Sunday, 13 July 2008

Fictional Freakouts: The Phantom Brigade Issue #7

New to this nutty little story that I'm making up as I go along, then click these lovely vitamin enriched links, now with riboflavin...

"Why don't you jump him?" asked Emma, nodding towards their purple skinned captor.

"That would be rude," answered Thorn, "we are visitors to their planet after all."

"You're going to let us be taken prisoner over etiquette?" asked Emma.

"That and the friend of his in the bushes with the gun pointing at us," added Thorn, nodding his head to the bushes. Emma looked and saw a similar creature, this one shorter and heavier, brandishing what could only be a weapon and an unpleasant look on his face.

"Tooba nok," said the heavy one, shaking his rifle. For some reason Emma knew that he meant no talking! she didn't know why, but it didn't stop her from understanding them.

The thin purple fellow drew a strange looking pistol from his holster, and barked: "P'kak ura tolar." Down that path, keep your hands up.

Emma and Thorn, their hands raised, walked down the path, and came through the trees into a road, paved with stones and bricks. Sitting one the side of that road was a broad black automobile with six wheels, and three more aliens, at least thought Emma before realizing that here she and Thorn were the aliens, standing by it carrying what looked like compact rifles.

The thin one reached over and pulled Thorn's plasma pistol from his belt.

"This looks like a weapon," said the thin one, looking it over. "We'll see what the Procurator thinks of these two."

Emma and Thorn were then unceremoniously shoved into the back of the six-wheeled car. Emma heard the engine grunt and then roar to life, and the sound reminded her of her grandfather's old Chevy truck. Plus, their weapons, upon closer inspection didn't look very fancy, or particularly alien, they looked downright crude. Like props from a movie about World War 2 designed by someone who only had a vague idea of what the weapons looked like.


The drive was uneventful, and mostly quiet. Emma and Thorn didn't say anything. Emma wanted to talk, but Thorn just sat silently watching the landscape roll by. As they approached the broad plateau they saw that crudes shanty villages lay beneath the broad trees, and that those villages were surrounded by barbed wire. Inside the wire they could see the shuffling shapes of the other creatures, clad in their yellow uniforms.

"They seem interested in the Brutals," said one of their guards with what could only be described as a smirk.

"Maybe the Procurator will feed them to the Brutals," said the driver.

The car stopped at a pair of broad iron doors at the base of the plateau. The driver honked his horn, and the doors began to open, revealing a tunnel going up.

"Not long 'til the Procurator settles you," said the Thin One.


"Greetings," said a small fellow with thinning green hair, and a pair of red lensed goggles, "can you understand me? My name is Procurator Wind-Grass."

"We can understand you," said Thorn in the creature's own language, earning him a shocked look from Emma. "And I know what you're up to."

"Really," said Wind-Grass with a smile. "What are we up to?"

"You're dumping your rebels and criminals on our planet," said Thorn, "and I'm here to tell you to stop."

"You are a clever little alien, aren't you?"

"More than you know," answered Thorn.

"Then perhaps I can make you see where we are coming from."

"You can try."


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