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About Craig Alanson
Craig Alanson is a NYT best-selling author. His first audiobook 'Columbus Day' was a finalist for Audiobook Of The Year 2018
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Contact the author at firstname.lastname@example.org
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Titles By Craig Alanson
If it is even possible to save anything. Or anyone.
The galaxy is doomed. Monkeys may be clever and too stubborn to give up, but Skippy The Idiot Who Got PLAYED knows the harsh truth: this is a fight he can’t win. The odds are not only stacked against him, he was designed not to win this fight.
Maybe he can salvage some faint memory of the civilizations that inhabit the galaxy, but those beings are doomed. Doomed. Including the Merry Band of Pirates
A selection of scenes from Columbus Day:
There was a faint click, and the other door popped open a quarter inch. Cautiously, I pulled it open and stuck my head in. Beyond the door was a warehouse, maybe fifty feet by thirty, twenty feet tall, filled with racks of what I thought was mostly old, useless, dirty, dusty broken junk. I wandered in cautiously. Why the Ruhar had made the effort to store any of it made no sense to me. Surely there had to be something in there that I could use as a weapon.
A man’s voice, with a snarky attitude, rang out behind me. “Excellent! Bipedal, 1300cc brain, opposable thumbs. A hairless monkey. You can carry me out of here.”
I spun around in a panic. No one was there. “Who said that?”
“Me. Here, I’m the shiny cylinder on the shelf. I unlocked that door."
“You are? You mean you’re talking to me through a speaker in that thing?”
“No, I am that thing. I am what you monkeys call an artificial intelligence.”
I cocked my head and examined it skeptically. “You look like a chrome-plated beer can." That was a completely accurate description. The cylinder even tapered slightly at the top, and was ringed by a ridge. "You’re really an AI?"
"Yup. You should refer to me as The Lord God Almighty.”
“That position is already filled. I think I’ll call you Skippy.”
“Don’t call me that, it sounds disrespectful, monkey.”
“You prefer shithead? Because that’s the other option, Skippy-O.” I kept glancing around, fearing the Ruhar would hear me.
“Can we compromise on The Great and Powerful Oz?” It asked.
“I’m not a flying monkey, so that’s a no, Skippy.”
“How about we go for something more formal, like Skippy McSkippster?”
“Skippy Skipperson? Skippy Skippkowski? Skippy Von Skipping? Or maybe Sir Skippy Skippton-Skippersworth?”
“No, no, no and NO!”
“I can go on like this all day.”
“I believe you could.”
"What you got?" Ski asked.
Cornpone winked. "Uh, let's see. Damn! I got a gen-u-ine smorgasbord of Hooah! bars."
"A smorgasbord?" I asked skeptically. "Really?"
"Oh yeah, a smorgasbord at least. Could be a plethora, maybe even, oooh, an honest to God, gosh-darned corn-u-copia of snack foods." It was funny to hear Jesse say 'plethora' in his deep southern accent.
"Cut the bullshit, man, you're making me hungry." Ski protested.
For years, the ancient alien AI known as Skippy (the Magnificent, don’t forget that part) has been able to do one impossible thing after another. What is his secret? It’s simple: 100 percent Grade-A Extreme Awesomeness. And, also because he had never been faced with an opponent of equal power. Until now.
This time, he might need a little help from a band of filthy monkeys.
Not so much.