Ego Comics Presents - Sci-Fi for the Minds Eye

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~ SCI-FI for the MIND’S EYE ~

“Anything one man can imagine other men can make real.” – Jules Verne

In conjunction with Ego Comics, and “The Bullpen” comic book message board,EGO COMICS PRESENTS has been created as an extension of Ego Comics’publishing goals, and exists to serve as a haven for writers, artists, and creative-minded individuals to explore their skills, their craft, and, hopefully, establish asense of community and camaraderie. Simply put, Ego Comics Presents is meantto be a vehicle to help showcase the visions and views of artists who mightotherwise go unpublished.

This quarter’s theme of artistic and literary exploration is that of SCIENCEFICTION. Our intention has been set to ‘stun.’

( CONTENTS )

Cover - ben girven

Frontispiece - Brandon Dodds

Veloctiy Man - Brandon Dodds ................................................................ 2

Alien Aided Dreams - Frank Carrera................................................ 8

PIN-UP - Glenn Anderson .................................................................................. 14

This Petty Pace - Brian A. Dixon............................................................. 15

Dear Son - Oscar Solis .................................................................................. 19

Inner Discovery - Christopher Rice & Justin Palmer .............. 20

pig in orbit - David Recine ............................................................................ 26

fom - Matthew Putnam-pouliot ..................................................................... 28

alien abortion - jenny gonzales ...................................................... 34

herbie & skittles - spack, hunter, chris forrester ................ 36

revef nibac (part II) - neil harmeyer .......................................... 42

light-years from home - ed quinby .......................................... 54

The last story - Matthew ritter ......................................................... 57

Contributors & crew .............................................................................. 62

captain’s logue - captain ego ............................................................ 67

Pin-UP - christopher rice ................................................................................. 68

Ego Comics Presents: Sci-Fi for the Mind’s Eye Vol.1 No. 2 Summer Solstice, 2004 Published by EGO COMICS INFOTAINMENTGROUP. Ego Comics is: NEIL HARMEYER, Reflex Machine, Time-traveler, Bearded Cheerleader. BEN GIRVEN, Replicant, Kung FuMaster, Scruffy-looking Nerfherder. Published quarterly. The Ego Comics logo, “Ego Comics Presents” and “Stomping Ground” areall ©2004 Ego Comics Infotainment Group, Inc. Al rights reserved. All stories, sequential art, and silliness ©2004 their respectiveartists and authors. Any similarity between any of the names, characters, persons, and/or institutions in this periodical with thoseof any living or dead persons or institution is probably intended in the name of parody and not entirely coincidental. Ego Comics willnot be held responsible for your fears, trepidations, shortcomings, or misunderstandings that may arise before, during, or after theenjoyment of this publication. PLEASE DIRECT COMPLAINTS, CONCERNS, AND QUESTIONS TO: [email protected] by CafePress.com. Store in a cool, dry place. “I am not Herbert.”

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“This Petty Pace”by Brian A. Dixon

Never underestimate the value time.

If we had activated the machine at an earlier date and time, even by mere daysor a few scant weeks, I might have been granted the opportunity to compose thesewords for my own benefit, to address my regrets as all men hope to do. If we hadovercome some of the theoretical or mechanical complications more swiftly, appliedourselves to the research and construction more intensely, all the world might have hadmore time to prepare. Hindsight is always twenty-twenty, however, and our workprogressed such as it did simply because time is precisely what we had expected to seizedominion over.

I write these words to you now, to anyone capable of accepting and reading this desperatetransmission, so that you may know what your future holds.

Many unfortunate men and women that I know are obsessed with the past, unableto live their lives without constantly rethinking their previous triumphs and failures andwondering what might have been. There are also men and women who are foundationallythe reverse. You will understand that I and my brilliant mentor, Dr. Ugnius Latváitis,are two such men, men that have spent our lives hopelessly obsessed with the future,with what might yet be.

I can remember the day on which Dr. Latváitis first approached me with thedesigns for his remarkable machine as if it were yesterday. The theoretical particularsof the apparatus’ conception and development are inconsequential at this stage, however,and we haven’t the time to review them. What you must know is that at approximately20:00 hours last night, Universal Time, the two of us successfully activated a machinecapable of providing us with a representational experience of events that have not yetoccurred. Last night, Dr. Latváitis and I were the first men in human history to peer intothe future.

The experience, of course, was nearly indescribable. Even men as knowledgeableas Dr. Latváitis and I were not entirely prepared for the oddities that come with subjectingyourself to temporal feedback, to those unseen currents of our extraordinary space-time universe that regularly flow in a temporal direction opposite our own.

The sealed laboratory’s reinforced transparent alumina chamber, for instance, began toshimmer and glow with blue Cherenkov radiation as we were finalization our preparations.The radiation reached peak levels even before the activation sequence had begun, thusasserting a destined success and breathing life to centuries of textbook mathematicalparadoxes. Tachyons, those quasiparticles traveling through the chamber atunfathomable speeds on a natural course from the future toward the past, weregenerating the expected radiation before even the first activation code had been entered.Our accomplishment was assured by an effect measurable prior to its cause.

The beaming smile that split Dr. Latváitis’s blushing face at that moment pleases mestill. That instant, when the chamber lit itself in anticipation of an action that had yet tobe undertaken, was the single moment of ultimate reward for all of his life’s work and,what may be more, it offered all the world proof of the possibility of prescience.

Thus, the two of us finalized the necessary preparations and began to input anactivation sequence that we knew could not, in any temporal eventuality, possibly fail.

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While I was overwhelmed with excitement for our undertaking there wassomething unusually uncomfortable about that well-rehearsed activation sequence,something that I couldn’t possibly breathe mention of to my mentor while his face woresuch a smile. Pressing my fingers into the soft, almost liquid face of the control ringthat surrounded the circular temporal chamber left my hands cold. At times they feltfrostbitten. It was a sensation that none of my experiences had prepared me for and,to be perfectly honest, inconsequential though it may seem, it unsettled me. It was as achill down my spine. In retrospect I believe the icy feel of those controls, like everyother element of the remarkable experiment, was premonitory. I suppose that I knewthen, on some irrational but undeniable level of human instinct, that the results of ourexperiment would be tragic.

Dr. Latváitis once asked me whether or not a man should be permitted to knowthe time and manner of his death, whether I would be eager to learn of the time andmanner of my own death. My mind on our theories and experiments, I answered promptlyin the affirmative. I answered that question a bit too quickly, perhaps.

Activating the apparatus brought that gleaming, white, brightly lit room to lifewith energy, the chamber’s inverted atomic population flooding with the requisiteantiparticles. In many ways, it felt as if we had truly brought life to Dr. Latváitis’ssmachine. By the cold blue shimmer of the slowly fading Cherenkov radiation — radiationthat would continue to dissipate as the experiment moved forward through time towardits completion, at which point the levels would become nonexistent — the two of usbegan to pick and choose our antiparticles, recording the direction, speed, and energy ofthe tachyons that exist on a reverse timeline, forever moving from moments yet tocome to those moments that have long passed. We began to listen, so to speak, to thosesubtle echoes broadcasting from the seconds, minutes, and hours that lay ahead.

Dr. Latváitis donned his dermatrodes before I could even ask him if he wasready, adhering the soft pads to key points upon his skull with a dab of his preferredpaste. His fingers massaged the soft, transparent control ring with the speed and skillof a concert pianist as he allowed the machine’s interpretive programs to begintransmitting our temporal feedback into the depths and crags of his illustrious mind. Hewas as a man diving into a river on a sweltering summer’s day, so eager to cast his mind’seye into the new timestream that he no longer had any desire to entertain pleasantriesor precautions. I, of course, quickly reached for my own trodes and dove in after him.

I’ve never seen him so happy before and, tragically, I known now for certain that I shallnever see him so happy again. I wish he — I wish we — had more time.

I am hesitant to even attempt to describe what I witnessed with my mind’s eyeonce my brain was exposed to the interpretive programs’ virtual vision of the future fora number of reasons, not the least of which is its conceptual difficulty. You cannotimagine the sensory overload. For an intellect trained since birth to experience onemoment at a time from only a single vantage point at that time the visions of theinterpretive programs were, at the very least, dizzying. Additionally, my memories ofthe future are as a dream upon waking; I was witness to such a multitude of bizarre newsights, sounds, and sensations at such startling speed that all but the most intense orpeculiar of those experiences have since evaporated from my mind.

Dr. Latváitis’s pulse surely pounding as excitedly as my own, he adjusted thecontrols such that our first experiences were of the dozen or so minutes that waited inthe immediate future. To draw energy away from tachyons — particles whose behavioris so contrary to a man’s understanding of the universe that we must invert our ownminds simply to comprehend them — is to accelerate their movement. Dr. Latváitisbegan to deplete future tachyons of their energy, channeling temporal feedback morequickly through the chamber, and he thusly slid our minds through the ticking seconds

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ahead, allowing us to take note of those sights and experiences that immediately validatedthe experience. The world we observed was one in which all chronometers, all machines,all rates of universal vibration and decay were advanced beyond our own temporal moment.We saw the world and its peoples not as they were but as they soon would be. Like awide-eyed child, I faced the one, true future.

Dr. Latváitis and I were simultaneously experiencing fleeting moments of thetime that lay ahead of us, yet we were quite unprepared for the scope of that vision. Itwas as seeing the entirety of the globe at a glance, of moving about the world in amanner that imitated the course and speed of those extraordinary and erraticantiparticles controlled by the apparatus’ chamber. The world I saw in abstract was aworld of contrasts, compliments, and balance. I remember searing deserts existingside-by-side with torrential storms, raindrops hovering over dusty terrain just waitingto plummet. I remember tranquility, chaos, and all that exists between. I rememberseeing five billion lives living moments of pain balanced by five billion others seized byunbridled joy.

The experience was a reminder of our reasons for building the apparatus. Therewas beauty and there was horror and the moments of each lay spread before us, waitingto be mapped, recorded, and understood. We watched boys and girls yet to be bornemerge from the womb, we saw men and women soon to be murdered brutalized in thestreets and in their homes, the oceans rose and fell on an accelerated schedule andbuildings and mountainsides announced their intentions to crumble. We witnessed deathsto be prevented, disasters to be insured against, wrongs to be righted. The entropy ofthe world shimmered and whirled, granting and taking away. The pregnant moments offuture history ripened before our very eyes, waiting to be cultivated and plucked.

We marveled at the time that lay a dozen minutes in the future. Sliding forward,we gaped at the world that would exist an hour into the future. Then, with a fascinationalmost greedy, we absorbed the hours beyond that at an ever-increasing speed. It wasintoxicating.

In one startling instant, however, just as we began to approach a time indexroughly equal to twenty-four hours into the future, my mind seized upon the mostoverwhelming image of all; I caught an unexpected glimpse of my own self. The imageflashed across my mind as an intersection of time flows almost infinitely small, an instantso fleeting as to be easily mistaken by an untrained mind as the product of fantasy. I amnot sure if Dr. Latváitis took note of it as well. I saw myself quite clearly, however, as Iwill be tomorrow evening, sitting alone on the landscape outside the laboratory. I couldnot help but note that my hands were at my face and my head was hanging low. And I wasweeping.

Then, immediately after my stunning encounter with a virtual mirror image, Dr.Latváitis’s glorious dream became a nightmare as our minds went blank.

The barrage of sensory input roaring through our minds went silent withoutwarning and it was like being thrown from a high-speed vehicle that has been stopped ina heartbeat. I gasped and nearly fell back, grasping for the flexible edge of the controlring, then stood in awe of an experience that provided the ultimate contrast to ourvision of the future. I saw, heard, and felt nothing. It was a void so complete as toshatter all previously conceived notions of what constitutes a vacuum.

Then, I remember, Dr. Latváitis screamed. “No!” he bellowed in pain, and thesound of it was what you would expect of a man who has just had his child wrested fromhis arms. The echo of his scream made me realize this was the first sound either of ushad dared to breathe since first activating the apparatus. “No.”

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I was momentarily confused. I could still hear the pulsing of the temporalchamber, still feel the icy response of the control ring beneath my fingers, still recognizethe subroutines of the interpretive programs in my mind operating on a subconsciouslevel. It did not seem as if the machine had experienced any sort of catastrophicmalfunction. Yet, for the seemingly endless moments that ensued, the two of us wereforced to experience an utter absence.

I was reaching to remove the tingling dermatrodes from the back of my neckwhen Dr. Latváitis spoke again. I remember his exact words. “Tamas,” he said quietly,with a terror that sounded like awe, and I recognized the Sanskrit word. “The ultimatevoid. Not a particle, no energy, not a single force or line or vibration. Twenty-fourhours, tomorrow, and then: tamas.”

My fingers paused at the back of my neck and I allowed the dermatrodes toremain. Slowly, I began to recognize Dr. Latváitis’s implication and I became dizzy, sick,as if the heart had been ripped from my body along with that virtual representation ofthe future. We were not experiencing a malfunction. We were experiencing the world,the universe, exactly as it would be at the end of approximately one day.

Ironically, during the past few hours I have come to appreciate those individualswho allow themselves to dwell on the past. I cannot help but now realize that I am sorryfor so many things in my life. Perhaps most of all, I am sorry I could not have told yousooner. In the coming hours I suppose I will have reason to step outside this laboratoryand weep beneath the open sky.

Dr. Latváitis and I — unsatisfied with this creeping, petty pace of man’s day today life in space-time — constructed a machine capable of providing the world with arepresentational experience of events that have not yet occurred, and it worked. Ouraccomplishment will never grace the pages of any textbook, however. This we know forcertain. Like Tennyson, Dr. Latváitis and I dipped into the future, far as human eyecould see. Unfortunately, the wonders that inspired the poet were not to be found. Dr.Latváitis and I built our apparatus in the hope that we might peer into the world’s brightfuture. Instead, we have witnessed the end of history.

I cannot say what will happen to you, to me, or to the universe as we know it inthe hours that lay beyond the dark silence to come. I can only tell you that the hoursthat lay ahead are among the most integral of your life. In the wake of my experience Iam certain of only two things: there is no day after tomorrow and there is no time likethe present.

“The end of the human race will be that it will eventually die of civilization.”- Ralph Waldo Emerson

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“Revef Nibac”story by Neil Harmeyer

Continued from Ego Comics Presents #1

Time.Passed.Slowly.Nothing was going on.Sure, the wind continued to howl, and the fire continued to pop occasionally, but

for the most part things had become dreadfully dull. Bob and Celeste had occupiedthemselves by rifling through the remaining drawers of the writing desk, and then thebedding upstairs, which was basically nothing more than a hay-stuffed mattress and afew blankets (which would come in handy later!), in the hopes of finding something,anything, that might hold their attention, or reveal a little more about the previousoccupants of this place, but they were only able to turn up a couple, mostly-meaninglessitems.

The contents of the drawers of the writing desk had revealed a small stack ofwarped paper, some old quills, a dried-up bottle of ink, two blue ten-sided die, a fewrusting paperclips, a rose-quartz crystal (which Celeste soundly pocketed), some smoothand polished rocks, and a few rubber bands, now cracked and brittle.

The only thing of interest that had been found in the loft, and had almost beenoverlooked due to it’s out-of-sight location dangling from a metal hook in the darkestcorner, was a large key ring with many, heavy, ancient-looking keys on it. This, Bob liked!

But, after the novelty of the key ring wore off, and Bob had made a couple lamepaper airplanes (that wouldn’t fly worth a damn), they were back to the fact that, for allintents and purposes, they were still trapped, prisoners here, with no (more) food, anendless supply of snow, and running low on readily-available combustibles. Soon, theiroptions would start to run out, too.

The cabin settled and creaked.Bob and Celeste sat in silence as the fire popped occasionally, Celeste on the couch,

her chin in her hand as she stared at the window, and Bob on the floor, legs crossed,Indian-style.

“Hey, what’s that?” Bob asked, after some time, looking at the rug under the couchwith a sidelong glance.

“What?” said Celeste, trying to see what Bob was looking at.“The rug there,” he pointed, “just under the space of the couch… it raises up a bit…

There’s a lump under the rug! Help me move the couch!”Bob jumped up, happy for the distraction, and they both got on either side of the

couch and moved it back, away from the fireplace. Sure enough, where the couch hadbeen there was a small, noticeable lump under the rug.

“…the hell?” Bob grabbed the rug and quickly pulled it away, revealing the source ofthe lump: a locked and bolted trapdoor. “Well, that’s certainly curious,” said Bob as hescratched his backside.

A muffled ‘whack!’ came from somewhere outside. Celeste looked at the door. “Youhear that?”

Bob, not really paying attention, was fumbling for the key ring, looking to see if oneof the keys might fit the lock on the trapdoor. “Hear what, babe?”

“SLAM!!!”“Whoomp!”The ground rumbled and the walls of the cabin shook. Bob and Celeste froze, looked

at each other, and simultaneously ran to the door, flung it open, looked around quickly,and noticed that a VERY large rock, a boulder, really, had just narrowly missed the cabinby about fifteen feet. Where it had slammed into the ground the snow had been displaced,and violently flung against the side of the cabin.

“What the fuck?” Bob’s eyes angrily tracked across the field, back towards thetree line, and his jaw dropped open in fright and surprise.

It had started snowing again, and the wind was starting to pick up, whistling through

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the trees, but it wasn’t the trees that had scared him. As a matter of fact, what scaredhim had nothing to do with the forest at all. It was what was just outside the forest thatmade his face turn a pale shade of white. There, just above, and beyond, the tops of thetrees of the forest, loading another rock on some kind of makeshift, but obviouslyeffective, catapult, their features somewhat blurred, were three, very ugly, verymenacing, and very strong, frost giants. Each had pale blue skin, golden hair, and largeteeth. One of them shouted, and pointed towards the cabin: they’d been made!

“Oh, crap! Get back in the cabin, quick! Quick!”“Huh?” Celeste hadn’t yet seen the giants, yet, as she was still fixated on the rock

outside their door. She looked over Bob’s shoulder as he was turning around and franticallytried to push her back in the door.

She saw them.“Whoa…” whispered Celeste, her eyes wide.Bob slammed the door, and they stood looking at each other for a split second that

just hung there, forever.‘Whack!’“Incoming!” shouted Bob as he dove for the trapdoor lock and fumbled with the key

ring, inserting keys frantically, trying to find one that would fit. Celeste knelt down,scrunched her shoulders, winced, and put her forearms in front of her face, her handson her head.

“SLAM!!!”“Shoosh!”Celeste opened the door a crack to inspect the damage. “Hurry, Bob! That one

landed just on the other side of us, but it was even closer than the last one! They’retrying to find their range!” she yelled.

Bob kept trying different keys, some fitting better than others, and the more hetried, the faster he tried to work, the clumsier his fingers became. “C’mon… C’mon… thiskey’s gotta work! No? Crap! This one? No… this one?”

“Hurry, Bob… They’re loading another rock.”“I’m trying! We don’t even know if one of these will w….”“Click.” The second to last key unlocked the lock. Bob swung it open and hastily

removed it from the trapdoor. He leapt up, grabbed the metal ring on the trapdoor andquickly opened it. It swung open and fell with a “Crash!” on the other side, still attachedto the floor by its hinges. As the dust began to clear, Bob, squinting, tried to make outany details, anything at all, but all he saw down the hole was darkness.

“Celeste,” said Bob, pointing to the kitchen table, “grab that lantern for me! Hurry!”Celeste went for the lantern just as another rock was launched from the giants’

catapult.“Thwack!”

************

Bob and Celeste stayed crouched down, their arms over their heads, wincing,listening, waiting for the boulder to fall, to come crashing down on their heads, destroyingthe little cabin, and ending their lives. At least we’re together, Bob thought, while Celeste’simmediate thoughts were this can’t be right… This isn’t how it’s supposed to end!

Just as Bob opened one eye to peek, a brilliant flash of light could be seen throughthe window. It was silent, and lasted for a good three seconds, or so.

An eerie silence and electric funk charged the air.The boulder never landed.

************

“You ok down there?” Celeste whispered as Bob could be heard cursing and slappinghis pants for dust. He had taken a tumble down the rickety stairs.

“I’m fine,” he snapped, embarrassed. “You coming?”Celeste started to descend into the “basement” of the log cabin. The stairs were

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narrow, and like the rest of this cabin, hand-made, and sadly neglected. She skipped thelast three steps and jumped to the ground.

“Wow….”The light from Bob’s lantern revealed a small room, the walls entirely made of

brick, but decorated, mostly covered in fabrics and tapestries. There were area rugsspread over most of the ground, but the floor was obviously dirt. Along one of the wallswas a large 5-tiered bookcase, about 6 feet squared, full of books, keepsakes, trinkets,and curious baubles of all manner and design. They all appeared to be very old… andimportant to someone.

Bob’s eyes quickly skimmed and scanned the spines of the books, whispering thenames of obscure titles, and vague, unknown authors. He had all but forgotten about thefrost giants.

Where Bob’s interest were immediately taken by the books, Celeste’s eyes hadspotted one of the most magnificent things in the room; there, in the center of the“basement,” covered in exquisite (and dusty) crushed red velvet, on a silver pedestal,rest a crystal ball. It was about as big as a basketball.

On either side of the gazing globe were two high-backed, embroidered chairs withquilted, cushioned seats, and comfortable armrests, set facing the globe, facing eachother. Considering the condition of the furniture upstairs, these were almost kingly.Someone, though, had had the resourcefulness to fit the armrests with generous-sizedcup holders.

Other items of interest included a large, hand-stained wooden chest, set againstthe wall, opposite the bookcase, and locked with a large, ancient padlock. Above thechest, mounted on the wall, was some kind of rifle, or something – definitely a gun - andan engraved sword and scuffed scabbard. Two large, iron sconces, holding the ivoryremains of tapered candles, were positioned on either side of the weapons, centeringthem. Next to the sword was a fitting to hang another sword, but its space was leftcuriously empty, as if someone had taken the sword down, but never returned it.

There was also a medium-sized table against a wall, covered with parchments, rollsof vellum, and strange maps, consisting of circles, strange symbols, and unpronounceablewords. A meticulously-decorated tankard, filled with writing implements, sat on the table.A jar of ink had fallen and broken on the floor and glass splatter and black fragmentshad left their mark on the wall, floor, and one of the legs of the table.

On the corner of the table was a baby’s rattle made of a dried gourd. Bob shook it.It sounded like it had pebbles in it.

Celeste looked up at the sound of the rattle, but from there her eyes, distractedby something shiny, immediately went to the sword on the wall.

Next to the table was a large wine rack. It was mostly empty, save three bottlesnear the bottom. The bottles were dusty, but filled with a red liquid. The labels read:

Chuduat EstebarChuduat EstebarChuduat EstebarChuduat EstebarChuduat EstebarMerlink du treMerlink du treMerlink du treMerlink du treMerlink du tre

AlopolisAlopolisAlopolisAlopolisAlopolis23-07423-07423-07423-07423-074

YYYYYear of the Dizzy Farniwhoopear of the Dizzy Farniwhoopear of the Dizzy Farniwhoopear of the Dizzy Farniwhoopear of the Dizzy Farniwhoop

Bob scratched his head in confusion. “Alopolis? I think this is an old Beeter wine…”he said, his head cocked to the side, as he tried to imagine what a vintage, and probablyexpensive, wine from Beedo would be doing in the basement of a cabin in the middle ofnowhere.

Bob stood up and stepped back, taking the whole of this room in… What did it allmean? Where were they? This room was important to someone… once… but whom?

Bob was considering this when he noticed something he hadn’t noticed before in thefar end of the room. There, in the darkened corner, in its own place of honor, and coveredby a canvas tarp, was a large, horse-shaped object.

Bob carefully removed the tarp to reveal the biggest, oddest-looking rocking horsethat he had ever seen. It appeared to be made of a thin, gray, lightweight metal, and its

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fiery-colored mane looked to be made of real horsehair. Its saddle was made of a sturdy,black leather, and curiously enough, was a two-seater. On its right “haunch” was a symbolthat kind of represented a stylized “24,” or something. Where have I seen that symbolbefore thought Bob?

However, where Bob expected to find the “classic” back-end of a normal rockinghorse, complete with tail, Bob found a considerable jet turbine-looking exhaust, andother strange accoutrements. Plus, this horse had no front legs, only rockers attachedto “appendages” that had been designed to represent the horse’s back legs. As weird asit looked, it was gorgeous. And its eyes were closed.

Two pairs of sturdy, yellow-tinted eye-cup goggles hung from a hook in the wall,next to the rocking horse.

Bob held the lantern up to the face of the rocking horse and was shocked at whathe saw. There, above the eyes, and across the “forehead,” was a large gash and whatappeared to be scorch marks on the rocking horse, evidence of some sort of battle, orviolent history. A closer inspection revealed other scorch marks and minor damage tothe horse that hadn’t been evident before, hidden by shadows. But it wasn’t this damagethat surprised Bob… it was the apparent target of the damage that shocked him; there,set about half an inch deep, interrupted by the gash and scorch marks, was a circulardepression in the center of the horse’s head - a depression in the image of Master Day’ssolar sigil!

Celeste, who had pulled the sword down from the wall, and was already testing itsweight and feel, commented, matter-of-factly, “Bob, you’re glowing.”

“What?” Bob looked down. Sure enough, there was a glow coming from inside hisshirt. Bob stretched his collar enough to have a look at what was going on. “I’ve neverseen it do this before,” he said quietly.

Bob pulled out his amulet. It was now glowing very brightly.

************

“What do you think this means?” Bob said excitedly, holding the amulet at arm’slength… as if it was a smelly old sock, or something. “What do I do!?”

Celeste stood there for a second, silent, pondering, the sword dangling at her side.She looked at Bob’s glowing amulet and then to the rocking horse in the corner. Shelooked back at Bob’s amulet.

“Bob, where’s that other amulet, the one you found upstairs? Is it doing anything?”Celeste asked, an idea forming in her mind.

Bob’s eyes got wide and he patted himself down, looking for the other amulet... “Imust’ve left it upstairs,” he said, frustrated.

“I’ll go get it,” offered Celeste and she started towards the stairs.“No!” shouted Bob, remembering, “What about those giants?”“Hey, no prob, Bob. I got me a trusty blade now,” she said mischievously, a Cheshire

cat-grin on her face, and brandishing her newfound weapon.Celeste raced upstairs.Bob looked at the depression on the horse’s head. “I wonder…” he whispered, as he

approached the horse with his amulet outstretched…

************

The glowing amulet fit in the depression perfectly, as if it was made to accommodatethe amulet… as if it was a key…

The amulet immediately stopped glowing.“Blp! Blp!” a loud sound, not unlike a car alarm being deactivated, came from the

rocking horse. Bob jumped back in surprise! “…the hell?”The eyes of the rocking horse flicked open.They glowed an eerie yellow, and Bob thought he could smell electrical wires burning…A mechanical, robotic-sounding voice synthesizer squawked from unknown speakers

within the rocking horse.

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*warning…* [tik]*warning…* [tik]*powerdisk overdrive…**corrupted…**scanning…**necessary chronal components located…**pewter efficiency level…**67%...**unit designate…unit designate…unit designate…**there has been an illegal operation performed…**maintenance necessary…**re-routing personality functions A1…B1…**accessing back-up memory clusters 4.5…4.6…4.7…4.8…**default to mode basic…* [tik]*pewter…**recalling event sequence…**0001100010101110001011.10111000101011101000011…**defining protocol…**agenda re-established…**mission status…**idle…**location…**origin…* [tik]*focal point…**never forever…*[pop][whir]

The rocking horse sputtered and whirred and turned its head slowly. As it conideredBob, a couple sparks flared in the gash on its head just under the unopened timepieceamulet Bob had set into the depression. Bob was now more positive than ever that hesmelt burning ozone, and some kind of motor oil.

Just then amber running lights along the side of the rockers, and red lights on thehorse’s backside, all lit up, while internal gears and servos whirred and creaked, chuggingaway as the rocking horse began to levitate. Bob was frozen, awestruck, his mouth open,not knowing what to do, or what to say.

The awkward silence was soon cut short…

*initiating secure user i.d.…**username - Bob* [tik]*password…*Bob just stood there…“Um…”*password designate, “um”… [tik]… is an incorrect password…* automatically

returned the rocking horse.

*password…*

“CELESTE!” Bob yelled, looking towards the stairway, while simultaneously backingaway from the still-floating horse.

Synthesized and somewhat-muffled trumpet-like noises played triumphantly fromthe same unknown speakers within the rocking horse.

*password designate, “Celeste”…* [tik]*accepted…*

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“Huh?” Bob looked back at the rocking horse. The stench of burning wires wasstarting to become nauseating.

*UserBob, please state desired time/place destination…*

************

Celeste had scrambled up the stairs to the ground level of the cabin, looking forthe second amulet. Upon emerging from the hole in the floor, she immediately knewsomething was wrong…

The front door was wide open… and there were slushy, melting footprints on thefloor, leading from the door to the couch.

The hairs on the back of Celeste’s neck started to rise, and she spun around on hertoes, in a defensive position, sword in hand, and taking stock of the entire room, searching…

A quick, and cautious, peek in the berth revealed that the cabin was empty, butCeleste also noticed something else within pretty short order – the second amulet wasnowhere to be found!

Celeste walked to the door and looked outside. Instantly her eyes went to whereshe had last seen the frost giants… They were still there, but instead of loading up morerocks to launch at the cabin, they now seemed more intent upon arguing with each other…She watched as the largest of the three giants smacked the bald and more overweightone upside the head, while the other, with the wild and wispy hair, seemed to interject aprotest. Soon all three were smacking and bopping each other, making gestures and uglyfaces. If not for the inherent danger, it would probably have been quite humorous towatch.

Celeste looked down at the ground. The snow in front of the cabin was disturbedand she could see where Bob had piled up snow to the side of the door when he hadoriginally dug the door out. She could still see the path they had taken from their flightfrom the forest to the cabin… She could even see where she must’ve fallen and Bob hadto go back for her. These tracks didn’t concern her; it was the fresher set of tracksthat came from the forest on the left side of the cabin, the ones that lead away fromthe door - or right to the door – that had her concerned.

She scanned the forest for any signs of movement, for anything out of the ordinary,or anything at all, but other than the bickering giants, all was calm.

It was lightly snowing.“CELESTE!” Bob’s frantic voice shouted from the basement.

************

Celeste, still concerned about the evidence of their mysterious “visitor,” returneddownstairs to be confronted by the shocking sight of Bob, astride a floating, metallicrocking horse. He was all smiles.

“Celeste! Isn’t this the coolest!?” he asked excitedly.“How’d you get it to work,” Celeste asked?“It was the amulet, ‘leste, it worked like a key, or something!” said Bob, excitedly.

“Hey, did you find the other amulet?”“Um, not exactly…”“Well, it doesn’t matter, I guess… This is Pewter. He says he’s a refurbished Ran-

Gar that’s been re-designed as a TimeSteed. I think he can help us to get out of here!”“Really? A “TimeSteed?” You mean it can travel through time? If that’s the case,

I’m ready to go. Now. This place is starting to give me the creeps. I didn’t tell you whatI found… up… stairs…” Celeste trailed off, her attention diverted to the hand-stainedchest on the floor. “Oh, my…” she whispered, as she dropped her sword. “That’s mychest,” she said softly.

“What,” asked Bob, as he dismounted from Pewter? “What are you talking about?”“That chest, Bob, it’s mine. My grandfather built it. I re-stained it. Don’t you

remember? It’s supposed to be in my dorm room…”

48

Celeste approached the chest and knelt down in front of it. It was locked by anancient looking padlock. “Bob, do you still have all those keys?”

Bob flung the large ring of keys to Celeste. She instantly started inserting keysinto the lock, trying to open it.

Suddenly, Bob had an idea. “Pewter, whose cabin is this? Where are we?”

*location…**never forrhurh...ever…* responded Pewter, its speech processor momentarily

failing.“’Never Forever?’ What are you going on about!? Who built this cabin? Why is it

here?”Celeste succeeded in opening the lock. It fell to the floor with a loud ‘thud!’

*cabin designate…**cabin at the beginning of time…*

Celeste was half listening to Pewter as she carefully opened the chest. It smelledof veleminous darwood and mothballs.

*origin…**built to honor the spirit of the current sun age…*

Inside, nestled amongst more blankets, fabric, and some articles of clothing, amidsome curious, personal effects, and a few small, closed boxes, were kept a collection offolded baby’s clothes.

*abandoned home of bob, celeste, and aestus…*

Celeste felt sick, a wave of anxiety and nausea came over her, and she felt dizzy,fell back, sitting on the floor. Her mind was reeling.

Bob watched her reaction, helpless, numb, consumed by his own thoughts…“Pewter, who built this cabin!?” Bob repeated.Pewter settled back on the floor, lightly. The running lights turned off, and it

bowed its head down in respect.

*you did…* [tik]

************

Bob was starting to have a hell of a time with all this. Since his “abduction” fromearth, Bob had seen a LOT of things, in a relatively short amount of time, and he hadlearned some important lessons since that fateful day. He used this new information tohelp him adjust to the unbelievable wackiness that now defined his existence:

1. Aliens exist… or more appropriately, not only are “we” not alone, we’re not evenall that interesting.

2. Once you leave the protective restrictions established around our solar system,the Universe starts to get really snarky. Anything is possible, gravity is not an absolute,and everything truly is relative.

3. When confronted with the choice of three gender options when choosing a publicrestroom, always choose the one with no one in it.

4. Bob really didn’t miss “home,” earth, as much as he thought he would.

However, confronted with the confusing sequence of events and the mounting cluesof his/their (possible) future, Bob simply refused to believe any of this. But things werestarting to add up: first the mysterious envelope to Celeste, written, apparently, by Bob– even though Bob had never been to this place before, nor written a letter to Celeste

49

with such an ominous stipulation… upon my death.Then there was the discovery of the second, opened, but defunct, pocket watch

amulet – exactly like the locked pocket watch amulet that he’d been carrying for monthsnow…

Not to mention the select bottles of wine of obvious Beeter stock…And the talking rocking horse, with Master Day’s solar sigil on its head, activated

by Bob’s pocket watch (of heretofore unknown import and design) and then, uponactivation, the horse KNEW BOB’S NAME!

And now this: Celeste’s hope chest, originally made by her grandfather, filled withbaby clothes and personal items, and resting, “abandoned” in the basement of a cabin,supposedly located at the “Beginning of Time,” and apparently belonging to Bob, Celeste,a mysterious something referred to only as “Aestus.”

Celeste sat quietly, staring ahead, one hand still resting in the chest, her fingerslightly tracing the baby clothes. “What is going on, Bob? Why are we here? I don’tunderstand…”

Bob knelt down near Celeste and looked in her eyes. She looked like she was aboutto cry. “I don’t know, sweetie, but I don’t intend to stick around here any longer. Weshould go.”

Bob leaned in and they kissed, quickly, on the lips, resolved. He helped her to herfeet, and then watched as she closed the chest and returned the lock.

“Pewter,” Bob said, turning his attention to the waiting rocking horse. “It is Timefor us to leave. Can you return Celeste and me to our proper Time?”

Pewter sat still for a moment, processing the request. Something clicked andwheezed inside the rocking horse.

*”proper time…” does not compute…**define…*

Bob sighed. “Um… can you take us back to where Celeste and I were before wecame here?”

*UserBob, please state desired time/place destination…*

“Celeste? A little help here? I’m not quite familiar with how to express the “present”in the proper way to describe where we were. It’s not like being on earth, yanno?”

Celeste snorted in mocking disgust. “Didn’t you pay attention to that 4D chrono-calendar/map I got you?

“You know I didn’t. I’ve been…um…too busy.”“Uh-huh…” Celeste muttered. “Pewter, do you have a map projection we can refer

to?”

*timesteed designate: pewter…**currently low on resources… simulations, projections, and extraneous programs…**disengaged… **master records and back-up files… located at origin default: chronotarium…*

“Chronotarium? What’s that?” asked Bob.

*centre of time…* returned Pewter.

“Pewter, take us to this “Chronotarium.” Take us to access the appropriate maps sowe can figure out how to get home.” As Celeste said this she and Bob exchanged looksand shrugged their shoulders.

Pewter’s amber and red running lights fired up again, and the rocking horse beganto levitate. A cyclical whir - a low whine, really - began to emanate from within its chassis.

Bob and Celeste followed it upstairs.

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************

While Pewter waited outside (hiding behind the cabin so the giants wouldn’t see it),Bob and Celeste took special care to return the cabin’s interior to as close to the conditionthey had found it in. They closed the trapdoor, locked it, and returned the rug and couchto their original positions.

Bob returned the large ring of keys to its hook in the upper berth.Before leaving the basement, Celeste had discovered a couple long-sleeve shirts

and a few over-sized, multi-colored “wool” scarves in the chest. They quickly put theseon for extra warmth. They also decided to take two blankets with them because theywere still not appropriately dressed for the weather, and were not sure what kinds ofconditions they could expect to encounter before they returned home. The blanketswould come in handy.

Bob also remembered to grab the yellow-tinted goggles for the same reason.They were glad to be leaving the cabin. And although neither would admit it, they

were also a little sad. And they didn’t know why.Bob prepared to close the door and cast a final glace inside the curious cabin that

had saved their lives… that had become a part of their lives. The glowing embers remainingin the fireplace would burn themselves out.

Bob shut the door.

************

Bob and Celeste stood outside the doorway and started to shiver. The same silver-gray fuzz permeated the atmosphere, and a chill wind howled through the forest, rattlingthe runic charms, rustling the branches, blowing across the snow-covered field,penetrating through to their very bones.

For the briefest of moments they regretted leaving the warm shelter of the cabin.They pulled their blankets tighter about them as Bob looked to where the giants

had been. They were nowhere to be found.“The sooner we go, the sooner we can get this whole strange situation behind us,”

Bob said, anxious.Bob turned to go behind the cabin to the waiting Pewter, but Celeste held back. She

had a vacant look on her face.“’leste?”“I was just thinking is all,” Celeste answered. In one hand she was still carrying the

sword from the basement. In her other hand, she clutched the ominous envelope.“About what?”“I guess it doesn’t matter.”Celeste returned the envelope to the mailbox.“Aren’t you going to read it?” Bob asked.“No, no one should know too much about their own future, Bob. If this is really

meant for me, and we’re supposed to end up here, later, all things will happen as they’resupposed to, in their own time.”

“But you’re keeping the sword?” Bob asked, eyeing the sword suspiciously.Celeste looked down at the sword and flipped it over in her hand, examining the

exquisite workmanship in the outside light.“Heh. Yeah, this sword is mine.”

************

Bob and Celeste were sitting in the leather saddle atop Pewter. It was verycomfortable, conveniently molded and shaped, almost as if it had been made specificallyfor them. They each pulled their goggles down over their eyes, made sure they weresecure, and pulled their scarves up over their mouths and noses.

“Pewter – let’s ride!” Bob shouted enthusiastically, his voice muffled by his scarf.Celeste rolled her eyes.

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*warning! warning!**temporal distortion…**sequential displacement…**chronological destruction…**probable…*

Pewter looked back at Bob, expectantly. Well, as expectantly as a machine can lookat a person.

Bob just kind of sat there, an innocent, naïve-looking expression on his face. Hemockingly wiggled the reins for emphasis. “Um… giddy-up?”

*are you sure you want to reboot without saving..?*

“You’re a very weird machine,” said Bob, not considering any possible changes tothe time stream. “Let’s do this thing!”

Pewter started to rise, somewhat wobbly, as Bob’s false bravado quickly crumbledto the onslaught of the beating wings of nervous stomach butterflies. He let go of thereins and tightened his grip on the handlebars. Celeste’s grip around Bob’s mid-sectiontightened, too.

Pewter rose slowly at first, ascended above the cabin, and away from the small hillin the field. The large, gratuitous turbine engine in the back sparked, flared, sputtered,finally ignited, and they started to fly forward.

Bob was fascinated! He forgot about the cold, ignored the lingering smell of burningwires, and refused to acknowledge the minor electrical flare-ups that sparked occasionallyfrom Pewter, in favor of being amazed by the view… and this new experience.

Pewter rose and rose, and gradually banked a wide arc to the left. Bob could see somuch more from this vantage point… see beyond the forest… beyond the limited viewthat the cabin had afforded them, and he truly came to appreciate the great, vagueexpanse of this land. He looked down as the cabin fell away, little more than a diminishingmemory… like a bad dream…

The forest that had ringed the field was immense, extending in a wide ribbon ofdark gray and gnarled branches as far as the eye could see, essentially bisecting theland in two. Farther away, an icy, frigid river ran perpendicular to, and cut through, theforest. Looking upstream, Bob noticed very large tracks running parallel to the ice-choked river. His eyes following these tracks until his gaze caught up with the threefrost giants from before. The giants had noticed Pewter’s flight and had begun pointingand making rude gestures towards them.

Celeste tapped Bob on the shoulder and pointed to an area downstream. Bob followedthe invisible line of her finger to the blurred horizon and noted that where the horizonupstream seemed to become darker, a storm-colored blue gray, the area downstreamseemed to radiate a warm glow of subdued shades of yellow and diminished blazes oforange.

Where are we? Bob wondered.Celeste nuzzled her face into the space between Bob’s shoulder blades as Pewter

continued to rise and turn, accelerating much faster now. Bob reached down and squeezedher hand. He would never let go. Not ever.

Pewter’s head began to stretch forward, like it was straining to achieve greaterspeed, or summon the extra burst of energy necessary to win the Kentucky Derby by anose…

The gray haze of the atmosphere began to diffuse and dissipate, and Bob realizedhe could no longer hear anything... nothing except his own heart beating in his temples…

Reality blurred, shifted, and twisted as Bob, Celeste, and the rocking horse allmerged into a single temporal energy transference as material, matter, and memoryfaded away into a single unifying point of nothing.

KERBLAM! KISH! POW! *Amazing Light Effect*

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They were gone.

************

A large crow sat perched in one of the trees, a secretive keen-eyed witness to Boband Celeste’s fantastic departure astride the rocking horse of time. It finished preeningitself, emitted a series of sharp ‘caws’ and took to the sky. It flew above the cabin,making sure to steer clear of the little bits of smoke that still rose from the chimney.

With Bob and Celeste gone, and having taken their love and spirit with them, itwouldn’t be long before the little cabin was covered by snow again…

The crow circled overhead for a moment, scanning the ground, the horizon, takingin the entirety of the land.

It glided along, gently soaring on chilled winds, and quietly flew back towards theforest, dodging branches, maneuvering between trees, and finally coming to rest on theshoulder of a raggedy man smoking a pipe, and sitting quietly, cross-legged, on the giantstump of a once-mighty tree.

The man was nearing middle age, and had long brown hair, now highlighted by thegrayness of time, a drooping moustache and full beard. His eyes, although wizened byage and acceptance, retained a youthful playfulness about them. He wore a heavy fur-lined cloak, thick, blubber-insulated boots, warm gloves, and an effective form-fittingpatchwork garment of leather and furs, stitched together by cord and yew.

The crow shifted the weight on its legs, almost impatiently. It made a slightlycurious noise, cocked its head to the side, and jumped to a nearby tree behind the man.

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After what seemed like an eternity, the man removed the pipe from his mouth.“What say you, Rook?”

There was a shimmering rustle, and the sound of something dropping into the snow.“An interesting turn of events, Bob…” came a deep, commanding voice from behind him.

“Do tell,” said Bob.A tall, dark-skinned man with long, black shiny hair stepped near Bob’s stump. He

wore a black chapeau and a long black cloak with dark, obsidian feathers around theshoulders. His eyes were keen, aware, and his nose was long and beakish. Little escapedhis attention.

“I do not understand you, By getting involved, now, out of sequence, andorchestrating events to “allow” your younger self to come here, and leave with theTimeSteed, you have effectively changed established history - you are changing futureevents! Your Time,” Rook said, pointing a long, bony finger, “is no longer an absolute.”

“The only constant in Life is change, Rook. We can’t stop that. With or without us,things move on,” Bob said, standing up. He groaned slightly. His legs and lower back hadgotten stiff.

Bob tapped and dumped the remaining contents of his pipe. Ash and black bits oftala weed spilled onto the stump and over, falling into the snow. He put the pipe in aconcealed pocket on the inside of his cloak.

“And you, what did you do with that second amulet?” asked Rook.“Oh, that? I wound it up and put it back where my younger self originally found it –

in between the cushions of the couch. Someone must’ve lost it there once,” he winked.“What are your plans now, Bob? By allowing young Bob to leave with the TimeSteed

– before he was supposed to acquire it – you have trapped yourself here… Forever. Ofcourse, by doing this, in all likelihood, your timeline will cease shortly, anyway.”

Bob closed his cloak to the elements, and pulled his hood over his head. He turnedand looked at Rook with a large smile. “That’s the idea, birdbrain.”

Rook shook a little, partly due to the cold, and partly out of annoyance, ruffling thefeathers around his shoulders. “You have jeopardized the mission, Bob. Because of thisbreach, you risk the sum of your knowledge and experience to the spinning spiral ofnegative perpetuity, relegated to the dead end threads of fallacy, failure and forget-me-nots.”

“You know, Rook, if I’ve learned anything from Life, it’s this: “Adapt or die.” I’m notdone yet,,, This isn’t the end,,, You forget, I know who I am, and who I’m to become. Idid what I had to do… for me… for her… (It was nice seeing her again, though, wasn’t it?)”

Bob jumped down from the stump and satisfyingly stretched his arms, and crackedhis neck.

Rook flapped his arms, almost mockingly, rotated his head, hopped once on his feet,and spun around quickly, his black cloak and feathers flapping, fluttering, floating, rising,turning… as a fat crow flew out from the spinning expanse of pitch, and into the sky.

“Now then, genius… I still have a date, a promise, to keep with another gorgeouslady… but first, we’ve got some frost giants to route!”

And with that Bob tore off into the forest, the great game afoot, towards giantsand possible oblivion, as Rook flew above and behind him, keeping a watchful eye,wondering if they raced towards destiny, or towards history, for Saga waits for noman.

-THE END FOR NOW

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contributors & CREW(In order of Appearence)

Frank Carrera is a brilliant, intelligent, EXTREMELYhandsome and slightly modest guy from Houston, Tx. Inhis spare time, he collects comics, toys, autographs andenjoys watching his novelas on Monday and Thursdaynights (Raw and Smackdown). His wife and four kids keep him busy on adaily basis and will someday realize he DOES know where he’s going,dispite the fact that he looks lost half the time. He updates his weBlog(www.blurty.com/~fcarrera) regularly.

Brandon Ford Dodds works in live television productionsrunning video cameras as well as engineering. He lovesdrawing cartoons and studied Studio Art at Kent StateUniversity. Brandon plays drums and has produced cover

artwork for various bands and is currently working on his own creatorowned comic.

Glenn Anderson, AKA Creature on the Loose, AKAinkboy1969, has been reading comics for as long as hecan remember, and drawing for almost as long. WhileGlenn once tried to break into the business years ago,

he’s realized he’s happier drawing for enjoyment, on his own terms. Glennenjoys rabbits and 1980’s hair metal bands. He stays busy by teachinghis wife all he knows about comics, and in turn, learning all she knowsabout vintage Barbie dolls.

Brian A. Dixon is a writer and educator teachingliterature at the University of Rhode Island. He liveson the shore of Narragansett, Rhode Island where heedits Revelation, an apocalyptic quarterly magazineshowcase of art and literature that presents creative conceptions ofthe end of the world. His short fiction has most recently seen print inthe pages of Weston Magazine and his drama has most recently beenseen on the stage of New York City’s Sargent Theater.

63

Oscar Solis lives and works in Bakersfield, a smallCalifornia city. He’s created everything from Bookcovers, t-shirt designs, to film storyboards. He’s alwaysbusy, sleeps when he can and has a very understanding

wife and two daughters.

Christopher Rice is grateful to Neil Harmeyer and BenGirven, without whose vision this dream would not havecome true. He also loves bananas and is a proud memberof Boredom Studios.

Justin Palmer lives in Arizona with his wife and serveshis country faithfully as a member of the US Army. Heloves bananas and is a proud member of Boredom Studios.

David Recine is a dyed-in-the-wool Wisconsin redneck,born in Madison and raised in Eau Claire. He has beendrawing comics for as far back as he can remember —at least several weeks.”

Matt Putnam-Pouliot is a Vermont cartoonist livingabroad in Albany, New York with his wife, Chris and cat,Hoshiko. Comic ideas are beamed directly into his headvia a funnel-shaped, tin foil hat that he wears at all times.

Jenny Gonzalez is the creator of the comic Too Negativeand lead singer of a NYC garage punk band calledMz. Pakman. She currently resides in a room full of ratsin Bed-Stuy and works on art for various otherpublications and art shows. To check out more of her stuff and see whatshe’s up to, check out her website:(http://www.angelfire.com/ny3/devildoll)

64

John Womble a.k.a. Spack hails from OceansideCalifornia, but now resides in Kentucky. He’s been invarious bands off and on, playing the bass, but has finallyfound a consistent pleasure in this comic creating thing.

Chris Forrester an actor, a waiter, and a pyche majorgraciously lent his lettering efforts to the completionof this project. Spack still owes him a slurpee.

J.M. Hunter, creator of “Note To Self: The Rants andRambling of the Biased J.M. Hunter” has had aspirationsof comic book making since the age of 12. He’s a two-time Ego Comics Presents contributor and plans on being

one of the most important things to ever happen to comics one day.Right after this plate of Nachos.

Neil Harmeyer is co-plotter, principal writer, businessmanager, and part-time caretaker of the forthcoming”Stomping Ground” series of books from Ego Comics.When he’s not saving the universe,or forgetting tocomplete his TPS reports, Neil can be found in the company of hisbeautiful bride, Megan, and their three cats. Or reading comic books.Or watching movies. Or riding his bike. Or...

C. Benjamin Girven, VIII is the other half of EgoComics. Specializing in the artistic/technical/layout andpublishing aspects, his talents round out the Ego Comicscrew. He recently quit his job, and went back to school

full-time to study animation, art and website design. His beautiful wife,Wendi, is very patient and understanding of his strange behaviors. Andthey are both expecting their first child, Dade, early in September.

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Ed Quinby is a shaggy fun lover, always ready for aromp and play with companions, or just sleep the dayaway. Sure he has a drooling problem and his hygiene isperhaps suspect (he’d drink from the toilet if you’d lethim), but warmth fairly radiates from him and, boy, does he love thebitches! No, wait--that’s Ed’s dog.

Actually, Ed is a quiet, even slightly reclusive fellow, who enjoys thechallenge of facing a blank sheet of paper each day and likes to think hesometimes gets the better of it. When asked what he would like to sayto the general public, he became visibly agitated, muttering, “things fallapart, the center cannot hold!”

Let’s just tiptoe away and leave him with his blank sheets of paper, shallwe?

Matthew Ritter, is an artist from Northwest Ohio. Heis 18 years old and besides art, enjoys making music withhis band, A.D. Delta, and hanging out with friends.He is also a member of Twisted Realmz:

(http://www.twistedrealmz.com)

Captain Ego is “the floor-walker of this ship,” and isprone to fits of melodrama, over-acting, and secretagendas. He wears a cape and “these really cool goggles.”He currently refuses to take his finger off the button.

Ego Comics would like to thank each and every contributorwho submitted to this issue. We appreciate their hardwork, and enthusiasm, surely this book would not be inyour hands right now if it were not for their efforts. Eachcreator has brought something special and unique to thisexperience. And it is because of their efforts that thisentire project is so successful.

Thank you,-Ego Comics Crew!

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Captain’s LogueCaptain’s Logue: Star Date - 2004.06.27

Some of the populace has started to get suspicious; punchy… think they’ve startedto see things in the sky, but, and as official command suggests, (sarcastically) weall know that what is inferred to be unexplained phenomena: “unidentified flyingobjects,” and the like, is merely a photo-sensitive reaction caused by swamp gasinteracting with earth’s atmosphere… and that complaints of abduction can easily beexplained away by restless fits of sleepwalking or violent stomach cramp.

A few suspect the truth, however, and we may be forced to use controls thatare contrary to accepted company policy and mandate.

We’ve only been in orbit but a short while, and are still getting our “space legs.”It is beautiful here, dangerous and lonely, and yet it’s all we know. As FrankHerbert wrote “A requirement of creativity is that it contributes to change.Creativity keeps the creator alive.”

I am not ready to tilt my hand just yet… the ruse must be played out just a bitlonger… all things will be divulged in due time… We play with God’s dice.

In other news, the second issue of Ego Comics Presents: “Sci-Fi for the Mind’sEye” has been completed, and once again we are extremely fortunate to haveinspired and attracted a talented and varied group of cartoonists and conspiratorswithin its pages, effectively doubling the number of contributors and increasing ourpage count twofold relative to the first issue.

Thank you to everyone; contributors, friends, family, and anyone who’s offeredadvice, purchased copies of the book, and offered their support.

This is for you as much as it is for us.

Enjoy the moment.

Never settle.

Strive for more.

“Ex officio!”

- Captain Ego-- Captain Ego-- Captain Ego-- Captain Ego-- Captain Ego-“Space… It seems to go on and on forever, but then you get to the end and thegorilla starts throwing barrels at you.” – Fry, Futurama

NEXT ISSUE ON SALE just in time for Halloween 2004!NEXT ISSUE ON SALE just in time for Halloween 2004!NEXT ISSUE ON SALE just in time for Halloween 2004!NEXT ISSUE ON SALE just in time for Halloween 2004!NEXT ISSUE ON SALE just in time for Halloween 2004!

Ego Comics Presents - Sci-Fi for the Minds Eye

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