The Death of a God

"The Death of a God"

a short excerpt

Gary Baker, April 2011

(final piece to a larger project)

Jolarie pressed her eyes shut fearful for her life, as the blade-arm of 'Artemis the Wise' lifted her chin ever so slightly to force her gaze upon her one-time god. The tip pierced the flesh of her lower chin, dangerously close to her jugular vein, dripping a solitary trail of deep maroon blood down her neck where it began to pool in the indents of her collar bone.

Meters away lay her newest invention, the single-handed armaments weapon, beyond any reach that she could possibly achieve. And Artemis smiled deeply.

In the distance Raspora's body should have lain, but with Artemis's power instead was gone. Evaporated into dust, most likely. She should have been able to save her; Raspora had always looked up to her, and when the youth had needed her idol most Jolarie had failed. She was weak, and Artemis had proved as much. Why hadn't she seen that everything would end this way? That the one who she once proclaimed as great, subsequently denouncing, would really be all-powerful and take his revenge upon her for her stupidity.

A Change of Fates

"A Change of Fates"

an excerpt

Gary Baker, May 2013

(part of a much larger project)

After Anna left, Corporal Roi Anxo leaned onto his lifted knees and heaved a loud sigh. It was anyone’s guess how he was going to get through this alone. Not only did he have obligations to return to the well for the armed services that payed him, but now he also had a reporter to help and a press organization to save.

With his chin resting on his knees, the soldier turned his right palm to gaze at the reporter’s card from the corner of his eyes. The business card itself was primarily white, printed on thick canvas-like paper, with a red and purple ribbon effect twisting together aimlessly at the lower left corner. Across the top, in bold black calligraphy, stood the words “The Orderly Tribune” which spanned almost the whole way across. Just beneath the institution’s name reflected the name “Anna Kilinger, Editor in Chief” in reflective maroon lettering of a somewhat smaller font. At the bottom, strewn from the ribbons all the way to the opposite side of the card, the reporter’s phone number, email, and organization number had all been printed in a clear font of roughly the same size as the reporter’s name and title.

First Contact, part 1

"First Contact"

a short story

Gary Baker, March/April 2013

(part 1 of 2)

Acier watched as the alien craft drew near like a god landing from the heavens to visit what it was that had been created long ago. The ship was almost virtually a polygonal tear: half-octagonal in the rear where the engines, though currently off, glimmered with a resplendent turquoise glow, with the front section slowly tapering to a spear-like point.

Just below the tip of the nose rest the ring of thick metallic glass to the main command center, appearing quite like a band of oil with innumerous colors shimmering in the rays of the Earthen sun. By design, this very ring indicated a clear sense of interstellar physics that humanity still had yet to understand.

Acier, a nonhuman living on what the Eartheans called “the Ring”, knew all there was to know of this very science and technology. He knew that the craft was built more like a skyscraper than any ship the humans had devised, that the force of generated gravity caused by such tremendous acceleration needed to propel such a mammoth creation would necessitate floors perpendicular to the course trajectory. He knew that at high velocity the heads of the beings running the craft would be closest to the nose, and that this not only made things easier overall for energy saving uses but also of more quickly-gained “space legs”.

But the Earthean Ring was enormously more peculiar than the creations of Acier's own kind.

Made up of a similarly mammoth number of “crate”-like modules, the Ring encompassed the

The Endgame, part 2

"The Endgame"

a short story

Gary Baker, April 2013

(part 2 of 3)

“Phase two,” the echoing voice came again, “begin in: three...”

Juskra turned to face the open room and the way he’d just come.

“Two.”

He flexed his fingers and light once again appeared at his fingertips... but this time it wasn’t orange and it wasn’t warm. Eyes wide in shock, Juskra looked to the yellow-green points hovering at the very ends to each and every one of his fingers.

“No shit,” he breathed.

The energy of the light pulsed happily within him, amounting to a greater sense of power hiding just under his nails, coursing through his veins, peering from his eyes. No one had ever seen this happen in all of history. Not one soul had ever seen the orange light change like this.

“What does this mean?” Juskra choked out.