Magnum Thrax: Future Fossil, Part 4 of 5

Down below, Kal shivered and snuck a look up at the raptors. The birds didn't like you looking at them, he’d noticed that, but then, he'd never seen them close up before. He’d never been this far out of the safe embrace of the velvet lined Pit before. It would have been a fabulous opportunity to study raptor culture and customs, if they weren’t so intent on eating him.

A squeak of fear behind him brought him back to more practical concerns: Sally. She couldn't be more than four or five, by his best guess. Maybe six. Kal had a hard time judging ages. Her presence had become a real problem, considering their impending sacrfice. 

Who knew a bunch of raptor religious fundamentalists would seize the mine during their visit? He’d calculated the odds several times, and they were infinitesimal. He could hardly be blamed for such an unfortunate and unlikely turn of events. Besides: education went hand in hand with adventure, and what was adventure without danger? 

Might as well stay home and sit on the couch. Of course, Thrax would blame Kal anyway. Call him reckless, get mad about losing his pistol, endangering his sister, gambling away the zinc, blah blah blah. Life was so unfair sometimes, thought Kal bitterly. He meant well, after all.

He'd noticed earlier that the Red Raptor seemed interested in his appearance, and he'd been right: his red hair and freckles had whisked him to the front of the sacrifice line. Maybe the raptor felt some kind of cross-species ginger kinship with him.

The raptor chief paused in his celebratory dance. 

Yes! Kal saw a chance to finally engage in dialogue. He cleared his throat. But what to talk about? Quick! Improvise!

“You're not dinosaurs!” he blurted.

A hush fell over the raptor crowd. Their eyes went wide. Heads cocked to the side.

Red stiffened and focused an eye on Kal.

He had their attention!

“You’re not dinosaurs,” repeated Kal evenly. “You’re chickens.”

In a blur, Red swept in front of him. “Liar!” Red snapped, jaws inches from Kal’s face. Moist, fetid breath washed over him. “What you know, stupid rat-mammal! Sacrifice not supposed to talk!” It angrily swept a fore claw through the air for emphasis. “We dinosaur! We dread reptile!”

“Oh, no, you aren’t,” said Kal matter-of-factly. “You were built from chicken DNA.”

The raptors gasped in horror. It was like he was saying something heretical. Maybe this wasn’t a good avenue to go down after all…

“We not chicken!” shrieked Red, growing angrier. “Our blood pure! We king lizard! We God’s Chosen!”

Kal shook his head. “No, sorry. Look. Some DNA jockey stimulated chicken hox genes, spliced in a few bits of amphibian code, maybe some frog, and poof, nasty raptor chicken. That’s you, see? I don’t know what the hell they were thinking, or why they’d need a mean chicken, but there it is. You’re a bunch of genetically altered, oversized poultry. See, amber wouldn’t help. Now stay with me, this is complicated: DNA deteriorates over time, so…”

“We dinosaurs! We restore Eden. Last hundred million years!”

“Two hundred forty-seven million years actually, but you’re a little late. By about sixty more million years.” Kal grinned as a realization hit: “Saaay: you can't kill me, can you, Red? Not yet, I mean. I’m your sacrifice, right? I have to die in some special way down there, so I can say whatever I want, for the moment,” he mused, then inspiration struck. “Bawk bawk bawk!” he taunted. “Bawwwwk bawk baaaawwwk!”

“Lower rat-mammal in pit!” screamed Red as it swooped about the platform in an apoplectic frenzy. “Death to rat-mammals! Rat-mammals ruin everything! We God’s children. So say Holy Bible Book. Praise be to God!”

“Have you even read the Bible, Red?” asked Kal. “You’ve got it all wrong!”

“God try to kill you rat-mammals many time: flood! War! Disease! Bugs! Space rocks! God hate you!”

Raptors awkwardly worked the winch and lowered Kal and Sally into the fossil-lined arena.

“Whoa,” said Kal, growing alarmed. This had gone a bit off plan. Never get sidetracked, he reminded himself. “Wait, Red! Let's talk about this! I know stuff. Give me a splicer and I’ll weave in some alligator code in for you, eh? No? Wings? You’d like wings, wouldn’t you? Or gills? Gills! I bet that’d get the attention of all the chick raptors, eh? Better voice boxes? Natural deodorant? You kinda stink. C’mon! You're making a big mistake here! I'm a valuable resource… Let the girl go, at least!”

The raptors ignored his pleas. 

Bunch of jerks.

“Release Holy One!,” commanded Red with a theatrical flourish. “Release Big Jesus! Let him feast upon flesh! Eat bad smell rat-mammal and show us the way!” The raptor hoot-barked triumphantly. It pulled a pistol out of its harness and fired it into the air three times. 

It was Thrax’s magnum! So that’s where it’d gotten! Now all Kal had to do was escape, save Sally, and get the gun back so Thrax wouldn’t kill him.

Kal turned to the little girl. It broke his heart: she’d never have the chance to grow up, not now, which made Kal feel bad on the kind of emotional level he generally preferred to avoid: “Sorry, kiddo. You can't reason with raptors. If I wove some human brain cells into their craniums, maybe things’d be different. But some beings are afraid to change…”

“You're a computer programmer,” said Sally matter-of-factly. 

“Huh? So?”

Sally gave him a cross look and folded her arms. “You don't do genetic engineering. My mom is a DNA-Jockey, and she says you don't know your ass from a hole in the ground when it comes to splicing. You’re just a big mouth that–”

“Kid,” admonished Kal, “If a lie can get you out of being sacrificed, you go with it. Besides, I'm sure I could pick it up in six months or less. How hard could it be?”

“Harder than you think. Like gambling.”

There was a screech-rumble. Rusted metal doors were jerked back, revealing an enormously upsized raptor. 

Kal gaped: it was a Tyrannosaurus Rex. Impossible!

Sally took one look at it and softly breathed, “Cooool!”

The beast let out a roar that reverberated throughout the chamber.

Raptors barked and hooted in approval. “Big Jesus! Big Jesus! Big Jesus!”

“That’s just not right!” shouted Kal, waving a finger at them. “I know Jesus! Jesus is a kind of friend of mine. I mean, I went to church and all. And that,” he said, pointing at the Tyrannosaur, “is no Jesus!” 

He was met by another ear-splitting bellow.

Kal’s stomach sank like a gold brick. “I admit, technically, pretty impressive,” he squeaked and swallowed. “I hope the DNA-jockey signed the code… love to get a look at that.”

“Kill rat-mammal! Kill rat-mammal! Kill rat-mammal!” chanted the raptors.

“Cultural appropriation!” yelled Kal back at them. “The real Jesus was a Semite!”

The Tyrannosaurus Rex didn’t react to Kal’s stinging rebuke. Instead, it charged. Or maybe that was the reaction. What happened to turning the other cheek? Lost in translation?

“Split up!” shouted Kal, and he shoved Sally to the right while he sprinted left. 

Caught off guard, Sally yelped and fell, hitting hard and sprawled onto the sandy floor. She lay immobile, helpless.

Kal looked back and saw Sally look up in horror as the Tyrannosaur loomed over her. Time seemed to slow. Details leapt out at him. Downy feathers around the dinosaur’s eyes. Drool glistening on sabre like teeth. The bumpy pink tongue covered in gooey saliva.

Then Big Jeez veered off, its attention caught by Kal’s still fast moving legs. The dinosaur’s huge muscles flexed. It angled to cut him off. Damn smart! The torso swept down and the maw opened wide. The stink of rotten meat hit Kal full on as it closed in.

Desperate, he did a hard turn, spinning in mid-step, then set off at a right angle. 

Big Jeez wasn’t as agile and flew past, ramming into the arena wall with a resounding crunch that sent a vibration through the rock. 

The raptor crowd let out an ‘aww’ of sympathy-pain.

A chunk of stone gave way, and a raptor toppled in and landed atop the enraged Tyrannosaur, while Kal watched from a safe distance. The smaller, lithe predator thrashed about, flipping itself off the dinosaurs back, only to be caught mid-air and get bitten in half. Kal cringed. So no loyalty between dino-kind. Blood squirted out and spattered the surprised raptors above. They hooted in awe. What on earth possessed them to worship a leader who cared so little for their lives? Crazy raptor-chicken! Kal was so grateful to be human.

Kal scrambled up the rock face, prompting raptors to pelt him with rocks, just not big ones because they had such lame little arms. He taunted them. Then one struck Kal in the forehead and he toppled backwards.

He got back to his feet–the Tyrannosaur was closing in! 

He rolled. 

The dinosaur slid to a halt and swept round, snapping at his legs, missing by mere inches. 

Kal looked up and saw a vision: Thrax flying through the air, arms flailing, hunting knife in each hand. As puffs of gas spurted out of his wrist and ankle jets, Thrax hit the back of the Tyrannosaur, slamming a blade into its back. It roared in pain. Thrax’s legs swung out past, then snapped back. Only the blade’s molecular grip kept him from losing hold. Scrambling, Thrax struck the other blade into the beast’s flank and proceeded to mountaineer his way towards the beasts head, using the knives as anchors. 

Big Jesus spun around, biting air, spinning in circles but unable to reach him. 

The raptors roared in outrage at this affront to their holy ritual. They looked to their plumed leaders for guidance. Before any could be given, explosions burst among them as plasma grenades began to go off in their midst. Laser beams sliced through the crowd, cutting raptors into steaming chunks of BBQ chicken. 

Pandemonium broke loose.

Kal pressed himself up against the wall of the pit and tried to think like a rock. 

The raptors scattered. 

Except for the ones that leapt down into the pit and raced after Thrax. 

*****

For more Magnum Thrax, see the novel, Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom. 

Available on Amazon. 

starsIt's Mad Max on crack – Glen Conley

"Underneath this outlandish story’s brash exterior lies astute social commentary and sharp, unapologetic humor." – Kirkus Reviews

On the firing of James Gunn

Oh man.

James Gunn has been sacked from directing Guardians of the Galaxy 3 over tweets he issued ten years ago. 

I love the Guardians of the Galaxy movies: Gunn's consistently delivered highly-entertaining, funny blockbusters for Marvel. It's a big loss for the studio.

As I understand it, Gunn defended a friend of his (Mark Duplass) who advocated people follow a conservative pundit (Ben Shapiro). Left-wingers pointed out Gunn's old posts in an attempt to shut him up. Right-wingers then picked up on these old tweets and used them to torpedo Gunn's career, as Gunn has been a vocal critic of Donald Trump. 

Gunn isn't the first person to be destroyed by tweets, even long forgotten ones, and he won't be the last. I remember reading a New York Times article awhile back about Justine Sacco's online annihilation. And this article more recently, which goes into altruistic punishment.

Internet morals crusaders are not the social good they purport to be. They take umbrage over a perceived ethical failing and then organize an online mob to take down their chosen target.

Their indignation is their justification, their inflated accusations their proof. 

They will deliberately misconstrue what someone has written in order to get into a lather of self-righteousness, which allows them to participate in a (delusional) battle against evil, while simultaneously signaling their own moral superiority.

They're like sharks gathering when they detect blood in the water: people are overeager now to find a poorly worded statement, or a joke they can pretend is meant seriously, or someone exhibiting a momentary lapse in judgement. 

In Gunn's case, this was (or seems to be) a deliberate political take-down. It's not about what he said, it's about shutting him up and punishing him for being an advocate. It's intimidation, and creates a climate of fear in which people are afraid to speak, lest their lives and careers be destroyed. 

Because it works: despite delivering successful films, Gunn's now out on his ass. 

I imagine he'll recover, eventually.

Online mob justice churns my stomach. 

It's all about making the crusaders feel relevant and important and virtuous. That it destroys lives is inconsequential to them, as they've already labelled their target The Other, a pathogen, a boil in need of lancing.

But these moral crusaders can be weaponized, and set upon a selected target, by the unscrupulous.

All of what's happened, from the preening, moralizing mob to deliberate political assassination, is straightforward. 

Gunn's tweets, on the other hand, perplex me: why on earth did he make it so easy for them? 

I remember years ago reading comments of Gunn's, which I remember finding elitist and kind of sneering. I enjoyed the heck out of his films, but I didn't pay much attention to him as a person after that. 

I had no idea of the extent to which he went to offend people.

South Park makes off-color jokes all the time. But they're actually jokes. Gunn wrote about watching child porn and ejaculating all over his own face.

That's it. That's the joke.

He made statements designed to offend and garner attention and opprobrium. 

It's the shock-jock technique, and it can be wildly successful. People build careers on it. Certain personality types delight in pressing other people's buttons. Yet as much as I admire some of Gunn's films, his shock-jock efforts leave a something to be desired.

What on earth was he thinking? 

Disney doesn't go well with child-rape jokes. It's not their brand.

Did Gunn ever consider the consequences of making such outlandish statements? What were they supposed to accomplish? Was it some kind of stealth freedom of speech advocacy thing? I am not the audience because I just don't get it.

I did get the impression that Gunn was slated to take over the whole Marvel franchise, and I imagine he'd have done a great job. Now Disney is faced with a highly-motivated political activist group trotting out his child-rape tweets before millions of Americans on an ongoing basis. 

As a brand, I just don't see Disney being very keen on the fallout from that. 

After the Weinstein scandal broke, I read a site called Crazy Days and Nights. It's a compilation of naughty and downright repugnant behavior going on in Hollywood behind the scenes, including pedophilia. The site broke the Weinstein story before the mainstream press picked up on it.

I don't know how much on the site is true, but it does get ugly. According to the site, some TV shows were created expressly to facilitate molesting minors. That's horrifying, yet somehow cynically plausible. This is the sort of thing that sick people would attempt. They infiltrate the Boy Scouts for much the same reason.

The ironic thing here is that Gunn may lose everything over 'joke' tweets about pedophilia, while actual pedophiles in Hollywood parrot virtuous platitudes while molesting kids behind closed doors. 

Madness.

And what level of virtue do we demand of our creative class? Some creatives are eccentric, some are crazy, some are crazy eccentric. Some are damaged people, striving desperately for external validation.

Should we dump all their work because they have tweet Tourettes? 

Where do we draw the line? 

We cannot excuse crime, no matter how gifted someone is. They must be prosecuted just as everyone should be. And yet, what of their work? Does it invalidate it?

Dicey.

Caravaggio was a murderer, but he was also a brilliant painter.

I enjoyed The Pianist, but Polanski...?

Can we admire the work while trying to keep the flawed (or even vile) creator in perspective?

I'm sorry I won't get to see Gunn's third installment of the Guardian's franchise.

What a shame.

Magnum Thrax: Future Fossil, Part 3 of 5

He held up a clenched fist, ordering the team to hold position, and slipped ahead, alone. He gripped the wet rock and proceeded on all fours, rifle slung over his back. The tunnel angled upward sharply and opened up into a vast chamber, from which came a sickening green glow. Thrax crawled behind a jagged rock and peeked over. The cavern was vast, illuminated by a bioluminescent slime. 

It also reeked of bird shit.

The cavern floor below was uneven, split by a fast flowing underground river that ran east to west. On the south side, hundreds of raptors were gathered around an arena pit. They wore garments of tendon and bone bits. A platform had been constructed on the far side. Larger raptors, adorned in gold jewelry and elaborate feathered head dresses, strutted over it, performing a herky-jerky dance that Thrax thought looked silly. 

Within the pit, Thrax could see bones of mighty beasts embedded in the rock. Other bones emerged out of sandy sections in the floor. More were in the cavern walls. Some were huge. Thigh bones as big as Thrax was tall. Taller, even. 

It was some kind of dino graveyard. What Kal had been interested in, thought Thrax. Crazy bastard. Always keen on nerd stuff. That was likely the death of him. 

The raptors had set up torches to better show off the fossils.

Thrax leaned forward. 

A shout from below froze him in place. It was guttural, harsh and clipped, but English nevertheless.

“This,” barked the largest and most impressive raptor, spreading clawed forearms, “is holy place, where ancestors lie. Proof we were first, before man! The Before Time was Eden. Then man came and ruin everything! Pave Eden. Drive us to extinction! Then man blow self up, because man stupid! Now we back! We rule again! God send Big Jesus to help eat their cheeks! Rejoice, Eden be restored!”

The raptor mob roared assent. 

“Word of God book say we dinosaur inherit earth. It tell all! Soon no more two-legged rat-mammals. They just food that talk; we no talk to food!”

The mob went wild, hooting and slashing at the air with their forearms.

The leader motioned for silence. He looked kinda majestic in his red plumage, thought Thrax. Like a sinister, man-eating big bird pimp. He decided to label the leader raptors by the colour of their headdresses: red, blue, green, white, and black. 

Red motioned to the side. “Bring forth sacrifice! After, you all be baptized as Rexutherans!”

A group of half-naked humanoids were herded brusquely onto the platform, and over to a rickety lift. 

Thrax gasped: at the front of the mob was a gangly fellow with red hair and a neatly trimmed beard: Kal! 

Alive after all!

Thrax felt a flood of relief, then sudden apprehension: he’d arrived just in time for his friend’s execution.

CRACK! The boulder before him shifted. It popped and snapped and shifted as… what Thrax could only describe as limbs broke away from the central mass. A section crumpled inward, creating a gaping maw. “Hue-man,” it rumbled very slowly. “Do… not… fear.”

Thrax was too shocked to feel fear. His jaw dropped. A rock was talking to him. It wasn't normal, even in the general weirdness of the Post-Apocalypse. What does one say? “Sup?” It was the best he could think of.

“Tooth-claw-creatures… took…,” said the rock very, very slowly. 

Thrax started to grow disinterested. “Uh-huh,” he said, and checked his scanner. “Took what?”

“…yours…”

“Yeah, yeah… uh-huh. Hey, look. There’s a frien–”

“And…” continued the rock, “…ours.”

Thrax waited. Was it done this time? Hard to tell. He waited more, not wanting to interrupt. He watched the rock maw. There were no vocal chords he could see. He thought about how the rock didn’t seem to have any eyes or ears or nose, either, yet obviously knew he was there. 

How’d it do that?

Eventually it dawned on him that the rock was waiting. For him. He shook his head. “How? You’re rocks. How could raptors hurt you?”

“Eggs,” replied the rock. “Creatures took… eggs.” A limb popped out, crackling as it pointed down towards the river, where glittering smooth spheres were suspended above the underground river in a silver mesh net.

“Threaten… drown. Work… us. Mine… holy bones. Bad… bad… creatures.” 

While Thrax considered this, something touched him on the back. He whirled about, his hunting knife out and poised to strike. 

It was Miss Jade.

The blade stopped an inch from her pert nose. 

She cringed back. “I beg your pardon, Mister Thrax! It's me, Miss Jade!” Thrax gave her a blank look. She put her glasses back on. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” said Thrax, slumping against the rock maw. He slipped the knife back into its leather sheath. “You scared the crap outta me. Don’t do that.”

“Oh, I’m so, so sorry, Mister Thrax. I forgot protocol in the excitement. Afraid I’m not terribly used to field work. That’s what they all say,” Jade smiled nervously and looked over his shoulder. “Is that… that is what I think it is, isn't it?”

“Yeah. Introductions later. Got more pressing problems. Those raptor creeps are gonna sacrifice Kal. And some other dudes. Utans, I think.” The Utes were an ugly breed of mutant, with big, droopy ears criss-crossed with purple veins, thick eyelashes, and slit like mouths. They could flare and shut their enormous nostrils at will and they were always snorting. The skin around their joints was leathery and wrinkled and thick. Long legs ended in big feet that splayed out, like a duck. Thrax grimaced. Evolution went in weird directions. That’s what his mom the gene-jockey always said, anyway.

Andromeda emerged out of the gloom, followed by Kitty. “We must save them, sir. It is our duty as warriors to protect the defenceless.”

“We’re just here to save Kal. And get the zinc, natch.”

“Boss, I see a thousand reasons to jet right now,” muttered Kitty, nodding at the raptor horde. 

Thrax looked over at Miss Jade who was running her fingers over the rock maw.

“Hi there,” she cooed gently. “I’m so, so honoured to meet you.” Her hands began to caress it more… sensually.

“Hey! Cut it out!” hissed Thrax, batting her hands away. “Stop fondling the rock creature. Jesus!”

“They are people, too, sir,” asserted Andromeda. “Should we save them also?”

Thrax did a double take. “Seriously?” He looked at her, and she looked back at him, just as confused as he was. Then it dawned on him: “Oh, the Utans! Yeah. Barely, I guess. I thought you meant the rock creatures.” He peeked back over the rock and almost lost his shit: there, beside Kal, was his little sister, Sally. 

Im-freaking-possible! 

He rubbed his eyes aggressively. Blinked. But it was to no avail: she was still there. He blinked again, harder this time. No good. She should have been safe back at the Pleasurepit, sitting on a couch watching kidvids! He rounded on Andromeda. “My little sister Sally… is down there! In the pit! With raptors! What the hell is my little sister doing down there!?!” He was upset. Now his mission was even more complex, but if he had to make a choice, the safety of his sister would be at the top of the list. The zinc didn’t matter by comparison.

“Oh, that,” said Miss Jade, feigning surprise. “Yes. We were going to mention.” She pointed down into the pit. “Has anyone else noticed they’re all brightly coloured? Typical only of male birds, which raises the unsettling question… Oh, one moment.” She pulled out a gleaming neural interface and started to attach it to the rock creature.

Thrax snatched it away. Cables sparked blue. “When?!?” demanded Thrax, beyond furious. “When and what were you going to mention? Spill it!”

“Sally? Er… now?” Miss Jade fiddled nervously with her hair and adjusted her glasses. “Kal thought it would be an educational experience for her to see Utan Oasis, the bones he’d found, so…” She bit her lip and stared at the silver interface unit. “Might I have that back?”

“No! That's it!” swore Thrax. “No more honorary uncle for him! I’m gonna save that doofus so I can kill him myself!” He started to crawl over the rock, unthinking murder in his eyes. 

Andromeda roughly hauled him back into cover. “Don't be a fool… sir!”

Thrax struggled, but she was damn good at hand-to-hand, and he knew it. She was the strongest of the androids by far, too. She clamped a hand over his mouth. “Going in angry will get us all killed, sir. We need a plan. Did you bring your jets?”

*****

For more Magnum Thrax, see the novel, Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom. 

Available on Amazon. 

starsIt's Mad Max on crack – Glen Conley

"Underneath this outlandish story’s brash exterior lies astute social commentary and sharp, unapologetic humor." – Kirkus Reviews

Magnum Thrax: Future Fossil, Part 2 of 5

Advanced battle tank with anti-laser reflective armour

Thrax tromped back to the tank in a grouchy mood. The rest of the team was already gathered around the metal behemoth.

“Andromeda!” said Thrax. “What’d you find?”

“Women and children, sir. Dead but uneaten. Lots of blood,” she responded flatly. “The perpetrators were… without honour. These were civilians.”

Well, at least that explained where everyone was, thought Thrax.

Sister Cinnamon stepped in front of him. She bowed her head slightly and kissed her necklace cross. “It was a massacre of innocents, my lord and liege. They desecrated the alter with a great red circle, painted with the blood of the devout. It was sacrilege of the worst kind. Their heresy cannot go unanswered.”

“I’m just a squad lead,” Thrax grimaced. “Not a lord or liege. And, yeah, sure, we’ll smite them good when we find’em. If we do. Kitty?”

“Nobody home, boss-man.”

Thrax plunked his rifle atop the tank’s glacis plate and adjusted his laser battery bandolier. He thought aloud: “Okay, so there were claw marks in Betty’s, and bite wounds and blood and guts. So I’m thinking animal attack, and yet, the bodies weren’t eaten. Which is completely freakin’ weird because you’d expect that if it were animals, unless they weren’t hungry, in which case why were they killing everyone.”

“Something else, sir.” Andromeda pointed towards the canyon entrance. Dust was blowing in from the desert beyond. “Sand’s been swept over blood stains at the front of the compound. There was a fight there, but the bodies were removed.”

That didn’t sound good. Thrax rubbed his chin and considered. He had to watch what he said in front of the team; they might be androids, but they had simulated feelings and their morale could be affected by everything he said and did. So he wanted to think first, which he always found frustratingly hard to do. With no missteps, either, which was even harder. Don’t appear dumb, he admonished himself. “Okay. So… smart animals, then.”

“Oh, come on,” blurted Kitty, emotions boiling over. “We all know what everyone’s thinking. What you’re talking about, so stop beating around the bush like a wuss. Just say it!”

“Raptors,” breathed Andromeda softly. 

The word sent a chill down their collective spines. 

“Utahraptor Sapien,” said Miss Jade sagely, explicating upon what everyone already knew for no reason other than obsessive compulsion. “Enlarged brain casings. They exhibit more than just pack behaviour; they’ve been known to form nomadic, albeit stone age, societies across the Midwest.”

“Naw.” Thrax wasn't convinced. “Doesn’t make sense. What’d raptors want with a smeggin’ zinc mine? I mean, they don’t have the tech know-how to do squat with it.” 

“Oh, who knows? Who cares? Like it would make any difference,” replied Kitty, waving her rifle about. “You think raptors need reasons to kill people, huh? Unh-unh. They fix you with those dead, soulless eyes, an’ hold perfectly still, an’ wait. You never know what they’re gonna do till they do it; share a meat morsel, all nice like, or rip your freakin’ arm off. This one time–”

“Point made!” Thrax held up his hands. “They’re gone, if they were here, long gone. So, let’s all relax.”

Kitty gave him a condescending look. “Okay, well, you know what else is gone, Sherlock? The zinc. So what are we doing here, huh? You tell me.”

Thrax opened his mouth to respond, but found he had no witty retort to deploy. He was thankfully saved from embarrassment by a horrible, blood-curdling shriek. It faded into a wet, sloppy gurgle that didn’t sound healthy.

Everyone froze.

“You guys… I don't think they left,” whispered Candy, clutching her rifle.

“No shit,” snarked Kitty.

“Came from the mine shaft,” noted Thrax. “I think.” He scooped up his rifle and primed the fusion pile. “Ready up, team.” 

“Hold.” Andromeda hopped up on the tank, reached into an open hatch, and hauled out a mesh sack of plasma grenades.“These may come in handy.”

Thrax grinned. That was why he so liked Andy. 

A sudden gust blew sand in their faces. Thrax’s jacket flapped as the wind picked up. 

It was growing dark, and threatening clouds roiled overhead.

“Storm comin’. Let’s move, faux-people,” advised Thrax. “Before it rains acid. Or worse.”

“We’ll be safest underground,” offered Miss Jade.

Thrax nodded in agreement with her statement of the obvious. “Good idea.” 

The team swarmed around the mine shaft opening. Miss Jade reached it first, and peered into the abyss. Thrax thought she seemed real eager to go below. A little too eager for his liking. She started to spout off some poetry: “‘Into the darkness they go, the wise and the lovely.’ Millay.” 

“Oh please, girl, we don’t need you getting all dramatic on us,” said Kitty, peering down. “Whoa. It’s damn deep.” She spat her gum in, and it fell away into darkness. “You see that? Reeeeeal deep.”

Miss Jade was aghast. “Did… did you just litter? People live here, you know.”

Thrax shook his head. “Not anymore.”

“You’re both missing the point.”

“I think the people here are a little more concerned with their guts being littered all over.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right!”

Thrax held up a hand. “Let it go, Jade. It’s just legacy code talking. Now. Everyone go subvocal,” said Thrax, activating his tooth comm toggle. He motioned them onto the lift, but blocked the sexy nurse, who tried to totter aboard in her stylish boots. She seemed really sweet and innocent. “Candy, right? Yeah. I want you to stay up top. Operate the lift for us, then lock yourself down in the tank. Shoot anything with feathers, or scales. Or that moves.” 

Candy didn’t seem put out at all. She nodded eagerly. “Okay, Mister Thrax. Lower you down. Then, tank. Lock down. Shoot birds. Got it.” She smiled and showed great big, perfect teeth.

Her earnest enthusiasm freaked him out a little. Like she was getting her first assignment, ever. Thrax gave her a half-hearted grin and the thumbs up, then shut the lift gate. 

There was a flash of lightning, followed by a crack of thunder. Thrax looked up. The western sky was red and turbulent, like an angry lava lamp. His mom had one in their underground unit, back at The Pit. Electrically charged blobs of radioactive gas were coming their way. Fast. 

“Let's get underground. Hit it, Candy… Candy?”

Candy wasn't listening. Something had caught her eye, in back of the lift machinery. 

Movement.

Another flash. 

Thrax squinted. Light glinted off what he thought might be razor sharp teeth, for a brief moment, then they were swallowed up by comforting darkness. Could have been pipes. Plating. Trick of the light. Anxiety messing with his mind.

“Candy! C’mon! Lower us in! Then get back to the tank.”

“Oh sure, sure, sorry, Thrax,” she said apologetically, tottering over in her high heels to the lift controls. “This place gives me the creeps, that’s all. I get nervous kinda nervous.”

“No problem, Candy. Take a pill if you need to.” He tried not to worry about the cute medic android. She’d never survive on her own, poor thing. But someone had to lower them down. “Hit it, babe.”

Candy licked her lips and then threw all her weight against the lift mechanism’s oversized lever. With a jolt, the lift began trundling down into the dark abyss.

“Good luck, you guys!” called Candy from the ledge above. She blew them kisses.

Thrax didn’t think he’d ever see her again. But if she got eaten by raptors, they could just find her memory chip after it was passed through, well…

Kitty rolled her eyes and pretended to gag. “That girl is on something.”

“Not Candy,” said Thumper. “Too straight.”

“She’s high on life!” gushed Miss Jade. “The exhilaration of combat! Of adventure, the thrill of the unknown. Anything could be around the next corner!”

“Unh-huh,” said Kitty, looking at Miss Jade like she’d just admitted to having a highly infectious airborne disease. “Until you get your guts ripped out, girl.”

Sister Cinnamon began to pray. “Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil, for thou art with me…”

“Amen to that,” said Thrax, and he double-checked his weapons.

Ten minutes later, and a thousand feet down, the dilapidated cage banged roughly against the shaft’s bottom.

Thrax snorted. The air smelled like wet rock grit. Acidic. He rolled back the gate and the team spilled out, weapons at the ready. They formed a half-circle, facing outward, just like he’d taught them, which was nice. They had been listening after all! 

Two tunnels led out of the chamber before them, one to the southeast and one southwest.

Thrax noticed strange glyphs lined the rough hewn walls. Like something his little sister might scrawl on the hallway walls back at The Pit. “Huh. Check it out: rock art, ladies.”

“Oh, my word! That’s bloody gorgeous!” declared Miss Jade, and she rushed past Thrax to the west wall. She ran her fingers over the deep, moist grooves.

“Miss Jade!” hissed Andromeda. “Back in formation!” 

Andy had a good point, thought Thrax, as usual. “Do what the lady says, Jade.”

“Yes, yes, of course, my apologies, just… one teeny-tiny moment, if you will,” responded Jade, her voice quivering. “This… this is remarkable, absolutely fantastic. More than I could have ever hoped for from his messages. Kal was right, everyone! These are rock gnome glyphs. I'm completely positive. Well. Ninety-percent positive, which is pretty close.”

“Gnome what?” queried Thrax. He didn’t like disruptive weird new things that were totally unrelated to the task at hand interrupting everything, and this sounded like one of those weird disruptive things.

“Rock gnomes,” replied Miss Jade, grinning wide. Her enthusiasm was admittedly a little infectious. “Igneous Notator. Silicon creatures The Ancients created. Organic tools, you might say. They live inside solid rock, swimming about, sweeping up minerals, barely more than information waves. Really amazing. They defecate bricks of these indigestible elements, and The Ancients would harvest them. A totally symbiotic relationship with an entirely new form of life.” 

“Oh, gross,” said Kitty, making a face. “They harvested shit? That’s disgusting.”

Thrax kind of agreed, but Miss Jade rounded on Kitty, indignant. “Oh, honestly! Their feces are made of silicon. Could you please stop being juvenile, just for a moment?” she demanded. “This is a remarkable life form, unlike anything else on earth. The creation of it goes far beyond resurrecting an extinct species. That's a trifle! This is an industrial engineering feat of sheer, unparalleled genius! Proof of The Ancient’s god like ability.” She looked back at the glyphs approvingly. “These are so very sexy.”

Kitty was having none of it. “Girl, they’re chicken scratch on a rock wall. You think that’s sexy, you got bigger problems than me.”

“What difference does it make?” said Thrax. “Look where the genius of The Ancients got them. Wiped out, save for a porn emporium bunker. We’re the last remnant. Wait… Can you read the glyphs?”

Miss Jade adjusted her glasses. “A little. I recognize a few of the more common symbols. That’s ‘home’. There… ‘Love’. And I think that’s… ‘Don’t trespass.’ Yes, that’s it. Then things about, uh, pain of death, burn for all eternity, damn the human creators, followed by dozens of expletives. Um, yes. Die forever, you bastards. You get the gist.”

Thrax smirked. “Nice.”

“Do… do they believe in God?” asked Cinnamon. “The rock things? They must be offered the chance of salvation. Their human creators may never have offered them the opportunity.”

“Girl, damn, you is stubborn,” said Kitty. “You’ve been trying to convert those pervs back at the pit for decades, and no luck. And now you’re going to try and convert a rock. That is hard core in my books.”

“They just need to stay out of our way,” said Thrax. 

Miss Jade shrugged and pressed an ear against the slick rock wall. “I can hear a rushing noise!” She bit her lower lip. “I think there’s an underground river behind the rock. A rather big one.” She stepped back and observed the wall.

Thrax was distracted by a call from the far side of the chamber. Andromeda stood before the southwest tunnel. “Sir! There’s air coming from this direction,” she said. “Very slight. And noises. Growls. Sound like raptors to me.”

“Sweet,” said Thrax, growing enthused. Growls suggested both action and answers were ahead, nice and simple like. “Southwest it is.”

Rock crackled overhead. 

Instantly Thrax swept his gun along the roof of the chamber. 

Nothing. Just rock.

Damn his newbie jitters. 

The team entered the tunnel, Thrax in lead. The tunnel angled gently downward. Five hundred meters on they heard chanting ahead. Voices that were a mix between growls and aggressive chirps. 

Thrax knew the sound: raptors for sure.

*****

For more Magnum Thrax, see the novel, Magnum Thrax and the Amusement Park of Doom. 

Available on Amazon. 

starsIt's Mad Max on crack – Glen Conley

"Underneath this outlandish story’s brash exterior lies astute social commentary and sharp, unapologetic humor." – Kirkus Reviews