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Stories from the Verse
A Dozen Verses
Chapter 1: Kondor 256
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As Kondor woke, he diagnosed himself. Mild hangover, a roiling stomach meant nausea, and a dry throat combined with him passing out suggested something like an oral form of phenobarbital. Of course, given that the beings that had roofied him were avian bipedals, and had zero connection to Earth, they had given him their version of it. He was just grateful they had not killed him by dosing him with something suitable to a Parakeet Person, but not a Human.
Opening his crusty eyes, he pulled up his manacled hands to wipe the must from his eyelids. He had to use his fingertips to get at his eyes as the manacles were so heavy and large which was another aggravation. Not that Kondor was not mad. No, he was furious, but he had no proper means of expressing it at the moment so he put it to the side.
Looking across the professorial office, he saw that his friend Zeke was lying on a cot, asleep from a sedative as well. The slower than normal rise and fall of his chest in his military fatigues said ‘sedative’ as well, as they were a depressant of major body functions. But he was glad to see his friend still alive.
Sitting up, he looked around for information as to where he was. The plates with seeds on them revealed some sort of botany professor’s office. This meant that the chief botanist at the University had perhaps died in the war with the aliens–or been killed by the coup plotters among the Parakeets who had overthrown their legitimate government, and imprisoned him and Zeke. Perhaps the botanist professor had been ‘one of them’ as he thought of Them, and was now heading toward the capital to enjoy the privileges of rule and power. The last possibility tweaked Kondor’s lips. Perhaps right now the botanist professor was sitting in the University break room, complaining loudly to all who would listen that his office had been stolen by those dreadful people, and how was he to get any work done without an office?
Kondor would gladly give the office back if it meant he and Zeke could be free. The coup plotters who had manacled him and knocked him unconscious with a drug in his drink juice had taken the elementary precaution of removing all of his gear including his M-16 rifle, Mark VII kinetic blaster, Army pistol, and Bowie knife along with all his other less obviously dangerous gear. They had not pried out his Meritonics Cybereye which was a small bonus, probably because they were unaware that it was something other than a glass eye–although he was not yet sure how to use it in this situation.
Looking around the desk, he found, as he expected, a leather case containing some of the tools a botanist might use. Unsnapping it, he found three sets of tweezers, regular, curved tip, and a very fine tipped one; a thin metal pole four inches long; a short but very sharp knife with one edge; and a loupe, or hand lens. Looking into it, he decided the small magnifying glass was 5X power. He could easily use the sunlight from the high window and the lens to start a fire, but for now, he was going to try something a bit quieter to escape with.
He had never picked a lock or hotwired a car, but he figured now was as good at time as any to begin learning the first skill. Zeke flipped over on his cot, and mumbled. Kondor took a look at him, and decided he was coming out of the sedation, and was fine. Getting back to the desk, he sat on the edge, and started with the little metal pokey stick and the loupe to see what he could find out about the wearily heavy manacles on his dark brown wrists.
Looking at them, he knew that someone was going to pay for this. He had offered nothing but kindness to the locals, and now he was a prisoner. His face cold, he kept working.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
