“Donuts! I want donuts!” my teenage body screamed. Fresh baked donuts with cinnamon sugar on top. Hot donuts that burnt the inside of my mouth.
Driver picked her crowded teeth with the end of a paper clip.
We sat at the bridge of the “Storm”, a small craft, but we did nothing, and the computer did everything: Navigation, piloting, maintenance—you name it, the machine did it, even serving tea and coffee.
‘I suppose a hundred years has passed back there,’ I said.
‘Oh, no my dear, nothing like that! Time doesn’t pass that quickly.’ Driver corrected. ‘Only a few months really.’
‘You have one more chance to redeem yourself, Ensign Mueller,’ Driver took a deep breath and made a tent shape with her hands and fingers. ‘You will be heading for Boris’ hideout; his planet. Over the past few days, we’ve been able to track Boris’ movements. It’s a distance, many light years from here, close to the galactic hub near a black hole. This mission is extremely dangerous. You’ll sever all ties with family, friends and shipmates. Although for you the time will seem only a few weeks, because of the time distortion near the epicenter of the Milky Way, for the rest of us, time will pass into years, maybe decades.Read more "Out of the Chocolate Box (54)"
A weedy male with a salad bowl haircut and a face that would make alien abduction stories believable, stepped up beside them. I assumed he was the newest addition to the LSS. Great! Another little upstart! Just what I need!
‘This is Bruce.’ Liesel barely moved her lips. She mumbled something I could not catch, then said, ‘He’s taking your place…Sorry things didn’t work out.’
We walked the path from the beach. The Convent emerged over the dune before us, reminding me of Le Mont St. Michel in Brittany; beautiful, yet imposing.
Already the incoming tide consumed the sand on the shore.
‘Do you think Trigger will be alright?’
Günter gazed over to the Convent and for some time remained silent.
No, Boris activity has escalated in the Centre over the past six months.’ Delaney chewed her gum faster. ‘What he’s been doing with the Indig has concerned us, hasn’t it, Hooper.’
‘We’ve reported it,’ Hooper said.
‘But no one on Earth is listening.’
For a moment I thought they might have really been special residents from the local estate, or at least some odd orphans from the Children’s Home up the road. They were peculiar enough. I recoiled. ‘Er, where exactly are you from? I mean no one goes around in so much hot clothing on a hundred-degree day.’Read more "Aussie Summer Tales (2)"