October 2005 Best Openings Contest

October 2005 Best Openings Contest

Author         Title                      1st 2nd 3rd Vot Total
Derek Paterson The Brobdingnag Factorial   9   4       3  16
Josh Langston  Duffers                     3   2   1   3   9
William Allan  Deathly Whispers            3   2   1   3   9
North          Valley of Dry Rain              4   1   3   8
Lisa Mantchev  All Her World’s a Stage     3       1   3   7
David Gillon   Untitled                            3   3   6
Jon Woolf      Hunter and Hunted           3       1       4
Sophia Ahmed   Voted only                              3   3

Susan

Index
1) VALLEY OF DRY RAIN
2) THE BROBDINGNAG FACTORIAL
3) ALL HER WORLD’S A STAGE
4) HUNTER AND HUNTED
5) UNTITLED
6) DUFFERS
7) DEATHLY WHISPERS


1) VALLEY OF DRY RAIN


      The planet was supposed to be as dry as his grandmother's t!t, but its been raining steadily for five days.
      He'd been in a valley since drop-off seven days ago.  His walk had started in eight inches of dust.  Now the dust was a slurry.  All around was mud or bare rock.
      He tried the radio again.  He should have been able to contact the Command ship days ago..
      "Minor to Command, come in.  . . .  Captain Minor to Command.  Come in."
      "Command to Minor.  About time.  Where are you?  What's your situation?"
      "Minor to Command.  Me?  Ship-rise was three days ago, right?  I've been calling.  Haven't heard a peep til now.  Over."
      "Command to Minor.  I repeat.  What's your sit rep?  Over."
      "Minor to Command.  Still in the rain and mud.  Flash flood warning blinking in my visor since day two.  I've seen thermometers rise faster than this water.  No sign of recognizable life.  No sign of previous survey team.  Can we drop radio protocol?  There's no one here but us."
      "That's what you think."

Back to Index


2) THE BROBDINGNAG FACTORIAL


      The frigate dropped out of hyperspace, grazed the planet's upper atmosphere and dumped Taylor out of its belly airlock with no ceremony whatsoever.
      His black egg tumbled toward the surface, proof against friction and any other foreseeable eventuality.  In theory anyway.  Taylor had very little to do except remain in fetal position inside the tough foam sphere and watch the altimeter readings plummet.
      The egg disintegrated at 5,000 meters, as designed.  His parachutes opened and savagely braked his suicidal descent.  He was glad he'd remembered to wear a gumshield.  3,000 meters later the chutes disconnected and his paraglider wings deployed.  He swooped over the black volcanic landscape like an eagle, avoiding the thick columns of smoke and ash, until he saw it.  Exactly where they'd said it would be.
      It reminded him more than anything of a teapot, lying half-buried in the mountainside, the spout pointing skyward.  Its bronze skin gleamed.  He circled it, looking for a way in, and became aware of the scale of the problem.  The teapot was seven kilometers high.

Back to Index


3) ALL HER WORLD’S A STAGE


      Lights up.
      The fairies flew suspended on wires (how else would they manage it?) and had a tendency to get tangled together.  When this happened for the third time in ten minutes, Bertie set her book down on the stage with a dramatic exhalation of breath and gave them the evil eye.
      "You couldn't wait for the Benedict to finish his speech?"  Bertie, short for Beatrice, started every summer by reading Much Ado About Nothing from her mother's ancient volume of plays.
      "You know that one by heart."  Peaseblossom sat atop the snarled knot of narrow gauge cable, unperturbed by the seething mass of tiny arms and legs below her.
      "Read something new! Something with sword fighting!"  Moth and Cobweb slashed and parried with great enthusiasm.
      "The one with the shipwreck!"  Mustard Seed dangled a few inches below the others.  He kicked his tiny yellow boots in an improvised hornpipe and bellowed a sea chantey.
      "Hold still," she told them, and started to unpick the mess they'd made of the wires.

Back to Index


4) HUNTER AND HUNTED


      Pebbles slithered down the sloping ledge, and Yerro froze in his tracks.  Don't look around, don't look up, he thought hard at the mountain-goats below and in front of him.  Four hours he'd been stalking the two animals, and the thought of losing them now was almost more than he could take.
      The sound of sliding pebbles died quickly.  Yerro waited.  The goats looked around casually, then climbed up a few feet to the next patch of grass.  Yerro exhaled softly and set his feet, then nocked an arrow and slowly drew it back.
      The arrow's point drifted back and forth between the two goats.  One was an easier shot, the other a meatier target.  Don't try too much, Yerro told himself firmly.  He took the easier shot.  The arrow arced out and down; the wounded goat staggered back a step, then tumbled off the ledge to land on the ground seventy feet below.
      “Yes!” Yerro slung his bow and began to descend the rock face.  One step, another . . . and the scree shifted suddenly under his feet, sending him sliding toward the edge.

Back to Index


5) UNTITLED


      Volkov’s office door had a keypad lock with no backup, it deserved to have someone break into it. Especially a sneaky someone who had watched what he typed when he welcomed her to the Institute.
      The half-glassed walls made me feel hideously vulnerable as I crossed the room to his desk, but there was no help for it. If someone came down the corridor I’d have to hide myself in the walk-in cupboard. I pushed his chair out of the way so I could get at his PC and opened it up. It was the work of a couple of seconds to unplug his hard-drive and connect it to my laptop, a couple more seconds and I was sucking it dry.
      I froze as I heard voices off down the corridor. I shut the laptop down,opened the door to the cupboard and realised that Murphy was giving me his full attention. It wasn’t a cupboard, it was a stairway, not normally a problem, but you try getting a wheelchair up a flight of stairs…

Back to Index


6) DUFFERS


      Pelham’s golf ball oozed up from the spongy ground cover like a zit on a troll’s butt.  I stepped on it.
      "See it?" he asked.
      "Nope.  Too bad, too.  You had a nice drive."
      Pelham smiled, the prick.  "I believe you’re standing on it."
      "Oh! Sorry."
      "Yours is over there."  He pointed to what passed for a fairway -– low-growing, rust-colored vegetation the same density and texture as the scalp on a marine drill instructor.  "You’re lying two, right?"
      Like I needed reminding.  Three holes into the match and he was killin’ me.  On Earth I’d be reaching for my 8-iron, but here?
      Pelham’s ball extricated itself from the Martian turf and hovered patiently while he selected a club.  Not that it mattered, between the circuitry of orb and iron, Pelham’s shot would be nearly flawless.  They all were.  Mine would depend on skill and whatever guile I’d acquired as a pro.
      I cleared my throat when he reached mid-swing, and he flinched.  His ball stopped three feet from the pin.
      I prayed for a sandstorm.

Back to Index


7) DEATHLY WHISPERS


      Tess was way too old—nearly thirteen—to believe in such things, but from her first glimpse of the house on Woods Run Road, she couldn't help feeling that something evil lived behind the old walls.
      When her mother took her hand, she welcomed the warm grip and squeezed back.
      "So what do you think?"
      Tess barely heard the question, because the dark attic windows still glared down at her, and the ivy that covered the run-down structure like a green sickness bristled with rage in the chill October breeze.
      "Bit of a fixer-upper, I know."  An apologetic tone now shaded her mother’s voice, and Tess finally spoke up.
      "Do we really have to move here, Mom?"
      "I’m sorry, honey, we just can’t afford the city anymore.  And surely two strong, smart and independent women like us can turn this place into a palace in no time!"
      If Tess could’ve returned her mom’s optimistic smile, she would have, but the sense that a hateful intelligence patiently awaited them inside had turned her heart to stone.

Back to index
Back to top


All story excerpts herein are Copyright © 2005 by the Authors, who retain all rights. The excerpts are uploaded for purposes of critique only, which does not constitute publication.