The Zendo Agreement

Two bounty hunters, rivals, betrayers, lovers. They chase the same thing, the tiny disc that carries within it the means to end the war and save Earth from annihilation and enslavement. This is

The Zendo Agreement

The small office was dark, smelled like an animal cage needed cleaning. Oldman sat in his large EV-chair, his considerable bulk blotting-out the large oval window in front of him, as he watched the fiery debris from the latest mesosphere battle streak by the platform. The chunks of debris cut through what was left of Earth’s atmosphere, and flamed out into the oblivion below. Umber clouds obscured most of the Earth’s surface, but visible areas glowed orange and brown from raging fires.

Declan Hunter stood in the doorway behind Oldman and cleared his throat. The air inside was barely breathable, the oxygen being set too low, making the staleness tangible. The android guard turned toward Hunter, its eyes lit-up red, while yellow beams of beta particles ran his outline searching for weapons. Hunter flashed a contemptuous, toothy smile and nodded, as if the contraption cared about such pleasantries.

Oldman pointed toward the window. “There goes what was left of Stellar Nine Space Station. The Chinese are cooked, too.”

“Stellar Nine. Shame. I saw her launched. She was a beauty.”

“Well, not anymore, eh? Earth is done, now. Platforms like this one is all that’s left for us…survivors.”

“There’s always Alpha Centauri. But you hate worm holes.”

Oldman turned in his electric chair. “Too unpredictable. I don’t want to end up on a farm in Musca.”

“I’d pay to see that. You riding a six legged trogg.”

“We’re through here. The Velations are too powerful, their technology too great. They’ve won the battle already.” Oldman sneered. “The 21 day war, they’ll call it.”

He scanned Hunter with his hand held auto fan-laser.

Hunter sighed, exasperated.  “Seen enough, yet?”

“I have to be careful. That obliterator on your belt best be powered off.”

He looked down at the hunk of metal strapped to his hip. It was on standby, which looked the same as off, but it was charged and ready to fire.

“Of course it’s cold, Oldman. You think I don’t know the drill?”

Oldman rubbed his chin, nodded. “Good. What have you got for me?”

Hunter held out his hand, revealing a tiny heart shaped silver locket and chain. He let it dangle for a few seconds, then took a few slow steps forward and placed it on the desk.

Oldman, the Junker, hummed, took out his magnifier and gave it a scan. “Hah. Silver. Small. This is all you have after two weeks of spending my money, using my best EV Gig?”

“This and the pile of battle space junk on the dock. Ten tons of valuable metal.”

Oldman pointed at a metal laser as it scanned the cargo. “Yes, more or less six tons, I see.”

Hunter bit his lip, was about to let Oldman have it.

Oldman smiled. “The scale on board hasn’t been calibrated in months.”

“Then why’d you give me that piece of junk?”

“It’s the best I’ve got, Hunter. Don’t hurt my feelings. Seven and a half.”

“Ship’s computer said ten.”

“Let’s make it eight.”

“Fine. But I use the ship this weekend for a run to Hallum.”

“Hallum for the weekend. My, I must be paying you too much.”

“It’s personal.”

Oldman poked at the locket with the metal finger extension he used as a pointer. “Anything inside? It scans hollow.”

“Nothing.”

“When you found it, I mean. Perhaps there was something…huh?”

“Empty.”

“Arrrg. Worth maybe a few ounces of oatmeal.”

He tossed it over his shoulder onto a pile of junked electronics.

“Why are you wasting my time? I should have sent android seekers for all the good you’ve done me.”

The android laughed, its yellow eyes flashing in rhythm to the metallic sounding guffaws.  

Hunter gritted his teeth, tightened his grip on the obliterator, but held his place. “Okay, so she got away. I searched her cell thoroughly. Besides, you said anything she had. I can’t be held accountable for taste.”

Oldman leaned toward Hunter, his face an intense grimace. “She had what I was looking for ten hours ago, you pirate.” He turned to his android. “Search him.”

“It already did that.”

The android lit Hunter again.

“Besides, if I had anything to hide you think I’d bring it in here?” Hunter turned to the android. “You better have that setting on low or I’ll melt your joints.”

The beam shut down. The android turned to Oldman. A squelching voice emanated from the android. “He’s c,clean, bloss.”

“Nice voice-box there, Sluggo. You do poetry readings?”

“Now manually search him.”

The android stepped closer to Hunter, a low grrrr emanating from its voice box.

“Woof woof, Sluggo,” Hunter said, smirking. “Get your kicks.”

The android’s slick Teflon fingers were clumsy and scratched as they fumbled around Hunter’s fire-retardant flight suit. It made him smile, knowing this goofy android couldn’t detect a rocket in his pocket, let alone an ancient microchip stuffed into his collar.

Sluggo squared up and took a few steps back. “No-ting t-to reput, B-Boss.”

Hunter smirked. “I know a guy can fix that voice module”

Oldman waved his arm dismissively. “It’s a stock program. Old. Listen, I want you to go back out into the thick of things. Another bounty hunter may have gotten to her first. I have word that Shar Barrow may be on this one. You remember her, don’t you, Hunter? Tall brunette, dark eyes, quick…draw.”

How could he forget? He involuntarily touched the scar on his cheek from a scathing laser blast. A small reminder of their last encounter. Shar was tough, quick and smart. And beautiful. A dangerous combination.

Hunter couldn’t bring himself to say anything, so he just grunted. This pleased Oldman, and a half-smile spread his rubbery lips.

“Find Shar Barrow, you’ll find the girl. I think she’s got what we’re looking for. It could mean everything.”

Hunter turned to go. “Shar. Right.”

“And Declan…” Hunter stopped and turned to Oldman, creeped out that he had used his first name. He wasn’t on a first name basis with anybody. “…if I find you’ve been cheating me, hiding something…information, the girl, perhaps…” Oldman glared at him menacingly, then with a half-smile, nodded his dismissal.  

“Me cheat a master criminal like you? Come on….I’m an open book.” The door opened and Hunter said, under his breath, “You cheap cheat. I have better things to do than sell to you.”

PART 2

Shar the bounty hunter

The ship was cramped and stale from the sacks of bounty that filled every hold and seat. What Oldman didn’t get, Shar hauled to another Junker. One that paid more for certain items, like blown electronics and insulation. Shar buckled herself into the pilot’s chair, flipped the auto-mode switch and sat back for the long ride. The destination was a planet in the Gallo quadrant. A dry pale world with underground cities and deep caverns carved out of desert rock. An ancient place of strange rituals and customs she’d rather not think about, much less partake in, such as spitting in your hand and wiping it on your own face, things like that. Slavery there was illegal, but still acceptable, if done on the sly. She couldn’t pronounce the actual name of the planet. It started with a Z sound and ended with a few clucking noises. Desert squawk. A language only the Hulli people could speak. All the runner just called it the Hulli planet.

Shar was starving. It had been hours since her last meal, a small cut of a plant called hebo, a green succulent that held every mineral and most vitamins a human needs. Although mostly carbs, it also had a few grams of protein. You could live on it for weeks. She reached for a stash from the sack on the co-pilot’s chair, and rummaged around for a chunk of the meaty plant. The sting was quick, sharp and hit with a wallop. She pulled her hand away and immediately spotted the barb. It was deep. In the meaty flesh of her right palm. A calling card from the stinging fistuka. A nasty insect that scavenged hebo. It embedded one of three barbs from its large tail. Luckily it was the middle barb. She heard the smallest one could kill you in minutes. They were known to hide under the husk of the hebo plant, but they’d always leave a tell-tall hole. Angry at herself for not checking the husks thoroughly enough, she closed the bag and threw in onto the floor.

She held her hand up to inspect the wound. A bright red ring encircled the barb sticking out of her fleshy part of her thumb. Pulling it out would release more toxins and could mean quick death. Her body was reacting rapidly to the poison. Her face felt flushed and she was a little dizzy. They say some of the tribal people on the unpronounceable planet are immune. But the swelling had already started, and she’d be delirious before reaching her destination. She needed to wrap it in ice and head to the nearest outpost. At least a five hour delay. Shar wrapped a cold pack around her aching hand and punched in the coordinates to the nearest outpost. It’d be less than an hour before reaching refueling station Seventeen-Twenty. They’d have emergency medicine there. She hoped.

Something on her right thigh moved. She flinched and flicked it off with the back of her ailing hand. It was a fituka all right. A big one. Black, with red rings on its abdomen, large claws and two more stingers on its ass end. She didn’t want to kill it, just in case they needed it for further examination or to divine some serum from its rancid bowels. She searched the cabin and spotted a large hat she’d worn on a visit to the desert. It was floppy and heavy. A loud hiss rang out as she gently placed it over the gnarly insect.

She sat back in the pilot’s seat and began to doze. Faceless people talked to her, blurry places ran before her, like cites on a river flowing by in her a half-dream. A blaring alarm startled her awake. The proximity alert. It took a few seconds for Shar to realize there was a marauder on her port side, and closing fast.

“Suzie, shields at max,” she said, groggily.

The ship’s AI voice rang out. “Shields at maximum.”

“Quadruple flux…evasion pattern.”

“Q.F.E.P. in effect.”

Her head pounded. Fatigue sapped her strength. Her hand was swollen to almost twice its normal size. A dark ring was forming around the wound. She had no tie to suffer. She stared at the visual heads-up display. Black space lay ahead, distant stars barley readable in the flux of hyper-speed. She fumbled for the controls, trying to get a visual on the intruder.

“Suzie, who’s out there?” Her voice was low and hoarse. “Get a fix on their hull.”

The display illuminated an oval object with three small fins on the either side, like and old fashioned jet. It glowed orange as it ripped through space. It was gaining fast.

“Hull is comprised of titanium alloy, composite V plastic and Gallium minerals.”

“Gallium, huh? Those damn pirate trog herders.”

After spending six months on Gallium, serving mining interests, chasing down company loan jumpers, she’d had enough of their ruthless ways. Unlike the unpronounceable planet that started with Z, Gallium was completely uncivilized and chaotic. Bands of pirates roamed the sky above the planet, waiting to cash in on anything that moved near their space. They were either professional miners or pirates, mostly. The poor mine workers lived in shabby huts along the base of the rugged mountains, and subsisted on company store wages. All things led back to the mine owners. They owned the planet. Sure they had a system of government, but that had devolved into a bribe-taking theocracy, based on the worship of minerals and wealth. The powerful gave nothing to the people. And the people did nothing to stop them. The rich held the poor workers by the throat and never let go. She’d been naïve when taking the job there, not realizing how bad things actually were. But it only took Shar a week to figure it all out and the whole remainder of her six month contract as a bounty hunter to get the hell out. She chased down criminals, not runaway mine workers. But it made her tougher, more wary, and a better fighter.

She was wanted by the authorities on Gallium for what they called, “Abomination,” a term Galliumites used for those who criticized their ways, or the elite, and for absconding with one of their semi-slaves. She was a dark haired beauty named, Kelsiana. A house worker for a rich slob by the name of Gran, a wealthy mine owner from the southern district mines. Brought to the house at only seven years old, Kelsiana was sold by her parents and had known nothing but servitude, until Shar taught her of other worlds, and opened her eyes to new possibilities on other planets where she might be given a fair shake. Maybe even take advantage of her natural intelligence and beauty.

So, now a scout ship from Gallium was on her tail.

The heads up display flashed red. 

“Warning, proximity alert.”

The microfilm in Shar’s collar weighed heavy now. If found by a Gallium pirate, she’d be killed and they’d sell it to the highest bidder. No doubt, they’d get rich in the process. The film holds a secret only a few people knew. A secret that could alter the course of the Velation war, and change worlds. Not many possessed the knowledge to read the ancient script in which it was written, but those who did have the ancient knowledge also had a means to obtain world peace.

The AI voice rang out. “Warning, docking of unauthorized vehicle in process.”

A loud bang, and the ship momentarily ticked off course before righting itself again. Shar, woozy from the poison circulating in her veins, pointed her disrupter at the cockpit hatch. The gun was heavy and it kept drooping before she righted it again, aiming at the door. Her arm ached. Her face was covered with sweat. She had a weakness deep within her core and shook her head to remain alert. Another loud bang.

She could barely speak, but whispered to the control panel. “Keep the emergency docking hatch sealed.”

“Hull temperature is rising. 2600 degrees Fahrenheit. 2650 degrees Fahrenheit.”

Shar breathed heavy. “They’re using torches. Expel Co2 reserves…out the port side vent.”

A loud whooshing lasted less than a minute.

“Co2 reserved spent. Hull temperature is 2500 degrees.”

“Shake off that ship. Corkscrew maneuver. Now.”

The ship turned and bucked, and twisted. Shar’s head flopped like a rag doll. Her stomach tightened and she almost spewed her breakfast.  

“Hull temperature 2650 degrees.”

Shar’s vision was growing dark. She laid her head back on the pilot’s chair and took a deep breath. She held the blaster loosely in her hand, resting it on the center console, still pointed toward the hatch, waiting for it to open.

“How many…?” Shar started to say, but couldn’t find the breath to finish.

“How many?” Repeated the AI.

“Pirates out there?”


“There is one life form at the hatch entrance. The superheated elements have expanded enough to weaken the security bolts. Breach is imminent.”

Darkness came upon her. Silence. Weightlessness. Her body floated to the top of the navigation console and drifted through the walls of the ship. She spread her arms, like a condor soaring high above the golden canyon lit in morning sun, then twisting sideways, descending into the blue shadows of the valley. The pristine river that formed the gorge sparkled in the sunlight. Glittering waters ran by warm rocks that lined the spot, into an eddy that leisurely spun the leaves that had fallen there. She landed on a golden, heart-shaped leaf. She was that small, the size of the ring on her middle finger. And she rode the leaf, its veins pulsing slowly in steady heartbeats, yellowing from autumn cool, twisting in the current, meandering down into the faster waters into the narrows, white with churning, foaming energy. Up ahead, beyond the rocks was her house, in the shadow of the tall pines, its roughhewn wooden walls snapping awake in the early sun, collecting pine needles on its roof, the dew lifting in silent transmutation. Peace had come at last.

The hatch door opened with a metallic bang, pulling her back from the peace and of the warmth and into the hard pilot’s chair. She opened her eyes. A menacing shadow hung above her. She instinctively reached for her blaster, but a hand stopped her. The weapon fired aimlessly in the cabin. Sparks flew. Heat lit the space around her. Bolts of energy ricocheted around, pinging and gouging her ship. Then a hand grabbed her arm. She kicked and bit, sure she was a mighty force, but the call of the river was strong. She was pulled back onto the yellow leaf, slowly twisting into the spot where she could see smoke rising from the morning fire above her chimney, and she let go.

To Be Continued…

FIVE STARS!

A review from the Online Book club:

https://www.amazon.com/Saving-Mozart-Time-Travel-Adventure-ebook/dp/B0DZTYX6WV?ref_=ast_author_mpb

Time travel, masterful music, and intriguing interactions comprise the novel Saving Mozart: A Time Travel Adventure by Charles R. Hinckley. As someone who loves stories revolving around going back in time, this novel captured my attention in the first chapter, not only with the time-traveling element but also with the themes of music and meeting one’s life hero. These aspects created a unique plot and made it enjoyable to follow along.

Here’s a little about me and why I enjoyed this book so much: I have played the piano for years, though probably not as well as the main character, Calvin Hobbs. I understood the terminology that Calvin used when mentioning piano sheet music and reading scores of Mozart’s compositions. Another aspect that I appreciated about this book was that time travel became possible. Cal’s childhood sweetheart, Emily, explains, “Time is happening all at once. Everything in the past, everything in the future, is all happening at the same time. Like an explosion. Some call it the Block Theory, which postulates that there must be a simultaneous past and present, like it’s in a block.”

Saving Mozart: A Time Travel Adventure introduces many scientific and thought-provoking aspects that have further captivated my interest. The Grandfather Effect is mentioned alongside how impactful some events and people are to the course of existence, while others barely cause ripples. This novel focuses on the consequences that occur when we tamper with the status quo, regardless of if we believe we are doing it for the benefit of others, in this case, saving Mozart before his appointed passing. Having read other books about multiverses and worldlines, I found this plot was easier to follow than most. Sure, there were some moments when I had to slow down to understand the scientific concepts I was reading, but for the most part, the words, phrasing, and context were not beyond my intellectual level, which made the reading more enjoyable overall.

There was nothing I truly disliked about this book. Charles R. Hinckley, author of the novel, ensured that there were minimal errors, as I hardly found many. I would recommend this book to anyone, as it was not written with one specific group or genre in mind. Possible sexual scenes were kept appropriate, and only a few curse words were mentioned throughout the entire novel. Overall, I believe this book deserves a perfect rating of 5 out of 5 stars.

The Lucid Spider

The third installment of the thriller Psychic Detective Series, The Lucid Spider is in production and should be on sale in November!

It lurks deep inside your brain…

“I fought it the best I could; the notion of a spider eating my brain, grappled it into submission, and maybe I even killed it. But the thought of it, the overpowering sense that something is not right in my head, is part of my existence now. Even when I’m feeling good, and things are a laugh, part of me waits for it to come out of its proverbial hole and do its worst. This psychological weapon, the Lucid Spider, as he called it, was invented by Porter Grossman, a crazed scientist who has used it to kill half a dozen people and enslave many more. The spider infests the dark spot in your subconscious that is willing to hate, go mad and even kill for some relief. All are susceptible to the Lucid Spider. Even though it’s a psychological weapon, it’s as real and deadly as a bullet or knife. ..”

Dream State on audible and Amazon/Kindle.

August Chase is an ordinary man plagued by extraordinary precognitive dreams. When he foresees the brutal murder of a young woman, he tracks her down to warn her. His warnings go unheeded, and the dreamed murder becomes a reality. The victim’s sister, frustrated by slow police work, enlists August’s help, and he is launched into his first case as a private investigator. Delving deep into the victim’s life, he soon discovers a common thread in the shadowy world that may have claimed her. This is book One of the August Chase Mystery Series.


5.0 out of 5 stars
 A mash-up somewhere between Raymond Chandler and Doctor Strange.Reviewed in the United States on April 3, 2017Verified PurchaseI quite enjoyed Charles R. Hinckley’s novel, Dream State.
The psychic detective genre, in general, is a tricky one, a mash-up somewhere between Raymond Chandler and Doctor Strange. Hinckley pulls it off by writing well. He grounds his characters solidly in a New York I could recognize, and gives them realistic, often humorous dialog. This makes the fantastical excursions into August Chase’s pre-cognitive “dream state” more compelling. On top of that, the writing is extremely visual, forcefully propelling Chase through a complex series of interrelated encounters in both this world and the next, and bringing it all to a satisfying resolution. It’s a book worth your attention. Dream State: The Sleeping Detective Series Book One

Ghost in a Box

ghost

Ghost in a Box

It must be the medication. The dreams have been vivid these past few days. Spiders, strange obstacles to overcome, and now…ghosts. This isn’t the first time I’ve dreamed of the dead coming back to haunt me. There have been several that I can remember. The most vivid ghost dreams involved an old buddy of mine. I was good friends with him many years ago. We were young and a bit on the wild side, I must confess. After moving away and many life changes, I hadn’t talked to him for almost 20 years. He kept coming into my dreams and taking them over. He was a rowdy guy, always drinking, carousing, having fun, so the dreams always involved him in car chases, or getting into a fight and beating up somebody. He even threatened to kill me in one dream. Held a knife toward me. Very menacing. After each dream visit, I’d awaken and wonder why the hell I was thinking of him. I began to ask him, in my dream, to leave me alone. I’d be having a very normal dream and suddenly, there he was, riding up on a motorcycle or convertible muscle car. He take me away and we’d find our selves in some drug filled party or elaborate scheme too convoluted to be remembered upon waking. Upon waking, I’d wonder out loud, why? And ask him to please go away. Finally, I did an internet search for the guy and found he’d died the same month I started dreaming about him. That was a little freaky. And sad. It was chilling seeing his obituary photo and realizing he was no more. He died young, but I wasn’t surprised. He’d lived hard and died young, just the way he said he would.

I’d had another series of dreams where my old roommate of four years kept showing up, only each time the dream was about him renting out my room. I’d come home to find a strangers cluttering up my room, my bed gone, a series of cots installed and me, in a state of shock and despair, climbing over people to get to my bed. Variations of this dream repeated for several months, always involving strangers taking over my room, often they were drug addicts and derelicts. I’d moved on and lost touch with my former roommate several years ago. Out of frustration and curiosity, I performed an internet search. I couldn’t find him anywhere. I searched his name and home town, his alma mater, Facebook and found nothing. Finally, I asked him to please leave me alone and I haven’t had more than a few dreams of him in the last few years. I am assuming he has passed. Probably a long time ago, of complications from drug and alcohol addiction. He, too, was a hard-party guy, and loved that life a little too much. (Don’t ask how I found these guys, because I am a wimp. I don’t even drink anymore)

Ghosts have been a theme in my dreams since I was a kid. My first ghost nightmare came in the form of a leathery, gray haired old hag, rocking in her chair and staring at me, a knowing squint in her eye, and somehow forcing me to giver her a kiss. I remember screaming, “It’s the old hag!” and I became hysterical, bit her, then ran off.

But last night. That was a good one. It involved a ghost on a television. I and my family, who were a mixture of my current family and the family I grew up with, rented a haunted house by the sea. It was an old, white Victorian home, with many large rooms, all trimmed in wood, with great windows and high ceilings. We were unaware of the ghostly residents, until in the middle of the night, the lights came on, a cold wind ripped through the house blowing everyone’s hair around like flopping wigs, and the TV came to life, depicting a wailing ghost, screaming for us to get out of her house. The feeling of fear, panic and anxiety was palpable. As we scurried to leave just as a fire broke out and dashed past wind whipped flames and laughing specters.

Later in the dream, I was talking to another friend about the experience and he suddenly become very serious and wanted to know all he could about the screaming, fire-starting spooks. I remember telling him about the ghost on the TV, who was young, maybe about twelve, a girl, with wild hair and crazy eyes. I also mentioned that the fire department had come, and that we’d gone back to the house only to wander through the partially singed, smoke scented rooms. The Victorian stood on a cliff,  near the ocean, next door to a boyhood summer home we’d had. (This configuration was impossible, but so was the dream) I suggested we rent the other house, but no-one seemed to know or care about that, because, as usual the dream began to decay into a unfocused jumble. And then I woke up.

I immediately went on Facebook to look-up the friend who had shown an interest in the ghosts, but he hadn’t posted since November. I’m sure he’s fine, alive and well. It’s not knowing for sure that stays with me, in the back of my mind. I don’t like it, but that’s the way it is. Maybe it’s the sleeping meds I took last night. I don’t know. Seems I always tend to dream of dead people, whether medicated or not. And spooky kids in a box.

If you want, you can read more about ghosts and dreams in my psychic detective series, Dream State, on Amazon.

https://www.amazon.com/Dream-State-Sleeping-Detective-Book-ebook/dp/B01M5CO8UC/ref=mt_kindle?_encoding=UTF8&me=