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    Normalverse Free: The Normalverse Trilogy, #3
    Normalverse Free: The Normalverse Trilogy, #3
    Normalverse Free: The Normalverse Trilogy, #3
    Ebook187 pages2 hours

    Normalverse Free: The Normalverse Trilogy, #3

    By Simon Dunn

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    About this ebook

    For the first time in his life, Norman Mi has a good answer to the question ‘what have you been up to?’. He is the cause of a virus spreading across the galaxy, wiping out everything in its path. He’s agitated a failed revolution aboard an alien space cruiser, and one of his best friends has been kidnapped by Jane Austen.
    Now he's determined to put everything right once and for all.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSimon Dunn
    Release dateSep 9, 2015
    ISBN9781536528909
    Normalverse Free: The Normalverse Trilogy, #3

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      Book preview

      Normalverse Free - Simon Dunn

      One

      Norman stepped in another press release.

      As he scraped his foot, the faecal smell hit his nostrils and he wrinkled up his nose. The dust kicked up around his ankles, billowing more and more as he stroked his sole hard against the arid surface of this Godforsaken planet.

      He looked up at the sky, blinking against the setting triple suns, and tried to pick out where the ship might be in orbit, before admitting to himself he didn’t have the first clue, nor any way of working it out.

      For the first time in his life, Norman had a good answer to the question ‘what have you be up to?’. He was the cause of a virus spreading across the galaxy, wiping out everything in its path. He’d agitated a failed revolution aboard an alien space cruiser, and one of his best friends had been kidnapped by Jane Austen.

      Now he was determined to put right what once went wrong.

      Oh boy.

      He recoiled, not from the magnitude of the thought, but from the stench burrowing into his sinuses. Across the field, he could see Barnaby leaning against a wooden fence, an ear of what passed as corn on this planet in his mouth, silently contemplating God knows what.

      Norman tapped his temple and awoke Iris from her slumber.

      What do you want now? she asked with a yawn, deep in the echoey confines of his own mind.

      Call Barnaby.

      He won’t answer.

      Just do it.

      Anus lips.

      A little icon appeared in Norman’s eye line, informing him that a call was trying to connect. After a few moments, it vanished and a message informed him that Iris had been correct.

      I’m going back to bed, she said, and the HUD vanished from his vision.

      With all the information gone from his sight, he blinked, almost like he’d just opened his eyes properly. The purple sky made him a bit ill, if he was honest, and being surrounded by these ... things; well, that wasn’t exactly wonderful either.

      They’d landed their ship on the outskirts of a larger dwelling, and now they were trudging through a field full of what Iris had informed him were called P’Ars. Big, lumbering creatures, about the size of a cow and a half, covered in matted fur, with giant horns sticking out of their spines. They ambled along, grunting and eating everything before them, hoovering it all up with undulating snouts, and crunching them down with loud, grinding teeth.

      It was what they were eating that bewildered Norman, and he wasn’t sure what to make of it all. He contemplated awaking Iris again to ask, but he feared the reprisals would be painful. This field was strewn with socks, and biros, and every few seconds little wispy purple lights would spark up and vanish on the ground, leaving behind another pen, or another odd sock.

      And the P’Ars waddled around, eating whatever appeared.

      Meanwhile, at the other end, they excreted constantly, leaving behind piles of paper, which, in spite of the stench, Norman had bent down to examine. They were all headed Press Release, and most of them disappeared in flashes of light. It was only the odd one that hung around long enough to be stepped in.

      And they all seemed to be about Glamping.

      He’d read about that in one of his numerous Sunday paper supplements, the one’s that were filled with crap, the ones he read before you know, the world was invaded and humankind was all but wiped out. Probably. He still hadn’t heard word from home. Either way, he was sure he had worked it out now, even as he traipsed on through the field.

      The flashes of light were sort of mini wormholes.

      And they were opening up and depositing the pens and socks. And scooping up the Press Releases, which were probably being sucked across the galaxy to land on some editor’s desk in London.

      The logic of this thinking struck him as absurd, and he kicked himself hard in the shin. That left a stinking mark of plop on the front of his trousers, and he called out for Barnaby to get a move on.

      Running all the way, Loaf called back, not moving an inch.

      A loud bang echoed around, and some dirt kicked up about Barnaby’s feet. As one, their heads snapped to locate the source of the noise, and Norman saw an alien a few hundred feet away, holding a weapon that was smoking at one end, reloading it, and bringing it back to his shoulder to take a second shot.

      When Norman looked back at Barnaby, the other man was gone, running in his own inimitable way. Which was just a slightly brisk walk with the odd glance backwards that betrayed his nerves.

      Norman launched into his own run, and bolted from his spot towards a barn at the end of the field. That seemed to be where Barnaby was headed too.

      Another blast burst through the air, but Norman couldn’t figure out where the shot had landed. He checked to see Barnaby was okay, and saw he had quickened his pace.

      Almost every one of Norman’s pounding footfalls was squelching into the fetid press releases, and the stench was making his eyes water. Or maybe that was the fear of being shot in the bot by an alien.

      The barn loomed closer, even as the gasping and rasping in his lungs started to hurt with a cold pain that made Norman want to trot to a stop and bend over. And yet he summoned a second wind that bought more energy to his limbs, and he picked up the pace.

      He nearly slammed into the giant barn doors, hearing them rattle and clatter with a noise that made the ground vibrate. He fumbled for a latch, or a handle, and eventually found a tiny loop of metal that felt like it would snap free if he applied any pressure to it whatsoever.

      Nonetheless, he grabbed it and yanked, heaving the weight of the giant doors with a loud grunt and a throbbing agony that made his upper arms feel like they were about to explode. A screech of metal hurt his ears as the door resisted its own weight against its ancient rollers.

      Just then, Barnaby trotted to a halt and added his heft to the endeavour, and within moments they were on the other side of the door using their combined body mass to close it up once more.

      They patted themselves down to make sure they hadn’t been hit, and then found a secluded corner of the barn, hiding behind the bales of feed that were piled ten feet high.

      It was a pointless endeavour because they were both still panting for air, and they must have sounded like a pack of dogs as it echoed around the high ceilings of the barn.

      Norman felt Barnaby’s eyes on him, and he tried to avoid that gaze. He knew an argument was coming.

      If we’d landed where I said, he hissed. We would be there by now, not holed up here, covered in shit, being shot at by a yokel.

      If we landed where you said, Norman hissed back. We’d be dead.

      Not sure I can see the difference.

      Maybe we can reason with him.

      Maybe we should have bought some weapons.

      Norman stared at him, and Barnaby withered a little, remembering that had been his job.

      Look, he sputtered, then stood upright and disrobed all of his shame. I had something else to do.

      Okay, Norman sighed, knowing he was being dragged in but unable to resist. What was more important than planning for our escape?

      My lip was bleeding.

      I’ll make it bleed again in a minute, Norman held up his fist trying to drive the threat home.

      And I had to write to the shaver company to complain that their electric razor was defective.

      Why were you shaving your lips? Norman shook his head, annoyed he had asked.

      I get hairy lips. It’s not unheard of.

      I think it is.

      I think you’re wrong.

      Big shock.

      You’re always wrong.

      Am not.

      Case in point, Barnaby waved his hand to indicate their current predicament.

      Case in point, Norman used a high-pitched mocking tone and wobbled his head as he did so.

      Barnaby looked at him for a long moment and then broke the stare. Beside him, Norman felt Barnaby examine his own hands and then sniff them.

      Smell that, Loaf said, and thrust his hands under Norman’s nose.

      There was a distinct whiff of chocolate orange.

      New handwash, Barnaby explained. Just makes me want to eat my own hands.

      Can we focus please?

      Who made you commander in chief?

      You did. By abdicating your own responsibilities.

      Barnaby sniffed his fingers again.

      Norman continued, To live in sin with your own ...

      He sputtered to a halt, trying hard to find some kind of Mrs Simpson reference about hands, and failing.

      If it wasn’t for me, Barnaby said. We’d still be held captive on that ship, digging out the mines with our own teeth.

      Norman shrugged, reluctant to concede the point, and even more reluctant to shower the appropriate amount of kudos on Barnaby for his heroics. Deep down he knew there would never be enough kudos for the man to accept.

      Fine, Norman hissed. But this is my plan, and we’re sticking to it.

      I don’t remember any of this turning up in the planning session. At what point did you outline us hiding in a barn covered in alien livestock faeces hiding from a thing with a gun as big as a motor car?

      We can improvise.

      Yes, and?

      Barnaby’s lip curled into a knowing smile, which vanished when he saw Norman didn’t comprehend what had presumably been a joke.

      A massive thud echoed so loudly around the barn that Norman grabbed his ears in pain. When he looked at the door, he saw a series of large dents in the metal, contorted out of shape by gunshots.

      And then the HUD reappeared in his vision, and he heard Iris yawning again. He realised he had touched his temple and turned her on.

      You’ve never turned me on, she said with a sneer.

      Go back to sleep.

      No. You don’t control me.

      I do actually.

      His hand lifted of its own accord and slapped him hard across the cheek. Her demonstration of her control over him was effective.

      Now, this had better be good, she said.

      Um, he scrambled for a reason. Show me Naomi’s message again.

      A small box grew from the corner of his vision, and Naomi appeared, talking to herself in the reflection of a puddle.

      I don’t have long, she whispered. I’m fine. Don’t come and rescue me. Look after yourself.

      Norman examined her face during this pause, like he always did, trying to read her mind.

      I mean it, she hissed. Don’t. Try. And. Rescue. Me.

      The call ended.

      Norman smiled, pleased that he had managed to decode the hidden message embedded within her words.

      She was asking to be rescued.

      Barnaby would have agreed had he been able to watch the message too, but as it was, he just had to take Norman’s word for it, and he was more than reluctant to do that.

      But it was obvious.

      Why would she send a message that explicitly told him to stay away?

      Better surely, if that was the case, to send no message at all. Why risk being caught?

      Norman wondered for a moment how she had bypassed the blocking of her Iris system – for it must be being blocked, otherwise she would be in touch more often. Not for the first time he admired her ingenuity, and felt a renewed sense of purpose.

      She’d rescued him enough times.

      He was going to return the favour.

      Just like she wanted.

      A loud noise, like a metallic scream pierced through the air, and Norman and Barnaby retreated further behind the stacks. Norman almost reached out to hold onto Barnaby for comfort, but decided against it halfway, and left his arms hanging in mid air like he wanted a hug. Barnaby shot him a glare.

      The cold air from outside drifted in, and they knew that the gunslinger had opened the door. Norman could hear his feet scrunching

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