasn't worthy of that particular vintage.  No, that was merely a distraction.'

'Dis...?' I don't even feel the blade as it completely severs my neck, I only know that a sword is even involved because I can now see it in his left hand, pointing at the floor in the sabre rest position, it has blood dripping from it, my blood.

'I'm sorry old chap, but I can't risk you telling your story to anyone else, we value exclusivity at the G.A.A. you see.'

He takes a step forward, places his index finger on the bridge of my nose and applies the tiniest amount of pressure.  My head separates from my shoulders with a quiet sucking sound and I have the briefest view of my own back before the floor and oblivion hit me simultaneously.

Horner removes a small notebook from his inside pocket, and crosses off the name 'Anderson'. He then takes out a personal communicator and connects to The Great Cloud.  He dials in a number and when the party accepts the call he coughs politely.

'Mr Josiah, Yes? It's Horner of the G.A.A. I've received your story... I must say, it's rather good. I'd like to arrange payment.'

The sins of the Father (Pt 3 - Final)

'Roost traffic control, this is the Edward Teach, requesting landing clearance.'

'Good morning Edward Teach, you are expected, please make your way to dock four.  Five knot speed limits apply and will be enforced.'

'Understood, dock four, thank you Roost traffic control, you bloody officious pile of scrap tin and frayed wires.'

Everyone on the bridge turned to look at When.

'What? No damn construct's telling me how fast I can pilot my own boat in friendly airspace!'

'Whose boat, Mr When?' The Captain asked as she strode through the door from her quarters onto the Bridge.

'I... I mean, we... That is, obviously, she's your boat Captain... I... I just meant that...'

'Calm down man, when I'm not on the bridge, better yet, when I'm not actually on board, feel free to think of the Teach as your own.  Although I'd like to think that you'd treat your own ship better than you treat this one sometimes.  You still owe me a new boarding tube.'  She sat in her command chair and surveyed her screens, 'Which dock has she put us in?'

'Erm... Four.'

'FOUR?' She jumped back up and stormed towards the main viewer, 'Four is the bay where the garbage cutter docks on a Friday morning!'

'Lucky for us that it's Wednesday then,' Commented Landry, the Communications Officer, with a smile.

She turned slowly towards him, and the colour drained out of his cheeks, 'Mr Landry, who are we exactly?'

'Captain... I don't...'

'Let's start with something a little simpler, Who are you?'

'Carter Landry, Ma'am, I don't see...'

'Ah-ah, and what do you do?'

'I'm... I'm the Communications Officer,'

'Where?'

'On board the Edward Teach?'

'Yes, well done.  What kind of ship is the Teach?'

'She's a Corsair...'

'And who is the Captain?'

'You are Ma'am, obviously.  I meant no disrespect!' He looked at When, with a growing glint of panic in his eyes.

'Don't look at him, he can't help you.  Next question, where are we?'

'At the Roost, your family home... But...'

'Ah! Finally, there we have it! We're at my family home, where my loving Mother and Brother will no doubt be waiting for us with open arms and a twelve course banquet.'

When stifled a laugh.

She shot him a look made of knives and thunder, 'Can you see why I'm upset that they're making us dock in what is, effectively, a garbage chute?'

'Yes Ma'am, of course, I completely understand.  I'm sorry...'

'I'm glad we all understand each other.  Frobisher!' She shouted, not taking her eyes off the quivering young officer.

'Aye Ma'am?'

'Connect to traffic control and get us a better berth will you, there's a good disembodied head!'

The lights flickered on Frobisher's face as he inveigled his way into the Roost's network.

'Edward Teach, this is Roost traffic control, please cease and desist you efforts to connect to...' There was a loud crackle as the communication signal was cut and reconnected, 'Edward Teach, please make your way to dock two.  Fifteen knot speed limits apply but will not be enforced.'

'Fifteen knots, but not enforced?' Mouthed When to the Captain.

'You expressed a concern that five knots was too slow for our purposes, so I took the liberty of increasing the dock speed limit and disabling the pressor emitters whilst I was connected.' Replied Frobisher, an air of smugness radiating from his expressionless face.

'Very good, Dr When, bring us into dock two, try to keep us below fifty knots and if you take any more paint off the hull I'll skin you and use you to patch that slow leak in the number three gasbag.'

'Aye Ma'am!' Grinned the First Officer.  He opened the Intercomm, 'All hands, prepare for docking at the Roost, this will be a...' He looked at the Captain questioningly, she shook her head slowly, 'A short visit, grab what decent food you can and if you need equipment, Ask for it, don't steal it, these people are our friends'

The airship turned majestically and made headway towards the Roost.  The stark cliffs of the Captain's home coming into view piecemeal through the mountain mist, showing the vast extent of the ancient estate.   She missed her home and her family, but her Mother's disapproval of how she made her living made these visits few and far between.  They were less than five hundred meters away when the green landing indicators lit up around the entrance to dock two, and the huge steel doors started to grind open.

She sat back into her seat and braced herself, When always showboated his way into the Roost and she was sure that this time was not going to be any different.  He took up a position behind the helmsman and cracked his knuckles.

'Roost traffic control, this is the Teach, we're having difficulty with our landing automatics, we will be docking manually.'

'Acknowledged Edward Teach, dock two is cleared for approach.  Emergency services have been advised.'

When cut the connection and pouted, 'I said that we were coming in on manual, not on fire...'

'They've seen you dock before, obviously.' Grinned the Captain.

He glared as he took the controls, gunned the engines and aimed the ship straight at the broad, glass windows of the traffic control centre. The Teach jumped forward, her tethered gasbags struggling to keep up with the sudden acceleration.

'Ramming Speed!' Yelled When over the squeals of the over-stressed connecting chains.

He waited until he could see the screaming faces of the traffic control team through the armoured glass, and the heavy shutters of their collision screens starting to deploy before he turned abruptly and headed for the docking bay.  Cutting the engines, he allowed the ship to turn around completely so that it was facing backwards and applied full burn on the maneuvering thrusters.  She entered the bay stern first and coasted slowly to a halt just as the docking tube engaged on the hull.

The Captain turned to the bridge crew. 'Secure engines and thrusters, rig the gasbags for neutral buoyancy and for gods' sake lock the cargo bays, we don't want any inquisitive members of the Pewter Guard nosing about in my booty.'

The crew dissolved into fits uproarious laughter.

'What? Why are you all laughing?'

They all turned towards her, and seeing her reddening face, started to laugh even louder.

'What are you laughing at?  Mr Landry, When, stop laughing!  I'll keelhaul the lot of you if you don't stop laughing.'

Luckily, they were laughing so loud that they didn't hear the Pewter Guard Commander on the viewscreen, demanding to know why they'd docked their sloppily patched, scab ridden junkpile of a corsair in the Baroness' personal dock.

Else there'd have been a massacre.

-oOo-

OK, so I'm afraid that I'm going to end this story right here, as I intend to use this arc in the book.  You'll all find out what's happened to Lady Dorleith's Father, Mother and Brother soon enough (hopefully) - And there will be further, complete, adventures of the Edward Teach coming soon.

Just not this particular one.

See you on Monday - Watch out for the Spiders.

Steve the Hedge

Kids are great, aren't they though? I like kids so much that I went and got some of my own.  I decided to get one of each, you know, so I could experience both sides of the coin as it were.

I know that a few of you out there in the Blogosphere have children. I mean, I've accidentally read... Oh, I don't know... Literally tens of Blogs that say things like:

'And this is little Clinton taking his first steps, we bought a new deep-pile carpet for the whole house in case he falls over.'

'Jocasta looks absolutely scrummy in this Anne Geddes original Bumblebee costume that I bought from Fortnum & Mason (in the sale, Tarquin tells me that he's not made of money, hahahaha!)'

'We took the BMW so that Phillipe and Hermione could have enough room for all of their imaginary friends'

And I suppose I can sympathise to a degree, net-savvy Yummy-Mummies spending their time between glasses of Veuve Clicquot filling the empty void left in their lives after they gave up their full time job as a Business Analyst or Advertising Executive to be a real woman, just like their own Mothers', by telling their equally vacuous friends how their offspring regularly exceeds the targets that some book or other has set for them, whilst they're trying to re-invent the non-existant neon coloured school satchel market in their spare time.

But for every one of those, I have five, or maybe ten people who I follow via Twitter or Facebook that regularly say things like:

'Oh for God's sake, my idiot offspring has crapped in the bath... AGAIN! And he's NINE!'

'Well, I'd told her not to lick her fingers and put them in the socket, then there was the bang, but I knew she was OK because she was crying.'

'So, I got a call from the school and this very nice lady told me that HellChild had said "That's not a willy... THIS is a willy!" which it seems is frowned upon in a mixed ability PSHE lesson nowadays.'

See if you can guess which of the people I count amongst my friends? I'll give you two guesses, but the first one doesn't count.

Anywho, back to my own little bundles of joy... As I said, there are two of them.  The MiniDandy is a teenager, who writes a Blog (very) occasionally, that some of you even follow.  She's the thinly veiled heroine of the Edward Teach stories and is quite odd, in an individualistic, original way.  She gets her sense of humour, irony, fair play and indignation from me.  Her mood swings, irrational behaviour, clothes sense and general female-ality are all from her dear Mother.

My Son, who despises being referred to as The MicroDandy, so I won't, except just then, which he won't see so it doesn't matter.  Is a completely different tray of spiced giraffe tongues.  He's also odd, don't get me wrong, sometimes supremely odd.  I mean, you'll often wake up after having a bit of a snooze on the couch and he'll be standing there, staring at you, just about breaking a smile, then turn around and walk out of the room.  He's got a mind like a steel trap, and can find a hole in any argument faster than a Teflon stoat in a greasy Swiss cheese factory.

He's logical, calculating and almost autistically anal about things.  Which is great if you need him to remember something, I mean, he can quite honestly quote chapter and verse things that he finds interesting that have happened over the past five years.  But ask him what he had for lunch of course and he looks at you as if you're an idiot and says 'Can't remember.'  He's also the basis for the Ice-Demon killing, Pig Exploding hero, Mal Ak'hai the Hunter

But he's not one for whimsy, which can be a bit of a handicap in the Dandy household... Or at least he wasn't, until last night... He came into the living room and said,

'Dad, I've written a story, do you want to hear it?'

Being a kind and loving parent, I ignored the obvious, intuitive answer and replied;

'Yes, I'd love to hear your story.' And you know, I'm glad that I did - It's a gem.  I present it below, I have taken the liberty of correcting his spelling and punctuation, for clarity's sake.

Steve the hedge lives in fire hydrant land.
Steve is always watered, because of the fire hydrants.
But if you dig a trench, from the lake to Steve, it would make Steve very happy.

It's a thing of beauty, I'm sure you'll all agree.  It's got everything, whimsy, abstraction, nonsense, descriptiveness, at the end - fatalism bordering on the Dadaist.  I loved it. I've had it framed and I keep it on my desk.

(And yes, for the eagle eyed, that is a whiteboard with a picture of a squid on it behind the frame - What of it?)

I was slightly worried about him, in a John Wyndham, Midwich Cuckoos kinda way, but now I'm not.  He's one of the Firm now, definitely  100% on target to be a gen-u-wine, solid gold, stone cold, thousand yard staring, klaxon blaring, Dandy of the old skool...

Maybe of the new school...

Maybe that's even better...

But more likely, very much worse! - MuahahahahahaahahahahahahHAHAHAAHAHhahah!

I think we should all beware, just in case, start stocking up on tins, maybe dig a fallout shelter.  Because if either of the smaller Dandies ever makes a bid for global domination, the chances are that it's going to be him.

Yet another reason I'm sinking all of my spare cash into the space program.

The sins of the Father

Well, my 99th Blog post (for The Chimping Dandy at least, regular readers will know of my repeated forays into flash fiction, sponsored, fumigated, canned and sold by the very worth James Josiah) and it's yet another trip into the Steampunkery fuelled world of the LadyDorleith Ahralia, countess of Minidandia and her band of ramshackle corsairs aboard the airship Edward Teach, scourge of the skies, killer of spiders and lover of shoes.

If you'd like a little background, or just want to read the previous five episodes, you can read them here, here, here, here and here - That's hopefully the right order. They feature at least three terribly real people and a selection of ugly puns, thinly veiled references and shamelessly stolen ideas and tropes from popular fiction.

-oOo-

'Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!' Yelled Frobisher, the lights in his face flashing from an angry red to a vile supporating yellow, 'Unexpected lifesign detected in engineering! Intruder Alert!'

The captain jumped from her bunk, still groggy from the celebration after the successful rescue of Dorys, and her own return from an implied watery grave, 'Shut that damn alarm off you bag of rusty cogs! Security team to engineering deck, immobilize the intruder, whatever it is I want it alive!'

She pulled on her jodhpurs and kneeboots, rescued the crumpled linen shirt from the floor, buttoned it up and suddenly noticed the touselled hair of Torville poking out from under the covers. The sound of his gentle snoring now obvious as the alarm had been silenced.

'Bugger!' She said, slowly lifting the covers and confirming that he was, in fact, naked, 'And double bugger!' She looked for slightly longer at the taut muscles on his back than was strictly necessary, then sighed and exited to the bridge.

The crew of the morning watch turned and saluted, 'Captain on the Bridge!' a crewman whose name she couldn't remember at the best of times yelled. The noise made her wince more than the alarm had, but she resisted the temptation to raise her finger to her lips and shush him.

'Why is there an intruder on my boat?' She asked the assembled throng as she sank into the command chair, 'Anyone?' A sea of blank faces was her only reply. She thumbed the Intercomm, 'Security team, have you found it - whatever it is?'

'Baju-merah here Ma'am, engineering's clear, no-one here who shouldn't be here. We've checked everywhere!'

Frobisher chose that moment to voice yet another alarm, 'Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert! Unexpected lifesign detected in the Forward avionics cabin!'

'What?' exclaimed the Captain, 'That's at the other end of the... How? Frobisher, check the logs, was the intruder detected anywhere between Engineering and Avionics?'

'No Ma'am, the signal disappeared from Engineering and simply re-appeared in Avionics.' The emotionless brass face still managed to radiate an air of abject confusion.

'Mr Baju-merah, report to Avionics, bring our unexpected guest to me now! Frobisher, perform a diagnostic on the internal scanners, if you've woke me up because you've gone defective I'll have When reprogram you, overarm, with his chainsword.'

The pattern of lights on Frobisher's face skittered as he performed the self diagnostic, 'All sensors performing within prescribed parameters, zero defects found, my assumption is that my log entries are correct.'

'Then how the hell is something jumping from one end of this boat to the other without passing though all the points inbetween?'

'I have no...'

'Rhetorical!' Shouted the Captain, 'Look it up.'

'I am fully aware of...'

'Ma'am, this is Baju-Merah. Avionics is clear, in fact, I don't think there's actually enough space in here for anything larger than a chicken.'

'Frobisher, is our intruder larger than a chicken?'

'Yes Ma'am, scans indicate that it is of standard dimensions for a humanoid male. And he is also no longer in Avionics.'

'Has he re-appeared somewhere else? The galley? Up on deck? In one of the Gasbags perhaps?'

'No Ma'am.'

'No, he hasn't re-appeared or No, he's not in the Gasbags?'

He has re-appeared, but it is in none of the areas that you suggested.'

'So, where is he pray tell?'

'In your quarters.'

She turned, along with the entire bridge crew, to face the door to her quarters. Activating the Intercomm she whispered, 'Mr Baju-Merah, to the Bridge, as quick as you like.'

It only took the security team minutes to get to the Bridge, but in that time the Captain had armed herself with a compression pistol and a longknife. and was stood by the door.

'I'll go in first, you take up covering positions, stand close so the door doesn't close.'

'Ma'am, may I suggest that I...'

'Mr Baju-Merah, I appreciate your concern, but the interloper hasn't shown any degree of hostility as yet. If anything, his antics seem to be designed to confuse us - He could have simply appeared behind any member of the crew and shot them in the back of the head if he'd wanted to.'

She took a deep breath and stepped through the door as it opened. The second her heel cleared the frame, it slammed shut at ten times its normal speed and locked. She spun and banged futilely on the door, then turned back to scan the room, her eyes slowly getting used to the gloom. The automatic lights had failed to turn on and even Frobisher's head was dark and silent.

'Torville!' She called, looking towards her bunk, 'Frobisher!' There was no reply from either of them. She felt her way forward, holding the pistol out in front of her. 'Where are you? Damn your Argh!' She rubbed her shin where it had rapped off one of the ornate castings on her iron bunk.

'Allow me,' Said a mellow voice from the far corner of the room, 'Lights!'

Instantly, the wall lights came back on. The Captain blinked, and turned towards the voice.

'You!' She raised the pistol and pointed it the wiry man sat in her easy chair, 'What are you doing on my ship?'

'At your service Captain,' Criven Preen raised himself from the chair, removed his hat and bowed deeply, 'I apologise for the dramatic means of my entrance, old habits die hard.'

'I'll say it again, only more forcefully... WHAT are YOU doing on MY ship!'

'There's no need for unpleasantness my Lady, nor should we have to worry about unfortunate accidents,' He waved his long fingers and the compression pistol slowly faded out of existence.

'Whu?' She looked down, the dull tingle in her fingers the only evidence that the gun had ever existed at all, 'How did you..?'

'A simple parlour trick, the weapon is back in its rightful place, in the arms locker, on the bridge... Your, ah, friend is also back in his rightful place, asleep, in his cabin. I took the liberty of removing the last twelve hours from his memory, saves any later discontent in the ranks.'

'What do you want?'

'Want? I want to deliver my message and go home, these things worry me,' He indicated the ship around him, 'If the Gods had meant us to fly, they would have given us gasbags.'

'Message? What message? Who is it from?'

'My Lady Dorleith Ahralia, Countess of Minidandia, In Nominate Ruler of the Open Lands, High Voort of the Shattered Spire and Keykeeper of the Pewter Army - I bring greetings from your Illustrious Father, Massimo Lohlephel, Baron of...'

'My Father? My Father fell at the Battle of Tromega, I saw his ship explode! He's dead!'

'Not... anymore...'

To sleep perchance?

I was thinking about dreams this morning on the way to work, pondering the fact that I can't remember having dreamed for a long time. I appreciate that you often can't remember what your previous night's dreams had been about, but I actually can't remember having any at all recently.

Weird... Maybe I'm overtired, or I'm so good at working out my problems during the day that my brain doesn't need to thrash them out overnight using a tiger with Noel Edmond's face or a three eyed haddock called Raymond who can play the spoons... Pity really... It'd give me some easy bones to throw to you guys.

When I do dream, it tends to be fairly sedentary stuff, real world situations, no flying or turning into an ocelot or a trifle or what-have-you. Just me doing stuff that I would do if I had the time/money/social skills. The only major oddity I can think of is that I've never dreamed about a motorcycle, but I've had many dreams that feature me riding a motorcycle.

That's due a little explanation I suppose, I dream about the act of riding, but as far as I can remember, there's never been a bike. I sort of just float there, in the starfish position, with my hands on non-existant ape-hangers and my feet on completely ficticious forward controls. In fact, I remember having one dream where I tried to ride the (non) bike on several occasions and fell on my ass every time - It transpired that it had been stolen, but I hadn't realised - I actually went to a shop (in the dream) to buy another one, I remember wheeling it (and when I say it, I mean nothing) out of the showroom.

The only other real odd thing that happens to me, and I guess most other sentient life-forms in the Omniverse, is the prophetic or deja-vu dream. It's only snippets that I get, like I'll be dreaming about walking down the road, turning a corner and almost tripping over someone walking an amusing looking dog, and then a couple of weeks later, I'll be walking down the street, turn a corner and there's the dog, with the little wellies and a PVC sou'wester and the 'Please Gods kill me with a length of pipe' expression on its face, whilst the owner carries on about her business not realising what permanent emotional damage she's doing to the poor canine. Never had the lottery numbers though - not so far.

Now, scientists try to tell you that deja-vu is caused by impulses from the eyes being accidentally routed to the memory centres of your brain before being re-routed to the cognitive centres, so you see something, and think that you remember seing it before and then do that double-take, puzzled look, point your finger whilst thinking 'Hang on a second', thing that they do in low-rent comedies that have a laughter track and say 'You have been watching' at the end.

I don't believe that for a second, I think that during sleepy-time, your brain is occasionally hit by a stray Tachyon (a theoretical particle that travels faster than light) and the minute explosion of Cherenkov radiation that's caused by it impacting a live electron in your brain causes you to remember things that haven't happened yet.

Plausible, I think you'll agree.

I also found out recently that according to current theories, all of the people that you see in your dreams are real - I mean, not real, they're dreams obviously, if they were real, physical people and you dreamed about a crowd, then your head wouldn't be big enough to hold them all and it'd like, go POP! or something and there'd be cerebrum all up the bedroom walls when you woke up.

Actually, thinking about it, your head wouldn't be big enough to hold even one physical person would it? Especially if they were wearing a big hat. Aaaaand, you probably wouldn't wake up either. Well, you might, but you might not like celery any more, or be able to smell purple and hear tartan.

But what they actually mean by that is that you haven't made any of these people up in your imagination, you've seen them all somewhere - On the bus or in a shop, you might have pointed at them in a police lineup or said 'Sorry' to them when you bumped into them whlst filming an amusing personal injury compensation lawyer advertisement.

Your brain stores their details for future reference, or for inclusion in dreams, or if they're particularly stereotypical, for thinking about when you're telling a joke that involves a little light racism.

People often dream about people they know, sometimes in unusualy situations. Sometimes it's wish fulfilment, but sometimes you'll dream about things that would make Freud do some interprative street-dance movements in his final resting place in Golders Green (OK, so he was cremated, but you know what I mean).

For instance, a friend of mine (who reads this Blog, whilst walking her dog - which doesn't as far as I know, wear wellies and a sou'wester) once had a dream about me. I know she won't mind me sharing it with you, as she posted it to her Facebook feed herself, and she requested that I write The Further Adventures of the crew of the Edward Teach (Running to FOUR episodes!) - Which I subsequently did, because she was ill in hospital (for all of you who wondered why it was called 'Les Invalides'), so she owes me one.

I'll have to paraphrase what she wrote, as I can't find it on her timeline, but the gist of it was:

"I had a dream last night about an old friend of mine, called Dandy, some of you might know him. Anyway, I was the age I am now, and he was my Dad. I had done something wrong, I don't know what, but he took me to the park for my usual punishment.

This involved him kicking footballs at my head as hard as he could until I learned my lesson, I remember that he was a very good shot."

So, on that dreamscape I'll leave you.

Remeber, dreams aren't real, they're fantasy, you shouldn't be embarrased about them, and you certainly shouldn't make decisions based on their contents.

Till tomorrow... Sweet Dreams Children...

Les Invalides (Pt4)

'When? how do you feel?' Asked the Captain, her hand resting on the recently cured First Officer's shoulder.

'A bit groggy still, and itchy, very itchy, but I'll live Ma'am.'

'You'll need to do a damn sight more than that if we're going to get out of here, we need to catch up, Russ sounds like he's having far too much fun on his own!'

They raced out of the room and into the corridor, following the sound of blaster fire and raucous laughter. When restarted his chainsword, revved it a couple of times and ran headlong into the fray, sweeping it to and fro at waist height, chopping guards in half with gay abandon. The Captain stayed back at the junction, where she had a clear view down three corridors and contented herself with putting holes into the skulls of any constructs that came into view.

'When! Russ! Stop playing soldiers and clear me a path to Secure Storage!' The Captain yelled, so that she could be heard over the mechanical mayhem.

The Brigands looked at each other, grinned hugely and pushed forward. When's chainsword became stuck in the gears of a particularly large construct, four of its six arms continued to try to crush the life out of him as the toothed chain snagged and the engine stalled.

'Ooof! - KillIt!-KillIt!-KillIt!' Yelled the Doctor.

Russ reached under his Wolfskin cape and pulled out a siege bolter, which most people require two hands to use, and aimed at the contruct's head.

'Hang on, let me get out of the...'

There was a deafening noise and the construct's head simply disappeared, along with part of When's luxuriant moustaches and a significant portion of the bulkhead in front of them.

'Which part of no siege weapons didn't you understand? How about Sudden loss of buoyancy? or Plummeting to a watery grave in a mass of tangled metal?' Barked the Captain.

Russ looked sheepishly at the Captain and then back to When, who was still trying to put out his smouldering facial hair. He holstered the siege bolter and continued forwards just using his blaster to clear a path. A mass of constructs was building up behind them and the Captain was doing her best to hold them off, but they were closing through sheer force of numbers.

'How many damn guards do you need on a medical boat?' She asked the empty air, whilst shooting a hole in the head of the nearest enemy.

'Door's locked Captain!' Yelled When from around the corner, 'As you'd expect I s'pose in somewhere called Secure Storage!'

She reached into her pocket, grabbed the Dentrassi lockpick and threw it over her shoulder. She heard it hit the wall and roll, then the familiar musical chirps as it started to work.

'Russ! come here and give me a hand whilst the Old Man does the technical stuff!'

The reply came in the form of a dozen blaster bolts whizzing from behind her into the broiling throng of mechanical defenders in front of her, exploding faces and shattering bodies into clouds of brass and copper, which seemed to buy them some breathing space.

'Thank you!'

'Captain, I've found her, she seems OK.' Said When's voice in her ear.

'OK, get her back here, we'll make our way to the docking bay.' The Captain thumbed the switch on her communicator, 'Teach, this is the Captain. We are making our way to the docking bay now, prepare for depature at best speed once we're aboard.'

'Captain, this is Landry, as soon as you started the rescue, the Hellingly severed the docking tube, we're holding station about 50 feet below the port bow.'

'Frak!'

'Captain?'

'Nothing, hold steady, we'll come to you.'

'Aye Ma'am, Landry out.'

When chose that moment to come into view with an unconcious Dorys draped over his shoulder.

You're making a habit of that Doctor,' Smiled the Captain, referring to her unusual forced exit from the base on Chandra Island.

'Aye Ma'am, I'm a sucker for a lady in distress, or dat dress, or any dress for that matter.'

'Mr Russ?' Announced the captain, ignoring the Doctor's gallows humour, 'Make me a hole in that wall there, We need a way out'

Russ, slowly raised his blaster and aimed at where the Captain had pointed.

'No Mr Russ, I think that something with a little more bite is required.'

He grinned and pulled out the siege bolter from behind his back, braced himself againt the wall and started to fire repeatedly into the bulkhead in front of him. The explosive shells made short work of the wood panelling and the steel behind it. The sudden drop in pressure signalled that he had breached the hull, he stopped firing and spat on the glowing barrel.

'Now we go - Teach, this is the Captain, can you see the new hole in this nice shiny boat?'

'Yes Ma'am, on our way.'

'Good, position yourself as close as you can get, we're going to jump.'

'Aye Captain!'

'We're going to what?' Said When, looking at the limp form of Dorys.

'Russ goes first, you throw her, he catches her, then you jump and I bring up the rear - simple.'

They made their way through the damaged section of the ship until they reached the outside skin. The Edward Teach was just taking up position, ten feet away and five feet below.

'See you on the other side!' Yelled Russ and then he jumped. He managed to catch hold of one of the chains connecting the gasbag to the hull, slid down it hand over hand and took up position on the deck. He beckoned to the Doctor, 'Toss her over!' He yelled, trying to make himself heard above the wind.

When moved Dorys from his shoulder and held her in his arms, 'Lovely Theya, I'm going to apologise in advance... I never was very good at throwing, I was always picked last for the cricket team. Here she comes!' He took a run-up and launched her across the gap to the waiting marauder. As he let her go, her eyes opened, she looked at the hospital ship, and the sea far below her and started to scream, a scream that didn't stop until she landed in the paws of the fanged monster, braced on the deck.

A shot rang off the steelwork next to the Doctor's head, 'We need to get going!' He yelled to the Captain, who was busily laying down covering fire.

'You first, I'll follow you.'

'But, no you should...'

'When, if you don't jump now, I'll shoot you myself and use your liver as a parachute!'

'See you onboard!' He replied, flinching as another shot took a chunk out of the floor. He jumped the distance, landed heavily on the deck and rolled to a stop. Looking across at the massive bulk of the Hellingly, he watched the Captain firing shot after shot into the depths of the ship until her blaster ran out of charge. She threw the now useless weapon at the oncoming constructs and jumped.

She sailed through the air for what seemed like hours, and was only a few feet away when she realised that she wasn't going to make it.

'FFFFFFFUUUUUUuuuuuuuuuuu................!'

'NO!' Yelled When, forgetting his vertigo and rushing to the side-rail. But the Captain was nowhere to be seen. He stood there, unbelieving until Russ grabbed him by the shoulder.

'We need to get underway now, there are interceptors coming, don't let all this be for nothing!'

When nodded, took one last look over the side and went below.

'Full reverse, hit them with Daisy a few times to slow them down and then set a course for home, best speed,' Commanded When as he took the vacant Captain's chair.

'Where's the Captain?' Shouted Landry as the Helmsman scrambled to obey the Doctor's orders.

When looked at him and slowly shook his head. The forward viewscreen lit up as the shots from Daisy found their mark and the lights started to go out all over the Hellingly.

'Bring us about and rig for best speed.'

'Belay that!', came a feint, crackly voice from the Intercomm, 'Send someone to haul in the remains of the docking tube, which happens to have your Captain tangled in it and THEN rig for best speed. Oh, and When?'

'Aye Captain?'

'Get your arse out of my chair!'

Les Invalides (Pt2)

OK, this would have been the final part of this little story, but I got a bit carried away.  Part 3 should be on Monday, unless the muse takes me over the weekend, otherwise sit back, open a bottle of vodka, and start your weekend early with the crew of the Edward Teach.

-oOo-

'Cheek'

The assembled bridge crew turned slowly to look at the Captain. She looked at When, the corners of her mouth pointing upwards in a barely noticable smile.

'Dr When, you have something on your cheek and I pray to the Gods that it's lipstick.'

'Aye Ma'am I'll see to it, erm..' The first officer patted the pockets of his waistcoat until he found one containing a silk handkerchief, which he produced, furtively, and wiped away the waxy mark.

'When?'

'Yes Ma'am?'

'When did you start buying handkerchiefs with gussets and waistbands?'

The hirsute privateer looked down at the scrap of silk in his hand, noticed the embroidered cog on the front and realised that he must have picked it up accidentally in his hurry to retrieve his clothes in the whore-pit. He quickly stuffed it back into his pocket.

'Frobisher, connect to The Great Cloud and look for reports of our little shopping trip to Chandra, specifically anything about prisoners.'

'Working...' The lights on the bridge dimmed slightly, 'No mention of the raid on normal channels, boosting power to access the Company network.'

'Be careful, this doesn't feel right...'

'Lines secured and encrypted, I am invisible to their security measures Ma'am.'

'If only you were inaudble too,' The Captain whispered, in a strangely good mood for someone who had recently lost a valued crewmember.

Frobisher's head turned towards her, paused petulantly and said, 'I have a report of a single captive, found unconcious at the scene with minor burns. She has been taken to the secure hospital aboard the Company ship Hellingly, currently en route to Nukuoro'

'Cut the connection!'

The lights on the construct's metal face resumed their normal cycling and the captain took a deep breath. Nukuoro was just outside the juristiction of the Democratic People's Republic of Australasia, it was a Company supply base during the first trouble with the Spiders. She'd visited there once, a long time before she was Captain of the Edward Teach, on a resupply raid. It was a barren ring of rock and sand barely four miles across, a few buildings, a fuel dump, and strangely, a small school.

'Helm, plot an intercept course for the Hellingly, take us high and quiet.'

'Course set, range just over a thousand miles, less than three hours at best speed,' The helmsman barked the numbers at they appeared on his display.

'No, take us slow, three-quarter speed at 20,000 ft. Make us look as much like a cargo barge as you can.'

When took a deep breath, opened the Intercomm and barked out his standard string of orders, 'All hands, make ready to leave port. Secure all lines and hawsers, we will be breaking dock in 30 seconds, anyone still on board who's not on my roster'll be thrown over the side the second I find 'em, let me remind you that water's as solid as concrete from the height we'll be cruising at. All Doxies, Merchants and Pox-Doctors, off the ship now! Repeat - We are breaking dock in 25 seconds.'

The deck below them shifted as the docking cables were reeled in and the sudden release of pressure on the gasbags lifted her higher into the air. The station slowly receded into a small dot below them, as they reached 20,000 ft, the fusion engines started and the ship leaped forward like a scolded porpoise. Everyone waited for the traditional thundering crash from the Galley, but this time it seemed that the cook had finally learned his lesson.

'Blades out, make us look fat and non-threatening.' Called the Captain.

All over the hull, molecule-thin carbon-fibre sheets flowed out from between the hull plates, they billowed briefly, then caught the wind and took on the impression of solidity, what had once looked like a traditional buccaneer's ship now looked like a bloated, unarmed cargo barge, painted in an independant haulier's colours.

They sailed westwards for nearly four hours without incident until suddenly the Helmsman called that they were approaching the position where the Hellingly should be.

'All stop!' Called When, 'Scan for the big shiny bitch.'

'Nothing on scanners sir, nothing for 200 miles.'

'Sky's empty Captain, she must have changed course, we've lost her.'

The Captain stood, reached under her chair for her respirator, looked at When and said, 'Get your mask, we're going on deck.'

The air rushing from the pressurised door helped the reluctant Doctor out onto the deck and the cold atmosphere caused condensation to form on the outside of his brass respirator. He stayed well away from the guardrail as heights were his least favourite thing, next to sobriety, celibacy and hunger.

'Out of the way you bloody Jellyfish', called the Captain, her voice sounding muffled through her mask, 'Pass me the Glass!'

When passed her the magnifier, and she put it to her eye, the view was slightly blurred through the fabric of the blades, but she could see well enough to spot the Hellingly, two thousand feet below them and floating in the sunshine as bold as a halibut.

'Sky's empty?' Asked the Captain, 'Weren't those your exact words?'

'Aye... Well... Maybe the scanners need an overhaul?'

'Maybe you're lucky and they're cloaked or maybe we're being jammed.'

'Why would a hospital ship be cloaked?'

The Captain shrugged, 'I have no idea, but I mean to find out, let's get below before we have to insulate ourselves with layers of your stolen underwear.'

The Doctor's face reddened and he quickly made his way back below deck. The Captain paused to take a long look at the large silver airship below them.

'Hold on, we're coming for you...'

Back on the bridge, the Captain settled back into her chair, cracked her knuckles and opened a communications channel.

'Company Airship, this is the Cargo Ship... ah...' The Captain looked desperately at When,

'Tydirium?' Suggested When with a shrug,

'Tydirium. We have a minor medical emergency and request succour.'

There was no reply.

'Company Airship, I repeat, this is the...'

'Tydirium, this is the Company Hospital Ship Hellingly, we received your transmission but are unable to assist.'

'Hellingly, we have a crewman effected with what we believe to be an unknown toxin, we require immediate assistance as per Company regulations, Book thirty-six, subsection eighty-seven..'

'I know the regulations Captain! Hold for further instructions...'

The Captain muted the channel and turned to her first officer.

'When, you need to start acting sick, well, sicker...'

Les Invalides (Pt1)

Today's (and Tomorrow's) Blog are a request from a lady who isn't feeling very well - And has chemically induced dreams about me.  It's a welcome return for the crew of the Edward Teach

-oOo-

The flight back from Chandra Isle to Long-Pig station had been suprisingly quiet, they'd had to avoid some company interceptors that had been sent to investigate the explosion, but it seemed that the base had either not had time to get off an alarm, or had not wanted to for some reason.

The Intercomm buzzed,

'Captain, this is Torville, Dorys' bed hasn't been slept in.'

Dorys was one of her finest marauders, she hadn't had time to do a headcount in the drop-pod when they had bounced back to the ship as the base was exploding.

'Are you sure she's not just gone landside?'

'No, no-one can remember seeing her since we made way.'

'Right, get the crew back aboard, we're going after her!'

'But Ma'am?'

'Now, Mr Torville!'

'Ma'am...'

'What!'

'It's Dr When's birthday, he'll be celebrating.'

The Captain disconnected the Intercomm and performed a sliding face-palm, her first officer was known for his somewhat salacious personal life, finding him on Long-Pig was bad enough normally, but the chances were - he wouldn't want to be found.

'Frobisher?' She called, addressing the brass head in the corner of the room,

'Aye Ma'am?'

'Is When's locator functioning?'

'No Ma'am, it appears to be disconnected.'

'You mean turned off?'

Frobisher's immovable features still managed to look slightly embarrased.

'I don't suppose we can use the station's security cameras to locate the good Doctor can we?'

'I will try to connect.' The lights on his face cycled through the colours of the rainbow and settled on red, 'I'm afraid the security systems are significantly tighter than the last time.'

'Remind me why you're still connected Frobisher?'

'Ma'am, it's because the output from the old fusion engines that you insist on using fluctuates so rapidly that without me to correct the baffles, you would all die in a massive thermonuclear event.'

He was right, the engines were rated for a much smaller boat, that's why they had twice as many, but they were the only brass ones she could find, and they were beautifully engraved.

'I'm going landside,' She announced to the bridge-crew, 'If When comes aboard whilst I'm away, contact me immediately.'

The cries of 'Aye Ma'am!' were still ringing through the walkway as she reached the external door. Pressing the opening stud caused an alarm to sound and a recorded warning message to be played in Frobisher's voice,

'Danger, docking arm is currently located on the port side of the ship, attempting to open this door could cause personal injury or painful death. To reach the port docking area, please follow corridor A-24 to...'

'Over-ride.'

'Warning, over-riding thi....'

'OVER! RIDE!'

'Acknowledged, opening starboard doors.'

The cargo doors opened with a squeal of protesting metal, she would skin the maintenance team alive when she got back aboard. She took a step back, breathed in deeply, and jumped through the still opening doors.

'Geronimo!'

The ground was around two hundred feet below her, giving her about six seconds before she became an unpleasant greasy stain on the floor. She continued to fall in a graceful swandive until there was less than fifty feet between her and a sudden stop, she grabbed hold of the steel hawser that connected the Edward Teach to the ground and engaged the grip function of her power-gloves. As he slowed, she could see the upturned faces of the roustabouts below her. At ten feet, she disengaged the gloves, backflipped off the rope and landed, like a cat, on the deck.

She turned to the assembled men, gently blew the smoke from her palms and said,

'What? Have none of you swabs ever seen a lady get off a boat before?'

'Y... Y... You jumped!', said one of the dockworkers, a solid lump of off-green muscle. He pointed upwards, 'From up there!'

'Yes, yes I sort of did, didn't I? Anyway, have you seen my 1st Officer? Solid looking fellow, hair in a ponytail? Centauri accent?'

The assembled throng slowly shook their heads, or whetever they chose to keep their primary sensory organs in.

'He's in the Queen and Scorpion,' Said a tired voice from above, 'Behind the Governors building, follow the stream of tuppenny doxys, you can't miss it.'

'Thank you, Mr....?'

The wiry man perched on top of the tall pile of packing cases regarded her closely from under the brim of his hat , and replied,

'Preen, Criven Preen.'

'Thank you Mr Preen, a credit for your trouble.' She tossed a ten credit piece up towards him, he raised his hand, the coin stopped dead in the air and fell to the ground.

'No thanks required... Ma'am,' He pulled the brim of his hat down over his eyes and his posture made it clear that that was the end of the conversation. She gave him one last look, sighed, and set off for the bar.

Preen was right, it was easy to find, there was an almost constant stream of 'ladies of negotiable virtue' flowing in both directions, both towards and away from the establishment. The latter looking significantly more flushed than the former, although they also looked to have fuller purses.

Arriving at the main doors, a quick glance towards the sign above her confirmed the building's identity. It portrayed a buxom female wearing a tiara, presumably the titular queen, her armoured suit mostly torn away apart from a few choice pieces that protected her modesty. She was standing on top of a construct in the shape of a scorpion, whilst tearing one of its legs off with her teeth - A nod to some half remembered skirmish with the Spiders perhaps?

'Where you go?' A grey reptilian paw grabbed her shoulder.

She slowly looked up, and then looked up some more, and saw a face that could only be described as belonging to a lightly furred T-Rex with rotten teeth and a single, long eyebrow.

She pointed around him, as well as she could, 'In there?'

'Nope, men only, no little girl allow in there, you be in big trouble.'

The Captain, shuddering, plunged her hand into the Doorman's cloaca and squeezed. The reptile dropped to his knees and he started to cry, 'You go... go inside... no charge... please... let go... Try the... Veal... come... back soon...' She left the giant reptile rolling around on the floor and walked into the gloom.

'When!'

'I got your When right here Bayb*urgh*' The stool caught the pruriant patron under the chin.

'When! Where are you, you stinking pile of kraken guts?'

'In there...' replied a familiar voice, 'Through the door marked Whore-Pits.'

'It seems that I owe you thanks again Mr Preen.'

With a deep bow, he disappeared back into the shadows. She turned towards the door, took another deep breath and turned the handle.

Even though she'd known When for many years, the sight of him naked, apart from some welding goggles and an odd pair of suspender socks, surrounded by over twenty women, in various states of undress, whilst what looked like a cross between a marmoset and a bagel played the harmonica in the corner was too much.

She unholstered her Sutter and Aitchinson Compression pistol and shot out the lights one by one.

The dischordant music stopped instantly and When turned towards the source of his interrupted reverie.

'Who the... Ah, Captain, I...' He tried to cover his shame with a sadly undersized one hundred credit note.

'Find your drawers, pay anyone who needs paying and get back to the ship, we've got a rescue to organise!'