Doc Sherwood
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Unto the Breach, Chapter Four
Back on Mars, the Solidity patrolmen were safely tied-up beside the wreck of their ship while Bret and Max searched through the scrap for the distress-beacon. Meanwhile Amy was sitting on the sand with the Professors and Bendigo, rounding off the long story of how she and her friends came to be there.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
The Foretold One
In Nottingham’s war-torn City Centre, Solidity forces were being unilaterally redeployed to the very heart of town. Over the stone steps and paving-slabs of that ornate square hung Empress Ungus’s giant saucer-shaped mothership, from which huge green world-rending tendrils spanned the gap between sky and earth. These were suddenly pulsating and germinating with a vengeance, perhaps making up for a stretch of lost time when it had seemed to some their maker was keeping them on hold, but Earthling tanks and planes were ever muscling their way through the widening breach in the Future Fighters and ultimate success for the Solidity’s superweapon now rested on a last concerted stratagem of defence.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
The Trojan Horse, Chapter Two
Before the prow of the Henry Martin airspace parted like the deep, battering housefronts and roof-tiles with Aeolian spume as the skyborne galleon of timber and gold ploughed above the city’s square trenches. The robot hordes first sighted her as she rounded the headland of the Town Hall’s great dome, at which her fore-facing bores of brass cannon broke into far-off fiery winks all at once. A second later and the marauders were met full in the teeth by a bombardment in which each cannonball accounted for many, explosions of strategic targets striking chain-reactions throughout densely-packed metal bodies that cleared whole smoking blast-zones across the mechanical mass.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
The Trojan Horse, Chapter One
A tide of devastation was washing through the city. Where just twenty minutes previously the public had been assembled in an open-air show of togetherness and resistance, now were police and army hastily dispersing the crowd and evacuating the square as fire and tumult drew ever nearer. The advancing ones were without finesse, without strategy more complex than the marauding charge, and indeed each and every member of their horde was without some limb or component or other. But with crushing metal fists and spasmodic blurts of high-powered weaponry these semi-functional Dimension Borg robots, lurching onward on their remaining legs, were making carnage of the night.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
The Trojan Horse, Chapter Three
On Mars, warning-klaxons were adding their blare to the noise in the beaming-station and the lurid light from the Feeder Ray’s furnace was leaping and guttering like fire under a gale. “What in the two moons are they hitting us with?” Iskira exclaimed. “Nothing should be able to disrupt field coherency so fast!”
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Mars Rising, Chapter One
The crimson whiplashes of Dimension Borg’s eyebeams tore into the world. Neetra threw herself aside, teleporting as she rolled to finish up a clear six feet from the deadly path of the rays. Dimension Borg, his great cuboid body still motionless but his computer-brain working and compensating at terrifying speed, swivelled his head. More flashes and sparks followed suit, scarlet from him and golden from her, such that for minutes on end a frenetic dance of light played across the viewing-gallery’s sandy floor while the ranks of unheeding time-portals continued to file in sedate sequence overhead. The girl was all reflexes and speed, the robot all merciless exacting precision. She scampered and skipped from spot to spot, refusing to let herself be targeted, and he was an entrenched battalion to which she could not draw near. Such a standoff had to end, and it did when Neetra, flitting unhurt out of the latest fusillade’s trajectory, was tagged through the flapping pleats of her short brown tunic. Skirt smoking from three round holes she skidded to a halt amid a small dust-cloud and threw both hands above her head.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Mars Rising, Chapter Three
Hand by hand, aching all over, Neetra made her weary way back up the tow-chain. The pilot’s chair awaited her at the end of her painful clamber and she started the Ultimate Cycle’s engines again, though they sounded in worse shape than she was and overexerting the forcefields for such a desperate gambit had sapped the batteries almost to deadness. Nevertheless our heroine set course to return to the citadel, with nothing to go on but hope she had power enough to make it there.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
When Flashes Clash, Chapter One
Once upon a time, two boys had sat together on the shores of reality and looked out at what lay beyond. This was the Seegs, an endless flat ocean of searing glaring rawness whose terrible white stretched far past the dark horizon where bolts of lightning played. No-one in this galaxy or any other could say for certain whether there was truth in the folk-song that described the Seegs as the place where the universe ended. All that was known was that those who stepped into it never came back.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Love in the Underground, Chapter Two
Phoenix Prime’s wings were the only source of illumination in a compact cave, where the tunnel through which the girls and Kral-it-Gor had entered branched off ahead into two. For some minutes the party had held still, until they were certain from the surrounding hush that they had not been followed.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
Love in the Underground, Chapter One
From the steep-sided canyons between towering skyscrapers to the rubble-mounds strewn across the battlefield below, Nottingham City Centre reverberated as if in the aftermath of an electrical storm. Office-block exteriors seemed to ring with it, giving back upon the charged and tingling atmospherics all that the shockwave had laid upon them, while ongoing battle-noise gradually warped and echoed its way back from eerie distortions to the proper register and key. Even the air was swimming with residual frissons crackling out their last. Through this static-bath a single small figure moved on a determined course, like the first animal to venture from its hollow once the tempest was over.
By Doc Sherwood5 years ago in Fiction
