Category Archives: science fiction

Professor Cuthbert’s Remarkable Vessel

PierA new short story inspired by @teddy_red @_polyhymnia @MoorseyL and @jtlovell1979, and written for Miranda Kate’s Midweek Flash Challenge using the picture on the right here.


“We’re here,” Lovell said. “Remember that the Professor might not be what you expect.”

“An eccentric professor?” I said. “What are the odds?”

“Just let me do the talking.” He pulled a handle by the door and a bell rang somewhere inside the cottage. It had taken me much guile, and not a little expense, to persuade Lovell to effect an introduction to the mysterious Professor Cuthbert. Many of the incredible inventions that we now take for granted as we approach the twentieth century originated in the mind of the reclusive Professor; the fountain pen and the gramophone to name but two miracles of the modern age.

When Lovell had told me at the club that he knew the Professor personally, I was determined to elicit an invitation to visit. Who would not want to encounter such a remarkable mind? To ask a hundred questions, and perhaps be made privy to what was coming next? It had taken me no little time, but finally Lovett had agreed to take me to see the Professor, and after a long railway journey and a bumpy ride in a brougham, we stood before the front door of a small country cottage in rural Suffolk.

In response to a second tug of the bell-pull, the door opened to reveal a woman with a cloud of grey hair held flat by a pair of goggles pushed back over her forehead. She wore a leather apron, a man’s shirt and trousers, and she held a hammer in her left hand. She seemed to me to be very old indeed, perhaps even into her fifties.

“Jamie!” she cried to Lovell, “How lovely to see you!” Her lined face crinkled even more as she smiled broadly.

“Good afternoon, Catherine,” Lovell said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve brought along a friend who has been dying to meet you.”

“Not at all,” the woman said. “You’re just in time for afternoon tea. There are more than enough scones to feed a regiment. Do introduce me to your chum, dear boy.”

“Of course,” Lovell grinned at my shocked expression. “Catherine, I would like to introduce you to my friend, the right honourable Cecil Tilbury Moffat. Cecil, please meet Professor Catherine Cuthbert.”

“But you’re a woman!” I blurted out.

“He’s very observant, isn’t he?” Professor Cuthbert said to Jamie.

“Don’t let that vacant expression put you off, he really is a big admirer of your work. Cecil, where are your manners? Doff your hat.” I lifted my topper absent-mindedly, staring at the woman in front of me.

“Is that so, Mr. Moffat?” the Professor asked. “Which of my inventions caught your interest first?”

“You’re wearing trousers!” I babbled. The Professor and Lovell burst into laughter

“Come,” the Professor commanded. “You have arrived at an opportune moment. I am in sore need of a person of just your height to test my latest invention. And then we shall have scones.” She led us around the house and through a back-garden jungle to a large wooden shed. Projecting horizontally out of the left wall of the shed was what appeared to be a garden fence, clearly very securely attached for it stuck out some six feet above the flower beds. Professor Cuthbert struck a pose as if demonstrating a particular clever trick performed by a music hall prestidigitator.

“Ta da!” she said. I stared at her. “Well?” she asked. “What do you think, Mr. Moffat?”

“It’s … a very nice shed.” I was bewildered. Lovell had warned me of eccentricity, but even so. The Professor sighed and stood normally.

“Put him straight, Jamie,” she said. Lovell grinned. He was enjoying my discomfort far too much.

“This shed,” he said, indicating the shed, “is not a shed. This is Professor Cuthbert’s remarkable vessel to facilitate the exploration of the echoing cosmos above our heads.”

“What?” I said. I realised that perhaps that was not the considered response that might be called for, so I spoke again. “No, what?” I said.

“Young man,” Professor Cuthbert said. “This is an airborne vessel. It uses the invisible power of magnetism to free it of the bonds that bind us to this earth.”

“It’s made of wood.” I suggested, helpfully.

“Yes, well spotted, for a metal vessel would interfere with the magnetic forces needed to lift it beyond our atmosphere. This, my deliciously vacant chap, is a craft that will travel into space itself. A space-ship, if you will.”

“A space-shed?” I ejaculated.

“Ship,” said Lovell. “Space-ship.”

“Now, young man,” the Professor said. “Would you be so kind as to do me a favour? Would you please enter the craft and sit in the pilot’s seat? Jamie is way too tall, and it is imperative that I adjust the outer buoyancy cogs to allow for the weight of a passenger.”

“And then shall we have scones?” I asked.

“And then scones, yes,” she said.

“Very well,” I agreed. “What would you have me do?”

“Go inside, and sit in the seat before the window. Put on the air-helmet that you will find there, and then just sit back and enjoy the pleasant view that you will have of my cherry tree.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all. I shall make my adjustments, then call you out for scones once I have finished. Whatever you do, however, do not touch the red lever.”

“I shall certainly venture nowhere near any levers, madam,” I promised. I entered the shed, and wound my way through a clutter of equipment to what was clearly a captain’s chair by the shed window. On the chair sat a large glass bubble, presumably the Professor’s air-helmet. I removed my hat and put the helmet over my head. It was surprisingly comfortable, although it took some time to get the thing the right way round so that I could see. I sat in the captain’s chair and looked out of the window.

The Professor’s cherry tree was nowhere to be seen. The Professor’s garden was nowhere to be seen. The shed now hovered high in the arched heavens. Miles below a vast sweep of sunlit cloud swept across the surface of the planet. Somehow, I was now many leagues above Suffolk. But … how? I lifted my top-hat from the hat-peg. The red hat-peg. Or, as I now realised it must be, the red lever. I had inadvertently launched the space-shed with my hat.

What next? I had no idea, but now that they were out of my reach I truly fancied a scone.


Spaceship”But Wombie,” I hear you ask, “How on earth did that picture inspire this story? What has a jetty to do with a Victorian inventor?” When you get no inspiration, try a different angle – I just flipped the picture … and there my tale was: a wooden spaceship floating above a cloud-cloaked planet. Tricksy.

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The Collector

This photo was taken by Sirombo (Luca) from Italy over on Deviant Art.Another disturbing tale for Miranda, who likes them short. This one is here in its entirety.


I knew I had to have her as soon as I saw her. She was breathtaking. She was golden. Her skin gave out a faint glow; a sheen that was both powerful and sexual. She moved wildly, free of care, lost to the emotions of her dance. Her movements emphasised her shape; the roundness of her hip, the plumpness of her breasts. Her lips were slightly parted in a half-smile that sped my pulse, and an exotic difference to the cast of her eye drew me closer.

I wanted her. I was in a dark mood and I knew what I wanted, and I wanted her. The women, you see, it’s always the women. They awaken a feeling I don’t get from the males.

I waited until she was facing away from me before moving silently behind her. I grabbed her neck and forced her face down onto the pebbles. She struggled, of course, but my magpulse bracers always make any such retaliation fruitless. I pushed her face into the packed stones of the beach, and raised my machete. Three forceful hacks, and the wing came free from her shoulder blade. Her screams, as is usually the case when I obtain a new trophy, only added to the joy of acquisition. I gripped the root of her other wing, then looked up.

The blue sun was dipping below the rim of the ocean. I had watched her for too long before acting, and left myself with little time to get back to my ship. The nights on this planet could reach cryo temps remarkably quickly. Just the one wing, then. I lifted it to catch the last of the sun’s rays. It shimmered gold and blue and coquelicot. Even without its twin it would look magnificent mounted between the fin of the piscine girl I’d killed last, and that sex-frond from Anemone-3. I left her sobbing and dying, and swiftly reached the ship. I clambered through the hatch and pulled the wing in after me.

Now, where should I go next? There was a bipedal species near the outer rim, apparently, where the women only had two breasts and no sex-frond. Their planet circled a yellow sun, so I’d have to wear an EM-Veil, but it would be worth the effort to obtain a skin of that rarity. I flicked the controls and engaged the Magpulse Drive.

REVIEW: The Voice of Reason by Edward Ian Kendrick

The VoiceThe Game is a futuristic bloody killfest put on for the entertainment of the masses in the late 21st century. An Exhibition Match is mounted to decide the greatest fighters of all time, and the book is written from the viewpoint of the commentator known as The Voice.

Unlike some reviewers on Amazon, I found the opening slow. I had to force myself through the first few chapters before the style of writing – a combination of interviews, flashbacks and autobiographical rantings from The Voice (not a character I ever really warmed to) – began to weave its spell on me.

I’m pleased that I persevered, for the novel grows into a “beautiful kaleidoscope of blood, violence, gore and vengeance”. Not kidding, these pages are soaked with red, but the action is so well-written, so well paced that I never felt like I was reading some schlock-horror pulp. This is superbly-crafted book for adults. Take it on the bus with you and you’ll miss your stop.

4-star rating4/5 wombats for Ed Kendrick’s The Voice of Reason.

My God, it’s full of links! The collected Human 76

GhabrieLisa Shambrook has written about the origins of Human 76, I have written about its development, and all sorts of people are contributing their thoughts on the characters and stories that have moved them. Individual authors have expressed their own points of view.

Alex Brightsmith has talked about how her character Chrissy developed when she crossed paths with my own Glint.

Denise Callaway has published a short extract from her story, Underneath, as has Michelle Fox from her frankly terrifying Human X. Another snippet, this time from Steven Paul Watson’s non-stop The Hunted, can be found here.

Rebecca Fyfe has blogged about the anthology’s support for the charity Water Is Life, while Michael Manz has effortlessly summed up the story so far.

Just two more links for you – the ePub version is free at the moment, but will soon rise to a reasonable price. You might want to grab your download sooner rather than later. Might I recommend, though, that you shell out for the paperback, which is a thing of beauty. Not only will you find that it contains a map of Ghabrie’s journey not in the eBook, but you’ll also have a warm glow of satisfaction from knowing that you’ve helped a worthwhile charity.

Zombie Dust

Pulp-O-Mizer_Cover_ImageEver the busy wombat, I’ve been thinking up titles for stories that I will never write. Feel free to use any you like.

Zombie Dust

Twisted Dog Killers

Surprised by Violet

The Eye of Evening

Spider Witch

Eight, Nine, Tentacles

N-Dolphins

Bloodstained Angels

Horror Oyster

IT’S HERE!

Soul of the UniverseI am delighted, nay elated, to announce that “Soul of the Universe” is OUT NOW! I am as excited as a bottle of Dandelion & Burdock that has seen shaken very hard. Editing this musically-inspired collection has been a hatful of fun and a barrowload of work. It’s also been a bus ride of discovery, and I have learned a lot about myself as an author, things that will only help me to improve. Things like avoiding idiotic metaphors like ‘a bus ride of discovery’.

Now, yes, there are a couple of my stories in there, but I’d rather tell you about the superb tales that you will find from my fellow authors, some of the most talented indie writers around. First up is a science fiction story from the delectable Michael S. Manz which has a delightful skew that will have you chortling into your cornflakes (if, that is, you eat cornflakes while you are reading). Add to this a brace of emotionally exercising tales from Michael A. Walker that will make the hairs on all sorts of body parts stand on end and you begin to realise that you hold something special (no, not that, I mean the book). Finally, bucking the wave of Michaels that is threatening to overwhelm the anthology world, the beguiling Marissa Ames crowns this marvellous collection with a thumpingly thrilling story set in the world of Tir Athair, familiar to all readers of her hugely successful medieval fantasy novel Minstrel.

Please do click on any of the names above to discover their own thoughts about this remarkable gathering of new worlds for you to explore through your reader. All of these stories are hand-picked for your enjoyment and lovingly wrapped in a cover by exciting new illustrator Kit Cooper that I could wax lyrical about for paragraphs, and probably will in a future blog post.

So fly, my pretties, fly like a well-flung frisbee and buy Soul of the Universe from one of these places:

Smashwords: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/418767

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00IYP4ATK

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00IYP4ATK

Amazon Can: https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B00IYP4ATK

Amazon Aus: https://www.amazon.com.au/dp/B00IYP4ATK

You can also find it on Goodreads, should you be a Goodreader: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/21422051-soul-of-the-universe

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