Team Decopunk--Epic Tales from Beautiful Minds

Chapter 1: Love Guides The Wandering Star

Note: This collection of decopunk stories was part of the "Epic Tales From Beautiful Minds" event which was hosted by Ooorah . I recruited a team of five talented writers for the voyage, and together we penned this awesome yarn of five short stories and the over-arching frame story. Enjoy the read, and be sure to check out the other works by these amazing authors!

***

July 14, 1934

Margritte Helmrich hunched on the porch swing with her slender ankles crossed. An Ecrivain's Special cigarette smoldered in her fingers, a costly habit she'd never been able to kick. Four farm dogs lay at her feet in a weary heap. The mutt in her lap nosed her hand and knocked ashes onto her trousers. She didn't bother to dust it away. Thoughts flitted through her mind tonight like the gnats against the screen door.

The radio pumped a lively jazz number through the open parlor window, a song she'd loved to dance to years ago. Five years ago--when she'd been the big star of the wordless wonders. Only the silent and silver dreams of a has-been goddess remained.

With a sigh, she re-read the telegram she'd just received. Bad news. The Party Consulate had denied her citizenship appeal due to 'questionable correspondence' with a German address. They must have intercepted the package of medicine and money she'd mailed to her friend in Berlin. Greta's child was very sick, but war and sanctions always dehumanized the innocent.

Margritte took a long drag on her cigarette and puffed a flawless ring. Static crackled over the radio speaker. The music ended, and the hourly news began.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen." The news announcer chattered in a Transatlantic flourish. "News from the front. Allied forces still hold their positions in Europe, Africa, and the Pacific. But we mustn't be complacent! The enemy lurks at our borders. Reports have surfaced of U-Boats off the Eastern Seaboard. On the home front, the stock market has stabilized for the foreseeable future. Fed Reserve officials rallied this week to inspire shareholders after the last market plunge. All praises to the undying vigilance of our Party Consulate."

"Undying vigilance. Scheisse. It's more like an undying nightmare." Margritte pushed herself to her feet and crushed the cigarette under her boot heel.

The announcer continued. "A breaking report just in. The Consulate has announced a new telecast of the Labyrinth Of Time. The network dispatched a summons to the potential contestant tonight. We hope to reveal his or her identity within the hour. Stay tuned for our next update."

So, the Party had another suspected traitor in their radar. They was always looking for new sacrifices to psi-space. The Labyrinth Of Time telecast was their ultimate test, the bread-and-circus flaying of a human mind for the masses. Whomever the Consulate selected for the next round, Margritte pitied them. Though few passed the Labyrinth's trials, the Party praised the Psychometer's successes over its ghastly failures.

Shadows darkened the western fields. She stood and stretched. Time for a quick supper, then sleep. More plowing awaited her tomorrow, and her back was already stiff from driving the tractor. Her stylish former fans would hardly recognize her now. The most glamorous starlet in cinema reduced to a humble alfalfa farmer to make ends meet. It wasn't as bad as some might judge. She was self-sufficient and as far as she could get from the Party's spying eyes. Best of all, she had peace and quiet. She'd worry about the Consulate and their damned telegram in the morning.

Before she went inside, a rumbling whirr filled the air. The dogs lifted their heads and ears. Margritte stepped off the porch and searched the evening sky.