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“Don't Forget your Comic Books!” by Alison Cybe

They used to say that one man’s trash is another man’s treasure. The people who said that might be long gone now, but their treasure still remains if you’re willing to dig it up.

Today’s story is “Don't Forget your Comic Books!” by Alison Cybe, who is a tabletop RPG writer for multiple companies, and author of “I was a gay teenage zombie” by Deep Hearts Press and you can find more of their stories on their webpage, http://cybeswebsite.com/.

Read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

Transcript
Speaker:

You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.

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I’m Khaki, your faithful fireside companion,

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and today’s story is

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“Don't Forget your Comic Books!”

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by Alison Cybe, who is a tabletop RPG writer for multiple companies,

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and author of “I was a gay teenage zombie”

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by Deep Hearts Press

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and you can find more of their stories on their webpage,

http:

//cybeswebsite.com/.

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“Don't Forget your Comic Books!”

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by Alison Cybe “I’ve almost got it”

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shouted the mouse,

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turning his head to glance back up through the darkness of the pit.

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Bellowing into the distant haze of sunlight,

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he shouted “lower me down another thirty feet!”

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Far above, Den began to slowly ease her grip on the tensile corded rope.

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Turning her head to look at the brawny tiger by her side,

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they worked steadily to ease their companion downwards,

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inch by inch, into the crevasse.

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“How about now?” she called.

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Planting one foot against the cragged wall of the pit,

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Luca wondered once again just what the young mouse had gotten himself into.

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He clutched onto the cable that held him suspended into the gorge for dear life,

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the precariousness of his descent having damn near robbed the air from his lungs.

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“How about now” grumbled the rodent

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in bitter mockery.

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“Oh just fine and dandy, thank you very much.”

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“What was that?” came Den’s voice from far above.

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She clenched her fists

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around the cable all the tighter,

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all the while her eyes darting cautiously back and forth around the horizon of the ravine.

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The rifle that hung around the vixen’s shoulder

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by a thin strap wavered slightly

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as she adjusted her weight.

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Of the three scavengers,

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Den was the only one who carried a weapon,

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and she prayed that she wouldn’t have the need to use it.

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“You got it?” she called again, anxiously.

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“No!” yipped the small mouse.

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“Give me a minute.”

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Reaching down to his belt,

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Luca fumbled until his fingers came to rest on a pocket.

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Flicking it open,

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he plucked free a glowstick and illuminated it.

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A hazy yellow light shimmered its way along the bottom of the ravine -

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the first natural light that had touched the area in what the mouse thought must have been

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decades. In the glow,

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the shadows fled from the irregular ground,

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packed with debris

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in piles of twisted and spiralling columns.

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The youngster’s jaw gaped for a moment

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as he glanced around.

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The descent into the ravine had been

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unsteady, causing the mouse’s stomach to form into a knot.

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Even so, he felt a giffy thrill at the sight that met him at the base of the ravine.

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“My word” he said, “Grandpa was right.”

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Another voice echoed from above,

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one deeper than the vixen’s.

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“Hey!” snapped the owner,

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a hefty tiger decked in a thick woolen cloak,

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“Is it a good haul?”

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Luca didn’t reply.

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He had known the tiger for over half a decade,

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and in that time had known almost no other person in the scrap trade that had quite the capacity to complain and moan as much.

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“Just don’t drop me on the way up!”

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Cautiously he set down on the assorted objects,

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his bare feet struggling to find balance as the piles of lost remnants groaned

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and shifted beneath him.

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Several of the edges that he stood upon felt sharp and broken,

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and Luca wasted no time in checking the sturdiness of the cable that held him.

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He looked one way along the breadth of the ravine,

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then the other. The decades worth of accumulated treasure seemed to line the bottom of the chasm -

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he had no idea how deep the trove was.

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Leaning down, he carefully pushed aside the outer layer of debris,

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ushering an old broken metal table to one side.

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The good stuff, he knew,

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needed to be dug for.

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Eagerly shoving aside the table,

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the mouse adjusted his goggles,

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twisting on the thick lenses that encased most of his face.

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Clutching the glow-stick delicately between his teeth,

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the mouse eased his upper body

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into the hole. “Ah”

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he exclaimed, his fingers wrapping around a small object.

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“Come on, boy!” snapped the tiger, anxiously.

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“Before the wind turns. I’d like to get home some time tonight, if you please.” “Geez”

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retorted Den,

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narrowing her gaze at her feline companion.

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“Do you want to relax a little there, Waln?”

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Her voice was edged with impatience,

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but even Den had to admit to herself that time was working heavily against them.

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Since the trio had heard word of the site only three hours ago,

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the rush to get out and be first on the scene

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had left them woefully unprepared

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against the advancing evening’s sunset.

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The mouse, however,

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was oblivious to his companion’s bickering.

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With as much care as he could muster,

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he slid the small object back from the hole,

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carefully retrieving it from the alcove in which it had rested,

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discarded and forgotten,

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for so many years.

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It was barely larger than his hands, yet almost flat.

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Turning it this way and that, he caressed its surface,

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feeling each small indent.

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He took one last look around

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at the bottom of the ravine, and as he did

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Luca remembered the stories that his grandfather had told him.

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Sliding the discovery into his backpack,

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he wondered if the stories could ever be true -

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that much of the surface of the region

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had once looked as the bottom of the ravine,

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filled with relics

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of amazing technological

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and near-magical capabilities,

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ripe for picking by the canny scavenger or trader

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eager to make their way in the world.

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His grandfather had taught him about such items as this,

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capable of things that could

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only be the truest form of magic.

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Of course, his grandfather had told other people these tales as well -

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stories of days when letters could be sent instantly through the air,

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or when machines could wait on their owners like personal butlers,

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and even myths of days

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when such impossible objects

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would rain down from the sky.

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Luca had seen many of them, of course, but they barely worked.

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He wondered if this one would be able to perform its ancient function,

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or if the magic had left it as well.

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Clutching the small device in his bag,

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Luca wondered just how old it truly was.

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Objects such as that -

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relics, they were called -

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always caught a high price among the traders of

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antiquated items.

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He gave the cable a pair of short,

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hard tugs. “I’m ready!”

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he called up, tilting his head to glance at the distant sunlight,

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“haul me up!” Planting her feet against the rocky ground,

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Den began to retract the cable,

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threading it sternly through Waln’s muscular paws.

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With the tug, the young mouse felt the ground sway out from beneath him

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and the still air of the chasm surrounded him.

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Dancing lightly back and forth,

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he clutched the tensile cord for dear life.

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“What did you find?”

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asked the tiger through gritted teeth,

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the glint of excitement in the treasure hunter’s eyes shimmering.

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Planting his feet against the side of the ravine, the mouse explained his find to his companion,

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each sharp pull of the cord around his waist

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causing a sharp ache

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through the small rodent’s body. .

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With a derisive snort,

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Waln gave another tug.

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“Really?” he grunted.

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“What does it do?” “Could you perhaps save the questions” insisted Den,

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her teeth gritted in sharply focused effort,

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“until he’s out of the damn hole?”

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Clutching his fingers around the lip of the chasm,

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Luca scrambled inch by inch up until he was resting,

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half-kneeling, on the outer rim of the crevasse.

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Taking a few careful steps,

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he reached into his pack to retrieve the item.

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“Here” he said, offering it to the tiger.

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“It’s just like my grandfather said.

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The ancients, they used to use them.”

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Clumsily, the tiger grasped the object

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and held it up. He tilted it,

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turning its disk-like sides this way and that with his pudgy fingers,

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peering at the relic uncertainly in the amber sunlight.

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“What’s it do?” he asked, finally.

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Reaching up to grab it back,

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the mouse gave his companion a weary expression.

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“It’s a seed-e-player. It makes music.” Waln snorted. He shook it. “How?

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Is this like your tame bureen?”

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Impatiently, Luca grabbed it back.

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“It uses light” he said,

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tucking the artefact back into his bag.

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“Human magic.” “Light doesn’t make music”

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interjected Den, winding the tensile cable back into long sturdy loops.

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“Air makes music. Like when we were cubs and used to hide in the caves and

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listen to the wind blowing through the rocks.

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Are you sure?” The mouse began to nod,

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eager to interject.

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“Speaking of wind,”

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said the tiger, interrupting,

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“we have to get going.

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We’ve got about two hours before the red wind hits us.”

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Den shrugged, fastening the cable around her shoulder.

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Quickly she pulled her hood up,

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encasing her ears in the sturdy billowing fabric.

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Cautiously she checked her hip,

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ensuring that her rifle was still safely in place.

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Noticing this, Luca couldn’t help but let a soft smirk cross his bemused face.

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Sure, he thought, it’s useful enough to keep her weapon nearby, but the bullets wouldn’t help her a jot if the ashen barbs of the red wind

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tore its way through the desert

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leaving them no place for shelter.

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“Is it a good haul down there?”

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she asked the mouse.

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Sliding his breathing mask back into place,

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Luca nodded quite eagerly.

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“One of the biggest”

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he said. “We’ll have to be quick.

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Once the word gets out, it won’t be long before the ‘claimers start crawling their way over here like lice on old Waln’s scalp.”

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“Hey!” snapped the tiger.

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The hoverskiff was

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old, battered and dented.

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It had definitely seen better days,

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having survived many close encounters with open firefights,

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radioactive winds and,

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in one unfortunate incident,

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barely escaping the jaws of an especially angry verocidon,

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Den wasted no time in starting up the ignitors,

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waiting for the engine to begin its rhythmically drawling hum.

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“We arrive early tomorrow then”

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she said, confidently. “Once

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we’re back at Ambara,

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I’ll buzz Declan and his chums.

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With three teams we should be able to get several skiff fulls.”

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“So why’s it called that?”

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asked Wiln with a voice edged with confusion,

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as though the idea had only just occurred to him at that moment.

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“It turns seeds into music somehow?”

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“It doesn’t do anything with seeds”

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explained the mouse,

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dusting off his leathers.

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“It’s just called a seed-e player.

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That’s just what they called it back then.”

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“So why doesn’t it work?”

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he asked. Shuffling into the seat,

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the young mouse slid his backpack safely between his knees.

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“It needs a disk” he explained.

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“Like, hmmm… do you remember the shiny objects that Ma Tanna uses to make dresses out of?

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The circles that she strings together?

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That’s the thing.”

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Slumping down into the seat beside him, the tiger gave a bemused chuckle.

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“What? The ‘claimers make music out of dresses?

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Is that what your grandfather told you?

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I think I see why everybody said that he’s mad.”

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Pursing his lips,

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Luca folded his arms.

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“Think what you will,”

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he said. “There’s more down there.

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Useful things too, I bet.”

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“Like guns?” asked Den,

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her voice starting to grow hushed

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over the growing sound of the engines.

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“We could really use them.

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I haven’t had a fully charged power coil for my rifle in almost two months.”

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Folding his arms,

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the tiger snorted.

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“Power coils and guns.

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Seed-e players and dresses. You know,

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if those ancient humans were as smart as people said they were, why couldn’t they build things that worked on their own?

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Why does everything they make have to have something else in order to make it work right,

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eh?” “Stop complaining”

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snapped Den, before turning her focus back to the mouse.

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“Ignore him. So, did you find power coils? Stuff we can sell? Oh please, tell me we’ve found something valuable!”

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“Better than that” said Luca,

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fastening his old worn seat

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-belt as the hoverskiff started upwards with a reticent shudder.

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“Far better. I swear that while I was down there digging through the rubble, I could see

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actual honest-to-goodness

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comic books.” The tiger raised an eyebrow.

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“Comic books?” Well, now I’m convinced. You’re as mad as your

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grandfather, Luca”

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he said, incredulously,

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as the skiff took a sharp jolt forward

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and began to trundle through the air

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above the rocky desert plains.

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This was “Don't Forget your Comic Books!” by Alison Cybe,

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read for you by Khaki, your faithful fireside companion.

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For more stories you can find us wherever you get your podcasts, or on the web at thevoice.dog.

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Thank you for listening

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to The Voice of Dog

About the Podcast

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The Voice of Dog
Furry stories to warm the ol' cockles, read by Rob MacWolf and guests. If you have a story that would suit the show, you can get in touch with @VoiceOfDog@meow.social on Mastodon, @voiceofdog.bsky.social on Blue Sky, or @Theodwulf on Telegram.

About your host

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