Serialized Science Fiction.

Blast from the Past
Tom Haynes

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over little brother's position. I got the feeling the mana bolts had come from that quarter. I did not want to leave the wand behind, so I grabbed it out of C'gull's hand. I could feel the weight of time and power that the artifact held. I was tempted to drop him and make off with the wand. Somehow, I could feel that he still lived.

With a rush of adrenaline, I hefted him across my shoulder in a fireman's carry. The load almost staggered me, I could now feel the armor I had earlier guessed at, but I headed off to the second copter. The first had taken off and Gorgie was still providing firepower from it.

Bit Brain was waving me on. I could feel the mana bolts behind me as they left the hands of their casters. I was so encumbered, that I would be able to do nothing other than die. Bit Brain would tell me later about how they arced up into the night sky towards the dragon. The first missed narrowly to the right and splattered across the last gunship, and the resulting fireball threw me to my knees. It also buffeted the dragon right back into the path of the last mana bolt.

I don't know if it was the lack of either the white light or the direction from the unconscious C'gull, but the explosion from the zombie dragon knocked me the rest of the way to the ground. Both the wreckage of the copter and the remains of the dragon impacted right were we had last seen little brother. I hoped he was directly under at least one of them.

I staggered back to my feet and stumbled the last few feet into the copter. I dumped C'gull into the cargo bay and climbed in right behind him. Bit Brain and the Kid secured both of us to seats. I could see their lips moving, but I could not hear a thing. I could feel us lift off towards our date with a certain Mr. Johnson.


The dawn was breathtaking in its own right. On most days, the elves would be basking in its warmth and celebrating the cycle of the forest. On this day, the majority of the elves were crispy corpses, smoldering in the light breeze. The rest were standing around, gazing off into some inner landscapes. Here and there, a few of the braver souls were trying to help the physically wounded, but they did not spare a glance for their other comrades.

A soft sputtering drifted in on the morning air. Some heads shot up in alarm and then relaxed at the familiar sight of a Nomad III as it lazily circles in over the battlegrounds and suddenly a line is released and someone repels down the rope to the scared ground. As soon as they are clear of the line, a squad follows the pathfinder.

The newly arrived squad of Paladins just stands as their plane lazily circles about and resumes its normal morning excursion. They then wait, staring impassively at the carnage. Finally, one of the weary survivors dusts himself off, runs his fingers through his sweat matted hair, dons his helmet, and saunters over to the newcomers.

"What the hell happened out there?" Koritigan asked his son.

"Sister dear was back in town", replied Caraval, "and she brought some friends."

"Those CAS deserters she has been hanging out with?" asked his father?

"Yes, and one mean wiz. He erected that monstrosity over there." he pointed to the still flailing mass of thorns and roses, "Our best magic and napalm hasn't withered it. I'd call an air strike of Agent Orange, but I could just see the conservatives having a field day with that

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