story excerpt

The Afterjoy Sequence, Book I: Captain Sunbeam and the Compass of Ra

Chapter 1

By Conor Duffy

Julian Afterjoy awoke to the sound of…….was that gurgling??? He opened one eye to see an enormous blue wiffie, wearing a scant leather loincloth. The wiffie grinned condescendingly at him, drool dripping from the corner of its gaping mouth to pool on the dirt floor below.

Julian shut his eyes tightly. This is just a dream. This is definitely just a dream. You’re really at home in your bed right now. You’re about to wake up, put on your slippers, and brew a warm cup of huckleberry tea.

He opened one eye again. This time the wiffie was holding an enormous carving knife. He winked at Julian, licking the knife’s curved edge.

Julian shut his eyes again. Ok. Ok. Not a dream. He cursed inwardly. Twenty-four hours ago, he had been sitting in his cabin swigging maple-whiskey and eating french toast. Stealing Nectar from a nearby wiffie tribe had seemed like a great idea then. Oh yes Julian. Yes, nothing easier than strolling into an Elyrian wiffie stronghold on the night of a full moon. Why not just pluck the ass hairs off a sleeping swamp-bear while you’re at it?

Julian gingerly opened his eyes and surveyed his surroundings. He was dangling upside down in the center of a small, mud-brick hut. Daylight crept into the hut from small high windows which were barred with bands of a moss-colored metal. A fire burned in a corner hearth, and next to it, right at the edge of his sight, Julian caught a glimpse of a familiar green glow.

He felt a dull pain in his right arm. Glancing upward, Julian noticed a small tranquilizer dart with a green plume protruding from his bicep. He tried to move, but his arms and legs were tightly bound with ropes of what looked like thick blue fur. He looked back up at the wiffie, who he now noticed was missing all of the blue fur on its left side. The wiffie gurgled with laughter, pointing at Julians bonds, then back at its chunks of missing fur.

Yes, I get it, Julian snarled through the gag. Underneath his bonds, he flexed his robotic leg, performing a quick functionality test. The prosthetic had cost him almost a year’s supply of Nectar, but it was worth every drop. The leg was state-of-the-art design — imported directly from Titus — and made from a new-age antimetal alloy. The leg was light, powerful, and equipped with an array of different functions. Unfortunately, the wiffie seemed to have removed the leg’s main power supply — a canister of compressed Nectar. This left the leg with only a few working functions — a small laser cutter, a retractable grapple cord, and Julian’s backup transmitter, which he used mostly to stream his favorite galactic radio stations.

With a mental flick, Julian activated the transmitter, filling the room with a tinny-sounding voice.

“Ok folks, that was another fat track from DJ Cyclone’s latest album, “In The Wind.” That girl really knows how to BOIL. MY. BISCUIT. Only kidding folks, we don’t condone sexual innuendo of any kind here at 125-765.00001 ‘The Boing-Box,’ bringing you only the newest and gooiest hits from across the Seven Jewels. I’m your host, Scott Trowel, and I want to make your eardrums squirm. Wherever or whenever you are, squeak me @scottyboingboing with any requests and I’ll try to make your dreams come true. And now, another moist dance anthem for you to sink those clompers into. A local smash-hit, this one has been topping the Elyrian pop charts since last Tuesday. Give it up for Bob Antlers and his hit song, ‘Don’t Be Shakin’ My Tree.’”

At the sound of the transmitter, the blue-furred wiffie stopped laughing. It narrowed its eyes to stare angrily at Julian — searching for the source of the noise. The wiffie crept forward, still brandishing the huge carving knife, until he was staring directly at Julian’s radio transmitter, which was still emitting the tinny sounds of Bob Antlers’, “Don’t be shake-shake-shakin’, shakin’ my tree!”

Activating the utility cutter embedded in his thigh, Julian shot a thin laser beam through his bonds and at the wiffie, hitting it directly in its right eye. The wiffie howled, grabbing its eye and flailing blindly with the carving knife, which whizzed only millimeters past Julian’s prominent nose. Without wasting a moment, Julian swung his body forward, using his momentum to lift his blue cocoon off of its ceiling hook. He fell to the ground heavily, groaning as his head hit the packed dirt floor. The wiffie swatted at him with the carving knife, still clutching its eye. The knife glanced off the floor as Julian rolled to the side, arms and legs still bound as he headed towards the fireplace. The transmitter kept playing.

“I fell in love with a Vesuvian girl, she had no hair and a necklace of pearls. We met in the club, and she walked up to me and said, ‘hey there baby, don’t be shakin’ my tree!’ Don’t be shake-shake-shakin’.....”

Julian slammed into the side of the hut, gasping in pain as the glowing green blade of his lightaxe nicked his shoulder. He grunted in triumph as warm blood trickled down his back. Rolling face down, he probed with tied hands for the axe’s familiar wooden shaft.

Timber was Elyria’s largest export, and the stock version of the lightaxe had been designed for use by deep-forest loggers, who used caribou-pulled sleds to make the trek into Elyria’s Jade Forest to cut and retrieve the massive Great Trees at its center. Lumber from Great Trees — also known as antimetal — was stronger than steel, twice as flexible, and impervious to any type of corrosion. But Great Trees were notoriously difficult to find, and even harder to cut down. It usually took a ten-jack sled team to retrieve one tree, but the potentially massive profits made the dangerous journey worth it. Julian was the youngest jack in his village, but he had already led three of these expeditions. Two of them had been successful.

Julian’s fingers found the handle of the axe. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the wiffie stumble towards him, still clutching its swollen eye as it drunkenly waved the carving knife in the air. Expertly manipulating the axe’s controls, Julian flicked the second switch on the axe’s handle, labeled, “materiel,” in glowing green letters. The axe would emit a seismic pulse as soon as it struck any object, vaporizing whatever substance the object was made out of, but leaving any human or living flesh unharmed. Before the invention of the lightaxe, it was said that a deep-forest logger who had all ten of his fingers couldn’t be trusted “any more than a Tortugan dolphin-hustler.” Grabbing the handle of the axe, Julian jerked his torso backwards, slamming it into the axe’s glowing blade. A flash of green light exploded outwards, instantly vaporizing the coils of blue fur-rope, as well as all of the live wiffie’s remaining fur. The wiffie stopped waving the knife, looking down in shock at its hairless body.

Julian wheezed in a fit of laughter, coughing as his limbs slowly came back to life. Using the lightaxe as a crutch, he pulled himself upright, his prosthetic dragging uselessly behind him. Bob Antler’s warbling voice continued to ring throughout the cabin.

“I went on a date with an Elyrian chick. She had long fingernails, and her arm-hair was thick. I tried to take her dancing but she stepped on my feet, so I said, ‘Hey there baby, don’t be shakin’ my tree! Don’t be shake-shake-shakin’.....”

The wiffie, finally shocked out of its stupor, turned towards Julian, and fixed him with a look of pure hatred. Julian met the wiffie’s eyes, switching the lightaxe's setting from “materiel” to “stun” as he lowered himself into a rough fighting stance.

A horn sounded in the distance. The wiffie turned towards the sound, then looked nervously back at Julian. Another horn sounded — this one louder than the first. Julian heard the frantic calls of what sounded like other wiffies in the distance. Then an explosion rocked the small hut, throwing Julian and the wiffie against the wall. Stars exploded into Julian’s field of vision as his head collided with the packed bricks of mud. He groaned, cradling his head as he rolled over. As his vision cleared, he saw the wiffie — now unconscious — who appeared to have collided with one of the hut’s support beams. Julian crawled over to his lightaxe and once again pushed himself upright, hobbling over to the door as the wiffie began to stir. Julian grimaced as he glanced down at his useless prosthetic. Have to find that Nectar canister. He peered through the slats in the hut’s thin wooden door.

The scene before him was utter mayhem. Smoking in the center of the ring of wiffie huts was a severely damaged, burnt-orange starpod — its cockpit door emblazoned with the emblem of a yellow sun, which reflected the sparse rays of afternoon sunlight that trickled in through the dense forest canopy. Hundreds of wiffies streamed past Julian, each resembling nothing so much as a purple fluffy basketball with eyes. They screamed and chittered at each other in wif-speak, gesturing wildly at the pod as they attempted to put out fires that had erupted around the edges of the crash site. Julian’s eye caught the outline of another structure two huts down from his. Slightly larger than the others, its wooden doors were adorned with the same moss-green metal, but its archway was decorated with two enormous tusks, which criss-crossed over a plate etched with three silver stars. The Chieftan’s hut. Julian thought. There has to be Nectar there. Julian flipped his lightaxe around to access its secondary functions. The axe doubled as a high-powered dart rifle, which was useful for tranquilizing the various beasts that preyed on the logging crews during their expeditions. Or for tranquilizing wiffies, he thought morbidly as he prepared to dash to the Chieftan’s hut. Then Julian felt a meaty hand close around his ankle. He whirled around to see the hairless (and now considerably bruised) blue wiffie, arm outstretched, with a look of savage triumph on its face. For Orion’s sake, Julian groaned as he swiveled the lightaxe around and pumped the trigger twice. The wiffie froze, its expression changing from triumph to confusion and then back to smoldering anger as it sank into unconsciousness. Shaking the wiffie’s hand free from his ankle, Julian faced the door, uttering a quick prayer to Orion before slowly pushing it open and slipping into the dull heat of the afternoon.

* * *

The ring of huts was empty. Julian blinked. There wasn’t a wiffie in sight. All that remained was the orange starpod, smoke rising gently from its extinguished engines to the trees above. Julian rubbed his eyes blearily. Maybe this really is a dream.

Crouching low, he turned towards the Chieftain's hut and then stopped. He looked back at the pod. Ohhhh no. No. Don’t even think about it. Don’t you remember why we’re here? N.E.C.T.A.R. And those wiffies are probably hiding in the f***ing tree canopy, waiting to bash you over the head with a sack of root-rocks!

He glanced around the clearing, then his eyes drifted back to the pod. All starships are fueled by Nectar. Without even realizing what he was doing, he moved towards the smoking pod.

Julian did not consider himself an expert on spacecraft — he had only ever flown the large, unwieldy lumber transports which ran to and from the capital city of Elerion. But even so, the starpod had a strange look to it. It was clearly many years old — its dusty orange paint was peeling in several sections. A band of rust framed the pod’s dented cockpit, tapering towards the rear of the craft where three circular engines issued wreathes of black smoke.

Julian hesitated. No one could have survived a crash like that… right? But someone had to have been flying the damn thing. He prodded the cockpit’s glass hatch with his lightaxe, leaping back in surprise when it snapped open. Glaring suspiciously, he hefted his lightaxe, pointing it at the cockpit as he trepidly peered inside. It was empty. He breathed a sigh of relief, and stepped furtively inside.

The cockpit’s interior was small and cramped. Purple strip-lights flickered on and off, illuminating a small, empty command seat which sat in front of a dusty wooden dashboard. The cracked screen of a glowing starmap hung from the ceiling by strands of twisted wire. Julian leaned his lightaxe gingerly against the dashboard, and grasped the starmap — brushing off a thick coating of dust. He stared at the map intently. It displayed an intricate glowing rendering of the Seven Jewels. An orange dot labeled “Current” blinked steadily on the edge of Elyria. Another orange dot labeled “Origin” blinked in the middle of the field of red slashes that separated the galaxy from the blackness of Deep Space. The Scar? What in green peace were you doing there? A third dot, this one yellow, and labeled with a glowing ‘V’, illuminated a small asteroid cluster orbiting gently around Titus. Julian was about to turn away from the starmap when he thought he saw a flicker of green light on the map. He squinted, staring at the planet of Taz-Abalone, where he swore he had just seen a glowing green star. There was nothing there.

Julian jumped as a robotic voice echoed throughout the cabin.

“Emergency landing completed. Your location is: Elyria. Population: 20 million. Species: Human & Mystic. Location: first ring of the Outer Rim. The closest HUMAN settlement is 50. Miles. Away. Transmitting SOS beacon now.”

Several buttons on the dashboard lit up as a wailing siren rent the air. Dropping the starmap, Julian frantically scanned the dashboard, looking for the alarm shutoff. He pressed a promising looking red button.

“Eject mode activated. Prepare to eject in 3, 2….” Julian yelped and jumped backward as the command seat shot through the ceiling with a deafening BANG. The alarm continued to wail. He cursed as he scrambled back towards the dashboard. Come on, come on! He noticed a small purple button blinking on the dashboard’s right side. He pressed it. The alarm stopped wailing as the remaining cabin and dashboard lights instantly shut off. Julian breathed heavily, beads of sweat coating his brow as he stood in total darkness. Time to go. He picked up his lightaxe from where he had placed it, and turned to exit the cockpit, when a violet glow caught his eye. He looked towards the rear of the ship, noticing for the first time a cylindrical safe fixed to the rear cabin wall. Its circular steel door was cracked open — the purple glow emanating from within. Moving quickly over to the safe, Julian opened the circular steel door gently. Inside — inserted into a black docking bay — was a small, purple access chip. The chip swirled with a gentle violet light. That’s odd, Julian thought. I could’ve sworn that….. He looked back towards the front of the ship. There in its dashboard slot, he saw a starter chip with the same dusty orange color as the ship’s exterior. He glanced back at the violet chip. Then he froze as the sound of approaching voices reached his ears.

“It’s got to be here somewhere. It sent out a beacon for Orion’s sake!” The voice was gruff and deep. Julian heard the sound of heavy footsteps crunching through the packed forest dirt.

“Yeah but what if it isn’t?!” a higher-pitched voice whined. “Then we came all the way into this dark, dirty forest for nothing. My Great Aunt Martha always warned me about the forests of Elyria. Filled with snake-moths she said!”

“I know what she said, she’s my Aunt too, you urth-ray.” The first voice growled. “Only I stopped listening to her little pearls of ‘wisdom’ after she invested all of her nectar-savings in that bubbleflower farm.”

“That wasn’t her fault!” the high-pitched voice squeaked. “You know it was a bad year for the market!”

“Tell me something,” the first voice snarled. “Who wants to buy a flower that POPS when you sniff it?!” The high-pitched voice was about to utter a retort when the lower voice barked, “Hush!” The footsteps stopped. “There it is,” the low voice breathed.

Julian tried to quiet his breathing.

“Hey, Bal,” the high-voice whispered. “Do you see these footprints?”

Julian glanced back at the open hatch. Without thinking, he grabbed the violet chip from the safe and jammed it into the chest pocket of his hunting vest. Gripping the lightaxe with both hands, he ducked behind a rectangular exhaust vent in the pod’s rear, just as two figures entered the cockpit.

The first was a huge, shaggy form that looked almost gorilla-like. The figure fiddled with a few buttons on the dashboard, and the cockpit lights came back on. Julian stifled a gasp. It was a gorilla. Standing roughly six feet tall, the gorilla’s muscular frame was covered with black, silver-flecked fur that glinted in the dull light. The fur stopped at the gorilla’s forearms, which were covered with intricate, spiraling tattoos. Around its waist hung a thick gun belt with a golden, Royal Watch-issue sundagger glinting menacingly in its holster. Next to the gorilla stooped a short…orangutan? Julian flicked himself in the eye to make sure he was not hallucinating. The orangutan was partially bald, with several wisps of long orange hair standing straight up on its leathery head. It gestured at the starmap which lay sparking on the floor where Julian had dropped it. The screen was blank.

“Hey Bal, looks like the map is a no-go.”

The gorilla did not respond, frowning as it surveyed the cockpit’s dark interior. “We have bigger problems than that. We weren’t the only ones who got pinged by the SOS beacon. We have about four minutes before this whole crash site is crawling with Royal Watch troopers.”

“And why, exactly, did Astor, in his infinite wisdom, pick this particular location on this particularly insignificant planet to send this scrap heap?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out,” replied the gorilla, fiddling with several controls on the dashboard. “Star, initiate ship’s log recall.”

“Affirmative.” Replied a feminine robotic voice. “Recall initiated. Playing last transmission.”

Julian almost dropped the lightaxe as a deafening BANG sounded over the pod’s loudspeakers. The two primates jumped backward, equally surprised. Julian bent over, slamming his hands over his ears as a torrent of static erupted from the speakers. He stifled a groan as the needlelike frequencies assaulted his eardrums. Then, as suddenly as it had come, the terrible sound faded.

Shaking, Julian looked towards the pod’s dashboard, where he saw the two primates crouched, still shielding themselves from the sonic assault. Then a new sound echoed from the loudspeakers — ragged breathing, faint yet unmistakable. As the breathing rose and fell, Julian felt a stirring deep within his heart-cavity, as if he had inhaled a luminous golden mist. The breathing continued for several seconds, and then a voice began to speak. Julian could not tell whether the speaker was male or female, old or young, for the tone of voice was perfectly neutral in all aspects, and contained a shimmering quality that betrayed no sign of gender or age.

“Luther….*cough* if you’re out there…...I believe this may be my final transmission.” The voice paused. “I found it, Luther. That in which we placed all of our hopes. I found it.” The cockpit rang with a stilted, barking laugh. “You cannot know the glory….... and the terror of that moment! And I pray that you never have to. For that which we sought was a lie.” The voice dissolved into a violent fit of coughing, and then resumed. “But there is one final task for you to complete, my brother. One that I trust only to you. I cannot instruct you through this link, for I fear that my mind and body already seek to betray my very intention. Instead, I send you this final gift. IN THE LOVESTAR, I SEND YOU THE KEY.” Julian heard the sound of choking, as if the speaker was trying to dislodge some foul substance from its throat, and suddenly the voice changed from its neutral quality to a harsh, metallic cant. “AT THE PLACE WHERE RA MADE HIS FINAL STAND, BIND YOURSELF TO ME. AND THEN, BEFORE THE LIFESUN, WAIT FOR MY RETURN.” The voice wavered, changing back to its neutral quality, now no more than a whisper. “Luther……...don’t fail me now.” The voice faded and all was silent.

“Transmission ended,” said the robotic voice.

Julian looked down at his hands, noticing that his knuckles had turned white from clenching the handle of his lightaxe. In his periphery he saw the two primates stand up.

“Well this is just great!” The orangutan said, throwing up its hands. “He leaves us with yet another string of cosmic gibberish, and the ONE person that may actually be able to make sense of it has been declared ‘missing’ for two years running. I was being too optimistic before. We are totally bushed.”

“Calm down!” The gorilla snapped. “I’m sure there’s a good reason for —” he paused, then swiftly drew the sundagger from his belt, pointing it towards the back of the cockpit, where Julian crouched. “We’re not alone,” the gorilla whispered to the orangutan, who drew a small sphere-shaped object from his belt. At the click of a button, the object expanded outward, taking the shape of a silver gauntlet that wrapped around the orangutan’s hand and wrist.

“Put a few charges back there. Just to be safe,” muttered the orangutan.

“Wait!” Julian cried, dropping the lightaxe and raising his hands. “Don’t shoot!”

“Show us your hands!” barked the gorilla. “Do it now!”

Edging around the side of the vent, Julian kept his hands raised, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the beam of light that sprung from a small flashlight clipped below the sundagger’s barrel.

“Who are you?!” demanded the gorilla, keeping the dagger trained on Julian.

“No one!” Julian yelped, cringing. “I live here, I’m— I’m a lumberjack from Green Slopes!”

“Ha!” laughed the orangutan. “He’s probably one of Vice’s spies. Blasted Killer Whale!”

“Take off your shirt,” ordered the gorilla. Julian hesitated. “Do it now!!!”

Slowly, Julian removed his hunting vest and dropped it gently to the floor, eyeing the concealed chest pocket containing the purple starter chip. Then, with a sigh of apprehension, he reached down and pulled the worn checkered flannel over his head, depositing it next to the vest. The two primates inhaled sharply. Running from Julian’s left hip to his sternum was a large, spiraling scar of knotted pink muscle. Chips of glinting silver metal permeated the ropy structure, reflecting the light of the flashlight. A look of pity passed momentarily over the gorilla’s face, before he quickly restored his composure.

“Spread your arms!” Julian did as instructed. “Now turn around. Slowly!”

Julian held his breath as he spun in a slow circle, certain that he was about to be executed.

“Ok, that’s enough.” said the gorilla. “Now kick over your weapon.” Julian kicked the handle of the lightaxe, sending it spinning over to the two primates. The orangutan picked it up, inspecting it with a quizzical look on its face. “What is this?” he demanded. “Some kind of new Killer Whale weaponry?”

“I told you!” Julian pleaded. “I’m a lumberjack! That’s called a lightaxe, it’s for chopping down Great Trees.”

“Oh I’m sure it is,” the orangutan scoffed, holding up his silver gauntleted hand. “And this is my light-fist. It’s for chopping down people.” He turned to the gorilla, whispering under his breath. “He’s got to be working for Vice. You want me to do the honors?”

The gorilla sighed, finally lowering the sundagger. “No Olgur, he doesn’t have the tattoo. Besides, the Whales don’t operate on Elyria. They cannot pass the Fields.” The gorilla nodded at Julian, and Julian stepped forward to grab his vest, and shirt.

“Well then he’s probably working for the Royal Watch, or for someone else!” Olgur whined. “Every crew from here to Armaa has heard rumors about the *unlimited* source of Nectar that the Captain hid aboard the Lovestar! He probably —” he trailed off as the gorilla silenced him with a glare.

“Unlimited source of Nectar?” Julian said excitedly — pulling his shirt over his head. “What—”

“SILENCE!” said the gorilla. “That’s none of your concern. Right now, your only concern should be explaining to me what you’re doing on this pod, and what exactly you heard us say.”

“Well,” Julian said, pulling on his vest “It was an accident really. You see I got ambushed by a tribe of wiffies, and —”

“You what?!” the two primates exclaimed.

“I got captured by wiffies!” Julian said, exasperated. “And —”

“And you’re just telling us this now?!” said the orangutan, looking around nervously.

Julian narrowed his eyes. “Well maybe I would have said something earlier, if I wasn’t so busy stripteasing at gunpoint.” The orangutan growled.

“Olgur!” the gorilla groaned. “You said this village was abandoned!”

“I thought it was!” the orangutan whined. “That’s what it said in my copy of ‘Cadmere Brownbottom’s Decidedly Brief Guide to the Seven Jewels.’”

Julian rolled his eyes. “Brownbottom?! Oh yeah, I’ve seen his show. ‘40 Ways to Escape Angry Animals in the Dark.’ If you listen to what that idiot tells you, you probably still believe that Elyria’s main chemical export is caribou feces.”

The orangutan snarled, lunging at Julian before being dragged backward by the gorilla.

“Enough!” The gorilla shouted. He turned towards Julian. “Wait. If you were ambushed by an entire tribe of wiffies... where are they now?”

Julian was about to respond when suddenly it dawned on him. Oh no. Not again. And then a chorus of tiny whispering voices began to chant outside the starpod. It was too quiet to hear the words at first, but soon each whisper increased in volume, until, with terror, Julian could finally make out each word.

Deep in the forest of the choo-choo tree

Where the lumberjacks never go

The wiffies revel in ecstacy

In the fire-caves they dwell

They’ll roast your bones on the meeting-day log

And grind you into dust.

They’ll teach you the ways of the wiffie-realm

Until you’re one of us

Julian gulped. “Wiffies!!!” He spat through his teeth at the two primates. “Run!!!”

The clearing exploded with a flurry of activity. Hundreds of wiffies swarmed up the sides of the starpod, pouring through the entrance hatch and into the cabin, where the three figures struggled in vain to repel the attack. The gorilla fired his sundagger wildly in air, trying to make contact with the tiny balls of purple fluff, but the wiffies were too fast — swarming over his frame until at last, by sheer numbers, he was completely subdued. The orangutan desperately lashed out with his silver gauntleted hand, which sizzled with smoke every time it made contact. He even managed to set several of the wiffies on fire (which they seemed to find hilarious), but soon he too became overwhelmed — pinned down by the mass of purple fluff. Julian reached for his lightaxe, but his hand found nothing but air. He groaned as he caught sight of the glowing green axe where it lay under the dashboard on the other side of the cockpit. Over a dozen wiffies advanced towards him, cornering him in the back of the pod. Cursing, he swung his torso, using momentum to punt one of the wiffies with his dangling prosthetic. Then he felt a sharp sting on the side of his neck. He reached up, plucking out a tranquilizer dart with a green plume. He stared at it in disbelief. You’ve got to be kidding me. Then everything went black.

End Chapter 1

To whoever may be reading this, thank you for your support for the Songs of Orion project, as well as Captain Sunbeam and the Captain Sunbeam Universe! We hope you enjoyed this first chapter of The Afterjoy Sequence, Book I — Captain Sunbeam, and the Compass of Ra. Conor is currently working on the full book — please visit his website, www.conorduffystories.com, or www.captainsunbeamuniverse.com, for more updates, and thank you, once again!

Sincerely,

Conor, Malachy, Matt, Stevie, and Joe.