was waiting to ask you for Elspeth’s hand in marriage,” Adam said.
“Yes, Papa, we’re going to get married, because I’m pregnant.”
Herbert looked between his daughter’s face and Adam’s face, his breath shallow with a soft tick, tick, tick as air just barely passed the pooling blood, and then smiled.
“When he’s old enough, gurgle-wheeze, give my grandson a present from me, gurgle-wheeze, my clock and papers in the basement, gurgle-wheeze.”
“No,” Elspeth squawked. “We’ll give him much more. We’ll give him your name.”
Herbert smiled, “I’d like that, click, but don’t saddle him, click, with a name the kids, click, will make fun of, wheeze. Call him H.G.” Herbert’s eyes closed, his breath a long low wheeze, gurgle, gurgle, tock.
Elspeth fought back tears as she watched her father fade. “Herbert George Wells, I like that name.”
S. M. Kraftchak notes: As a writer who spends most of her time in other worlds with dragons, elves, and the occasional alien, S.M. still enjoys sunrise on the beach, sunset in the mountains, and portraying Elizabeth Tudor. She has two dogs, who think they are footrests, a cat who thinks she’s a blanket, and three awesome daughters. Her husband is her best friend, her harshest critic, and her most fervent supporter. Writing is S.M.’s passion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
19.
Escape from Amoluz
Helmuth Kump
The red sun of this wretched planet, Amoluz, burned the soil around Pytor with brutal efficiency.
From his partial shade in the ragged mangrove-like growth, he tried to forget about the Raakei’s advance. It was done. He now yearned only to reach out to Ruth.
The Raakei had disrupted all dimensional communications. A simplex digital radio was Pytor’s only backup. He’d have to cope with the time required for a text conversation: six minutes for the signal to reach Ruth at the outpost, and six more for her reply. It was all he had, but it worked.
“The enemy’s latest attack caught me by surprise. I’m trying to shield myself until it’s cool enough to return to the shuttle. How do you like the new facility there? I can’t believe we were together a week ago. I miss you.”
Pytor hit “send” and peered up through the branches at the antenna, which he’d set up in the highest mangrove he could reach. The indicator on the antenna’s base glowed green, signifying a successful uplink.
While waiting for a reply, he looked to his left at the yellow-tinged waves of acidic ocean, breaking on the shore about 200 meters away. The constant roar brought him back to summers past, when his father took him and his brother Adam fishing in Captree Park. Memories of plump flounder, pale sand, and golden sun filled his tired mind. His father and brother were gone now, victims of the enemy’s chemical poisoning that devastated New York. Pytor had no inclination to return after that.
The buzz of the transceiver broke his reminiscing. His heart jumped as he saw Ruth’s reply.
“I miss you so much, Pytor. This is a huge campus. In one of the halls here there is a keyboard, the heavy mechanical kind. It says Steinway, does this mean anything? I put my hands on the keys and imagine your hands on top of mine, teaching me.”
He imagined her loving embrace. His fingers typed quickly. “Yes, Steinway pianos were highly prized. The factory was near our home in Astoria. Feel my hand on yours, guiding your fingers into place. Then we push down together, sounding a full major chord.”
Their exchange was the only thing keeping Pytor from going mad in this brutal furnace. He tried to cover any exposed flesh, but it was impossible to block every inch. Whenever he felt the blisters start, he’d shift any way he could to move that area into the shade, but that would of course expose another area of skin.
He heard another buzz. Was this another message from Ruth? No, page after page of garbled characters were filling the display.
It
“Yes, Papa, we’re going to get married, because I’m pregnant.”
Herbert looked between his daughter’s face and Adam’s face, his breath shallow with a soft tick, tick, tick as air just barely passed the pooling blood, and then smiled.
“When he’s old enough, gurgle-wheeze, give my grandson a present from me, gurgle-wheeze, my clock and papers in the basement, gurgle-wheeze.”
“No,” Elspeth squawked. “We’ll give him much more. We’ll give him your name.”
Herbert smiled, “I’d like that, click, but don’t saddle him, click, with a name the kids, click, will make fun of, wheeze. Call him H.G.” Herbert’s eyes closed, his breath a long low wheeze, gurgle, gurgle, tock.
Elspeth fought back tears as she watched her father fade. “Herbert George Wells, I like that name.”
S. M. Kraftchak notes: As a writer who spends most of her time in other worlds with dragons, elves, and the occasional alien, S.M. still enjoys sunrise on the beach, sunset in the mountains, and portraying Elizabeth Tudor. She has two dogs, who think they are footrests, a cat who thinks she’s a blanket, and three awesome daughters. Her husband is her best friend, her harshest critic, and her most fervent supporter. Writing is S.M.’s passion.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
19.
Escape from Amoluz
Helmuth Kump
The red sun of this wretched planet, Amoluz, burned the soil around Pytor with brutal efficiency.
From his partial shade in the ragged mangrove-like growth, he tried to forget about the Raakei’s advance. It was done. He now yearned only to reach out to Ruth.
The Raakei had disrupted all dimensional communications. A simplex digital radio was Pytor’s only backup. He’d have to cope with the time required for a text conversation: six minutes for the signal to reach Ruth at the outpost, and six more for her reply. It was all he had, but it worked.
“The enemy’s latest attack caught me by surprise. I’m trying to shield myself until it’s cool enough to return to the shuttle. How do you like the new facility there? I can’t believe we were together a week ago. I miss you.”
Pytor hit “send” and peered up through the branches at the antenna, which he’d set up in the highest mangrove he could reach. The indicator on the antenna’s base glowed green, signifying a successful uplink.
While waiting for a reply, he looked to his left at the yellow-tinged waves of acidic ocean, breaking on the shore about 200 meters away. The constant roar brought him back to summers past, when his father took him and his brother Adam fishing in Captree Park. Memories of plump flounder, pale sand, and golden sun filled his tired mind. His father and brother were gone now, victims of the enemy’s chemical poisoning that devastated New York. Pytor had no inclination to return after that.
The buzz of the transceiver broke his reminiscing. His heart jumped as he saw Ruth’s reply.
“I miss you so much, Pytor. This is a huge campus. In one of the halls here there is a keyboard, the heavy mechanical kind. It says Steinway, does this mean anything? I put my hands on the keys and imagine your hands on top of mine, teaching me.”
He imagined her loving embrace. His fingers typed quickly. “Yes, Steinway pianos were highly prized. The factory was near our home in Astoria. Feel my hand on yours, guiding your fingers into place. Then we push down together, sounding a full major chord.”
Their exchange was the only thing keeping Pytor from going mad in this brutal furnace. He tried to cover any exposed flesh, but it was impossible to block every inch. Whenever he felt the blisters start, he’d shift any way he could to move that area into the shade, but that would of course expose another area of skin.
He heard another buzz. Was this another message from Ruth? No, page after page of garbled characters were filling the display.
It
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