Watching and waiting, visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
Commander Kern had a way of being everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Let me explain. If you wished to hide, Kern would find you. And if you searched for him, he was nowhere to be found.
It made the crew nervous. They took to locking doors behind them. Only to turn and find Kenneth Kern sitting there, a smug grin on his face.
“What’s that?” he demanded. Lt. Tate jumped. She sat in the ship’s library with a notebook and pen. Kern had materialized from nowhere.
“Nothing,” she said. She closed the notebook.
“It doesn’t look like nothing. Let me see.”
“Please, Mr. Kern. It’s private.”
That was the wrong thing to say. After a few useless objections, she handed it over. “Murder Most Heinous,” Kern read aloud. “Ms. Tate, are you planning to kill someone?” His eyes darted. If anyone aboard would be murdered, it would be him.
“Of course not. I’m writing a mystery novel.”
“Indeed!” Again, the wrong thing to say to her boss. Kern was an avid reader. “Why a mystery?”
“I’ve been reading Earth novels.”
“I see.”
“They aren’t like Moon novels, all rainbows and happy endings. I prefer something with teeth. Like on Earth. So I’m writing my own.”
Kern paged rapidly through the notebook. “Hmm,” he said. “This is quite good.”
“Thank you,” Tate said, uneasily.
“However, this detective. Llewellyn Moxy. I see he is blond and short.”
“Yes.”
“I think he should be dark and skinny.” It was not lost on Tate that Kern was tall and skinny. “With slick black hair.” Kern had slick black hair. “And our Moxy should be a sharp dresser, but only because regulations require it. He will only want what’s best for his fellow officers, but be often misunderstood. He solves the crime and gets the girl, but only after overcoming inner conflicts. Many inner conflicts. Do I make sense?” He handed the notebook back.
“Absolutely, Mr. Kern.”
“I’ll leave it at that. But I’ll be very interested in reading more. Carry on, Lieutenant.” Kern walked out. He always walked with quick, small steps, very erect as though supporting something unsteady. Which in a way he did.
Jennifer Tate began to write. She had been significantly blocked. But now words flew off her pen. Both heroic and ridiculous, she knew exactly what her detective looked like. And what he thought. It was as though he stood there in front of her.
Richard Donnelly lives in Minneapolis, Minnesota. Classic flyover land. Which makes us feel just a little… superior. He publishes a weekly column of essays on the writing life at richarddonnelly.substack.com