Ken Cartisano

“The Dawn.” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #285

“Yeah, this is Professor Mullins. Frank Mullins.” It’s not every day that a professor of anthropology gets a ‘mayday’ call from the engineers at M.I.T., so you want to make sure that it’s you they really want. It turns out it is. When they ask you if you’re familiar with ‘Lucy’, you reply, “One of the most significant archaeological finds in modern history? I should think so.”Lucy is a set of fossilized remains discovered in Ethiopia in the mid-seventies, by a group of anthropologists, so exuberant at their discovery, they gave her a name at...

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“La Fin...” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #279

Apprentice Technician Broog Titus scanned the layout of the control room, then took a seat at his assigned station. The only other seat in the room was occupied. The apprentice glanced at his counterpart’s uniform, noting his insignia, and extended an appendage in greeting. “The name’s Broog, Broog Titus.” They bumped appendages. “Jeegan Throll. Nice to meet you, Broog.” They were two mid-level techs, it would seem, in a remote corner of a utilitarian universe, with one hell of a view. They both leaned back in their seats and ...

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“The Guild of Radner's Wicked Sword.” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #277

I am the ninety-three-hundred and thirty-fourth Radnerian Guard.You will memorize this story. When you can recite it to me, word for word, in its entirety, without a single variation, you may be accepted into the Guild of Radner. I will not test you every day. Then again, I might. I may not test you for ten or fifteen years—but when I do test you, you must repeat this story word-for-word, in order to convince me that you’re ready… to be the ninety-three-hundred-and-thirty-fifth Radnerian Guard. Until then, you are an intern, nothing more. Th...

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“Lucy Lusitania” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #268

Lucy Lusitania. (2230 words.) You’re seated in the back of the room when the Chairman gavels for order. “We have been charged with the task of investigating the tragic implosion of the submersible vehicle Lucy,” he says. “We are not here to assess blame or culpability, people. Not at this time, so, let’s all try to be civil.” The grumbling in the room subsides to the point that you can hear the traffic noise from outside. You watch him as he gazes at the assembly of witnesses, their friends, family, lawyers, congressman, photographers, jou...

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“The Devastator.” by Ken Cartisano

It was late 1941 and we’d just finished a sortie over Southern France and were beating it back to the base when my pilot abruptly pulled the plane up to 12,000 feet and leveled off. It didn’t take much knowledge of aerial warfare to know that this was a bad, if not fatal decision. We were low on fuel, out of ammo and riddled with holes. We were slow too, and needed to stay low, so I figured my pilot was either wounded, unconscious or dead. I should stop and point out that as the rear gunner in a two-man bomber, I had my back to the pilot and...

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“Matchmaker” by Ken Cartisano

When I asked him his name, he wrote it in the moist dew on his bike’s massive gas tank. ‘Ronnie.’ Our friendship seemed inevitable: Two teetotalling bikers at a New Year’s Eve party. We spent half of the evening loitering in the parking lot, smoking cigarettes, sharing a joint, admiring each other’s leather and bikes. He was large and good-looking, but shy and quiet. I introduced myself and told him I was thinking of leaving. It was well before midnight and he wanted to know where I lived, so I told him, and asked him where he lived. He trac...

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“Of Lights and Women.” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #253

The customer was skeptical of my competence, I could sense as much, and I suspected it was because she was shrewd and observant. This was the kind of sign job that I had little prior experience with, but I was determined to prove her fears unfounded, and assured her I would have her sign illuminated before the end of the day. I went back outside, a touch annoyed by her acumen, and proceeded to move the bucket truck into a position to access the sign panel. By my standards, it was a large and expensive sign, double-faced, with two, 3-foot by ...

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“Chapter One: The Book Worm.” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #251

His name—was Manchester. Norman Manchester. A normal guy: Tall and lanky, not too graceful, just your average twenty-something sluicing through his final semester of college and concerned about his prospects.He was supposed to be compiling a list of potential job opportunities, water treatment plants and testing facilities within driving distance. It was either that, or accept the teaching position he’d applied for in a large congested city hundreds of miles from home.Instead, he had gotten side-tracked into ‘Great-Books’, a site devoted to ...

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“Ch. 2 & 3: The Cabal; The Secret Library.” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #251

“Are you sure about this?”“Yesss,” he replied.“It really doesn’t look like much of a…”He stopped and turned, “It isn’t much. I told you that.” It was the size of two city blocks, no more. They were headed toward a slight mound of earth at the far end of the park.“But I thought it was a fort.”“It was not a fort.”“But…”“It was never a fort. Ever.”“Then why did they…”“I don’t know, Cage. I wasn’t here.”A man clearing his throat disrupted their bickering. “Is that you, Cathy?”Norman turned to look at her but couldn’t see her face blushing in the...

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“Chapter 4: The Floating Barbican.” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #251

Like a group of hooligans after a close scrape with the law, they were all giddy with adrenaline. Once the laughter had died away, the three of them clinked their glasses together, downed their drinks, and allowed themselves to slip into a more somber mood. Though she saw the professor snatch the mysterious black folder with her own eyes, she eyed Norman’s larger, battered acquisition: A fat, wrinkled, stained, bulging ream of handwritten pages. A manuscript. Cathy addressed Norman directly, as the Professor looked on. “So, what did you get...

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“Chapter 5: It's All Academic.” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #251

The Daily Oracle:Zeus Trial Up in Air.Both sides declare a mistrial: Faceless Judge disagrees.The charges were brought by ‘Natural Law’ essentially a physical constitutional entity with some apparent clout.He was about to open the paper to page two when he heard a feminine voice.“Excuse me, Gorton Manchester?”Gorton smiled and got to his feet. He was lanky. She was all smiles. She hugged him, briefly. “How are ya?” she added.“Not bad.”“I’m Emily Kordite and I’m here to take your deposition. Please, sit back down, I see they brought you some ...

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“The Reader” by Ken Cartisano

You’re lost in your own thoughts, because you know how important the first few lines of a story can be, and that’s when you bump into him. You straighten and turn to apologize, and he essentially does a double take.“You look familiar,” he says.You repeat your apology and go back to sifting through the battery rack. It’s a small hardware and convenience store in the middle of nowhere, and the batteries, though cheap, look old, the plastic wrappers are either bent or dusty. While weighing your limited options, you realize the stranger you bump...

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“The Last Ark” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #247

Killing the Pilot and crew seemed recklessly premature. Not because they were the only living creatures within a billion lightyears. Not at all. I had an entire cargo hold full of organic lifeforms, eager to be revived from their cryogenic stasis. They were all frozen. All expendable. All potential tools for my unlimited use.The primary reason for staying my virtual hand, is that it would be an inconvenience. I would have to suffocate them first, desiccate the bodies, incinerate the remains, thaw out some new subjects, indoctrinate them, tra...

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“.emiT fo sdnaS ehT” by Ken Cartisano

It was the strangest confession I've ever heard, only later did I realize it would be my last. I've done my time in the confessional, heard my share of unholy acts. Now, as Bishop of the Basilica, I no longer deal with laypeople on a one-to-one basis. I leave all of that to my various assistants. But this was a special case. His name was Helmut Kroll. I recognized the voice because he was famous, not because I knew him. How he got my number is a mystery, but he had resources well beyond those of my church, perhaps they were equal to God's? H...

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“A Calico Apothecary.” by Ken Cartisano

Submitted to Contest #239

The dog queries me. “Do you know your name?” I try to respond, but I can’t speak. My lips don’t move. “Just a moment. She’s coming around, coming into focus,” another voice says, and I understand that whoever they are, they’re referring to me. I try to intervene on my own behalf only to confirm that I cannot even move my jaw, let alone speak. A moment later I realize that I can’t move any other part of me, either. I don’t think I’m restrained, I’m just—immobile, lying chest down on the sofa, my sofa. My face turned towards – my dog. I ...

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