The Third TV Spot for Fantastic Four looks awesome. Love the Thing!

Fact or fiction. Real Time Traveler?

A Silly and Fun Video about time travel

Time Travel...The Full Truth! A Video Documentary.

They awoke at death's door on a strange planet that was once their own. Crash "A Jules and Wells Story" By John Pirillo

 
Crash
"A Jules and Wells Story"
By John Pirillo

A great writer, H.G. Wells, once wrote that in the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is King. But that is only half the story. Here is a tale of love and friendship caught at the gates of hell itself with two authors whose adventures in real life far exceeded their tales of wonder and fantasy on the written page. Jules Verne and H.G. Wells!


Wells lifted himself on his elbow, his face strained with great pain. Jules lay to the left of him, flung from his chair by the violence of their crash. Wells didn't actually see that. At that particular moment, he couldn't see a thing. Not a blasted thing, bloody hell and all! He thought to himself, ready to snap off a turtle's head, so angry he was at the co-ordinates he had fed Jules to put into the Strings navigator.

The forces hadn't been kind to either him or his best friend, he suspected. By the smell...acrid and bitter...he realized that the Master of the World was at best a wounded animal.

"Jules."

A moan.

"What happened?"

Another moan. This time louder and with more pain in the sound of it.

"My legs are crushed."

"Oh Jules. I'm so sorry." Wells croaked, his voice cracking as his emotions surfaced. They were both probably about to die.

"Mon Frere?"

"It is I."

"I can't lift the weight from my legs. I am flat on my belly and it is behind me."

"I..."

He felt Jules, rather than saw him strain to see Wells. "You're hurt!"

"My eyes."

Jules moaned again, but not because of his own pain. "Oh, dear friend, what a fine pair we are."

"The finest."

"I cannot walk. You cannot see."

"Think, Jules, what happened?"

"The String Space rejected our drive and flung us from it."

"That is impossible."

"Qui, but..."

Wells hurt in every inch of his body, but nothing appeared to be broken. He sat up, inch by inch, by drawing himself upwards with the strength of his hands upon the command console, which was obviously broken in many places. It was a miracle that either of them had survived the crash, let alone with such small physical loss.

He laughed.

"I am glad you find this amusing."

Wells grinned, and then felt blood spattering his lips. He wiped it away. "Not at you, or us, but this whole bloody thing. Here we are in the middle of...bloody hell, I don't know, maybe God does, but here we are. Two cocky young rogues who have had more than their share of close calls and managed to squeeze by."

"Not this time, Mon Frere. Not this time."

Wells heard the agony in Jules voice. "Keep speaking. I will see..." He laughed.

"You're laughing again."

"I see nothing."

Jules was silent. He mourned for his friend, but he could do nothing. He strained to break free from the weight on his legs, but could not turn or move. "Then do the best you can."

"Do I not always?"

Again, Jules was silent. Wells dragged himself across the debris between them carefully. Without eyes he had no idea what might be in his path and didn't need to skewer him on some bit of compromising metal by accident. His knee struck something hard. "Jules?"

"That would be my head."

Wells laughed again.

"I am growing tired of this laughter."

"And I." He laughed some more.

Jules laughed as well.

"We are such a sorry pair of fools." Jules finally was able to gasp out between laughs.

"Yes, we are." And Wells burst into a new line of laughter.

Finally, they both settled down, exhausted by their physical pains and the fear of the unknown. Wells used his right hand to probe along Jules body, and finally stopped when he felt something hard and unyielding. "It is the arms panel."

"But it has my legs." Jules remarked.

That sparked another burst of laughter from the two friends. When that subsided, Wells managed to maneuver himself closer to Jules and position himself so he could wrap both arms about the panel. "If I remember correctly, we had bolts holding it in place. It weighs about five hundred pounds."

"Yes. And we both nearly got broken by lifting it."

"Yes. And my wife thanks you for the design."

"As does mine, it gave her relief for almost a month."

They both burst into laughter again.

Finally, Wells stopped. "Do not move, I am going to try lifting it, then shoving it to the right."

"Oh trust me, Wells, move I shall not."

Wells almost laughed again, but when Jules let out another involuntary gasp of pain, the laughter fled from his lips. He strained with all his might, but the panel would not move.

"Well, that is good and proper." Wells finally croaked, gasping for breath.

"Yes. You can't see. I can't walk."

"I have not given up." Wells stubbornly replied.

He slid past Jules. "Can you see the closet door? Is it open or shut?"

"I cannot turn my head that far."

"No problem. I shall see to it myself."

They broke into laughter again, and then subsided as Wells slid to the position of the closet. He felt along the floor for its base, felt its edges, then slowly got to his feet, even though every muscle in his body screamed with pain.

Something made a loud whooshing sound in the back of the Master of the World.

"Wells, I suspect we have another problem brewing."

"As always, you are right, my friend." Wells responded, even as his hand sought the latch of the closet and sprung it. Another miracle. The compartment was whole. He felt the rod within it. He had stored it there from their last trip. It was some kind of artifact they had found on an abandoned version of Earth. Neither could figure out its function, though it generated an enormous amount of chronic energy.

"Have it." Wells grunted, as he allowed himself to slide down to the floor again.

He began to sniff the air. "Smoke."

"Mon Frere, where there is smoke..."

"...There is fire. I know. I know. I'm hurrying as fast as I can."

Well managed to get over to Jules again. He felt around and found a slightly rounded slab of metal that was near the panel fallen on Jules' legs. He slid the rod between the slab and the panel. "I don't know if this is positioned properly. You must let me know if anything is going wrong."

"Trust me; I will be the first to let you know."

They were both silent a long moment, then Wells slowly applied pressure to the rod, which was acting as a fulcrum to moving the panel. He heard grinding and screeching. Was the panel mixed with some other fallen object?

"Ow!" Jules cried out.

Wells started to lower the rod.

"Non, non, Mon Frere. The pain is a good one. Keep on. I can feel my legs loosening."

Wells grunted as he applied more pressure.

There was an explosion in the rear of the ship and the blast wave knocked him to the left. His rod flew from his hands to the right.

Jules cried out as if he had been crushed to death.

Wells recovered himself and scrambled to help Jules, but instead of finding Jules' body, he discovered only a mass of metal. "Jules!" He cried out.

He felt two hands clasp his shoulders and slowly raise him to his feet. "Mon frère." Jules whispered to his dear friend.

They gave each other a long hug, and then Jules turned Wells. "We must hurry while there is an exit from the vessel. As Jules walked, he stumbled on the rod. He started to kick it aside, then thought better of it and stooped to pick it up with his free hand, allowing Wells to lean against him as he did so. Finally, he was able to stand again.

"What is it?"

Jules eyed the rod. "Either our salvation or our destruction."

Another explosion. They were both slammed into a wall.

Jules hurriedly recovered and grabbed Wells to his feet. He used the rod to help push fallen and crushed debris from their path, and then reached the emergency exit. He kicked the control box at the base of it. It had three boxes like such. One at the top. One at the middle and one at the bottom in case someone was unable to reach the other two.

The door made a loud groaning sound and didn't want to open.

"Oh damn it to hell anyway!"

Wells kicked with all his might. His aim was true. The door made a loud protesting sound, and then swung open.

Jules practically flung them to the ground as the Master of the World gave one loud rumbling sound after another. "We must run!"

"I will trust your eyes."

"That is good, for I trust little else."

"Then lean on me, and guide us both."

Jules did so.

Wells bolstered his friend as they both ran from the debris of the broken ship. Its beautiful golden lines of radiant beauty were marred by debris from its crash and from the fires that now raged throughout it. They had gotten about twenty yards away, when a wave of explosions rippled the rough the vessel, sending debris showering them and the land about them.

Jules threw himself and Wells down and covered Wells with his body.

The explosions stopped.

Jules rolled off and gasped for air.

Wells did the same, not because he was relieved, but because Jules had crushed the air from his lungs.

"Safe." Wells said.

"But for how long?"

Jules surveyed the land they had crashed into. It was late. The sun barely peeked above the craggy mountains that ringed in their crash site. On the horizon was a thick forest. It seemed a livable place. And then he saw something move in the forest. It moved temporarily into the light. It was enormous. At least ninety feet in height. Jules could see very long teen in its mouth.

Wells stomach grumbled. "I can't believe I'm hungry at a time like this."

"You're not the only one." Jules whispered.

"Why are you whispering, blast it?" Wells almost hollered.

Jules clapped a hand over his friend's face. "Something is coming our way."

"Something very, very big."

Wells clasped the rod that lay between him and Jules. "Well, worst comes to worse, we can always use this as a club."

"I don't think that's going to work." Jules said as the huge beast stomped towards them, closing the distance with huge steps that covered yards of ground at a time.

"What's wrong?"

Jules let go of Wells. "From the kettle into the fire."

Wells stiffened. "Death yet again?"

"Yes, Mom Frere, it would appear that the Old Man enjoys playing with us."

Wells drew himself to his feet, leaning on the rod. He reached a hand out and Jules took it, and then rose to stand beside him.

"I think I could run now." Jules remarked in a forced casual voice.

"I think our time of running has come to an end."

Jules looked at his friend. "Perhaps so."

Jules grabbed the rod from his friend's grasp, causing him to fall to the ground.

"What kind of madness is this, Jules?"

"The only kind that has ever been our friend." Jules uttered back, his face resolute and fixed. He turned to face the beast, which now towered over the both of them.

"I shall not go out without a fight." Wells uttered, forcing himself to his feet.

Jules nodded. "Then as always."

"We live together. We..."

"Die together."

Jules raised the rod over his shoulder to strike the beast in the face as it opened its massive jaws, revealing row after row of jagged teeth. Its gigantic bloodshot eyes swirled with delight as it eyed its easy snack.

"For love." Jules hollered, and then swung the rod.

It struck the beast in its nose as it reached for them.

The creature gave the two of them a stunned look for a moment, and then it raised itself up on its hind feet and prepared to crush them with its front.

"Farewell, dear friend." Jules said calmly and with great clarity.

"Forever friends." Wells agreed, taking Jules free hand.

"Forever." Jules repeated.

Then as the beast's massive front feet dropped to crush them, the rod in Jules' hand lit up brighter than the sun for a moment. Both men were seared by its intensity. The beast cried out in fear, but continued to press downwards. When its feet had crushed into the bright light, it felt nothing but soil.

It lowered its great head to look at the spot it had crushed. Nothing was there, not even the stick that had struck it. The beast groaned angrily, then turned to retreat back to its forest, where maybe another meal could be found.

=========================================================================

Jules stood in the cockpit of the Master of the World, the rod raised before his face. Wells lay at his feet next to the navigation controls.

"Mon Frere. I think dinner has been avoided."

"Where are we? This sounds like..."

"The Master of the World." Jules finished for him.

Jules hurried his friend to the small infirmary in the back and even though he was unsettled still by the abrupt transition to an intact vessel, devoid of any human life, he didn't forget his friend's injuries. He carefully cleaned his friend's face, then his eyes, using medicated solutions to cleanse the cuts and bruises. He had laid his friend down on the small cot there and sat beside him. He placed a strip of thick gauze over his friend's eyes.

Wells fell into a deep sleep, which Jules would not disturb. He only rose the once to check on their navigation headings, then satisfied with them, returned to keep watch on his friend. It must have been many hours later that Wells groaned and rubbed at the gauze over his eyes.

"What the blasted, bloody hell have you put over my vision? I can't see a thing! Bloody hell, Jules!"

Jules pressed a hand to the gauze to stop him from removing it. "It's for your own good, Mon Frere. Your eyes were hurt badly."

"Like bloody hell they were!" Wells said, and then swept Jules' hand and the gauze from his face. He looked at Jules, who gave him a startled look, then smiled. "I can see you are quite disturbed."

"You would be too if you had been through what I had with you." Jules countered.

They both broke into peals of laughter.

When they had landed the Master of the World, their wives were waiting for them. They rushed to them and held them close a long time, saying nothing. Both women were used to such conduct from their men and knew when they were ready; they would speak of what had happened, though they couldn't tell a thing by looking at the state of the Master of the World, which was perfect and untouched by flame or explosion.

That night both men gave their women more attention than usual, but neither wife complained. They loved their men, even though they often times were gone in their explorations. Love is a most bounteous and generous energy, and the love between these four was enough to satisfy them all.

But as both men went to sleep that night, comfortable and warm against their wives, the one thought they had in common was...What had triggered the rod to activate? What had caused the erasure of time itself?

Even though that thought weighed heavily upon both men for a time, they could not hold it for long, for weariness now claimed its own and they descended into the blissful ignorance of sleep and dreams well earned.

More fractal flames to get you into a good frame of mind. Soft curving lights. Colors that melt into the brain and leave it warm and fuzzy.

"Dying to the Light" Find crimes enough, love enough, adventure enough, monsters & action enough to satisfy any appetite you might present.

Dying to the Light

"A Sherlock Holmes Collection"

From the Baker Street Universe

By John Pirillo

A collection of short stories from The Baker Street Universe that center around the exciting, sometimes paranormal, or science fiction adventures of Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Whether they're investigating monsters or human monsters, there's always adventure, romance, excitement and danger in a parallel Victorian London where authors and their creations are all alive at the same time.

Purchase now at Amazon and Smashwords for 99cents!

Dying to the Light is homage to Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson, but because the stories take place in an alternate reality, the Baker Street Universe, you will also find many other fun and exciting characters. Some are famous from literature. Some are the author's own. But all are fun to write and imagine. Oh, and did you know there's monster. Lots of monsters.

Enjoy this collection of fabulous stories for only 99cents at both Amazon and Smashwords!

You will find crimes enough, love enough, adventure enough, and action enough to satisfy any appetite you might present. But most of all you'll have a joy ride of pleasure with hours of reading about some of the most exciting people of all: Sherlock Holmes and Doctor John Watson.

Hours of reading pleasure can be yours for just 99 cents at Amazon and Smashwords!

Battling a Genie, a horde of demons...that could be a bit tough. The Magic Lamp. A Cartoon Story by John Pirillo

The Magic Lamp
"A Cartoon Story"
by John Pirillo

"Stuff it!" Johnnie told the Genie hovering over Aladdin's lamp. "I am not going to build you a duplex inside that ugly thing."

The Genie waxed his long mustaches with wet fingers he had just dipped in wax and gave Johnnie a loathsome smile. "It's the deal. Either you build me the duplex, or I vanish your girlfriends for the next thousand years!"

"You can't do that!" He screamed at the ugly being who pretended to be a nice man. "You're friggin' crazy!"

"No. I am just...me."

The Genie vanished into his ugly lamp and it shook around a bit.

Cartoon glanced at Johnnie, where he stood in the antiquities store, still stunned by what had happened. "You can't let him do that to Koomay and Laurie."

"I won't, but I just don't get it. I never touched any comic book with a genie in it. Never. Not in this life or any other!" He exclaimed angrily, his face flushed with anger.

"Maybe." Cartoon said soothingly. "But are you absolutely certain?"

Johnnie gave her a scrutinizing look. "You're up to something."

"Always." She said with the glint of a smile on her lips.

"From the day you tricked me in to rescuing you as a young girl in that high rise fire, you've been manipulating me."

"True enough."

He started to explode again, and then caught himself. "Okay. Mostly for the better, but you've never once....once explained the rules of this power I've been given."

Cartoon picked up the lamp.

"Ouch! Don't be so rough!" The Genie cried out from inside.

The Shop Owner glanced over at the two arguing, and then came over. "Is there a problem?"

He said it to Cartoon, thinking that Johnnie was abusing her. He hated abusive people. His father had been abusive to his mother and he was ready to knock anyone down if they even hinted at such. He stood over Johnnie by a good foot. He was an extremely tall man, and there was something oddly familiar about him, though he couldn't place it at the time.

"No problem. We'll take this lamp. Just a bit of a disagreement as to...how." She said with an amused look on her face.

Johnnie was stewing with anger at the way he was being manipulated, but inside of himself he knew it wasn't what it appeared to be. It never was. He just hated always being on the wrong end of the eight ball.

"Yeah. How much?"

The Shop Owner gave him a blank look.

"I said we'd take it." Johnnie said again, starting to lose his temper. He really needed to learn how to meditate. The stress was starting to really scramble his brain and his temperament.

"Take what, sir?"

Johnnie gestured to the lamp in Cartoon's hand. The Shop Owner looked that way. "She does have lovely hands, but you don't need my permission to take them."

He laughed, thinking his joke was quite amusing.

==========================================================

Johnnie slouched on the sofa, his brains scrambling to figure out what had just happened in that old store. He could clearly see the lamp. It would shake every once in awhile on the coffee table and he could even hear the Genie taking a shower. Taking a shower! Of all the ungodly things to do inside a lamp.

"I can't build a duplex." Johnnie muttered angrily to himself.

He felt a pair of arms slip around his neck, and Cartoon nuzzles his right ear. "Sure you can."

She came around and sat next to him, sliding against his right shoulder with the warmth of her glowing body. She usually dimmed the glow in public, otherwise people would wise up, or be extremely frightened, but sometimes she'd let it all  hang out, like when they were battling zombies, werewolves and vampires.

"What's really eating you?" She asked finally, after giving him a chance to say it for himself.

He slowly turned to look into her eyes. "Rules."

She sighed.

"You're stubborn, Johnnie. You know that, don't you?"

"Likewise you."

She smiled. "When I need to be."

"Rules!" He asked again, more firmly.

She got up and began pacing the small living room. "When you saved me, you allowed your genetics to blend with my own, with my universe. All the laws that is true there are now latent within you."

"You mean you can turn into any cartoon character you want?" He asked, a bit surprised at her answer.

"No." She answered sadly. "For some reason it only works one direction. You can become us, but we can never become you."

"Why do you think that is?"

"Our ancestors when they first slipped into that universe were like yours. Desperate and hunted by creatures from your worst nightmares."

"Tough life."

"Very." She answered. "We figured out a way to open a doorway between the universes. At first we were frightened when our bodies became light bodies, but then we got used to it. And as we did, we learned to blend with the other cartoon beings that dwelled within the realms."

"Superman, Batman, Daffy Duck...?"

She laughed. "No, silly. Those are your creations. Not ours. The cartoon world has rules just like your own and those who lived there before us were a kind and loving race. They never knew violence or despair. They welcomed us with open arms and hearts."

Johnnie held a hand up. "So how come every time I draw upon your world's energies everything gets so..."

"Screwed up?" She answered with a giggle.

"Yeah that too."

She gave him a somber look, her eyes piercing his own with a stare he hadn't seen before. For a moment he felt like he stood on the precipice of Eternity, everything gone around him, but the vastness of the Universe, and then that strange feeling vanished, replaced by the warmth and security of her closeness and her voice.

"We don't control Creation, anymore than you here of Earth can. Its rules align with a Higher Source."

Johnnie rolled his eyes, but accepted her words for the moment, until he could consider the better. "Well, time to get to work, I guess."

He stood up and headed for the front door.

He turned back. His face lit up. "Oh, my God! I know why I recognized that Shop Owner. He's the same man who I met as a child when my parents went shopping in his store. At the time I didn't think anything of the illustrated book he pressed into my hands. When my parents weren't listening he said. I can still hear them as clear as day, someday this will be important to you. Remember that."

At that given moment the magic lamp began to shake and smoke. Cartoon stood up and hurriedly backed away from it. Johnnie put an arm around her shoulders.

"I remember now, Cartoon. I remember."

The Genie hissed out of the lantern in a huge cloud of magical dust, each fist clenching a gigantic scimitar. "Prepare for battle!"

Johnnie turned to Cartoon. "Ain't it always the same? Teen finds cartoon, cartoon finds boy, everything becomes all crazy and there's battles and cries of despair and the hero has to save the day."

Cartoon laughed. "Come on, Hero. Afraid of a little adventure?"

"Not this time." Johnnie said, waving a hand. A gigantic scimitar shone in his left fist. His clothing turned into silk garments with a bow over his right shoulder and a loop of rope at his waist, caught in a red sash.

"Lead on, Genie!"

The Genie gave Johnnie a fierce look. "You will build my duplex!"

"Okay. Okay. If you say so. So what's the problem?"

At that same moment the front door vanished and they were staring into another world where giant demons were storming a palace. Civilians were screaming and running for their lives.

"Gotcha!" Johnnie said, and then he and Cartoon ran through the door opening and vanished into the world of the Genie.

The Genie roared behind them, and charged through like a gigantic diesel engine truck blasting its horn. It soared past Johnnie and lit into the first swarm of giant demons. "For Baghdad and the Nile! It cried.

"Ah, that's so corny!" Johnnie sighed as he and Cartoon rushed the same swarm.

Cartoon didn't have time to answer, because Johnnie had to hack at a giant demon that was about to clobber them with a mace the size of a small SUV.

Such was the life of a Comic Book Commando!

Project Shell by Blow Studios. CGI film.

Best CGI Animated Stories, collection of cute shorts.

Godzilla Cartoon. Good old Kaiju King of the Monsters is back in an animation of the third kind. Enjoy!

Star Born by Andre Norton...full novel in audio book format. Great writer. Loved everything she wrote!

Andre Norton was not a male, but a woman of great style and distinguishment. She wrote under the name of a male because in those days women were still considered barefoot baby factories only suitable to cook and do the home.

Have things changed since then!

Don't miss out on this novel.

I'll see if I can find shorter segments, but in the meanwhile, if you have about ten hours to spend drilling sci-fi of the most exciting kind into your ears. There it is!

Enjoy.

John

The Action doesn't stop! Will Spy Smasher survive to live to another hair raising act of death defying action? Chapter 3!

New Gallery. Photorealistic landscapes I created using 3D Designs. Soothing and beautiful. Fun to think about.

More of my experiments in 3D Design Landscapes. Some turned out achingly beautiful and some just pretty, but all were fun to design.

To think my first 3D work was on an old Atari Console.

Things have sure changed, haven't they?

Enjoy.

John

The Swarming Red. Story of early life of Doctor Watson John Pirillo. War is hell. He found healing could also cause pain and suffering.

Much has been written about Sherlock Holmes, the Master Detective, but little has been revealed about his wonderful partner and friend, Doctor John Watson. This was and is a situation I intend to remedy with a series of stories over time that fill in the missing parts of his life, both as a young man and later as a partner in the waiting for Sherlock.

This is the third story in my saga about young John Watson. While not steeped in as much magic and other worldly events as later stories will and might be, this one establishes his character, his desires as a humane being and gives us a glimpse of his early love life, which as any good author will tell you, has little shadows surrounding it. Shadows of change.

I hope you have as much fun getting lost in this wonderful little story, as I had in telling it. I  have the additional pleasure of seeing it quite clearly in my mind. And, if you've been following my series of interviews, perhaps a bit more. Hey?

Enjoy,

John

The Swarming Red
A John Watson Story
By John Pirillo

"John!" The urgent call of Nurse Betty Stone called.

John, his white scrubs trailing behind him as he ran, dashed into the corridor to help two orderlies with an especially large man they were trying to move onto an operating gurney. He took the blanket the man was on, stretched it onto the new gurney and pulled as they shoved. The overly weight man groaned as he dropped several inches onto the hard steel surface, his eyes fluttering madly in his skull for a moment, and then he drifted back into unconsciousness.

"How long's he been like this?"

Nurse Betty Stone ran over with a clipboard and shoved it into John's hands. "He has the blood disease."

"The Swarming Red, I believe it's called, Nurse Betty Stone."

"Yes, Doctor...I mean John."

John gave her the hint of a grin, but said nothing. His stint at the Hyde and Mary Hospital had started him off as an ordinary attendant rushing men like this on gurneys through the corridors to the emergency operating rooms, sweeping up floors, mopping bathrooms and distributing food to patients when the nurses were too busy elsewhere. It was tough, sometimes grueling work, but he never complained. He was always learning something new. He couldn't explain why, but he had a fascination with medicine, and in particular the study of how things came together. The clues that explained the why and the wherefore of wounds, whether caused by guns, knives, battering or just plain stupidity.

"No, problem, Betty."

She gave him a blush. She was about three years younger than him and came from a fine family dedicated to the Arts. Her father had been disappointed when she decided to take her artistic hand and apply it to the suffering instead of to garnering fame and fortune as her artist father, renowned throughout the Britains had. Her hair was an off blonde with hints of red in it, and her eyes were spotlights of blue that illuminated a face full of warmth and concern and right then that moment, Watson.

Watson helped the orderlies get the man into the operating room where Doctor Owens, Charles Owens, an elderly man of thirty five, finished pulling on his surgical gloves, and his nurses rolled out a tray of surgical equipment, as well as hot towels and dry ones to mop his forehead as he worked.

"Very good, John. Over here." He commanded.

John steered the gurney into the requisite spot and the orderlies left, but John remained next to the Doctor.

"Better put on a mask and gloves if you're going to help me, John." The good Doctor said with the hint of mischief in his eyes.

John didn't waste a moment. He sprinted into the clean room, tossed his scrubs, threw on fresh ones, then a mask and gloves and hurried back inside the operating room.

Doctor Owens shook his head. "This one has let it go too far this time."

"Doctor?"

Doctor Owens pointed to the man's right and left feet where they were swollen and discolored. Parts of them were showing evidence of a kind of mold. "The Swarming Red. It's advanced into the final stages."

"What does that mean?"

"John, be so good as to hand me that saw over there?"

John looked to the counter behind them and saw an array of saws. Some bloody ones lay in a solution towards the end. He noted that uneasily, and then took the one the Doctor gestured too. He gently lifted it, and then brought it to him.

"Now you must help me strap him down."

"Strap him down? But he's unconscious."

"Not for long, I dare say, poor wretch."

He gestured to Nurse Betty Stone."Give me two doses of blue and one of the red please."

"Blue and red?"

Doctor Owens looked at John. "The Blue is a distillation of opium. The red is a special drug that Count Tesla found on his expedition to the Isles of Darkness. It has the ability and tenacity of an opiate, but when used in conjunction with one, sustains its effects and amplifies it by a magnitude of ten."

"That would kill him!" Gasped John.

Doctor Owens took the syringe when Nurse Betty Stone returned with it. He tapped it and squirted it slightly to clear any air, then turned to John. "This man will die anyway...most certainly within the next hours if we don't. Believe me, John; he's going to need ten times more than this once we begin."

John didn't know what to think, but he watched as Nurse Betty Stone properly cleaned the man's feet, and then applied a salve to them.

"It'll help stem the blood flow."

"Blood flow?"

"Yes. John. I'd advise you to step back a bit. This could get messy."

Nurse Betty Stone gave John a nervous glance, and then raised a pure white sheet between her and the doctor's bodies as he reached over with the saw.

John watched in stunned silence during the next several minutes, as the man on the gurney cried out in pain, his eyes snapping open in horror as he realized what was being done."

"Two more Blue and double the Red, Nurse!"

She fled to the cabinet where the medicines were stored, plucked out two vials, got a syringe and filled it, then ran back.

Doctor Owens looked at the man who was sobbing and crying with terror and pain, his two feet severed free and laying on a separate gurney with a steel bowl and a fluid holding them floating within. "This will hurt even more, sir." He said, his eyes filled with compassion.

Nurse Betty Stone gave the doctor the syringe and he stuck it in the man's belly. The man started to cry out, and then gave the doctor a perplexed look. It hadn't really hurt at all, and then he saw the red hot iron that Nurse Betty Stone pulled from a flash oven as she gave it to the Doctor.

He looked at the man. "I just think you might make it, young man. But you must have a stiff upper lip. Do you believe in God, sir?"

The man's eyes were starting to sag closed. He shook his head no.

"Well, it doesn't hurt to now, does it?"

He applied the iron to the first leg's stump.

John would never forget the sound of that scream. And finally, it broke his resolve. He rushed from the room and threw up in the corridor. Nurses and patients looked at him and the mess. He sagged against the wall and put his hands over his face and began sobbing.

Nurse Betty Stone came out about ten minutes later, wringing her hands in worry. John was still against the wall. Still crying. She dropped beside him, put her arms around his shoulders and hugged him close, ignoring the filth of the vomit all over his front and the smell of it in her nostrils. This was a man in a kind of pain that couldn't be healed by medicine. Her own natural womanly instincts guided her in what to do next.

She pulled his head into her lap as she sat next to him and stroked his hair as he sobbed over and over. No one said a thing about this strange event occurring in the corridor. Not even Doctor Owens as he exited the operating room said anything. He just stood there, his eyes filled with sympathy and hope as he watched the love being given and the wretched soul, whose extents were tarnished and sullied by all the terrors and horrors of war. If only the two of them, Nurse Betty Stone and Doctor Owens could have seen what terrors and horrors John Watson would later face, they might have held even greater sympathy and compassion in their hearts.

Later the next morning, John awoke in a hospital bed. Nurse Betty Stone was sleeping with her head next to his chest. Her blonde hair looked like tiny waves of gold spread out before him. She was snoring lightly which brought a grin to his lips, then his hand reached out and stroked her hair, gently at first, then firmer as she looked up at him smiling.

"I love you, John Watson."

"I love you, Betty."

He drew her up towards him and their lips met.

"Ah-hem!" Doctor Owens said, as he cleared his throat from the doorway.

They both hurriedly withdrew from the near kiss and blushing, turned their faces towards the older man. He tapped a pipe bowl against his shoe, and then loosened the remains into a trash receptacle, and as they watched and waited patiently, he tamped fresh tobacco from a small bag he took from his waistcoat, and then lit it. He took several puffs, and then sat down in a chair opposite John's bed.

"John..."

"Sir...please don't fire me." John blurted out, his heart racing with fear. "I won't do that again. I swear it!"

Doctor Owens shook his head.

John felt as if his whole life were flashing before him. Betty lost all color in her face. "Please, don't do this, Doctor. He's a good man."

"Yes. I do know that, Nurse Betty Stone."

He gazed at John a long time, his eyes measuring him in many ways, and then he said. "I think it's time you got formal training."

John and Betty looked at each other in astonishment. John sat up in bed, elated. "Formal, sir?"

Doctor Owens rose from the chair and gave them both warm smiles. "Yes, I have asked the hospital to grant you whatever funds you need to attend Oxford. They will of course transfer you once you have your understudies done to the appropriate school to complete your doctorate."

Doctor Owens went to the door and closing it, smiled at them. "Now, carry on, I suspect you both have something rather...." He laughed. "...Pressing to discuss."

On that laughter he exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

John pulled Betty to him and hugged her tight. "I'm going to be a doctor! I'm going to be a doctor!"

"Yes, John." She said, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Yes, you will."

Then he pressed her gently away and looked into her eyes. "We must speak with your parents at once."

"Why is that?" She asked, uncertain as to his motives.

He smiled warmly. "I rather suspect they'd like to know what profession their future son-in-law will be practicing."

She threw herself into his arms again and they kissed.

Ah, the innocence of youth and of time. All things are always in flux, always changing. Sometimes they remain the same, untarnished or diminished by time, but sometimes. Sometimes not.  But for this moment the two sweethearts will enjoy their time of joy. And in the future, well, that will be what it will be, won't it?

Larson's Luck by Gerald Vance, a Golden Age Pulp Magazine sci-fi adventure. Blast off to adventure!

A Golden Age Pulp Magazine Special!

From time to time I'm going to post Pulp Magazine stories to give you an idea of what has been done in the past. This is from the Golden Age of Sci-Fi, which was roughly from the thirties to the fifties.

Enjoy. 

And you're a lazy reader ,check out the audio version in the last post. Same story, but read to you while you relax in an easy chair, stuff your mouth with popcorn and a soda.

Enjoy

John

LARSON'S LUCK

by GERALD VANCE

Larson couldn't possibly have known what was going on in the engine room, yet he acted....

"We moor in ten minutes," I said.

We were flying at reduced speed because of the heavy fog we had run into

at the outer fringe of Earth's atmosphere. But I knew we were within

forty or fifty miles of the Trans-Space base. I had counted the miles on

this particular trip because of the load of radium we were carrying from

the Venusian mines. I wouldn't draw a completely relieved breath until

we were down and the stuff was in the hands of the commerce agents.

I eased my position slightly to relieve the pressure on my broken

flipper and grinned at the pilot, Lucky Larson, the screwiest, most

unpredictable void trotter who had ever flown for dear old Trans-Space.

"You've been too good to be true this trip," I said, "and it's a good

thing. The chief told me that if you so much as _thought_ about clowning

around or stunting he was going to clip your wings for good."

Lucky grinned, an impish, devil-may-care grin that lightened up his

freckled face and bunched the tiny wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

Then with characteristic abruptness he scowled.

"That grandmother," he said disgustedly. "Who does he think I am,

anyway? Some crazy irresponsible madman who hasn't got enough brains to

stay on a space beam?"

"That's just what he does think," I grinned, "and you've given him

plenty of reason to think it. You can't bring your crate in to the base

without stunting around and showing off and risking your damn neck.

That's why he sent me along with you this trip. Just to see that you

act like a pilot--instead of circus acrobat."

"A lot of good you'd do," Lucky mumbled. "You got a broken arm. The only

reason he sent you is because he didn't want to pay you while you was in

the hospital so he cooks up this trip to get his money out of you. And

say," he turned to me belligerently, "when did I ever crack up a ship?

When did I ever even dent one of the babies?"

"You haven't," I was forced to admit, "but that's just because of that

screwy luck of yours. But it won't last forever and one of these days

it's going to run out just when you need it. So just remember--no

stunting this trip or you'll be out of the strata for the rest of your

natural life."

"Aw, that's the trouble with this racket," Lucky grumbled, "a guy can't

have no fun no more. Back when I was with the Space circus--"

"Okay, okay," I cut in, "I've heard that before. Just fly your ship,

now, and forget about the deep dark plot of the company to take all the

joy out of your life. I'm going to take a look-see at the atomic floats

and get the passengers bundled together."

I stood up and crawled over him and opened the door leading to the body

of the ship. I could still hear him grumbling as I slid the light

chrome-alloy door shut. I chuckled to myself and headed up the aisle to

the baggage compartments. Lucky Larson was a legend as space pilots go.

An unpredictable, erratic screwball but one of the finest rocket riders

who ever flashed through the void.

Company regulations and interplanetary commissions were the bane of his

existence. He made his own rules and regulations and got by with it.

That is he _had_ gotten by with it. Now they were cracking down on him.

He had been grounded twice and the chief had threatened to set him down

for life if any more infractions were charged to him. I shook my head

gloomily. He was a great guy, the last of a great and gallant army of

space adventurers, but he was on the way out. The rules were necessary,

vital to safe space travel and the Lucky Larsons would have to live up

to them, or else.

       *       *       *       *       *

My mind was a long way away from the cabin of the space ship and maybe

that's why I got what I did. I didn't see it coming. One minute I was

walking through the aisle, thinking about Lucky Larson and the next

second something slammed into the back of my head knocking me to my

knees.

Through a haze of red and white lights I heard a voice bark, "Toss him

into a chair and grab that good arm of his."

I wasn't out. Just damn sick. Something like a cold hand seemed to have

closed over my stomach and for an awful moment I gagged and tried to

retch. But the moment passed and I forced open my eyes and focused them

on two tough-looking, hard-eyed gents who stood in front of me. Another

unpleasant-looking little man knelt along side of me, twisting my good

arm behind my back.

"Okay," I gritted, "what's the gag?"

The tallest of the three, evidently their leader, smiled at me. "It's no

gag," he murmured calmly, "we happen to need the radium you're carrying.

We're going to take it. Any objections?"

"You'll never get away with this," I snapped, "your names and

descriptions are registered with the passenger office. You'll be tracked

down in twenty-four hours."

I was bluffing, of course, and I knew from their contemptuous smiles

that they knew it, too. They probably had given fictitious names, and

the descriptive information which the bureau required consisted of a few

generalities, such as height, weight and the like. I cursed myself for a

stupid, careless fool. The three men had been the only passengers from

Venus and they had kept to themselves the entire trip. Once or twice I

had wondered at their reticence and quietness but I had not been

suspicious enough to make a check-up.

One of the men laughed shortly. "Let us worry about that. We've covered

every angle that could possibly come up. With the help of your friend up

front, this ship will be flown to a certain deserted asteroid where a

few friends of _ours_ are to meet us with another ship. How you come out

afterward will depend on how you co-operate now. Clear enough?"

It was clear enough all right. Lucky and I wouldn't last long after we

served our purpose.

The tall man turned from me and nodded significantly to the man standing

next to him and then pointed to the closed door to the pilot's chambers.

"Take care of the pilot," he murmured, "and tell him if he isn't

obliging we'll take the cast off his friend's arm and--" he smiled at

me, "massage it a bit."

I felt a cold sweat break out on my forehead.

The thug grinned wolfishly at me and then winked at his leader. "I'll

tell him, boss." He dug his hand into his pocket and drew out a stubby

atomic pistol. "If he won't listen to me maybe this'll persuade him."

Still grinning he turned and headed up the aisle, the gun clenched in

his huge fist.

       *       *       *       *       *

I glanced at the tall figure standing in front of me and saw that he was

watching the retreating figure of his henchman with a saturnine smile on

his face. I thought swiftly. If I could yell a warning to Lucky, he

could bolt the door of the pilot's chamber and then set the ship down at

the Trans-Space base. It was the only way to save Lucky and the radium.

I wasn't very optimistic about my own chances. I knew they were zero.

I opened my mouth, took a deep breath and then, before I could scream

the words that would warn Lucky, it happened. The ship shuddered for an

instant and then zoomed upward, the smooth hum of the rocket motors

crescendoing to a roaring song of power and speed.

The sudden jolting acceleration hurled me to the tail of the ship and I

saw, like an image in a kaleidoscope, the tangled thrashing figures of

the space bandits as they were tossed to the floor, a dazedly struggling

mass of arms and legs.

The ship was lying over on its back in a few seconds, and before I could

catch a breath it suddenly whipped over and blasted toward Earth in a

screeching, hissing power-dive.

It was terrific punishment even for this type of space crate but it was

worse for human beings. The three bandits were clutching at their

stomachs as if they were afraid of losing them. Their faces were mottled

and blotchy and their eyes were rolling beseechingly.

I didn't mind the erratic convolutions the ship was making but my arm

was burning as if it were on fire. Numbing waves of pain were coursing

up and down my entire body.

I tried to crawl to my knees but the floor rolled under me as the ship

whipped over in a twisting spiral and I crashed forward on my face. Then

everything dissolved into inky blackness....

       *       *       *       *       *

When I came to, I heard a great commotion, then a sudden shot and then a

babble of voices booming around me. I remember thinking fleetingly of

crooks, Lucky Larson and a mountain of radium and then--because nothing

made sense--I passed out again.

       *       *       *       *       *

The next time I opened my eyes I found myself stretched out on a cot in

the chief's office. I turned my head slightly and saw Lucky Larson, the

chief and a half dozen other guys staring down at me.

"It's not very original," I said, "but where the hell am I?" That was

silly of me because I knew where I was, so I said: "Never mind that but

please tell me what the hell happened?"

The chief laughed and Lucky Larson laughed and then they slapped each

other on the back. "Don't worry about a thing," the chief said, "those

crooks are under lock and key and there's not a thing to worry about."

"But how--I mean what...?" My voice trailed off. Nothing made sense.

"Well," the chief broke in, "Lucky here really deserves the credit for

catching them. And I'm not forgetting your good work either. Both of you

will receive more tangible evidence of my appreciation. But Lucky really

did the brainwork."

"Awww," Lucky mumbled, "it wasn't much. Just a little common sense and,

uh, a little luck."

"It was damn fast thinking," the chief cut in belligerently, "you knew

your stunting over the base would drive me crazy. You knew I'd get so

mad I'd call out the base police and have you thrown in when you moored.

And when you did moor and the crooks toppled out we were right on hand

to receive them. They were so weak from the shaking up you gave them

that they didn't have a chance."

Lucky rolled innocent eyes to the ceiling. "Sometimes," he remarked

piously, "stunting has its uses."

"Congratulations," I said weakly. "You certainly used your head. Caught

the chief's attention with your stunting and almost knocked the crooks

out with it too. That's killing two birds with one stone, all right."

Then another thought occurred to me.

"How did you know I was in trouble?" I asked curiously. "How did you

know we had those crooks on board?"

"Why--why," Lucky sputtered, "that was simple. I just happened to look

behind me and I saw those boys piling into you. So I did a little fast

thinking and then I whipped the ship into a few maneuvers and, like the

chief says, they caught his eye all right."

The chief was beaming fondly and I turned my head to hide the smile on

my lips. "So you just looked behind you," I muttered. "Well, Lucky, you

certainly are--and were."

He grinned down at me and winked. "You said it, kid."

I wanted to ask him a question then, but I decided to wait until we were

alone. I closed my eyes and smiled again, thinking of his expression

when I would ask him how he had been able to look behind him and see me

struggling with those crooks, _when the door of the pilot's chamber was

closed all the time_....

THE END