Podcast!

Another teaser from Maroli Tango. Third editing pass. A lot of revision and shuffling around of narrative threads. The writing's getting better, I hope.

Nashville, Tennessee

Conservative pro-wholesome-values commentator Mark Washburn sat at a dining table in what might have been his home.

He said, “There’s a new sheriff in town; a Zirna Zapha NGO that goes by the name of Osadhi, in recent weeks beating up on organized crime in an effort, they say, to choke off the money and muscle that keeps Earth’s most toxic powerbrokers in business.

Our guest pilots the spaceboat Sthiti Osadhi on raids. He describes himself as a bus driver, roadside mechanic, locker room attendant and more recently, publicist. This week, Mason Fowlkes launched a new streaming service, Classic Cosmic TV, delivering vintage content from the planets Vidura and Jivada.”

The show played a news clip — cellphone footage captured at Montaña Viejo. “Fifteen-going-on-thirty-five, Mason and his ten-year-old sister were outed by the news media and, as you may know, he responded by dumping the offenders in five different cities, bare naked, an experience they walked away from.”

An inset showed the Secretary of the Navy wrapped in a Red Cross blanket. “On the same day, he ran an errand to Somalia for Terra Cadre. This man did not walk out, and might lose a foot.”

The broadcast went to split screen. Mason Fowlkes sat with his back to the starry void of outer space, wearing a black suit, white shirt, red tie, and undisclosed footwear.

The podcaster moved his cup of coffee to one side. “What the news company did was malicious.”

Mason shrugged. “I might not have retaliated if they hadn’t targeted my sister.”

“Isn’t it canon in Zirna Zapha for a man to kill his enemies?”

“I wasn’t that mad about it.”

“So, you threw it up to fate.”

“It turned out the way I expected. If I wanted to teach a harder lesson, I’d have dropped them in rougher neighborhoods.”

“What’s the message?”

“Don’t bother me. Don’t bother my people. Next time will not be a cakewalk.”

“What about Somalia?”

Mason scratched his chin. “Don’t say ‘no’ to Terra Cadre.”

“How’d you end up driving a spaceboat?”

“When I was six, my dad showed me a photo essay about a kid in Thailand who gets up at dawn, mends fishing nets, sweeps the house and feeds the chickens. He told me if that kid wasn’t half-way to being a grown man by the time he’s eleven, the entire village would be disappointed.”

“And fast forward?”

“I apprenticed to the shipwright’s guild the week of my 15^th birthday, working four to midnight. There wasn’t a day when I might not end up smelling like sewage, but it got me this job.”

“What’s the lesson?”

“If you want to succeed, say ‘yes’ and show up.” Citra yawed, turning toward Earth’s sun. “The boat’s on autopilot. I have a Saraf Drive jump coming up. Thirty second break.”

Mark showed the audience a book cover. “Friends, I’d like to tell you about the memoir of an Anye poet, artist, philosopher and military leader, entitled ‘Warrior Priest’, and how you can order your copy at a discount using the keyword ‘Mark’.”

Image by Michael Conway from Pixabay