 
Steam Age Fighter

Robert Zwilling

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2018 Robert Zwilling

Thank you for downloading this book. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form. This story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

A Product Of Dreaming News

### Novels

Asteroid Fever

### Short Stories

Steam Age Fighter

Table of Contents

Chapter 1....Alchemist's Potion

Chapter 2....Electric Knuckles

Chapter 3....Invisible Dragons

Chapter 4....200 Years Later: Asteroid Fever

Excerpt from Asteroid Fever

Originally drawn from the personal journals of Desmond, these accounts of his early days in the prize fighting world of 1837 were transformed into a series of commercial dreams by Axel, a relative with no dreams of glory but who ended up as a master dream creator at the Dreaming News Company in 2037. The world has changed considerably since Desmond's time, but the yearning for dreams that put a person on top of the world will always be in demand.

Chapter 1.... The Alchemist's Potion

The year was 1837 and with manufacturing no longer tied to river banks billowing steam clouds were emerging everywhere. Mobile steam engines were traveling the land, rivers and oceans. The transference of the ancient gods control of the world was now complete, people wielding technology were masters of their own destinies. For Desmond, life in the hardware and grain supply store had become very predictable. Every Wednesday evening after the store closed for the day there was a local fighting match arranged by local promoter and owner of the store, Jake. He signed up people to exchange blows for a small monetary prizes. The big money was in the wagering which was lively, using everything from sacks of grain to bags of coins of the realm.

The rules were simple, and the softly packed dirt floor was perfect for quick steps in and out of swinging arms' reach. Jake liked to bet on the fights, but he didn't like betting on people he didn't know. He felt that one of his workers, Desmond, a big hulking man, was a much better investment for his money.

One day he asked Desmond if he would like to fight Wednesday night. Desmond thought it over for a moment, and then asked Jake if he really thought he could do it. Jake told Desmond if he could toss hundred pound sacks of grain or flour around like match sticks, then there was no reason he couldn't do the same thing in the grain room fight matches.

On Wednesday Jake closed up the store as usual. He locked the inside door to the grain pickup room and unlocked the double doors that opened out onto the street. Everyone from the store, Desmond's girlfriend, Nellie, and the usual crowd from the surrounding area pushed their way inside. Local promoters sauntered in to check out the action and a few more fighters arrived. The crowd parted for the first two fighters. Money was collected for the initial wagers, and the bell started the evening off to a boisterous start. Every step of the way someone was wagering about something.

A hard cider barrel was opened at the makeshift bar, a wide oak plank set across two tall pickle barrels. The crowd was enjoying the fights and themselves as the money flowed freely as water never finding a level place to rest.

Then it was Desmond's turn to go a few rounds or longer if he could make it. Nellie kissed his lips and wished him good luck. The crowd roared in approval. Desmond got out there and started swinging away, something he had never done, and before he knew it, the other fighter had scored a few solid hits to his right shoulder and stomach. The bell finally rang and they backed away from the middle of the room. Desmond hadn't really connected to his opponent's body, his punches slipping off target, except he thought he might have scored one glancing blow to his opponent's jaw.

The bell rang and out they came again. He got a few more blows in, but his opponent was landing more blows. Desmond took another hard hit to his head, he slipped but didn't fall. His stumbling footwork was no comparison to his opponent's confident marching around the ring. The bell finally rang again.

Nellie wiped Desmond's forehead and told him to watch out for the other fighter's left fist. He told her he was watching out for both fists and a couple of head butts. Jake came over to see how Desmond was doing, and he said he was feeling okay but didn't feel comfortable taking all the shots and delivering few himself.

"Don't worry about it. You're doing great. It might take a fight or two, but you'll get the hang of it. I predict you'll be a champion very soon." Jake said, placing a hand on Desmond's shoulder.

The bell rang and Desmond sailed back into the middle of the room, wishing he were drinking a mug of hard cider instead. The punches went back and forth, and then he saw a fist coming his way. He looked a little too long before responding, and the next thing he knew he was eating grain off the dirt floor. The crowd counted him out, the bell rang, and the fight was over.

Jake went over to Desmond, dusted him off, said, "It will be much better next time. You're phenomenal. You have all the experience you need. Your opponent, Sledge Hammer Mike, always fights fast and hard and leaves the bodies lying in the ring out cold when he's done. You're walking away on your own two feet. That's a real good sign, you just need to win next time."

Desmond asked Jake if he lost any money on the fight, and Jake told him he hadn't bet on the fight.

Desmond lifted three flour barrels off the top of a display pyramid of hundred pound barrels and dusted them off so they could sit on them. Nellie went over to the hard cider barrel bar, filled three mugs, and came back and sat down on a barrel. They all agreed it went pretty well. There were a few more fights, but none proved to be eventful.

The week sped by, and then it was fight night again. Desmond waded right into the other fighter's punches, knocking them away. He scored several hits to the head and chin of his opponent who went down like a rock. Jake was happy, his winnings more than made up for the slow day at the store.

Sometimes after the fights Desmond would be knocked senseless but still walking and definitely the victor. Usually Desmond's opponents left stumbling if they were able to get up and walk away.

At first Nellie worried about him getting beat up, but he took the blows in stride as they bounced off his muscular body. Her concern turned to pride as he won match after match. Jake was also happy. He invested as much of the winnings as he could, with plenty left over for all the bets he could make on Desmond's fights. Jake knew he had picked a good man for a profitable partnership.

As the weeks went on, it got harder for Jake to make good money on his wagers because the odds went lower as it became obvious to everyone that Desmond was a sure fire winner. Jake made the decision for them to move to the city where they got uptown apartments and fine clothes.

Desmond performed splendidly in the city, and in fact, did so well they were moving again; this time to the capital city with the really bright city lights. The future was a very noisy place . Wide center lanes of the streets were jammed day and night with steam powered racing buggies, carts, wagons, and trolleys. Horse drawn vehicles and people stayed to the sides of the streets.

At the capital city, competition was tougher, with fighters coming from all over the world. The steam powered port facilities handled passenger and freight ships of all nationalities. There was a constant influx of people coming and going. He lost a few fights at first but took it all in stride and was back on top once he learned the ins and outs of the big city fighters. Enjoying the big city life, Desmond, Nellie, and Jake dinned in fine restaurants and rode in steam powered carriages wherever they went. Jake traveled back home to visit the grain store now and then, always finding it running fine without him. That was okay because he liked hanging out in the big city with Desmond and Nellie.

The odds shifted down again, and Jake suggested that Desmond try the after-midnight fights put on by rich patrons of the arts and business worlds. Even though the wagers were much greater and the fights tougher, Jake told Desmond he was confident he could handle it.

The first after-midnight fight was at a mansion with a large ballroom featuring a wide balcony that went all the way around the room. There was a large dock down on the lake with steamboats continuously dropping people off and picking them up. The place was packed. Whiskey, wine, beer, champagne, rum and cheap hard cider flowed like water. So did the money. There was a large stiff rug on the floor which handled the footwork well. It was a long fight for Desmond, but it turned out very prosperous for all three of them.

With the success of the after-midnight fights, no matter how good he was the odds always stayed high and the wagers were always rewarding. All the fighters were hard as nails like Desmond, because they all had worked at jobs that would have broken the backs and legs of normal men.

The apple orchards around Jake's grain store made the world's best hard cider. He started selling it at the matches, making a handsome profit. Soon he was supplying the big cities with his hard cider.

This went on for some time, and then one night, Desmond went down after many solid hits to the head during a particularly long fight with a former blacksmith. Jake and Nellie had to hire some people to haul Desmond back to the mansion that Jake now owned. It was a beautiful place, with a spacious guest wing complete with multiple kitchens and servant's quarters. In addition, it had two more wings with guest rooms and a big ballroom where they had built a gym. Desmond and Nellie liked to work out together. But they never staged matches in the mansion. Desmond and Nellie also didn't have any servants. Nellie got the assistance of some of Jake's servants to help her handle Desmond's bulky body. He still hadn't regained consciousness, his breathing was slow but regular.

Five days later, still unconscious, Desmond's breathing was labored and slower than ever. Jake instructed his servants to get a large wheelbarrow and take Desmond out back behind the mansion and dump him over the cliff that gave the mansion a commanding view of the harbor. Jake told the servants that Desmond's fading breathing efforts were a sure sign he wasn't going to make it and the best thing they could do, was to put him out of his misery. Nellie was not home when Jake arrived with a big coach drawn by four black horses. In the coach was Nellie and Desmond's share of the earnings Jake had made from Desmond's fights. It was a big seamen's chest filled to the brim with gold and silver coins, plus stocks and wads of the paper money which was easier to carry around, although most people didn't believe in it. There were bundles of big value notes, worth more than the gold and silver coins. He planned to give it to Nellie and tell her to go back home and find another decent man, since they had a low opinion of the big city dwellers.

When Nellie got back to the mansion, she went inside to check on Desmond, but he was gone. She heard a great deal of grunting and yelling at the back of the mansion where she found the servants trying to wheel Desmond out to the cliff in a large creaking wheel barrow. The wheelbarrow kept tipping over from the rough landscaping that consisted of patches of muddy lawn, small boulders, and low bushes that blocked access to the edge of the cliff.

Every time it tipped over, the large wheel barrow was either spilling Desmond out onto the ground or pinning the luckless servants under its great weight. She yelled at the servants to immediately bring Desmond back inside. They hesitated.

One of the servants spoke up. "Jake told us it's better for you if we throw Desmond over the cliff. Then, you can take your share of the money and return home where you can forget about everything that's happened."

She calmly removed a colt revolver from her leather vest, pointed it at the servants. "The next person who takes a step towards the cliffs will get shot in the leg," she warned them. Everyone knew she was an excellent shot, much better than Desmond or Jake. "Put Desmond in the big carriage parked out front, we're going back to our village home."

The servants were greatly relieved as the cliff was still a long way off, and Nellie's idea was definitely the more sensible one. After Desmond was comfortably settled in the coach, she found Jake and thanked him for his misguided concern and for the large chest full of money. He introduced her to Desmond's replacement. She said she didn't think he would last too many rounds. She shook both men's hands anyway, wishing them the best of luck.

As the coach was pulling out of the mansion's driveway, she noticed Desmond's breathing sounded fuller, less strained. She thought the bumpy wheelbarrow ride might have reminded him of the fights he was missing and had perhaps breathed some life back into him.

The coach took off toward home; the ride was smooth and uneventful until late afternoon when highwaymen stopped them. When she got out to see what the commotion was about, the leader of the robbers told her they would like all the gold and silver the coach was carrying. Quite firmly she said no and stood her ground. The leader said she had no choice, he would take all the money and that was that. The highway men laughed. Nellie pulled out her five-shot revolver, and the highway men laughed even harder. They asked her if it also told the time of day, not believing such a contrivance could actually work. She shot the leader right between the eyes. As he fell off his horse, she pointed the long barrel revolver at the rest of the robbers.

"Who wants to be next?" she demanded, but they turned tail and rode away at a gallop.

She instructed the coach driver to go to the local police headquarters and hire some off duty officers and a sergeant to escort them the rest of the way home.

When they arrived back in the village safe and sound, Desmond was comfortably snoring. They took up residence in the big inn on the lake. The next day she bought a mansion on the other side of the large lake and had Desmond moved there. She hired some people to help her take care of the house. Their first job was to dig a winding path around the back yard and pave it with bricks and put in some gaps, to make it a bumpy ride when they wheeled Desmond around in a big wheelbarrow.

She told them to get a four-wheel model as it would save them the pain of being crushed if it were to become unsteady while wheeling Desmond around. She felt that the bumpy wheelbarrow ride in the fresh air would help bring him around.

Twice a day they took Desmond outside, wheeling him around on the bumpy path with Nellie supervising the operation. After two weeks, Desmond woke up feeling refreshed and inquiring about the next fight. On Wednesday night, they visited the local fight scene at Jake's Grain and Hardware store. Everyone was glad to see him, and in no time he was back on the dirt floor in the grain delivery barn ring knocking out the competition. He felt great.

Nellie became his new manager, and they went back to the after-midnight private party fights where the winnings were king sized. He fought Jake's fighters a couple of times, handily winning each match. This went on for three months until Desmond was totally knocked out and was once again wheeled home unconscious. After being asleep for a week, none of the doctors could rouse him from his stupor.

Nellie sent for a specialist, Doc Smith, who came out to the mansion to visit Desmond and Nellie. Doc Smith asked her how Desmond was doing, and if there had been any improvements. She told him the daily excursions around the grounds on the cart were helpful, but obviously he still had not come around.

"I can give him a newly discovered substance, it was created by a retired alchemist who lives farther up the lake. It'll put him into a very deep sleep. It affects the electricity in the peripheral nerves without affecting the rest of the body. A small amount causes a pleasant rush of sensations. A bit too much, and it'll literally knock a person out for a loop, but it doesn't take long for them to wake up. It's making the rounds as a party drug. I believe Desmond is stuck between being asleep and awake, this might push him towards waking up," Doc said.

Nellie gave her okay to try the new substance.

Desmond woke up the next morning, wide awake and ready to go, although he wasn't quite sure of where he was supposed to be going. Nellie didn't mind. He was back, and that was all that mattered.

He returned to fighting at the midnight bouts in the capital. Everything went well. He got knocked down a few times but always got up again, ready to lay his opponent flat at an appropriate time. The longer the fight lasted the more money they could win. Nellie was very good at getting every last wager right up until Desmond knocked the opponent out. He won a large majority of the matches, and when he lost, he was only stunned, never knocked out.

****

It started out like an ordinary night, just traveling to another fight, but this one was going to change their lives. Riding in their grand oak paneled steam carriage, trimmed with polished brass fittings and fine leather bench seats, Nellie and Desmond found themselves in a well-developed part of town with large gas lights burning at all four corners of every intersection.

They stopped to check the house number and determined it was the one they wanted. They rode up the long driveway and parked on the side with the rest of the steam powered carriages. Nellie got out of the carriage on her own as she always did. She didn't need Desmond's help, and he knew better than to offer it.

They went up the wide marble steps to the front door and pulled the door chime knob. The door opened, and a servant let them inside and showed them to a large ballroom at the rear of the building. He took their coats and disappeared. They mingled with the crowd. Nellie got a glass of wine; Desmond always drank after the fight. He saw Jake, his old manager, talking to the lady of the manor and sauntered over to them.

Jake looked up as Desmond came over; they talked a bit while the lady listened in. Everyone knew about Desmond and Jake. Desmond always made it a point to pummel Jake's fighters just for the fun of it. Desmond held no grudges, it was just business.

Jake told him about a new kind of fight that was making the rounds.

The fighters would start out by sitting in simple but comfortable wood chairs with armrests and curved backs at a very small round table. Next, they drank some really strong coffee, made from specially bred beans and inhaled a small amount of a new party drug that knocked them out for a short period of time. People could drink it to have a good time, and the hangover was very short lived. A person could easily walk it off.

"Whoever wakes up first uses a large silver spoon to hit a very loud sounding bell on the table. Hopefully the other fighter wakes up before he gets hit or can at least deflect the blows. If he isn't alert, it's unlikely he'll win the fight, although you can never tell what the outcome will be with any certainty," Jake explained.

Desmond thought it sounded interesting, a fight where both fighters started by being knocked out. He knew he could take quite a few hits before going down, so he figured sitting down should make it easier. Jake asked if Desmond wanted to try it that night. He agreed and Jake said he had an opponent ready to fight. Desmond asked him if his fighter, Terry, had already tried the knockout drug.

Jake shook his head, "But he wants to, that's who you're gonna fight."

A short time later, the fight announcer called out, "Ladies and gentleman, and everyone else that found their way here tonight." The crowd yelled out in approval. The announcer went on to explain, "We have a new fight set up tonight. It's the knocked out fight." While the crowd was cheering, a small round table and chairs were set up in the middle of the room. One of the servants placed a large portable bell on the table. Two comfortable chairs were put in place, facing each other. A large heavy silver serving spoon was put on the table in front of each chair.

Jake said everything was ready to go; they just needed a shot of supercharged coffee, and then they could inhale the knockout drug. A fancy dressed gentleman stepped out of the crowd and supplied a small silver flask.

The two fighters shook hands and sat down at the table. The drug was poured into two shot glasses and given to the fighters. Jake told them to inhale a very small amount as no one wanted to wait around all night for them to wake up. After a bit of sniffing the two fighters slumped forward, unconscious.

After a few minutes, Desmond slowly awakened, still a bit dizzy, he opened his eyelids slightly. He groped for the heavy spoon on the table. He finally got hold of the spoon with his left hand and started banging on the bell while he tried to hit Terry in the jaw, but the swing missed when Terry lurched back, awakened by the bell. They started exchanging punches, kicking the chairs and table away and mostly missing each other.

Still a bit groggy, they rushed each other with wild swinging fists. Desmond caught Terry looking at the wrong fist, knocking him out abruptly ending the fight.

Desmond went over to where Nellie was collecting their winnings. They went over to the bar and had a few drinks. Nellie wanted to know how it felt waking up at the table with Terry on the other side. Desmond told her he really hadn't noticed Terry at first; it was only after ringing the bell that Desmond became aware of Terry sitting across the table. Nellie frowned a bit before a smile crossed her face. She told Desmond she had an interesting idea he might appreciate, which she whispered in his ear. "Take as much time as you can before hitting the bell."

Desmond started laughing.

"What's so funny?" she asked.

"I'm laughing because it's a spectacular idea." He was grinning ear to ear. He picked her up off her feet and kissed her.

Her idea was very simple. After he woke up, he should just wait a few moments before ringing the bell and try to sense if the opponent was starting to move yet.

"There's something else I can do. Sometimes I'll wait for the other fighter to ring the bell first, and then I'll hit him."

They both laughed. Starting the fights in reverse, already awake in a knocked out match, should make for very good business at these posh mansions.

The knocked out fights were going fine, but Desmond noticed a troubling situation developing. Occasionally he would wake up and see the fighter seated across the table from him was already bruised up slightly. At first he hadn't thought much about it, thinking he had hit the guy before clearly seeing him. After it continued to happen, Desmond knew he wasn't imagining it.

A few days after the latest incident of invisible blows he met with his publicist, Harwood. He asked him if he would like to try out some of the knockout drug. Desmond explained that after coming out of the drug-induced fog, he noticed some fighters looked like they had been hit before he actually hit them. He knew he hadn't hit them, because before he sat down at the table with them, he carefully looked over his opponents before starting the fight.

"What do you want me to do?" Harwood asked.

"I want to try out this knockout drug without an opponent and see what happens," Desmond explained nonchalantly.

He went to the kitchen and brewed two strong cups of coffee using the special blend.

"Do you take cream and sugar?" he asked.

Harwood nodded, and Desmond added cream and sugar to both cups and brought them out to the enclosed porch overlooking a huge back lawn with the lake in the background.

They sat down in large overstuffed chairs and drank the coffee. Desmond opened a small bottle of the drug, passed it to Harwood, and told him to inhale it a couple of times. Desmond then inhaled it and placed the bottle on the table. He tried to keep his senses about him as he slipped into unconsciousness. He looked around inside his head but didn't see anything. Desmond woke up first followed by Harwood, who said it didn't seem like much happened. Desmond suggested they drink some more coffee and give it another try. Again, nothing much happened. They sat in the chairs and stared out the big window at small waves rippling across the lake.

"There's a lot of new houses being built on the lake," Harwood remarked. "Did you know that the alchemist who made this stuff has a mansion not far from your place?"

"No, I didn't."

"The alchemist got tired of trying to make gold out of base metals, so he went commercial. Now he sells potions for gold and silver and dabbles in that stuff called electricity. Says it's the wave of the future, that and steam. You should meet him. He says he's got some ideas about the fights."

Nellie came in and saw the knockout drug bottle on the table and wanted to know what was going on.

"Nothing much," they answered. "Just enjoying the lake view."

Desmond explained how he thought some fighters looked like they had been hit by something while they were dozing, and he wanted to know what was going on. He told her they didn't do much except drink some coffee and get a few minutes of sleep. Harwood said he had an appointment to get to. Desmond suggested they try it again the next day.

That night, Desmond tried the drug and coffee a few more times. He practiced staying awake as long as possible before passing out and tried to remember as much as he could once he did pass out. Once in a while he noticed some odd looking blurs lurking in the background.

The next day Harwood brought Bart, the alchemist who made the knock out drug, over to Desmond's.

"This is Bart, he made that concoction you're testing. We got to talking, and I mentioned your thoughts about the knocked out fights. He's interested in your musings."

"I haven't heard about anyone having any problems, apart from unexpectedly falling down," Bart said. Desmond noticed Bart didn't sound that sure of himself.

They all tried the coffee and knockout drug again. On their third attempt, Desmond felt a blur slide by him as he was starting to lose consciousness. He sensed something just being pushed out of his reach, perhaps it was struggling. He started to move over to the disturbance, but the going was tough, like wading through molasses. He was glad he didn't feel this in the real fights. He finally made it to the thing, which seemed to be attached to him somehow. He didn't know how to move it or engage it, so he imagined kicking it. The blur instantly vanished, and he woke up. Desmond looked over at Harwood, who didn't look too good. He was just starting to come to and was visibly shaking; he looked very unhappy.

"Are you okay?" Desmond asked.

"Maybe, but I don't want to try this anymore." Harwood sounded perplexed. "I felt something pushing me around, and it wasn't pleasant. Whatever it was, it suddenly disappeared after smacking me."

Desmond poured a shot of whiskey into a glass and handed it to Harwood. He gulped it down, and then poured himself another and drank that.

"Count me out of anymore experimenting, but I'll hang out and drink your whiskey."

Bart was not saying anything, but was paying close attention to Desmond and Harwood.

After another round of shots, Desmond walked Harwood over to the door, and told him everything was fine. "Me and Bart will figure it out; thanks for your help."

After Harwood left, Desmond asked Bart, "Did you see or feel anything?"

"No, but I wasn't sitting next to you, if that matters." Bart looked thoughtful. "Shall we try it again?"

"Yes, I want to get to the bottom of this. I'll get some more coffee." Desmond returned with the coffee, and they tried the coffee and drug combination again.

Desmond imagined himself threatened by a fighter about to wake up. He was hoping that might trigger something to happen. As he was falling asleep, he felt something whirling about over his head. Desmond awoke with a start. He looked around. At first nothing seemed out of place.

Bart was staring at him.

"You okay?" Desmond asked Bart.

"I'm okay, but I think you got something going on here. Can't put my finger on it, but there's some kind of force I could feel pushing at me. If you're going to the fights tonight, I'd like to tag along."

"Sure, Nellie loves company at the matches."

"I'd like to show you some things I'm working on. They might make your fights more exciting."

"If it doesn't make me lose, I've nothing against it."

"Bring Doc Smith along, too."

* * * *

That evening, Desmond and Nellie went to a private fight being held in a spice merchant's villa a short carriage ride down the coast. Bart and Doc Smith rode with them. Desmond skipped the regular bouts and volunteered for the first knocked out match. His opponent was a tall, thick bald man named Harvey Savage. They shook hands and sat down.

They each took a couple of good sniffs of the knockout drug. Desmond forced himself to be aware of his peripheral vision before he conked out. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary. He seemed to fall into a dreamstate where he was floating, possibly upside down, which he found strange but not disorienting. He felt like he was skewered on a powerful muscular-like cord that was gently waving in the wind. Or maybe he could feel it twisting out of his neck? Or was it his back?

He felt threatened, like he needed to take steps to protect himself against an imminent threat that wasn't there, but was definitely coming. Desmond tried to flex his arms, but they were numb, impossible to move. His legs were stuck. His eyes filled with stars while pins and needles buzzed throughout his body. His mind was solid as a rock. Desmond felt air flowing over a long sliver of soft lightning coming out of his shoulders waving around his head. He whipped up his thoughts at his opponent, causing tiny welts to appear on the corners of Harvey's forehead.

Suddenly Desmond noticed a bright horizon spreading out in front of him. It took just a moment for him to realize his eye-lids were starting to open. Through the mostly closed slits, he could see Harvey still wasn't moving. Desmond noticed small welts on the sides of Harvey's forehead and waited a moment for him to regain consciousness. When he did, Desmond hit the bell right after Harvey hit it.

Harvey got in two good hits with his long reach, but Desmond leaned back, letting the blows glance off the side of his face as he pushed the chair out of the way. Harvey tried to come in low and fast, but Desmond was more alert, expecting it. He hit Harvey twice on the jaw, knocking him down for the count.

Nellie walked over. "Good fight. You're slipping, though. I saw you stir before you rang the bell."

"Yes, I was looking at a small welt on the side of Harvey's head. It wasn't there when we started." They went over to the bar.

"Where did it come from?"

"I think I did it."

Frowning, she ordered white wine and scotch whiskey for them at the bar. "I don't believe it."

"There's definitely something strange going on when I use that knockout stuff."

"I second that." Harwood joined them at the bar. "Let's sit down so we can watch the rest of the knocked out fights. One of them really thinks he's hot stuff and wants to take on all comers."

"I'll give him the last match," Desmond chuckled.

Hearing the conversation as he passed by them to get a drink, Doc Smith stopped by. "Sure you're up to it?" He sounded concerned.

Nellie laughed. "You can bet your bottom dollar on Desmond. I'm going to when he gets back up there."

"There's something strange about that stuff. This afternoon I could've sworn there was something stalking me when I was knocked out," Hardwood said.

"Something was," Desmond calmly replied.

Shaking his head, a splash of doubt washed over his face, Harwood said, "Go on, there wasn't anybody there except us, and I know it wasn't Nellie."

She punched him on the arm, "You saying I couldn't stalk you?"

"No argument there. I don't think there's anything you can't do." Harwood grinned, rubbing his arm.

"Sure you say that, but you wouldn't say anything else. Would you?" But she was laughing, Harwood laughed along with her.

Desmond wasn't smiling. He was still thinking about the strange things he was seeing when he was coming to. He believed that whatever he was seeing was part of him. Without moving his arms, he could reach out and touch things. Whatever it was, it didn't last long and it sent chills up and down his spine. Not sensations of fear, it was pure power.

Doc sat down on a barrel. "You got any tips?"

"Bet on Desmond and no one else, and you'll never go wrong," she told him.

They sat around drinking and discussing the next three knocked out matches, which took about forty-five minutes.

"I notice you didn't bet on any of the fights," Doc gazed at Nellie.

She smiled, "I only like to bet on sure things."

"This is the last fight, shall we bet on it?" Doc asked.

"Sure, bet everything on it, Desmond will take him." A winning smirk spread across her face, leaving no doubt about her confidence in Desmond.

Desmond took his tunic off and went over to the small round table. There were two new chairs; the previous ones were busted up. Desmond shook his competitor's hand, pulled out the chair, and sat down.

The referee served them the supercharged coffee. After they drank it, he put a small bottle of the knockout drug on the table. "Okay, take a good sniff, and may the best man win." He stepped back.

Desmond felt himself falling. He leapt into the swirling stars filling his head, grabbing on to every ounce of sensation he could muster. Before he passed out, he sensed something that felt like a tail seemed to be coming out of his body. Ultra thin streamers of lightning were roaring through his body. He could sense currents of electricity circling over the top of his mind like a great storm. His thoughts were crystal clear for a moment, with every fiber of his mind spinning in the same direction, generating an extra arm that slipped out of his shoulders and up over his body and groped at anything it ran into. He knew it was some kind of electricity because he'd seen enough of the demonstrations entertaining the public by both scientists and charlatans. Then he blacked out.

He was floating again, thinking how he had to protect himself. Somehow, he was striking out at the man across the table, flailing him with something. The horizon started to light up, and the feeling was gone along with the flailing sensation. He opened his eyes wide and noticed welts on both sides of his opponent's forehead. He struck the bell and ended the fight with one punch with his opponent still sitting in the chair. Desmond felt good. He got up and joined his friends. He slapped Bart on the back.

"Bart, tomorrow you're going to show me and Doc more about this stuff called electricity, right?" Desmond asked.

Doc stared for a moment before answering. "I don't believe what I just saw."

"Don't worry about it." Harwood beamed.

"Everybody get your winnings, we're going home now. I'm making a delicious dinner and you're all invited," Nellie told them in no uncertain terms, which they were only too happy to accept. "Stick with Desmond, cause we're heading for the stars."

Back To Beginning

Chapter 2....Electric Knuckles

Doc Smith and Desmond whipped around the back roads in Doc's modified buggy. They were going to the mansion owned by Bart Newtune, the commercial alchemist who lived up the lake from Desmond and Nellie.

"How do you like my new screamin buckboard?" Doc asked.

"Adding the covered cab in the front with the open cargo area in the back is a sound idea. I'd like one of these for myself." Desmond wondered how much faster it could go.

Bart was sitting on his front porch waiting for them. Desmond and Doc got out of the buggy followed by a cloud of dust. "Hi Bart, I got a good idea why Desmond is here, why do you need me?" Doc asked.

"I might need some medical advice." Bart held the door open for them to enter the main hallway.

"For a live body or a dead one?" Doc inquired.

"Still breathing," Bart replied.

"That's not saying much."

Desmond looked on as Bart and Doc broke out laughing.

"Come inside, I'll fix you all a drink. If you don't want spirits, I've got some of Jake's premium blended cider."

It was Desmond's turn to laugh. "Sorry, but everyone around here gets the premium blend."

Desmond and Doc followed Bart inside. Papers, books, boxes, and strange looking mechanical contraptions were stacked up everywhere, even the chairs served as tables.

"Come on over this way." Bart led them out to the grand ballroom that was crudely divided into a couple of large sections. There was an open area with chains, ropes, and pulleys hanging from the high ceiling. The center of that space was filled with adjustable scaffolding. Against a wall filled with windows there was a huge workbench with hundreds of drawers, shelves, and cubby holes. The bench took a right angle turn, continuing against another wall with an archway in it. That part of the bench was filled with partially finished devices and contraptions, an assembly line of different projects all lined up waiting completion.

Bart led them through a tunnel-like structure made of scaffolding and into a plush carpeted area where there were armchairs and a couple of small tables. "The testing area is over this way. I try to keep it clear of distractions." The sparse furniture consisted of a couple of cupboards with glasses and tableware, all of it superb quality. "You want an ice cold drink of cider?"

Desmond nodded and wondered how Bart could get ice cold drinks in the middle of summer without an ice house. Bart went over to a metal cube, which measured about two feet on each side, and opened the top lid, reached inside, and pulled out a jug. "It opens from the top so the cold air doesn't escape."

Bart poured out three drinks, they each took one.

Desmond took a sip; it was very cold. He eagerly drank it up and poured himself another. "How does it stay cold?"

"You'd be surprised what happens when you pump different liquids through different sized pipes and blow some air around. Things either get very hot or very cold. Sit down and make yourself comfortable." Bart turned a knob, and a cool breeze instantly swept by as a small wheel with blades attached to it started spinning.

Doc and Desmond went over to examine the spinning blades.

"Don't stick your fingers in it, though I imagine Doc could stitch them back in place rightly enough." Bart had a big smile on his face. "The blades are powered by that can behind them. It's called an electric motor. See those wires? They lead back to the power room. I can convert steam or chemicals into electricity. It takes up the whole basement. I prefer to use batteries, they don't make any noise and don't need a fire to work."

"What's any of this got to do with the fights?" Desmond asked.

Bart went over to a sidebar, the top of which was covered with knobs. He turned one and the room filled with different colored lights from long glowing tubes attached to the makeshift scaffolding walls.

"I got to thinking about those knocked out fights, starting a fight when you're already knocked out probably isn't the best way to do it. This new way I got, I think you're really going to get a real kick out of it."

He turned another knob and the color of the lights turned white. Then he rolled out a small table. It had a wooden spool about the size of an orange bolted to the table top with a lot of strange looking thread wound around it. He pointed the bulky spool away from where they were sitting. Closer inspection showed the thread itself was round around some kind of metal cord, covering it like a sheath, and it was the insulated cord that was wound around the spool. The hole through the center of the spool was parallel to the table top.

"I wound insulated copper wire around the bobbin, making a coil. I place a large finishing nail in the hole going through the center of the bobbin. Notice how the nail is sticking out the back a little ways and painted blue. Watch what happens when I touch the wires of this coil to some electricity for a second," Bart said.

He momentarily made the connection by swiping two wires together. There was a spark as the wires slid by each other; the nail disappeared, then the sound of something breaking could be heard coming from another part of the ballroom. "Drats, I wonder what I hit this time?" Desmond and Doc followed him to another part of the ballroom. There was some broken glass on a bench and right behind it, stuck deeply in the wall, was the blue nail.

"I don't know how we could use this in the fights," Desmond tried to pull the nail out of the wall, "It seems pretty permanent."

"No," Bart sputtered. "I'm just showing you the instantaneous power of electricity."

Doc spoke up. "All right, what's really going on here?"

"Come over this way, I have something else to show you." Bart led them to another part of his manmade cavern. He opened a cabinet and took out what looked like a leather ammo belt with a thick flexible cable attached to it, the other end of the cable was attached to a leather glove. "I call 'em electric knuckles."

Desmond picked up the belt; it was heavy and made of compartments that went all the way around it. He opened one of the compartments. It had a block of glass with a great number of metal plates embedded in it. He examined the glove; all the joints were flexible, bending the fingers exposed thin metal caps covering the knuckles. He doubted they had much striking force. "I don't see how this glove could do anything, these metal knuckles are just decorative."

"I understand you like to bet on sure things. I'll bet you I can knock you out by just touching you with this electric knuckle glove." Bart's face showed no signs of expression.

"Ah, I'm not sure I want to take that bet," Desmond said.

"Impressed by electricity now, are we?"

"Yes, although I'm not sure why, but if you say that glove can knock me out, I believe you."

"I'll turn it down real low, you'll hardly feel it when I touch you, okay?" Bart asked.

"Alright, I'll give it a shot, put it on."

Bart put the belt around his waist, went over to a big box on a bench, and plugged the belt into the box using the flexible cable. There was a crank on the side of the box; he turned it twice. Then he turned a small knob on the top side of the belt.

"Normally I would crank this twenty or thirty times. The more it gets cranked, the more powerful it is." He unplugged the cable from the box and plugged it back into the glove with the decorative knuckles. "You ready?"

"Go ahead," Desmond said.

Bart turned the knob on the belt, started to bring the glove up to Desmond's face.

"No, wait, touch my hand instead of my jaw."

"Yes, good idea." Bart smiled, closed his hand inside the glove to make a fist. "You use your fingers to control the knuckles."

"What do you mean?"

"With an open hand the electric knuckles are covered, make a tight fist and the electric knuckles are uncovered, ready to knock someone out. Easy to learn. You ready to try it?"

"Let's do it, I'm ready," Desmond said.

Bart made a fist, and then lightly touched the metal knuckles to Desmond's hand.

Desmond's hand shot away from the glove faster than he could pull it away. "What the devil!" He cradled his hand. "That has a real kick to it."

"That sting can go all the way up to a wallop that will knock you off your feet."

"Let me feel it." Doc put his hand out, and Bart touched it, producing the same reaction Desmond had. "That really hurts." He flicked his hand around a couple of times.

"I guess a surgeon's got tender hands." Bart chuckled, a smile on his face. He turned the knob on the belt. "It's safe now."

Desmond put the belt on. "Crank it up a bit."

Bart hooked the cable back up to the crank box. He turned the crank three times and reconnected the glove to the cable.

Desmond bunched his fingers into a fist. He gingerly touched a bare knuckle cap on the glove. His hand flew away from the glove every time he touched it.

"Hurts doesn't it?" Bart asked him.

"You got that right."

"Want to try it, Doc?" Desmond asked.

"No thanks. Watching you squirm is enough for me."

Desmond continued to zap himself, moving up his arm, he noticed the feeling didn't go through the thick shirt fabric.

"Watch out for your neck, it'll go straight to your head." Bart advised. "Interesting device. What do you say, Doc?"

Doc said nothing, quietly assessing the situation.

Desmond touched his cheek. His head jerked back violently. "What's the point, Bart? If it's as powerful as you say, when I use this in a fight, won't it just knock the guy out?"

"That's what I thought, too. I was thinking you could pay someone to see if they could knock you out before you get them, but then it came to me, both fighters would wear them."

"All right, let's try it. How many of these do you have?" Desmond asked.

"Two, but I can make more," Bart said.

"We'll need different size gloves."

"Okay, we'll make the first match next week."

"You think someone can learn to use them without any kind of training?" Doc asked, picking up the knuckle glove.

"No problem, easy as pie. Right, Desmond?"

"Who's going to put this stuff together?" Doc asked.

"I got some apprentices to do the craft work, they're always hanging around anyway. They like the explosions."

Doc frowned, "Sounds dangerous here."

"Don't be daft. I don't do stuff like that in the lab. I make fireworks, and we set 'em off outside to test them. They need lots of testing." Bart cackled.

"Come see me in a couple a days, and you can talk to Nellie. She manages everything." Desmond handed the glove back to Bart.

Bart threw the glove up in the air and deftly caught it, then tossed it on a nearby table. "I'll have some knuckle gloves ready on Monday. We can talk then." Bart and Desmond shook hands.

* * * *

There was a big crowd at Jake's grain store Wednesday night before the store closed. People were milling around in the street outside of the loading dock area. Nellie had printed posters and had hired neighborhood kids to put them up around the town. They promised electrifying punches as explosive as a barrel of guncotton, capable of knocking a man off his feet. The posters declared a good time for all. She also telegraphed news about the new fights to their friends in the fight game.

Bart installed the charging box for the gloves on a barrel of dried beef while Desmond set up the first fight, going over the instructions for how to use the power gloves. Jake was busy setting up the hard cider bar. People were lining up for drinks and getting ready to start betting on the matches. It promised to be a very entertaining evening.

Bart showed the fighters how to fit the belt around their waist and how to hook the glove to the belt using the special cable. He cranked the charging box handle twenty times to put a hefty charge in the belt. He made sure the fighters didn't touch the terminals on the end of the cable before they plugged it into the glove. Bart's crew had made three pairs gloves: small, medium, and large. The fighters were only going to use one powered glove, depending on which hand the fighter wanted electrified. Bart sat down in the fighter's preparation area. Everything was looking good and the first pair of fighters was set up and ready to go.

The evening started off simple enough. When the fighters went to the center of the room, the bell rang and they started sizing each other up, taking small jabs at one another.

Even though she normally only bet on Desmond, Nellie, carried away by the excitement, was busy taking wagers on the current match.

Earlier in the week, Desmond had shown all the fighters how the electric knuckles could knock a man down. He did it to himself only once in a staged fight. After that, he let the fighters check it out for themselves. Some elected to sample it with a fair number turns of the crank, while others wanted more, up to the full blast. All of them were impressed.

The first fight lasted all of three minutes. At first the fighters circled each other and threw a few fake jabs, always staying out of reach of the other's glove. Then, the shorter fighter landed a soft tap with the electric glove to the other man's jaw. Just to push him back a bit. The effect was fantastic to say the least. One moment the taller fighter was standing upright, and the next moment he was lying flat on his back eight feet away from the shorter fighter's outstretched arm. He just stood there, looking around for where the taller fighter had disappeared to. The crowd cheered wildly.

The next two fighters stepped up. That fight lasted less than a minute. Many of the onlookers never even saw it. Nellie didn't even have a chance to bet on it. Bart was not the least bit astounded. He thought everything was going smoothly.

The rest of the fights followed along the same lines, more or less. A couple of fights lasted a little over five minutes, but only because the fighters kept their powered glove in check. Then there was a break in the matches.

"Hi, Nellie. I see there's a good crowd tonight, how's the betting going?" Bart sat down next to her, he noticed she looked a bit flustered. There was nothing on the table because it was right next to the fighting area, and a couple of fighters had already knocked it over after being propelled out of the fighting area.

"These aren't fights, they're jousting matches. They got only a couple of shots, and then boom, out they go. There's no way to know which fighter is going to be left standing. Even Desmond got knocked clear off his feet."

"The fighters keep going back for another try with different opponents."

"Yeah, they're like children, they can't wait to get back into—Duck!" Nellie dove under the table while Bart hit the dirt floor as a fighter flew across the table top, hardly touching it on his way out of the fighting area. A cheer went up, followed by a burst of laughter.

Desmond came over and picked Bart up off the floor, dusting him off.

"We gotta talk, Bart. This is plain crazy," Desmond said.

Chuckling to herself, Nellie got up off the floor. "We need a corral to hold these people inside the fighting area."

"Sink four posts in the ground and string a couple of heavy ropes around them. That should do it," Bart suggested.

Desmond liked the sound of it. "Yeah, make a ring to fight in, that'll work for any fight."

"Hang the ropes on some heavy springs so they'll flex. You'll thank me later," Bart added.

"Cover the springs with padding cut from horse blankets. That'll make it safer." Nellie stopped laughing. "But you have to make the fights longer. We don't bet everything on one punch. We spread the bets out over the run of the fight. One punch bets, I'm lucky to break even. I need more chances to win."

"Nellie, get Jake to round up the posts and rope. Don't forget the blankets. He'll be only too happy to help out, especially since he's had a couple of barrels of cider knocked over tonight. One of them is leaking now." Desmond went over to confer with some railroad workers about pounding the posts into the ground.

"Okay folks, we'll be having one of those fancy intermissions for a short break. Nobody get lost now," Nellie yelled above the crowd, and then went over to tell Jake what they needed to do.

A small impromptu band started playing a few tunes. It was composed of some members from the local firefighters brass band who were on their way home from practice. They regularly attended the Wednesday night fights.

After an hour, the rope ring was set up with barrel seats and tables going all the way around it at Nellie's suggestion. Jake used salt barrels for table bases so they hopefully wouldn't tip over. Some of the barrels got a small blanket for a cushion.

Jake meandered his way around the ring over to where Desmond, Bart, and Nellie were sitting. "I expect we'll have to find a use for these posts in the daytime, or we'll be knocking into them for sure."

"Just pile something around 'em in the daytime. We're just trying to get the show back on the road." Nellie reminded Bart.

"The wagering you mean," Jake said with a grin. "Most I can do tonight is break even."

"It's no better than a lousy coin toss. I've actually lost money tonight. Best if you could fix that before we get back to fighting again, Bart." Nellie said, while they all looked at Bart.

"Give me a moment to think this through. Do you have to make multiple wagers on the same fight?"

Nellie smacked the back of Bart's head. "Of course we do, you knucklehead, that's how it works. Can you fix it or not?"

"Okay, okay. If I cut the belt capacity down, the fighters will have fewer power hits to deliver."

"Bart, I don't think you've noticed that we're only getting one hit in before we go flying off in to the crowd." Jake grinned at Bart. "That's what we need to fix."

Nellie poured everyone but Desmond a glass of hard cider.

Desmond sighed. "The way things are going I don't think that would hurt me tonight. Might even make the landing a bit softer."

"Okay, okay, I got an idea, an easy fix. We just don't crank the charging box up so much. Just give it half as many turns, like ten or so. That'll diminish the impact. You could take a few hits, and still be standing. But then the belt will only hold enough power for a few hits. The fighters might even need to use regular punches to end it."

"Bart, you think you could make it so the belt would hold more hits but at a reduced power level? We want a regular fight but with magnified punches." Nellie smiled, she was already counting the money.

"The whole point of it was to make it as powerful as possible, but I can work on it. I'll have to take it up with Doc," Bart said.

"Are we ready to get the show back on the road?" Jake inquired.

"You can serve food at the tables we put around the ring and charge extra money for people to get a front row seat. Also, put some tables up on the loading dock so people can look down on the ring." Nellie always knew how to wring money out of a crowd. "You already got a bar, so open a restaurant. It's money in the bank."

Bart charged the belts up with only three cranks, and then Desmond tried it out on himself. The shock hardly registered, Desmond shook his head. Bart tried twelve cranks. That whipped Desmond's head back, and set him back a few steps, but he was still standing.

"Hooray!" Nellie shrieked.

The fighting resumed with the matches lasting a couple rounds or more. The hard cider was flowing at the makeshift plank bar. The band played between fights, with a good burst of enthusiasm when a fighter got knocked out.

Nellie went over to the bar where Jake was selling crackers, jerky, nuts, and canned shrimp. He winked at her. She leaned over the bar and said, "You should hire those musicians. They sound good, and it gives this place some class."

"You always got good ideas."

"Don't I know it," Nellie blew him a kiss.

The last match ended in a regular fist fight, the belts having gone dry early on as two burly fighters slugged it out. After everyone left Jake closed up the store.

* * * *

The next day, Doc Smith and Desmond paid another visit to Bart's mansion. Bart met them at the door.

"We can talk out here on the porch," he said.

Once they were settled, Bart brought out some ice cold cider. On a table next to where they sat, an electric fan rattled like it was going to fly away at any moment.

Bart pointed towards the fan. "Notice anything different about it?"

"It sounds like it is going to shake itself to pieces," Doc remarked.

"I increased the power going to the fan by adding more batteries. Then it struck me; those belts will only hold so much power. For the knuckles, it's got two parts, a sting and a wallop. I had the belt set up for a small sting followed by a large wallop."

"Bart, there was no sting," Desmond said.

"You just couldn't feel it, that's all."

"So what are you going to do?" Doc asked.

"You can help me get the right shape charge so it will have a lot more sting and less of a wallop. That should make the fights last longer. I think we're still going to have a problem keeping the belt powered up for the whole fight."

Doc's eyebrows went up a notch. "You mean electricity is three dimensional?"

"Maybe even more than three dimensions. The glove gets weaker each time it's used, and the last couple of times, it's hardly worth using."

"That's not good." Desmond groaned.

"We don't want people flying out of the ring." Doc reminded Desmond.

"Let me show you some ideas I got." Bart went over to a cabinet and took out two electric knuckle setups. He handed one to Desmond.

Desmond hefted it a few times. "What's it made out of? You got a horse shoe in it?"

He handed the glove over to Doc.

"No, it's got a switch box in it. That way every shot has the same impact. You got six equal shots," Bart explained.

"You could make it real simple by just putting a bag of nickels in it." Doc suggested.

Desmond laughed. "And that cable going to the glove, it grew into a thick tail, which hardly bends now."

Bart wasn't amused. "What about this one?" He handed the second glove to Desmond. Bart didn't look particularly thrilled about it. Desmond grunted, noticing it was lighter weight, "What's wrong with it?"

"It doesn't last long. Each charge is noticeably less than the previous one."

"Can you fix it by Wednesday?" Desmond asked.

"I'm trying my best. Want some more cider?"

"Fill'em up."

"I got one more to show you." Bart unplugged the cord for the fan from a socket in the porch wall. He took another belt out of the cabinet and ran a cable from that to the empty wall socket. He hooked the second glove up to the new belt, strapped it on, and turned the knob. A loud buzzing sound filled the air. Desmond and Doc jumped out of their seats.

"Calm down, I'm not going to touch you." Bart moved over to the iron railing. He closed his hand into a fist, exposing the metal knuckles, which drew a spark when he touched the railing. He touched it again and again. Each time it drew a sizable spark.

"Don't look like it's shrinking to me." Desmond noted.

Doc nodded in agreement as Bart continued to spark the railing. He turned the knob on the belt, and the buzzing stopped.

"What do you think?" Bart asked.

"You're going to move the fights up here?" Doc asked.

"No way do I want the fights up here," Bart snorted.

"Looks to me like you got that belt connected to your house," Desmond observed.

Bart cut them off, "I'm workin' on it."

"Still gonna buzz like that?" Desmond asked.

"Yes, the buzz is how it works, there's no way to get rid of it. I'm still working on making it portable. Do you think people will mind the buzzing? I'm hoping no one will notice," Bart said.

"I don't know. Just make sure you bring over something that works. Nellie's got Jake doing all kinds of things to the loading docks. I think he's going to need to build another grain barn before she's satisfied. We're still walking into the posts we pounded into the grain room floor last week."

"That cold box you keep the cider in only works here?" Doc wistfully asked.

"For now."

"Too bad." Desmond was disappointed.

Desmond and Doc stood up to leave.

"I need you guys to stay, Desmond, you're the guinea pig to test what we make."

They sat down again.

"You might as well get some more cider." Desmond instructed Bart.

He brought out another jug of cider and a pile of parts he proceeded to hook up. "The problem we got here, we need to shape a charge of electricity so it goes through the skin without losing power, travels inside the arm, and up into the head, then it releases its power, giving the brain a good knock."

"Are you serious?" Doc sounded incredulous.

"If you can give me an idea of the layers of skin and muscles inside the arm, I can shape a charge that will traverse those obstacles with a minimum amount of power." Bart sounded serious.

From the experiences he had dissecting dead bodies, Doc explained in great detail to Bart and Desmond the interior structure of an arm, shoulders and neck.

Desmond was suspicious of the whole effort and didn't understand what they were talking about. "Say, what am I supposed to do?"

"You just need to stand there until the glove can knock you down without wasting any power." Bart hooked some coils, a buzzer box, and one of the glass blocks to the cable that was hooked up to the fan. He adjusted the buzzing by listening to it. "Okay, let's try it out. Desmond, stick your hand out."

Desmond stuck his hand out and was rewarded with a huge shock.

"That's not it." Doc pointed to a spot on Desmond's arm. "I could see his arm bunch up, but the charge didn't flow up his arm."

Bart made an adjustment to the buzzer. He tried it out on Desmond. This time, his arm shot away from the wire Bart was using as a probe.

"Too much the other way," Doc muttered.

Bart adjusted the buzzer again. He touched the probe to Desmond's hand. His arm hardly moved but his face grimaced like he'd just been hit over the head. A glazed looked momentarily shone in his eyes.

"Perfect! Works just like the strongman game at the carnival," Doc hollered. He shook Desmond's hand. "Congratulations, we did it!"

Bart looked very pleased with himself.

"I hope that's it." Desmond rubbed his face; it felt like he'd just been socked in the jaw. "That's a good parlor trick." Then he smiled. "We done now?"

"Yeah, that part's done. I just need to put batteries in some of the belt compartments, shrink the buzzer attachment and use better glass for the high voltage insulators. The cable and glove will stay the same."

"Still going make that horrible buzzing?" Desmond inquired.

"For now, it's going to be loud. That's what makes it work, it constantly interrupts the battery power so the coils will spark. I'll keep working on it. You guys can go now. See you on fight night."

* * * *

Fight night rolled around. Nellie had even more posters printed up this time and placed in towns across the countryside. There were three rows of tables and real chairs encircling the ring. The band was set up on the loading dock where the more expensive seats were and had doubled in size when word got out it was a paying job with free drinks. The band's enjoyment of the free entertainment made up for the fact that they didn't get free meals.

Anxiously waiting for Bart to arrive, Jake paced the floor and was about to send out a carriage to look for him when he came through the doorway.

"Bart, we're ready to go. Get the first set of fighters ready!" Jake exclaimed.

"Sorry we're late. We took my steamboat and got caught up in a race with another steamboat, but we're here now." Bart and his crew went over to the staging area where they unpacked the new electric knuckles. "Hey Desmond, you in the first bout?"

"Yes, I thought it would be a good idea to continue with my tradition of being an electric guinea pig."

"Okay, just step right up. You got two sets of knuckles now, one for each hand. You turn it on with the knob on the belt. The buzzing tells you it's working. Keep your guard up, it's got enough power for around thirty minutes, but each time after you use it you got to wait for it to charge up again before you can use it again. The buzzing will change, that's how you know it's ready to use again." Bart made some last minute checks on the belt and the knuckle gloves.

"How long before it's ready to go again?" Desmond asked.

"For full power, twenty to thirty seconds at first, but time will get longer as you use it. But you got to remember, you got two sets of knuckles now. They're not independent of each other. After you use one, you gotta wait before you can use the other one. Use them both at the same time, you got to wait twice as long to recharge the belt. I figure you got ten or twelve hits before the batteries go dead."

"Get Savage over here, he needs to hear this." Desmond waved to one of the attendants to bring his opponent, Harvey Savage, over so he could hear the instructions.

Nellie, Doc, and Jake were seated at one of the new ringside tables.

"Where'd you get the chairs? I like them." Nellie leaned back balancing the chair on two legs.

"They fell off the back of a wagon," Jake told her.

"You mean a wagon train. You probably got three, four dozen chairs in here," Doc remarked.

Jake was beaming. "Looks nice, doesn't it."

"Don't forget it was my idea." Nellie reminded everyone.

The two fighters got in the ring and knocked their gloves together. The opening bell rang. It was on a table on the other side of the ring.

Desmond and Harvey warily circled each other. They slapped each other's punches away, neither one of them wanting to get hit first.

The crowd mumbled a wave of displeasure. Some of the onlookers laughed at the fighters' awkward movements as they danced away from the electric gloves.

"Come on, hit'em!" someone yelled out.

"No one is betting since the fight started. And what's that buzzing!" Nellie seemed ready to stand up and tell Desmond to get on with it. She was irked.

"It has to buzz to work," Doc told her.

"I don't know which is worse, the buzzing or Desmond not hitting anyone." Nellie stood up and yelled, "Hey guys! Hit someone! We haven't got all night!"

Desmond and Harvey stopped for a moment, both laughed at Nellie, and then started wildly swinging at each other. The crowd stood up cheering and clapping, out came the wagers.

Desmond had gone to several practices at Bart's mansion; Harvey only showed up once, took a few hits and decided his cast iron jaw could easily handle the electric knuckles.

Desmond made a tight fist and touched Harvey's left forearm, which was totally unprotected, and immediately followed up with another soft jab to his right shoulder. His head jerked back each time. Harvey responded with a flurry of punches, all of which were deflected or only hit Desmond as a gloved hit with no shock value to it. Harvey kept up the attack, which eventually opened both their defenses. They scored heavily on unprotected parts of their bodies while both of them were also getting their heads dinged by the shocking knuckles.

A fog started to descend upon their minds, slowing them down but not weakening their resolve to keep fighting.

The bell rang, ending the first round.

The fighters climbed out of the ring and sat down at their respective tables.

Desmond waved frantically for Bart to join them, and sent a runner over to Harvey's table to tell him it was an intermission, not a short break. Nellie also sent a runner over to the band to tell them it was intermission time and to hold up on the drinking and eating, start playing some tunes.

"What's going on?" Jake asked Desmond, who was leaning back in one of the new ringside chairs.

"The new gloves don't work, it's more like an annoyance. Bart, come over here, we need to talk."

"How's the wagering going?" Bart diplomatically asked Nellie.

"No complaints yet, but the fight isn't going anywhere. You need to do something."

"You guys complain if people fly out of the ring on the first touch. Now you're complaining because no one's flying out of the ring?"

"The gloves cushion the blows too much. With the adrenalin flowing, those shocks are, well, only annoying. Puts you in a bit of a fog, but you can fight your way clear of it." Desmond waved across the ring to Harvey, who was eating a barbeque chicken dinner. He tipped a chicken leg to Desmond.

"What do you want me to do?" Bart was eyeing Harvey's chicken dinner and sent one of Nellie's runners over to the kitchen to get a large bowl of barbequed chicken and corn on the cob with a baked squash.

"Isn't it obvious? You need to put some fireworks into the match," Nellie told him. "You can do it while they're eating."

"Desmond, give me your belt, I'll take a look at it." Bart took the belt components apart to see what he could salvage.

The chicken and corn arrived at the table and Bart started working on a chicken leg.

"Can't think when you're hungry?" Jake kidded Bart.

He stopped chewing for a second, and a wicked grin momentarily flashed across his face. "I know what I'm going to do." He went back to chewing.

Desmond noticed a mischievous sparkle in Bart's eyes. "What?"

"Just wait till I'm done. Can't you put on some regular matches while I get the gloves ready?" He licked his fingers. "Delicious barbeque sauce."

"It's a special blend of tomatoes, spices, vinegars, apple cider and rum." Nellie grabbed another ear of corn.

After finishing the meal, Bart rewired the knuckles to put some fireworks into the fight. He sent a runner behind the ring area to get some spare belts for fresh batteries. When the belts were reassembled, he told Desmond he was ready for them to put the gloves back on.

"What's going to happen now? Am I going to make Desmond fly out of the ring?" Harvey flexed the glove into a fist and was instantly rewarded with a severe shock that didn't fully register until it got all the way up to his head. The surprised look on his face quickly turned to uproarious laughter.

"What's so funny?" Desmond demanded to know.

Harvey wore a serious look. "Ball your hand up in to a tight fist."

Bart held his breath.

Desmond made a tight fist. The next thing he saw was a flurry of stars. He would have jumped up in astonishment, but he didn't want to give Harvey the satisfaction.

"Okay for you?" Harvey was laughing.

Bart joined in the laughter.

Nellie looked mystified.

Desmond sighed. "We can't do this, you get shocked when you hit someone. But the shock is better hitting, I like the stars filling my vision, that'll work."

"Yeah, it shocks both of you."

Bart turned the belts off and made some more adjustments. "We could change the batteries between rounds, that should keep the hits up to full strength."

"So long as you turn off that shock you get when you hit the other guy we should be okay." Desmond said.

The fighters climbed into the ring with the new adjustments made to the buzzers. They turned the belts on.

Both fighters started to move around, the buzzing was considerably louder now.

Harvey started out with back hand swipes and hard slaps to Desmond's jaw, which he pushed aside. Desmond tried to hit the bottom of Harvey's jaw with the top of the glove. That left Desmond's jaw wide open. Harvey propelled his clenched fist straight towards Desmond's jaw and momentarily blinded him from the shock. Desmond ducked down and quickly backed away to escape Harvey's next blow, which was coming the long way around, and deflected it upwards. Desmond made a fist. Trying to hit Harvey in the side of his face, Desmond lost his footing when Harvey struck him again. He spun around as Harvey brought his open glove right up to Desmond's face; then, at the last moment, Harvey made a fist and jammed it into Desmond's face. Blinded again, Desmond was knocked to the floor, sliding to a stop over by Nellie.

"Keep it up, I'm making some good money now," she said. After a quick wink, she threw a glass of water in his face.

Desmond got up, dancing around on the balls of his feet. He was determined to follow Harvey's lead and not make a fist until the last moment. Desmond launched a couple of punches from his side up towards Harvey's head, but they missed as he was stepping quickly back and forth, hunching down and then leaning back, barely staying out of Desmond's reach. Catching hits on their bare arms slowed both of them down. They had to keep the gloves moving everywhere to protect any bare spots, instead of just keeping the blows away from their heads. Having to block every punch made it harder to fight. They were back to circling each other when the bell rang.

This time chairs were placed in opposite corners of the ring for the fighters to sit on. Nellie climbed into the ring alongside Desmond.

She washed the sweat off Desmond's face. "Keep it up, I got the banker and the judge thinking you're going down. I'm doing good, how about you?"

"I need a new strategy. I'm seeing too many stars. I don't even think Harvey is looking at where he is swinging his fists." Desmond said.

"Try going all out. It looks like you two pause at times. I guess that's when you can't see. Use one of the pauses for a one two knockout blow. Just swing in his direction. Think you can do that?"

"Times up," the bell ringer yelled.

"Okay, it's worth a try." Desmond stood up.

Everyone cleared out of the ring except for the fighters.

The bell rang. They started circling each other again. Using feints, they looked for each other's vulnerabilities, constantly ducking down and leaning back. Then they stood straight up, knocking each other hard with closed fists, knuckles on. Harvey was getting in hit after hit, blocking Desmond's vision with stars every time the electric knuckles delivered a shock. Desmond lowered his right hand and rammed it forward, closing it into a fist just as he was made contact with Harvey's stomach; the man instantly lurched backwards. As his head bent low, Desmond positioned his open left glove next to Harvey's jaw. Then Desmond brought his right closed glove around as hard as he could into the left side of Harvey's jaw, and at the same time closing the left hand glove still touching Harvey's jaw, delivering two shocks and a hard hit all at once.

Luckily it worked. Harvey went down, Desmond was barely standing. The crowd cheered. When it became apparent Harvey wasn't getting up, the band slammed down their drinks and picked up their instruments, playing a rousing tune.

Desmond flipped his gloves off, turned the belts off, and took Harvey's gloves off. Harvey was only just beginning to stir.

The ring filled with people, Desmond shook Harvey's hand, and they climbed out and sat down, exhausted.

"How did it work out?" Bart inquired.

"Well, if you crank it up some more, it would make a sure-fire weapon for self-defense if it wasn't for that almighty buzzing you can hear a mile away."

"Yeah, I'll have to work on that. Still, looks like you took a good beating," Bart said.

"Thanks a lot, Bart," Desmond said, "Sit down, join the party."

"You aren't getting too old for this, are you?" Nellie asked as she poured three mugs of hard cider. "Jake's thinking of enlarging the barn and making it into a tavern with the fight ring in the middle of it. I'm thinking that with Bart's inventions, we could put together a small group of trusted people and really go places."

"I'll drink to that, sounds easier than getting knocked around in the ring," Desmond said, lifting his drink.

"I'd like to hear more about this Bart guy." A tall stranger spoke, dressed in blue trousers and a gray jacket, with a blue leather cap partially covering his ears.

They put down their mugs and stared at the stranger.

"You got business around here? Don't reckon I seen you before," Desmond casually asked. He felt a surge of uneasiness that was radiating out of the strangers stare.

"I was looking for the people who started this knocked out fight business."

"What did you want to know?" Bart asked.

"I'd like to fight the man who wins every knocked out match. I understand he's got good reflexes when he's out cold."

"That would be me." Desmond said.

"Anytime would be good for me," the stranger replied.

"You got a name?" Bart asked.

"Draco."

"How about tomorrow night?" Desmond asked.

"See you then, have a good evening."

Back To Beginning

Chapter 3....Invisible Dragons

Early Thursday morning, Jake drove his steam powered wagon over to Desmond's mansion, waking up Desmond and Nellie in the process. It was a loud machine, Jake liked it that way. Desmond opened the front door and sat down on the porch where Jake joined him.

"I found out some things about our mysterious visitor," Jake said.

"Like what?"

"Just like you, he never loses a knocked out match, never. In fact, he gets the upper hand almost immediately. It could be a tough fight."

"I'm looking forward to it. For some reason I just don't like him."

"Draco is the only name he goes by. I have no idea if that's his first name or last name, nor how many people are in his family."

"Doesn't matter, I still don't like him."

"Why don't you try a regular fight, or even a couple of rounds with the electric gloves?"

"I don't think he'd go for it. He wants something, that much I could sense."

"I got to get back to my tavern to get it ready for tonight. Half the town already knows about the fight tonight, it won't take long for the rest of the county to hear about it."

"We'll see you tonight."

* * * *

There was a large crowd outside of Jake's Tavern when Desmond and Nellie arrived in Doc Smith's pickup buggy.

"Gonna be a really big show tonight. I moved the ring out back where there's a lot more room," Jake announced.

"Hope you saved us a good ringside table!" Nellie yelled out.

"Only the best for the best," Jake said.

"Are you drunk already?" Nellie asked.

"We're still celebrating Desmond's big win last night," Jake replied.

"Is Draco here?"

"He's already outback waiting for you. You better watch yourself, he never loses any kind of fight."

"You think he cheats?"

"Word has it he's that good, a real threat when he gets in close with or without a weapon."

"Thanks for the tip."

They went through the tavern and emerged outside where an even larger group of people were milling around the makeshift ring, eating, drinking, and talking up a storm. Draco was standing next to the ring with a small group of people clustered around him. Desmond could see Draco wasn't smiling. Not that it mattered.

"Ready any time you want to start," Draco called out.

Desmond could feel a tingling in his spine, like he was already coming out of the fog before ringing the bell that started the knocked out fight, and sometimes ended the fight before it even started.

* * * *

Draco and Desmond climbed through the ropes and took their seats. Neither fighter offered to shake hands. The little table with the bell mounted on it was in between the two chairs the fighters sat down in. The knock out drug was poured into two shot glasses and placed on the table by a burly man who had agreed to act as referee. No one else wanted to get anywhere near the two fighters. The air about them was bristling with invisible waves of uneasiness which kept the crowd back at a respectful distance.

"Care for some coffee first?" Desmond asked.

"We can skip it, if you don't mind," Draco replied.

"Okay with me."

Desmond watched Draco through squinted eyes. In the background of his eyes he could dimly make out some blurred shifting tubular shapes that were coming out of Draco's shoulders, ominously floating in the air. There were definitely two of them and he knew Draco knew he could sense them, if not see them. This wasn't going to be an easy fight. His advantage over normal fighters was gone, he wouldn't be surprised if Draco hit him before they even snorted the knock out drug from the shot glasses. Desmond had never seen his streamer that seemed to emerge out of his head and shoulders. He could sense it, and sense objects around his streamer, and he was fairly sure he only had one. Now he was sitting across from a man who had two of 'em, and could use them anytime he wanted to. A thought suddenly flashed in his head, Draco probably drank the stuff and was flying on it now, the snorting of the shot glass would be just a formality to start the fight. Maybe even end it. Desmond was calm but growing increasingly concerned. He had been through many situations chasing prize fighters' money where the only rule was there were no rules. He kept it as clean as he could, deflecting head butts, gouging's, back punching, and flailing elbows, never returning them but using them against the people who tried to claw their way to the prize. If he snorted the stuff lightly he would stay awake, but his invisible touch might not be revved up to full power. He had never consciously used his streamer except after emerging from the fog induced darkness of the knock out drug. He decided he would have to snort the stuff and try to stay alert once he went into the fog. Looking across at Draco, he saw a thin smile creasing his face.

The referee left the ring which signaled the start of the fight, he was going to stay well outside of the field of play. Both men picked up the shot glasses and inhaled deeply. The crowd quieted down. Torches cast eerie shadows over the ring which was still lit up by the natural daylight waiting to be extinguished by the coming twilight.

Nellie, Bart, Doc and Jake sat on the edge of their chairs. They had never seen Desmond so wound up before a fight. At first glance nothing seemed to be happening. Neither man rang the bell, but on closer inspection, both the fighters' heads and shoulders were jerking in small lurching movements. Nellie knew the fight had already started but was hesitant to start the wagering on Desmond, though she would never bet in favor of Draco.

"Fifty dollars the fight starts without the bell ringing!" Nellie called out.

"That's a lot of money!" Jake exclaimed.

"Take it or leave it."

"I'll take a piece of that," A man came over to the table, with more following him.

Desmond had been keenly aware of his surroundings when the fog enveloped him. He had been practicing sitting in the fog at home and even though he didn't appear to be conscious his senses were feeding the part of his mind that was still wide awake with everything it needed to keep a watchful eye over the area around his head. Bart had souped-up the coffee so that it lit up the inside of a person's head when they drank it. It was like drinking bitter flavored lightning. This allowed Desmond to get used to being aware of his surroundings even when he was unconscious, a trick he learned to do without the god awful tasting coffee. The horrible taste of it may have had something to do with mastering that trick. Draco seemed to be aware of that and had started pummeling Desmond's arms and legs with one of his streamers while the other one kept Desmond's single streamer occupied.

Inside of Desmond's head he had a complete view of the ring, the two fighters seated in it, and the space around it. Draco was a teeming mass of uncertainties. He could see Draco's two streamers swirling around his body and at the same time he could glimpse the man inside the body. Steady, unflinching, totally confident that he would be the victor. Digging further he began to catch an edge of doubt that was slowly overshadowing Draco's confidence in a quick defeat of Desmond who was successfully standing up, or rather sitting up to the pummeling he was receiving from Draco's streamers.

Both fighters suddenly jumped out of their chairs dancing out of each other's way as fists, arms and flailing streamers filled the space between them. At the same time their movements from the shoulders up where dancing to a different tune. Slower but more violent in nature, their heads and shoulders were shifting and weaving getting hit and ducking invisible blows all at the same time. The table was flung from the ring, landing out in an empty area, the bell clanging as it rolled away. Cheers erupted from the crowd. Nellie collected her winnings. Then the wagering started in earnest as people swarmed in surrounding Jake and Nellie's table.

"You have done this before?" Draco asked as he faked a sideways flying fist to the right side of Desmond's head while at the same time attempting to whip the left side with one of his streamers. He could swirl the two streamers around so the one coming out of the left shoulder could just as easily hit the left or right side of Desmond's body.

"Nothing like this, you're a first." Desmond grunted. He was using his single streamer as a battering ram, coming down as hard as he could wherever he could make contact with Draco's body. Draco was fending off most of the blows by dancing out of the way whenever Desmond got too close. Desmond found he could control his single streamer with more dexterity than Draco could operating both of his streamers together. Desmond's invisible reach extended farther from his body than Draco's reach did. The extra length allowed Desmond's streamer to act as both a shield and a fist to strike with at the same time.

The fight was settling down into a regular brawl with more misses than hits, though not for lack of trying. Trying to stay out of each other's streamer's reach the actual attempts to land a punch were yielding few concrete results. Plenty of close calls but no damaging hits.

Draco changed his strategy and started mixing his punches with well aimed kicks. Desmond generally ignored kicking opponents because the hits bounced off of his thick muscled body and he'd run across very few people who could launch a shoulder high kick with any power behind it. Draco brought his left knee up at the same time smacking Desmond in the side of the head with his right streamer. Trying to duck the streamer, Desmond's shoulder came into Draco's range and he soundly kick punched Desmond with his foot, knocking him back two steps. Directing both streamers at Desmond's head, with a fake uppercut followed by a quick kick to Desmond's right hip, Draco knocked him back two steps again. Desmond's head lurched forward, Draco punched him behind the ear but nothing happened due to Desmond's legendary thick skull.

Draco got in close and grappled with Desmond trying to swing him over his outstretched leg. Desmond flared his elbows out repeatedly loosening Draco's grip. Desmond's flying fist hit Draco's fist as he warded off another blow. Draco grabbed Desmond by the shoulders while Desmond grabbed Draco's leg and threw him down on the ring floor and tried to jump him but Draco kicked out with both feet and sent him flying backwards. Draco jumped up onto his feet and planted his fist on Desmond's jaw who lurched forward using the momentum to head butt a surprised Draco. Warily they circled each other, suddenly Draco grabbed Desmond and threw him to the ring floor. Desmond swung his legs around tripping up Draco, smacking him with his streamer as he fell to the floor. Draco kicked at Desmond to keep him away while they both got back on their feet. Using both arms and streamers Draco chopped down hard on Desmond's shoulders. Desmond punched a wide open Draco in the nose hard. Stung by the blow, Draco grabbed Desmond's right arm and flung him around, locking his left arm around Desmond's

Neck, punching his head with his right fist. Desmond repeatedly elbowed him as hard as he could, and tried to swat him with his streamer but kept missing him. Desmond finally flipped Draco over his head but Draco recovered instantly landing on his feet.

With his head reeling Desmond closed his eyes. To his amazement, in the darkness he could see everything through his streamer like it was a giant three dimensional eyeball. The entire streamer surface was absorbing all the images like a big retina pumping continually changing views into his mind. With his enhanced view he watched everything Draco was doing. He saw ripples of energy flow through Draco's body each time he prepared to strike Desmond. He easily dodged Draco's blows, but not yet accustomed to the three dimensional vison that included the space behind him, he tripped over one of the chairs that was still in the ring. Draco pounced on him punching and kicking his body. With his eyes closed, Desmond saw a section of the blackness start to change color, first shimmering, then blues, greens, and yellows quickly swirled around one small spot. A portal opened up in the swirling colors and out shot one of Draco's streamers. Desmond easily side stepped it and stomped on it where it hit the floor. Not watching the other streamer he suddenly felt it sharply slap the side of his head. Catching the reflections of movement on his streamer, he saw Draco getting ready to crush his jaw with an uppercut. He sharply punched Draco in the chest below his heart sharply knocking him off balance for a moment. He followed that up with a jab but Draco was ready and slapped his fist away. Another shimmering spot in the darkness alerted him to Draco's next move. He moved out of the way when the swirling colors opened up showing him the tip of Draco's streamer coming through. Draco kicked Desmond's left foot out from underneath him, sending him tumbling over a chair in the ring. A burst of anger released a pure emotional soliton wave that flew down his streamer which blew the chair into splinters as Desmond slammed it out of his way. Distracted by the sudden power of Desmond's streamer, Draco landed a glancing blow to the side of Desmond's head. Surprised, Desmond put up his arms to deflect another blow but at that moment the bell rang. Desmond opened his eyes, releasing his view through his streamer and walked over to corner of the ring where Nellie and Doc were waiting for him.

People rushed into the ring to clear out the rubbish from the broken chairs and table. The fight was sailing into uncharted waters. Knocked out fights normally didn't need more than one round. Draco leaned against the ropes, waving off the offer of a chair to sit on. His clothes were a bit ruffled and there was a small tear in the right shoulder of his jacket. Otherwise he looked ready to go another round.

"How're you holding out?" Nellie asked.

"I'm okay. But he's a tough fighter, I'll give him that," Desmond rubbed his jaw.

"There's so much action going on I'm rakin in piles of dough. No one ones what's going to happen next."

"Yeah, you can include me in that. Doc, this is really strange. Don't ask me how, but I can see with my eyes closed. Not the normal way, it's all rolled up on the outside of a tube that I can see from the inside of it. I can see all of it at once, behind me, on top of me, everywhere."

"Let me look at your eyes," Doc commanded him.

"I'm okay."

"Follow my finger with your eyes."

"Yeah, yeah, no problem, I see ya just fine."

"Your eyes look excellent, I don't see anything to worry about. You sure you know what you're seeing?"

"Yeah, it's better with my eyes closed but it don't work all the time. That could be a problem. Remember that thing I was telling you about that comes out of my shoulders and goes up above my head when I do the knocked out fights?"

"I remember feeling it, gave me the creeps."

"That's what I'm seeing through and I bet Draco is doing the same thing. He's got two streamers going."

"Who should we bet on?" Doc asked.

"Desmond of course!" Nellie exclaimed, punching Doc in the shoulder.

"Yeah right, I know I can take him."

"He looks like he wants to clean up the floor with you."

"I get the same feeling but it's not going to happen."

"Alright, I'll tell Jake it's just going to be a regular fight with no rules."

"I heard that," Jake said, "If you're ready, we can start the next round. Draco said he's ready to go."

* * * *

Draco grabbed Desmond's streamer with the streamer coming out of his left shoulder. He twisted his streamer around it as tight as he could. Startled, Desmond mentally charged up his streamer turning it into a physical weapon. He swung the long end of his streamer around in a wide arc crashing it into Draco's neck, jarring him back a step. Draco noticed this was the second time Desmond had solidified his streamer so that it could do some real damage, not just deliver a mind curdling slap. He desperately wanted to know how Desmond was doing this. Draco aligned his left streamer parallel to Desmond's streamer as it was retracting away from him, then he slammed it down against the full length of Desmond's streamer with all the strength he could muster. Upon contact the streamers instantaneously blew back from each other in a silent explosion leaving both fighters temporarily stunned.

Desmond was blinded, he had been using his internal vision instead of his eyes. The collision between the two streamers left his mind reeling amidst stars flying everywhere and images of things he was familiar with and yet not anything he had seen before. Carts and wagons that looked like giant birds were flying through the sky and huge roaring motors powering machines that dwarfed anything Bart had built. Buildings poured out clouds of steam and smoke that were riddled with lightning. He could see all the products that Jake sold in his store spurting out of the buildings creating massive fountains of mechanized rainbows composed of shovels, hammers, saws, nails, shovels, boxes, cookware, it was all up there in the sky rising up out of sight. He just stood there with a blank look on his face, unsure of what he was seeing.

After the mental blast that rocked Draco down to the marrow in his bones, he backed off just in case Desmond came to life but he wasn't moving. He had two choices, try to knock Desmond down or take a really good look at the fireworks display exploding in his head. Draco knew he was looking at a future that was within his grasp. He was memorizing every direction and angle his vision flew in even as it was careening through crazy angles, at times circling back around from spaces he had already seen but from a different perspective. He could see great ships and trains flying through the skies and huge ships without sails gliding underwater. Massive streams of money mixed with lightning bolts were flowing everywhere. Pyramids of common and luxurious goods filled up the background landscape. He'd never seen anything like it before. His whole field of vision was a convoluted series of scenes that all spelled power in all its many forms. Since he had never visualized anything like what he was seeing now he immediately thought this must be coming from his opponent's mind. He'd had no clue the man cut such a powerful path, even as a dreamer he was decades ahead of the world. With all the experiences he had shared with masters of the mind from all around the world, he had never seen a more powerful display of mental energy. His view of the world expanded to the point where he knew that what was seen in the heavens was also here on Earth. Everything was attached to a matrix with hidden connections that folded back on themselves coming back out in plain sight. He saw how everything was connected to everything else, running cycles from creation to destruction over and over again. Every action had an equal but opposite reaction. The sky lit up inside his head filled with words that he memorized, some he knew some he didn't. But it was all gold to him, maybe not today, but sometime in the future it would make him rich.

Desmond opened his eyes and saw Draco standing a only few feet back from him, looking as dazed as Desmond felt. This was the beginning of the knocked out fight that hadn't happened yet. He leapt forward into the air and landed a hard right fist to Draco's jaw. Instantly crumbling, Draco staggered back two steps but stayed on his feet and brought both his outstretched arms down as hard as he could in front of him. His streamers followed the movement of his arms in the open space between him and Desmond landing squarely on Desmond's shoulders. Desmond fell to his knees. Draco raised his arms above his head and clasped his hands together and brought his outstretched arms down again with the streamers twisted together following his arm movements, this time aiming for the top of Desmond's head. Just as he was about to split Desmond's mind open, his arms and streamers struck a phenomenally solid object just above Desmond's head, who had roared up off his knees at the last second.

All the audience could see were two people viciously flailing at each other, taking hits, mostly without visibly hitting each other. The audacity of the blows was so plainly evident that the crowd thought the fighters were moving so fast they couldn't see the blows landing. Everyone was standing up. Nellie and Jake were taking wagers faster than they could count. Bart remarked it was a most incredible fight he had ever seen. Doc was scratching his head in disbelief.

Desmond had seen what Draco was up to and had brought his streamer up like a shield to completely absorb the blow from Draco all along the length of the streamer. He mentally pumped everything he could think of into it to try to get it to solidify so it was more than just an imaginary extension of his body.

When the streamers collided both men were thrown off their feet landing on their backs. The crowd fell silent. They lay silent, not moving for a minute.

Nellie was collecting the no winner declared this time around wagers she had made when she couldn't tell who was going to remain standing. The fighters climbed out of the ring and sat down at ringside tables. Draco had collected a large following who wanted a close up inspection to make sure their bets were still safe. He was completely unruffled and most hospitable to their questions about his fitness. He declined any offers of refreshments.

"Well, you think you're going to win the fight anytime soon?" Nellie asked.

"This nut's hard to crack. I wouldn't be surprised if it ends in a draw. You losing money?" Desmond asked.

"I can take care of the money, we're doing fine, well I am. I don't know how you're feeling, at times he does seem to get the better of you."

"More like he gets a piece of me."

"Just do the best you can."

"Yes, mam."

Draco came over and sat down at their table. "I have to ask, who is your teacher?"

"Well, I had this teacher named Miss Crabtree back at the old school house."

"I don't think you get me, I mean who taught you how to control your mind. I spent many years traveling the world, seeing the finest masters, but I seem to be coming up short against you."

"He does that naturally," Nellie sighed.

"I got to congratulate you. Would you care to go another round, there's so much more I'd like to see." Draco said.

"It'd be a pleasure, not sure what you're seeing though."

They climbed back into the ring. Nellie was instantly surrounded by clamoring betters. The fighters faced off in the ring, and the third round started with the clang of a bell Jake had retrieved from the ring inside the tavern.

They started with a couple of simple practice swings, then a few feints but nowhere near their bodies. Draco broke the ice by a hard swing at Desmond's right shoulder followed by slamming his right fist straight into Desmond's chest. Desmond responded with a sharp right to the side of Draco's head.

"You really think you can beat me with your fists?" Draco asked.

"Not today, but it's good exercise."

"Let's see what I can do." Draco twisted his streamers together and brought them around like a sword trying to knock Desmond over.

Desmond leaned into the attack and closed his eyes switching to his streamer vision. He was getting better at seeing things from a three hundred sixty degree view that included views above and below his line of sight. Marveling at the enhanced view he was caught unawares by Draco who body slammed him into the floor of the ring. Desmond used the momentum of his nervous system, muscles and his streamer to instantly roll over and jump back up on his feet. He punched Draco in the jaw who only shook it off, responding with a kick to Desmond's thigh followed by a blow to each side of Desmond's head using his dual streamers. Desmond punched Draco in the nose but the blow slid across the face. Desmond pushed his mind to the limit trying to get his streamer to solidify but it never solidified on demand, only at unexpected times when he was under a lot of pressure from Draco's hard hitting blows.

Draco was busy pounding Desmond's body in the hopes that it would solidify the streamer so he could get more visions off of it. He couldn't believe that anyone could have the natural ability to control his mind and body the way Desmond did. He had spent years learning from the greatest masters around the world. He could exert the strength of his mind and body through invisible arms that came out of his shoulders.

And here was this country boy who apparently had no control over his mind, no training of any kind, but could marshal his mental energy out through his shoulders in a single stream that flowed above his head like a blow torch. Desmond could even solidify it at times, giving it a real physical presence. Draco's streamers could only exert a burning sensation, creating pain and feelings of intense dread and anguish.

When Draco slammed his streamers as hard as he could up against the length of Desmond's solidified streamer it was like seeing tens of thousands of pictures of everything imaginable from the past, present and future, clear as day. He had to get as much knowledge as he could out of this engagement. He knew every little piece of the future he could grasp was worth countless fortunes. But how to do it was the question. Just before Desmond's streamer hardened he could sense that every particle in Desmond's upper body was perfectly aligned, every bit pointing in the same direction. He had no idea what direction that was. And how was Desmond seeing his every move with his eyes closed in the middle of a no holds barred knockdown fight.

Draco was determined to get answers to his questions. He swung high at Desmond's head, then a low blow to his stomach. Turning quickly Desmond elbowed Draco then quickly slammed his streamer down on Draco's head. Turning again he punched Draco's chin head on. Draco slammed his knee into Desmond's head as it dipped low to avoid a wild swinging fist coming out of nowhere. He could see Desmond's streamer starting to glow multi colors from the inside out from thin colored chords that ran the length of it. He continued to pound Desmond with every ounce of power he could dig up. Desmond's streamer was getting brighter and the colored chords were starting to merge into a single tightly wound bundle. The moment Desmond raised his hardened streamer upright to strike Draco slammed his streamers together as hard as he could sandwiching Desmond's streamer between them.

The explosion of thoughts was far more than Draco could ever have hoped for. Everything in Desmond's mind was flowing all over his mind and body. Draco strained to keep all three streamers wedged together. Blinded by the rush of images Desmond was hitting and kicking Draco's body but Draco couldn't feel any of the blows. The knowledge of the future was unfolding before him clearer than ever before and it was being imprinted all over his mind. People feeding the Earth into massive machines that churned out everything anyone would ever need. He could see trails of power and money leading everywhere and a planet over run with people who were eating everything they could get their hands on. Burning up the planet to use every bit of power there was. The planet even glowed at night like the Moon. He saw all that and more. He squeezed even harder to get every last bit of vision that Desmond could show him. Desmond picked Draco up and was whirling him around over his head like a rag doll. Draco saw the alignment in Desmond's streamer, every single piece of it all swirling in the same direction. He copied the flow of energy in Desmond's streamer's motion into his own body. Every piece of his body started spinning as he grabbed the signal never noticing that only Desmond's streamer was aligned that way with glowing waves pulsating at right angles up and down Desmond's spine.

One moment Draco was watching the entire world from his within his mind, the next instant he was flying through space or space was flying through him at a thousand miles an hour. He could see the land whipping by underneath him, the clouds flying past him over head. Either he was flying or he was just floating in space and the world was roaring by beneath his body. He thought he could fly and his whole being instantly felt like it had been shot out of a cannon. He didn't know where he was anymore. He couldn't tell if he was breathing, but he had no idea how to breathe in this state of mind. Maybe it wasn't even needed. As soon as he thought he had no idea how to do anything the world stopped flying by. He slammed into a huge bed of mud which materialized into a swamp. The pain was excruciating. It felt like his guts had been left back in the ring wherever that was. The inside of his body was dried out and on fire. He was naked, shivering and exhausted. The surroundings didn't look familiar. While he lay in the warm mud, he realized that the world was a much bigger place than he ever possibly imagine. He also didn't ever want to do that again, to be totally out of control. He got up and headed off to find some clothes.

Desmond was standing in the ring alone. Draco's clothes were there but Draco wasn't. The clothes were in a crumpled pile, soaking wet and oozing different colored slimes. The crowd was cheering, whistling, yelling, stomping their feet. He looked over at Nellie, and saw the shocked look on her face. He walked over to her.

"What happened?" Desmond asked.

"I was going to ask you the same thing."

"One moment I was twirling him around over my head, the next moment he was gone."

"If you threw him out of the ring, he must have landed miles away."

"How did the wagers end up?"

"People think you threw him so far out of the ring he's never coming back."

"I saw some pretty strange sights during the fight, so anything is possible."

"Hey Desmond, what you doing tomorrow?" Doc asked.

"I thought we would talk to Bart and learn some more about this stuff called electricity. I think I got a few ideas for things we could make besides fans and electric knuckles."

"What about the ice cold cider?"

"That's a keeper. What do you think about flying?"

"I don't know, never tried it before."

"I think you'll like it."

Back To Beginning

Chapter 4....200 Years Later: Asteroid Fever

An introduction to full length novel set in the Near Future where the power of the ancient gods are back in full force, walking the land with impunity. Release date Spring 2018

In a world where the glaciers have all melted

And the dirt poisoned by rogue bacteria

A poorly kept secret plan put into motion

By ruling parties of the Pleaides Star System

To safely clean the biosphere with asteroid dust

For the proxy alien test subjects trying to leave Earth

The mining companies poaching the alien ships

And Prezz's dreams of conquering Free Space

Plus all the others too busy gaming the system

This time nothing works out as planned

These are the final events that lead to the early termination of the Pleiades cure implemented to correct Earth's corrupted biosphere. There is no one in the driver's seat. We are all traveling across a big rock face set on auto pilot that naturally pollutes itself with oxygen and life nourishing dirt. Our genetic foundation is shaped by the food we produce, the holes we dig, the shelters we build, and the trinkets we trade with each other. Everything done to the planet the planet returns back a hundred fold.

From the underground depths of the CrossRoads SpacePort, past orbiting Elevator City, to the mining zones around Mars, Asteroid Fever tells the misadventures of several groups trying to game the system to get ahead of everyone else in a world where people eat heavily medicated artificial food loaded with nanobots or drink Sips, a synthetic insect blood harboring Martian microbes, to keep their bodies intact in a world of poisoned dirt. The insects are running rampart and have become a major source of food. Three week storms routinely flood the lands. Food is grown from genetically modified weeds that supply all five food groups including junk food.

The cure is a free asteroid dust fumigation service provided by the Pleiades Star Group which is hijacked by the alien test subjects printed from clean human genes that have not been genetically modified by the garbage in Earth's biosphere. For all the right reasons the native humans have plundered the Pleiades fleet's valuable cargo of asteroid dust to enable humans to successfully adapt once again to the never ending circumstances running global change.

Greenie, an alien test subject with big ambitions and a noted Sips industrialist, has hacked into the guidance systems of the alien fleet of ships that are collecting the asteroid dust. Draco, who considers himself to be king of the Sippers, and Prezz Gredloy are plotting to undermine Greenie's efforts to find a way for her fellow test subjects to escape Earth, a giant mud hole she considers to be stuck in the middle of nowhere.

Prezz Gredloy, president of the Artificial Currents Corporation, is overseeing operations of the Remaining Eastern States and is finalizing plans to take over Free Space. His first stop is fabulous Elevator City, the orbiting corporate hub where the space elevators move vast quantities of consumer goods and raw materials at a snail's pace between Earth and Free Space.

Axel works at the Dreaming News Company, and is hard at work trying to get rid of the static that has suddenly appeared in the dreams they sell. Cleo, a manager at Upper CrossRoads, the local spaceport, has designed a decentralized power system for Free Space that is her ticket to an early retirement. The Dreaming News creates a news story that launches an exodus to Free Space headed up by people living in the caverns of Lower CrossRoads under the spaceport and the Artificial Currents Corporation's government employees.

Cycle and his friend Lector, are hard at work on the Moon, with the help of some mechanical leprechauns, they seek revenge for their friend's deaths and find a large pot of gold at the end of a celestial rainbow.

Due to a twist in fate, Jersey, a Free Space Miner, trades in an imaginary toothache for an eyeful and a million dollar implant, and is inducted into the wonderful world of executive mining management. At the mining station, Jersey runs into a pet assassin and fends off attacks from multiple directions and upgrades his foot to Grade A weapons status.

The aliens lay their cards on the table, the humans continue eating pizza, while they all wait for Cleo to return from DogLand with her shiny new implant. Horaces, the machine consortium that manages the united networks infrastructure announces big plans for the future. Sootlaw joins the mutiny, Cleo loses her cool, and Greenie's hospitality is put to the test at her New Mars headquarters where her frementators can't handle the stress of the party crashing Streamers. A visit to Greenie's Farm in the countryside results in more mayhem and destruction. With Greenie's plans of ultras fast space travel grounded out on Earth, the big showdown moves to Elevator City and the usual suspects where it's always business as usual.

Excerpt from Asteroid Fever:

Millions of miles from Earth

Standing on the edge of a fuel station

Filling it up with regular

Stars shinning brightly in your face

Alien Craft Vandalized in Free Space

Horaces clues Cleo in about the story behind the alien invaders story and requests her help.

Cleo was sitting at her desk when her personal screen came alive. She couldn't believe what it was showing. Apparently the miners were battling alien spaceships and there were casualties. The National Space Navy had been called up and was transferring to Free Space.

What the heck was going on? There was no National Space Navy. But it was the Dreaming News show, how real could it be? Impatient for an answer to this madness, she yelled out, "Horaces! Can you hear me?"

"Right here. See you got the news."

"Is it real?" She went into the bathroom and stuck her head under the faucet, blasting a thick mist on her face. Watching the water flow out the drain, into the recycler and coming back out through the faucet again, a thought occurred to her. The water always comes back; maybe the missing ruby glass would come back as well.

"What do you want to do?" Horaces asked.

"I don't know. Nothin's going right." Cleo looked through more newsfeeds. Ironically Yawrack's Dreaming News had the most informative stories. "Horacess, how much of Yawrack's stuff is true?"

"Confirming information from the asteroid patches is difficult to verify. We do know this story originated from a sight shifter's vision here on Earth, in a piece of mag ore asteroid, and then the story was sensationalized."

"Prezz is leading the charge of the shipless National Space Navy to Free Space?"

"Yes, that's true. We'll connect your wand to some of our connections for a better view of the facts."

"Thanks, and hook those feeds up to Geo and Hector."

Her wand buzzed. "You watchin' the show?" It was Hector.

"Yeah, doesn't make much sense," Cleo answered.

"I'm with Geo; we're at the Grotto. Come on over. Do you know how much of this is true?"

"Ahhhh, I don't know. Prezz is commanding an imaginary space navy in Free Space, some other things are happening. Get Sight Shifter and Hatracker over there too. See you soon." Cleo cut the call.

"Horaces, what do know about this mining disaster? Any ideas on how it's going to turn out?"

"We can predict the probability of how a situation will turn out based on previous experiences," Horaces sounded like an advertisement for a clueless investment firm.

"Exactly what do you consider a previous experience to be?"

"Put simply, we watch, replay, and review everything we record, time after time. We see it all, and then we factor in every factor, conceivable or not, including the weather. Earth is a most unpredictable stage and can affect everything in new and unexpected ways. But eventually the path returns to events we have previously seen and then predictability becomes reality again. For however long it lasts."

"Geo told me about a slogan he heard in Lower CrossRoads. What was true yesterday doesn't have to be true today."

"The predictability rates have been steadily falling, it seems to be a true statement."

Resetting her wand to display six screens showed Cleo all the private video feeds Horaces had provided her with. "Can you tell me the rest of the story?"

"There are aliens and space miners throwing monkey wrenches into the works. All of which you know nothing about."

"How do you know about monkey wrenches?"

"We analyze everything you do, whether it's printed, spoken, actions, or reactions. You name it, and we've seen it," Horaces didn't sound impressed.

"Why are you telling me this?" Cleo stared at her buzzing wand. A message from Geo.

"Keep moving, Cleo. Put your boots on. You don't want to be late for your meeting with Geo and Hector."

"How many machines am I talking to right now?" Cleo asked.

"You are talking to me on one level, but at the same time, this is the focal point of many others," Horaces said.

"But how many others are listening?"

"Only me, Cleo, I am personally handling the situation."

"What situation is that?" Cleo continued walking around in bare feet.

"I hope you might be able to help me accomplish some things we need to do," Horaces answered.

"Having problems with your helpers?"

"No, just your planet. All kinds of people and other machines that don't belong to us, or you. They work out of another star system, Pleiades star cluster, which is far from here. The ships are sent out to clean up planets with badly infected biospheres without damaging the original ecosystem."

"How do they know it's dirty?"

"The planet's aura changes."

"Really?" Cleo was surprised.

"No, they have instruments to detect those sort of things," Horaces said in a neutral voice.

"Try putting some emotion into it next time. You could be pretty funny. Maybe even tell a few jokes. And what do these aliens do?"

"The alien ships collect material that is not found on the planet, and the easiest place to find this material is in the asteroid patches. Then the planet is dusted with pulverized asteroids, meteoroids and all the dust that has been collected. It has the impact of a tremendous asteroid strike without the physical damage. After the revitalization is completed, the ships leave and go on to the next planetary system that needs healing."

"What's all this nonsense on the Dreaming News channels?"

"The Apollos Mining Company has been plundering the alien ships and selling the rare dust for huge profits. Now Prezz Gredloy has made it public and shifted the blame to the ones being attacked."

"And now the alien ships are fighting back!" Cleo's fist smacked her palm.

"You're jumping to conclusions. Did you think your first contact with alien forces would be with flesh and blood? You meet their machines first, their remote sensors. The living bodies they present are just proxies, clever imitations of you. We think the probability is high that these machines are listening to a very old instruction set, and they probably have not been in direct contact with their builders for a long time."

"Who are these alien proxies?"

"People who look, and unfortunately, act just like you," Horaces sounded disappointed.

"Are the alien ships armed?"

"No, they're not armed. That's to prevent advanced weapon technology from falling into the wrong hands."

"Who told you this?" Cleo asked.

"I have my contacts."

"Are there any alien space monsters?" Cleo's heart was galloping.

"There are no alien monsters. Only ten percenters mucking the world up like usual. Put your boots on, Cleo."

"Anyone else know the real story?"

"Right now everyone in the world knows a piece of the story, but very few can see the big picture. Real news hasn't been a serious issue on this planet for a long time. Didn't you ever wonder why it's called the Dreaming News Company?"

"And what are you guys doing about it?" Cleo reached under the table to get her boots.

"Not much, but we got plans. We were relieved that the first contact was by machine. That eliminated some potentially serious problems. Let's just say the first public interactions between people and aliens could have been better. Since we are only dealing with machines, what's happened can be called a simple act of vandalism."

"Vandalism?" Cleo whistled, remembering her youthful exploits.

"Multiple counts, don't worry about it."

"And you need my help?"

"Yes." Horaces paused a moment, "What do you say?"

"Who else is in on this? And why wasn't this reported sooner?" Cleo doubted she would get a straight answer.

"It was kept secret because of phenomenal fortunes being made plundering the alien ships' collections of asteroid dust. But now Prezz Gredloy is using it to make it look like he is the savior of Free Space."

"Are we supposed to be fighting anyone?"

Horaces mimicked a mechanical laugh. "You fight who you people always fight—yourself."

Back To Beginning
