Private Malone…


Thirty-six hours ago, he stood on the tarmac with his entire life stuffed into a ruck slung on his back. His face was shiny as the prospect of his first deployment loomed before him. He watched the Osprey class dropship land and let a grin slip at the prospect of ‘finally getting into the thick of it.’ He shouldered his weapon and marched to the lowering gangway at the rear of the Osprey.

“Private Malone, reporting for duty.” He snapped a quick salute to the crewman manning the ramp who just waved him in and shook his head.

“Booters,” the crewman mumbled to himself.


Thirty-two hours ago, he landed on the Leviathan, a troopship in orbit over the recruit training world of Andari. He was shuffled through in-doc, orders handed in, and assigned to a cryo-tube and berthing deck.

“Private Malone.” He smiled to his new commanding officer, who never looked up as he signed the last line on the form.

“Good to have you son. Sergent Barry is your platoon sergent and will be taking over from here.” With the briefest of eye contact, the CO shook his hand and then Malone was ushered away.


Thirty hours ago he sat on the mess deck, a tray of food in front of him. He poked at the slop with his fork while he listened deep in conversations around him. “Private Malone.” He offered his hand to the group of soldiers who sat down near him. One of them turned toward him and tilted his head up.

“S’up, booter?” He smiled mockingly as he sat, and then turned back to his group.


Twenty-six hours ago, he was running to his cryo-tube as the klaxon on the ship whined. They were making an emergency jump to Tallos IV. “Move, move, move!” He could hear Sgt. Barry’s voice boom from the end of the passageway as boots echoed down the metal hall.

Malone stopped for a second in front of his tube, his heart in his throat. That’s when he saw that someone had marked ‘Booter’ over his name. “Time to get in, son.” Barry’s voice was close.

Malone froze, his face went pale, and he felt his stomach turn. “I…I…” His voice stuck in his throat and his mouth went dry. He felt a hand grip his shoulder and turn him around.

“You need to get in.” Barry’s voice was strong and commanding as he pushed the petrified soldier into the cryo-tube. “It’s going to be fine,” he said as he reached in and pushed the activation nodule.

“Sir… I’m scared.” Malone said.

“We all are, Malone. We all are.” Malone smiled at the sound of his own name as the door sealed and the sleep started.


Sgt. Barry walked down the passageway to his own cryo-tube, doing one final check on his platoon. Everyone was in bed. Satisfied, he stepped into his chamber and hit the nodule. “Ploxxing booters.”

Friday Fiction with Ronovan Writes

Friday Fiction with Ronovan Writes

Visitor’s Welcome…


“It is a great disguise. No one will ever suspect.” Flargon said.

“I agree. It is well hidden from the human eyes.” His mate, Susan, said. “Shall we now go to the ‘visitor center’?”

“It is acceptable.”

Just as they turned to walk away from their nights work of camoflaging the space craft, Carl, the town deviant, rode up on his dirt bike and looked at the two new comers.

“Sup,” Carl nodded. Continue reading Visitor’s Welcome…

The Next New Thing…

Mass media is an ever-changing road, constantly under construction. Just ten years ago, cell phones were all the rage and MySpace was just gaining speed. Twitter, Instagram, Facebook, and Google weren’t even in the beginning stages or development, and today, many of us can’t imagine a world without them.

So, what’s next? Where do we go from here? Continue reading The Next New Thing…

What Hope…

You never realize how far something is until you reach for it. It’s in that moment that you realize that the things out of reach are much further then they appear. So it was when Bartley looked into the night sky, his hand outstretched toward the heavens.

“I’ll grasp it for you.” He said to Mary.

“You can’t. It’s too far.” Her voice was filled with laughter.

“Then, I’ll go up and bring it back.” He turned to face her, her smile spreading to her eyes as she looked back at him.

“Always the dreamer Bartley. Always the dreamer.”

The memory flickered on the vid screen, lines causing the image to scatter.

“That’s all there is sir.” A robot with the face of a pretty young woman said as she looked up from her console.

“Andromeda, can we retrieve anymore?” The man she was speaking to, Admiral John Hurtly, looked down at her from his position on the up-raised dais in the middle of the room.

“I’ve tried several times sir, but this is the only viable portion. The rest is too damaged for any kind of recovery.” Her tone was very matter of fact.

“Alright.” He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his prothetic hand, then continued, “Prepare him for re-integration.” He turned from the dais and walked to the back of the command center into his glass walled office and sat at his large metallic desk.

Two orb-like floating drones with hanging appendages hovered from the opposite side of the room and crossed over to where Andromeda sat, the slight hum of their anti-gravity engines keeping the room from being totally silent.

“Why must you two always hover so close?” Andromeda snapped at them both. As if talking to each other, the two orbs seemed to face each other and bounce a sort of shrug. Andromeda did her best to ignore the two interlopers as she worked at extracting the data onto a cube stick and then, taking it from the console, she handed it to one of the droid’s outstretched many arms.

“Off with you two. And be careful with this one. I don’t want to have to re-parse that entire data field like I did with the last one.” She watched as the two droids hovered away, approaching a blank wall that shushed open, peeling up into ceiling and just as quickly snapping back into place as they passed through.

With the two droids gone and the Admiral tucked away into his glass box, the room feel quiet. Andromeda sat motionless for a few seconds, unsure of what to do, as thoughts of breaking the silence ran through her processors. Drumming her fingers; tapping her toes; getting up and walking across the room; all viable options but none seemed appropriate for the moment so instead she found herself watching the monitor as the two droids entered into the room where Subject Foxtrot lay on a metal slab.

The reconstruction phase had gone well, with over seventy percent of his body restructured with robotic elements. The rest, including his face, were part of the regenerative program that the Admiral had been put in charge of, herself being one of the first successes. As she watched the droids move around the room, preparing the final steps for re-integration, she stared at Subject Foxtrot’s face. Even though it was lifeless, it was easily identifiable from the memory sequence that she had been working on reconstructing over the last month.

“Bartley.” She cooed. “Such a handsome young man.” Her metallic fingertips traced over the monitor as the image zoomed to his face. “I hope this works. I sorely would like to meet you.”

A green light lit on her console letting her know the droids work was complete and the process was now ready to start.

“Sir, Bob and Larry have finished the final sequence and we are ready to start.” She said over the intercom.

“Permission granted, Andromeda. Let’s hope this works.”

“Roger that.” She found herself crossing her fingers mentally as she typed in the go command.

She watched on the monitors as the room Bartley was in grew brighter; watched as Bob and Larry hovered around his body, poking and prodding in different areas; watched the monitor as life signs started to appear; hoped as she saw movement; began to cry as she watched the life signs falter and flatline.

“Well, that’s that. Lets get a start on Subject Golf.” Came the Admiral’s voice.

I’ve Had Better Days…

Cyrius Day hunkered down in the booth as a slug disintegrated the plasti-wood paneled wall behind him.

“Fine mess you got yourself into, Cyrius.” He quipped to himself as he checked the magazine to his Mk5 blaster. Four rounds left. “Plox!” He cursed as another round exploded inches from his head, raining debris down on him. “Come on!” He shouted out toward the diner’s entrance.

“Give it up, Day. Just throw out that weapon and die like the coward you are.” Continue reading I’ve Had Better Days…


Old Broken Window

Neither of the planet’s moons were up yet, and the cool night enveloped the land in a blanket of darkness. A soft wind blew across the tall grass on the hillside, bending it to and fro as a distant bird sang the melancholy tune of a lonely soul. Slowly, a portion of the grass moved, imperceptible to the naked eye, as Bronski adjusted the scope on his rifle. Continue reading Overwatch…

Going Back…

The door to the cockpit opened and Hawkins stepped in, his frame taking up nearly the entire door in his combat gear. With his visor up, the scowl and anger in his eyes was unmistakable.

“What part of ‘Get us back down there’ did you not understand, Captain?” His voice was level, but the irritation behind his words could not be mistaken.

“Sergeant, I have my orders.” Captain Jansk responded without turning toward Hawkins.

“There are boots on the ground down there and you are just going to leave them? Damn the orders, turn us around!” Hawkins growled.

“Negative. This is my ship, Sergeant.” Jansk turned, his young face contrasting with the battle hardened features of Hawkins. At that moment, Hawkins saw it, the fear that lingered beneath his eyes, the fear that was clenching him to hold fast to his precious orders. Continue reading Going Back…


Sergeant Hawkins caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror as he toweled off. It was not something that happened frequently, as his body carried the scars of war, medals he was not so proud to display let alone remember. But today his eyes betrayed him and he saw the right side of his body, the flesh burned and repaired, leaving a patchwork of mottled skin. Maybe it was because of the mission today, maybe he was just too tired, or maybe the close call primed him, but whatever it was, he couldn’t make himself look away as the memory starting to replay itself in his mind. Continue reading Interrogated…

All In A Day’s Work…

Cyrius Day walked into the casino, his light brown eyes scanning over the crowd of people carousing around the tables. His long brown trench coat was pulled back at his waist, revealing the side-arm strapped to his leg where his hand rested on the grip.

Everything he had found indicated that his prey would be here tonight, and as luck would have it, there he was, standing over next to the roulette table. “Why do they always seem bigger in person,” he mumbled under his breath as he took the chewed toothpick out of his mouth and dropped it on the floor.

Tilting the brim of his hat down,  he headed over toward the bar, Continue reading All In A Day’s Work…