It’s a shame that so few of my ‘wallpapers’ are downloaded by my readers: they really are quite nice. Look, this is how a couple of them appear on my laptop…
So, if this sort of thing floats your boat, so-to-speak, simply visit any of my ‘wallpaper’ posts; click on the picture; and download it.
Here’s the Gravity Whelk at full throttle picture (above). It’s titled ‘Hot Exhaust’…
Magnuss and Hair-Trigger rarely get the opportunity to rent a submersible; don their protective bubbles; and go swimming beneath the surface of alien oceans…
Reports are coming in of an accidental conflagration during the preliminary round of the National Farting Contest. A concerned Magnuss and Hair-Trigger Earplug are reported to have said: “Flipping heck – there’s no way they’re gonna hold the finals here: we’ll have to go somewhere else!”
Remember Triple Threat: Hell Unleashed? The awful 20 second giff that featured a trio of earplugs destroying something with a laser cannon? Here’s a shot from it…
Well I rather fancied writing an Earplug Adventure that featured them…
A story about a bunch of accident-prone idiots getting into deep shit trouble, then finding redemption by saving the day (of course). But I couldn’t think of a story line – until I finished an interestingly-shaped bottle of shampoo. After drying (what remains of) my hair, I took the top and the bottom off the bottle. I then delved into my many boxes of plastic bits and pieces, which included other shampoo bottle tops, catheter nozzles and a wind-up flashlight. Shortly I introduced the separate parts to a tube of superglue. The result – after adding a coat of black paint – was this…
Too matt to see clearly? Check this out…
It’s a submarine/space ship freighter. Yes, a space ship that can travel under the sea. What could three accident-prone idiots do with that if they stowed away, then managed to lose the crew, and had to take control themselves? Well the sky – and the depths – are the limit…
The story will be titled Triple Threat. The principal character names are Bunty Bridgewater, Ginger Slack, and Daisy Woodnut. The ship/sub, at present, remains unnamed. But I’m confident something suitably ridiculous will pop into my mind when the need arises. Watch this space!
Recently I was out and about on the…
…Back-Lane Behemoth, when I chanced upon an amateur…
…motocross meeting. It contained an eclectic mix of machines and rider talent levels. The old bikes were loud and not very fast: whereas the newer machines were incredibly quiet, and fairly flew. The vast crowd…
…was…er…vaguely interested: and the riders so cold that some of them wore body warmers, complete with flapping hoods (see above). whilst others pulled their Dad’s old jumpers on over their race kit…
…and looked a bit daft. As you can see, the track was something less than demanding. I could have ridden it fairly quickly – even at my age, and despite the fact that I last rode off-road (at speed anyway) forty-one years ago. Actually I would have jumped at the chance: it certainly looked fun, even if no budding Toni Cairoli’s or Romain Febvre’s made their presence felt. All good, clean fun – and several hikers who passed by on a nearby trail were clearly amused by the (often inept) goings on. But, as I was leaving, this arrived…
…to carry a fallen rider off to hospital. Which just goes to show that anyone can get hurt doing what they most enjoy at any time and anywhere. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my sixty-five years, it’s that Human’s aren’t supposed to have fun: they always have to pay for it, one way or the other. So, instead of giving the Yamaha a huge blast down some country roads, I did the sensible ‘thing’, and went home to create a very nice Chicken Hoi Sin…
Boring, but reasonably safe. Well no one choked on it anyway. And, who knows, maybe it saved me from a nasty accident. I’m well into omens, me.
The First Fleet of Scroton was stopped dead in space recently by the appearence of a gigantic inflatable head. “Thou shall not pass into this realm.” the head informed them. Unaware that it was nothing more than a gas-filled bag with an aging cassette tape recorder attached, the First Fleet retired to Scroton Space immediately, and much hilarity ensued in Scroton Prime’s Universidad Principal…
A shudder ran through the massed population of Scroton Prime’s Old Quarter as the clouds parted, to reveal a vast interstellar saucer of unknown design or origin. But fears of annihilation were allayed when the occupants informed the mayor that they had only stopped by to ask the way to Earth…
I first bought a motorcycle so that I could go farther afield ( and more quickly) in my pursuit of nice photographs. My little Yamaha YBR125 was almost right, except that it took forever to get anywhere – especially against a headwind – and it hurt my bum with its thin saddle and limited suspension. But if ever there was a motorcycle unsuited to the task of carrying me along rural lanes and gravelly tracks, it’s the YBR’s replacement…
A back-lane behemoth. The Yamaha XJR1300 in its unnatural habitat. But flipping heck, isn’t it handsome! So who cares?
As is my usual practice, the complete e-book becomes available to the general public prior to the posting of the final episode. Why I do it that way, I just don’t know. And, of course, since I no longer publish them on Lulu-com in EPUB form, they are not (strictly speaking) proper e-books. But PDF is a reasonable compromise, and I’ve not heard anyone complaining. So here it is. Just click on the cover image to unleash the file, which you can either read on-line or download for later consumption.
Of course, if you don’t like green, this is hell on earth.
A rocky beach, popular with earplugs, received an unexpected gift this morning. A radio-active turd, rumoured to belong to the Supreme Being, fell from the sky. Within minutes crowds began to form, and lightweight walkways needed to be assembled quickly by local council workers. Those who ventured nearest are now complaining that they are rapidly mutating into raspberries and other carbon-based life-forms.
Magnuss and Hair-Trigger chose their checking-out time of the Hotel Bottox poorly: a snow storm had just begun.
If you’re an earplug with a wonky knee, a weeping sore, the heebee-geebees, cracked nipples, or an annoyingly itchy foreskin, it’s believed that a visit to the Concrete Toadstool will alleviate the aforementioned conditions, and many more besides. Consequently evening pilgrimages are common sights during the warmer months. When its cold and wintry, earplugs just can’t be arsed to go outside, and will probably wait until spring.
The best thing about having your own honeymoon barge is that you can stop whenever and wherever you want. In this case the silicon heroes have adorned themselves with protective bubbles and gone exploring a wrecked space ship.
In my post Never Quite Willing to Walk Away I reminded readers of the existence of my more serious works. Well the ones that sell from time to time – those being my ‘Silent‘ books. So I thought that the two that don’t sell should get an airing too. After all, if you don’t know what you’re missing, you won’t want to buy them, will you? No, you won’t. So please be aware that this pair of books…
…remain on sale at most proper e-book sellers, like Amazon, B&N, Lulu, etc. And yes, Clive Thunderbolt is me. I use the name to distinguish the more violent (and slightly sexual) stuff from the family orientated (though still violent) Paul Trevor Nolan titled stuff. My son made up the name. It was supposed to show me that Tooty Nolan was a stupid name for an author – even if I am Tooty Nolan. He used Clive Thunderbolt as an example of another stupid name; and, to his dismay, I embraced it instantly – whilst missing the point entirely. Anyway, to the excerpts…
Captive Echo
“How the hell did you get here?” Wycksford Chief Administrator, Alice Wilkins – echoed Katherine as she stood glaring across her desk at Wozniak.
Len, Katherine, and two armed guards – both of whom appeared considerably more professional than their opposite numbers in Brambledown – stood behind Wozniak, who was the only seated person there. The last time Wozniak had seen Alice Wilkins she had been handing him the keys to The Peaks.
“You’re the brain box around here, Alice.” He grumbled his annoyance.” All I know is that I went to bed in my version of The Peaks, and woke up in yours. I’m a mere passenger – and an unwilling one at that!”
“That’s it? How does that help us?” Alice clearly wanted more. She turned to Katherine, “Major – get him out of here: I’m a busy woman.”
‘Major?’ Wozniak thought in surprise.
Katherine must have read his mind. “Field commission.” She explained, “We’re on the brink of war with Droxfield. Please, Peter – there must be some significance to your being here. Think – is there anything that you might have missed?”
Though she tried to conceal it, Wozniak could hear the desperation in Katherine’s voice. He tried to cast his mind back to the previous evening.
“Well there was the phone problem. None of them worked.”
“You were isolated, then?” Alice leaned forward across her desk. “What about any other electronic equipment: was that affected in any way?”
“Is it significant?” Wozniak asked in turn.
“I don’t know.” Alice answered honestly. “Perhaps. I’m just collating information right now. Perhaps I can come up with a theory later. Well – was it?”
Wozniak shook his head “Nothing. Sorry. I didn’t watch television. I didn’t listen to radio. Yet, oddly, when I think about it, I did feel strangely isolated. And there was Len, of course.”
All eyes turned from Wozniak to Len Peters.
“His alternate in my reality spoke to me during the evening.” Wozniak tried to explain, “He said you were in trouble.”
“Len?” Alice enquired gently of the old man.
“I have these dreams. I dream about another Len Peters. Day dreams, I s’pose you’d call ‘em.” Len spoke clearly at first, but then stumbled. How could he explain the fact that for the entire duration of his life he had been in communication with his inter-dimensional twin from a world like this, but which was uniquely different?
‘But these people seem to know all about the other side,’ he thought, ‘Perhaps they’ll understand.’
It took a few more moments of introspection before he realized that they were all waiting for him to continue.
“He talks back. I know all about his world, and he knows all about mine.” He told them. “Between us we seem to understand more about our own worlds by seeing what happens in the other. I told the other Len about me killing Wozniak. I told him why I did it too.”
Wozniak got his question before the eager Alice could open her mouth:
“So why did you suggest that I could help? How did you learn about the events of last year? Surely it must have been totally hush-hush, need-to-know, sort of stuff on this side?”
Len was clearly hiding something. He shifted his feet like a nervous schoolboy, and his eyes avoided direct contact with anyone else’s.
Katherine cleared her throat.
“Ah, that would be me.” She announced.
“What’s this, Major?” Alice exclaimed. “Are we talking about a serious security breach here?”
Katherine gave her superior a look of apology.
“Len’s my uncle.” She explained. “I’ve always looked upon him as a sort of wise old owl. I tell him all my troubles: he helps me keep them in perspective. He helps me deal with things. When you told me about my mission last year – I went straight to Uncle Len. He gave me the courage to see it through. He’s not a security breach: he’s an absolute necessity and a guardian angel.”
“You didn’t tell me nothin’ ‘bout your rape.” The object of the women’s conversation complained sharply.
“I knew how you’d react.” Katherine replied without looking at her uncle. “I didn’t want you executed for murder.”
“Security breach or absolute necessity aside,” Alice interrupted, “what made you think this Peter Wozniak could do anything about our problems?”
Katherine placed a hand upon Wozniak’s shoulder. To Alice she said: “Because…oh I don’t know. It’s just that I felt he could help somehow. I know there’s no logic involved – but you’ve never experienced crossing over. You get feelings…Call it a sixth sense if you will. But it changes a person. Maybe it makes them more receptive to…Again, I don’t know. I can’t put it into words. But when I saw him in the road with Uncle Len, I wasn’t in the least surprised – even though I knew logically that he couldn’t possibly be there – here I mean.”
Alice sat down.
“Yet here he is.”
She decided to abandon any thoughts of recrimination.
“Despite all the contrary facts and theories we have concerning LDD, Mister Wozniak is here; and I’d bloody well like to know how he did it!”
Abruptly she stood again.
“But I don’t have the energy to ponder this problem right now. I don’t have the luxury of time on my side either. Droxfield aren’t going to get our data, despite what they think; and they are going to attack at some point in the near future, because I’m damned if we’re going to roll over and watch as the work of generations of Wycksford people is pulled apart – or worse. I’m needed elsewhere right now: Major – despite some aberrant behaviour committed by yourself and your uncle – your commission stands. Take care of things here in my absence. But do me this favour: just try to avoid crossing over into another space/time continuum whilst my back is turned.”
With that she collected a file of papers from a drawer, and left the room – her two guards scuttling out behind her.
The room seemed strangely empty to Wozniak now that only he, Len, and Katherine remained.
“Well I think that went well under the circumstances.” He said. “You’re still a Major, and Len and I aren’t locked up.”
Katherine dropped into the seat so recently vacated by Alice. It was still warm.
“If only she would allow someone else to oversee our defence.” She said. “She’s a good administrator: but she’s a better theorist. I don’t know why, but I’m certain that your transfer here is no coincidence. It must be vitally important. I just wish I knew why and how.”
“Look, my ego is big enough already.” Wozniak tried a smile as he spoke. “I don’t need to be told how remarkable I am: I know that already.”
Katherine smiled minutely. “It’s just that, contrary to what she just said to you, she does have the beginning of a theory. She told me about it a month ago. If she’s right – then the timing of Droxfield’s action couldn’t have been better timed. Or worse, perhaps – depending upon what happens next.” She looked at Wozniak directly. “At the risk of exploding your ego into a state of megalomania – I truly believe that you can make a difference, Peter. Your timing isn’t necessarily the result of destiny – but it is serendipitous.” She stood again, and made for the door. “We’re not on war rations just yet: anyone hungry? I know I am. And maybe we can find an ice pack for those swollen bollocks of yours.”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2014
Present Imperfect
Wozniak, Janice, and Tom hadn’t wanted to draw attention to themselves as they slipped unobtrusively from the A&E waiting room of Crampton General Hospital, but such was their urgency to leave that they began scurrying once they’d emerged into the central corridor. Half way along its length Janice began to complain about the pain that her injuries were now causing her, so Wozniak simply picked her up, and holding her in his arms before him, he broke into a run. They emerged into the air at a fair gallop, and several nurses arriving for work were forced to skip aside.
“Sorry.” Janice called over Wozniak’s departing shoulder.
“Keys.” Tom said as he allowed his brother to catch up.
Janice fished through her pockets. She tossed the car keys to the large man. She then watched as he accelerated ahead, dodging a slow-moving road-cleaning truck, and approached Wozniak’s parked car. She also saw him pull up short. His body language suggested surprise.
Once the cleaning truck had passed, Wozniak placed Janice upon her feet, and together they were able to join Tom. They were shocked to see Amanda standing upon the opposite side of the vehicle.
“She wants to know how Connor’s getting on.” Tom informed them.
“Like you care!” Janice spat the words at Amanda.
“I do care.” Amanda said defensively. “I’d never wish harm on Connor.”
“That’s rich.” Janice scoffed. “You’re the one who put him in hospital!”
“I didn’t mean to.” Amanda looked chagrined. “Blame it on my adrenal gland: it’s designed to be over-active.”
Janice wasn’t giving up. “And your libido?”
“Ditto.” Amanda chanced a small smile, “Though I don’t believe anyone has ever come to harm because of that particular facet of my physiology. I’m guaranteed disease-free by the way. Totally immune, And I don’t carry.”
“That’s a relief.” Tom wiped his brow. “Not that I doubted you for a minute.”
“He’s in good hands, if that’s what you need to know.” Wozniak told her gently. “He’s in no danger.” He then added, “Where’s Jart?”
Amanda shrugged her shoulders. “He’s fast, but he’s not that fast.” She replied. “Once I had the car up to speed he gave up. I expect he’ll be making his way back to The Peaks by now.”
“What?” Janice exploded. “Dave and Judith are there. If he gets in…” Janice didn’t dare speak the words. “Oh my god – poor Judith!”
“And poor Dave too.” Tom added. “He’ll die trying to protect her!”
Amanda looked around the car park frantically. “You mean they didn’t come with you? When I saw your car go past like the hounds of hell were chasing it I assumed you were all aboard. That’s when I made my break for freedom. Oh fuck!”
Wozniak didn’t waste another second in discussion or recriminations. “Get in the car!” He shouted.
It had been a manic drive out of the town in the direction of Brambledown, and it had tested Wozniak’s driving skills to the limit. He’d prayed all the way that no police cars spotted him, and came in pursuit: He wasn’t about to stop for anyone. Tom had phoned ahead to warn Dave and Judith. Wozniak suggested that they lock themselves in the cellar, which they agreed to do. But now, as they drove into The Peaks, they could see the younger couple waiting for them at the door.
Hurrying from the car to the house, they were all beckoned inside. Once in the hallway, Dave shut the door and threw the heavy cast iron bolt across. Janice then proceeded into her natural habitat – the kitchen, whilst Tom joined Dave and Judith on guard duties.
“I promise – this time I’ll lead him away.” Amanda assured Wozniak as they entered the dining room. “If I’d known they were here I’d never have driven off.”
Wozniak turned and grasped Amanda’s shoulders. He could feel the incredible musculature beneath the skin. He felt certain that if she were to take on a fully-grown male chimpanzee in a fight, the chimp would be slaughtered in the opening seconds.
Amanda must have sensed his thoughts. “You think I’m tough: I’m breakfast for men like Jart. I could take on both Tom and you, and you’d both be dead before you’d even thought about where to land your first punch. Don’t be stupid: Don’t try to take him on.”
“We have a weapon.” Wozniak confided in her.
An eyebrow arched.
“He needs sunlight to reach his full potential, right?”
Amanda appeared to warm to the idea immediately. She nodded, and added, “Full potential, yes: But he’s still pretty awesome at half potential.”
“But he’s been using quite a bit of energy today, wouldn’t you say? What with all that chasing after you.”
Amanda shrugged her shoulders in ambivalence. “To a certain extent. But if he’s eaten…”
“What would happen if we were able to cut off his light source?”
Amanda paused to consider this before she replied. “He’d be running on internal power.”
“Like we do.” Wozniak said, a huge grin spreading across his face. “He would tire in a fight. Keep at him for long enough and he’d soon be knackered. One of us could get in the killing blow.”
Amanda dropped into a chair. Wozniak seated himself opposite her.
“Well there’s your problem.” She said as she stared sightlessly out of the window through one jet back eye, and the other appearing quite normal. “Keep at him long enough. How long is long enough. He’d have incapacitated or killed you all long before you reach that situation.”
Wozniak’s expression took on a look of cunning. “But what if we found ourselves some reinforcements? Lots of reinforcements?”
Amanda was intrigued. “Please – continue.”
Wozniak was about to speak when he found that his hands were empty. “Oh shit.” He said. “I’ve left my baseball bat in the car. Be back in a moment.”
He then stood, entered the hallway, and drew back the lock. “I’m just visiting the car.” He called through to Tom who was watching the garden.
He received a thumbs-up.
Wozniak had left the baseball bat between the front seats, so he automatically went to retrieve via the drivers’ side. He’d just dropped into his seat when the door slammed shut on him. He didn’t have time for a single expletive before the car was rocked violently, and turned entirely upon its side. Wozniak clung on to the steering wheel in an attempt to keep himself in position as the car continued to roll over. It then crashed down on to its roof, and Wozniak was toppled from his seat.
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2014
Be warned: never combine bean-gas and matches. This guy did; and look at the result…
I wonder whatever happened to the pieces of polystyrene packaging in the 2016 element in this picture. Very likely washed up on some foreign shore. The picture depicts the end of the world: seems to me that we’re more likely to end it than any black hole.
I may have mentioned this before – in fact I’m sure I have – but sales of my e-books have, for several years, been located somewhere south of Shitville. Of course the fact that I don’t really promote them hasn’t helped. But I’m used to this situation, and kind’a content with it. No taxes – other than the few cents I pay the U.S Government. It is a very rare occasion that I bother logging on to Lulu.com to find out how my published magnum opuses are faring, because, well, it’s not worth the bother and time it takes. Well today, in a moment of madness I did; and the situation remains grim. But there have been some sales. Namely of these…
And all were purchased by users of the Barnes & Noble Nook e-reader. So, like the times previous to this, I thank all you Nookers who have taken the time to read the above tomes, and hope you enjoyed them. They were written so long ago that it feels like someone else wrote them. How could such decent yarns have emerged from my fevered imagination? But, because I’m never quite willing to walk away from my literary efforts, and because there are people who like my ‘better’ stuff, I thought it might be a good idea to display a couple of extracts here, right now. To strike while the iron is (if not hot – then) slightly luke-warm. And here they are – chosen entirely at random…
Silent Apocalypse
We reached the flint-built Methodist Hall without incident. It was, as we expected, thoroughly locked. From her childhood Candice knew of a roof light through which she and her friends would gain access ‘just for fun’. Wayne had been one of those friends. She shinnied up a drainpipe. Then, upon all-fours, she climbed a steep slate roof; disappearing over a low façade. Moments later she reappeared; gave us a thumbs-up; and then beckoned us to join her.
As I struggled up the drainpipe behind Lee I considered the chosen victims of the virus: What if it had attacked the young, leaving only octogenarians? How long would they have survived? It began a train of thought in my head:
‘Why were we spared? Who would design such a weapon? Either it should kill your enemy, or not: Why be so selective?’
My thoughts were interrupted: Lee, whose hand was held out to help me up the last metre or so, whispered, “Shush, we think there’s someone inside.”
When I joined them on the opposite side of the façade, I too heard the muted sound of synthesized music emanating through the glass of the roof light before us.
“I wonder what he uses for electricity.” Lee echoed my own thoughts.
“I said he’s a nerd: Not an imbecile.” Candice whispered as she set about opening the roof light. “He always finds a way of getting what he wants.”
I swung from the roof light edge. Candice and Lee were already on the floor below me. It wasn’t far to drop, but I must be careful: My landing must be as silent as possible. In the event I didn’t need to: Lee found a chair onto which I could lower myself. From there we crept about the building like thieves. Eventually we found ourselves outside of a door, through which a rather repetitive form of music could be plainly heard emanating.
Candice stepped back and threw herself at the door, which succumbed to the first blow, and she went tumbling into a room full to the rafters with music sheets and electronic equipment. But of Wayne there was no sign. Candice screamed in anger. Then we both saw what she’d seen already: multiple TV monitors showing views of both inside and outside the building. They included views of our route of ingress.
“He saw us coming, and he’s done a runner.” She growled.
I checked the monitors. Several doors were on view. None of them were open, and appeared to be locked.
“Maybe not.” I said.
Five minutes later we found Wayne hiding in a broom cupboard. He positively quaked at the sight of his former girlfriend.
“Scratch what I said about him earlier.” She said to us. “He’s a nerd, and an imbecile.”
To Wayne she sneered, “You’re bright enough to set up surveillance, but too stupid to plan your escape? What did I see in a no-brain like you?”
Wayne slowly emerged from the cupboard. He was less than cordial. “What do you want?”
He still had eyes only for Candice: As far as he was concerned Lee and I were mere peripherals. It was almost as though we didn’t exist.
“Your expertise.” She replied. “Electronics. Sonics. Computer wrestling. I don’t know exactly. You know – your line of work.”
“Are you gonna use it against Nige Hawley? If so, you can forget it: I don’t care what you threaten me with – I’m not going up against Nige Hawley.” Wayne appeared adamant.
“Who is Nige Hawley?” I enquired.
“You been living under a stone?” He looked at me for the first time.
“No, we’ve been fighting to survive, thank you.” I took an instant dislike to Wayne Fairgrove, “And don’t answer a question with a question.”
“He only runs the town, that’s all” Wayne almost spat out the words, “The only reason he hasn’t grabbed me yet is ‘cause I’ve hidden myself away too well for him to find me.”
“I’ve got news for you, lover-boy: The only reason he hasn’t found you is because he has no use for you yet.” Candice pushed him in the direction of his electronics room. “Guess who suggested this place to us.”
On the way to his room we explained how Steve had guided us to the former church. Wayne must have realized that his hidey-hole was now compromised because by the time we arrived at our destination his skin had paled and he’d turned into a nervous wreck.
“Pull yourself together.” Candice snapped at him, taking a cassette tape from her pocket. “We want you to find out what this is all about. Stick it on your computer: poke it through some filters, or whatever it is you do.”
After Wayne accepted the tape from Candice’s outstretched hand, Lee spoke: “What are you doing for power?”
Wayne slipped into his nerd role instantly. Once in possession of the tape, he set about his task with relish. He immediately began transferring the data from tape onto computer disc. He replied whilst working, “Got a genny down in the basement. Run the exhaust up the stink pipe. No one’s noticed it yet.”
Lee was suitably impressed.
To our collective amazement, it took a mere half-hour to find the buried information on the tape. He transferred it back onto the tape so that we could play it back without the need for power or extensive equipment. Lee and I were grateful for his help, and even Candice softened her approach slightly…
“So,” she asked him, “what are you going to do now your lair’s been flagged up?
“Don’t know. I haven’t thought ahead that far.” He replied.
“Well you’d better think fast, mate,” Lee told him, “When we let your mate loose, chances are he’ll pay you a visit.”
“Steve wouldn’t do that.” Wayne argued. “He’s an old mate.”
“Yeah, but that was before you helped us.” Lee argued in turn.
“But he wouldn’t have to know.” Wayne was looking desperate, “You could tell him that I wasn’t here.”
Candice stepped in. “We could, and maybe we will: but we can’t make him believe us. Do you really want to take the chance that Nige Hawley won’t come calling himself? We found the broom cupboard easily enough; I hardly think he’s likely to miss it.”
I took, what I considered, the kinder approach: “Perhaps you should come with us. Until you can find another permanent home at least…”
“Yeah, good idea.” Lee agreed, and injected a little urgency; “We tied that Steve bloke up; but there’s no knowing if his mates aint found him by now. We’d better get a move on.”
“But my stuff:” Wayne complained. “It isn’t exactly portable.”
Candice took him by the collar. “No – but you are. Come on.” Then she dragged him from the room.
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2014
Silent Resistance
Five minutes later Tasman and I sat in front of the monitor that showed the images that the camcorder had most recently recorded. Unsurprisingly the opening scene reflected the room in which we now sat. In the blink of an eye it was replaced by the wooden panelled interior of what looked to me like a fine English country house. In many ways it reminded me of my lost home.
Tasman must have picked up on a surge in my emotions because he slipped a hand into mine and squeezed gently. But those emotions were swept aside by what we saw next. From left of camera a tall, broad-shouldered man sporting a greying beard walked into view. He spotted the camera and made straight for it – stopping short and giving us a smile so fabulous that it must have warmed the heart of many a woman in its time.
“Janice.” He called to someone out of view, “We have a visitor.”
A heavy oak door opened from another room and a tall, willowy woman entered what I took to be a drawing room. She followed the man’s gaze. “Oh,” she said, “that wasn’t there earlier.”
“No.” The man replied. “I just watched it arrive. It just appeared out of nowhere. There was the faintest pop of displaced air. What do you reckon – dimensional relocation or time travel?”
Janice placed a finger upon her lower lip and pouted in thought.
“Peter.” She said almost admonishingly, “Do you really have to ask? Was it accompanied by a clap of thunder?”
Peter thought about it. “Not that I recall.” He replied with a slight grin that strongly suggested that he was thoroughly enjoying the situation.
“Then you have your answer.” Janice said as she apparently dismissed the mystery and made for the door, “It’s obviously from another quantum reality.”
After watching the door close behind Janice, Peter looked directly into the camera lens. He then used a colourful expletive and told us what we could do with our ‘LDD’ machine, that had we done as he instructed we would have required medical aid. A large hand then reached out and switched the camera off.
Tasman turned to me. “Wow.” He said. “People: ordinary people: in an ordinary house; who are apparently familiar with inter-dimensional travel. Did you notice that he was so matter-of-fact about it too?”
I didn’t think that the man named Peter was too enamoured with inter-dimensional travel. I said as much to Tasman.
“An Earth with more advanced technology perhaps?” Tasman surmised.
“Did you notice that they referred to time-travel as though it was commonplace too.” I said. “I wonder what LDD means.”
“Linear Dimensional Displacement, I expect.” Tasman answered. “I almost gave our machine that moniker, but Shane changed my mind for me; she said it sounded like an insecticide.”
“Perhaps we should place that reality off-limits too.” I suggested.
“I agree.” Tasman replied as he ran a pencil through the dimensional coordinates, “I’m not sure I want them knowing where we are.”
It’s a shame though.” I said slightly wistfully, “It was lovely seeing human adults again. I would love to have spoken to them. They may have been annoying at times, but I miss having adults around – telling us what to do and when to do it. That couple looked so comfortable together too. I wonder who they were.”
Tasman could have only imagined my feelings at that moment. Even if he’d read my mind I don’t think he could really have understood.
“Peter and Janice.” He said as he gave me a kiss upon the forehead. “Later we’ll propose a toast to them over dinner. Want to try some more?”
Naturally I agreed, and the second attempt to access an alternate Brambledown took the camera to an old country dwelling. This one was perhaps a little less ostentatious, but the decor suggested that the owner had both good taste and the money to go with it – even if most of the flat surfaces were laden down a little too heavily with what Kylie would have termed ‘expensive knick-knacks’. Clocks, glass, and porcelain antiques abounded. The loud ‘tick-tock’ of a huge grandfather clock filled the room. Between beats of the clockwork mechanism I thought I heard the sounds of doors closing in other parts of the edifice. It was late in the day, and the lowering sun blazed amber through two tall west facing windows. Footsteps could be heard approaching, and for some ridiculous reason I felt myself becoming nervous – as though we were about to be caught stealing about someone else’s home. I jumped when a door opened abruptly and a teen-aged girl in a pair of rather grown-up slacks, a cardigan, and a pair of flat slip-on shoes walked past the camera without noticing it, and descended a flight of stairs into a basement.
Tasman turned to see me in a state of confusion.
“That girl.” I shouted as I pointed towards the monitor. “I know her. She’s dead!”
© Paul Trevor Nolan 2014
It’s strange that I chose that particular extract at random, because it links these two books with the central characters of these two books…
…and was little more than a throw away scene. But, I remember, I was so enjoying writing Silent Resistance, that I couldn’t help but include a smidgin of important elements from books that were also a joy to create. Hubris? No, I just love my characters too much.
…unless, of course, Teacher were to fall backwards off that precipitous cliff.
When Magnuss and Hair-Trigger want to explore the surface of cold, sub-zero, and thoroughly uninviting alien worlds, they inevitably choose a used Proton 1.5 Iswara in which to do it…
Only two-wheel-drive, but it’ll take you anywhere. Mine did. Brilliant in the snow. Conversely it was a very popular choice for taxi drivers in it’s more tropical homeland, Malaysia. Pity Proton went broke – the Jumbuck was the prettiest pick-up ever built. I liked my 1.5 – even if the family hated it and didn’t like to be seen in it. After receiving more than it’s fair share of vandalism, the already vile styling looked even worse; and when we moved into a more affluent area, the family were unamimous: the Proton had to go! Obviously Magnuss and Hair-Trigger bought it from the scrap dealer and carted it off across the Galaxy.
It’s shaggy, and I found it living on an island…
Valentine, aboard the Punting-Modesty XL5, comes under attack from no less than three flying saucers!
Whilst out wandering, like I’m apt to do, I turned a corner – to be confronted with a view that must be so common across the planet. It’s a picture of home – for all of us, one way or another…
When earplugs die and enter the afterlife, they must cross the Bridge of Blue into Silicon Valley…
I got wet reaching this location. I got wetter returning home. Then the Sun came out for the remainder of the day – but I stayed indoors: I didn’t trust it.
Okay, yes I know I said I’d bought enough ‘goodies’ for the Yamaha – but really, at speed, the aerodynamics leave something to be desired. Windblast shoots straight off the raised ‘clocks’ and tries to lift my helmet from my head. A small screen is clearly in order. So I put one ON ORDER. And lo, verily it hath arrived…
Spanish too. Can’t be bad. Then, following a half-hour’s ham-fisted tinkering by Tooty the Wrench-Wielder – and another three-quarters of an hour test riding it (why not, it was dry and sunny), this is the result…
Spot-on. Looks nice: does the job required of it. And it was cheap too. Happy days again.
P.S you’d think I’d have put on something rather more fetching for the photograph. Aargh, you’ve seen me in my Slob Gear!
Almost Biblical, methinks. You can see this better on FLICKR
In my original Art of Considerate Parking I mentioned that, whilst living in Spain, I would endeavour to park my metallic purple Renault Twingo beside bright yellow cars because I liked the aesthetics of the colourful juxtapositioning. I also mentioned that (at the time of the post) I had a tedious silver car, and that I didn’t bother these days because nothing looked good with silver. Well that car is gone – replaced with something much more visually interesting. And, finally I’ve found a yellow car to park it with…
Yes, now I can park considerately too! And if the manufacturers would produce more yellow cars (not…yawn…an ocean of grey, silver, and black), I’d do this more often.
I have a daughter with special educational needs. She has more than her fair share of disabilities – not least the inability to communicate properly. We’ve been together for twenty-nine years, and (even with all my experience) often I have no idea what she is trying to tell me. But she isn’t stupid, and can find ways and means of getting the message home. One of these is the use of her little Sony Cybershot. They say a picture is worth a thousand words: well since she doesn’t have a thousand words, that’s doubly true for her. So, recently, as she sat at her bedroom window, she spotted an aircraft flying at high altitude. Instantly she knew she’d seen something I could use in one of my Earplug Adventures. A couple of minutes later I was presented with this…
…and told that it would look great with a spaceship on the end of it – though not quite in those words. I duly obliged…
…and the Gravity Whelk had launched. I then took it a step further…
By the time I’d finished, some clouds had blown in and the vapour trail had dissipated. Noting that the clouds appeared as if they were being viewed from above – as though from an aircraft…
…my daughter had another creative idea: the wispy vapour trail was obviously caused by a falling aircraft or space ship. She brought the picture to me immediately. This is the result of our co-operation…
I placed the Gravity Whelk in exactly the position she indicated it should be.
I rather think this is a case of (what they used to call) ‘a chip off the old block’. I couldn’t be more pleased.
Walking the Fine Line Between Clever and Stupid 