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Dream Forge: The e- magazine for your mind, Vol. 1,
DREAM FORGE: The e-magazine for your mind!
Staff: Managing Editor, Rick Arnold
Humor Editor, Dave Bealer
DREAM FORGE (tm) is published monthly by,
and is a trademark of:
Dream Forge, Inc.
6400 Baltimore National Pike, #201
Baltimore, MD. 21228
President: Dave Bealer
Vice President: Rick Arnold
dbealer@dreamforge.com or rarnold@dreamforge.com
Table of Contents:
Publisher Forges Alliance With Software Creations ................ 01
TRAVELS WITH LESLIE-a serial of life, eat it. Leslie Meek ........ 02
A SKEIN IS ONLY 360 FEET..................... Greg Borek ......... 09
BRIGHTON BEALER MEMOIRS...................... Dave Bealer ........ 12
TUMMY BUDDIESr .............................. Brian Pomeroy ...... 14
Ad: AT LAST! -- Lose Weight Fast! ............................... 21
WISH BOTTLE ................................. Gay Bost ........... 22
THE BLUE ROCKER - not 'roll.................. Melina Huddy ....... 27
EINST: THE SHENCIAN MATING SEASON ........... Mark Bylok ......... 30
A FATHER'S LOVE ............................. Karen Williams ..... 45
ON QUEST FROM ALBION ........................ Jack Hillman ....... 52
Music Reviews/SPIRITUAL ADVICE 'N STUFF ..... Rev. Richard Visage 65
Software Review: Opus 'N Bill Screen Saver .. Dave Bealer ........ 68
Poetry ...................................... Various ............ 69
DREAM FORGE - Subscriptions ................. .................... 70
WhatNots - why not?.......................... Staff .............. 72
BumperSnickers Seen on the Information Superhighway .............. 74
DREAM FORGE - Advertising Rates .................................. 76
DREAM FORGE - Official Distributors Wanted ....................... 77
- ODFD - FAQ's ................................................... 80
Legalities & Where to obtain DREAM FORGE .... Editor............. 81
Writer's Guidelines .............................................. 81
AWAKENINGS: Amazing Greed ................... Dave Bealer ........ 83
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 1 February 1995
DREAM FORGE (tm) ISSN: 1080-5877
Volume 1, Number 2 February 1995
(Free Demo Issue)
Publisher: Dave Bealer (dbealer@dreamforge.com)
Managing Editor: Rick Arnold (rarnold@dreamforge.com)
DREAM FORGE is published monthly at an annual subscription rate of
$24 (via regular mail on DOS diskettes) or $12 (via internet email
or BBS download) by Dream Forge, Inc., 6400 Baltimore National Pike
#201, Baltimore, MD. 21228-3915
Contact: FidoNet: 1:261/1129 (1200-28800/V.34)
BBS: (410) 437-3463 (1200-16800/HST)
FidoNet: 1:2601/522 (300-28800/V.34)
BBS: (412) 588-7863 (300-28800/V.34)
Internet: info@dreamforge.com
Copyright 1995 Dream Forge, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
February 1, 1995
Dream Forge, Inc.,
6400 Baltimore National Pike, # 201
Baltimore, MD 21228-3915
Internet: dbealer@dreamforge.com
PUBLISHER FORGES ALLIANCE WITH SOFTWARE CREATIONS
On January 2, 1995 a new magazine hit the electronic newsstands of
cyberspace. DREAM FORGE Magazine is the product of the merger of two
world reknown free e-mags. DREAM FORGE blends the satire and taglines
that made RANDOM ACCESS HUMOR an international sensation, with the fiction
and insightful commentary of RUNE'S RAG -- hence the new publication's
motto, "The electronic magazine for your mind!"
The first two issues of DREAM FORGE, January and February 1995, will
be free. Beginning with the March 1995 issue DREAM FORGE will only be
available to subscribers and those who purchase copies from Official
DREAM FORGE Distributors. Individual copies will cost $2.95, and e-mail
subscriptions are available for only $12/year.
Dream Forge, Inc. has named Software Creations, the giant PC Board
system in Clinton, MA., the Home BBS for DREAM FORGE Magazine. "This
agreement will allow us to concentrate on our primary goal of producing
the best electronic magazine available," said Dave Bealer, President of
Dream Forge. Software Creations BBS (SWC) has twice been voted the #1
BBS in North America by the readers of BOARDWATCH Magazine.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 2 February 1995
SWC callers will be able to purchase copies of the current issue
and back issues of DREAM FORGE for immediate download using a credit
card. Subscriptions may also be purchased online. Individual sub-
scribers and DREAM FORGE distributors will be able to pick up their
monthly copies of the magazine at SWC. A support conference will also
be offered where readers, distributors, and authors may contact the
DREAM FORGE staff.
SWC can be reached by modem at:
(508) 365-2359 (1200/2400 bps)
(508) 368-7036 (14400 bps/V.32bis)
(508) 365-9352 (28800 bps/V.FC)
SWC is also accessible directly from the internet:
telnet bbs.swcbbs.com (or rlogin)
-------------------------------------------------------------------
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
TRAVELS WITH LESLIE (4)
by Leslie Meek
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Adventure Continues,
Part 2
August 11, 1993
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
**(Editor Note: Leslie's adventures will be
(serialized in future issues of DREAM FORGE.)
TYBEE ISLAND, GEORGIA -- Why watch fish when you can
watch people for less?
Lots of people spend lots of money to buy fancy
aquariums and brightly colored tropical fish from other
lands. It makes them feel at home to sit and watch the
creatures.
As tiny as it may be, Tybee Island harbors an abundance
of the best people-watching aquariums in existence --
laundromats and bars. The dynamics of a laundromat involve
a thankless task and an arena that pits man against machine.
People walk into bars to do battle with one another. Nobody
ever gets their quarters back from either place, but it
costs nothing to watch them lose.
I started watching Janice and her friend early this
evening when they walked into this local bar. The night was
young and so were they, holding hands and singing silent
songs together. They sat at a booth, ordered a pitcher of
beer, and began sharing whispers and smiles across the
table.
A small highway winds east from Savannah through a vast
marsh-like sea to the beach. You become aware that you are
on the "island" only when the highway makes an abrupt turn
to run south along the sandy shores.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 3 February 1995
"Main street" runs one block from the highway to the
sea. Although miniaturized, it is cluttered with businesses
like any other main street. On this street is one gift
shop, one laundromat, one real estate office, one arcade and
five bars.
The mere ratio of bars to regular businesses may be
unique but it is not the whole story. Typical tourists
abandoned Tybee Island in favor of nearby Hilton Head Island
years ago. People know each other here. It is a community.
If there is a bar fight here, odds are somebody has hit a
friend.
I am no stranger here. Two years ago I came here with
a dear friend and, together, we decided to spend a lot of
time in the bars on main street. We were lovers who trusted
each other with the other's kingdom, so we thought we were
ready to make a very important decision regarding our lives
together. We had spent six months holding back from doing
something we both wanted to do. Our relationship had grown
and flourished since then so we thought we were finally
ready.
We all have turning points in our lives; times and
places where we chose our route among many paths. Tybee
Island is my place.
Everybody knew Janice, just as everybody knows
everybody on Tybee Island. She is the daughter of a local
fisherman who spends his days on a boat, working the ocean
for shrimp. It's hard work. Janice, they say, has chosen
an easier, softer way. She is a law student and pays her
way through school by working at a day care center on one of
what locals would term "the other" islands.
Of course, Bill helps out a lot too. He does the
chores--sometimes even the dishes--at the apartment he
shares with Janice. Some say he is the brightest star in
Janice's promising future. As they sat at the booth in
front of me sharing the first pitcher you see how much they
supported each other. Neither one laughed or smiled alone
and I assumed, in trying times, it was the same with crying.
Tonight I could afford the luxury of observing. I was
no longer a participant so I could concentrate on people
watching. Bars and Laundromats are the places to go to
watch people and I arrived here alone this morning with a
suitcase of clean clothes.
The months that followed my visit here two years ago
were filled with agony. It turns ut that the decision we
made here wasn't such a good one for us. Since then, I have
done a lot of crying alone. First as he was sleeping then
when he was gone.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 4 February 1995
But life goes on and so did the evening. Janice was
still laughing when they ordered the second pitcher. I
overheard pieces of Bill's soothing words to her across the
table--something about how well she was doing in school and
how special that was to him. ". . . Beautiful and smart,
now that's a rare package," he said.
Janice is beautiful. Long dark hair, splendid figure
and eyes that glistened even the dim light of the bar. She
is no more than twenty-two years old, the point in life
where the tomorrow's are so much more important than the
yesterdays.
The second pitcher was shared a lot faster than the
first. After they ordered their third, the conversation got
much more intense. I could only overhear portions of the
discussion. Something about Bill doing a little better with
the dishes and her bad habit of hanging around the care
center after work.
I wasn't interrupted much. I was careful slip a ring
onto the middle finger of my left hand before I came to the
bar. It works with most guys. But then again it's the ones
that it doesn't work with that you have to worry about.
Warren happened to be one of those. "You sure I can't buy
you a drink," he slobbered. I assured him that I was. I
had made that decision long ago as well, right here on Tybee
Island.
It wasn't difficult at all to hear the couple I was
watching after they got halfway through the third pitcher.
Bill was telling her that things were going to have to
change . . . and change quickly. She needed to come home
right away from work. Janice wasn't smiling anymore.
"You get all prettied up just to tantalize these guys
in here," Bill said when they started on their fourth. "You
would just love to sleep with the whole bunch of them,
wouldn't you."
It got worse. Much worse. Soon, Janet's glistening
eyes were glaring through a haze of held back tears. Bill's
slurred words were ugly--although Janice held her own,
slashing back her own comments. It's pretty damn hard to
share hate and anger, so each of them tried his or her best
to stand up for themselves.
"You slut," Bill yelled. "Go ahead and screw them all,
I don't care." He gulped down the remainder of their fourth
pitcher and stomped out of the bar.
Janice stayed behind and called over the waitress.
This time ordered a single glass of beer.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 5 February 1995
I joined the rest of the people in the bar in staring
down at my hands in front of me. There is something
painfully embarrassing and belittling about witnessing the
anger of lovers. A collective shame seems to cloak the
audience. The turn of events did not come as a surprise to
me. Like I said, I have been here before.
The night went on and soon the other patrons became
busily engaged in what they were doing before the fight.
Warren was no exception. He walked past me and up to
Janice.
"Wanna a ride somewhere," he said.
Janice brushed back a lock of dark hair that had matted
on her forehead and looked up. "Sure. Sure, why the hell
not?" She said.
Like I say, for people-watching, you just can't beat
laundromats and bars.
(NOTE: "Janice's" father's occupation was changed. The
names of the couple were altered out of respect for their
privacy. As mentioned, everybody knows everybody on Tybee
Island.)
* * *
Travels with Leslie (5)
August 14, 1993
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
TYBEE ISLAND, GEORGIA -- Some Chinese philosopher dude
once said that crises is "opportunity riding the dangerous
wind."
I have considered that thought with some misgivings
over the last few years. I have a tendency to doubt the
messenger of meaningful news and it seems to me that the
Chinese are falsely credited with too many novel inventions.
I was told they developed Pizza -- yet everybody knows that
Pizza is Italian, right?
I thought about such things today as I walked along the
compacted sand of the beach here, preparing for tomorrow.
My mind wandered to the phase uttered by some American pipe-
smoker: "Fear" is short for "False Education Appearing
Real." Now, that hit home.
If philosophy is anything like the old Certs commercial
and they are both right, it means I've been battered around
in an artificial hurricane most of my life.
Where is the solution? If "the calm always precedes
the storm," how the hell am I supposed to enjoy a cloudless
day?
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 6 February 1995
And so it goes with me. I am plagued with such
thoughts. Conventional wisdom, scrawled in stone by those
who are supposed to know about such things, just makes my
emotional situation worse. I started out on this trip to
get away from the misery of home and find the tools to get
better. I cannot think my way to health because, in a
very real and honest way, my best thinking got me to where I
was.
To get better, I must grow. To grow, I must act.
I do not believe that people can deal effectively with
emotions using intellect. It's kind of like pitting David
against Goliath in this internal, grueling battle I am
fighting. Emotions are gonna' win every time. I have to do
something that spurs within in me all the dreaded emotions I
want so desperately to conquer.
So tomorrow I am going to enter a bikini contest.
Now, before you get to laughing too hard at the picture
you have created of this twenty-five-year old blonde think
of your own fears. Chances are I may find a few of them a
little silly, too. To you, these fears are very serious and
very real -- they hurt. So do mine.
I just broke up with a man I adored. We lived together
four years. I cannot cope with the desperate loneliness I
feel by watching other couples walk along the beach, hand in
hand. When I watch them I think of how very perfect their
relationship must be; I am convinced that he must do the
dishes and she never has any headaches. I compare how I
feel deep down inside with how they act together in public.
This is the kind of thinking that gets me into trouble.
I've learned that when I feel really lonely I should
find instead someone who also walks alone on the beach. I
try to be the best company I can be for a few minutes. It's
a small thing, I know, but the harder I try to help them
feel better the less lonely I am. Little actions, rather
than big thoughts, seem to do the trick.
So this morning I bought one of those "g" string
bikini's at a little store on the highway and spent the rest
of the day trying to work up the nerve to wear it.
Little things.
It is not immodest of me to tell you that I am very
pretty and that I have the body to wear one. Throughout my
life my looks have worked against me. When I attract other
men's attention, the one I love holds it against me. My
lover would call me a slut because a stranger would smile at
me. If a guy would actually approach me and ask to buy me a
drink or something, my boyfriend was convinced forever and
absolutely that I had slept with the stranger. No, saying
that I am physically attractive is not an act of conceit --
it is a confession.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 7 February 1995
"Blonde jokes" have become very popular lately. No one
laughed at them more robustly than my ex-boyfriend who, by
sharing both my body and my soul, knew intimately how truly
unfair they really are. This man who would tell me he loved
me for my wit and my ambition would parade me in front of
friends and strangers with the unspoken demand that I keep
my mouth shut. He would dangle me in front of them as bait
and, when they finally nibbled, he'd take a bite out of me.
Angry? Yes, a little. More than that, I am ashamed.
During the final year of our relationship it got so I
would tie my hair up and wear the most unattractive clothing
I could buy. I did everything in my power not to be
noticed. This obsessive practice of trying to look ugly
started out like a flimsy cobweb at first and then, like all
bad habits, grew into a chain that shackled me . . . holding
me back from myself.
Shame is a big time inner agony. It takes lots of work
to bust it up into pieces small enough to throw away. No
amount of thinking is going to make it anything but worse.
I need to do something.
So, tomorrow I am going to enter a bikini contest.
* * *
Travels With Leslie (6)
August 18, 1993
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
CORPUS CHRISTI, TEXAS -- When you run up to a wall that
stands between you and your emotions, you can't go around it
to find yourself. You can't dig a tunnel under it without
continuing on your path in darkness. You can only tear it
down from the other side, so you gotta' climb over it to
grow and get better.
So I ran like hell.
I jumped in my van very early in the morning, before
sleep had a chance to make it seem better, and left my wall
standing in tact behind me. When the sunrise crept up on
Tybee Island and neighboring Hilton Head, I was gone.
At first, I figured I knew where I was headed. Running
seems more explainable when you've got a destination and
this one was only 700 miles away. So I sold myself on the
idea I was going somewhere instead of leaving somewhere as I
passed through Georgia and Mississippi. Then I stopped,
changed by mind in a phone booth, and drove another 500
miles knowing I was running.
Some would say that I am wrong to run from my problems
but I will not plead "guilty" to the charge. It was either
this or the bars that line Main street in Tybee Island --
and this kind of escape is easier on my liver and those who
love me.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 8 February 1995
So, my friends, I will enter my plea as "No Contest"
and accept the sentence you and my conscience impose upon
me. I just wasn't strong enough to face the reality behind
the nightmares. I was ready to climb but I was unprepared
to face what I might find on the other side of the wall.
This time it was just too much for me. I feel very small
and very weak and very beaten. Perhaps it is a small sign
of personal growth to understand how really small we are
when pitted against the jackals that rip at our heart and
bite into our soul.
All I know for sure is that I am here and the wall is
back there.
I remember, as a little girl, sitting in the kitchen
and hearing a word or two float out of the other room along
with the cigar smoke. It was my task back then to wait
unnoticed for my father or one of his quests to yell out an
order for another beer, but I stole what wisdom a little
girl can understand from the muffled conversation I
overheard. "Life is just like poker . . . poker is life."
Maybe I just didn't have a good enough hand to place an
emotional bet this time around. If you lived the terror of
those nightmares maybe you would be looking over my shoulder
and shaking your head. It may take a full house to win this
one. Maybe, when the stakes are so very high, it is best
to fold and wait for another deal. Maybe life's inner war
is a cycle of battles you win, battles you lose and times
you must surrender before the showdown.
All I know for sure is that I am here and the wall will
always be back there, waiting for me.
Maybe there was something to the advice the old guy on
the train gave in exchange for a sip of whiskey and a
cigarette: "You've got to know when to hold 'em, know when
to fold 'em, know when to walk away -- know when to run."
I played Kenny Rogers a lot as I continued on
Interstate 10 through Texas. I began to think that maybe I
was being a bit premature to judge myself a coward right
then. It made me feel better to hear, "you never count your
money while you're sitting at the table, there'll be time
enough for countin' when the dealin's done."
The night was young, I figured as I drove . . . I'm
young. There's lots of cards left in the deck and time
enough for a few more hands. I thought about the lessons
learned in my childhood.
There was one of my dad's friends who sat in that room
and played out every hand. I remember his voice to this day
because he's the one who sent me to the ice box the most.
Everybody was glad to see him show up for the Wednesday
night poker games but after he left I would hear laughter.
Even as a little girl I knew it was the bad kind.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 9 February 1995
I pulled into the parking lot here on the beach of an
island two miles from Downtown Corpus Christi exactly twenty
four hours and eleven minutes after I left my wall. I sat
in my van and waited. When the sun came up I knew that, for
me, I had made the right decision.
I can't come home until I knock down that wall. But a
sunrise can promise you a tomorrow. The wall will be there
when I'm prepared to win.
You see, the guy who played out every hand in my
father's den always left a loser.
{The DREAM Continues}
Copyright 1994 Leslie Meek, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Leslie has been searching and in her travels relates to us what she
has found so far. Warrensburg, Missouri is where the travels have
begun and there is no telling where her search will end -- if ever.
Perhaps leaving was her fist step to realizing -- she was *there* and
already knew. She's eager to hear from her readers and can be reached
via: U'NI-net's Writer's Conference and regularly logs onto Crackpot
Connection (816-747-2525). She likes to chat, if you catch her online
-- tell her Rick said, "Hi!"
=====================================================================
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
A SKEIN IS ONLY 360 FEET
by Greg Borek
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
"Boss! Hey, boss! Got a minute?"
"Well, I . . ."
"That's great, that's great! Listen to this. Knock your socks off.
The boys in research were playing around with a "CHKDSK" file. You
know, one of those fruit-loopy "FILE0000.CHK" files CHKDSK.COM makes
from the lost scraps on a hard disk. Following?"
"I, uh, . . ."
"That's great. Now Binkleman, . . . you know, Binkleman? The weird
one Studman hired? Nothing to look at, but a brilliant, diseased
mind. Anyway Binkleman says he's always suspected that there was some
sort of pattern to these files. Paranoia in capital letters or what?
So guess what he does?"
"Did he . . .?"
"No, even worse. He starts playing around with the bits in the
file: shifting every other character 24 bits left, the other
characters 18 bits right, subtracting 27, and passing the result
through a substitution cypher using "peach flavored werewolves" as
the key. Scoobey-do, guess what he comes up with? Listen:
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 10 February 1995
*Now is the winter of our discontent
*Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
*And all the clouds that . . .
"Know what that is?"
"Well that's . . ."
"Gibberish, I know. Rechecking his work, he realized he should only
be shifting every other character only 22 bits, not 24. Wow! What
a bonehead play! Guess what he comes up with then? I'll read it:
*To be, or not to be, that is the question;
*Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
*The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune . . .
"And stuff like that. It goes on for pages and pages."
"Why that's . . ."
"I know, I know . . . a complete waste of time. I told him,
`Lad, you're barking.' A bit strong I know, but one must be firm
with the young ones or they don't learn. He went off and started in
a completely new direction based on . . . guess what?"
"I couldn't . . ."
"That's right, a 4th order Bessel function. Great guess. Wrong,
of course, but wonderful potential this Binkleman. Multiplying each
byte by the Permeability of Free Space, 4 * 10e-7 Wb/Am, then
dividing by the speed of light times absolute zero C yielded . . .
guess what? Come on, guess? Listen:
*2 cups flour 3 egg whites
*6 oz. butter 3-1/2 oz. granulated sugar
*1 pinch salt 1 qt. fresh blueberries
*3 egg yolks
Preheat the oven to 375. Mix all the ingredients . . .
". . . and so on, including serving instructions and nutritional
information. Might as well be a Crime Bill. Nonsense at it's worse.
What do you make of that, huh?"
"Quite a . . ."
"Yes, other than a recipe for a rather yummy blueberry pie,
complete gibberish. Can you believe the things these guys will come
up with?"
"Only a . . ."
"Now don't be to hard on him. I might have made the same mistake
myself in my younger days on one of those nights when I lost yet
another drinking competition. But here is where the story gets
interesting. I got involved. I knew the answer to this conundrum
was not far off. `Use your brain, not your fingers, Binkleman,' I
said. What would be a likely thing to try next?"
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 11 February 1995
"If you ca. . ."
"Calcium tetraborate, CaB4O7! Yes, that's exactly what I thought
at first, but I made the same mistake. See it? No? Well, when we did
it the wrong way we got:
*Children below the age of 7 should use the
*microwave with a supervising person very near
*to them. Between the ages of 7 and 12, the supervising
*person should be in the same room.
*The child must be able to reach the oven comfortably;
*if not, he/she should stand on a sturdy stool.
*At no time should anyone be allowed to lean or swing on
*the oven door . . .
"See the flaw in the equation? A square hectometer is only
2.471044 acres U.S. but 2.471058 acres British. When we put in the
correct value the answer plopped out right in our laps, without so
much as a "By your leave". We got something clear as the lint in
your bellybutton. Ready?"
"I could . . ."
"No, this is really hot! Listen to this, if you can:
*People of Earth. Your puny planet is about to invaded
*by the infintely superior forces of the HotCrossedBuns
*Star Empire. Resistance is futile. Make peace with
*whatever deity you worship. You have only until 1 February
*1995, Earth date, where the first icing and raspberry sauce
*ships will land in Taledo, Ohio, USA . . .
"Taledo? I . . ."
"Damn. You're right. Taledo's spelled wrong. I must have screwed up
the math. Shit, I thought I rechecked my math. I must look like a
real Herbert. Sorry to waste your time like this."
{DREAM}
Copyright 1995 Greg Borek, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Greg Borek is a C programmer with a "Highway Helper" (OK, "Beltway
Bandit" -- but don't tell his boss we told you) in Falls Church, VA.
He has previously been mistaken for a vampire. Greg can be reached
via e-mail at: gborek@dreamforge.com
=====================================================================
Being gloomy is easier than being cheerful. Anybody can say
"I've got cancer" and get a rise out of a crowd. But how many
of us can do five minutes of good stand-up comedy? - P.J. O'Rourke
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 12 February 1995
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Brighton Bealer Memoirs
by Dave Bealer
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Some people don't like their own names. Of all the billions of
problems that can afflict human beings, that has to be one of the
worst. After all, your name affects the way people view you
throughout your life. For proof look at the Zappa kids, Dweezil
and Moon Unit.
Of all the millions of problems I've faced in my life, having to
deal with a dopey name is not one of them. Mine was a narrow escape,
though. My mother once admitted that she wanted to name me Brighton.
Brighton Bealer? Apparently Mom fell off the same flying saucer as
Frank Zappa. Luckily, Dad put a stop to that nonsense before it got
started and I ended up with the perfectly normal name of David.
Mom was the only person I knew well who called me David. There is
something in the mental makeup of most mothers that forces them to
refer to all their children by their entire first names. Not that I
minded. David is an acceptable name -- in Hebrew it means "beloved."
Always short for my age (5' 7" is short for 37, isn't it?), I had to
put up with a few slingshot jokes in school, but it wasn't that bad.
About the only real problem I have with it is due to childhood years
of watching the national television news with my parents. In the
unlikely event someone says "Good night, David" to me, I have to
fight down the urge to reply, "Good night, Chet, and good night for
NBC News."
Other than David Brinkley, I naturally identify with other famous
Davids and Daves, both real and fictional. My first memory of this
is from 1968, when I saw _2001: A Space Odyssey_ with some friends.
For the next few weeks I had to put up with the little creeps
answering my every request with their best HAL 9000 impressions, "I'm
sorry, Dave. I'm afraid I can't do that." Even today I occasionally
run into that response from a particularly demented coworker.
It's comforting to know that the last human in the universe
will be named Dave. This according to "Red Dwarf," the British
science fiction situation comedy series. Dave Lister, the last human,
is a chicken soup dispenser repair technician (third class) on the
mining ship _Red Dwarf_. Under normal circumstances, Lister ranked
below "the man who changed the bog rolls." (I can readily identify
with an underachiever of that magnitude.)
Now, stuck three million years in the future, Lister has the run
of the ship. The problem is that Dave's only companions are Rimmer,
a hologram of his dead bunk mate (whom Lister loathed), a prissy
android named Kryten, and Cat, the humanoid descendent (that evolved
over three million years) of Lister's pet cat. About the only thing I
really have in common with Lister, besides being an underachiever, is
that we both like spicy food and hate exercise.
Another fictional Dave I have come to like is Glenn Ford's
character from _Pocketful of Miracles_, Dave "The Dude" Conway. A
gambler, bootlegger, and racketeer, this Dave is nobody's chicken
soup dispenser repairman. Tough and slick on the outside, The Dude
turns out, in classic movie style, to have a heart of gold.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 13 February 1995
Dave Barry is widely known as the funniest man in America. His
reputation is well earned. This Pulitzer Prize winning columnist for
the _Miami Herald_ is syndicated in hundreds of newspapers worldwide
every weekend. Knight-Ridder, the company that owns the _Herald_,
withdrew Dave's column from ClariNet, the Internet's own newspaper,
last year. K-R took this action over a flap about the column being
redistributed illegally on the net.
The illegal actions of a few brain-dead yahoos whose rallying
cry was "information wants to be free" caused those Dave Barry fans
who are also legitimate subscribers to ClariNet-carrying systems
(this writer included) to have to purchase a several pound stack of
newsprint every Sunday just so we can read the great man's words.
When are these clowns going to realize that creative people (the
worthwhile ones) won't work for free, at least forever? "Dave's
World," the top ten sitcom based on Dave's columns, stars Harry
Anderson as Dave himself. The show can be seen Monday nights on CBS.
Not everything is rosy on the Dave front, I'm sorry to say. One of
my least favorite television personalities is "Super" Dave Osborne,
of cable infamy. This guy doesn't have to worry about having his
stuff stolen by net denizens because he's so irretrievably lame.
David Letterman inherited Johnny Carson's title as the "King of
Late Night Talk Show Hosts" a few years back when Johnny retired.
The last time I watched Dave regularly was back in the early eighties
when I was in college -- anything was more fun than doing homework.
No, that's not fair. David Letterman is a funny man. His "stupid
pet tricks" were a fun innovation. Still, there was something about
Johnny Carson that nobody else has been able to duplicate. At least
Paul Shaffer is a better bandleader than Doc Severnsen, plus Paul has
a better band.
A few years back the U.S. National Weather Service started naming
hurricanes after men as well as women. Color me sexist, but I was a
little incensed when the first really destructive hurricane given a
masculine name was Hurricane David. We Davids just aren't like that,
unless we have a slingshot.
{DREAM}
Copyright 1995 Dave Bealer, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Dave Bealer is a thirty-something mainframe systems programmer who
works with CICS, MVS and all manner of nasty acronyms at one of the
largest heavy metal shops on the East Coast. He shares a waterfront
townhome in Pasadena, MD. with two cats who annoy him endlessly as he
writes and publishes electronically. Dave can be reached at:
dbealer@dreamforge.com
=====================================================================
Sound Byte:
Bill Clinton promised us a "New Covenant."
Hilary will be in charge of the new coven.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 14 February 1995
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
TUMMY BUDDIESr
by Brian Pomeroy
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
"It's the hottest health craze since aerobics!"
"No more starvation diets! No more strenuous exercise!"
"Now YOU TOO can get in on this fitness phenomenon at a price
that will NEVER be offered again!"
"TUMMY BUDDIESr is a revolutionary weight loss system that takes
the hassle out of losing those unwanted pounds. With your set of
TUMMY BUDDIESr, you'll be able to eat all you want, relax all you
want . . . and still lose all the weight you want! Say `goodbye' to
torture diets and exercises-say `hello' to looking great! Sound like
a miracle? It isn't! Put tomorrow's weight loss technology to work
today . . . all for only $129.95. That's right . . . . ONLY! One-
twenty-NINE-ninety-five! This offer ends at midnight tonight, and
WILL NOT BE REPEATED! Here's how to order . . . ."
Cheryl ran to get her note pad the moment the ordering address
flashed on the screen. She dug through piles of papers and books in
her bookcase as the announcer repeated the address and 1-800 number
once, twice, three times. Finally, beneath a year-old issue of
COSMOPOLITAN, she found it -- a no-frills writing pad with barely a
clean sheet left.
The ad had gone off, but she had at least remembered the
toll-free number. Her eyes scoured the bookcase for a pen or other
such instrument. A stubby pencil with a worn-down tip rested on the
top shelf. She grabbed it and jotted down the number on the first
sheet of the note pad she turned to; a cold shiver ran down her arm
as she wrote with the worn point.
Cheryl then threw down the pad and jogged to the other side of
her partment. Her purse rested on an end table by the front door.
Grabbing the purse like a vicious puppy, she flipped it over and
shook it, letting its guts spill to the floor. Cosmetics . . . dollar
bills . . . coins . . . keys . . . broken earrings . . . two small
bottles of Tylenol . . . everything fell out. But where the hell was
her MasterCard?
In the bedroom! Bureau drawer! She put it there so she
wouldn't use it impulsively. Was this impulsive? Hardly! This was
the opportunity of a lifetime . . . .
As she scurried to the bedroom, she passed by a full-length
mirror in the hallway. She stopped to look, but only for a second.
Her sandy hair was perfectly in place. Her sky-blue eyes gleamed.
You're fat. So damned fat. Everybody thinks you're disgusting!
She moved on. Midnight tonight, she thought to herself. That isn't
much time. Only a few hours, when you think about it. And what time
zone are these people in, anyway? They could close at any minute!
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 15 February 1995
In the bedroom, she threw open the top drawer, where she kept
her underwear and small items that, in any other place, would find
their way to that never-never-land of lost miscellany. She stirred
through the junk in that drawer until a silver gleam struck her eye.
The MasterCard! With her name inscribed upon it! Praise be to God!
Cheryl grabbed her MasterCard, pinching it between her fingers
as tightly as she could, for fear it would take flight. She dove on
her bed and grabbed the phone. The pad bearing the phone number was
in the other room, but it didn't matter. The number was burned into
her mind; she would dream about that number thirty years from today.
Punching out the phone number on the keypad, her heart did a dance
inside her chest. This is it, she thought. My moment, the one I've
been living for all my life!
* * *
Naomi stood by the microwave patiently, waiting for the rotary
dial to complete its journey to zero. She tapped her fingers on the
formica counter top as she peered inside the oven to check on her
chicken casserole. As a microwave gourmet, she knew the value of
precise timing just as much as a Nobel scientist did. Five seconds
too short, and the meal would be cold and clammy on the inside. Five
seconds too long, and the meal would scorch.
This particular casserole left no margin for error. The recipe
was intended not for microwavers, however careful; its path was paved
with near misses and dishes that were pretty good-edible, but still
demanding the after-dinner Maalox.
The microwave dinged, and Naomi opened the door carefully. She
took a whiff of the casserole's aroma. Not bad, she thought. Not
bad at all for lunchtime leftovers.
With paper towels in hand, she lifted the dish from the microwave
to the lunch table. Another woman sat at the table, giving Naomi and
her casserole a grim stare. "Bring that stuff here again and I'm
gonna shoot you," the woman said to Naomi.
Naomi smiled. "Want some?" She held the dish forward.
The woman shook her head and laughed. "Oh, God! No way!" The woman
held up her thin ham sandwich. "I feel guilty enough eating this as
it is. But thank you."
Naomi sat down and began eating her casserole. "Jackie . . ."
she said to the woman as she began eating, "you need to lose weight
the way Mick Jagger needs a lip enlargement."
Jackie said nothing, but kept on eating her thin sandwich. The
klonk-klonk-klonk of hard heels hitting the wood floor made the
two women look up.
"Hi, folks," Cheryl chirped as she walked toward the small
refrigerator.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 16 February 1995
"Boy, you're cheery today," Naomi said to Cheryl. "What 'appen?
They fire Mr. Dontelli?"
"Oh, please! Nothing that mundane!"
"You won the lottery, and now every gorgeous single guy in the
tri-state area's killing to be able to ask you out," Jackie said
in a monotone voice.
"Ah . . . that's old news!" Cheryl made a snooty face, then
her eyes bulged.
"I've finally found a sure-fire way to lose weight!" Her grin
was big enough to hold Alaska and Texas, with room to spare.
"What's it this time?" Jackie asked. "Lock yourself in a vault?"
"Cute." Cheryl paused. "It's Tummy Buddies!"
Naomi made a scowl. "What the hell are Tummy Buddies?"
"It's this new fool-proof way to diet! All you do is take a
pill, and you can eat all you want and never gain an ounce.
Incredible, or what?"
"My girlfriend's sister used Tummy Buddies. Lost nearly 150
pounds." It was Tom, the office messenger.
"No kidding," Naomi said. "One hundred and fifty pounds! Wow."
"She must look great," Jackie said. Cheryl smiled in self-triumph.
"Dunno," Tom said. "Haven't seen her in months." With that he
passed through and was gone.
That evening, Naomi drove home in her red Ford Festiva, as
usual. She had a twenty-minute ride south along the interstate, but
unless there was an accident or construction, the drive rarely
bothered her. The drive meant time to herself, to listen to the radio
or a new tape, or just to think quietly. On this night, she thought
and thought. Work, though, was the last thing on her mind. What was
on her mind were Cheryl and these Tummy Buddies.
A smile came to Naomi's face as she recalled the first thing
that every visitor to Cheryl's office noticed the eight-by-ten
photo of Cheryl holding a bouquet of red roses, grinning exuberantly,
waving at an unseen crowd, and wearing a small crown and a sash that
read MISS MID-ATLANTIC U.S.A. The photo, heavily faded and showing
Cheryl, with her outmoded dress and hairstyle, sporting the crown of
a now-discontinued pageant, must have been at least twenty years old.
And it seemed so silly that Cheryl, with her education and career,
should find it necessary to display such a relic. Such a frivolous,
insignificant relic at that.
But Naomi realized all too well why that picture was there.
Even the most unobservant people could tell that the Cheryl in that
photograph was no different -- absolutely no different -- from the
Cheryl seated before them. Not one wrinkle, not one pimple, not one
fat cell had appeared on that beauty-queen body since the day it
glided down the runway of another era.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 17 February 1995
And yet, that body would never be good enough for its occupant.
Naomi had known Cheryl for a long time. Men came and went,
laying gifts at her feet as though she were the baby Jesus. Male
bosses made sure she was pampered and promoted over more senior and
better qualified employees -- all in the hope that, one day -- they
might get lucky. One story had it that Cheryl first started working
at the company as a receptionist, but had been "bumped upstairs"
because her boss was threatened with cruel and unusual divorce.
His wife, it seems, had gotten an eyeful of Cheryl in one of
her miniskirt-and-tight-sweater outfits. If the wife had seen what
Cheryl wore during the last company beach trip, Naomi thought, she
would have had a stroke.
Tummy Buddies was only the latest of Cheryl's weight-loss
obsessions. And although nothing was needed, nothing worked well
enough. She was always too fat, too ugly, not sexy enough, whatever.
Perhaps that was the work of the Devil, exacting his due for
the gift of physical perfection. He tortured those beauties, telling
them that no matter how they dressed, how they made themselves up,
how religiously they took care of themselves, they would forever be
worthless slime.
But this Tummy Buddies thing . . . Naomi had read the brochure
that Cheryl had given her on the product, and it did seem like a
dieter's dream. Eat all you want, sit around all you want, and those
pounds will still fall away. Cheryl was elated by it, convinced it
was a gift from God.
Or another one of the Devil's tricks, Naomi thought. She tried to
repress her smile, but she couldn't.
* * *
Cheryl gingerly placed her bare feet on the bathroom scale. The
dial flopped back and forth until a number centered on the stationary
needle.
One hundred even! Four pounds gone this week!
Cheryl let out a huge sigh of relief. She had eaten two frozen
ravioli dinners the night before, and they hadn't left an ounce
behind! Smugly she shoved her hands into the deep pockets of her
blue terry cloth bathrobe. She then turned around and headed to her
bedroom.
Cheryl re-emerged wearing a white sweatsuit. The fact that the
pants hardly stayed up now delighted Cheryl. Two weeks ago, the
pants barely fit.
The Tummy Buddies show is probably still on, Cheryl thought. She
walked over to the TV set, turned it on, and flopped on her small,
soft couch. If I were doing this the old-fashioned way, Cheryl
thought, I'd be bench-pressing ten thousand pounds right now!
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 18 February 1995
The TV revealed an announcer with a glowing grin and a long
black microphone. He had a deep tan, and each hair was perfectly on
place. "Let's get some reaction about TUMMY BUDDIESr from our studio
audience, shall we?" he said into the microphone. The camera swung
toward the audience, mostly women but with some men, who were
cheering wildly as if they were at a football game.
The announcer pointed his microphone at one of the audience
members, who quickly stood up. Her face and neck looked very thin;
the blouse she was wearing looked like it was made for someone three
times her size.
"What's your name, ma'am?"
"Ah'm Celia Rhoades," the woman answered in a light Southern
accent.
"And where are you from, ma'am?" The announcer's grin didn't
falter once.
"Ah'm from Elk Parkway, Mary-land."
"And what do you think of TUMMY BUDDIESr, ma'am?"
"Ah LOVE 'EM!!" Celia Rhoades thrashed around as though two
million volts of electricity had surged through her. The audience
hooted, clapped and hollered.
"How much weight have you lost with TUMMY BUDDIESr, ma'am?" The
teeth were still in place.
"Since ah started, ah've lost one hundred pounds. And ah'm
still goin'!" The audience cheered Celia as though she were a wide
receiver who had just caught a "Hail Mary" pass.
"Besides helping you lose all that weight, ma'am, how have
TUMMY BUDDIESr changed your life?"
"Well, ah just feel better about mahself, and mah husband says
ah look better than I did when I was eighteen! It's done wonders for
mah love life . . . if ya know what I mean." She winked at the
announcer and grinned.
The audience, becoming a rally of high school freshmen, let out a
collective, good-natured wolf whistle.
Cheryl's pulse quickened. She felt as if she, too, were part of
the audience. She wanted to be interviewed by that announcer and tell
the world how well she was doing. Soon she would be perfect. So very,
very perfect.
So very sexy and beautiful and . . .
"You're a goddamned fat slob! You're so damn ugly, I don't think
a pig would marry you!"
That voice! It was back.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 19 February 1995
She looked at the TV; in front of it stood her father, a huge,
balding man, who ate crowbars for breakfast.
"You're a goddamned disgrace," he muttered to her. "I oughta throw
you out to live with the pigs!"
Cheryl choked on her own breath. She closed her eyes, shutting
her eyelids so tight that her eyes began to water. Then she opened
them. Her father was gone.
She could feel her heart quaking inside her chest. Her hands
grabbed the one arm of the couch and propelled her body upward. She
ran into the bathroom again and stripped off her sweatsuit as though
it were on fire.
Finally free of all unnecessary weight, she mounted the scale.
Yes! One hundred still! It wasn't a dream. It was real. So very,
very real.
That night, as Cheryl fell asleep, she dreamed about the very
first boy she ever dated. He was polite and handsome. His father was
a Methodist minister, and he wanted to go to seminary. He also
collected unique stones. When he first asked her out, he had given
her his most prized stone, a sapphire, because it was stunningly
beautiful -- like her.
They had had a wonderful time on their date -- until he brought
Cheryl home.
There, her father was waiting. He accused the boy of being a
pervert and punched the boy so hard in the face that his left cheek
was purple for weeks.
If the boy's parents had been different people in a different time,
they would have sued her father, and might have even pressed criminal
charges.
But they didn't. They were gentle, forgiving people-too gentle and
forgiving to deal with her father.
Cheryl tossed and turned all night, waking up several times in a
warm sweat.
At one point she rolled over to look at her alarm clock. The
squared-off red numbers said 3:42. She sighed, knowing that the
coming day would most certainly bring fatigue and a migraine headache.
As she rolled back over, she saw an odd shadow at the foot of the
bed. She sat up to take a closer look.
"Hello," said the shadow.
She gasped, then her lungs stopped working. She froze. Not even
her pulse moved. She looked hard at the shadow. It resembled that of
a man, but no one specifically.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 20 February 1995
"I'm here to collect my back pay," the shadow said.
Cheryl couldn't speak. Her whole body tingled with fright.
"The only thing you ever wanted in life was to be beautiful. And
that's what you are. You are very, very divine..."
Cheryl let out a high-pitched squeal.
"Oh, don't be frightened," the shadow said. "At least, not yet."
"Who . . . who . . . who are you?" squeaked Cheryl.
"I'm your keeper," the shadow said. "I've taken care of you all
these years. And now you owe me for it. And believe me, you owe me
big!"
Cheryl lunged at the shadow, but nothing was there. She sat on
the bed for a moment and tried to catch her breath. Shaking, she
crawled back into bed and tried to think happy thoughts. Think how
well your Tummy Buddies are working, she thought. Think of how much
weight you're losing!
Around 4:30 Cheryl awoke with stomach cramps. Must have been that
ice cream, she thought. I'm lactose-intolerant for sure.
She swung herself out of bed and shuffled to the bathroom. As
quickly as she could, she got herself situated on the toilet and
opened up her bowels.
It seemed to her that gallons of straight liquid were pouring out.
Her bowels were empty, but she still had cramps. She stood up and,
for a moment, glanced down into the toilet bowl.
Something moved.
Her eyes were then riveted to the toilet bowl. She made it a
rule -- never to look into a toilet bowl -- into her own defecation.
But this time she could not resist.
The water rippled. Something in there was moving.
Cheryl's heart pounded as she maintained a vigil over her toilet
bowl. The stench of the feces was starting to get to her. A long
white object swam up to the surface, and then disappeared. Maybe the
sewer's backed up, Cheryl thought. Maybe stuff is coming up from
the sewers.
She felt the urge to go again, so she flushed and got back on
the seat. After she was finished, instead of getting up off the seat,
she remained seated, staring at the ceiling. She was afraid to get
up, afraid of seeing what she never liked looking at to begin with.
But she did get up. And she did look down into the toilet.
Hundreds of white strings squiggled in the water amongst her
feces. Cheryl felt dizzy, and had the urge to vomit. She could feel
it coming up through her esophagus, so she shut her eyes and leaned
over the toilet. She could hear the worms splashing around as she
vomited.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 21 February 1995
For only a moment -- she looked at her vomit. Something. Something
that looked like fresh-boiled spaghetti.
"You owe me big!" a voice out of the air said. Then laughter . . .
vicious, evil laughter.
She felt very, very thin -- and frail. Everything went black, and
she fell head-first into the bowl. Scurrying through her mouth and
nose, racing to her bowels and lungs, went dozens of frantic worms --
her BUDDIES -- along with her own vomit and shit.
* * *
Several weeks later, the local paper ran a story about the FDA
banning a certain medication called droxhadimine-17. Apparently it
was not a medicine at all, but a tabletized collection of eggs from
a rare South American parasitic worm. Some pharmaceutical companies,
apparently, were using droxhadimine-17 as a weight-loss medicine,
conveniently failing to state on the package how the substance
worked.
By swallowing the pill, a person unwittingly introduced dozens
of worms into their system with each and every capsule taken. The
weight loss came when the worms ate the food in one's digestive
tract.
With the article was a sidebar, about a local woman who allegedly
died from internal parasites of that sort. It said nothing about her
other than she took the TUMMY BUDDIESr brand of droxhadimine-17, and
that she had been Miss Mid-Atlantic U.S.A. 1970.
{DREAM}
Copyright 1995 Brian Pomeroy, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Brian can be found surfing the net thru [email protected], and if you
happen to net him, tell him we said, "Hi!"
=====================================================================
Need to lose WEIGHT? Have a new wardrobe every month because
your clothes no longer fit correctly? Gave up on fad diets?
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YESSS! *Fabulous* New TUMMY BUDDIES will Slim and Trim you!
Cost? Can you place a price on YOUR great new looks?
No longer will you have to Binge and Purge! and PURGE! and PURGE! and PURGE!
It'll be the NEW YOU! SLEEK, SLIM, TRIM! You'll look like a Model!
Send CASH ONLY!! to: Dream Forge, Inc. 6400 Baltimore National Pike
#201, Baltimore, MD 21228-3915
For only $129.95, you'll receive an entire 90 day supply of
TUMMY BUDDIES. Guaranteed to make you lose weight! -- or your
money back -- less shipping, handling, and restocking fees of
only $99.95.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 22 February 1995
-=-=-=-=-=-
WISH BOTTLE
Gay Bost
=-=-=-=-=-=
Cindy was, she reckoned, about 11 or 12 when she wandered far
enough afield to encounter the old woman they called Capia.
She was somewhere in that vast and endless reach between little
girl and almost woman, gone bored and searching without knowing
what she was searching for. Most afternoons she wandered toward the
library or pestered Mrs. Larson at the Farfax Diner while the woman
moved back and forth behind the long formica counter, tidying up
from the lunch crowd, preparing for the dinner rush. Cindy had in
mind making friends with her, talking herself into an after school
dish washing job and generally making herself a part of the place
just in case there was a dollar or two to be had running errands.
Cindy had plans and wishes. She wanted to be a Doctor or,
maybe, a Nurse, but she knew she'd have to help pay for college.
Her mama kept saying, "Think about all that hard work you'll have
to do before you ever get to see the inside of a classroom. Girl,
you just turn yourself around and think about a nice steady husband
instead."
Cindy had wishes there, too, but they were less well defined.
It had been one of those rare early Winter days of warmth and
windless calm that made an ambling walk a joy. Trees were bare.
Fields were plowed and the grey brown seemed to be everywhere, unless
you were lucky enough to have a pine tree or a holy tree growing in
your yard. One of the library windows looked out over a tiny flower
garden, but it was filled with grey green brush. The huge pine that
rattled against the window when the northerlies blew was her only
green spot this time of year.
Or so she'd thought, until she ventured down a long quiet lane
chasing after a squirrel and found herself on the edges of a scraggly
yard surrounded by pine and cedar.
"Looks like somebody likes growing weeds," she told the squirrel,
turning to look at it. It had scampered up a tree trunk and turned
to chitter at her from a bough.
"Looks like somebody likes talking to squirrels," said a voice
crackling with dry laughter. "They be calling you crazy next thing
you know." A dried up old hank of a woman stepped out from behind a
line of holly bushes. She carried a basket on her forearm from which
dangled straw colored pods on dried looking vine things curling at
varied angles. The woman was picking the pods from the vines as she
walked, coming closer at a rate most old women didn't take.
A sun browned, age spotted hand wiped across faded jeans that
looked three sizes too big and twenty years past the rag bag. The
hand struck through the air at Cindy. "You can call me Capia," the
woman said, looking expectantly at Cindy.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 23 February 1995
"Oh," Cindy said, realizing with a little fright that she stood
face to face, or near enough, to what some people were calling a
witch. "Cindy Rather." She took the woman's hand and gave it a
quick shake, released it and wiped her own palm on her skirt.
"It don't rub off," said the woman.
"What don't rub off," Cindy asked quickly, suspecting the old
woman had read her mind.
"Old. Old don't rub off that easy. If it did a lot more people
would have a lot more sense without having to pay years to get it."
"Yes'm." Cindy looked at the basket. It was filled with the pods.
She let go a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.
Capia looked at the sky, measuring the day left, hefted her basket
higher onto her forearm and half turned to go. "You can come sit on
the porch and have some hot chocolate. I got tea steeping."
Cindy blinked, looking further along to where the old woman
seemed headed. A weathered house stood 500 yards in the distance, an
open porch, beams protruding from beneath the roof overhang were hung
with wire baskets, old tomato plant supports, a few tireless bicycle
wheels and what looked like bird houses. It seemed harmless enough.
Cindy nodded, remembered her manners, said, "Thank you, I will," and
tried to take the basket from Capia.
Capia pulled the basket away and frowned, a smile trying to break
through the leathery old skin on her face. "You 'gonna strip the pods
from the vines, too?"
"Yes'm, if you need me to." Cindy thought about an hour's work, a
cup of chocolate and maybe a dollar if she pulled all the pods from
the vine and carried the heavy looking basket. It could have held a
load of wash ready to go to the line.
"I ain't got no money to pay no stray girls for something I can
do myself." Capia turned her back and moved toward the house.
"Sides, what would a girl like you need with money?"
"You can't read my mind!" Cindy exclaimed, catching up to the
woman and walking sideways along with her, letting her feet worry
about tufts of grass and half burried logs.
That smile finally broke the surface. "I can't? Well, maybe I can
see greed in young faces, then. Maybe I can see little dollar signs
popping up like on a cash register. Maybe." Her wrinkled old lips
puckered. Her pale blue grey eyes brightened with a laughter she was
holding back.
"I don't mind doing it for free, Miss Capia. And a cup of
chocolate." Cindy shrugged, giving up the little wish and tucking it
away for another day, maybe. She smiled her best smile and meant it.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 24 February 1995
Capia laughed deep in her chest, her wiry old frame shaking.
"Girl! What would you want money for, anyway?" Her arm lifted and
described a wide arc in the air. "You got the whole world to pick
from on a warm winter day, and you can have holly leaves and berries
for your hair in the stead of store bought ribbons!" The old woman
twirled around, her arm still outstretched, dancing on quick little
feet for a moment.
"I got plans and wishes."
"Unh." Capia came to a stop in her dance and glanced sideways at
Cindy before resuming her hosueward direction.
As they came up onto the porch steps an old grey tom cat moved in
his sleep, stretching from shadow into a spot of sun.
"You can see he had plans too, but the sun done moved on him.
Now, if he was a smart cat he'd have wandered up on a nice big house
with a picture window facing the afternoon sun instead of piling up
on my porch and taking over my footsteps." She gestured toward an old
kitchen chair that leaned against the inside wall of the porch.
"Drag that over here," she instructed, pointing toward a table which
held dozens of the smallest Mason jars Cindy had ever seen.
Capia dropped into a rickety rocker, the basket on her lap.
"You 'gon do this?" She pulled a tangle of pods and vines from the
basket, depositing them unceremoniously on the porch floor. At
Cindy's nod the old woman gave up the basket, too. "Just put the
stripped pods back in the basket then. And don't break the pods
open."
She set one bottle toward her, scooped rings and seals into a
near pile and scooted right up against the table edge. Cindy watched,
fascinated by the ridiculous, as Capia carefully peeled most of the
pod's skin off, tore away the fuller end of the pod and released
hundreds of tiny brown seeds, each attached to a silky white quill
four or five times longer than the seed's width. Very carefully she
put the seeds, ends down, into the little mason jar. What had looked
like a pinch spread out in the air, like dandelion puffs captured in
a bottle.
Cindy blinked, smiling at something that hadn't happened yet.
Capia repeated the process with more pods, long thin fingers taking
great care to get the seed portion at the bottom of the jar and the
fluffy white upright. She placed a seal atop the jar, dropped a ring
loosely onto the jar and pushed it aside.
After what seemed like hours all the pods had been stripped from
the vines. The basket was near to full, again, and Capia had filled
ten or twelve jars. Cindy waited, not knowing why, until the old
woman had dropped a ring onto the latest jar and pushed it away.
"Miss Capia?" she began.
The old woman turned her head, smiled something like Cindy's own
mother did when she'd been called away from cooing over a baby,
swiveled her shoulders, old shoulders gone stiff. "My tea!" She
crowed, bouncing up. "And your hot chocolate." She disappeared
behind a screen door, the bang waking the cat from his shadowed nap.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 25 February 1995
Cindy rocked forward with the chair, leaned her chin into her
hands and looked at the jars. The silky white threads, millions of
them, had spread open at the top to form a fanned solid mass of
glistening white. They gleamed through the clear glass jars,
reflected sunlight and bounced it off the shiny new seals.
It dawned on Cindy, then, that Miss Capia was putting up weeds.
Pretty weeds, the deep rich brown seeds looking a bit like tiny
coffee beans, flattened though they were. The discarded pods lay off
to the side in a pile, a rare seed missed. Cindy stood, peered
through the screen door, listening, and picked up an empty pod. Two
or three brown seeds without an attached quill fell to the table top.
Cindy plucked at a gleaming white thread, freed it from its perfect
prison, and placed it on her open palm.
The sky was still. No wind came to lift it off and carry it away.
Separated from its pod mates it had dried immediately. The weight of
the seed was just enough to keep it in her damp hand *if* she held
her breath. The feathery white drifted back and forth with her heart
beat. It came to her -- she had never seen white this bright. Not
brand new cotton slips, not her daddy's church hankies, fresh ironed,
not . . . anything.
The screen door creaked. She let go her breath, saw Capia with her
hand on the door, watching, a soft smile on her face. "Caught 'ya,"
the woman said, an imp shining in her old eyes. She pushed the door
open and brought out their hot drinks on a bent and dinted silver
tray. As she set the tray down, slowly pushing the jars back a bit
more with the scalloped edge, she turned her head and looked long at
Cindy, bemused. "Well?" was all that she said.
"What *are* they?" Cindy's vine dirty hand waved at the collection
on the table.
"Well, child!" Capia exclaimed. "I thought you knew. Those are
wish bottles."
"Wish bottles," Cindy repeated, her mouth suddenly dry. She
reached for the hot chocolate, gave it a glance to make sure it
wasn't steaming too much and sipped at it carefully.
"Wish bottles." Capia sat, pouring cream into her tea, taking a
twist of lemon and a spoon of sugar, stirring while she watched
Cindy's face. At last she settled back down into her chair, sipped
at her tea, and smiled with eyes and wrinkled cheeks over the rim of
a chipped china cup.
"Miss Capia," Cindy began, the tone of gentle warning one used when
dealing with a mistaken small child. "Those are . . ."
"Weeds," the old woman finished, beaming. "A jar of weeds to be
treasured, a supply of wishes to fill a field for a hundred years.
You see, girl," Capia leaned forward with a deliberate slowness,
"wishes are like those weed seeds. You send them off into the air
and they fly away in winds you can't even dream of. They scatter like
somebody else's children and grow where and as they may. What you got
to remember when you wish, especially holding one of those weed-
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 26 February 1995
wishes from one of these here wish bottles, is that once you release
that wish you ain't got no more control of it than you do those
pieces of fluff. You can't let those wishes float into somebody's
garden, cause that'll rile up most gardeners.
"You can't set them free except in the wide open spaces where
weeds grow and wild wishes flow. Unless you're willing to risk the
ire of the gardeners and re-educate the world about the value of
weeds . . . and the power of wishes."
Cindy sat silent, thinking about plans and wishes, thinking about
wandering after squirrels and finding . . . "Miss Capia? If I had
one wish and I planted it, one of those wish seeds, I mean, what
would happen?"
"What's a seed for, girl?"
"Wishes?"
Capia chuckled. "What is a seed for, from the plant's point of
viewing it?"
"Oh. For growing more plants."
"So one wish weed, planted, never set free on the wind, would make
what?"
"How many pods to a plant? How many pods never break open? How
many . . . ?"
"Wishing is a complicated matter, aint it?"
"Miss Capia!" Cindy cried, standing suddenly, looking at the ten
or twelve wish bottles with wide eyes, her chocolate sloshing from
her cup. She looked at the opened pods in the basket, the remaining
mason jars covering the table. "Do you *know* what you're doing?"
Capia smiled softly, sipped her tea and sighed. "Do you know how
many people would *never* open one of those wish bottles, even in
the wide open spaces where weeds grow wild and wishes flow?"
The old woman turned back to the table, hooked one of the bottles
with her fingers and drew it near. She pulled a length of ribbon from
her shirt pocket, tied it around the jar and finished with a bow. She
reached into the pile of pods and retrieved a piece of feathered
brown that must have come from the interior of the pod, and stuck it
behind the bow, looking like some fine carved wooden bird's tail
feather, and tightened the ring on the jar until her knuckles turned
white.
She handed the jar to Cindy, touched the feather looking piece
which stuck up above the now secure lid and named it, "The Heart of
The Wish."
"Which one?" Cindy asked without thinking, her eyes looking deep
into the pale grey blue of the old woman's bright vision.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 27 February 1995
"You come back, Cindy," Capia said. "Bring your plans and your
wishes with you." She turned back to her work, reaching for a pod
with one hand while the other sought an empty jar.
Cindy watched the old hands working the tiny seeds free of their
pods, watched the gleaming white quills dry, spread and fill the jar.
The old tom cat sauntered over, batted at a pod that had fallen
from the basket, watched with patient interest as it tottered back
and forth, slit green eyes calculating. He pounced on it with both
feet, tree bark sharpened claws ripping through the paper thin case.
The white quills lay open to the air, drying, spreading to catch the
first drift of wind that might wander onto Miss Capia's porch.
{DREAM}
Copyright 1995 Gay Bost, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Gay is a Clinical Lab Tech with experience in Veterinary medicine.
>From NORTHERN California, she's resided in S.E. Missouri with her
husband and an aggressive 6 year old boy, since 1974. Installed her
first modem the summer of '92, has been exploring new worlds since.
Her first publication, a short horror story, came when she was 17.
The success was so overwhelming she called an end to her writing days
and went in search of herself. She's still looking. Find Gay's great
stories in the best Electronic Magazines. email: gbost@dreamforge.com
=====================================================================
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
THE BLUE ROCKER
by Melina Huddy
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
It was a large and rambling house, grey shingled and white
painted, with a flower bed moat. On the porch, a busy broom
dusted the noon-shadowed floor. The young woman, occupied with her
task, could not keep her thoughts from the simple sign, tacked that
morning to the front gate: "Room".
She and her husband, John, had talked far into the night about the
room. It was to be the nursery; she was carrying their third child.
A length of yellow spotted muslin for curtains, a hand-stitched
comforter from her mother, a second-hand rocker badly in need of
paint (white maybe) were all she had so far, but there was time, a
few months to plan and sew and . . . .
"Exactly," John had agreed, "months of an empty room! These
fellas they have in from the farms working in the plant need lodging
and have money to pay. Sue, look, I'll not be getting the hours I
was, and it's not like taking in a stranger. I'm working with these
boys. God knows we can use the money and there's no sense that room
sitting there empty. Sue, there's three fellas bunking in the lunch
room and . . ."
"All right," she interrupted. She knew that he was right in
every practical sense, that she could provide no justifiable reason
for an empty room while young men slept on factory floors. "Just one,
John, you hear? Just one -- and someone you know."
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 28 February 1995
He nodded at the firmness in her voice, but morning found him
printing and tacking up the sign. She stood in the room (empty save
for her dreams) and listened to the staccato tapping of his hammer.
The broom stopped as her thoughts raced on, listing all the things
she couldn't say to him.
A good man, honest, hard-working, dependable, occasionally dull,
he would never understand if she spoke: "But, John! That room isn't
empty!" She could imagine his reaction. He would take her by the
hand, lead her down the hall to show her the bare walls, the floor,
all the time thinking her half mad.
She smiled somewhat wistfully and saw the tiered muslin curtains,
comforter covered crib, the oak chest, rag rug, and shining white
rocker of the furnished nursery. She had only to lower her lashes
to see the child sleeping there; a dark haired boy, she was sure.
Her girls were her best friends. She loved them, yet she longed for
a son.
"A sigh, John? I thought . . ."
"Hmm -- just in case." His mind was elsewhere. "What do you
think, Sue? Ten a week sound fair?"
There was no pleasure in her smile as she answered, "What are
ball gloves going for these days?" While in her heart she cried,
"The cost of a dream! What price happiness -- how much is THAT!?"
* * *
She had told him in the spring.
"Two's enough!" His whisper screamed across the dim bedroom.
"I've been to Dr. Renner, John." A quiet statement.
"I'm not doubting your word." His pale fingers carefully buttoned
the crisp cotton of his pajamas. "I'm sorry. I just don't know what
to say . . . at least we have plenty of room . . . ."
He stood mirrored in a black window. In profile, she saw a
slight forward thrust of his head, a dash in the flared nostrils,
a glimpse of the man she'd meant to marry.
His white hand brushed the draperies back in place: he had been
raised by women. She wondered if he realized how much time she spent
closing things -- doors, windows, drapes. In his absences, all stood
open, receptive to the tidings of the next new breeze.
"How can we afford . . ." he began to question, but her chuckle
overwhelmed and he went still.
"John, dear John." Something touched her nearly pretty face, her
brows arched fine above cool eyes. "John, if people waited until they
could afford to have children, nobody would ever have any! We'll
be all right" Why, Laura and Barbie are thrilled . . . and, if it's
a boy," smiling, "we can call him `Little John'."
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 29 February 1995
"You told the girls?! -- Never mind. I'll work it out . . .
somehow. Maybe Joe will let me get in some overtime."
"You know, your mother always says, `A house is not a home until
its rooms are full.'" She teased away his fear (a practiced art).
"I don't think she meant to fill them up with children! At home
we had the sewing room, and . . . ." He sat heavily on the edge of
the bed to ease his weary feet from terry slippers. "You're making
fun of me."
"I'm doing nothing of the sort," gently, from her pillow. "The
doctor said around Christmas . . . I thought you'd be pleased. I am."
He laughed; she felt his bitterness. "Now that must be the
understatement of the year! Tickled pink is what you are, with your
head all up in the air, and never a thought to how we're going to pay
the bills." He stretched beneath the quilt. "Of course I'm happy --
you just surprised me --" He moved to take her in his arms. "Don't
worry, Sue."
She burrowed into sleep with a mumbled, "Silly man. You'll worry
enough for us both."
* * *
A whisper of a sigh escaped her as she went back to her sweeping.
No time now for this day-dreaming, she admonished herself, the girls
would soon be up from their naps. The increased tempo of the broom
showed purpose, her chore nearly completed. She did not hear the gate
latch, nor the measured footsteps on the walk.
"Excuse me, ma'am."
The well timbred voice caused her to turn. "Yes," she started
and halted into speechlessness. A wave of mahogany hair, snapping
chocolate eyes, and a grin so full of joy that she instinctively
returned a smile.
"About the room, ma'am. This is Alden's? John said that I should
stop by." He stepped briskly forward, up the steps, onto the porch.
With him came a smell of dark tobacco and what she thought must
be Brylcream. "Ernie Boston, about the room . . . ."
He carried a small Woolworth's bag: Cornhusker's Lotion (she
could see the yellow label). A lunch-hour errand, she supposed; John
said that it was too far to walk. A scant half-mile, still, he
refused to return home for the mid-day meal. Before her stood this
grinning stranger who had apparently been several blocks beyond and
into town.
Some of his initial confidence seemed to fade as her silence
continued. Sensing his discomfiture, she found her voice to answer.
"Yes, we have a room. I didn't expect . . . that is, John
didn't mention that someone -- you -- might be here today. I haven't,
I mean, it's not ready . . . but, if you want to take a look,
Mr. Boston, did you say?"
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 30 February 1995
"Ernie," he corrected, as the grin returned. "And no, thank you
-- I don't need to see the room, I'm sure it's fine, Mrs. Alden."
"Sue," automatically.
"Well, Sue," he went on, "John did say that it would be a couple
days. No, I don't need to see the room. Just wanted to introduce
myself." He handed her a sheaf of loose and crumpled bills. "John
said I was to give you the rent." A pause. "I'll be going now."
The gate clicked loud behind him, and his whistle filled the air.
She held the money, still clutching her broom, and watched him go.
Several moments passed before she remembered that she should have
thanked him, should have asked when he'd be moving in, should have
. . . she shook her head, stood the broom in its designated corner,
and went into the house.
In the kitchen, she dropped the bills lightly on the table
(without counting them) and looked at her reflection in the buffet
mirror. "Whatever must he have thought?" she mused aloud, and lifted
a towel to wipe the smudges from her chin and forehead.
She heard the rustle of the girls' waking and turned to mount the
stairs, thinking that the rocker (blue maybe) would fit nicely in the
corner by the stove.
"Coming," she called, and two little girls giggled in their beds.
Mommy could be wonderful fun, and she sounded happy.
{DREAM}
Copyright 1988 Melina Huddy, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. (Reprint)
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Melina Huddy lives in Newark, Delaware where she is adored by her (4th)
husband, accepted by her friends, and tolerated by the bird. She writes
short stories and works in the advanced ceramic composite research
field in her spare time. She can be found in Author's Network.
=======================================================================
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
EINST: THE SHENCIAN MATING SEASON
by Mark Bylok
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Space Station Coula always reached its busy peak during the
Shencian mating season. The station orbited around the small
Shenca planet, and usually had very little business, but every
three years the station would be overloaded with Shencian people
who had an overwhelming drive to return home and mate. The small,
pudgy, green people, with large blue discs for ears, were very
comical during this time. For the most part Shencian's were
stingy, easily irritated, and always defensive, but during the
mating season these creatures paraded around singing and dancing.
It was all really very embarrassing for a civilization that single-
handedly supplied the Shenca Power Peas to the entire universe.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 31 February 1995
The small blue peas were once thought to increase human's
sexual arousal, but later it was proven that the reaction was only
true among Shencians and a few other races. Still, people liked
the Shenca Peas, so they kept on eating them. At forty credits a
dozen, they made for an expensive dessert.
Most flights that headed toward Shenca could not enter the
planet's atmosphere, which was where the station came into play.
In one month, millions of small Shencians would be transported down
to the planet where they could mate. This huge soar in sales
overjoyed the operators of the station, but for anybody else that
was actually trying to get somewhere, it made the station
impossible to escape.
"What about a flight out, tomorrow? Any cancellations?"
Shella asked patiently.
"I'm sorry, but tomorrow's flight is full as well," the young
agent at the desk responded kindly.
"I thought these Shencians were flying in, not out! There are
six flights a day bringing in thousands of them. Are you telling
me there's not one available seat to leave this damn place?"
Shella had been stuck on the station for over a week, her patience
was running short.
"All the ships bringing in Shencians are leaving with those
that have already mated. They are busy people, they need to get
back to their work. Reservations were made a year in advance. If
you had notified us of your wishes then . . . ."
"I need a ship, and I need to leave now!" she finally stated
sharply.
The man paused hoping she would leave, but seeing that she was
not planning to leave just yet, he creatively thought of a way to
get rid of her, "I will not have an opening for at least a week,
but maybe you could try some of the private charters. They always
hang around the taverns."
Shella looked around, an aggravated look clearly imprinted on
her face. Smoothing her skirt she finally gave the man a, "Fine!"
and turned to leave.
"Does this mean I should cancel your flight in four weeks? I
have another man that would like to leave around that time," he
yelled for her, but Shella did not answer him. "Let him figure it
out," Shella said quietly to herself.
Storming out of the office she headed for the closest elevator
that would bring her to a tavern. It was only a floor up, she
could have taken the escalator, but the strange small Shencian
males always tried peaking under her skirt. The bright coloured
skirts were very popular where she came from, but obviously a big
shock to everyone on the station. If she could have actually done
her laundry and cleaned her other clothes she would have worn
something else, but her next laundry appointment was in eight days.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 32 February 1995
The elevator doors opened to reveal a dozen small Shencians
wobbling out with large smiles. Shencians sometimes Mated on board
the station: Some of them believed it was close enough to home.
Shella looked at them cautiously before entering.
"They almost tried doing it in here," a voice spoke from
behind. "I warned them that if they did I would report their
activities. The government only allows them to mate on the planet.
A strange bunch of little guys, that's for sure."
She glared at the tall man. He was very handsome, with black
hair, and definitely human. Those dark eyes held a sarcastic look
that would have attracted Shella in a second, but at the moment it
only seemed to annoy her.
When the man did not receive a response he went on, "Nice
dress. From the Aikury quadroon?"
"Get lost!" she finally said viciously, and then stormed out
off the elevator just before the sliding doors closed. Not caring
who was looking up her skirt, she flew up the escalator.
In a more convenient time she would have admired the beauty of
the tavern, it was truly original in style. She hardly noticed the
thick, clear, glass that exposed the beautiful blue planet, where
there were billions of little Shencians mating.
At least the bar was made for humans, she thought quietly to
herself. Most accommodations on the station were designed for the
much smaller green bodies. A large bartender greeted her with a
smile. "So nice to see a beautiful human around," he said with a
smile. "What can I get you?" Shella wasn't amused. The man was
old enough to be her father, and large enough to be a satellite.
"I need a ship," she said quickly, trying to force a smile.
"The commercial lines are booked. I need a small private charter
to get me out of here!"
"Out of here? Why, this is such a great place to visit. I
could show you around after my shift," the big man offered.
Lifting his arms over the bar revealed he wasn't human after all.
The eight short fingers grabbed at a bottle and poured some liquor
into a small glass. "This one is on the house," he added.
"Really, I am flattered, but it is urgent that I leave the
station very soon." She accepted the drink with a smile, but
wasn't planning on drinking it.
The bartender asked her to wait while he checked around.
Shella watched his large body move to a small Shencian that reached
to the man's knee caps. They talked quietly for a while, and when
the bartender pointed toward her she could see the large Shencian
eyes light up.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 33 February 1995
They both approached her. The Shencian lit up a large cigar,
his grin getting larger with every step closer. "My friend Pippod
could take you. He is returning with some Shencians back home, and
would not mind bringing you anywhere you wanted to go along the way."
The small person had a large grin indicating exactly what was on his
mind. Most of the small green people were interested in only their
own kind, but some seemed to have a strong attraction toward humans.
The feeling wasn't mutual.
Shella had just about reached her limit. Her arms reached for
the man's collar and jerked his head forward to where their noses
almost touched. She could smell his body odour, but that was only
a distant thought in her mind.
"You listen to me very carefully. I need a ship, and I am not
interested in any sexual favours you or your short friend could
provide me with. I might be desperate, but I still have some
sanity!" The bartender looked completely shocked, but he did not
try to budge from his obviously humiliating position. Back in the
Aikury quadroon, where she was born, she could have had the two
arrested for those types of suggestions. Selling sex was legal, but
only with a licence. Tags were worn on clothing to indicate the
person's profession.
"I am glad to see I wasn't the only one to receive the bad
side of your tongue," she heard a familiar voice say. Two strong
arms grabbed her firmly and pulled her gripping fingers away from
the big man's collar.
"Get your hands off me!" Shella said harshly, recognizing the
man from the elevator.
"Come on, honey, why don't you take a seat at a nice table,"
he said, while forcing an arm around her and dragging her to an
empty chair. She was about to give him the wrong side of her hand,
but a few words quickly stopped her. "I couldn't help but overhear
you're in need of a ship?" he said quietly, staring at her with those
sarcastic eyes.
"You know of someone with a ship?" she asked, her mood suddenly
changing. Taking a seat beside him at the small table, she waited
for a response.
"My name is Bob Layker, and you are?" He said with penetrating eyes
that demanded a response.
"My name is Shella. Now, do you know of a ship?" she said a
bit more harshly.
"I own a ship," he finally said. "But, it's already chartered
to someone else. However, I am looking for a server to keep my
customers happy."
"Get lost!" she said once again. A firm arm kept her from
leaving. She was preparing to knock the good looking face off
Bob's shoulder.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 34 February 1995
"It's not what you think. I need someone to help me serve
dinner and dessert to some customers. I have mechanical servers,
but these individuals prefer something that has a pulse." Seeing
that she wasn't entirely convinced he went on. "My customers are
travelling toward Blashart, where you could easily have a
commercial flight take you anywhere you want to go."
Blashart Station was a large mining station that was not the
best place in the world, but Bob Layker was right, a ship from
there could take her anywhere she wanted to go.
Shella nodded slowly, still uncertain. "When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow," Bob quickly answered with a satisfied smile. "My
customers have requested eating dinner while orbiting the fifteenth
planet in this solar system, and then in a matter of hours we will
reach Blashart Station.
"It would probably be best if I showed you around the ship.
Your employment for me might only be a one time thing, but I will
need you to look like you actually know what you're doing. That
dress will be perfect for the job, by the way."
Shella was about to hit him again, but an idea came to mind.
"Do you have a laundry machine in that space craft of yours?"
"My space craft happens to be called Einst, and yes she does
have an L.M. unit. As well as a bar, small restaurant, and enough
room to sleep six comfortably. Might I interest you in a room as
well, the costs for sleeping on board this miniature station are
ridiculous this time of year."
"Let me take a look at the ship first," she said with a hint
of a smile. Shella knew when to be nice to people, and this was
definitely a situation where she should show some gratitude. Her
anger began to subside, and soon she felt relief for finally being
able to leave the station. She started seeing Bob in a new light
and although she still thought of him as a jerk, he did have some
redeeming qualities. They took the elevator down to the docks,
during which Bob entertained her by making comical remarks about
the Shencian's on the elevator.
Shella's mom always made it clear to marry someone from their
quadroon. It was nicknamed "politely correct", for there were
strict rules against unkind treatment. Many people could not stand
to live in an area where couples would only meet through video
dating. The more traditional ways for coupling became almost
impossible when laws were passed making it illegal to use "pick-up"
lines that might offend certain individuals.
After less then a decade it became apparent that there was always
something that could offend someone else, so very few people tried.
Disobeying such laws meant being placed in a jail and sometimes even
looked at by psychiatrist. The latter being the worse of the two,
often producing brainwashed perfect citizens that no longer seemed to
be living. Not many people could stay in such an environment; Shella
was one of them.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 35 February 1995
Like most space stations, Coula was a tall, round, vertical
station that pointed into space. The base of the station was
pointed toward the planet where ships carried people to and from
the blue sphere. Near the upper part of the station were the
large docking areas for the commercial flights. There were four of
them, which would have been fine for any other time, but during the
mating season it left many large spaceships orbiting around waiting
their turn to dock. At the middle of the station two awkward poles
emerged at forty-five degrees angles.
These docking poles could hold about a hundred spaceships
each, but the number always varied depending on how far they were
extended. This method for docking spaceships was largely criticized.
They were thin, only allowing four elevators to run through them.
That usually meant long waits just to get to the ship. Apart from
that inconvenience, there was a small danger of the docking poles
simply breaking off. They were very long and flexible, and usually
built outward very quickly when demand increased. Mistakes were
sometimes made.
Shella knew that very well, and did not feel at all comfortable
on their voyage downward toward Bob's ship. "What level did you say
you docked in?"
"Eighty-seven. I was really lucky to get the spot. Those Shencians
I brought here were just about to go at it when they first spotted
the planet. I tried to convince them it was merely a large moon. It
practically should be, it's so damn small."
Shella sighed nervously watching the levels flash by through a
large window in the elevator.
"These docking poles don't make you nervous, do they?" Bob asked
with a large smirk.
"No, of course not!" she quickly retorted.
"Good. An old uncle of mine invented them, you know. He made a
fortune at first, but then lost it all when a few broke off during
docking accidents. It was really unfortunate. If it wasn't for this
invention many space stations would not be able to deal with the
increases in small spaceship activities." There was always a hint of
sarcasm in his voice. For an odd reason Shella seemed to be attracted
to it.
"I should really thank you for this opportunity. All these
small people are driving me crazy," she said softly with a smile.
"That's obvious," he said with a silly grin, but then quickly
changed his expression. "You're welcome. What are you doing on
this station, anyway? I heard of some women putting on small skirts
to attract the rich Shencians, but you don't look like the type."
"I'm definitely not the type!" she said, with a hint of anger
in her voice. "I'm here on business, and I'd rather not discuss it."
"My mother always told me to stay clear of women who keep secrets,"
Bob said thinking out-loud.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 36 February 1995
The elevator came to a quick halt and the doors opened to reveal
a round docking arm that reached into the spaceship. A mechanical
voice came over the speaker: "Warning, zero gravity beyond the
yellow line."
The two used ropes to move through the docking arm, but Shella
let Bob go first. I'm not going to let him get under my skirt that
easily, she laughed to herself.
Entering the ship caused a bit of confusion. What seemed like
the wall of the ship, was actually the floor, since the docking arm
was connected to the top of Bob's spaceship. It took Shella a few
moments to adjust her senses to the change.
"Welcome back, Bob," a soft female voice said over the intercom.
"Hi Mindi!" Bob responded. "I'd like you to meet Shella. She
will be helping us transport the Kergin family."
"Hi Shella," the voice said in the same soft tone. Shella
looked around for a few moments in more confusion.
"Say hi to Mindi, Shella. She's my interactive ship board
computer," Bob said while walking through the only door in the
small room. Shella followed through just as quickly, but almost
collapsed as a sudden force of gravity caused her knees to sink.
Her body tried adjusting to the gravity change, but it seemed to be
pushing down on her harder then usual.
Bob turned his head to see what was keeping her. "Oh, I'm
sorry. I usually have the gravity set a bit higher then the
standard in order to keep me in shape. Mindi, standard gravity
please, and open all observing windows."
"Standard gravity," Mindi announced. Slowly the force decreased
into something Shella was used too.
Bob quickly showed her around the ship. She had walked into
the main passenger area where there were enough seats for about
thirty passengers, all lined up in rows. Two large windows on the
ceiling exposed the docking pole and planet, while a floor window
displayed millions of stars. Bob explained that the area could be
converted into enough room to sleep six comfortably. Ahead a large
door revealed the cockpit. A hallway down one side of the ship
lead toward the restaurant. This hallway had two doors, one to a
smaller room with three beds on each side, and the second lead to
Bob's room. He did not give her the opportunity to see the room.
Probably a big mess, she thought to herself.
The restaurant at the back of the ship was truly impressive.
Shella had no idea Bob would posses such good taste. It was all
very classy, but also very fresh and new. At the back there was a
large curved window that ranged all the way from the floor to the
ceiling. The view was truly magnificent, and almost scary, making
Shella feel like she could step out into space. The restaurant
itself was fairly small fitting one large table for twelve, and two
smaller tables for couples on either side. There was also a small
bar and kitchen.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 37 February 1995
"Very nice," she said quietly to herself.
"Yes it is. This ship has been in my family for about two-
hundred years. Many modifications have been made to it since then,
of course," Bob said proudly. "My father gave me this ship and
told me to sail the galaxies."
"Sailing?" Shella asked curiously.
"Oh, it's something they used to do a long time ago. People
would use the wind to guide them through oceans. Very exciting
really, and not as barbaric as you might think. The sport survived
hundreds of years after the engine was invented."
"People did some strange things in the past," Shella admitted
with a smile.
"And a few hundred years into the future people are going to
think we were strange. That's why this ship was named Einst. The
name Einstein was taken by some explorer ship, so we shortened it
to Einst. It's a constant reminder of how the impossible can
always be possible some day. It amazes me that Earthlings believed
the speed of light was the fastest anything could travel just
because they couldn't detect anything faster. Einstein gave simple
light waves too much credit."
Shella only nodded. She did not much care for Einstein or
history, there were more important things to ponder.
"Call from the Kergin family on line one, Bob," Mindi's soft
voice came over the intercom.
Bob accepted the call at the closest VideoCom inside the
restaurant. "Bob Layker here, can I help you?" he said cheerfully.
"Hi Bob," an old, rough voice spoke back. The man must have
been a hundred years old. "Plans have changed, we are leaving
today. In a few minutes to be more accurate."
Bob paused for a moment. "That might not be possible, Mr.
Kergin," Bob said quietly. The man from behind the video screen
did not seem too happy. "If it were my choice, sir, I would go
instantly. But my sensory equipment has not been repaired yet. I
would not be able to provide the security your family requires
without long range sensors."
"Bob Layker," the man tried to sound patient. "I understand
your equipment problem, you have mentioned it to me before. But
when I say we leave now, we leave now. Is that understood?"
"Yes sir, I'll be expecting you here shortly then," Bob
quickly responded.
When the old man finally logged off the video screen Bob let
out his true feelings. "Damn! I will be transporting one of the
larger Mafia leaders through the galaxy, and I won't even have long
range sensors to warn me of any attacks. What a day. We better
prepare this ship quickly. Mindi, prepare for guests," he added
with a much louder voice.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 38 February 1995
"Mafia leader?" Shella asked slowly. "You never said anything
about a Mafia!"
"They're harmless, but pay well. I was lucky enough to
receive this job after one of their ships mysteriously
disappeared," Bob spoke, trying very hard to sound sarcastic.
"Disappeared?" Shella screamed. "How did it disappear? Was
it blown to bits, Bob?"
"Something like that," he said quickly. "Now get familiar
with the Food Preparation Unit, I have to file some flight plans."
Shella stared at Bob Layker for many moments after he had
left the room. She was in complete shock. The Mafia was a concept
that originated from Earth, and somehow managed to find its way
throughout the universe. They were mostly harmless, but also
responsible for some of the largest mining areas. Competition
between two Mafia leaders usually led to quick deaths. Not the
sort of company Shella would have chosen to travel with, but she
also had places to go.
Shella had viewed a quick crash course on how to use the F.P.
Unit. It was a standard unit that created food from different
mixtures of vitamins, minerals, proteins, and about everything else
the body needed. The problem was these guests requested real
chicken, and real steaks, which was something Shella had never
tried before. Dead animals were very expensive, and were not
nearly as nutritious as replicated food. Shella had been offered
a dead chicken before, but could not force herself to eat something
that had once moved.
Eight male members of the Kergin family entered the Einst, only
ten minutes after the transmission. They were all dressed in
black, with long dark coats and funny round hats. Bob and Shella
greeted them with smiles, but the passengers did not seem impressed.
It was only necessity that brought them on board such a small and
old ship. After making sure his passengers were happily seated at
the dining table, Bob quickly got to the controls of his ship.
He transmitted his request to undock, and activated his flight
plan. It did not take long for the computer to respond on the
other end, warning him of heavy traffic. "Mindi, take us to our
first destination at sub-light speed," he ordered. The ship jerked
softly as the docking latches released Einst. Thrusters slowly
pushed the ship away and then pointed the spacecraft toward their
destination. A variety of colors lit the panel as the sub-light
drive engaged. There was hardly a jerk, the gravity replicators
reacted very swiftly to any changes, as the ship quickly ventured
just below the speed of light.
Hundreds of years before there had been a time where people
would actually guide ships through space, but that was no more.
Mindi did everything, and for good reason. Bob could very easily
pilot the spaceship through space using a small joystick that would
extend at his request, but at such great speeds one had to be very
careful not to hit anything. The smallest debris in space could
very easily punch a hole through the ship at such speeds. Shields
could be used, of course, but they were a big expenditure of
energy, and could not be maintained during speeds above the speed
of light.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 39 February 1995
"Is everything all right?" Bob asked Mindi.
"Yes, Bob, although I feel a bit blind without long range
scanners," she answered.
"I'm sorry about that, we'll get those fixed at the next
station. I have to make sure our passengers are comfortable. You
can reach me through the headset."
Shella did not seem very pleased by her job, but she took it
in stride. The family of very large men seemed to be having a good
time laughing, anyhow, but tension could also be sensed. The
oldest Kergin must have been the father, and the others looked like
either sons or sons-in-law. Food was served just in time for the
fifteenth planet of the solar system to emerge into view from the
back window. It wasn't anything special to look at, just a big
grey planet that was too cold to hold any life. A strange place
to eat dinner, at any rate, but Bob wasn't going to inquire about
the reasons.
"You have a nice ship here," one of the sons complimented Bob.
"When father first told me we were going to travel by some private
charter I thought it would be terrible, but it is a nice set-up."
"Thanks. Maybe I could serve some of your smaller dinner
parties," Bob said while giving the young son a slight nod.
"Maybe," he answered, making it very obvious that he would not
consider it.
"Bob," Mindi's voice said urgently in his ear, "There is a
small ship that seems to be coming right at us, although it's hard
to tell since they're not within our short range sensors yet."
Bob excused himself to one corner of the room. "What kind of
ship?" he asked quietly.
"Just a second, not within range yet," Mindi said with a slow
pause. Shella looked toward Bob in confusion, but the family did
not seem to notice Bob's strange behaviour. "A PiperStar 22C.
Registration ... Oh, oh. It's Owlek's ship, and it's powering up
her two front phasers."
"Shields!" Bob screamed into the microphone. Bob could see
two flashes of light spark from a distance just beyond the planet.
Bob's hands started to move toward his face, in order to cover his
eyes, when the initial blast hit the large rear window. Blinding
light filled the room, and for a moment Bob wasn't sure the shields
went up in time.
There was still a clear image of the blast in Bob's eyes when
the light flickered off. Three more shots were fired, but Mindi
had already done her best to avoid them. Another hit jerked the
ship to the left. The gravity replicators reacted quickly to
expected shakes of regular flight, but nothing could avoid the
jerks from phaser fire.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 40 February 1995
Bob scampered from the restaurant and headed toward the
cockpit. Shella was not too far behind, leaving the passengers on
the floor in complete shock.
"What the hell is going on!" she screamed after Bob.
"Mindi, report," Bob said into the microphone, ignoring
Shella's request.
"No damage. Shields holding at eighty," she responded into
the ear piece.
"An old friend," Bob responded to Shella's earlier question.
He sat at the controls quickly and initiated manual control over
the ship. The computer might be perfect in guiding the ship
through galaxies, but she wasn't programmed for combat. "Sixty-
percent power," he ordered while swinging the ship around.
"An old friend?" Shella screamed. "Do old friends usually open
fire on you?"
Bob ignored her. He began guiding the ship through space trying
to escape the planets gravity where manoeuvrability would be much
easier. Through a series of loops and sharp turns Einst found itself
right behind the PiperStar. Bob released a short series of phaser
blasts, most hitting the small ship.
"Forty-four percent damage on Owlek's ship," Mindi reported,
this time through the cabin speaker.
"Give me three cannon shots at medium dispersion," Bob ordered.
Without a second's pause, three green stars flickered from Einst,
one of them hitting the attacking ship. The shields turned a hazed
yellow color as the last bits of energy were being used to sustain
them. A ship's generators could never sustain the shields without
reserve power, and it seemed that Owlek ship's reserves were quickly
wasted from the direct hit of the plasma cannon.
"Bob, two more ships are coming into range from behind," Mindi
informed.
"Damn!" Bob quickly responded. "Give me a channel with Owlek,
maybe we could resolve this more peacefully."
"Now that's an idea!" Shella sniffed loudly.
A young man appeared on the VideoCom screen, his face red with
anger.
"I have very important passengers here today, can we resolve
this some other time? I'm sorry about sleeping with your wife, it
was a mistake, and it will never happen again," Bob said, grinning
from ear to ear. He tried not too, but it went against his nature.
"You slept with my wife? You slept with my wife!" the man
screamed. "This is about the bad sensory equipment you sold me!"
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 41 February 1995
"Oh," Bob answered quietly, "that . . . I'm sorry about that
too. If it makes you feel better, I had problems with my long range
sensors as well. So, we can forget this mess, right Owlek, my
friend?"
"Phasers are warming up from behind," Mindi warned.
"You slept with my wife! You, you, son of a Shencian!" Owlek
screamed before the image disappeared.
Bob streamed Einst down just in time to see phaser fire streak
from above. Shella was in complete shock. She could not believe
that Bob could be so insensitive as to sleep with a friend's wife.
The phaser fire almost hitting them really added to her shock.
Bob guided the ship through streams of phaser fire, getting in
as many shots as he could. The shields were down to forty percent
when Mindi made another announcement.
"Another ship, just ahead. Can't make out exactly where, still
not within sensor range." There was a long pause. "I sense class
three phasers warming up, but still can't identify the ship, or its
exact location."
"Class three phasers?" Shella screamed. "What kind of people did
you mess with? That kind of power will kill us with one shot." Shella
was right, class three phasers were very powerful, and also very
expensive. Their market was limited to law enforcement and very rich
criminals.
"I wouldn't even be that stupid," Bob said honestly.
"Phasers coming right at us," Mindi screamed. There was no
time to react. All Bob and Shella could do was watch the two long
blue, streaks of light approach them at incredible speeds. They
hardly had the time to flinch when the cabin was submerged in a
powerful blue colour.
"The ship behind us was destroyed!" Mindi announced. "The ship
is firing on them, *not* at us." Another stream streaked across the
stars just missing Owlek's ship.
"I'll be back, Layker!" Owlek screamed when Bob activated the
VideoCom. "I will be back," he said one more time before flickering
off. The ship quickly headed out of sensor range.
"Who's the other ship?" Bob asked Mindi.
"Fighter class spaceship. It's hailing us," Mindi reported.
"Just great. We could probably last an entire minute against
that ship. Put it on the VideoCom," Bob finally said reluctantly.
It did not take very long to fit the pieces together. The man
appearing on the other end looked like the typical person that
would attack helpless ships for no particular reason, with one
exception. He wore the same round hat that every member of the
Kergin family wore.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 42 February 1995
"Am I glad to see you," Bob said quickly. "Thank you very
much for the help. I am sure we could have fended off those buggers
ourselves, but you made it much easier. Thank you again."
"Drop your shields," the man spoke in a slow tone. "We will
be boarding your ship."
"Sure, ok, just send me your docking procedures," Bob answered.
He turned off the VideoCom and ordered Mindi to park the ship.
"Just great! When the Mafia saves your life, you owe them one.
Just great. I'll be paying this one off for ages."
It was Shella's turn to be sarcastic. "I thought you could
have fended all those ships off yourself," she said with a smile.
Bob was in no mood for jokes.
"Lets go. Might as well tell the passengers their friends are
here," Bob finally answered back. He watched the other spaceship
slide over top. It wasn't much larger then Einst, but the two
large phasers on either side were not to be played with. A small
jerk indicated the two ships were docked.
When Bob and Shella left the cockpit, the eight members of the
Kergin family were waiting outside the door with many questions.
They did not look very happy.
"Sorry about the small shakes. Your friends helped us out,
and are boarding the ship," Bob said rather calmly.
He wasn't expecting the reaction he received. All of them
reached into the inside of their coats and produced phasers. When
the hatch opened from the docking area, everything exploded into
streams of phaser fire. Bob quickly grabbed Shella and tossed her
to the ground. "Small family disagreement," Bob quickly whispered.
Shella was about to slap him, but the phaser fire came to close for
her liking. Both headed into the cockpit on hands and knees.
"What in hell are we going to do now?" Shella screamed.
"Watch your language, we wouldn't want you to be arrested for
such vile words."
"My language? You have a problem with my language. I'm not
the one who let the Mafia buy me out, for some stupid dinner and
voyage, only to be attacked by some old `friend' who you did not
mind betraying by sleeping with his wife. We could have been
killed right there, but no, you weren't finished. Then you decide
to let another Mafia group board the ship so they could have a
small shoot-out at our expense. It doesn't matter which one of
these two sides win, we'll still end up dead."
"Don't be so negative. If they wanted us dead, they would
have let Owlek kill us. There's got to be something more to this."
As Bob's words trailed off, the phaser fire stopped. Bob and
Shella both sneaked a look past the door to see what was going on.
Many members of the Kergin family were on the floor surrounded by
pools of blood. Two were left standing: The old man, and the son
that had spoken with Bob.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 43 February 1995
"Arms in the air," a voice said firmly. The two Kergin members
both complied. "The two in the cockpit as well."
Bob and Shella emerged from the cockpit with both arms in the
air. Twelve armed men walked through the hatch, and a small Video
Pod. It hovered a meter above the floor with an image of some
older Mafia member. "You just don't listen," the image of the
person said. "I warned you about going behind my back."
"Somebody had to stand up for those people," the younger
Kergin member responded. "I could not bare to watch all those
people die, just so your greed could be satisfied. I had to put a
stop to it."
"You did, but now I will put a stop to you," the image responded.
"Do something," Shella whispered in Bob's ear.
"What do you want me to do? We'll let them resolve this, and then
we can be on our way," Bob whispered back.
"Are you going to let the man die because he believed in
saving innocent lives?"
"Damn right I am. There is no way I'm messing with the Mafia.
If they want to kill him, fine."
"I can't believe how selfish and immoral you are."
"What do you suggest I do, ask them to put down the phasers?
Gee, that should work."
"Good idea." Without warning Shella jumped in front of the
two Kergin family members. "As an employee of this ship, I demand
you to leave immediately. You were not authorized to board the
ship with weapons, and therefore are breaking the law. Leave now,
and all this could be forgotten."
The twelve armed men looked shocked, but regained their
composure quickly. They had killed beautiful ex-lovers who talked
too much before; they would not have any trouble killing Shella as
well. The image just laughed. "Get lost, little girl, the men are
doing business."
Shella stormed toward the image. "Did you call me a little
girl?" The image continued to laugh. "I can't believe after six
hundred years of freedom being granted to women you still have the
gull to be so sexist. If we were back at home I could have you
arrested right here. `Little girl!' If you are such a brave boy,
why don't you come down here and show your face so I could slap
you. Do you believe this Bob? He called me, `Little girl.'"
"That's fine, Shella, now come back here and let these two
finish their small disagreement," Bob answered.
"No, I won't stand for this," Shella went on. "As a member of
the crew, I demand you to leave," she repeated.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 44 February 1995
"Fry her with the rest of them," the image ordered.
"Just great," Bob said quietly to himself. He could have
watched the Kergin family die very easily, and he would have even
assisted in disposing their bodies, but there was no way he could
see any harm come to Shella. She got on his nerves, talked to
much, disagreed with him constantly, and yet he found himself
caring for her.
"Mindi, give me maximum g's, and arm the vertical phasers," he
whispered into the microphone.
"At a boy, Bob," Mindi responded. Most gravity replicators
responded very slowly, but long ago Bob had installed powerful units
ust for such occasions. They were very expensive, but he figured it
would save his life one day. There was only a slight warning of the
gravity increasing, which Bob used to his advantage by falling back
into the cockpit where the gravity would be normal. Everyone else
fell to the floor in a sudden crush from an invisible force. The only
thing left standing was the image that looked around in shock.
"I suggest you order your men to leave," Bob said. "There are
four light phasers pointed at your ship, and they will go off at a
moments notice. Leave now, Sir," he quickly added the "Sir" part.
There were not very many laws against armed spaceships, but
one of the few laws implemented were against phasers that could
fire at a ship or station while docked. Since docking broke the
shield grid, most ships were completely helpless when docked, and
made for very easy targets. Through complex procedures Bob had
managed to install such phasers, and had them concealed well
enough where only the most sophisticated scanners could ever detect
their presence.
The image turned off for a few moments, probably checking to
see whether the phasers were indeed locked onto the ship, and then
came back with a very ugly face. "The Mafia will re-pay you for
this, Herman Ayzem. You will die very slowly."
He ordered his men to leave, and they did when Bob reduced the
gravity slightly. "Herman Ayzem?" Shella whispered softly.
"One of the few dolphins on earth that has a citizenship.
Great being, really, I spoke to him once. He was kind enough to
let me register the ship under his name," Bob answered. "Mindi, as
soon as we un-lock from that ship, fire phasers to disable their
drive. We wouldn't want them to follow us."
"Of course, Bob," Mindi replied.
The Einst quickly sped away from the planet and the Mafia
ship. Two hours later they arrived at their destination. Three
members of the family died, but it could have been much worse. Bob
ended up receiving a very good payment for the trip, and was told
they owed him one. Bob was very certain he would find a way they
could re-pay him one day.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 45 February 1995
"I knew you wouldn't let me die," Shella told Bob afterwards
with arms around his shoulders. She gave him a small kiss on the
cheek, and Bob quickly responded with a more intimate kiss. Soon
after Shella got to see Bob's cabin. It looked exactly like an old
ship's cabin, with a fine wooden finish and classy furniture, and
expensive art. His bed was also very comfortable.
Hours after, when Bob was sleeping, Shella got up and went to
the closest VideoCom. She accessed the communication centre for
their area and punched in a few secret codes. Soon a familiar face
appeared on the video screen. "Stage two is complete," she said.
"I've completed stage one." The voice seemed to have a strange
slur to it. "However, we have no ship for Stage three. It was
destroyed on a previous mission. I just barely escaped. They know
about us."
"Understood. I will go ahead with stage three on my own. I have
access to a ship right now. We shall meet at thirty-two fifty."
"Roger; thirty-two fifty." The video image disappeared quickly,
and Shella slipped back into the warmth of his bed.
{DREAM}
TO BE CONTINUED - Maybe
Copyright 1995 Mark Bylok, All Rights Reserved
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Mark Bylok is a university student, studying computer science, that
is trying to figure out how to get maximum distance from minimum
time. Although he sometimes concentrates on school, most of the
time he is either parting or programming/publishing/BBSing and just
about anything else that comes to mind. Being a SysOp for over
four years gave him those incredible qualities of being rude and
never responding to mail, but he does like receiving it! Mark can
be reached at 1:250/808 and [email protected].
=====================================================================
A FATHER'S LOVE
by Karen Williams
Shannon watched the boy she was babysitting, as he sat on the
floor too close to the tv. She wanted to tell him he was too close
to the tv, but she couldn't find the energy to tell him. He laughed
at a cartoon he was watching. She wondered how this little boy could
laugh, knowing in a few hours his father would be home from work. She
looked at Philip sadly, trying to figure a way to tell him she
wouldn't be able to babysit him after tonight.
Philip turned to Shannon. She was looking at him, but it seemed
as if she didn't really notice he was sitting there. He sat too
close to the tv on purpose, because he knew it irritated her. He knew
she would get him to sit on the couch next to her. He loved the way
she disciplined him. She never yelled at him, and she never lost her
patience when she helped him with his homework. He looked at her
sadly, wondering why she hadn't gotten on him about sitting too
close to the tv.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 46 February 1995
"Philip," Shannon said.
A big grin came over his face, he knew now she would make him sit
next to her.
"Come here, I want to talk to you."
The grin left the boys face. Normally by now she would have
tickled him until he could barely breathe. They both would be
laughing so hard. Then she would pick him up and swing him around a
few times and plop him on to the sofa. After that, she would tell
him he was sitting too close to the tv. This was different, she
never asked him to come over there. It was always a game, and today,
it didn't seem much like a game at all.
He got up slowly, and sat on the couch next to her. She looked sad.
"What's the matter." he asked her.
"Well, I wanted to tell you something very important. You know how
every day I pick you up after school?"
"Yeah, you always pick me up in your parents station wagon, and then
you come home with me and take care of me until he comes home."
Shannon knew Philip meant his father when he said "he". Philip
hadn't called his father "dad" since the day his mother died, three
years ago.
"Well," she put her hand on his shoulder, "I won't be able to watch
you anymore."
Philip's eyes started to water, and his face turned down. He didn't
say anything for a few minutes.
"Philip, it's not you. I just can't do it anymore."
He looked up at her, "It's because of him, isn't it."
Shannon nodded slowly. She felt so sorry for this little boy, and
if she had been old enough, she would take him and run away so he
could be taken care of. When she left tonight, she planned to go home
and call Social Services; she couldn't stand the way Philip's dad
treated him, and knew it was time for him to be reported.
Philip screamed. "I hate him. I hate him," then he started crying
hysterically.
Shannon pulled the boy close to her and rocked him until his crying
subsided. She wished there was more she could do for him, but this
was the only thing she could think of.
Every night, when Philip's dad came home, he would find some
sort of fault with his son. If Philip had a test and only missed one,
his father would yell at him for missing one. If Philip had gotten
everything correct on the test, his father would yell at him for
writing sloppy. Whatever Philip did, it was never good enough for
his dad. Day after day, Shannon would see Philip go deeper and deeper
into his own world.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 47 February 1995
Shannon picked him up after school, and each day it would take
longer for him to open up to her. At first, she thought she could
help him, but she realized it was only an idle thought. What would
a 16 year-old high school student be able to do about an 8 year-old
boy and his father? She asked herself that everyday, until she
finally decided the emotional abuse his father put him through was
too much for him to handle.
When Shannon put Philip to bed at night, she normally didn't
have any problems getting him to sleep. A few hours later, she
would have to go into his room and calm him down after a nightmare.
He would wake up screaming sometimes, and she would end up crying
with him, as he told her about his father. Every night, after
Shannon left, his father would wake him up -- and just nag him --
put him down about anything.
If his bedroom was messy, Philip would have to wake up at one or
two in the morning and clean it until his father was satisfied. If
Philip left a spot of toothpaste in the sink, he would have to wake
up and clean the whole bathroom no matter what time it was. Shannon
made sure everything was perfect before his father would get home,
but still, Philip would have to wake up to either talk to his dad
about school, or some other reason. Philip now took an hour nap after
school to catch up on sleep, and at 7:00, Shannon put him to bed,
just so he would have enough energy to do as his father asked at 2:00
or 3:00 in the morning.
Tonight would be different. When Shannon got home, she would call
Social Services. Tonight, Philip would get a full night's rest.
Philip looked up at Shannon, "Will I ever see you again?"
"Yes, I promise, I'll see you again. And I want you to write to
me. I'll give you my address, and I want you to write to me every
time you need someone to talk to."
"Who'll be watching me now?"
"I don't know, I'll have to tell your dad tonight that I can't do
it anymore, and he'll have to find someone else."
"I sure wish you didn't have to go." he said sadly.
"Me too. But I do think you need to get in bed. It's after 7:00,
and we want to make sure you're rested up for school tomorrow."
Shannon went down the hall into Philip's room. She sat on the
bed as Philip went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and get his
pajamas on. Philip's room had everything a boy could want. She
wondered if his dad thought this would make up for the love he didn't
give his son.
Shannon could hear the water running and the sounds of Philip
brushing his teeth. She thought back to the first time she watched
Philip. When he first told her of how his father treated him, she
didn't believe it. His dad had always been nice to her, and to his
son whenever she was around. But then she noticed, Philip was sleepy
all the time, had no energy, and he hardly ever smiled. Something
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 48 February 1995
changed in her when she noticed this. She normally just watched TV
and let the kids eat junk food whenever she babysat. With Philip,
she would make a well balanced meal for his dinner, make him take
vitamins, let him watch only thirty minutes of TV, and the rest of
the time they spent reading, playing games or just talking.
Philip came into the bedroom and Shannon tucked him into bed. She
continued reading the story she had started the night before and
didn't stop until she finished the story. She bent down to kiss him
on the top of his head, and found tears forming in her eyes. She knew
she would miss Philip, but she didn't realize it would be this much.
He was like a brother to her, someone she was supposed to protect and
care for. She missed him already.
She whispered, "Sleep tight," into his ear.
He reached up and hugged her and said sleepily, "I love you."
Shannon sat on the edge of his bed, tears rolling down her
cheeks, until he fell asleep. After she was sure he was sleeping
soundly, she went into the kitchen and cleaned up the dinner dishes.
Then she went through the house making sure everything was in perfect
shape. She checked the bathroom for toothpaste, and picked a few toys
up off of his floor. She smiled to herself and said aloud, "There you
go jerk, find something wrong with this house tonight."
She sat on the sofa and flipped the remote control until she
came across a movie she wanted to watch. She watched it, but when
the movie was over, she found she couldn't remember a thing about
what she had just watched. She heard a key turn in the door,
and her heart started beating. It beat so loudly she was afraid
Philip's dad would hear it, and sense her fear of him.
Mr. Japhy walked in into the tv room, put his briefcase down on
the coffee table and loosened his tie.
"Shannon, how was Philip today?"
"Oh, he was great Mr. Japhy," she said, her heart beating even
louder. She knew she would have to tell him soon, and then leave as
quickly as she could.
"That's good," he said absent-mindedly, sitting down and shuffling
through papers in his briefcase.
Shannon stood up, "Well, I have to go now. Um, Mr. Japhy . . . ."
He looked up at her, "Yes?"
"I, um . . . I can't watch Philip anymore," she stammered, trying
to get it out before she could change her mind.
"That's a shame, he really seems to like you watching him. Is it
more money? I can pay you more. You take very good care of him."
Shannon looked down, "No, I just can't."
Mr. Japhy was stubborn, "There must be a reason, just tell me. I'm
sure we can come up with a new price."
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 49 February 1995
Shannon started getting hot with anger. He thought he could buy
anything.
"No, I can't watch Philip anymore because of you, I can't bear the
way you treat your son. You're killing him. You're making him older
than he is. You're making him unhappy, and unable to be with other
people. You're ruining his life. I can't stand it, and I can't watch
you do it any more." She blurted out before she could stop herself.
Mr. Japhy sat with his mouth open, unable to speak for a few
seconds. Then his face turned red, and his eyes hard. He stood up
and yelled, "How dare you come into my house and tell me I'm raising
my son wrong. I don't need to take this from a stupid little girl."
Shannon grabbed her school books and ran out the front door, not
even collecting her last pay from watching Philip. She ran to her
car slammed the door and drove home feeling more anger than she
had ever felt in her entire life.
The next few days Shannon went to school, but couldn't think of
anything but Philip and his dad. She wondered how Philip was doing,
and wanted to see him after school to make sure he was okay. She felt
as if she had lost part of her own family. She hadn't heard anything
from Social Services, and wondered if they had done anything at all
about Mr. Japhy.
Finally, Shannon decided she would meet Philip after school
before his new sitter came to pick him up. She just had to see how he
was doing. She drove to his school, and waited outside the door he
usually walked out of. She was anxious to hear how the last few days
had been. She heard a bell ring, and soon saw hundreds of kids burst
out the doors, running and laughing towards the buses. She looked
frantically for Philip, and his usual unhappy face. But couldn't find
him anywhere.
When the school had cleared out, she drove home, wondering if she
had done the right thing by reporting Mr. Japhy to Social Services.
When she pulled into her driveway, she saw Mr. Japhy's car parked
outside her house. She started getting worried, she hadn't told her
parents about reporting Mr.Japhy to Social Services, and wondered
why he was here. She hesitated.
When she got in the house she saw her mom and Mr. Japhy sitting
at the kitchen table. When her mom saw her, she stood up and walked
towards her.
"Shannon, Mr. Japhy is here, and he wants to talk to you about
Philip."
Shannon nodded, and her mother walked up the stairs leaving
them alone to talk. She stared at the floor waiting for Mr. Japhy to
explode.
"Do you know where Philip is?" he asked her. There was a strain
in his voice that didn't match his normal calm and in-control tone
of voice.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 50 February 1995
"No, what happened?" she asked worriedly, almost forgetting what a
monster he could be.
"He's missing. He wasn't at school today, and the new sitter
couldn't find him after school. Some toys are missing from his room,
a few clothes, and his toothbrush. I thought he might come here."
"I haven't seen him, why would you think he'd come here."
"We fought when you left. He told me he hated me, and said he
wanted to live with you. If you know where he is, please tell me.
I promise I won't take it out on you. I just want my boy back."
Shannon got angry, "You want your boy back? What about the way
Philip feels, you've destroyed him. I don't blame him for running."
"I just want him back!"
"You don't deserve him. He's much to good for you."
"Give me my son back," he said weakly.
"I don't have him, and if I did, I wouldn't tell *you* where
he was!"
Mr. Japhy stood up, "You don't understand what it's like to
raise a boy by yourself. I don't want him to depend on anyone. I
don't want him to put his life in anyone's hands. He's got to be
able to not feel the pain of a broken heart."
"What're you talking about. He's an 8 year-old boy. Why would you
want him to *not* know what love is."
"Look, since my wife died . . ." he started sobbing, "please help
me find my son."
"You don't understand, he won't be found unless he wants to be
found."
"I love my son, I need him."
"Have you ever told him you loved him? Have you ever told him
you were proud of him? Have you ever told him you needed him? Did
you know that your son doesn't have any friends. He doesn't know how
to talk to other kids."
Mr. Japhy looked at her. His eyes were tired and sad. He shook
his head.
"You need to tell him you love him. You need to show him you love
him."
"How?"
"By letting him be an 8 year-old kid." she said.
"Please, show me how, please help me get my son back," he begged.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 51 February 1995
Shannon looked at Mr. Japhy, not believing the conversation they
were having. She felt as if she were the parent, and he were the
child. She couldn't imagine a father having this much love for a son
and at the same time -- not knowing *how* to love his son.
"Go home, I'll be there in a little bit," she said, and then
walked out of the house.
She drove around, looking for a sign, knowing Philip would be
somewhere that she knew. She knew Philip wanted her to find him.
As she drove, it came to her. She knew where Philip was.
She remembered Philip telling her how he wanted to live in the
woods. He wanted to be a boy scout to learn to eat and live off
the land. He wanted to build a log cabin. They talked and joked
about it the whole day. She remembered how his eyes shined when he
talked about it. It was something he really wanted.
Shannon pulled up to the entrance of the State Park. It was
wooded and beautiful. She drove along the path, and parked by the
edge of the lake. She walked the paths in the woods for an hour, and
came across a small clearing. In the middle was a tent -- sort of --
made from twigs and fallen branches. It looked shabby, and Shannon
knew, this was the log cabin Philip tried to build. She sat down on a
rock and waited. A few minutes later -- she heard leaves rustling and
an occasional twig snapping -- Philip walked into the clearing. When
he saw her, a smile broke on his sullen face. He ran towards her and
hugged her.
"You came. YOU CAME!" he shouted.
Shannon smiled, "Yes, but now I need to talk to you."
"What's the matter?"
"I talked to your dad, and he is really worried about you."
A frown clouded the smile that was on his face. "I don't care,
he doesn't love me."
"He said he's going to change, and be nicer. He's going to love
you the way you need to be loved."
His face softened. "Do you believe him?"
Shannon nodded, "Yes I do, and I am going to help."
Philip gathered his things. He took Shannon's hand, and they walked
to her car.
When they got to Philip's house, Philip followed slowly behind
her, afraid to get near his father. Mr. Japhy sat on the sofa, and
stood up when he saw them. He then kneeled on the floor holding his
arms out waiting for his son to come to him. Shannon nudged Philip
in his direction, and soon, Philip was running towards his father.
They embraced. Mr. Japhy cried to his son how much he loved him, and
told him how sorry he was. Shannon's eyes filled with tears because
she had never seen Mr. Japhy hug his son.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 52 February 1995
For the next few weeks, Shannon went to Philip's every day after
school, and spent time with Mr. Japhy and Philip. She didn't
interfere, but gave Mr. Japhy knowing looks when he started becoming
impatient with his son. She hoped he would change for the better, and
never treat his son the way he had in the past.
* * *
After not seeing Philip for over a month, Shannon called Mr. Japhy
asking if she could take his son out for ice cream after school. Mr.
Japhy agreed. He told her he had changed his work hours so he could
pick up his son after school and spend time with him. Shannon hoped
Philip was as happy as Mr. Japhy bragged.
Shannon stood near the door of the school, waiting for Philip. A
few minutes later, she saw him. The main reason she didn't recognize
him immediately, was because he was dressed the same as the kids who
surrounded him, and his face was filled with a smile. He was proudly
wearing a Cub Scout uniform, and smiling like she had never seen.
{DREAM}
Copyright 1994 Karen Williams, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
She was born in Anchorage, Alaska but spent most of her youth in
Europe; graduating from Brussels American High School in 1987. Then
joined the Air Force, meeting her husband in Minot, North Dakota,
where they married. Now living in Rio Rancho, New Mexico with her
husband and two beautiful children. Karen can be reached at The
PRECINCT BBS, Fido: 1:301/12, 505-892-2422.
=====================================================================
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
ON QUEST FROM ALBION
by Jack Hillman
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The queen sat on her throne in the dim hall, looking out over
the heads of the gathered nobles and their consorts. Guards stood
at intervals around the floor and on the balcony overlooking the
audience hall, weapons ready, even though no one had threatened
a king or queen in this hall for centuries.
She shifted in her seat and looked up eagerly as she spied the
Count entering the hall from the rear with his wizard in tow. They
came straight for the throne and everyone in the hall turned to
watch, voices hushed in quiet speculation of the announcement sure
to come.
"My queen, it is done," said the Count as he reached the throne
and bowed deeply. The wizard stood quietly, wrapped in robes and
hood, no inch of skin showing. The hood dropped in a slight bow the
queen as the Count spoke but made no other indication.
"How soon can you begin your search?" she asked eagerly, leaning
forward in a most unregal manner. Her crown shifted and she had to
grab with a free hand before it fell to the floor.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 53 February 1995
"At once, if it is your wish, my queen," the Count replied. He
stood straight with a military manner only heightened by the sword
at his side.
"Yes. Go. Now. It is my command." The queen spoke so quickly she
stumbled over her words.
The Count bowed, turned and began to retrace his steps to the far
door, the wizard once more at his heels.
"My lord," the queen called before the Count could reach the end
of the hall.
The Count stopped and turned to the queen, bowing again as he
faced her. He looked in her eyes and everyone in the room could feel
the power between them as he waited. The wizard was again a statue in
robes.
"Should you succeed in your quest, there will be a barony in it for
you. Our new land will need someone to watch over it as we consolidate
our power again."
The Count straightened and bowed very carefully.
"I will not fail you, my queen. Neither you nor our people will
have to endure another month in these dreary halls. Once again, we
will walk the forests of our homeland and feel it's sun on our
faces."
He turned and left the hall, the wizard behind him. The others
gathered, watching, began to talk among themselves, speculating on
the meaning of the Count's words.
"My people," said the queen, standing in front of the throne. "Our
exile is at an end. We return from Albion!"
* * *
The rain exploded over the valley in a wave of water cascading
down the sides of the hills and filling every depression to
overflowing. Lightning ripped the sky apart and saturated every rock
and tree will energy. Wind smashed against the hillsides with enough
force the rip boulders from their age old resting places and fling
them across the valley. Branches danced frenetically, whipping and
weaving as if a giant basketmaker had gone berserk.
Oddly, the storm seemed to seek one particular spot in the valley
and center its most violent efforts at that one place. Again and
again, lightning flashed, until the very earth glowed with the power
flowing through the ground. Energy streaked again and again, bolt
after bolt, until the ionization was a incandescent bridge from the
ground to the sky.
Then, as the storm finally began to abate, as if it had finally
accomplished what it had set out to do, a strange mutation began
at the center of the energy field. A deep green glow began to form
in the depression blasted in to the hillside. As the storm moved
further away and the ground continued to be soaked by the driving
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 54 February 1995
rain that surrounded the eye of the conflagration, a form appeared
in the hillside, blending into the grasses left standing and becoming
almost invisible. When the storm finally passed beyond the valley and
the night descended on the recently chaotic scene, the glow deepened
and changed until it became a solid substance: a door set into the
hill.
Night slowly ebbed away, the effects of the storm slipping into
the dim memory of the unchanging earth. As the sun began to rise over
the edge of the far end of the valley and birds began to sing to the
new day, the placid scene was disturbed by a tremendous screeching of
metal against metal.
The door began to open.
* * *
Dan rolled his chair out onto the deck, looking for any damage
from last night's storm. The roof seemed to have held up fine but
the tall birches at the end of the property were snapped off down
to the ground. He'd have to call the Barstow boys from up the road
and have the fallen trunks cut up for firewood. Birches looked nice
but they never seemed to have the strength needed to stand a storm,
Dan mused. Kind of like some of my friends, he thought to himself.
The chair shifted as something pushed against it.
"Murphy, you old scoundrel," Dan said as he picked up the white cat
and dropped him into his lap, "Where were you last night for all the
fireworks?"
The cat looked up at the man, rose and brushed his head against the
bearded chin and dropped into the lap to begin his morning cleaning.
"Okay, be that way," the man said and turned back to the house.
"Let's get to work. I have a deadline to meet today."
He wheeled the chair through the door and pushed it closed behind
him, the glass giving a view of the yard and the forest beyond. The
cat jumped down to the carpet. Dan rolled up to the desk and threw
the master switch. With a hum of power the entire wall came to life.
A computer occupied the main space in front of him, complete with
full color monitor, laser printer, modem, speaker phone and a fax
machine.
As a freelance writer, he had found good use for all these at one
time or another and could now afford to keep them on hand rather than
run out to use someone else's facilities. His library of CD-ROM's
were filed along side the computer, in easy reach if he needed
anything for reference. The rest of the wall was taken up by a full
blown television and stereo unit that included three VCR's, a disc
player, cassette player, eight track and a turntable. He occasionally
found background material in odd formats and it helped to have the
equipment on hand to play it himself. He even had an optical scanner
made a part of the computer system along with a microfiche reader
attachment.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 55 February 1995
"Okay, Murphy. I need ideas. Help me out." He looked at the cat.
Murphy rolled over on his side.
"A lot of good you are," Dan said as he rummaged through the desk
drawer. He found a package of cat treats and dug one out, tossing
it to the cat. Murphy came to life, rolled over and grabbed the
treat, gobbling it down as if he hadn't eaten for a week.
"Okay, you've been paid. Now give with the ideas. I need a story
line for that magazine article."
Murphy looked confused.
"You know, the one where they need a cutsie little story to go
with their feature on environmental awareness. You think, while I
finish setting up."
When Dan finished setting up the format for his article, he looked
back at the cat. Sometime during the night, a mouse had gotten in and
Murphy was amusing himself chasing the hapless creature around the
room. Dan reached for the mouse.
"Let him go, Murph. We don't need any new pets in here."
Quickly the cat grabbed the rodent by its tail and moved away.
In an almost regal manner, he walked across the room and out the cat
door built into the wall.
Dan watched the byplay and a light went off in his head.
"Right! The jobs that pets do keeping the house free of unwanted
visitors. Thanks, Murph," he yelled to the cat, now flat on the deck
watching the mouse that had dropped over the side into the grass.
Five hours later he finished sending the article by modem to the
editor. As the modem beeped to acknowledge receipt, Dan shifted back
in the chair and stretched. He enjoyed the challenge of writing, but
sometimes it was a real pain. He smiled at his own pun and turned
toward the door to check on the weather. He still needed to arrange
for the cleanup of his back yard.
Looking out over the yard he realized he had visitors. Standing at
the edge of the treeline were two figures. Dan opened the door and
rolled out onto the deck.
"May I help you," he shouted across the yard. The two stood
conferring in the shadow of the trees as if they didn't hear him.
"I said, may I help you," he shouted again, checking the panic
button on the frame of the chair. These two looked different somehow
and he had a feeling he may need extra help to handle them. Sometimes
it paid to have a direct hookup to the police department.
The two figures moved away from the trees and started across the
yard. The shorter figure was wrapped in a hooded robe of some sort
and totally indistinguishable. But it was the taller figure that
captured Dan's attention. He wore a hooded cape with the hood thrown
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 56 February 1995
back in the sun. Where the cape slipped as he walked, Dan could make
out a costume that looked like tunic and tights. As the two drew
closer, Dan caught the gleam of mail at throat and cuff and, of all
things, a sword and dirk belted over the tunic.
Two more refugees from the local renaissance festival lost in
the woods, he though at first. But something about the costume struck
a note with Dan. It looked just a little too good to be something
from one of the local medieval groups. The cut of the tunic was
slightly different than normal and the quality of the cloth was like
something from a museum.
As the two approached the deck, Dan spoke again.
"May I help you," he asked, watching them closely.
"Perhaps," said the tall one, throwing back the cloak from his
shoulders. "Could you direct us to the nearest center of learning?"
"Excuse me?" was Dan's reply.
"A monastery, perhaps, or even a cloister of learned men," the tall
figure continued, trying to make himself understood.
"What are you looking for?" Dan asked, perplexed. "There are a lot
of different types of 'learning centers' these days."
"My, that does complicate things," the man said to himself as
much as to Dan. He turned to his companion and in a voice too low
for Dan to hear, discussed the problem. With a nod to the shrouded
figure he turned back to Dan.
"We seek an old treasure that was lost long ago. My...family,
has given me the quest to return what was once ours to it's proper
owners."
"Quest. Right. That would explain the medieval costumes. And I
suppose this is your faithful companion, Tonto?"
The man looked at him in confusion. "Tonto? My servant's name
is Thook. And I am called Baraz." He bowed to Dan with a sweeping
gesture. "We are at your service."
"Okay, have it your way. My name is Dan. Maybe if you told me
what you're looking for I might be able to point you in the right
direction. I have links to some of the major library computers in
the country and can find just about anything."
"Ah, a scholar," cried Baraz. "We are lucky to have found you.
Lead us to your books and we will show you what we seek."
Dan felt uneasy about letting these two into his house but they
seemed to be only mildly crazy. Besides, it was a good way to break
the mood after an afternoon of writing.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 57 February 1995
"Come on up the steps at the side and we'll go in here. My work
station is just inside." As Dan rolled back to the door and into the
house, he missed the look that passed between the two as they noted
his chair. He rolled beside the door and pushed it shut as the two
entered. They looked around in open curiosity.
"I see no books here," said Baraz cautiously. "Are they in another
part of the dwelling?"
"Everything we need is right here," said Dan as he pulled up in
front of the desk. "Just let me access the library network first
and we'll see what we can find." He started typing rapidly on the
keyboard, unaware of the looks Baraz gave him behind his back. "Okay,
can you describe what you need to find?"
Baraz looked skeptical. "You expect to find our treasure without
opening a single book or scroll. You must be a wizard to have all
these strange trappings in your house but no wizard keeps everything
in his head."
Dan turned to look at him.
"I tell you what, I won't make cracks about how you dress and what
you spend your time doing and you don't tell me how to do my job,
comprendez-vous?"
Baraz jerked at the tone and his hand reached towards the hilt of
his sword. He stopped, however, as Thook touched his arm with a hand
that never left the robe and gave a quick shake of the head. The
warrior stood, closing his eyes, and visibly relaxed.
"Forgive me, my friend," said Baraz, extending his hand. "I have
been away from people too long and I forget my manners."
Dan waived away the hand and turned back to the computer,
watching their reflection in the chrome edge of an instrument
casing. "No sweat. Now what was it you were looking for?"
Baraz tensed again as the hand was ignored, but with a look to
his servant, he continued. "We seek two items, actually. Two rather
special gemstones."
"This is starting to sound familiar," Dan said to himself. To
Baraz he said, "Let me guess, the gems came from the Holy Grail?"
"You are a wizard!" exclaimed Baraz, backing away. "How did you
know of our quest?"
"Aw, come on , guys," Dan spouted, angrily. "The Grail has been
the object of quests for the last two thousand years. Couldn't you
come up with anything more original than that?" He spun away from
the desk and faced the two. "I'm afraid joke time is over. You'll
have to leave now." He started for the door.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 58 February 1995
"I think not," said a voice behind him. Dan turned quickly,
reaching for the panic button. But he never completed his move. He
felt a strange weakness wash over him and he collapsed in the chair.
Only the seatbelt saved him from falling out and even so he felt one
of his "visitors" grab him as the chair overbalanced. He felt a
strange warmth at his forehead and on his wrists just as he drifted
off into blackness.
* * *
Dan woke with a splitting headache.
This was not surprising considering he was seated in his chair
in front of the computer with his head resting on the edge of the
keyboard. The corner of the keyboard was pressed into one temple
and his searching hand found a definite imprint.
"I could probably read the key from the skin impression," mused
the writer. "At least they left me my computer wall. But what did
they take?" He turned to check out the rest of the house, glancing
at the monitor as he moved. He stopped, confused. There was a strange
logo on the screen, one he had never seen before. As he stared at the
screen, trying to make some sense of the information, he glanced down
at his hands. Embedded in the skin on the back of each wrist, just
past the joint, was a glowing gem.
The weird green glow hurt his eyes to look at for very long. He
ran his fingers over the gems, receiving a slight shock at first but
gradually feeling the slippery smoothness of stone with a warmth that
was almost repulsive. He wiped his hand across his forehead as he
broke out in a sweat and discovered another of the stones set just
above the bridge of his nose, between the eyes.
"Oh shit," Dan said, barely controlling the terror that was
rising in him, "Stephen King strikes again." He headed for the
bathroom to find a mirror but as he turned into the hallway, he
stopped. Facing him was the tall stranger, Baraz, holding a double-
bitted ax from Dan's collection.
"You have excellent taste, my friend," the tall figure stated,
spinning the ax in his hands to test the balance. He walked past
into the room. "But I must admit I am puzzled by the materials used
in some of these weapons. This is much too light to be iron and too
heavy for tin. What do you call it?"
The gem on his forehead gave a tug and Dan found himself
compelled to answer the man. "It's a steel alloy. Some magnesium,
cobalt, a little special carbon and steel. The process is fairly
new."
"Indeed," came the reply. "I find no reluctance to touch this
metal and it compares most favorably with my own smith's work. I
must take the formula back with me. Or better still, you may teach
my smith directly when he comes through."
"Comes through what?" Dan wanted to ask, but seemed to be
prevented by something. "What did you do to me?" That question was
permitted, apparently.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 59 February 1995
"I required your cooperation," Baraz answered, swinging the ax
loosely by the haft. "I had my servant place Controls on you to aid
in my search." He gestured at the gems on Dan's wrists. " Your
efforts were most productive. Thook has gone to check on several
items we have uncovered as a result of your work."
"What exactly are your looking for?" Dan asked, another permitted
question.
"As I said previously: two gemstones." Baraz moved past the
chair and over to the door, looking out over the lawn. He had his
back to Dan as he looked out into space, toying with the ax. "The
gems have some very special properties that will permit my people to
accomplish something they have been working on for many years." He
turned back to Dan, twirling the ax in his hands. "According to your
enquiries, the gems are part of a specially grown formation by one of
your sorcerers. Something called a cold laser."
"You want laser crystals?" Dan exclaimed. "This has got to be the
strangest quest I ever heard of! I thought you were some escapee
from a sword and sorcery movie!"
Baraz whipped the ax through the air, the edge of the blade
resting under Dan's chin when it stopped. "I could easily dispense
with you, but that would require another tool in your place. You will
answer my questions quickly and completely and I may let you live.
Otherwise, I will have Thook turn you into something less that the
half-man you are now."
Dan's temper snapped. With arms strengthened by years of
propelling himself in the chair, he grabbed the haft of the ax,
reversed his grip and swung at Baraz. Only the tall man's quickness
and the hidden mail saved him from having his stomach ripped open
like his tunic. Spinning the ax in his fist, Dan wrapped Baraz's
tunic in the blade and pulled himself closer. As Dan reached for an
arm or leg to give himself leverage, Baraz pulled a medallion from
beneath his tunic and Dan collapsed as the gems on his wrists and
forehead glowed in that sickly green light.
"One bite only do you get, mangy cur," Baraz said as he tried
to straighten his tunic, now well ripped in the struggle. "If my
servant has found what we need, your services will no longer be
required. It will please me to see you reduced to some less pleasant
form of life. Why your people let cripples like you live is merely
another sign of their need for our guidance once more." Baraz kicked
the chair, throwing Dan to the floor. He turned and walked from the
room, ignoring the whimpering form struggling to rise. As Baraz
turned the corner, Dan collapsed into unconsciousness.
* * *
Dan woke with a feeling of coolness across his face, accented
by the pinpoint of warmth in the strange gem in his forehead. He
opened his eyes and looked up into the greenest eyes he had ever
seen. This was not too difficult since he had never seen green eyes
before. But these had to be the greenest eyes of anyone in at least
this state if not the country. A cool cloth was once again wiped
down the side of his face as he lay there and he realized the green
eyes were attached to a beautiful woman.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 60 February 1995
"Please don't take this the wrong way," he stated calmly, "But who
the hell are you?"
"I am Thook," the woman answered, leaning back on her heels. Dan
now noticed the hood of the robe thrown back and the sleeves drawn up
to expose her hands and face for the first time. Dan looked into the
green eyes again and shook his head in an effort to keep from falling
inside the green pools. He barely made it.
As he sat up, Thook rolled his chair closer and moved to help him
into it.
"No, thanks," Dan stated, a little sharply, "I'm used to this."
He pulled the chair around and flipped up the foot rests, putting his
back to the chair after setting the wheel locks. He twisted, grabbing
the upper frame and levered himself into the seat in a well practiced
move. He settled his balance and fastened the belt to hold himself in
place. Thook watched him carefully and nodded as he looked up at her.
"You are a warrior," she stated , emphatically.
"Was a warrior," he corrected. He gestured at the withered legs.
"You can't fight if you can't walk."
She leaned over and touched his chest, her eyes staring into his.
"Here, you are a warrior. A warrior's heart beats until it is
stopped. You do not stop easily."
Dan smiled crookedly. "My mama always did say I was a stubborn
cus. She was right too."
"I need your help," Thook said, looking down at him.
Dan glanced at the gems on his wrists. "Seems to me, you're
holding all the cards. I'll do what you want, no matter what I
think."
"Those are Controlled by the Count, not me. I need your willing
assistance, not the result of some spell driven actions." Thook
opened the throat of her robe, exposing a similar gem at the top of
her sternum. "He Controls me as well."
"If he pulls your strings, why are you telling me this? It
seems more like he keeps you quiet all the time."
"Baraz Controls my actions, not my thoughts. At the moment, he
is after the gems you found in your strange machine. If he finds
them and uses them properly, he will bring through the members of
the Queen's court and put all your people under his rule. They will
succeed now where they failed five hundred years ago, as you count
time."
Dan just looked at her. "You've got to be joking. People have
been trying to take over the world for centuries. No one has pulled
it off yet. And Americans don't take kindly to someone try to rule
over them. That's why we started this country in the first place."
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 61 February 1995
Thook nodded. "I know your people well. They were the hardest to
control while in Britain and were the reason Baraz and his people
were forced out of their homelands and into Albion. They have never
forgiven you for that."
"You make it sound like something that happened recently," Dan
commented. My ancestors haven't lived in Britain for the last two
hundred years and they were peaceful people for centuries before
that."
Thook laughed harshly. "Your peaceful people were the hardest
fighters the Roman Empire had ever met. It took years of effort
and intermarriage before there was sufficient peace to return some
of the legions to Rome. The efficient Roman war machine put it's
shield walls up against a people who were willing to build walls of
dead bodies for their fellow warriors to climb over." She smiled
down at him. "How can an enemy such as that ever be wholly
defeated?"
Dan nodded in agreement. "Okay, what do you want me to do?"
"I believe that, together, we can find a way to release the
Control jewels. You should not have been able to attack the count
as you did. The Control should have frozen your limbs at the
thought of any rebellion."
"I did find it hard to move," Dan commented. "Almost as if
something was holding me back."
Thook nodded. "That was the Control. I believe this chair contains
enough cold iron to offset the jewels."
"Well, its just an old stainless steel job I use around the house."
Dan stopped and looked carefully at the girl.
"Cold iron?" he asked. "You mean, like in elves and fairies and
stuff?"
Thook nodded. "Baraz is an elf, of course."
"Now I know I'm in the Twilight Zone," Dan complained to himself.
"What about you? Are you an elf?"
"No, I am human, mostly. Five hundred years ago, all the
Eldrich Races passed from your world into another world called
Albion," Thook said. Your people, mated to the Roman invaders, had
learned the use of iron and steel from their southern brothers. Until
then, all they had were bronze and wood, no threat to the Sidhe. But
with iron and steel, man began to claim the land for themselves,
driving out the magic and, with it, the elves and all the other fey
races. For a while, the Sidhe could come back and forth at limited
intervals and in a few places."
"Fairy rings!" Dan exclaimed.
"So they were called," Thook commented, nodding. "In a relatively
short time, all the fairy rings were closed by cold iron and the
Sidhe were trapped on the other side of the Veil of Oberon with their
human servants. They have been trying to find a way back ever since."
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 62 February 1995
"And old high and mighty has a way to open the door."
"Correct," came the answer. "Baraz has found a way to use the
properties of the crystals to bend reality enough to open a doorway
and keep it open for use by the Queen and her court. Albion is a cold
and dank prison and has been for most of the time the Sidhe have been
there. The magic was used up quickly and at that point the entire land
fell into eternal twilight."
"I thought elves preferred the night, or at least twilight?" Dan
asked.
"For some things, yes. But these are Light Elves. They must walk
in the sun to be fully in their power."
"Then the count will be even more dangerous since he now has
sunlight to work with. And that explains the laser crystals."
Thook nodded. "You are correct. But he will grow to his full
power slowly due to the time spent out of the sun's light. If we
act quickly, we may have a chance."
"What do we need to do?" Dan asked.
Thook considered the question. "Of greatest importance, we must
prevent him from opening the doorway. If the Sidhe return to this
world, you are all lost."
"Well," Dan commented, "I'm not fully sold on that one, yet. But
he'll definitely cause some problems."
"If we can get the medallion from his grasp, we can break the
Control and have a better chance of defeating him. We must divert
him and remove the medallion from his neck. Then we must destroy the
crystals he will have with him and imprison him, if possible."
"That part, I think I can handle," Dan said with assurance. "What
would it do to him to be imprisoned inside a cold iron cage?"
"Even without touching the iron, to be completely surrounded
would quickly drain the power from him. He would drift from this
world back to Albion." Thook looked at Dan with an intent expression
as a thought hit her. "Without my help he would be unable to cross
back over into this world. It was my powers that pierced the walls.
His was the plan for the doorway, but he has to be in this world to
open the portal."
"Okay," Dan said, "I know how to put him in an iron cage. All
we have to do is nab him when he gets back." Dan turned and headed
into one of the side rooms from the hallway. "Hang on a minute. I
need something from in here," he called over his shoulder. When he
returned, he was holding a three foot length of chain with a weight
at each end. He showed it to Thook.
"This is a manriki. It's an antique so the chain has more iron in
it than any of the modern ones will. Will this hold him?"
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 63 February 1995
Thook touched the chain and closed her eyes. When she opened
them, she smiled. "Excellent. This will hold him powerless if can be
wrapped around his hands or feet."
"No problem," Dan said. "When is he coming back?"
"At this point, I would expect him at any time."
Dan looked worried for a moment. "Are you sure he'll come back to
the house before he tries to open the gateway?"
"Yes," the sorceress replied calmly. "He needs my power to make
this easy for him. He could do it himself, but he prefers to use my
strength rather than his own."
"Good." Dan hooked the manriki on the back of the chair and
adjusted a flat packet under the inside of his left leg. "Now we
wait." He set the wheel locks on the chair.
For the next two hours, the two allies waited for the return of
the count. Murphy walked in through the pet door and took one look
at Dan, sniffing as he walked off down the hallway after his evening
meal. Suddenly, they heard a screech that could only come from an
injured cat and Murph came rushing back into the room and out again
through his private doorway. Baraz appeared from the hallway.
"The vermin you permit in your homes is another lesson we must
teach you, I see," the meticulous creature said as he brushed at the
snags in his hose. He had replaced his tunic in some fashion with
another tunic of similar style.
Dan gestured at the pouch on the count's belt with his left hand
as his right snaked around the chair for the chain. "You found what
you needed, I presume," he said.
"Correct," the count answered. "And you have lost your usefulness."
The count was reaching for the medallion as Dan pulled the chain
free of the chair and slipped one weight into his hand. Baraz was
ready when Dan tried to throw the chain and the sudden Control was
like a net falling over the man. But at that same instant, Thook
shook both hands free of the robe that had covered her head and hands
once again, and a bar of light flashed out to strike the count full
in the face. Baraz jerked back, Dan fell free of the Control and the
chain whipped across the room to wrap firmly around the elf's ankles.
Baraz screamed as the iron shackle tangled his feet and threw
him to the floor. He reached for the weights to pull it free but
smoke puffed out as his skin burned from the touch of the iron. As he
screamed in frustration, a look of hate entered his eyes and he fixed
Dan with a glare that could have fried the paint on the wall. Baraz
reached for the medallion with his less burned hand only to scream
again as a metal spike appeared, tacking the hand to his chest. The
other hand reached and was tacked as well and Dan sat holding the
third spike of the set he had hidden under his leg, ready for the
next move.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 64 February 1995
"Get the medallion," he said to Thook.
The sorceress moved closer to Baraz, who was tossing on the
floor in agony as the iron chain and steel spikes burned the skin
they touched. She ripped the medallion from the elf's neck and
dropped it to the floor. Using the butt of the ax Dan had dropped
earlier, she smashed the medallion to dust and Dan felt a flash of
heat at wrist and forehead. He looked at the back of his wrists and
found the green crystals gone, leaving scars where they had been.
Reaching under the chair arm, he pushed the panic button. Within a
minute, a small light lit on one side of the work station and began
to blink.
"The cavalry's on the way," Dan said to the sorceress, who was
rubbing at the scar on her chest. "How long can he stay in that iron
cell before he fades away?"
Baraz screamed as he heard the punishment he was to face. Dan
rolled over and tugged the elf's sword free of it's scabbard, laying
it across his knees.
"A few hours at most," Thook answered.
"Then he'll never make it to arraignment," Dan commented to
himself.
* * *
Two hours later the police were gone, taking Baraz with them.
They hadn't fully bought Dan's story of helping a strange girl being
chased by some kook with a sword. But the guy had been lying inside
Dan's house and the scars on Dan's forehead and wrist gave evidence
of some kind of struggle. Plus the fact that Dan knew the two
patrolmen well. They knew Dan could take care of himself in a fight
but didn't spread that fact around.
Thook was sitting on the sofa in the living room when Dan rolled
in, stopping in front of her. She raised her head from the cushion
at the back and looked Dan in the eye.
"Now what?" Dan asked, returning the solid gaze.
Thook smiled.
Copyright 1994 Jack Hillman, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
John is a freelance writer, who has been published in BLOODREAMS,
ONCE UPON A WORLD, and GATEWAYS. He writes a bimonthly SF/F column
published in THE MAGAZINE of SHAREFICTION, and his book reviews appear
in POPULAR FICTION NEWS. As a contributing editor to ON THE RISK, he
keeps track of "life."
=====================================================================
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 65 February 1995
SPIRITUAL MUSIC ADVICE `N' STuFF
by Rev. Richard Visage
Well, it's nice to know that in the coldest depths of winter
one can take a break from watching the snow drift around the yard
to enjoy a few tunes. I can also count on my e-mail to warm me up.
That, and watching Ms. LaBamba doing ski stretching exercises in her
leg warmers.
To those who whined, sure, I'll stop ragging on Eric Clapton's
turgid `Back to the Cradle' album any day now, especially if he
actually shows signs of life in the next decade. Like, what can you
expect from someone who has photo-ops with Brit Royalty? "Smile,
Fergie, we'll prop up Eric next to you..."
Sorry, but we don't do full page ads from EMI in DREAM FORGE, so
you get no holds barred full-body-contact Rock and Roll kinda reviews
in here. At least until we get some serious money in the contract,
anyway . . .
Well, kids, let's spin a CD or two and see who we can offend
this month.
VITALOGY
Pearl Jam
The last year has seen Eddie and the boys jamming with Neil Young
on the MTV awards, getting gushy reviews in `Rolling Stone' and in
`People' Magazine. A real indicator of just how mainstream Grunge
music has become was when a Canadian band, Moist, had a hit that
was a desperate P.J. ripoff complete with a video featuring Eddie-
twitches by the lead singer -- and they were mobbed by teenie boppers
in suburban shopping malls all over the country.
Gawd, the next thing you know, you'll be at the vegetable counter
at the supermarket and you'll hear the Philadelphia Lite Strings'
Muzak version of `Jeremy' echoing from the cantaloups.
One tends to be cynical right off the bat when you see the
publicity Pearl Jam has received lately, and after their well
publicised campaign to keep ticket prices at concerts down, then to
see them pronounced as America's number one band in `People.'
Having said all this, it'd be the next logical step to tell you
that the album bites, bigtime.
But, it doesn't. This is, in fact, a remarkable album, up to and
exceeding the standards that one has come to expect from Pearl Jam.
It drives right from the start with the perhaps too simple `Last Exit'
and `Spins the Black Circle', and then begins to create magic with
`Nothingman.' There are many more golden moments, in fact, the last
five tunes of this CD rate as a high order rock 'n' roll suite.
There's a moment of something very different on `Pry,To' -- could
it be jazz intonations? Hmm, keep an eye out for new musical
directions in the future.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 66 February 1995
`Bugs' is the oddball tune on the CD, a kind of accordion
ditty/chant that I found hilarious. Buy this one quick, before the
Philadelphia Lite Strings get a hold of it.
LIVE AT THE BBS
The Beatles
It's nothing short of amazing to have a new Beatles album to
review, I believe the last one I reviewed was released was well
over twenty years ago. If memory serves me, the album was `Let it Be'
-- an album actually made before `Abbey Road', but released afterwards
due to the many problems the Beatles were going through at the time.
Damn, I just dated myself again. Don't worry kids, I won't fall down
and break my hip any time soon.
But I digress. This new collection is from an era previous to
`Let it Be'. Prior to rubbing a lamp on `Revolver' and letting the
creative genie completely loose on `Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts
Club Band', the Beatles were the MopTop Fab Four, singing yeah-yeah-
yeah tunes. Somewhere in the middle of the sixties, there is a
dividing line between the like of Herman's Hermits and The Electric
Prunes -- and this material is definitely from the former.
They did the yeah-yeah-yeah stuff damn well, mind you. This
collection has some real jewels from that era, and will be a treasure
chest for Beatlephiles and music historians.
It's not likely to turn the crank of anyone without lots of grey
hair. Interesting stuff, but don't expect anything that doesn't sound
like 1964.
HELL FREEZES OVER
The Eagles
Oh hey, there's a nice version of `Hotel California' on this
puppy. The tune has some nice trick guitar work, is beautifully
recorded, and I'd really enjoyed it if I hadn't heard it a bazillion
times, as has everyone else on the planet. There's also updates of
Eagles standards `Tequila Sunrise' and `Desperado', both well done.
The question does arise as to why the Eagles felt the need to redo
these classics, though.
There's new material as well, however, but it seems to be thrown
together -- perhaps it's a musical interpretation of Glen Frey's
gastroenteritis. Both Frey and Henley have had standout solo albums,
so one must surmise that they just didn't care about this one.
Break back up, guys!
ILL COMMUNICATION
The Beastie Boys
This album has been released for some time, and I hadn't bothered
to give it a listen.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 67 February 1995
It would seem that, these days, to have credibility as a rap
artist, one not only has to be black but must also be up for charges
in a drive-by shooting. Stereotypical, sure, but I'm as capable of
falling into the trap as anyone else. I had relegated the Beastie
Boys into the category of a novelty white act in a black genre.
Their comic-book tits 'n ass videos that accompanied their
initial and rather lame, efforts put them squarely in the category
of shopping mall rappers. It was only when I recently saw them
perform on Saturday Night Live that I thought I should give this
a listen.
Big surprise. The band can actually play now, and the boys sound
serious. If you listen to rap, check it out.
Religiously yours,
Rev. Richard Visage
rv@visage.jammys.net
(Note to editors: You'll be happy to know that I accomplished my
New Years Resolution with alarming speed. I still haven't figured
out how to get the red lace out from between my teeth, mind you.
Any progress on those endorsement contracts with the big recording
houses? Like, would it help if I said something nice about Whitney
Houston? ewwww.)
(Editor's note: You'll be happy to know our new health plan and
HMO provided by Dr. Jahhirr Alahbaphar, now includes testing for
many new and varied exoctic strains of STD's. He also recommends
brushing after every "meal" and adds, "Flossin'sooo good to you."
Ah! . . . the negotiations are, umm . . . in the mail, along with
your check. Perhaps it would be best if Whitney's Christmas
contributions were left unmentioned, maybe next year, or the year
after that.)
{DREAM}
Copyright 1995 Rev. Richard Visage
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Rev. Richard Visage is the official Spiritual Advisor to Fidonet, and
is listed on the masthead of the Fidonews, where his correspondence
with the infamous Doc Logger is published regularly. The Rev. operates
1:163/409 on a laptop from various hotel rooms, and is bankrolled by
expense accounts from unsuspecting publications who showed the poor
judgement of hiring him. Canadian Government officials list him and
his semi-clad secretary, Ms. LaBamba, as officially being "at large"
somewhere in North America.
=====================================================================
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 68 February 1995
Software Review:
Opus 'N Bill On The Road Again
by Dave Bealer
--------------------------------
Screen savers are big business -- Berkeley Systems made a
fortune off their industry standard After Dark package. Another
Berkeley is now getting into the act. Berkeley Breathed is the
cartoonist who made his name in the 1980s with "Bloom County."
The second screen saver featuring Bill the Cat and Opus the Penguin,
the twice unsuccessful Meadow Party presidential ticket and stars
of "Bloom County," is now on the shelves of your favorite software
retailer.
Opus 'N Bill On The Road Again is published by Delrina. It uses
Delrina's Intermission display engine for Windows. Systems equipped
with a sound card can produce the sound effects that are available
with most modules. Intermission also displays After Dark modules for
those who cannot do without their Flying Toasters. A few O&B modules
display over whatever Windows had on the screen when Intermission
activates. My favorite in that category is Bill and Opus (in tutus)
skating around the screen.
Most of the O&B modules are full screen, replacing whatever was
there before. A few of the funnier ones are:
"Uneasy Riders" - you are in a blue Mercedes tooling down
the highway behind the motorcycle-mounted title characters, Bill
(complete with skull and crossbones helmet) and Opus, who are
occasionally accompanied by an insect. Opus and the insect take turns
falling off and usually end up on your windshield. When that's not
happening Bill is hawking up hairballs, which always splatter on your
windshield too. This module sets the tone for the classiness of this
product.
"Butthead Bill" - this ode to flying toasters features flying
hearts (of the valentine variety). "Buttheaded Bill" and Opus, in the
guise of cupid, share the screen with the hearts. Opus shoots down a
heart with his bow from time to time. Opus, who has no visible quiver,
always has another arrow available immediately. AD&D players may
recognize this syndrome.
"Tax This" - shows a jeans-clad Opus walking around on a sheet
of uncut dollar bills. The wacky penguin draws some graffiti on one
of the bills, moons the viewers, the scampers away as an IRS patrol
car shows up. The car disgorges two suit-clad, mop wielding Feds, who
clean up the mess.
"Pistachios" - our heroes sit watching the tube, Opus munching
on pistachios. He gives Bill a suspect pistachio to try - Bill's
out- landish reaction confirms the penguin's suspicion.
"Dancing Opus" - Opus does his best Fred Astaire impression in
an attempt to cheer up a dejected Bill.
"Bugs" - insects have infested your screen. Our heroes deal
with the problem in their own ways. Opus uses a swatter, while Bill
prefers to swallow the pests.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 69 February 1995
"Information Highway" - A dazed Bill attempts to cross a multi-lane
highway without being struck by any of the computer equipment crusing
along at different speeds. The whole thing is reminiscent of the
ancient video game Frogger. Whenever Bill gets run over, an ambulance
notebook scoops him up and rushes him off the screen.
"Opus In Space" - really a primitive version of the video game
Defender. You control Opus's ship as he tries to destroy the
invaders. I'm as lousy at this game as I was at Defender. I'd love
to blame my problems on the Pentium processor (not inaccuracies,
just the speed) in my system, but the truth is I'm just a klutz.
"Opus Of The Jungle" - finds Opus residing in a thatched hut on a
tree limb far above the jungle floor. He periodically comes out and,
provided he remembered to wear his loin cloth, starts zooming around
on vines until he smashes into something. Sometimes Opus has company
- a really stacked human female (obviously a flightless seabird
fancier).
"Hairball" - Bill coughs up a hairball (trust me, it's not nearly
as disgusting as the real thing) Opus tries to clean it up, but it
gets loose and starts chasing Opus around the screen.
The really funny part is how much time I spent sitting in front
of my computer cataloging these silly saver modules. At least I had
the excuse of having to write a review. I've seen whole groups of
people sitting around offices watching the antics of a new screen
saver. I can't wait to read the results of the first serious study
(government funded, no doubt) of how much office productivity is lost
while people watch their new "Star Wars: Jedi X-Wing Toasters Strike
Back" screen saver.
==============================={DREAM}===============================
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<------>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
POETRY . . .
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=******-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--
Gambler's Get
~~~~~~~~~ ~~~
Night Mist corona moon-walking on air
Sweet frangrance of chance everywhere.
'Twas a gamblers night 'ore the wide way
On the eve of new year, or so they say.
The year matters little in the long run
'Tis the essence of chance new begun
Cards to the table, if that is the game
Fate deals the tale under any name.
Gambler's Get on the soft winds walked
Odds' Child in the Change,Dealer stalked
To skill or to chance, the prey did fall
To the game,to the fates, Eternity's call.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 70 February 1995
He sat to table, She watched from the side
Gambler's Get, come to challenge, bets offside
The cards rose and fell as the Fates decreed
Silver, copper and paper, the coin of greed
She stroked His right arm, lending Him luck
He wagered His skill and played against Puck
The tale is told as He emptied His pocket
Of Gambler's Get come before Time's docket.
She reached down deep and staked His last game
At the end of a year, in lost love's name
He Played, on old habit, and lost, to his shame
Gambler's Get and the bet and the last Game
Copyright 1994 Gay Bost
------------------------------------------------
<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<------>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=******-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--
SUBSCRIPTIONS:
=-=-=-=-=-=--
Starting with the March 1995 issue, DREAM FORGE will only be
available to subscribers, or those who purchase individual copies
from Official DREAM FORGE Distributors located throughout cyberspace.
DREAM FORGE Subscription Rates (all amounts are in US dollars):
INDIVIDUAL:
=-=-=-=-=-
- via Internet e-mail, or picked up by subscriber from
the publisher's BBS) $12/yr.
- via Regular Mail on DOS Disk: $24/yr. (US/Canada only)
(residents of other countries, inquire for rates)
***** And now for a brief Intermission ******
There is no event which cannot, through suitable
application of creativity, be attributed to a vast,
world-spanning conspiracy, the ultimate goal of which
is to do something or other. Likewise, there is no event
which cannot, through suitable application of creativity,
be attributed to either monumental stupidity, or common,
garden variety thoughtlessness, sometimes followed by
desperate attempts at corrective or masking action.
TO WIT: [email protected]
***** And back to our regularly scheduled advertisement *****
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 71 February 1995
ONLINE DISPLAY:
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Sysop subscribers may allow their users to view DREAM FORGE
while online, but NOT download the magazine. The standard
online ANSI/RIP platform will be the Readroom door.
(Rates below apply only to bulletin board systems. Rates for
online services that receive most of their connections through
packet networks are negotiated individually.)
Monthly Prepaid
# BBS lines: Cost/mo: Full Cost/yr: Cost/yr:
----------- ------- ------------ -------
1 - 4 $10 $120 $95
5 - 9 $20 $240 $195
10 - 19 $30 $360 $295
20 - 29 $40 $480 $395
30 - 39 $50 $600 $495
40 - 49 $60 $720 $595
50 - 59 $70 $840 $695
60 - 74 $80 $960 $795
75 - 99 $90 $1080 $895
100+ $100 $1200 $995
*PRE-PAY*
Online subscribers who prepay for the entire year receive
twelve months of service for the price of ten.
(Sysops whose boards are mentioned by new subscribers will
receive a $3 credit towards future advertising or online
subscription cost for each new paid individual subscriber.)
Prices above are for delivery via Internet e-mail or pickup
direct from the publisher's BBS.
Published by: Dream Forge, Inc.
6400 Baltimore National Pike, #201
Baltimore, MD. 21228-3915
e-mail: dbealer@dreamforge.com
Dave Bealer, President
Rick Arnold, Vice President
* DREAM FORGE is a trademark of Dream Forge, Inc.
=====================================================================
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 72 February 1995
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= WhatNots, Why not? =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
=-=-=-=-=-=
Just stuff:
-=-=-=-=-=-
by Dragon
Newlyweds, it is said, live in utter bliss. This leads one to
wonder what other identifiable groups live in. Here are some
possibilites I've worked out:
Oedipus lived in Mutter bliss.
Ship's Captains live in cutter bliss.
Those with mammary fixations live in udder bliss.
Those with speech impediments live in stutter bliss.
Alcoholics live in utter Chablis.
Those in low income housing live in HUDer bliss.
Epileptics live in shudder bliss.
Quilters live in cover bliss.
Adulterers live in another's bliss.
Latex fanciers live in rubber bliss.
# # #
... [email protected]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Sure, Make an Effort:
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Yep, Valentine's Day is just around the corner, and this is a
little reminder to all you guys, if you're like me, you usually
forget. Well, after reading this, you should rush out and purchase
a little something to brighten the day of the young lady in your
life. Don't forget to give her the present, since you will be
prepared so far in advance -- YOU'LL be glad you did, and she may
show her thanks in ways you'll approve of. I've played hard-core
over the years and never paid much attention to "little things"
like Valentine's Day. Perhaps, that explains why I've had some ups
and downs in my love life -- been divorced 5 times!
If you really want to impress her, reading or reciting poetry
at a very appropriate time will endear you forever. The rewards
and benefits you derive from this little effort on your part
will be more than worth it. The World could use a bit more Love,
go for it!
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 73 February 1995
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
Could Still Be News:
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Hear Ye! Hear Ye!
Please take note of the following changes to these e-magazines.
While dreaming is common to all of us, few of us forge ahead as
we should. For some time now two magazines have inhabited every
corner of cyberspace, making people laugh and, hopefully, think.
Random Access Humor (RAH) and RUNE'S RAG have made friends
worldwide and beyond, given recent satellite broadcasting.
Now the time has come to move on -- to grow.
DREAM FORGE is in town. DREAM FORGE will combine the best of your
two old friends with added features that will blow (or at least
expand) your mind. Still offering the formats you are familiar with,
DREAM FORGE will be available in ASCII text and Readroom editions.
Distributed through the same channels as its predecessors, Dream
Forge will be introduced through demo issues in January and
February 1995. Beginning in March 1995, DREAM FORGE will only be
available to subscribers.
RAH and RUNE'S RAG will both cease publication after their
February 1995 issues.
************************************************************
For those Sysops interested in displaying DREAM FORGE, you
can obtain the READROOM Door by Freq: RDRM @ 1:2601/522
(412-588-7863), and full filename RDRM32.ZIP, or download @
1:261/1129 (410-437-3463). Excellent BBS Door for Electronic
Magazines. Great reading and news available in E-Pubs.
*************************************************************
DREAM FORGE will be a monthly collection of fiction, commentary,
satire, reviews and poetry blended to inform and entertain you.
New voices will join the familiar voices from RAH and RUNE'S RAG
to create a chorus of dreams.
Your old friends are in transition, and would like you to share in
forging this new dream. Make sure your sysop knows you want to see
DREAM FORGE every month.
DREAMS: the eyes and mind of your soul!
Rick Arnold Dave Bealer
Editor, RUNE'S RAG Editor, Random Access Humor
Managing Editor, DREAM FORGE Humor Editor, DREAM FORGE
Fido: 1:2601/522 Fido: 1:261/1129
Internet: rarnold@dreamforge.com Internet: dbealer@dreamforge.com
---------------------------------------------------------------------
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 74 February 1995
Coming March 1, 1995:
DREAM FORGE BBS: A public two-line Wildcat BBS offering FidoNet
echoes plus Internet email and USENET newsgroups. Subscriptions
to the DREAM FORGE BBS will include an individual subscription to
DREAM FORGE magazine. Look for details in the February issue of
DREAM FORGE.
=====================================================================
=-=-=-=-=-
More sTufF
=-=-=-=-=-
YOU can save a tree -- read Electronically.
Buy E-Books and E-Magazines!
Support a "Green" Industry.
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- # # # =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Have tips and hints that would be of service to others? SHARE them,
send to: whatnots@dreamforge.com or Fido: 1:2601/522 to Sysop.
=====================================================================
As always, seek competent advice from your legal advisor, doctor,
maid, dentist, accountant, beautician, lawyer, bartender, neighbor,
AA, AAA, AAAA, dog, NWU, military advisor, coroner, mechanic, mother,
father (both for totally different answers), gardener, tax advisor,
HARLEY DEALER, travel agent, roofer, computer dealer (ha), insurance
salesperson, and don't forget the butcher, baker, and candle maker!
Talk to your kids for the best advice!
Any and all information found in this magazine is taken entirely at
the risk of the individual, and as always wear a condom for complete
protection -- against misinformation, and other things. Any and all
similarity to real people is purely fictional coincidence, especially
the editors, who are figments of our collective consciousness.
==============================={DREAM}===============================
TAGLINES: seen around the SuperDuperInfoHighway and Byways.
--------- ------------------------------------------------
Rings of Saturn are made entirely of lost airline luggage.
The Earth is 98% full. Please delete anyone you can.
He who laughs last is generally a bit slow.
Intel - still number 0.999873464508
"Bother," said Pooh, as he found a politician in his honey.
Sorry about the crayon. They won't let me have sharp objects.
Styrofoam is shipped in ground-up environmentalists.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 75 February 1995
I have a rock garden. Last week, three of them died.
Things you never hear people say; "Hand me that piano."
"Bother," said Pooh, and called in an air strike.
It's a SMALL war, can I have it?
Ambidextrose: able to put sugar in coffee with either hand.
Klingon prompt: strike any user when ready.
1024x768x256.... sounds like one mean woman.
If life hands you a lemon, break out the tequila and salt!
Then Q met Lorena - after which he was known as O.
This starship breaks for black holes and temporal disunities.
People like that are the reason we have middle fingers.
I left my tart in Aunt Fran's Crisco.
Hi. I'm the tagline your mother warned you about.
The proverbial proprietor provides practical proverbs.
If it's not violent...what fun is it?
The gene pool could use a little chlorine.
In DoubleSpace no one can hear your data scream.
A single fact can ruin a good argument.
Please, no deja vu; I don't want to go through that again.
Disney World - a people trap operated by a mouse.
Hi, I'm a tagline. When I grow up I'm gonna be a novel!
Please reply if you don't get this message.
This product sadistically tested on gerbils.
All stressed out and no one to choke.
"Bummer," said Pooh when Tigger dropped the joint in the honey jar.
The trouble with life is the lack of cool background music.
Some days you're the dog, some days you're the hydrant.
Next from Intel: the Repentium.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 76 February 1995
I did NOT escape....they gave me a day pass.
I plan to be a late bloomer - it's the only chance I've got.
"Why Johnny Can't Read" - Now available on VHS tape.
If not for politicians, we wouldn't NEED assault rifles.
G = Guns, PG = Plenty of Guns, PG13 = more than 12 guns.
Cat bathing is a martial art.
I'm not so much human as cat furniture.
Morals for sale, never used. Contact Bill Clinton.
Democracy: 3 wolves and a sheep voting on what's for lunch.
I always wanted to be something, I wish I'd been more specific.
© Copywight Elmer Fudd. All wights wesewved.
Sorry, my mind was on edible underwear today.
Mars needs women - no experience necessary!
"Bother," said Pooh as he strafed the lifeboats.
Yes, but you're taking the universe out of context.
Nobody ever forgets where he buried the hatchet.
You're about as subtle as an axe between the eyes.
Circular definition: see definition, circular.
I agreed to suspend disbelief, not hang it until it died!
...and if you think THAT'S weird...
==============================={DREAM}===============================
Dream Forge, Inc. accepts advertising for DREAM FORGE.
ADVERTISING RATES:
Display Ads:
Rates are for a single online display page: no larger than 79
characters (columns) wide and 23 lines long. Layout ready copy
only -- inquire for ad design rates.
ASCII Text: $75/month $750/year
ANSI or RIP: $100/month $1000/year
A 10% discount will be applied for two or more pages of advertising
run in the same issue.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 77 February 1995
(The publisher reserves the right to refuse any
advertising deemed inappropriate for DREAM FORGE.)
Published by: Dream Forge, Inc.
6400 Baltimore National Pike, #201
Baltimore, MD. 21228-3915
e-mail: dbealer@dreamforge.com
Dave Bealer, President
Rick Arnold, Vice President
* DREAM FORGE is a trademark of Dream Forge, Inc.
=====================================================================
Dream Forge, Inc. is looking for Official DREAM FORGE
Distributors (ODFDs) throughout cyberspace. The ODFDs will
sell individual copies of the current issue (and back issues)
of DREAM FORGE to their callers on a pay-by-download basis.
The list price of individual DREAM FORGE issues is $2.95.
(All amounts are in US dollars.) As additional online sales
technologies become available, the ODFDs will be encouraged
to offer DREAM FORGE using these new techniques.
Responsibilities of ODFDs:
1) Make DREAM FORGE available to their callers using any
available online sales technology (e.g. sale by download).
The ODFD warrants that all DREAM FORGE downloads will be
counted and paid for on a monthly basis.
2) Promote the availability of DREAM FORGE to all callers
during the logon process.
3) Resolve any customer complaints related to obtaining
DREAM FORGE from their system (i.e. broken archives,
aborted downloads, etc.). Dream Forge, Inc. will assume
no liability for any such problems, other than replacing
any broken DREAM FORGE archive sent to the distributor's
system by the publisher.
4) Provide a monthly report to the publisher showing the
download count for each DREAM FORGE issue carried by the
system.
5) Remit the publisher's share (60%) of all DREAM FORGE sales
to the publisher promptly on a monthly basis. Any credit
card or transaction processing fees incurred in selling
DREAM FORGE are strictly the responsibility of the ODFD.
If an ODFD chooses to sell DREAM FORGE for a discount, the
publisher's share remains 60% of the official list price
of the magazine ($1.77/copy at the list price of $2.95).
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 78 February 1995
6) Provide a complimentary account on the ODFD system for
the use of DREAM FORGE staff. The account need not have
any sysop privileges, except that it should allow DREAM
FORGE staff to view the current download counts for all
DREAM FORGE issues being sold. The account should have
all upload and download privileges normally offered to
those with "free, shareware uploader" status.
Benefits for ODFDs:
1) The ODFD retains 40% of all DREAM FORGE sales ($1.18/copy
sold at a list price of $2.95) made, less any transaction
fees incurred (see #5 above). The ODFD also retains any
time based fees incurred by any user as they download the
emag.
2) The right to advertise their system as an Official DREAM
FORGE Distributor. A logon screen may be (indeed, should
be) displayed to all callers so identifying the system.
3) A listing in each DREAM FORGE issue identifying the ODFD,
including System name, primary data telephone number,
number of lines, and location of system (City/state/country).
4) A 20% discount on any advertising purchased in DREAM FORGE
to advertise the ODFD system, or any products or services
offered by the firm that owns the ODFD. This discount is
cumulative with any other applicable discounts.
5) A 40% discount on a display subscription to DREAM FORGE for
the ODFD system. Applies only to a prepaid annual
subscription, and is not cumulative with any other offers.
(e.g. The operators of a 100 line BBS that is an ODFD will
pay $597/year to display DREAM FORGE to their callers rather
than the normal fee of $995.)
Published by: Dream Forge, Inc.
6400 Baltimore National Pike, #201
Baltimore, MD. 21228-3915
e-mail: dbealer@dreamforge.com
Dave Bealer, President
Rick Arnold, Vice President
* DREAM FORGE is a trademark of Dream Forge, Inc.
==============================================================
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 79 February 1995
Official DREAM FORGE Distributors - Frequently Asked Questions
In the short time since the release of the January issue of DREAM
FORGE, many sysops have asked about becoming ODFDs. To save time (a
precious commodity these days) I have created this list of frequently
asked questions.
Q) What kind of software is available to take orders/control
downloads?
A) Sorry, we don't have the time or inclination to help sysops
set up their systems to handle online ordering. If you have
to ask a question like this, you're simply not ready to become
an ODFD. We are looking for established commercial boards as
distributors. Line count isn't important, but you must have
experience accepting online orders, or at least online
subscriptions, to be seriously considered as an ODFD.
Q) I don't live in the United States. How do I handle pricing?
A) There is a system used by print magazines in North America
whereby the magazine covers contain two prices:
example: $4.95 US, $5.95 Canada
This accounts for the fact that the Canadian dollar is worth
somewhat less that the U.S. dollar (about $0.70 US, in 1/95).
There is no reason why such a plan cannot be used for e-mags
as well. ODFDs are therefore allowed to charge the local
equivalent of $2.95 US in their local currency. Further,
Non-US ODFDs will be allowed to charge a premium of up to 10%
to recover long distance and currency exchange costs. The ODFD
may want to round the price down to the nearest customary price
point (3.95, etc.) in local units.
For instance: Canadian ODFDs could charge $4.50 (Canadian) for
each copy of DREAM FORGE. ($2.95 US/0.70 = 4.21 Canadian, plus
10% = $4.63 Candian. Round down to $4.50 Canadian. Note that
given the 0.70 exchange rate factor, a Canadian ODFD could NOT
charge more that $4.63 Canadian per copy of DF).
Q) How do I make payments to Dream Forge, Inc.?
A) Simply mail a check or money order every month to the
publisher: Dream Forge, Inc.
6400 Baltimore National Pike, #201
Baltimore, MD. 21228
USA
We expect to accept checks online eventually, which would
allow ODFDs to logon the Dream Forge BBS and pay by check
without having to mail any paper. Remember that all checks
and money orders must be in U.S. funds.
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 80 February 1995
Q) How would I get the new DREAM FORGE issues?
A) Several ways are available:
1) By internet e-mail (as a uuencoded file attach).
2) Logon to The DREAM FORGE BBS and download the new issue.
3) Via private Fido-technology Tick file echo.
Q) Can I give sample issues away to my users to entice them
to subscribe?
A) No, that is what the free demo issues are for. Beginning
in July 1995 we will publish a free quarterly (tentatively
titled DREAM FORGE LITE (DFL)). DFL will contain the table
of contents of the previous three DF monthly issues, plus a
few (very few) sample articles from those issues. The samples
will usually highlight any new features added to DF since the
last quarterly edition. DFL will be freely distributable the
same way the sample issues are, so there is no need for ODFDs
to give away the monthly DREAM FORGE issues. Actually, you
MAY give away the monthly issues, provided you pay Dream Forge,
Inc. the fee of $1.77 (US) per copy given away. <g>
Q) May I print DREAM FORGE on paper and sell it that way?
A) No. DREAM FORGE is an electronic magazine. The publisher
retains full control over distribution format. If we do
decide to offer a printed edition or non-English language
editions in the future, rights will have to be negotiated
on an individual (per-project) basis.
Dave Bealer
Publisher, DREAM FORGE (tm)
January 1995
-------------------------------{DREAM}-------------------------------
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 81 February 1995
>> Legalities <<
DREAM FORGE is published monthly by Dream Forge, Inc. Although the
publisher's BBS may be a part of one or more networks at any time,
DREAM FORGE is not affiliated with any BBS network or online service.
DREAM FORGE is a compilation of individual articles contributed by
their authors. The contribution of articles to this compilation does
not diminish the rights of the authors. The opinions expressed in
DREAM FORGE are those of the authors and are not necessarily those of
the editors or publisher.
DREAM FORGE is Copyright 1995 Dream Forge, Inc. All Rights Reserved.
This electronic magazine is a commercial product, not shareware or
freeware. DREAM FORGE may only be distributed by the publisher, or
by Official DREAM FORGE Distributors. The original text of the
magazine must never be modified. DREAM FORGE may not be posted, in
whole or in part, on public conferences. Readers may produce hard
copies of the magazine or backup copies on diskette for their own
personal use only. DREAM FORGE may not be distributed in combination
with any other publication or product. CD ROM, print, and other
publishers, including network managers may contact the publisher for
rates charged for reprint rights and display of DREAM FORGE (tm).
DREAM FORGE is a trademark of Dream Forge, Inc. Many of the brands
and products mentioned in DREAM FORGE are trademarks, service marks,
or registered trademarks of their respective owners.
>> Where to Get DREAM FORGE <<
DREAM FORGE is available by subscription directly from the publisher.
Individuals with internet e-mail accounts, and those willing to
download the monthly issues directly from the publisher's BBS, may
subscribe to DREAM FORGE for $12/year (US funds). You may also have
DREAM FORGE mailed to you on a DOS diskette each month for $24.00
(US). Send e-mail to info@dreamforge.com for details.
==============================={DREAM}===============================
=====================================================================
<<(*=-- DREAM FORGE --=*)>>
MAGAZINE
<<((*=-- The electronic for your mind! --=*))>>
=====================================================================
(formerly RANDOM ACCESS HUMOR and RUNE'S RAG)
DREAM FORGE
Dream Forge, Inc.,
6400 Baltimore National Pike, # 201
Baltimore, MD 21228-3915
Modem: (410) 437-3463 (data to 28.8baud)
Publisher: Dave Bealer
Managing Editor: Rick Arnold
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 82 February 1995
GUIDELINES for DREAM FORGE e-magazine:
Monthly e-magazine for a thinking and literate readership, 95%
freelance written. Will work with new and underpublished writers.
Publishes ms average of 1-2 months after acceptance. Takes first
serial rights, will accept one time rights on reprints. Pays
approximately 30 days after publication. Submit seasonal material
2 months in advance. "Looking for stories with a positive message,
even if the message is hidden deep within the fabric of the work."
Preferred length 1,000 to 2,000 words, fiction 2,000 to 4,500.
Writer's guidelines for #10 SASE or download as DF_GUIDE.TXT. Sample
e-copy and guidelines on dos disk for $2.00 with SAS(M)ailer.
METHOD OF SUBMISSION: ASCII format, flush left, 65 column right
margin, single line between paragraphs. Send your ASCII ms by data
Modem to: DREAM FORGE BBS, (410) 437-3463 to Sysop; file attach to
FIDO address 1:261/1129; WRITERS BIZ (412) 588-7863 to Sysop; f/a
to FIDO 1:2601/522; or INTERNET to: myfile@dreamforge.com, or Via
mail on a DOS disk: uncompressed, pure ASCII, with two copies of the
ms on the disk, e.g. MYSTUFF1.DBC, MYSTUFF2.DBC. Where mystuff1 is
the file name and .DBC the extension consisting of your initials.
Note: in WORD/WFW > Save as File Type: MS DOS TEXT with Line Breaks,
which provides ASCII Text. Thanks, ASCII only.
Include a short Bio with your submission, e.g. ALLANPOE.BIO; 5 - 10
lines with a 70 column maximum. If you're submitting on paper, it had
best be short, good, and expect a much longer processing time. MUST
include an e-mail contact address, or BBS number for e-mail along
with your home phone (contact hours), and postal address. All
manuscripts will be considered disposable, unless you provide RETURN
mailer and sufficient postage.
NONFICTION: Humor, satire, essays, reviews, Op-ed, and political
commentary from 1000-4000 words. Pays $10-$100, plus profit sharing.
FICTION: Short stories most any genre from 1000-6000 words, longer
works will be serialized; accepts humorous short-shorts under 1,000.
Pays $10-$100, plus profit sharing.
POETRY: Any style and length will pay: $2-$20, plus profit sharing.
DREAM FORGE shares profits with authors; where 10% of profits, from
specific revenues, are paid on a pro-rated basis as a bonus to the
authors from the issue in which the authors' work appears. Details
of the profit sharing are contained in the authors' contract.
* * *
If you are an overly successful author, you may decline payment, and
your funds will be donated to targeted non-profit agencies which
Dream Forge, Inc. supports: Reading Is Fundamental, Laubach Literacy
International, and Literacy Volunteers of America. ***
=====================================================================
"There's no fiction as imaginative as that seen on the nightly news."
DREAM FORGE (tm) Page 83 February 1995
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
AWAKENINGS: Amazing Greed
by Dave Bealer
-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
The 1980s were known as "The Decade of Greed." From where
I'm sitting the nineties haven't been doing too badly on the greed
score, either. High technology has brought new forms of greed, as if
any more were needed.
Shareware was the new marketing revolution of the eighties. The
"try before you buy" plan was a great way of doing things in the era
of buggy commercial software (anyone know when that era will end?),
plus it allowed software authors to release their products without
the usual barriers to entry in the traditional retail marketplace.
The tandard estimate is that one in ten people who uses a shareware
package regularly actually pays the registration fee. Still, many
authors felt that 10% of something was far better than 100% of
nothing (since they lacked the funds to go the standard retail
route).
The truth is that far less than 10% of shareware authors ever made
any real money from their products. Of course, not all the blame can
be laid at the feet of greedy users. There are plenty of authors
trying to collect hefty shareware fees for a simple program that the
average high school programming student could whip up in an hour or
two (and claim a patent on the algorithm, to boot). These twerps are
no doubt surprised when the user community isn't willing to fork over
$25 for their latest 50 lines of spaghetti code - Mortimer Nerd's
idea of programming perfection.
Not that high tech greed is the only thing going -- good old
fashioned low tech greed is still in fashion. Gambling is becoming
legalized in more and more states. Why? Taxes. States and localities
love anything new they can tax. Vice taxes are especially popular
because few will argue the amounts charged. Nuisance taxes (a
redundancy if ever there was one) are also popular, especially
nuisance taxes on vices. Goverment may one day tax violence on TV -
will it be called a Miami Vice Tax?
Atlantic City now charges a $2/day parking tax for each car
parked at all the casino/hotels in the city. The smarter hotel
operators (e.g.the folks who run the Sands) are eating this tax
themselves and still offering free parking to their customers.
This begs the question of what's next? Tax meters on hookers?
Copyright 1995 Dave Bealer, ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
==============================={DREAM}===============================
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