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MrMojok
10-18-2007, 01:39 AM
In case my subject title didn't make it clear, this is an OFF-TOPIC THREAD.

This is the first chapter, a sneak peek, of a novel I have been writing. I hope you all will enjoy it.


CHAPTER ONE


The Earth lay in ruins. All across it, civilized civilization had been laid to waste. The sum total of human knowledge, from rubbing two sticks together to make fire, to splitting the atom, had been rendered useless, as the alien horde decimated all human ability and talents. Yet, even as the best of humanity lay prostate under the advancing alien horde invasion, the best minds from the best country conspired to strike back from beneath a mountain in Colorado......



Archer grimaced as the anal probe searched his nether regions. He had never grown used to this, not through his ten years in the Boy Scouts, nor from his physical screening prior to entrance into the US Armed Forces, and he swore he would never get used to it, no matter what happened. With a sickening THLAP sound, the probot withdrew its tendrils and its x-ray eyes and its atomic-prober.
"First time for you?" asked the Marine security guard.
"Hardly," replied Archer coolly as he pulled up his trousers and retrieved his shoes. "But it always seems weird, doesn't it?"
"Not to me" the guard replied. "In fact, I have come to enjoy it. About five years ago we had this guy who..."
"ARCHER!" boomed a voice that echoed. Archer knew that voice. It was the voice of a man who if you ever saw him, you were probably dead. But not in his case. This was the voice of a man who had recruited him into the Green Berets in 1966, and this voice had carried him through the worst of times, ever since then. This voice had given him solace, when his entire SOG team was annihilated in Laos, and this voice had gotten him through the hard times in the early 1970s when nobody gave a **** about the Army, and this voice had bailed him out of jail after his DUIs in 1981, 1983, 1992, and 1995.
"ARCHER!!" boomed the voice again.
"Yes Sir!" Archer boomed in reply, though not quite as impressively.
A figure loomed large in Archer's view, backlit and obscured by dramatic smoke that gave him a most impressive silhouette.
"Why in the **** has it taken you a week to get here?!?!"
"Sir, most of the Earth's transportation systems, along with most of its nations, and inhabitants, has been destroyed."
"Always the ****ing comedian, Archer. When I say jump, people JUMP!!!!"
"Indeed, Sir. However, the fact that most of Colorado is a smoking ruin, replete with radioactive waste, smoking corpses, mutated biker gangs, and zombies can cause problems, even to the most determined of individuals. I got here as soon as I could."
Colonel Brickhouse rubbed his fingers over his stubbled chin, as he was wont to do often. "Well, I'm glad you made it. We need some help here. Some serious help," and at this, his fingers dropped down to caress the pearl-handled Colt .45 pistol he had always worn at his waist, at Kon Tum in 1966 when the raving **** hordes had threatened to overrun their positions with human-wave attacks, even when the ****ers had not been dissuaded by air support dropping napalm directly on their defensive positions, even when...
"Sir? Shall we proceed?" asked Archer.
"Indeed. Indeed we shall," and Brickhouse lead Archer to the elevator.
Their trip down was a long way down, down through eons of rock formation, hewn by American technology and ingenuity. Or was it up? Archer had been here twice before, but he was never sure.
When the elevator opened, Archer was greeted with a most unusual sight: a geek of unbelievably poindexterish proportions; the Commander-in-Chief of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; and the President of the United States. The geek was like a cartoon-caricature of a computer nerd, or perhaps of a scientist. He was maybe thirty-five years of age; his hair drooped down to his shoulders, and looked as if it had not been combed in ten years; he wore glasses taped together at the bridge with what looked like athletic tape; in his upper-left pocket was a scientific calculator; in his upper-right was a ruler; and protruding from the lower-left pocket of his white yet stained scientist-coat was a book that Archer immediately recognized to be a copy of Karl Marx's Manifesto.
The President looked simply Presidential. "I'll be brief," said the President. "Given that the alien invaders have wiped out about 90% of the population of the Earth, we don't have a lot of recourses here. We have been beaten."
"Except for one thing," said the Nerd. And he followed this up with that annoying kind of a-heh-heh-heh' laugh, you know, like when somebody thinks they're clever?
"And who might you be?" asked Archer, not at all comfortable with the presence of this Uber-Nerd in what was supposed to be the most hallowed and secure of remaining places for the best and brightest people on Earth.
"This is Doctor Cumquat," replied Colonel Brickhouse. "He was the one who perfected the thrust-vectoring technology used by the F22 fighter, the computerized algorithm used to screen citizen's e-mails and phone calls, and also the antigrav-hover technology and smart-missile destructotron targeting system intended for use with our next generation of aircraft. Oh, I see that look on your face, Archer... and I know what you're thinking. You think, if we would have been a bit quicker with the antigrav we wouldn't have been swatted down like a colony of ants. But let me tell you, the stuff they have is light-years beyond anything we ever conceived of... no pun intended."
By this time, they had emerged from the long tunnel I didn't tell you they were walking down before, and they saw various large-screen displays, various small-screen displays, and something that looked like a huge tank like you'd see at Seaworld, only about one million times bigger.
Doctor Cumquat gestured towards the five-foot-thick glass: "I'm sure this will come as a shock to you, Captain Archer, but for years we have held back one resource, for just this sort of eventuality. No, do come closer. Come and look through the glass. I can assure you, it is perfectly harmless. At least at the moment, because it is in a state of suspended animation. Although, it won't be that way for long. Heh heh heh,"
Archer's feet felt like they were anchored in molten molasses; he could neither lift them nor step down further. His heart beat uncontrollably and his palms sweated as he gazed at the skyscraper-sized reptilian head, the car-sized green eye.
"Yes..." said the President of the United States, "I give you... Godzilla."

MrMojok
10-18-2007, 01:39 AM
In case my subject title didn't make it clear, this is an OFF-TOPIC THREAD.

This is the first chapter, a sneak peek, of a novel I have been writing. I hope you all will enjoy it.


CHAPTER ONE


The Earth lay in ruins. All across it, civilized civilization had been laid to waste. The sum total of human knowledge, from rubbing two sticks together to make fire, to splitting the atom, had been rendered useless, as the alien horde decimated all human ability and talents. Yet, even as the best of humanity lay prostate under the advancing alien horde invasion, the best minds from the best country conspired to strike back from beneath a mountain in Colorado......



Archer grimaced as the anal probe searched his nether regions. He had never grown used to this, not through his ten years in the Boy Scouts, nor from his physical screening prior to entrance into the US Armed Forces, and he swore he would never get used to it, no matter what happened. With a sickening THLAP sound, the probot withdrew its tendrils and its x-ray eyes and its atomic-prober.
"First time for you?" asked the Marine security guard.
"Hardly," replied Archer coolly as he pulled up his trousers and retrieved his shoes. "But it always seems weird, doesn't it?"
"Not to me" the guard replied. "In fact, I have come to enjoy it. About five years ago we had this guy who..."
"ARCHER!" boomed a voice that echoed. Archer knew that voice. It was the voice of a man who if you ever saw him, you were probably dead. But not in his case. This was the voice of a man who had recruited him into the Green Berets in 1966, and this voice had carried him through the worst of times, ever since then. This voice had given him solace, when his entire SOG team was annihilated in Laos, and this voice had gotten him through the hard times in the early 1970s when nobody gave a **** about the Army, and this voice had bailed him out of jail after his DUIs in 1981, 1983, 1992, and 1995.
"ARCHER!!" boomed the voice again.
"Yes Sir!" Archer boomed in reply, though not quite as impressively.
A figure loomed large in Archer's view, backlit and obscured by dramatic smoke that gave him a most impressive silhouette.
"Why in the **** has it taken you a week to get here?!?!"
"Sir, most of the Earth's transportation systems, along with most of its nations, and inhabitants, has been destroyed."
"Always the ****ing comedian, Archer. When I say jump, people JUMP!!!!"
"Indeed, Sir. However, the fact that most of Colorado is a smoking ruin, replete with radioactive waste, smoking corpses, mutated biker gangs, and zombies can cause problems, even to the most determined of individuals. I got here as soon as I could."
Colonel Brickhouse rubbed his fingers over his stubbled chin, as he was wont to do often. "Well, I'm glad you made it. We need some help here. Some serious help," and at this, his fingers dropped down to caress the pearl-handled Colt .45 pistol he had always worn at his waist, at Kon Tum in 1966 when the raving **** hordes had threatened to overrun their positions with human-wave attacks, even when the ****ers had not been dissuaded by air support dropping napalm directly on their defensive positions, even when...
"Sir? Shall we proceed?" asked Archer.
"Indeed. Indeed we shall," and Brickhouse lead Archer to the elevator.
Their trip down was a long way down, down through eons of rock formation, hewn by American technology and ingenuity. Or was it up? Archer had been here twice before, but he was never sure.
When the elevator opened, Archer was greeted with a most unusual sight: a geek of unbelievably poindexterish proportions; the Commander-in-Chief of the Joint Chiefs of Staff; and the President of the United States. The geek was like a cartoon-caricature of a computer nerd, or perhaps of a scientist. He was maybe thirty-five years of age; his hair drooped down to his shoulders, and looked as if it had not been combed in ten years; he wore glasses taped together at the bridge with what looked like athletic tape; in his upper-left pocket was a scientific calculator; in his upper-right was a ruler; and protruding from the lower-left pocket of his white yet stained scientist-coat was a book that Archer immediately recognized to be a copy of Karl Marx's Manifesto.
The President looked simply Presidential. "I'll be brief," said the President. "Given that the alien invaders have wiped out about 90% of the population of the Earth, we don't have a lot of recourses here. We have been beaten."
"Except for one thing," said the Nerd. And he followed this up with that annoying kind of a-heh-heh-heh' laugh, you know, like when somebody thinks they're clever?
"And who might you be?" asked Archer, not at all comfortable with the presence of this Uber-Nerd in what was supposed to be the most hallowed and secure of remaining places for the best and brightest people on Earth.
"This is Doctor Cumquat," replied Colonel Brickhouse. "He was the one who perfected the thrust-vectoring technology used by the F22 fighter, the computerized algorithm used to screen citizen's e-mails and phone calls, and also the antigrav-hover technology and smart-missile destructotron targeting system intended for use with our next generation of aircraft. Oh, I see that look on your face, Archer... and I know what you're thinking. You think, if we would have been a bit quicker with the antigrav we wouldn't have been swatted down like a colony of ants. But let me tell you, the stuff they have is light-years beyond anything we ever conceived of... no pun intended."
By this time, they had emerged from the long tunnel I didn't tell you they were walking down before, and they saw various large-screen displays, various small-screen displays, and something that looked like a huge tank like you'd see at Seaworld, only about one million times bigger.
Doctor Cumquat gestured towards the five-foot-thick glass: "I'm sure this will come as a shock to you, Captain Archer, but for years we have held back one resource, for just this sort of eventuality. No, do come closer. Come and look through the glass. I can assure you, it is perfectly harmless. At least at the moment, because it is in a state of suspended animation. Although, it won't be that way for long. Heh heh heh,"
Archer's feet felt like they were anchored in molten molasses; he could neither lift them nor step down further. His heart beat uncontrollably and his palms sweated as he gazed at the skyscraper-sized reptilian head, the car-sized green eye.
"Yes..." said the President of the United States, "I give you... Godzilla."