Eaglethorpe Buxton and… Something about Frost Giants

Chapter Four: In which Ethyl and I take our baths, and the town is invaded, as is inevitable in these types of stories.

I made my way up to my room, and just as the tavernkeeper had promised, I found a hot bath waiting for me.  It had been a good two weeks since I had a hot bath.  I had suffered through several very cold baths in the interim, and I can tell you, that a hot bath beats a cold one any day of the year, except maybe summer, but certainly any autumn, winter, or spring day of the year.  Peeling off my clothes, I slipped into the tub.  It was only about three feet around, so my arms, legs, and my head hung over the sides, but my torso was happy.

My torso was still feeling nice and warm, when the door opened, and my daughter entered.

“Look around,” said I.  “Is there some soap and a clean cloth somewhere?”

Ethyl found both items sitting on a chair by the door and handed them to me.

“Go wait in the other room,” I directed.  “As soon as I get out of this bath, you’re getting in.”

“But I had a bath last week!” she growled.

“You must wash some of that grime off of you, lest some wild animal drag you off, thinking you’re its long-lost cub.”

“At least then I won’t have to take a bath.”

“So you think,” said I.  “It will be your luck to be dragged away by a cave lion.  You’ll be longing for a bathtub after a cave lion licks you clean with its rough tongue.  I can tell you that from experience.”

With a rude gesture, she turned and left.

As loath as I was to leave the warm embrace of the bath, I didn’t want my child left with nothing but cold water, so I quickly soaped up, rinsed off, and dressed in my night shirt.  Then, I went to the other room to fetch the girl.  I was forced to pull her by her ear back to the first room, wrestle her to the floor so that I could strip off her filthy clothes, and then throw her bodily into the water.  Luckily for her, the tub was just her size.  She only agreed to use soap when I told her that if she didn’t, I would make her take another bath on the morrow.

When she was finally passably clean, I dressed her in her nightgown.  It was a cute pink garment, made of the finest, softest wool in all of Aerithraine, and had the image of Castle Dewberry embroidered upon it.  Castle Dewberrywas our home, though we had not been back since before Ethyl’s first birthday, so she had no memory of it.  She crossed her arms and made growling and hissing noises as I brushed her hair.  If a cave lion had only heard her, it would have reinforced the idea that she was its missing cub.

“There now,” I told her.  “You make a charming and presentable girl, which is to say that I could present you to… a king or queen, if I had a mind.  Perhaps to the Queen of Aerithraine.”

“She’s a wicked slattern!” hissed Ethyl.

“Be that as it may,” said I.  “We could present you to somebody.  It would have made your mother so proud… bless her departed soul.”

“Tell me what she was like?” asked Ethyl, in the rarely heard tone of tenderness.

“What would you like to know?”

“Was she beautiful?”

“She was extremely beautiful,” I said wistfully, which is to say, full of wist.  “She always wore beautiful dresses and she never even once dressed in pants and pretended to be a man.”

“Why do girls have to wear dresses?” grumbled Ethyl.  “Dresses are stupid.”

“But you look so cute when you are in a dress, with ribbons in your hair and your cheeks all rosy.”

“When I grow up, I’m never going to wear a dress!” she hissed.  “I’m going to wear pants and go adventuring!  If you think dresses are so great, then you wear one!”

“I am a man and so I do not wear dresses, not even for fun, and not even for seven months one time to avoid the army.  As for you, hop into that bed right now.  Tonight, I want you to think about what you just said and what your poor, dear, departed, saintly, deceased, beautiful, dead mother would say.  I shall be next door if you need anything.”

I went back to the other rented room and dropped down onto the bed.  I was asleep instantly.  I frequently fell asleep instantly, as I was usually exhausted from dealing with my unruly offspring, which is to say my daughter, which is to say Ethyl.

It seemed I was asleep only a minute, when I was awakened by the sounds of shouting and the clanging of sword and shield.  Grabbing my own sword and my own shield, I ran out of the room.  A quick glance next door showed me that Ethyl was still asleep.  I hurried down the stairs and out the door.

I almost immediately ran into a giant leg.  It was attached to a giant body, which is to say, a giant.  It was not Thurid Njärlbjörnsdöttir, for it was a male giant.  He carried a huge axe in one hand and a torch in the other.  He looked about ready to toss that torch onto the tavern.  Not wanting that to happen, I stabbed him in the kneecap, which was just about at eye level with me.  With a cry, he dropped to his knees.  But before I could stab him in an even more tender spot, he arched his back and fell forward, struck from behind.  As the giant dropped into the dirt, I came face-to-face with the warrior who had finished him off, which it to say, killed him.  It was Ellwood Cyrene.

Eaglethorpe Buxton and… Something about Frost Giants

Chapter Three: In which I hear the story of Thurid Njärlbjörnsdöttir.

“So, my dear,” said I.  “How did you come to be sitting behind this tavern making pies, when I happen to know that your people live far to the north on the great icy glacier known as The Skagarack?”

“Aren’t all glaciers icy?” she queried.

“Not at all.  In the distant south there is a glacier they call Monoglyceride that is made entirely of oil.”

“If it’s oil, then why doesn’t it just flow away?”

“Oh, it does.  It just flows very slowly.  Not as slowly as ice, but slower than water.”

“That doesn’t sound possible,” she said.

“Many things that sound impossible, are actually possible,” said I.  “For instance, there is a giant animal in the fetid, stinking jungles of Ennedi called an elephant.”

“How giant is it?”

I looked at her.

“Well, not so giant that you would call it such, being quite large yourself, but it has five legs and horns growing out of the bottom of its head.”

“That doesn’t sound possible either.”  She climbed to her feet and stretched, before sitting back down.  “Now I don’t know what to believe.”

“All the world knows Eaglethorpe Buxton and all the world knows that he would never lie just to make a point.  But more to the point, or more to a different point, why are you here among humans instead of with your own kind?”

“You really want to hear my story?” she asked.

“If I don’t, then the title of this chapter makes no sense,” said I.

“Well, here is my tale, such as it is.  My clan lives in a fortress in one of the great rifts in The Skagarack.  We are just one of many clans of Frost Giants.  For as long as anyone can remember, the various clans would join together and go off to war.  We have always been naturally warlike.  We warred mostly with the Sky People and the Cloud Giants, but then they exterminated one another, and we had to go further afield to find enemies.  We went far to the west and attacked the lands of Catolan and Aerithraine, but the queen of that latter nation proved to be a match for our armies.”

“She’s a heinous bitch.”

I looked to see that Ethyl had returned from seeing to the horses.

“Did you see that the horses had oats and water?”

“Oats and water,” she said, rolling her eyes at me, “and ordered the stablemaster to give them both a good brushing.”

“I was just hearing the story of Thurid Njärlbjörnsdöttir,” said I.  “You can tell it’s an important story by looking at the top of the page.”

“Whatever,” said Ethyl.

She picked up a bucket of sand near the giant oven and turned it over, using it as a stool.

“Please continue, my dear,” I told the giantess.

“Well, with no enemies to war with, our people eventually went to war with each other.  My clan became embroiled in a bloody conflict with the Ice Peak Clan.  During one of the battles, we captured a dozen of their warriors.  Among them was the Ice Peak Jarl’s son.”

“Jarl?” I asked.

“It means king,” said Ethyl.

“I knew that, of course,” said I.  “I was just going to ask you if you knew it.  Thankfully you did, so we can continue the story without you having to be punished for ignorance.”

“You are a coxcomb,” said Ethyl.

“It is a term of affection,” I told Thurid Njärlbjörnsdöttir.  “Now, continue with the story.”

“We captured Gorm Birggersson, the son of the Ice Peak Jarl.  I was put in charge of bringing the prisoners their food.”

“I can see it already,” said I.  “The two of you met each day as you brought him his meals.  You talked.  You found out how much you shared in common.  Then you fell in love, a forbidden love, forever separated by the strife that separated your families.”

“No,” she said.  “That is not what happened.”

“Then what happened?”

“I brought him his food.  He told me that I was a horrible cook and that I was a fat ugly cow.  Naturally, I stabbed him.”

“Naturally,” said I.  “I hope he learned his lesson.”

“No,” she said.  “He just died.”

“This is the best story I’ve ever heard,” said Ethyl.

“It does have its charm,” I opined, “though it will need some major revisions to be suitable for the taprooms and alehouses of Lyrria.  I am thinking something along the lines that he fell in love with her so terribly that he committed suicide.  People like when someone kills himself over love.  Drunk people especially like it.”

“But he didn’t love me, and he didn’t kill himself,” said the giant woman.

“No, not yet,” said I.

“So, why the hell are you here?” asked my daughter.

“Ethyl!” I chastised her.  “Do not hurry a storyteller!”

I nodded toward the giantess.

“Killing a prisoner is against our laws,” she said.  “I was banished from my home.  And having nowhere else to go, I came south.  I had hunted as I traveled and took down several deer, so when I stopped here, I made a meat pie.  The townspeople were wary of me, but I shared some of the pie with them and they let me stay.  Master Turklewink offered me this job.  I have been baking pies for the last three days.  When I have enough money, I will build myself a cottage here.  There is plentiful wood in the forest, but I’ll need to buy some things to set up house.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” said Ethyl.  “That guy in there is named Turklewink?”

“That is his name.  I believe his first name is Claud.”

“Claud Turklewink!” snorted Ethyl.

“It is late,” I told Thurid Njärlbjörnsdöttir.  “We have a room here, and with any luck, we shall be able to eat another of your pies on the morrow.”

“Good night,” said the giantess.

“Come along, Ethyl.  Let us turn in for the night.”

“You go ahead,” she said.  “I’ve got to find the outhouse and drop a clod and a turklewink.”

Eaglethorpe Buxton and… Something about Frost Giants

Chapter Two: In which I ponder the theoretical limit of piesmiths.

I was very full and satisfied by the time I had finished my slice of pie, or at least by the time I had finished that portion of it that I had eaten.  I would wager I had eaten a good ten pounds of that slice, and despite the fact that she had claimed to be sick of pie, I would wager that Ethyl had eaten more than I had.  Even so, there was far more of that slice left than there was gone, which is to say, we ate less than half of it.

“My good fellow,” I called to the tavernkeeper.  “I did not see an inn when we rode into town.”

“We don’t get too many visitors up these parts,” he replied.  “We’ve got two rooms to let upstairs though.  For a sovereign, you can have both rooms, and I’ll have you a hot bath drawn.”

“That sounds excellent,” said I.  “I did see a stable.  Can you have a boy take our horses over?”

“That I can, sir.”

“Have him tell the stablemaster to give them oats,” said I.

“And a good brush down too,” added Ethyl.

“That is a good idea,” said I.

“And check their hooves,” added Ethyl.

“Also, a good idea.”

“Never mind,” she said.  “I don’t trust anyone else with the horses.  I’ll do it myself.”

She jumped to her feet and left the premises, which is to say walked out of the tavern.

“Girls and horses have a natural affinity,” I told the tavernkeeper.  “Now, about this piesmith…”

“What about the piesmith?” asked the man.

“That was a clever use of an ellipses in order to demonstrate that I want to meet your piesmith,” said I.

“Oh.  Right this way,” he said, leading me through the room and into the kitchen.

I had expected to find said piesmith in the kitchen, and not only that.  I had expected to find some amazingly large oven in which to bake an amazingly large pie.  That was not the case.  The oven was a normal sized one, incapable of baking the pie that I had seen and eaten part of.

“This way,” said the tavernkeeper, leading out the back door.

Behind the tavern was an oven.  It was round and made of fitted stones.  Sitting cross-legged beside it was a giant woman, or more precisely, a giantess.  She would have been a good fifteen feet tall, had she been standing up, and she was proportionately large all over.  Long blond hair hung past her shoulders, and she wore a jacket and pants made by the sewing together of dozens if not scores of thick furs of various colors.

“This is Thurid,” said the tavernkeeper.  “She made the pie.”

“Thurid,” I repeated.  “What a lovely name.  I must compliment you on it and your pie.”

“The choice of name was not mine,” she said.  “My father named me.  My full name is Thurid Njärlbjörnsdöttir.”

She had a lovely voice, though a trifle deep for a woman, and a trifle loud for a human being, which she wasn’t, because she was a giant.

“But I thank you for the compliment on my pie, though I’m a bit ashamed that it was so small.”

“It was a very fine pie,” said I.  “I would not say that it was too small, though I am generally of the opinion that most pies should be larger.”

The tavernkeeper turned to go back inside, but I stopped him.

“You should introduce me.”

“Oh, yes.  Thurid, may I introduce story-teller Eaglethorn Bucklenut.”

“That’s Eaglethorpe Buxton, with a thorp instead of a thorn and bux instead of a buckle and a ton instead of a nut.”

“Eaglethorpe Buxton,” she mused, as the tavernkeeper left us.  “I believe I have heard of Eaglethorpe Buxton.”

I liked the sound of my name when she said it, though truth be told, I generally liked the sound of my name, as long as it was pronounced correctly and not mixed with nuts and thorns and buckles.  When Thurid Njärlbjörnsdöttir said it, it sounded like it was being amplified by magic, or by being spoken by a really large woman.

“Perhaps you know me as the great and heroic adventurer,” I suggested.

“No,” she said.

“Then you must know me from one of my many wonderful tales, such as Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Mercenary Warrior Who Ought Not to be a Woman but Secretly Was.”

“I do not think so,” she said.

“How about Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Fury of the Monkey People?

“No.”

Eaglethorpe Buxton and the Fork of Destiny?”

“No.  I do not think I heard of you as a story-teller.”

“Well, some people know me as a playwright,” said I.

“I know,” she said.  “It was a human man named Eaglethorpe Buxton that caused a war between the Cloud Giants and the Sky People, which ended up destroying both their civilizations.”

“I remember it differently,” said I.

Eaglethorpe Buxton and… Something about Frost Giants

Chapter One: In which I ponder the theoretical limit of pies.

It was the largest pie I had ever seen.  When I say that, you can rest assured that it means something, because I am Eaglethorpe Buxton, famed around the world as a heroic adventurer, a brilliant author and storyteller, and a connoisseur of pies.  There are some who would insist that I am a connoisseur of pies first and foremost, but that is not true.  While it is true that there are some who would slanderously, which is to say with much slander, espouse that Elwood Cyrene is a more heroic adventurer than me, there are none who could claim, even slanderously, that there is a better storyteller.  On the other hand, I would freely admit that my cousin Celia is at least the connoisseur of pies that I am, though perhaps not the eater of pies that I am.  In any case, it was a large pie.

“That must be the world’s largest pie,” said I.

“It is a large pie,” said the man standing opposite me, who was the local tavernkeeper.  “I don’t know about the world, but it is the largest pie in Fencemar, for it is baked in the largest pie pan that could be found in the town.”

“Not surprising,” said I.  “I would imagine that not a bigger pie pan could be found in Celestria herself.”

“Notwithstanding that,” said he.  “If she could have come by a bigger pan, our piesmith was more than ready to make a bigger pie still.  In fact, she expressed great disgust that this was the best we could do in cast iron production.”

“I should like to meet this piesmith,” said I.  “First though, I would like to eat a slice of that pie.”

“Then have a seat,” said he.  “It’s a sovereign for a slice, but that slice is a full meal for a grown man and his three grown sons.”

“Then there may well be enough for me,” said I, “and my daughter.”

“Come in here, Ethyl!” I called.  “It’s pie for dinner!”

“Ethyl is a lovely name,” said the tavernkeeper, but he stopped and stared at the seven-year-old ball of spit and anger that stomped into the room.

“Her real name is Ethylthorpe,” said I.

“It’s Ethyl!” she hissed, “and I’m sick of pie!”

“Lovely child,” said the man, but he was being polite, or he was mistaken, or he had some kind of degenerative eye disease, because Ethylthorpe Buxton was not a lovely child.  She wore a pair of baggy overalls and a stained shirt, and she was covered in dirt from head to toe.  She had snot running from her right nostril and bloody scab on her forehead.  Long gone was the lovely pink and yellow dress that I had ordered her dressed in that morning, and now, the only indication that she was a girl and not some kind of grotesque miniature half-ogre, was her long blond hair, and in it, only one of my carefully braided pigtails remained.

“You’ll sit there, and you’ll eat that pie,” said I, “and you’ll like it, or I’ll give you what for!”

She sat down at the table I had selected, crossed her arms, and stuck out her tongue at me.  I unwrapped my heavy cloak and put it on the back of the chair.

The tavernkeeper went to the pie and cut out a slice, which he placed on a wooden platter only slightly smaller than a wagon wheel.  Then he and two of the tavern girls wrestled it to my table, which it completely covered.

“Not to put too fine a point on it,” said he.  “I did say it was a sovereign.”

“That you did,” said I, tossing him the required gold coin.

“You folk are from Aerithraine,” said he, showing the obverse of the coin, which is to say the front, upon which sat the image of a beautiful woman.  “I recognized Queen Elleena.”

“She’s a beastly hag!” growled Ethyl.  “And I don’t want a huffleberry pie!”

“You will show some respect!” I growled right back at her.  “Respect for huffleberry pie, if not for the queen!”

“Hmph!” she hmphed.

“I come from Aerithraine originally,” I explained, “but I’ve been living in Lyrria some seven years now.”

“I’ll get you some forks,” said the tavernkeeper.

“Not to fear,” said I, whipping out my fork from my shirt pocket, which I call my fork pocket, for it is the pocket in which I carry my fork.

I glared at Ethyl, until she too produced her fork, waving it at me insolently.  Like mine, it was made of fine silver and featured a stylized E on the handle.

I sat opposite my dirt-encrusted offspring and took a bite of the pie.  It was very good.  Despite huffleberries not being my favorite, something that I was not going to admit to my unclean progeny, it was sweet and tart, and the crust was first rate.  I had expected huffleberry pie, because we were traveling in the far north of The Fallen Lands, just along the southern border of the great glacier known as The Skagarack, and in the far north of The Fallen Lands, just along the southern border of the great glacier known as The Skagarack, there were no fruits to be had except for huffleberries, which only grow where it is too cold for any other plant to grow that isn’t mostly made of pine needles and pine cones, which is to say pine trees.

“Eat your pie,” said I.

Ethyl grumbled but took a bite.

“You should be happy to get a pie,” said I.  “You know there are some places in the world where a man would kill for a good pie.”

“You know there are some places in the world where a man would kill for a good pie,” she repeated mockingly, which is to say, full of mock.

“Oh, how sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child,” quoth I.

“Plagiarer!” she said, jumping to her feet, taking an accusing stance and pointing at me.  “You did steal that line from William Shakespeare and his play Macbeth!”

“Nonsense,” said I.  “I did take that line from Eaglethorpe Buxton and his play MacElizabeth, and I am allowed, as I am that self-same Eaglethorpe Buxton.”

“I’ve heard of you,” said a tavern girl, stopping at the table.

She was quite attractive, with short vanilla hair and cherry lips, and her generous breasts threatened to fall right out of the top of her blouse, the top three buttons of which were undone.

“And what have you heard, my dear?” I asked.

“I have heard that you are a teller of tales, quite free with your coin, and the greatest lover in all of Duaron.”

“You know me well,” said I.

“Can I bring you a beer?” she asked.

“You are not only lovely,” said I, “but you’re clearly very smart, which is to say, yes, beer.”

“How about her?” she asked, nodding toward Ethyl.

“Bring me a beer too,” said Ethyl.

“Oh, sit down already,” I ordered her, for she was still standing accusingly.  “Unless you sit, no beer for you.”

She sat.

“We have milk,” said the tavern girl.

“I’m lactose intolerant!” hissed Ethyl.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that milk is too good for her,” I said.

Eaglethorpe Buxton and… Something about Frost Giants

Has Eaglethorpe’s daughter been replaced by a vile doppelganger?  Wait… Eaglethorpe has a daughter?  Who is her mother?  And why is he on the outs with his best friend Ellwood Cyrene?  And I assume there are frost giants somewhere in this book.  It’s another improbable tale from the wandering storyteller and scoundrel Eaglethorpe Buxton.

It is here, friends.  You can download it at the following address free: https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/1102572

Astrid Maxxim and her High-Rise Air Purifier – Chapter 12 Excerpt

The Suncraft arrived in Honololu just before noon.  It took just over an hour to refuel and some of the passengers, Toby, Austin, Denise, and Penelope among them, went for a walk through the airport terminal to stretch their legs.  Christopher had fallen asleep just before they had landed, and nobody wanted to wake him up.  Astrid spent the time talking to the flight crew and going over the safety check with them.

“Look who I found,” said Penelope upon her return, pulling along a wiry young woman of medium height, with a strong nose, bright eyes, and massive waves of curly brown hair.

“Hello, Paige!” called Astrid, hurrying to give the newcomer a big hug.

“Hey, Boss.”

Paige Liebowitz looked much younger than her twenty-eight years.  She had been in charge of Maxxim world-wide construction projects for the past two years, but now, pending board approval, was the Senior Vice President of Construction, upon Astrid’s recommendation.

“Tell me you’re coming to Beijing with us.”

“I had to agree to come to stop Penny from whining about it,” said Paige, elbowing Penelope, whose sour face indicated that she was no fonder of Paige calling her by her childhood nickname than anyone else.

“Come on, boys!” called Paige, waving forward Austin and Toby, both weighed down with metal cargo chests.  “Here comes lunch, dinner, and snacks for the rest of this epic voyage.”

The five of them loaded the food into the plane’s kitchen area and were ready by the time the aircraft was prepared to return to the skies.

“Wait!  Denise came running across the tarmac, waving her hands.  “Don’t leave without me!”

“Where have you been?” asked Astrid, as the door was pulled closed and the two of them maneuvered toward their seats.  

Denise pointed to her face.  The tiny gold ring that normally hung from the center of her nose, just above her full upper lip, had been replaced by a ring, that while no larger, featured a tiny round coral bead in the middle.  It definitely made the jewelry more noticeable.

Astrid pulled out her phone and began typing.

“What are you doing?” asked Denise.

“I’m texting your brother that this wasn’t my fault.”

“No, you would never do anything as dangerous as help me pick out jewelry,” said Denise.  “You’re all about throwing me into shark infested waters or killing me in a…”

She stopped and looked like she was biting her tongue.

“What?” said Astrid.

“I was going to say killing me in a plane crash, but I don’t want to anger the aircraft gods.”“Good thinking,” said Astrid.

Astrid Maxxim and her High-Rise Air Purifier – Chapter 9 Excerpt

“You’re going steady?” said Denise with a frown, while looking around the Brown-Richards back yard.  “Is this the 1940s?  Have we gone back in time?  I distinctly remember telling you that I didn’t want to be part of your time travel experiments.”

She was seated, facing Astrid, as both relaxed in the family’s bubbling hot tub. “There’s no such thing as time travel,” said Astrid, “and quit making fun of us.  I think it’s sweet that he wanted to go steady.”

“Yeah, sweet like that artificial sugar substitute that makes you break out in hives.  We’re young, beautiful women and we should be out playing the field.  We should be serial dating, and not granola either but some cereal with lots of real sugar, that rots your teeth and makes you bounce off the walls like a hyperactive puppy.”

“Sometimes I wonder if even you know what you’re talking about,” said Astrid.

“I’m talking about dating.”

“But you’re dating Christopher.”

“That’s right; I am,” said Denise, “right up until I see somebody I want to date more.  And then I date that guy, unless I find out he’s not as good as Christopher and then I go back to dating him.”

“But you always go back to Christopher.”

“That’s because they never turn out to be better,” Denise grumbled.

“Doesn’t it bother you if he goes out with someone else too?” asked Astrid.

“No.  He can date Alicia all he wants… if he likes big butts and stupid faces.”

“Well, as long as you don’t mind,” said the girl inventor.

At that moment, Astrid’s phone rang from where her pants were draped over a patio chair.  She answered using her Maxxim Carpe wrist computer.

“Hello?”

“Astrid?  Hi.  It’s Michelle Pennington.  I hope you don’t mind me calling.  I got your number from Dr. Born.”

“No problem.  What’s up?”

“Arthur and I were going over our experiments and we think we have a winner.”

Astrid and the Pennington twins had, weeks earlier, set up an experiment to test a dozen compounds of Astridium to see which, if any, might absorb carbon from the air.

“You’re looking over the results now?  At school?  It’s Sunday.”

“It’s all right,” said Michelle.  “Dr. Born is with us, and Mrs. Frost is somewhere in the building.”

“Mrs. Frost,” grumbled Denise, evidently still upset about the aborted assault on her nose ring.“All right,” said Astrid.  “We can go over the results in class tomorrow and if it works out, we should start designing some kind of prototype device to use the product.”

Astrid Maxxim and her High-Rise Air Purifier – Chapter 6

Eclipse made a successful landing at the Maxxim Airfield on the evening of Friday, October fourth.  That gave Astrid a relaxing weekend before she had to be back at school.  She finished up the small amount of schoolwork she hadn’t done in orbit, and spent several hours practicing her oboe.

Back at school on Monday, life seemed so much smaller than it had when she was zooming around the earth at 17,500 miles per hour.  On the other hand, sometime Astrid just enjoyed being a teen-aged girl.

Mrs. Werner really worked the orchestra hard that morning, preparing them for their first concert which was that evening at 5:00.  After all that, it felt great to throw Austin to the mat several times in Jui Jitsue class.  By the time lunch arrived, Astrid was really looking forward to her meal of arctic char, butternut squash, snow peas, and cheesecake for dessert.  When she got in the lunch line however, she was handed a tray with a chili dog, fries, an apple, and a chocolate chip cookie.

“Where is my arctic char?” wondered Astrid.

“The refrigerator died over the weekend,” said Monica de Leo, a senior who was helping to distribute lunches.  “The fish and the cheesecake went bad.”

“What about the squash and the peas?”

“Chef wasn’t able to make them,” said Monica.  “I think he had a breakdown.  He kept kicking the refrigeration unit, calling it a donkey.  Then he just started crying.”

“I hope he’s okay,” said Astrid.  “After all, there are worse things than having to eat a chili dog.”

“This is the worst lunch I’ve ever had,” Denise was saying as Astrid joined her friends in the quad.  “Look at these fries.  They’re limp and pathetic.”

“I’ll eat yours if you don’t want them,” offered Austin.

Denise passed everything to him except for her apple.

“There are plenty of kids who have to eat lunches like this every day,” said Christopher.

“But think how much worse it is for me,” said Denise.  “After all, those kids are used to eating horrible food.  I’m used to the finer things in life, and now I’m not getting them.”

Christopher gave her a look that he usually reserved for people that thought school was a waste of time.

“Cheer up, guys,” urged Toby.  “Eat your apple now, and then we can swing by the Malt Shop and get something on the way home.”

“This kind of makes me glad I don’t have to eat anymore,” Robot Valerie announced.  “I’ve gotten used to just plugging in since Astrid turned me into a robot.”

“See there?” said Astrid, taking a bite of her apple.  “Silver lining.”

She had long since given up trying to explain that she hadn’t turned anyone into a robot.  She had merely built a robot and copied her friend Valerie’s memories into it.

“Say, Astrid,” said Regular Valerie.  “Denise and Valerie and I were thinking that this year we should have a joint birthday celebration.”

“Really?  Last year we all made such a big deal with our families about having separate parties.”

“But now you have Miss Scacchi,” said Valerie.  “She has party-planning superpowers.”

“That’s true,” agreed Astrid.  “On the other hand, I think I might be in China the week of my birthday.”

“You’re going to China?” asked Denise.

“Astrid has mentioned this before,” said Toby.  “She’s going to the Beijing Auto Show.  You weren’t planning on staying two weeks though, are you?”

“Probably not,” said Astrid.

“I didn’t know that China was a sure thing,” Denise frowned.  “I kind of want to go to too.”

“Maybe we should all go,” said Austin.  “I’m pretty popular in China.”

“And why would you be popular in China?” wondered Robot Valerie.

“Because of the game.  Battling Princesses of Solaron is huge in China.  I’ve made enough money from sales there to buy a private island.”

The others all stared at him.

“Well, a small island… in a lake… with a really big house on it.”

“We should all see if we can go to China,” suggested Christopher.  “It would be an educational experience, after all.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to go,” said Bud.

“I don’t think my parents would be too keen on me going either,” said Regular Valerie, “and I’m really sure they won’t allow Valerie to go.”

“I don’t think she should be going anywhere outside of Maxxim City without some serious security,” opined Toby.  “For that matter, I’m not sure that Astrid should either.”

“I’ll be fine,” said Astrid. 

“Yeah,” said Austin.  “After all, she’s already been to Antarctica, space, and even Vegas.  And if Valerie can go to China, I’ll be there to protect her.”

“It’s an awfully expensive trip though,” said Bud.

“How about this,” said the girl inventor.  “Everyone ask their parents for permission.  If it’s okay, we’ll all fly over together and stay as a group.  Maxxim Industries will pay for our stay and for the appropriate security.”

The afternoon classes flew by.  Meeting together at the monorail station, the entire gang all agreed that they were really hungry.  Getting off at main street station, all eight made a beeline for the Maxxim City Malt Shop.  Inside, they pushed two tables together and all sat around, arranging themselves boy-girl-boy-girl seemingly by accident.  Anyone who knew them would no doubt notice, however, that they were not arranged by accident.

“I’ll place our orders,” said Denise, getting up and starting toward the counter.  “I know what everybody wants.”

“We got here just in time,” said Bud, watching students entering through the front door in groups of twos and threes, and sometimes more.  “I guess a lot of kids skipped their school lunch.”

“They’ve been spoiled by the fries here,” said Denise, returning to the table and taking her seat next to between Christopher and Toby.

“Are you sure you ordered what I wanted?” asked Austin from across the table.

“Seven cheeseburgers,” said Denise.  “No onions on Valerie’s, no pickle on Bud’s, and no tomato on yours, Austin.  Fries for everyone except Bud.  He gets onion rings.  Chocolate shakes for Austin, Christopher, and me.  Vanilla for Bud.  Strawberry for Val.  Chocolate sodas for Toby and Astrid.  And Robot Valerie, there’s a plug by your feet, under that little metal flip-up door.”

They looked back and forth at one another and then, all at once, nodded.

“I can’t stay too long,” said Astrid.  “I have to get home and get ready for the concert.”

“Is there a concert tonight?” asked Denise.

“Um, yes,” said Astrid looking around the table.

Christopher laughed.

“We all know you have a concert, Astrid.  Everyone here is going to be there to support you.  Even Bud is going to be there.”

“I have to bring my brother and my sisters with me,” Bud grumbled.  Everyone knew that Bud was often pressed into service as a babysitter for his four siblings.

“I’ll help you with them,” said Valerie, batting her long lashes at the dark-haired boy.

“Me too,” added Denise.  “Kids love me.”

A moment later, she got up and began ferrying their food to the table.  Christopher jumped up to help her.  Everything, as expected, was delicious, and everyone finished in plenty of time for Astrid to get home and get dressed in her concert gown.

The school theater was overflowing with students, parents, and faculty at concert time.  The orchestra played Bernstein’s Divertimento and the Fantasy Overture of Tchaikovsky’s Romeo and Juliet, followed by the Kabalevsky Overture to Colas Breugnon and Bernstein’s Symphonic Suite from On the Waterfront.  The final piece was a medley of America the Beautiful and Colors of the Wind from Disney’s Pocahontas.  The crowd gave them a standing ovation.  Astrid couldn’t stop smiling the rest of the night.

Astrid Maxxim and her High-Rise Air Purifier – Chapter 5 Excerpt

“Hey, Boss!  What’s up?” called Dr. Roger Maxxim from behind a large rocket engine.

“Hi, Dad.  You know, I thought it was pretty funny when you used to call mom Boss, but I don’t think I’m as keen on it when it’s me.”

“Yes.  She felt the same way.  On the plus side, you have fewer ways that you can show your displeasure than she did.  What can I do for you, Dear?”

“I need to talk to you about something,” said Astrid.

“And are you talking to me as my daughter or as my boss?”

“Um, boss, I guess.”

“Okay, I’m listening, and I promise to follow directions just as much as I did when your mother had that position.”

“Look, Dad.  I already know you do whatever you want, no matter what anybody else says, but I want you to at least give me a fair hearing.”

“Of course, Dear.  Let’s have a seat.”  He led her over to a pair of plush chairs situated near the door of his personal lab.  “What’s on your mind.”

“Uncle Carl and I want to get back into the commercial aircraft business in a big way.  I need you to come up with some great plane designs.  We’re doing well with smaller executive aircraft, but we think that now is the time for us to re-enter the market with larger passenger planes.  We need everything from commuter planes to jumbo jets.  Can you do it?”

“You know that I spend a lot of my spare time designing planes, Astrid,” he said.  “I have updated designs for just about anything you could name.  However, your mother has decided that this isn’t a market we can dominate.  What makes you think your Uncle Carl knows better?”

“Actually, this isn’t Uncle Carl’s idea,” said Astrid.  “It’s mine.”

“Well, I guess, then, that we have to do it,” said Dr. Maxxim.  “After all, if the whole thing blows up in our faces, it’s going to hurt you more than me.”

“How’s that?” wondered Astrid.

“Well, you own more company stock than I do, so you’ll lose more money.  Besides, it’s always the person in charge that takes the fall, and who do you think your mother will blame for tanking the company.”

“Gee thanks, Dad.  That’s a lot of pressure for a fifteen-year-old.”

“Good thing you’re wearing your big-girl pants,” he said.

“Um, I’m wearing a skirt.”

“Anyway,” he continued, “you’ll be sixteen in just a few weeks.  You really are growing up way too fast.”

“Do you think you can have a presentation for the board by the end of October?”

“My Halloween gift to you,” he said, reaching over and pulling her into a hug.