Smash Freshmen, Chapter 1

The Smash Freshmen

Chapter 1: Newcomer

by Paul Adams

This is the first chapter of a fan fiction I wrote a long time ago, back around the time of the first trailer for SSB4. If you want to read the whole story, you can find it at Fanfiction.net.

Super Smash Brothers.

A tournament founded almost four years before by eight of the mightiest warriors from all around the universe: Super Mario of the Mushroom Kingdom, the great ape Donkey Kong, Link the Hero of Time, bounty hunter Samus Aran, Yoshi of Yoshi's Island, Kirby of Dreamland, ace star pilot Fox McCloud, and the electrical Pokémon Pikachu. Ever since then, the tournament had been hosted annually. Each time, the eight founders invited new heroes and warriors from around the universe to compete. This year, the tournament was opening once again. The founders had gathered once again and began making decisions as to the combatants. The first few invitation letters had been sent out and stages were being constructed.

The Smash Grounds loomed in the distance as a lone traveler trudged up the path leading to the front gate. A young boy known only as Villager hiked up his backpack and straightened his hat.

"Here goes nothing," he said to himself. Villager was short, with small legs and a large head. He wore a red shirt and his backpack was full of an assortment of random things he had grabbed from around his house that he thought might be useful. Villager gulped at the sight of the tournament he'd always dreamed of joining. So far, he had always lived a simple life as the only human in a small town full of talking animals. The most exciting thing he had ever done was move to the town. Ever since the tournaments started, he had submitted applications every year with the far-flung dream that he'd ever be considered. Then, two days ago, he received a surprising acceptance letter marked with the smash seal.

Now that he was here, Villager was starting to have second thoughts. He'd always dreamed of holding his own against the greats, but as he got closer and closer he felt hugely outclassed. He honestly wondered if they had gotten his letter mixed up with someone else's. He looked up at the banner over the gate. It was emblazoned with a large circular symbol with an off-center crosshairs. On each side of it were four emblems representing each of the eight founders: A mushroom for Mario, a large DK insignia for Donkey Kong, a triangle made up of three smaller triangles for Link, a circle with a lightning bolt through it for Samus, a spotted egg for Yoshi, a star for Kirby, a wolf silhouette with wings for Fox, and a Poke Ball shape for Pikachu.

Villager stepped up to the gate and tentatively put his hand out to it. He pushed it open, taking his first step inside the Smash Grounds. He gasped as he looked around. The foundations of several stages were already under construction. He could see the four platforms of the original Battlefield nearby. In the sky above floated a reconstruction of Link's home, the Skyloft. In the distance stood a stadium, and next to it was a training studio. A giant base with a skeletal face on the front of it and a large "W" rose menacingly on Villager's left. Far off stood a separate section with stages he couldn't make out. The one stage that really took his breath though was splayed out right in front of him: A large stage that recreated his hometown of Animal Crossing, with a large flat platform hanging above it.

"This is . . . my stage."

A gloved hand placed itself on Villager's shoulder. "Yep, it sure is," a well-known Italian voice said.

Villager turned around to find Mario himself standing behind him. "Mr. Mario, sir!" he said in excitement.

Mario smiled. "Welcome to Super Smash Bros., Villager," he said, shaking Villager's hand. "I'm glad to see you got my letter."

"Yeah, um, I got it," he mumbled.

"Good," Mario said, "We're glad to have you here."

"Yeah, I guess." Villager was once again reminded of how outclassed he felt.

Mario smiled as though he understood what was going through his mind. "You'll do fine. I believe you'll do great things."

"But, you and all the others are so much more experienced," Villager said, "You've all done so much."

"That may be true," Mario said, fixing his hat and stroking his mustache, "But we all started out in the same state you are now. Today is just the start of your adventure. Don't worry too much."

Villager put on a half-hearted smile. "I'll try my best."

"That's a good lad."

A small pink bubble creature with a face and tiny arms waddled up to Mario and tapped him on the shoulder. "Mario, we need your consultation on the new Super Mario stage."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll be right there," Mario said, "Kirby, have you met our newcomer Villager."

Villager's jaw dropped. Now he was standing before two of the founders. Kirby looked Villager up and down, stood on his tiptoes, and waved his little arms above his head. "HI!" he said in his trademark move. Villager gawked speechlessly.

"He . . . he . . . he did the move . . . he said the line . . . he . . . ," Villager stuttered, trying to compose himself while simultaneously geeking out.

Kirby raised an eyebrow at him. "Anyway," Mario said, "Perhaps you should give the kid his dorm number before he passes out."

Kirby nodded. He pulled a key of out thin air and handed it to Villager. "Room 5," he said, "The complex just beyond Dr. Wily's Fortress. You'll be rooming with another newcomer."

"Th—thank . . . you . . . ," Villager mumbled.

"The orientation for newcomers is at six," Mario told him, "See you then. Now, Kirby, let's get to the construction site. I'm thinking something to do with Super Mario Galaxy, maybe some funky effects with the gravity . . . ."

Their voices trailed off as they made their way to one of the distant construction projects, leaving Villager alone. Villager found the complex Kirby had told him about and used the key to open the door to Room 5. As he opened the door, he heard loud noises from inside, as though chunks of metal were being thrown around. Stepping into the room, he discovered it was from his roommate, who was currently digging through a suitcase full of tools and scrap metal.

"Um, excuse me," Villager mumbled.

The roommate looked up. At first glance, he looked like an ordinary human with a completely blue outfit and helmet, but as Villager looked closer, he realized the boy was a robot and his human face was simply synthetic. In the place of a left arm he had a large blue laser cannon.

"Oh, hey," the robot smiled cordially, "How's it going."

"You're Mega Man," Villager stuttered, once again so stunned he could barely speak.

Mega Man blushed a little. "Yep, that's me," he said, "Although, you can call me Rock. Or Mega Man, if you like. It doesn't matter, I'll answer to both. So what do they call you?"

"V-Villager," Villager said, "from Animal Crossing. Don't you work for the Capcom organization, not Nintendo?"

"Yeah," Mega Man replied, "I'm kind of a special guest. Like Solid Snake and Sonic the Hedgehog last year. Remember that."

"Of course," Villager said, "that was the coolest thing ever when they joined last year."

"Well, I'm the next. Nice to be working with you." Mega Man extended his non-gun hand and shook Villager's. "You can pick whichever bed you want. I'm easy as long as I'm near an outlet." He pulled a cord out of his side. "Robot, you know."

"Right," Villager smiled. "Well, I guess I'll take the far bed, then."

"Cool," Mega Man said. He found what he was looking for in his suitcase and flopped onto the other bed. "Good to meet you, Villager."

Villager grinned and hopped onto the next bed. He put his hands behind his head and looked at the ceiling, excitement flowing through him as he imagined what it would be like to finally take part in the greatest tournament in history.

Standing atop the recreation of Dr. Wily's fortress and looking out over the slowly rising Smash Grounds, the evil King Bowser grinned maliciously. The wind blew through his fiery red hair and over his yellow reptilian skin. He pulled absentmindedly at the spiked bands around his neck and wrists and hefted the heavy spiked shell on his back.

"So," he grumbled in his deep gravelly voice, "Mario's starting up another Super Smash Bros. tournament, eh? I think this would be a good opportunity to cause a few problems for my dear old friend."

Thanks for reading. Comment below and follow me for more.

Journal: The Confrontation

Journal: The Confrontation

by Paul Adams

Today, I would like to talk about the Confrontation. In case you don’t know,  the “three-act structure” consists of three parts: the setup, the confrontation, and the resolution. The setup and resolution should be generally small, taking up only a fourth or so of the total length of the story, coming at the beginning and end respectively. For a long time I considered them the most important parts of the story. If you can put together a good setup and a fulfilling climax, your story was good. The confrontation was just the in-between.

Now, while the setup and resolution are important, I’ve recently come to the conclusion that the confrontation is arguably the most important piece of your work. The confrontation itself takes up the bulk of the story, at least half of the work in the center and, like a sandwich, should contain the meat of the story’s content. The saying I’ve been using lately is that it should “show the viewer what THEY came to see.”

What do I mean by this? Well, if someone were to go to a sporting event, they wouldn’t be there to see two hours of detailed introductions on each player, manager, and ref involved, followed by about five minutes of gameplay, would they? (Of course, every sporting event I’ve ever been to seems to do this. But then, I’m not a sports guy, so what do I know?) Too often, a writer, filmmaker, musician, or otherwise forgets this. They get too wrapped up in telling THEIR story, that they forget that their audience couldn’t really care less about THEIR story. The trick, I’ve found, is to give the audience what THEY came for, and then weave YOUR story into it.

I suppose a good demonstration of this in the cinematic world is the difference between last year’s Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice and Pixar’s Finding Nemo. When it comes to Batman v. Superman, it should be obvious what the audience came for. Batman (wait for it) versus Superman. So then, according to the three-act structure, the first fourth of the movie should then have showed us A) who is Batman, B) who is Superman, and C) why they want to fight each other. Simple, right? Then the next hour to two hours of the movie should then have been Batman (can you guess?) fighting Superman. Some parts straight up action, some parts mental games, some parts strategy and preparation, but nevertheless a whole lot of Batman versus Superman, followed up by a satisfying conclusion that puts an end to their fighting. However, what we got was two hours of endless talking and setup, not only for Batman versus Superman but for a larger movie universe as a whole, followed by eight minutes total of actual Batman versus Superman.

Now compare that to Finding Nemo, Pixar’s endearing story about a fish father finding his fish son and crossing a whole ocean to do so. In the first fifteen minutes or so, we get a clear and concise set up of A) who Marlin is, B) who Nemo is, C) How Nemo gets captured. During the next hour or so, the audience is then treated to an adventure across a vast ocean featuring encounters with sharks, turtles, jellyfish, ocean mines, anglerfish, whales, swarms of fish, and of course Dory. Couple that off with segments of Nemo experiencing life in a fish tank, encountering his fellow fish, filters, tank features like volcanoes, kids tapping on the glass, and kids shaking the fish bag too much. All in all, more than enough to satisfy and surpass the viewers’ expectations. Then finally we get our conclusion that wraps up nicely the emotional baggage set up in the beginning.

This is something to remember throughout any genre or medium. Harry Potter, while containing several great moments of storytelling, devotes most of its time to immersing its reader in this world of magic and especially the various aspects of Hogwarts. When making a horror film, the Setup period should be spent setting up the monster and the cannon fodder, while then spending the bulk of the film building suspense and squeezing every ounce of terror from the audience. In an action movie, most of the film should be, of course, filled with non-stop action. In essence, remember what the story should be, what the audience came for, and give it to them. Whatever world you have promised them, show it to them. Nothing turns off a reader or viewer more than wanting to swim out and breathe in the full world the story has laid out for them, but constantly being driven along a narrow course through the most boring part of it just because the writer's too wrapped up in THEIR story. So, let them explore it. Immerse them in it. Give them all they hoped for and more. If you don’t, it won’t matter how good you think YOUR story is. It will never be heard.

Thanks for reading. Comment below and follow me for more.

The Mermaid

The Mermaid

by Paul Adams

           This week I'm doing something a little different. Instead of a chapter from my book, I'm uploading a short story I wrote last year. This is the first draft rather than the revised version, because I prefer this out of the two. I hope you enjoy.

            I sat alone, surrounded by darkness and cold.

            I breathed in, knowing full well that for anyone else such a thing should be impossible. The rock I sat on was smooth and solid, made that way by thousands of years of constant pressure. A batch of fan worms grew from the cliff face nearby, their feathery heads swaying in the gentle current.

            I looked up in the direction of the faraway surface. How deep was I now, I wondered. About six miles, maybe. Certainly deeper than any other human had come down so far. But then again, I’d been down here for over twenty years now. Who knows how far technology had come in that time.

            I pushed off my rock and let myself sink even farther. My hair flowed around me, tickling my skin like the seaweed higher up. I closed my eyes, feeling the water rushing around my body, groaning slightly as the pressure pushed at me, trying to crush me into nothing. It wouldn’t work. In my life, I had been shot, burned alive as a witch, mauled by a tiger, run over by a train, bitten by a shark. Nothing had ever affected me, and most likely nothing ever would.

            As the darkness grew deeper and deeper, memories surfaced from my . . . six? . . . seven hundred years of life? I couldn’t even remember anymore. I remembered the country I was born in, long since gone, merged into some new country, some new empire. As I recalled, that empire didn’t even exist anymore. I remembered technology coming and going, replaced by more and better technology. I remembered people, standing out in the beginning, but then merging together as an incomprehensible mess of faces as they came closer to the present.

            I remembered my parents, simple farmers who wanted nothing more than to provide for me and my siblings. I remembered my first husband, a cruel man who had raided our village, burned our farm, and killed my family. I could still feel the terror as he held back his sword from striking me down, enraptured by my beauty. I could feel his rough hands grabbing me and taking me away as his spoils.

            I could remember the old nurse who tended to my wounds every time he beat me or raped me. I remembered the close friendship we formed, the companionship and love we shared. We became so close, she shared with me a secret she had never told anyone before. A secret she couldn’t tell anyone under threat of death. A secret she inherited from the ancient people she had been taken from.

            She had spoken strange words to me. A tingle had run through my flesh giving me a strength I had never felt before. I didn’t understand at first, but I soon did. My husband never hurt me again. He couldn’t if he tried. It was only two more years before he passed, his throat slit as he lay in his bed at home.

            My feet found rock and sand. The senses I had developed over the past twenty years wandering around down here told me that I had only found an outcropping and that the trench went even further down from here.

            Over the last few centuries before I came down here, I had read a number of works of fiction about people like me. Immortals, people for whom death had no grasp. People immune to harm and pain. In each, the stories always depicted the immortals wasting their endless life, throwing it away on debauchery and violence, free of consequences. I understood the impulse, the reasons why the stories always went that way. I had even delved into the practice myself a few times over the years, but after a while it became boring to me.

            Sometimes I wished the stories would focus on something like this. The immortals using their invulnerability to do and see things no other human ever could. I remembered the first few years, exploring the higher levels of the ocean. No scuba gear, no submarines, nothing but my own body among the coral and fish and seaweed. The beauty of it all was unlike anything I had ever seen before.

            Shortly after my last husband passed, peacefully in his sleep at the age of eighty-six, I remember reading somewhere that ninety-five percent of the world’s oceans were still unexplored. Once my last child was gone, I decided to try it out. I walked away from my world, or at least what had been my world for the past thirty years or so. I left everything behind and walked straight into the ocean.

            Carefully, I sat myself down on the rocky outcropping. The stone felt cool and smooth against my skin, just like every rock before it. A small crustacean scuttled away as I rested my right hand against the stone. Something made of plastic and fabric met my fingers. I pulled back in surprise at first, the feeling alien to me after so long. I tenderly wrapped my fingers around it and picked it up. It was a pair of scuba goggles, green and black with thick lining around the giant lenses. They looked like they had been down here a while, maybe a year or two, judging by the wear and tear they had received. The colors were faded and the straps were threadbare. The plastic felt flimsy, the lining coming apart at the seams.

            The goggles reminded me of a number of times in the early years, when I would swim to the surface on occasion and convince the sailors of a passing vessel that I was a mermaid. A small laugh escaped my lips as I remembered once when a sailor got so excited he threw himself off the boat. I let myself sink back down to the bottom before he got his bearings and spent the next several minutes laughing as the sailor swam around frantically searching for me while his buddies tried to reel him back in.

            I looked up toward the surface again, to where the goggles had fallen from a ship long since gone. Maybe it was time to go back up, I thought. I had seen amazing things down here, things no human could ever dream of. Animals and plants of all shapes and sizes, colors beyond the spectrum of imagination. But now, once again, it was all starting to blend together. More fish, more coral, more seaweed. A lot of blue and a lot of black.

           The more I sat, the more I thought about returning to the surface. The more I thought about returning to the surface, the more I realized I didn’t want to do that either. There was nothing for me there. In my life, I had been a queen, a slave, a mother, a housewife, a CEO, a soldier, a prostitute. I had seen America, England, China, India, Africa, Egypt. I had been through more wars than I could count. I had climbed to the top of Mount Everest, and now I sat near the bottom of the Mariana Trench. I had seen the rise and fall of empires, and I had seen the dawning of the industrial age, followed shortly by the information age.

           Faces stuck out in my mind. People I had loved and hated. My mother, father, brothers and sisters, all burned alive in the flame. My first husband, that cruel tyrant, stretching out his hand to strike me down. The woman who made me what I am, eventually succumbing to old age. She saved me, but in the end, could do nothing for herself. My second husband, the one I had cared for most, dead on a battlefield. My last husband, a good man and a good friend. Other husbands, most of whom I could barely remember.

            My children. Thirty-six in total. Wasn’t it interesting, I thought to myself. After all these years, I couldn’t remember how many husbands and partners I’d had, yet I could still remember every child. I could see their faces each as if they were right in front of me. I had watched each one grow into adulthood, build a life of their own, and eventually succumb to old age.

            My heart hurt for all of them. For my parents, my husbands, my children, my friend. Other friends I had made over the years. All of them gone. There was nothing left for me on the surface. I had seen and done it all. I turned to the ocean because it was all that was left. And now, I had seen all of that too. What else was there to do?

            The goggles slipped from my fingers and disappeared into the deep.

            I sat alone, surrounded by darkness and cold.

            Thanks for reading. Comment below and follow me for more.

Elder Newman

Elder Newman

by

Paul Adams

“I’ve been in touch with the General Authorities in Salt Lake, and it’s been decided that you should be sent home.”

I sat in silence, my mouth hanging open, too stunned to speak, as President Spain delivered the soul-shattering news. It was the final nail in the coffin. That metaphoric straw on the camel’s back that proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that I was a useless failure.

“You will receive an honorable discharge from the Massachusetts Boston mission, and you will continue your service at Temple Square in Salt Lake as a service missionary.”

I continued to listen to the mission president’s explanations in a state of numb stupor. I couldn’t think. I only managed to offer weak replies of “okay” and “I understand” as the words “sent home” bounced through my brain, ricocheting off all the other words jumbled around in there, tearing me down and driving me insane, all in the same harsh voice full of condescension that I had heard every day since I started my mission.

It all started six weeks before, the day after I arrived in Boston airport. The other six new missionaries and I sat in a row of cold, hard folding chairs in the back of a large room in the local church building. Soon the room was filled with at least a hundred other missionaries. President Spain stood at the front of the room, announcing the new companion assignments.

“Elder Newman,” he announced.

A tall missionary with short brown hair and a face reminiscent of high school jocks from a thousand different movies stood up.

“You’ll be serving with Elder Adams in the Amherst area,” President Spain said.

It took me a second to register that he had called my name, as he had been calling names for some time now, and I stood in hesitation. Elder Newman turned to look at me, a grin as wide as his face spreading across it. He let out a “whoop” and ran back toward me, jumping on me in a strong embrace that left my shoulders aching.

This initial warm reception left me hopeful that things were going to go well with this new companion. But it was not to be. Ever since I was in Elementary School, I had been shy and introverted, struggling to make any sort of social interaction. I had been working on improving this condition but at the time I started my mission, it still left something to be desired.

This was where our troubles began. On our first day working together, I had determined that it was best to watch and learn, taking a backseat in our discussions so that I could learn by example. When we returned home that evening, Newman retired to our study area immediately so that he could write a letter to our Mission President, reporting that I was doing nothing.

As the weeks passed, our companionship grew steadily worse. My lack of social skills severely hampered my ability to do the work we needed to do, and Newman grew steadily more cruel and critical. Over the six weeks we were together, he managed to find something wrong about everything I did. He made me his project, determined to weed out everything that made me the failure I supposedly was and correct them. He insulted my mother, father, brother, sister, and grandmother, criticized my choice of tie and what wrist I wore my watch on. None of the groceries I bought for myself were good enough, and sometimes he would even stop me in the middle of a sentence just to criticize a word choice.

One day, we were conversing casually and had been on the subject of my wanting to become a writer. I was describing to him one of the stories I wanted to write when he interrupted me midsentence.

“You know something, Elder,” he said, “I’ve decided something. I think I know the reason you want to be a writer. Your life is so pathetic and miserable that you have created these worlds for yourself that you can control to make yourself feel better.”

Several nights were spent with tennis balls being thrown at my head in an attempt to improve my poor hand-eye coordination. Every day, I had to watch my step as we went out and taught, or else on the way home, he was sure to fall deathly silent, let out a deep breath that oozed with distaste and irritation, before he would launch into a tirade spelling out exactly where I had gone wrong that day. One day, as we were eating lunch in a Subway and he had just finished criticizing my choice of sandwich toppings, he took his deep breath and said, “You know, Elder, I’ve met a lot of people who seem stupid on the outside but are actually really smart underneath. I thought it was going to be that way with you, but you are just stupid.”

The worst part of it was that I let it happen. Through it all, I kept quiet and held my tongue while he pushed me around and treated me like an idiot. This happened for two main reasons. First, I was on my mission. My job was to teach the gospel, not get into fights. I knew that if I fought back, it would only lead to contention and disrupt our work. Secondly, everything he said to me played on fears and insecurities I had already been harboring inside my own mind. So every time he threw a new insult at me, I didn’t bite back. I simply took it as uncontested fact and took it upon myself to change and be better.

At the end of our six weeks together, I was told that I would be transferred back home to Salt Lake. I was crushed. After weeks of constant mental and emotional battering from Elder Newman, it now felt like God himself had rejected me and written me off as a failure. I put on a good face for the other missionaries and held my composure until I was on the flight back home, at which point I leaned my head against the cold window and cried. It was on that flight that things changed. I determined within myself to stop beating myself up and feeling sorry for myself. My God was not someone who wrote people off. I knew that He always had a plan and that I should trust Him. I made a promise there in that airplane seat, to myself and to God, that whatever my new assignment was, I would fulfill it to the best of my ability and that I would prove I wasn’t a failure.

When I got home, I learned that I would be serving in the Family and Church History Mission in Salt Lake City, working mainly in processing many important church documents as well as finding and preparing family names for temple work to be done. In my first week alone, I accomplished more than I ever could have back in Boston, and managed to get the temple work done for over three hundred ancestors.

Newman’s words haunted me for months, but eventually I came to realize that he was wrong. I took from his words anything that was truly beneficial to me, and mentally threw away everything else, refusing to let it damage me anymore. A few months into my new mission, Elder Newman showed up at my doorstep, dishonorably discharged. It turns out my mother had taken matters into her own hands, writing to President Spain and bringing Elder Newman’s actions to light. I wasn’t there that day when he arrived, busy at work down at the Church History Library, so it was my mother who answered the door. She described later to me how he had apologized and expressed remorse for his actions in Boston as he sat at our kitchen counter, wringing a napkin in his hands. I haven’t seen him since that day.

Nearly two years later, I walked out of the Church History Library for the last time. The sky was clear and the November air felt nice in my lungs. A strange sense of peace filled me, a palpable peace that refused to go away for two whole days afterwards, no matter how much my worrying nature tried to dispel it. There are stories in our church about missionaries finishing their missions and hearing an audible voice telling them “Well done, my good and faithful servant,” or some other confirmation that their efforts had been accepted. That peace was mine. I was not a failure. God had not given up on me.

I was good enough.

Thanks for reading. Comment below, and follow me for more.

Star Keepers: The One Who was Lost

Star Keepers

Chapter Four: The One Who was Lost

by Paul Adams

Aghri stared out the window in his quarters. An endless black carpet stretched out before him, dotted with thousands of tiny lights. In his youth, he knew them as the forest of the sky, watched over by the small bark-covered minions of Raka. Since then, he had learned that they were in fact giant spheres of burning gas so far away they can only be seen as little more than a shimmer.

Aghri reached out his hand as if to grasp them, but only met with the smooth, artificial surface that granted him the view while simultaneously barring him from it. Not without reason of course. Aghri had been instructed well on the dangers of the emptiness beyond the barrier. His long, clawed fingers traced the surface, the cold sending a tremble through his arm.

He took in a deep breath. The air in his quarters still carried the smell of the trees from which it was born, the soil into which it breathes life, and many of the wondrous smells Vanash permeates her domain with for the enjoyment of all. But all of that was mixed with the stale smell of the cold metal of the room’s walls and floor.

He turned away from the window. A small square desk protruded from the wall before him, displaying a set of wooden ovals printed with images of his family. His uncle Masqa smiled at him from one, his face lined with the scars the Woraugenn invaders left on his face years ago. Another displayed his mother, father, and little sister Legn standing in the midst of a forest of young trees that had been planted to replace those burnt down in the invasion. Finally, a third depicted Aghri and his brother Sarbek, laughing together and hanging from the branches of a Korlin tree. Aghri stared at the images and smiled sadly. He picked up the third image and brushed at his brother’s face. After a second or two, Aghri replaced the image on the desk.

He stripped off his silvery Star Keeper uniform, hanging it up on a hook above the desk. His blue insignia gleamed on its collar. Aghri slipped on his preferred article of clothing, a long, red tunic made of thick, furry material that hung down to his legs. He stretched and breathed comfortably, happy to be wearing the tunic once again.

Aghri turned away from his desk and faced the wall of vines that separated the small, clean desk space from the rest of the room. Aghri parted the vines with his hand and stepped through, enjoying a long, deep breath as he stepped into his garden. Once more the fragrances and aromas generously provided by Vanash graced his nostrils and a feeling of warmth and comfort flooded through him.

A world of vibrant colors crossing every corner of the spectrum met his eyes. Aghri walked forward through the forest of vegetation, allowing the vines to hang loosely behind him. All around him, plant life from all over the galaxy were arranged in shelves and pots and plots, adding their beauty and their life force to the artificial existence of the Arrowhead. Most of the plant life came from his home planet of Wakar, but he also had among his collections chi cha from Hentu, myral from Gatta, forget-me-nots from Earth, and fela from Uinde.

Aghri made his way around the room, caressing each flower and smelling those that smelled most sweet. The humid atmosphere that permeated the room kissed his skin and awoke the silent song of the Witani people within his heart. High above, a bright light glowed on the ceiling with the vibrancy of a mid-afternoon sun, bathing the room in tender, yellow light. Aghri stopped as he passed to press his hand against a thick, red tree. Red sap clung to his hand an inch thick as he pulled it away. Aghri held the substance to his nose and sniffed it, then rubbed it away on his furry tunic, the rough material cleansing it away with one swipe.

“Not quite yet,” he said.

He gathered a number of tools from one corner and started to tend to each plant, giving each one the attention it required. Most were given water, although one himmatel fornu had to be covered in a plastic bowl that continuously pumped nitrogen onto it for thirty-nine minutes every day. The dacin on the far end of the room required Aghri to cut it down every day, leaving behind only a tiny stump.

For some, Aghri had to turn up the soil that surrounded them, while for others he had to make a small incision in the bulbous pods that grew on them in order to let the milky-white fluid that had collected drain out. Hours passed and finally, Aghri slumped against his hovel tree in the middle of the room, breathing heavily and drenched in the tears of Akaris but wearing a wide smile on his face. He looked over all the plants in his care, some with thick fat leaves almost as wide as his own torso, some with oozing, thorn-covered tendrils, and some that occasionally made hushed chirping sounds.

He sat there for a minute, allowing their wonderful and happy life force to flow through him, content in the thought that they would be able to shine as brightly tomorrow as they had today. He placed his hand against the bark of the hovel tree behind him, relishing the contact with it.

After a few more minutes, Aghri shook himself from his reverie. He made his way over to a box in the middle of the room. Digging his claws into the soft shell made from the bark of his own hovel tree, He pulled it open to reveal five multicolored gemstones. Drawing them out, he arranged them in a pentagonal shape on the floor. Aghri sat in the center of the shape, facing the green gemstone.

“Aiket,” he said, placing one hand on the right side of his stomach, “Matron of the Earth, hear my prayer. I thank you for allowing my garden to flourish and grow, and for the recovery of thy world Wakar and its rebirth and renewal in the twelve years since the Woraugenn attack. I . . . ask thy forgiveness for my neglect of my birthworld and for failing to return there in the past six years. I promise to return someday and make my proper obeisance to thee.”

Removing his hand from his stomach, Aghri stood, turned, and sat facing the purple stone next to the green. He placed his hand on the opposite side of his stomach.

“Vanash, Warrior of the Air, hear my prayer. I thank thee for allowing me to have sojourned among the Star Keepers far from my home these many years. I ask for thy blessing as I now embark on this journey and pray that thou wilt watch over me and my fellow crewmembers on our journey, that we will be prospered in our undertakings. I promise to do my best to fulfill my duties aboard the vessel Arrowhead to the best of my abilities and for as long as I am able.”

Once again, Aghri stood and repositioned himself so that he now faced the blue gem, now placing his hand on his left shoulder.

“Akaris, Lady of the Sea, hear my prayer. I thank thee for thy protection of me, and of my family on Wakar, throughout my life. I ask thee to continue to provide protection and love to my mother and father and sister on Wakar, and to my uncle in all of his journeys. I promise to do all that I can to live by thy example and to use my position and calling to protect the lives of those who cannot defend themselves, even to the sacrificing of my own life.”

Once more he turned so that he now faced the white, translucent gem, placing his hand now upon his forehead.

“Raka, Lord of All, hear my prayer. I thank thee for thy diligent service to me and my people throughout my life and through all of history. I ask thee to continue to provide thy diligent service to the people on Wakar and to all people that reside within the United Worlds. I promise to dedicate my service aboard the Arrowhead to thee, and to do all I can to protect and serve the people of the United Worlds.”

Aghri removed his hand from his forehead and turned to look at the red gemstone to my left. His final prayer was to Vask, Master of Fire. He remained where he sat, staring into the rich red color of the stone, pondering what he might say. The longer Aghri stared, the more anger rose within his heart. Images raced through his mind, reminding him of that terrible night so many years ago. Images of his brother’s body severed in two against a backdrop of bright red flames. Finally, Aghri stood, collected the five gems, and placed them back inside their container.

Aghri sat back against his hovel tree, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply in order to calm himself. Once he felt at peace again, he sat quietly for a few more minutes. Eventually, he got up and made his way back over to the wall of vines surrounding his desk. Aghri pushed them aside and sat down on the floating platform that rose out of the floor as he passed. Toward the top of the table, a small, square socket was set into the surface. Aghri picked up the device laying on the windowsill nearby and set it into the socket. He gave the table a soft tap and its surface lit up, displaying various official memos and notices across its surface. His call to serve aboard the Arrowhead was still open from when he had read it prior to boarding. Aghri sat at the desk for maybe a half an hour or more, flipping absently through everything.

Once he had read just about everything twice, he tapped the surface again, putting everything away.  A small red light flashed in the bottom corner of the table, alerting him that he had messages. He tapped it and a list of file names spread across the table. Most of them were a random assortment of three names. The two topmost names glowed a slight green. The second of the two was the most frequent name on the list. He tapped it and his mother’s face appeared in the air over the table.

“Hi, Aghri,” she said. She looked a little thin and had large dark bags under her eyes, but she still bore the same spritely vigor that she always had. “I hope you’re doing well. Your uncle tells me you have been promoted. He says you’re the first officer of a ship now. Your father and I are so proud of you, honey. You should call us and we can celebrate. Or send us a message, if you’re too busy. We—um, your sister misses you. Your dad, too. Me too, I guess. We want to hear from you. I love you.”

Aghri’s mother’s image disappeared. He breathed, wiping his eyes. He tapped the Ubar word for “respond” next to my mother’s name. A green light lit up on the table and his own face reflected back at him. No answer. He’d have to leave a message. “Hi, Mom,” he said. “Um, I got your message. I’m here, aboard the Arrowhead.” He grabbed his uniform off of its hook and showed the blue insignia on it. “There you go. Commanding officer rank now. I’m . . . doing fine. My garden’s still growing well. I hope the grove’s regrowing well back home. I miss you guys. You, Legn, Dad . . .”

Aghri mouthed wordlessly, at a loss for anything else to say. He didn’t like to admit it, but Aghri felt as if he were drifting further and further from his heritage and his homeworld, despite how much he tried to cling to it by maintaining the garden in his quarters. After six years apart, his parents and sister might as well have been as alien to him as his human captain or the lenghu communications officer. “I’ll talk to you later, okay,” he said. He raised both hands above his head. “Bye.”

Aghri’s image disappeared, returning the screen to his messages page. His eyes drifted to the glowing message above his mother’s. The Witani letters spelled out the name Legn. He tapped the name.

The image of a small Witani girl appeared before him. She looked no older than he had been when the Woraugenns invaded. Her thin hair draped down around her face in single strands and her large aqua eyes bore a distinct resemblance to Aghri’s father. The girl wore an awkward smile as if addressing a stranger.

“Hi, Aghri,” she said. “It’s me, Legn. I guess you already knew that. A-Ma says you’re going on a ship soon. I think that’s really cool. Anyway, I just wanted to tell you what’s going on around here.” She held up a small hairy lizard with two legs and a long neck. “I taught Nka to bring me fruit from five different trees. Watch.”

She looked at her pet. “Nka, go get me some Za fruit. Go get Za fruit.”

The tiny lizard stared at her for a second, turning its head to the side. Then it dropped its gaze from her face and started nibbling at the skin on her palm.

“Ow, hey! Nka, stop that!” She put the lizard down and turned back to look at me. “Sorry,” she said. “I guess he’s not that trained yet. Um, did I show you the tree I planted last week?” She started walking a little bit, the image following her as she went. She bent down and the image showed a small bulbous tree that was almost spherical growing out of the ground. The tree looked almost identical to the one Aghri had just milked two hours ago. “It’s already got three leaves, see?” She pointed out the leaves that grew from a puckered knob on the top of the tree. “A-Pa says its growing really well. It’s probably going to be one of the biggest trees in the forest soon.”

She paused, trying to think of anything else to say. “I, um, guess that’s about it,” she said. “A-Ma misses you. She keeps talking about you all the time. I kind of miss you too. A little. But that’s okay. All the other kids are super jealous that my big brother’s a Star Keeper. So, yeah, I’m kind of popular around here. So, yeah. Um, I can’t think of anything else to say. Bye-bye.”

She raised both hands to the side of her face again as the image disappeared. Aghri sighed sadly, his finger hovering over the respond button. He tried to imagine trying to carry on an actual conversation with her, two virtual strangers saying “um” repeatedly across hundreds of lightyears of distance. Ultimately, Aghri dropped his finger. He swiped back to his contacts and instead selected the only family member with whom he could still carry on a conversation.

After a few moments, his uncle’s face appeared, the scars on his face matching the white insignia at his collar. His mouth spread into a toothy grin at the sight of his nephew, the destroyed skin pulling at his mouth and preventing it from stretch as far as it could. “Aghri,” Masqa said. “I was hoping to hear from you soon.”

Aghri smiled. “Hello, uncle. How’s headquarters life treating you?”

Masqa rubbed at his forehead. “Dreadfully boring,” he said. “All I’m expected to do all day is send other people out on exciting adventures. Admiral McLustiff says it’s a great honor and that I’ve earned it, but I don’t blame Orion for reapplying to active duty after only a year of this. What about you? How’s my old first officer doing for his first time as captain?”

“Gavin’s doing well, Uncle,” Aghri said. “He led our ship into combat today with almost as much grace as you would have.”

Masqa smiled. “Well, he did learn from the best, after all. What about you? Do you think you’ll do well as his first officer?”

“I hope so, Uncle,” Aghri said. “Gavin is a good man. This is a good crew. I think I’ll be able to do good out here.”

“That’s good. Have you talked to your family lately? My brother, Zhoka, Legn?”

Aghri bit the inside of his lip. “I . . . have, Uncle. A little.”

Masqa raised an eyebrow, the burned skin at his temple stretching with it. He studied Aghri’s eyes as if seeing the pain and feeling of separation his nephew felt whenever he thought about their family. He gave him an understanding smile. “We are doing good out here, Aghri. I know it’s hard to . . . to be apart from those we love, physically and spiritually, but we are doing good. If nothing else, I am proud of you, Aghri.”

Aghri nodded. “I know, Uncle.”

“Good luck out there.”

A small smile flitted across Aghri’s mouth. “And good luck to you back there,” he said.

His uncle raised both hands to either side of his head. Aghri repeated the gesture. Masqa’s image vanished, leaving Aghri staring at a blank screen.

Thanks for reading. Comment below and follow me for more.

Journal: Franchise Building

Journal: Franchise Building

by Paul Adams

            So, here’s a thought I had on trying to start on franchises. I was recently watching a video on the recent video-game-based movie Warcraft, a film that was received with less-than-enthusiastic reception as a messy and confusing film, that was however beautiful and full of immense detail perfectly recreating the world of World of Warcraft. Several comments I read tried to defend the film, as a “worldbuilding film”: a movie that did the work of creating the world of the story so that other movies later down the road could then move in and tell an actually good story.

            As I pondered this, I considered several other works in the same vein that worked or didn’t work. The original Star Wars and Fellowship of the Ring are two of the most notable examples, films that set up a world, but still remained solid films that could be enjoyed alone. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone did the job as well, as a book, and for the most part, as a movie. Iron Man did this for the entire thirteen films and counting of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. Films such as Dragonball Evolution, The Last Airbender, Eragon, and most recently, DC’s attempt to catch up to Marvel with Batman v. Superman, did not.

            The theory I formulated I will call the “Burger Theory.” Imagine you go to a Burger Joint and order a burger. When your food arrives, you are surprised to find only the bottom bun on your plate. You complain to your server, but he assures you that the bun is simply there to set up your burger and that if you wait two to three more years, you will get a patty. Two years after that, you’ll get your entire burger. They tell you that they hope you’ll be willing to wait that long, promising you that the burger you get in the end will be more than worth it.

            A few days later, you go to a different Burger Joint and ask for a burger. Soon enough, you are served an entire burger, and the server tells you that if you enjoyed the first, you are welcome to order a second. You eat, and it’s . . . good? Bad? Either way, you got a whole burger.

            The problem with the “It’s a worldbuilding film” defense, is that that shouldn’t be good enough. A viewer, reader, or otherwise should never be forced to settle for just a bun, hoping a great burger will come years down the road. If you did that in an actual Burger Joint, you’d never get a repeat customer. Why then, as a writer, creator, or artist, would you expect anyone to do any different when it comes to a work of fiction.

            The Marvel Cinematic Universe has grown from a simple standalone film about the origins of Iron Man to a massive interconnected universe featuring thirteen plus films, each raking in millions upon millions of dollars with every single entry, two television series, and three critically acclaimed Netflix series. Much of this wouldn’t even be possible without that first Iron Man film. One of the most important pieces to the success of Iron Man was that it remembered to tell its audience a good story. It had a charismatic and engaging lead, a clever script, and a level of depth that left the audience feeling more than satisfied. The only clue the audience had that it was supposed to lead into a wider universe didn’t even come until the now-famous postcredits scene, in which Samuel L. Jackson’s Nick Fury appears to Tony Stark to talk to him about the “Avenger Initiative.” In a figurative sense, the servers waited until the patrons had finished up their delicious burger before approaching and offering them a little bit more.

            On the other side of that coin was DC’s Batman v. Superman. The history of DC films is a rocky one. For many years, the only movies based on DC characters were Batman or Superman films, half of which were often poorly received. Their greatest claim to fame was Christopher Nolan’s Dark Knight trilogy. Nearly any attempt they had made to branch out to other properties were often met with catastrophic failure, some few examples being Supergirl, Catwoman, and Green Lantern. During all of this, Marvel slowly built up their cinematic behemoth, dwarfing DC and leaving them far behind in the dust.

            Their latest Superman film Man of Steel was met with mixed reviews, but DC was done with being left behind by Marvel. In a risky and desperate move, they pumped millions of dollars into jumpstarting a combined universe off of Man of Steel’s groundwork, their first entry being what they thought would be a shoe-in with Batman v. Superman: Dawn of Justice. What we got instead was a tedious and messy movie, skipping several of the much needed steps Marvel had taken by building up their universe slowly over time, instead opting to throw as much at the screen as they could, shouting to the audience, “Hey, look, it’s Wonder Woman! Hey, look, we’ve got the Flash! Aquaman! Let’s throw in Doomsday and kill off Superman in the second outing, instead of way down the line as it should be! That’ll get us back up to Marvel’s level.”

            In a sense, DC gave us a plate chock-full of fries and chocolate sundaes and sodas and salads around a single bun, when all we’d wanted was a simple burger.

            In the end, works like Iron Man, Star Wars, Fellowship, and Harry Potter did not try to force their great expanded universes on anyone. They told an interesting story and left their audiences feeling satisfied and excited. They got their sequels because the viewers wanted more. They delivered their promised burger, and the audience came back for seconds. Movies like Batman v. Superman and Warcraft tried to feed their viewers a piece of a story, making grand shows about having much more to come without actually delivering in the first outing. When this comes to my writing, it reflects how I used to go about writing the story versus what I’m trying to do now. Originally, my first book was full of stuff that led into later books without necessarily going anywhere and getting the audience lost and confused. In my newest attempt, I am trying to focus on writing the first book and let it stand on its own, while having a plan for later books that all could work together as a whole once finished. It’s a fragile balance, but hopefully one I can pull off.

Thanks for reading. Follow me for more and comment down below.

Star Keepers: Like a Bird

Star Keepers

Chapter Two: Like a Bird

by Paul Adams

            Nikola Yakimenko bounced nervously in her seat, her fingers constantly dancing as she gripped the steering mechanisms in front of her. She had turned her seat back around to face forward while Ambassador Bardlun negotiated with the Woraugenn, just in case things turned sour and combat broke out. Her green eyes stared up at the ship above her, the type of Woraugenn ship that was still used as a go-to training hologram even to this day. Her stomach squirmed with anticipation, a small part of her hoping that things would turn sour, just so that she could have the chance to fly again.

            Nikola had loved flying ever since she was six years old and she had snuck aboard the ship her dad had rebuilt by hand and taken it out for a joyride. Her parents had been furious, but Nikola looked back on that day as nothing more or less than the greatest day of her life. While the captain and his officers discussed the situation behind her, and Bardlun negotiated with the Woraugenn, Long Tail providing translation for both, Nikola closed her eyes and remembered the feel of that ship as it took off into the sky, the thrill she felt as she dipped it back toward the ground and skimmed her parents’ country house. Then she remembered the hours she had spent in the simulators at the academy, the first time she had ever tried out the new Capture Mode technology, how it had made her feel even more alive than that first time flying.

            Growing impatient, Nikola turned her seat and console slightly to watch the conversation playing out behind her. Ambassador Bardlun was negotiating with the Woraugenn, speaking with eloquence and reserve, his deep voice punctuating every word with smooth clarity. She remembered that voice from back when he was her professor at the academy, how even those in the back row could make out every word of his deep, rumbling bass. As he spoke, the Woraugenn snarled and spat, its mouth a saliva-dripping combination of a reptilian maw and an insect’s mandibles, a long tongue whipping in and out. Long Tail’s voice translated each sentence within seconds, each statement growing fiercer and more hostile the longer the conversation went on.

            “Why are you here?” Bardlun asked, his voice rumbling. “This is an inhabited planet protected by the United Worlds. Are you aware that you are in violation of our peace treaty?”

The Woraugenn’s face twisted and it shouted something, the thick, membranous muscles in its glistening throat flexing. A few seconds later, Long Tail repeated, “The treaty does not matter. We do as our Kampsyn commands.” The warrior pressed its fist against its undulating stomach and snarled.

Nikola’s new captain leaned in to talk to the first officer and the combat officer. He glanced up past Nikola to look at the ship behind her, his blue eyes bright with intensity, as if his mind were calculating a hundred different strategies to outwit his Woraugenn adversaries. His face looked so young, almost no older than Nikola, that she couldn’t help but feel intimidated.

“This ship is from a splinter group,” the first officer Aghri was saying, “They don’t acknowledge the treaty.”

“Definitely hostile, then,” the captain said.

“Likely few in number, though,” the combat officer Qarian said. The Leadikan’s cold, gray eyes switched back and forth quickly between the golden vessel and the Woraugenn speaking with Bardlun, her nearly-human face set as if waiting for either to make a move she didn’t like, and her skin’s glow seeming to hum with her every breath. “I doubt we’ll see many more than these two in the area.”

“This ship handle that many, right?” Nikola asked.

The three commanders turned their eyes on her. Nikola started to blush, thinking she might have said something stupid like she felt she had with her pirate comment. To her surprise, she though she saw a flicker of a smile cross the captain’s face. “Certainly,” the combat officer said. “Perhaps not if it was modern Woraugenn warships, but these are Klym-class, the kind they used in the war twenty years ago. This ship was based on the ship that was based on the ship that was designed to fight these. These Woraugenns are clearly just religious zealots who feel their world leaders betrayed them and their god when they signed the treaty, and have set out on their own with the few resources available to them.”

Nikola felt emboldened by their positive responses to her question. “So they’re not too much of a threat, then?” she asked.

“In some ways,” the captain said, watching the ship. He rubbed at his long nose and stared up at the ship. “In other ways, it makes them more dangerous. They’re more desperate, more determined to accomplish something. This planet is a peaceful Cheqin colony with very little defense or weaponry. Perhaps they thought they’d have a better chance here.”

“I’d guess they haven’t attacked yet because they hoped one of our ships would show up to investigate,” the first officer said. “Attacking a planet is one thing. Taking down one of the ships of the army that humiliated you, that’s something else. If they had outright attacked, a full squad of us would have been sent out, and they knew they only stood a chance against one.”

Nikola glanced back at Ambassador Bardlun’s discussion. “Why this planet?” Nikola’s former teacher was saying, spreading his fleshy arms in a gentle sweeping motion. “There are two uninhabited worlds in the next system with similar climates, surely one of them will suit your purposes.”

The Woraugenn got to its feet, towering over Bardlun, whose head only came up to its undulating gut. It shouted at him, its teeth gnashing and its tongue flailing around its head. Long Tail took a little longer than usual to translate, likely to find a less offensive alternative to what the Woraugenn had said. “You arrogant . . . moron . . . you think you can dictate to us our own religion? You think you can deny us our destiny?”

A faint beep sounded behind Nikola. “Captain,” the computer officer said. “The second warship is moving toward us. Energy signatures suggest it is preparing to fire.”

Nikola spun in her seat to see the golden ship above them suddenly dip and speed toward the purple surface of the planet below. The light changed in the room, and when Nikola turned to look, she found Bardlun and Long Tail once again on the bridge, the circle of white light around them gone.

“That guy hung up on us,” Long Tail said. “How rude.”

A flash of red light flared across the window. “Captain, the new ship has opened fire,” the computer officer shouted.

“So has the first,” the first officer pointed out. Nikola turned back around to see red flares flashing from the enemy ship’s face toward the purple planet below.

 “Qarian, your up,” Nikola heard the captain order. “Go after the first. Send drones to keep this second ship busy.”

After a second, Nikola heard Qarian get to her feet. “You heard him, everyone. Garrison, activate a drone. Two for good measure. Nikola! Geroff! We’re up!”

A thrill of excitement rushed through Nikola. This was it. This was her moment. “Capture mode, Commander?” she dared to ask. She glanced back to see Qarian give her a slight nod. Nikola cheered inwardly. She tapped at her console and got to her feet. Her seat and the console descended back into the platform she stood on, while the platform itself lit up with white light. Spreading her arms and closing her eyes, she smiled as she felt energy lift her off the floor. Tilting forward until her body lay horizontal to the floor, she felt like a bird in flight. She opened her eyes and a miniaturized image of the stars and planet outside the ship appeared on the cylinder around her. It was as if she were the ship, floating in the middle of space with the ability to go anywhere and do anything she wanted.

She looked down to see a swarm of small silvery orbs appear below her stomach as if emerging from an invisible hatch, forming up into two formations of five and speeding away behind her and out of sight. The drones. On her other side, the weapons officer was likewise now surrounded by a miniature recreation of the space around the ship. Unlike Nikola, however, his furry hooves were still on the floor, and he held a controller in each of his small hands. He held a stubby digit over the trigger of each, and his eyes followed the golden speck on the planet before him, his ratlike face wearing a look of anxious anticipation. Nikola smiled and faced forward, keeping her nose pointed at the speck on her own display, currently flying further and further away.

“Ready,” Qarian said. Nikola nodded, her whole body ready to burst with anticipation. After what seemed like the longest second in history, Qarian said, “let’s do this.”

Nikola tucked her arms back and tilted her face down. The ship tilted in response, diving toward the planet’s atmosphere and after the enemy ship. The tighter she tucked her arms in, the faster the ship went. She couldn’t help but smile. The ship functioned better than she had ever imagined, reacting to her every move as if it was as much a part of her as her arms or legs. The ship’s nose penetrated the upper atmosphere, and bright yellow trails of heated gas formed a cone around Nikola’s face. She felt the wind pushing back against her, slowing her progress, which only served to make Nikola push harder, refusing to let a little wind slow her down. Ahead of her, the small golden vessel grew bigger and bigger as it sped toward the planet, streams of red energy spilling from its face.

“Geroff, be ready to fire once it comes in range,” Nikola heard Qarian order.

“Yes sir, madam,” the weapons officer shouted back.

Nikola flew even faster, and in a matter of minutes, the Woraugenn ship was no longer a tiny speck of light, but a massive three-pieced spacecraft with a massive head in the center and two arms branching out behind the craft, leading to two massive engine blocks. Both arms were lined with huge black turrets, while the red laser energy was firing from a different array of cannons on the center piece’s face.

 “Geroff,” Qarian shouted. “Fire now. Aim for the engines, and then those turrets along its port side.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the weapons officer shouted. Bright white energy shot from the front of the ship, just under Nikola’s shoulders, and struck one of the golden ship’s large rear engines. Nikola held her course steady, allowing Geroff to keep bombarding the engine until finally the enemy ship shuddered, its engine releasing a lot of smoke and ash in a trail behind it. Nikola then tilting her body along the contours of the arm, allowing Geroff to take aim at the turrets. Nikola was so focused on this task that she didn’t notice the purple cloud bank coming up on them fast until after the third or fourth turret was destroyed. She pulled up a bit by pointing her face upward while she and the Woraugenn ship passed through a barrier of thick purple clouds and burst out just a few hundred feet above a lush aqua-green landscape that stretched out in rolling hills and valleys, a large mountain range dividing the northwestern corner of her view from the rest.

Nikola felt like she could have sat and studied the beautiful landscape all day, but she had a job to do. The Woraugenn ship continued to descend, despite Geroff’s hammering at its side. He quickly disabled all of the turrets on its port side and Nikola swung wide to give him a good aim at the second engine. As the two ships got closer and closer to the surface, Nikola could see that the landscape was dotted with tiny groups of dwellings, spreading outward around large, colorful trees. The Woraugenns’ line of red fire struck one of the trees, setting it ablaze, and sending the creatures living around it, small, fluffy, yellow things apparently, running in terror.

“Nikola, get us around to the ship’s other side!” Qarian ordered. “We’ve got to take out the rest of their turrets before they can launch any troops.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nikola flipped herself sideways, sending the ship drifting around to the other arm, Geroff pelting the craft as she went.

“Qarian,” the computer officer said. “The other ship’s taken out one of the drones and bypassed the other. It’s coming down.”

Nikola had to resist the urge to look back, knowing full well she’d wreck Geroff’s aim if she did. “Nikola, Geroff, stay on this one,” Qarian ordered. “Garrison, send out another drone.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Garrison said. Through the holograms in front of her, Nikola saw him tap at his screens and another formation of tiny silver orbs appeared out of thin air below her stomach, flying back the way the ship had come.

“And, Qarian,” the first officer said, “the tree.”

“Geroff,” Qarian shouted a few seconds later. “Get some flame-cover in there.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Out of the corner of her eye, Nikola saw the weapons officer wave his left thumb over the controller in that hand, changing its color from red to blue. Keeping the controller in his right hand aimed at the Woraugenn ship and bombarding it with lasers, he moved the controller in his left hand to aim at the tree and spray it down with a fine blue mist. Nikola pondered momentarily whether to adjust her flight path to give him a better aim at the tree. In the end, she settled on tilting her nose just slightly so that Geroff still had decent aim at both the turrets and the tree. Within seconds, the flames disappeared, leaving behind a slightly burnt tree with a line of scorch marks covering one side. Nikola re-adjusted herself to face the enemy ship once more.

“Get around in front and disable its laser turrets,” Qarian ordered. Nikola swerved the ship one more time so that the two ships were facing each other. Nikola flashed the ship a cocky grin as if she was personally facing down the ship itself, taunting it to give her its best shot. Behind her, Geroff pointed both controllers at the line of small gun turrets and fired. The stream of red energy spilling from the ship ceased abruptly, leaving Nikola’s opponent vulnerable and powerless. She pointed her chin at it smugly. That’s what happens when you mess with me, she mentally teased it.

“Nikola, head for the other ship,” Qarian ordered. “Enemy craft neutralized, Captain.”

“Thank you, Commander Neru,” the captain said. “Ambassador Bardlun, make contact with the disabled vessel. See if they’re more willing to cooperate now. If not, send a drone to escort the ship out of the planet’s atmosphere.”

Bardlun nodded. “Yes, captain,” he said. The light changed in the corner of Nikola’s eye as Long Tail made contact with the enemy ship once again.

Meanwhile, Nikola pointed the ship back toward the sky on an interception course for the second ship. Within moments, the golden craft came into view, white lights flashing around it. Smoke billowed from one side as the drones had already taken out half of the large turrets on the ship’s starboard side and one of its engines. As soon as it came into range, Geroff opened fire, bombarding the Arrowhead with white laser fire. The enemy fired back, red energy blazing across Nikola’s face. Nikola squinted through the flares of light and tilted herself to one side, skimming the ship away from the stream but keeping her nose pointed straight at the enemy ship. In only a matter of seconds, the laser array was destroyed and the stream of red laser fire ceased.

“Good,” Qarian said. “Now, get us around to its port and finish off its turrets.” Nikola swerved in that direction, but the Woraugenn pilot, it seemed, was keen on protecting that last row. The ship dipped away from Nikola’s swerve, making sure to keep its port side out of Geroff’s aim.

Oh, Nikola thought, So that’s how you want to play it. Nikola swung the ship against the swerve, rocketing the ship toward the starboard side instead. Geroff had his aim ready and blasted the two remaining turrets on that side.

“Geroff, Nikola, keep on it,” Qarian said. “Garrison, get those drones moving around the ship, try to keep it cornered from every angle.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Nikola piloted the ship in a kind of dance with the Woraugenn craft, with the ship swerving wildly to keep its remaining turrets out of range, and Nikola working her way around the ship to get at the turrets, all the while both ships raced toward the ground below. With the help of Garrison’s drones and Geroff’s deft aiming skills, the turrets were picked off one by one until only three were left. Four hundred feet from the ground, the Woraugenn ship suddenly swung wide and pulled up, catching Nikola by surprise. She swerved in order to get back on track, but not before she noticed two black spherical objects shoot from the remaining turrets and hurtle toward the ground. Nikola adjusted herself, and Geroff managed to get a hit on the turrets, destroy them before they could launch any more.

At the corner of her screen, Nikola watched as the black spheres slammed into the surface, leaving deep divots in the earth behind them. Qarian made a sound like a growl in the back of her throat. “Mr. Garrison, we have soldiers on the ground. I need a drone back here immediately. Leave the others to deal with this one. Nikola, head for the ground.”

Nikola dipped, shooting straight for the spot where the black spheres had landed. As she approached, bright cracks appeared across them and they burst open. Two massive green figures emerged, standing at more than eight times the height of the small yellow creatures running in terror around them. The Woraugenn soldiers stepped out of their pods and started chasing down the planet’s inhabitants.

At his consoles in front of Nikola, Garrison the computer officer tapped one of his screens and quickly flung his hand backward towards Qarian. The small square of light sped past Nikola, briefly pasting itself on her cylinder as it passed. Qarian put out her hand and the image stopped in midair before her. Under her control, one of the silver orb formations broke away from the Woraugenn ship and shot toward the ground. “Nikola, Geroff,” she said. “Give me air support but be careful of the civilians.” She tapped at her screen and said, “Capture Mode.”

Light glowed in Nikola’s peripheral vision as the small screen expanded, enveloping Qarian in another cylinder of light. Down below, Nikola could see Qarian’s tall frame take shape around the drones speeding toward the planet’s surface, complete with her mane of curly hair and her glowing skin. The tiny second Qarian stepped onto the grassy landscape a few feet away from where the Woraugenn soldiers were terrorizing the local population, one of them holding a particularly young pair of the creatures by the back of their beaked heads.

Nikola heard the captain and first officer get to their feet. “Garrison, two more drones, please,” the captain said.

Qarian’s double sprang into action. She held out her hands and beams of white energy shot from the corresponding drones, straight into the hostage-holding Woraugenn’s chest, throwing him back and making him let go of his captive. Qarian dove forward, seeming to catch the creatures in her arms but actually suspending them with a weak force field and gently depositing them on the ground. She then spun and kicked at the Woraugenn, blasting it in the face with her leg’s corresponding drone.

Two more screens zipped past Nikola’s cylinder as two more drones landed a few feet away, perfect replicas of the captain and first officer, placing themselves in-between the second Woraugenn and a family of the yellow creatures it had been going after. The Woraugenn held out its right arm, a long, spearlike spike jutting out of its claw. The Woraugenn swung at the first officer, but the spike passed right through his midsection as the orb there moved out of the spike’s way. Aghri pointed one hand at the spike as it came out the other side, blasting away shards from it.

Nikola swept the ship around the battle, creating a barrier between the fighters and civilians. Here and there, Geroff let off a shot, but only when he had a perfect shot on either of the two Woraugenns.

Soon enough, through the crew’s teamwork, they made quick work of their opponents. Qarian’s opponent lay on the ground with a steaming hole in its rubbery chest armor, while Aghri and Gavin had their opponent immobile in a force field. Several of Qarian’s drones broke formation and swirled around their downed opponent, lifting it up with their own force field and binding it together with its companion. A trio of orbs broke away from the circle and faced the Woraugenns, taking the place of their respective crewmembers.

“You are hereby under arrest by the authority of the Star Keeper Corps,” Gavin said, Long Tail translating for him from his station. “You will be taken into custody, and you and the crews of your ships will be transported to the nearest Star Keeper Base to await further processing. Understood?”

Gavin didn’t wait for any response before waving his hand and sending the orbs and soldiers speeding up toward the Arrowhead. Qarian followed quickly after. Only Aghri’s drone remained behind. He crouched next to the family of creatures the Woraugenns had been threatening. “Are you alright?” he asked them, helping them up. Long Tail translated in a sort of whistling, squawking language. The creatures squawked back, Long Tail repeating that they were okay. “Get to safety,” Aghri said. “Please.” The creatures hurried away and Aghri stood, waving his hand up to send the drone away. The cylinders of light surrounding all three commanding officers disappeared.

Taking their cue, Nikola said “Manual” and returned her feet to the floor. The cylinder of light around her disappeared and her seat and console returned.

Qarian turned to face Gavin. “Situation under control, Captain,” she said. Nikola turned in her seat, an image of the planet below following her around. A strand of Qarian’s curly hair hung in her face. Gavin was breathing heavily, and Aghri’s golden eyes were still staring at the planet, his hand rubbing at his right ear.

Gavin smiled and took a deep breath. “Thank you, Qarian. Great job, everyone.” The captain fixed Nikola with his intense blue stare. “Good flying, Lieutenant.”

Nikola puffed out her chest proudly, adrenaline and pride flowing through her. “No problem, Captain.”

 “Well,” Long Tail said. “I had fun today.”

Thanks for reading. Comment below, and follow me for more.