My first time contributing fiction. Please let me know if I'm doing this all wrong. Thanks!
"A Fool and His Head Are Soon Parted"
by J. Frank Doobie
=============
Marehndra IV
2295
They were absolutely dashing, each and every one of them.
That’s what Lucky remembered. They looked grand in those crimson jackets, festooned with indecipherable pins of ranks and function, their bloused black trousers and shiny boots. Real adventurers, Lucky thought, as he tossed an apple core over his shoulder and into the bushes behind him.
A familiar, grating voice emerged from the shrubbery.
“Ow!” it shouted. In a cacophonous rustle that sent leaves falling and branches swaying, Sir Carold Krakenmeister sat up, poking his head above the greenery. For a moment, it looked like a children’s puppet theater, a knight’s head in sight, disheveled and sloppy, and his legs hidden somewhere below. He had obviously been napping when Lucky’s Newtonian falling apple plucked him out of slumber.
“Lucientorius Jenkins!” the knight shouted. “Sitting idly by in our time of need, is it?”
Lucky craned his neck back for a moment, met Sir Krakenmeister’s eyes, then returned his gaze to the figures in the field before them.
“Sir Krakenmeister,” he said listlessly, “what a pleasure to see you, sir.”
Before he could move, Carold was on him, grabbing him under the arms, lifting him, and pushing against the scaly bark of some alien tree.
“You may be the one who gets to speak plainly to the Baron,” the knight growled, “but not me.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I mean it,” Krakenmeister said, semi-drunken eyes gleaming like his armor. “You may be the jester to him, but I keep him safe. To him, you’re a jester. To me,” he smiled, revealing several missing teeth, “you’re just another fool.”
Lucky slumped to the ground. The knight turned away and walked back toward the landing area, where their ship sat, grounded by critical failure in the Ravenweld’s elf matrix. That kind of blacksmithery was far beyond Lucky’s knowledge, and Krakenmeister’s, for that matter.
He called out to the knight. “Oh, and Sir Krakenmeister!” The armored lunk turned back ever so slightly, lip snarled like a dog ready to bite. “You have a grass stain on your tabard. Perhaps you should change. I wouldn’t want the Baron to think you came out here for a roll in proverbial hay with little old me!”
Lucky fluttered his eyelashes and gently waved his handkerchief, then blew Krakenmeister a kiss.
The knight fumed and strode away.
—-
They were likely the first Hysperians to reach this planet, even though it was by accident. It was an inconvenience for all. All expect Lucky. With the Baron busy petitioning the local authorities for assistance, Lucky was free to roam. Which he did.
Once he came upon the uniformed people at the edge of the woods, he stopped and sat and watched intently.
The locals at the port said they were sent from a ship called Hammurabi. They were part of a group called Starfleet. In a sense, they were like the knights of stories, constantly sojourning on grand galaxy-spanning quests. By contrast, the modern knights of Hysperia and its fleet, led by hundreds of petty lords, spent most of their time carousing, drinking, and fighting in tournaments, all of which kept Lucky very busy. Not today, though.
The red-coated people didn’t seem to be doing all that much. The man at the spacedock called them a “science survey team.” Mostly, they seemed to walk around, looking at their little seeing tablets and occasionally conversing quietly.
Lucky had met Vulcans before — an extremely odd sort, he thought — so he recognized the man striding toward him as one. The Vulcan stopped a few meters ahead of Lucky and lifted his hand into a V-shaped salute.
“Greetings,” he said.
“Well met, my lord,” Lucky replied.
“I am no one’s lord,” the Vulcan said with something approaching amusement in his voice. “I am Lieutenant Commander Sarnek, Chief Science Officer of the Federation starship Hammurabi.” He gestured to the six people wandering the fields. “This is our landing party. We are conducting a scientific survey of this system.”
Lucky nodded, his mouth a little slack.
The Vulcan continued. “Several ships, including our own, have experienced unusual problems with our dilithium matrix. Are you with the Hysperian ship docked here?”
Lucky nodded.
“Have you had any trouble with your dilithium matrix?”
It took a moment for Lucky to summon any words. “Um, yes. I think so. Our elf matrix has been seized up, busted.”
The Vulcan lifted a slanted eyebrow. “Fascinating.”
—
After Sarnek explained a possible solution, he asked Lucky to invite the Ravenweld’s master aboard the Hammurabi to discuss and share their information with the Hysperians.
Luck had bolted back to the ship, practically galloping to the command deck. But the Baron was gone, and would be gone until the next day, he was told. Krakenmeister made a point of driving Lucky off of the bridge with some light violence.
This was typical. This is what one gets for being the fool, Lucky thought. He was always told what an immense privilege it was to speak plainly, even mockingly, to the Baron. But was that really freedom? If he can speak plainly, but never leave his Baron’s service?
Or worse, leave it by having his head removed?
Dejected, Lucky wandered the streets of this small but lively port city on this strange, new planet. Eventually, he saw someone in a similar uniform.
“Starfleet!” he cried. The man was some kind of alien with blue skin and a small ridge running down his face. “Wow,” Lucky said with a laugh, “you must have just gotten dumped.”
“Dumped?” the man replied.
“Yeah. You know? Dropped by your romantic partner? Left longing? Your love unrequited?”
The Starfleet man was clearly puzzled.
“Well,” Lucky said, seeming conciliatory, “I only say that because you look so blue.”
—
It took several drinks to convince the man — who, it turned out, was a Hammurabi crewman and of a race called Bolian — to bring him up to the Starfleet ship to meet about the elf matrix problem.
It also took a bit of lying, so that when Lucky beamed aboard, he was introduced as “junior blacksmith.” The Baron literally would have had his head had he known of such a transgression. Lucky wasn’t quite sure what had come over him, made him so reckless — or was it dashing? — but he tried to play the straight man as best he could. His face stern, his words curt, he listened as the Starfleet blacksmith explained the solution. Something, something, inverted power fluctuations, blah blah, reroute isolinear containment, and so on.
He had a good memory, but it was being tested.
When he left, they beamed him to the surface. It was an exhilarating and terrifying experience. He was glad to have had it.
The chief blacksmith was a friendly man, but mostly a stranger to Lucky, so he was surprised when the slight young man in his patricolor suit and jester’s cap walked hesitantly into the forge.
Lucky had lost all his irreverence. He seemed suddenly serious. He was also visibly nervous.
Once he got the words out, Lucky and the blacksmith spent all night attempting to fix the elf matrix. And by morning, the two were sleeping soundly on the floor, right next to the dragonsbreath engine.
They were awoken each with a swift kick in the ribs to find the bleary visage of pug-faced Sir Krakenmeister hovering over them.
“Baron wants to see you both on the bridge,” he said with a smirk.
—
“My fool!” the Baron shouted over the sounds of strumming lutes. He shoved a bit of roasted meat into his mouth before continuing, mouth full. “Where in the name of the Great Wizard have you been?”
Lucky clutched his cap in his hand and prepared to apologize. Krakenmeister stood at the Baron’s right side, leaning on his two-handed sword.
The blacksmith, equally cowed, began to speak. “My lord, he—”
“Shut up!” the Baron boomed. “I don’t care. What I want to know,” he swallowed a heavy bite, “is why this man has been acting like a fool all this time.”
Lucky was dumbfounded. “Great Baron,” he stuttered, “I only wish to serve you. And our people.”
The Baron suddenly grinned. “Indeed! And yet you waste your talents.”
“My lord?”
“You and Blacksmith Willaby have done it. We sail for home this very day.”
Lucky could form no words.
“Hmph,” the Baron grunted. “Suddenly at a loss for words?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Baron simply laughed. He looked over to his knight. Krakenmeister looked as if he’d been suddenly struck over the head.
“Sir Krakenmeister, go out to the docks and tell our hosts we’ll be departing post haste.”
The knight complied. As he skulked off the bridge, he walked close to Lucky and gave him a sour look.
“Who’s laughing now?” Lucky managed under his breath. Krakenmeister growled and exited the bridge.
“Pilot!” the Baron cried. “Once Krakenmeister is off the ship, put us into orbit.” The crew on the bridge seemed shocked, but did not question the Baron.
“Now come forth,” he said to Lucky, gesturing to the spot near him that Krakenmeister had so recently occupied, “and stand by my side.”
The Willaby looked and Lucky, and Lucky returned his astonished stare.
“But my lord, I am no knight.”
The Baron grinned once more. “Exactly.”
Lucky grinned, too.
“Aye, sir.”
"A Fool and His Head Are Soon Parted"
by J. Frank Doobie
=============
Marehndra IV
2295
They were absolutely dashing, each and every one of them.
That’s what Lucky remembered. They looked grand in those crimson jackets, festooned with indecipherable pins of ranks and function, their bloused black trousers and shiny boots. Real adventurers, Lucky thought, as he tossed an apple core over his shoulder and into the bushes behind him.
A familiar, grating voice emerged from the shrubbery.
“Ow!” it shouted. In a cacophonous rustle that sent leaves falling and branches swaying, Sir Carold Krakenmeister sat up, poking his head above the greenery. For a moment, it looked like a children’s puppet theater, a knight’s head in sight, disheveled and sloppy, and his legs hidden somewhere below. He had obviously been napping when Lucky’s Newtonian falling apple plucked him out of slumber.
“Lucientorius Jenkins!” the knight shouted. “Sitting idly by in our time of need, is it?”
Lucky craned his neck back for a moment, met Sir Krakenmeister’s eyes, then returned his gaze to the figures in the field before them.
“Sir Krakenmeister,” he said listlessly, “what a pleasure to see you, sir.”
Before he could move, Carold was on him, grabbing him under the arms, lifting him, and pushing against the scaly bark of some alien tree.
“You may be the one who gets to speak plainly to the Baron,” the knight growled, “but not me.”
“Of course, sir.”
“I mean it,” Krakenmeister said, semi-drunken eyes gleaming like his armor. “You may be the jester to him, but I keep him safe. To him, you’re a jester. To me,” he smiled, revealing several missing teeth, “you’re just another fool.”
Lucky slumped to the ground. The knight turned away and walked back toward the landing area, where their ship sat, grounded by critical failure in the Ravenweld’s elf matrix. That kind of blacksmithery was far beyond Lucky’s knowledge, and Krakenmeister’s, for that matter.
He called out to the knight. “Oh, and Sir Krakenmeister!” The armored lunk turned back ever so slightly, lip snarled like a dog ready to bite. “You have a grass stain on your tabard. Perhaps you should change. I wouldn’t want the Baron to think you came out here for a roll in proverbial hay with little old me!”
Lucky fluttered his eyelashes and gently waved his handkerchief, then blew Krakenmeister a kiss.
The knight fumed and strode away.
—-
They were likely the first Hysperians to reach this planet, even though it was by accident. It was an inconvenience for all. All expect Lucky. With the Baron busy petitioning the local authorities for assistance, Lucky was free to roam. Which he did.
Once he came upon the uniformed people at the edge of the woods, he stopped and sat and watched intently.
The locals at the port said they were sent from a ship called Hammurabi. They were part of a group called Starfleet. In a sense, they were like the knights of stories, constantly sojourning on grand galaxy-spanning quests. By contrast, the modern knights of Hysperia and its fleet, led by hundreds of petty lords, spent most of their time carousing, drinking, and fighting in tournaments, all of which kept Lucky very busy. Not today, though.
The red-coated people didn’t seem to be doing all that much. The man at the spacedock called them a “science survey team.” Mostly, they seemed to walk around, looking at their little seeing tablets and occasionally conversing quietly.
Lucky had met Vulcans before — an extremely odd sort, he thought — so he recognized the man striding toward him as one. The Vulcan stopped a few meters ahead of Lucky and lifted his hand into a V-shaped salute.
“Greetings,” he said.
“Well met, my lord,” Lucky replied.
“I am no one’s lord,” the Vulcan said with something approaching amusement in his voice. “I am Lieutenant Commander Sarnek, Chief Science Officer of the Federation starship Hammurabi.” He gestured to the six people wandering the fields. “This is our landing party. We are conducting a scientific survey of this system.”
Lucky nodded, his mouth a little slack.
The Vulcan continued. “Several ships, including our own, have experienced unusual problems with our dilithium matrix. Are you with the Hysperian ship docked here?”
Lucky nodded.
“Have you had any trouble with your dilithium matrix?”
It took a moment for Lucky to summon any words. “Um, yes. I think so. Our elf matrix has been seized up, busted.”
The Vulcan lifted a slanted eyebrow. “Fascinating.”
—
After Sarnek explained a possible solution, he asked Lucky to invite the Ravenweld’s master aboard the Hammurabi to discuss and share their information with the Hysperians.
Luck had bolted back to the ship, practically galloping to the command deck. But the Baron was gone, and would be gone until the next day, he was told. Krakenmeister made a point of driving Lucky off of the bridge with some light violence.
This was typical. This is what one gets for being the fool, Lucky thought. He was always told what an immense privilege it was to speak plainly, even mockingly, to the Baron. But was that really freedom? If he can speak plainly, but never leave his Baron’s service?
Or worse, leave it by having his head removed?
Dejected, Lucky wandered the streets of this small but lively port city on this strange, new planet. Eventually, he saw someone in a similar uniform.
“Starfleet!” he cried. The man was some kind of alien with blue skin and a small ridge running down his face. “Wow,” Lucky said with a laugh, “you must have just gotten dumped.”
“Dumped?” the man replied.
“Yeah. You know? Dropped by your romantic partner? Left longing? Your love unrequited?”
The Starfleet man was clearly puzzled.
“Well,” Lucky said, seeming conciliatory, “I only say that because you look so blue.”
—
It took several drinks to convince the man — who, it turned out, was a Hammurabi crewman and of a race called Bolian — to bring him up to the Starfleet ship to meet about the elf matrix problem.
It also took a bit of lying, so that when Lucky beamed aboard, he was introduced as “junior blacksmith.” The Baron literally would have had his head had he known of such a transgression. Lucky wasn’t quite sure what had come over him, made him so reckless — or was it dashing? — but he tried to play the straight man as best he could. His face stern, his words curt, he listened as the Starfleet blacksmith explained the solution. Something, something, inverted power fluctuations, blah blah, reroute isolinear containment, and so on.
He had a good memory, but it was being tested.
When he left, they beamed him to the surface. It was an exhilarating and terrifying experience. He was glad to have had it.
The chief blacksmith was a friendly man, but mostly a stranger to Lucky, so he was surprised when the slight young man in his patricolor suit and jester’s cap walked hesitantly into the forge.
Lucky had lost all his irreverence. He seemed suddenly serious. He was also visibly nervous.
Once he got the words out, Lucky and the blacksmith spent all night attempting to fix the elf matrix. And by morning, the two were sleeping soundly on the floor, right next to the dragonsbreath engine.
They were awoken each with a swift kick in the ribs to find the bleary visage of pug-faced Sir Krakenmeister hovering over them.
“Baron wants to see you both on the bridge,” he said with a smirk.
—
“My fool!” the Baron shouted over the sounds of strumming lutes. He shoved a bit of roasted meat into his mouth before continuing, mouth full. “Where in the name of the Great Wizard have you been?”
Lucky clutched his cap in his hand and prepared to apologize. Krakenmeister stood at the Baron’s right side, leaning on his two-handed sword.
The blacksmith, equally cowed, began to speak. “My lord, he—”
“Shut up!” the Baron boomed. “I don’t care. What I want to know,” he swallowed a heavy bite, “is why this man has been acting like a fool all this time.”
Lucky was dumbfounded. “Great Baron,” he stuttered, “I only wish to serve you. And our people.”
The Baron suddenly grinned. “Indeed! And yet you waste your talents.”
“My lord?”
“You and Blacksmith Willaby have done it. We sail for home this very day.”
Lucky could form no words.
“Hmph,” the Baron grunted. “Suddenly at a loss for words?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The Baron simply laughed. He looked over to his knight. Krakenmeister looked as if he’d been suddenly struck over the head.
“Sir Krakenmeister, go out to the docks and tell our hosts we’ll be departing post haste.”
The knight complied. As he skulked off the bridge, he walked close to Lucky and gave him a sour look.
“Who’s laughing now?” Lucky managed under his breath. Krakenmeister growled and exited the bridge.
“Pilot!” the Baron cried. “Once Krakenmeister is off the ship, put us into orbit.” The crew on the bridge seemed shocked, but did not question the Baron.
“Now come forth,” he said to Lucky, gesturing to the spot near him that Krakenmeister had so recently occupied, “and stand by my side.”
The Willaby looked and Lucky, and Lucky returned his astonished stare.
“But my lord, I am no knight.”
The Baron grinned once more. “Exactly.”
Lucky grinned, too.
“Aye, sir.”
