Molly took longer than usual to reach home in suburban Falls Church, a pretty village of family homes and bright New England churches. The town was just far enough from the city to feel like an escape. She turned from East Broad Street onto Cherry, feeling as if she had finally escaped the madness of a world embodied in grueling traffic. The street was dark and quiet, bounded on either side by plain houses, well kept yards and natly trimmed hedges.
Half a block up, Molly swung her midnight-blue Honda Prelude down a dark and narrow side street, into the parking spot in front of her modest townhome. She turned off the engine, shut off the lights and looked apprehensively at the dark windows and white lace curtains of her townhouse. There was a time when the black shutters, rust-red door and young maple-now a fiery orange-was a sanctuary, a happier place.
It was almost a year since the divorce was final. She’d married David Blumenthal, a State department Employee Molly’d met after returning from the Mideast. Their lives were magically romantic for almost a year, until one day he came home and announced that he was being promoted and sent to Japan.
“Dave,” I can’t just pick up and move to Asia?’ She complained.
“This a huge opportunity for me,” he said without looking at her. “I already gave them my answer. Molly, I’m sorry.”
Molly suddenly felt foolish for all those little girl notions about ever-lasting love, of soul mates and growing old with someone. It was as if the air had been sucked from her body. There were no tears, only a stunned laugh, and the shock that he could walk away from their life so easily.
Molly sighed and pulled the Fallahi file from her briefcase. She was not at all in a hurry to go inside yet. As she went over yer file Molly noticed a kid standing near the corner of an apartment building across the street. He seemed entirely out of place. Instantly she began cataloguing every possible detail. He was almost lost to shadow in a loose-fitting jean jacket and dark trousers. A black wool cap was pulled down over his brow to just above his deep-set eyes. In darkness she could only tell that he was of fair complexion, slender and somewhere between seventeen and twenty. He seemed anxious, as though working up the courage for something. There was a party going on up the street. It was muffled, the silhouettes of partiers blending together against the golden light inside.
Molly went back to the file. It was thick and daunting. Something about the simple black and white photograph inside haunted her. The picture was recent, showing a handsome Persian man, with short dark hair and a full mustache brushed with silver. She knew him somehow, but struggled to recall where exactly.
Born in Shiraz, Fallahi had been educated in Tehran , abandoning his studies to fight in the war against Iraq during the mid Nineteen Eighties. There he was wounded twice and given a commendation for bravery. After the war he returned to his studies until being recruited by the Iranian Security Service, VEVAK. It was in Bosnia, covertly organizing weapons shipments and organizing foreign Islamic fighters, that Fallahi was first noticed by Western Intelligence agencies. There were names and addresses of contacts and associates throughout the country. They were mostly Iranian and Arabic in origin. There were Muslim organizations as well. One name, however, jumped out at her, enough that she gasped.
At that instant Molly saw a flash of movement behind her car. From the rear view mirror she noticed the kid slipping around the driver’s side. There was a flash of silver, a knife blade glinting from the porch light across the street.
Molly reflexively reached for the nine millimeter holstered under her arm. Just as he reached her window, lifting the knife, Molly swung around and brought the pistol to his chest.
The kid froze. Down the street the party was just letting out. They were laughing, completely oblivious to what was happening nearby. Molly’s finger tightened on the trigger. She imagined pulling the trigger. All that stopped her was the thought that a bullet might ricochet off the kid’s spine and hit an innocent bystander.
“What were you gonna do, Kid?” she said low and even. “Gonna rape me, or…”
“God, no lady,” he replied. “Just needed some money, I swear. So that is a real gun?”
She almost laughed. ”What do you think?”
“Shit,” he groaned quietly.
“I’m a federal agent. Show me some identification.”
The kid pulled a driver’s license from his pocket and, with trembling fingers, handed it over. Molly glanced at it, keeping the pistol on the kid the whole time.
“Arresting me?”
Molly thought a minute. “I’ve had a very long day. I’ll keep this. Go home and wonder if this is a second chance or the end of the road. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
He handed over the knife. Molly held it up, chuckling that it was nothing more than a dull butter knife. She took a cleansing breath and watched through the mirror as the kid hurried around the corner and disappeared.
Molly drew back her long hair and opened the file again. It only look her a moment before she finally remembered where she knew the name from. It seemed a lifetime ago, recalling a torrent of bittersweet memories.
Showing posts with label An Angry Jasper Adventure. Show all posts
Showing posts with label An Angry Jasper Adventure. Show all posts
Friday, June 25, 2010
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
Angry Jasper: Fifty-seven
A billion and a half miles away, as the crow flies, a small dull gray ship sank through the dense methane clouds of Saturn’s moon Titan. It sank undetected through that thick twilight haze, settling in a small valley. Like a chameleon the ship shifted color to match perfectly the umber and brown landscape. It even mimicked the pale yellow and white patches of Methane snow.
Titan was still a pretty primitive place. There were a few colonies, but mostly for bio-researchers. It was one of the few worlds environmental activists had succeeded in protecting from the exploitative aims of the Corporation. Life was just emerging there, crude as it was, mostly near warm volcanic vents. Indeed, the whole place was akin to some primordial soup. It was the perfect place for Thomas to regroup and plan the eventual takeover of the solar system…
To be continued…
Titan was still a pretty primitive place. There were a few colonies, but mostly for bio-researchers. It was one of the few worlds environmental activists had succeeded in protecting from the exploitative aims of the Corporation. Life was just emerging there, crude as it was, mostly near warm volcanic vents. Indeed, the whole place was akin to some primordial soup. It was the perfect place for Thomas to regroup and plan the eventual takeover of the solar system…
To be continued…
Monday, May 31, 2010
Angry Jasper: Fifty-six
Jazz dressed and went down to Skull boy’s pod. The door was open, and he could see the kid at the glass, mesmerized by the strange creatures of Europa’s hidden ocean. He paused before going in and checked his credit pod. Full payment. Skull boy’s mother had deposited the full amount into his account before the end. The old bird must have known, he thought. He almost felt bad for all the stuff he said to her. He almost felt bad. Well, that was that, he thought, switching off the credit pod. There was just one last detail to attend to.
God, the kid was hideous, Jasper thought. Skull boy’s oblong face was reflected in the glass, superimposed against the turquoise aquatic world. Shame that the only person who could stomach a look at the little snot was dead. It didn’t hardly seem fair. Jazz could see that the kid looked terribly sad.
“Thinkin’ about your mom, kid?”
The kid shook his head without looking at Jazz. “About what you’re thinking.”
“You can read minds too?’
He turned. “No, but I know you’re gonna get rid of me.”
“That’s a little harsh.” Jasper couldn’t bring himself to look at the kid. “For your own good.”
“I know,” he sighed, and sat heavily against the glass.
“You do?” Jazz knelt beside the boy.
“I’ll spend a couple years in a corporation orphanage on Uranus. I’ll be abused by a hybid named Moose. You don’t want to know how. When I’m military age they’ll ship me off to a unit on the frontier. We’re at war by then, maybe the worst anyone ever imagined. I’ll survive a massacre. That’s how the corporation learns of my secret, and they ship me off to some remote research facility for the rest of my life.”
“See?” Jazz exclaimed. “That’s not so bad, eh?”
The kid wasn’t buying it, that much Jazz could tell. It was all for the best though; for him, and for the kid. And why should Jasper feel guilty? He was Angry Jasper, not Papa Jasper, or Daddy Jasper, or Freeload Jasper, or Best Buddy Jasper. He was Angry Jasper, and that’ how he wanted to remain. None of this was his fault. But then if that was true then why did he feel like such a dick?
Skullboy’s eyes held his accusingly. They trapped him, and that pissed Jazz off to no end. T made him feel responsible. Like he owed the kid, or Madame - the deceased Madame - something beyond the simple tenants of their initial contract. All he had agreed to do was rescue the kid from Chicago and return him home. Hell, he had already done far more than he had to. It wasn’t Jasper’s fault that the Earth blew up, smashing the wheel and his mom to bits.
So what if Jazz had come to like the kid? Skull boy kind of grew on a body, like an ugly little mole that you just sort of picked at, and then felt bad when it fell off finally. But it wasn’t about liking or not liking a damn thing. Jazz was a loner, a freighter trash kid who wore a broken heart on one sleeve (The one he led with in a fight), with a chip on his shoulder that would crush most folks, and who wore regret like a suit of armor. What the hell would he do with a kid?
“It’s really for the better,” said Jazz, feeling as though he was trying to convince himself as much as the kid. “You had nice home. You don’t want to traipse around space with the likes of me. Don’t you have an uncle, a grandparent, something somewhere?”
“Nobody.” Skull boy lay back on the floor. He curled into a ball, covering that ugly damn head. It cut through Jazz’ cold and bitter heart like a knife. Jazz stood and paced the room for a moment, wanting to shout or bust something. Suddenly he stopped and looked at Skull boy. He’d said something, and in all the emotion Jazz nearly missed it.
“What did you say about a war?”
“An alien invasion,” the kid’s reply was muted and dejected. “They overrun the frontiers, blah, blah, blah.”
Jasper knelt beside Skull boy, alarmed. “You’re not pulling my chain?”
“Why would I?”
“So when does this invasion… from where, how long?”
“It’s already started.”
“Thomas, survived?”
.”He rises through the Corporation and opens the frontier for a full fledged invasion.”
Jazz stood and backed away from the kid. He pressed his hands against the glass and found it cold.
“Thomas?” he said, more to himself that to the kid. He turned back to Skull boy. “And you’re certain he didn’t die on Earth?”
Skull boy shrugged. “I get the feeling he didn’t.”
God, the kid was hideous, Jasper thought. Skull boy’s oblong face was reflected in the glass, superimposed against the turquoise aquatic world. Shame that the only person who could stomach a look at the little snot was dead. It didn’t hardly seem fair. Jazz could see that the kid looked terribly sad.
“Thinkin’ about your mom, kid?”
The kid shook his head without looking at Jazz. “About what you’re thinking.”
“You can read minds too?’
He turned. “No, but I know you’re gonna get rid of me.”
“That’s a little harsh.” Jasper couldn’t bring himself to look at the kid. “For your own good.”
“I know,” he sighed, and sat heavily against the glass.
“You do?” Jazz knelt beside the boy.
“I’ll spend a couple years in a corporation orphanage on Uranus. I’ll be abused by a hybid named Moose. You don’t want to know how. When I’m military age they’ll ship me off to a unit on the frontier. We’re at war by then, maybe the worst anyone ever imagined. I’ll survive a massacre. That’s how the corporation learns of my secret, and they ship me off to some remote research facility for the rest of my life.”
“See?” Jazz exclaimed. “That’s not so bad, eh?”
The kid wasn’t buying it, that much Jazz could tell. It was all for the best though; for him, and for the kid. And why should Jasper feel guilty? He was Angry Jasper, not Papa Jasper, or Daddy Jasper, or Freeload Jasper, or Best Buddy Jasper. He was Angry Jasper, and that’ how he wanted to remain. None of this was his fault. But then if that was true then why did he feel like such a dick?
Skullboy’s eyes held his accusingly. They trapped him, and that pissed Jazz off to no end. T made him feel responsible. Like he owed the kid, or Madame - the deceased Madame - something beyond the simple tenants of their initial contract. All he had agreed to do was rescue the kid from Chicago and return him home. Hell, he had already done far more than he had to. It wasn’t Jasper’s fault that the Earth blew up, smashing the wheel and his mom to bits.
So what if Jazz had come to like the kid? Skull boy kind of grew on a body, like an ugly little mole that you just sort of picked at, and then felt bad when it fell off finally. But it wasn’t about liking or not liking a damn thing. Jazz was a loner, a freighter trash kid who wore a broken heart on one sleeve (The one he led with in a fight), with a chip on his shoulder that would crush most folks, and who wore regret like a suit of armor. What the hell would he do with a kid?
“It’s really for the better,” said Jazz, feeling as though he was trying to convince himself as much as the kid. “You had nice home. You don’t want to traipse around space with the likes of me. Don’t you have an uncle, a grandparent, something somewhere?”
“Nobody.” Skull boy lay back on the floor. He curled into a ball, covering that ugly damn head. It cut through Jazz’ cold and bitter heart like a knife. Jazz stood and paced the room for a moment, wanting to shout or bust something. Suddenly he stopped and looked at Skull boy. He’d said something, and in all the emotion Jazz nearly missed it.
“What did you say about a war?”
“An alien invasion,” the kid’s reply was muted and dejected. “They overrun the frontiers, blah, blah, blah.”
Jasper knelt beside Skull boy, alarmed. “You’re not pulling my chain?”
“Why would I?”
“So when does this invasion… from where, how long?”
“It’s already started.”
“Thomas, survived?”
.”He rises through the Corporation and opens the frontier for a full fledged invasion.”
Jazz stood and backed away from the kid. He pressed his hands against the glass and found it cold.
“Thomas?” he said, more to himself that to the kid. He turned back to Skull boy. “And you’re certain he didn’t die on Earth?”
Skull boy shrugged. “I get the feeling he didn’t.”
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Angry Jasper: Fifty-four
“Hey, kids, we’re home,” Jazz announced, more to himself than to anyone else. It felt sort of homey seeing everyone that way. The others stirred reluctantly. Kate pulled herself from the tangle of arms and legs. Skull boy groaned and turned over in the hammock. Buzz was content with a moment’s peace and quiet. Kate pulled underwear from the crack of her ass and came up behind Jazz. She looked out at the growing moon before them. It filled the ship with a heavenly golden light. She ran her hands across Jasper’s shoulders and kissed the top of his head.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
“Died,” she said with a groan and stretched out her sore back. In fact her whole body had taken one hell of a beating, and she was feeling it now.
“Miss anything?”
“Naw,” he replied. “Pretty smooth. You guys were sacked out.”
“First real sleep in some time.”
“Wanna wake ‘em?”
“Naw. Let ‘em go.”
Jazz nodded and smiled to himself. “Gotta say, it’s kind of nice, havin’ a full house, so to speak.”
Kate looked back and mused, almost lamented. “About the closest we ever had to a real family.”
There was more traffic now. Freighters and supply ships came and went from the huge methane harvesters floating among Jupiter’s tumultuous cloud layers. They were closer to Europa than to the great gas giant, but still it dominated the view with it’s terrific size. They were already passing around to the dark side of the planet. Stunning aurora patterns were replaced my monumental flashes of bright blue-white lightening. Jupiter never failed to amaze Jazz.
“What about the kid?” asked Kate..” Got no home, no parents anymore.”
“Shame,” he joked. “Well, reckon I’ll have to kill him then.”
Kate smacked the back of his head for such an awful remark. She didn’t let him see the smile on her face. After all, it was a jerk thing to say, but it was funny.
On one of the console screens was a small schematic of the solar system that showed their trajectory from Earth. The planets were completely out of scale of course, but where the Earth once was there was merely a number dots. A single disk, an orphaned moon, drifted among the debris of the world. Katy touched the screen as though she could feel them. The word left her lips like a sudden horrible realization.
“All those millions of souls,” she lamented, “snuffed out in an instant.”
Jazz hadn’t cared much for the place, and thought the end of that crap-heap of a planet was long overdue. He didn’t though sat it, knowing full well that Katy had left a part of herself there. He was a space kid, and never felt anything in particular for Earth, but for Kate it would always be home. For once he didn’t cram his foot in his mouth and suck hard on it.
“Sure sucks,” he said.
Katy frowned, though Jazz couldn’t see. It was a dumb remark, but she wouldn’t bust his chops over it. At least he was trying. In fact, except for remarks about her physical attributes and certain sexual talents over the years, it was one of the nicest things he’d ever said to her. She rubbed the back of his head.
“Yeah, Jazz, it sure does.”
Racing around the planet at close to 20,000 miles per hour jazz had to speed up a little to catch the icy little moon. Europa was a stark and inhospitable world, at least on the surface. Deep ridges cut across a broken landscape of frozen ice flows, scarred by craters being slowly reclaimed by Europa’s ever-changing surface. With the same face blasted continuously by Jupiter’s lethal radiation, all the portals through the Icy crust lay on the dark side of the moon. They were large steel and concrete tubes and channels cutting through miles of dust and pulverized space debris. Each opened into a subterranean ocean fifty miles deep. Clustered around each portal, like grapes on a dark and watery vine, were dozens of little colonies. It was the perfect place to hide.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
“Died,” she said with a groan and stretched out her sore back. In fact her whole body had taken one hell of a beating, and she was feeling it now.
“Miss anything?”
“Naw,” he replied. “Pretty smooth. You guys were sacked out.”
“First real sleep in some time.”
“Wanna wake ‘em?”
“Naw. Let ‘em go.”
Jazz nodded and smiled to himself. “Gotta say, it’s kind of nice, havin’ a full house, so to speak.”
Kate looked back and mused, almost lamented. “About the closest we ever had to a real family.”
There was more traffic now. Freighters and supply ships came and went from the huge methane harvesters floating among Jupiter’s tumultuous cloud layers. They were closer to Europa than to the great gas giant, but still it dominated the view with it’s terrific size. They were already passing around to the dark side of the planet. Stunning aurora patterns were replaced my monumental flashes of bright blue-white lightening. Jupiter never failed to amaze Jazz.
“What about the kid?” asked Kate..” Got no home, no parents anymore.”
“Shame,” he joked. “Well, reckon I’ll have to kill him then.”
Kate smacked the back of his head for such an awful remark. She didn’t let him see the smile on her face. After all, it was a jerk thing to say, but it was funny.
On one of the console screens was a small schematic of the solar system that showed their trajectory from Earth. The planets were completely out of scale of course, but where the Earth once was there was merely a number dots. A single disk, an orphaned moon, drifted among the debris of the world. Katy touched the screen as though she could feel them. The word left her lips like a sudden horrible realization.
“All those millions of souls,” she lamented, “snuffed out in an instant.”
Jazz hadn’t cared much for the place, and thought the end of that crap-heap of a planet was long overdue. He didn’t though sat it, knowing full well that Katy had left a part of herself there. He was a space kid, and never felt anything in particular for Earth, but for Kate it would always be home. For once he didn’t cram his foot in his mouth and suck hard on it.
“Sure sucks,” he said.
Katy frowned, though Jazz couldn’t see. It was a dumb remark, but she wouldn’t bust his chops over it. At least he was trying. In fact, except for remarks about her physical attributes and certain sexual talents over the years, it was one of the nicest things he’d ever said to her. She rubbed the back of his head.
“Yeah, Jazz, it sure does.”
Racing around the planet at close to 20,000 miles per hour jazz had to speed up a little to catch the icy little moon. Europa was a stark and inhospitable world, at least on the surface. Deep ridges cut across a broken landscape of frozen ice flows, scarred by craters being slowly reclaimed by Europa’s ever-changing surface. With the same face blasted continuously by Jupiter’s lethal radiation, all the portals through the Icy crust lay on the dark side of the moon. They were large steel and concrete tubes and channels cutting through miles of dust and pulverized space debris. Each opened into a subterranean ocean fifty miles deep. Clustered around each portal, like grapes on a dark and watery vine, were dozens of little colonies. It was the perfect place to hide.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Angry Jasper: Fifty-three
From the outer gas planets the end of the earth was a plaintive flash that momentarily rivaled the sun’s glare before fading from view. At mars the Earth’s demise threw a brief shadow across the rust red noon day landscape. The planet had disappeared in the relative blink of an eye. It had given rise to a species that had overrun, for better or worse, the solar system, and, god willing, would venture to the stars and galaxies and screw them up too. In the end its passing would matter little to only the most romantic souls, but its passing would not be noticed beyond the orbit of Jupiter. All of human history, the first humans to crawl from an African Gorge, Plato, Rome, The Great Wall,, Napoleon and Yakov Smirnoff erased for all time, but for the memories of ancestors reaching out across the universe.
Everyone aboard that little ship would remember, as they barreled through space. Even at a tenth the speed of light it took the better part of two days to reach the subterranean colony on Europa in the Jupiter system. The broad red and white bands of clouds sweeping across the giant gas planet were magnificent to behold after so much empty space. Jazz doubted the Corporation would be looking for them. It didn’t seem likely that anyone could have survived Earth’s end. Jazz couldn’t quite believe it either, and was quite certain they had been the only ones to escape.
He looked over at Kate. She was in a tangled heap of limbs with Buzz and the boy. They were sacked out cold against the lockers. Skullboy was sort of weaving, his head tilted back and mouth agape. Jazz felt sorry for the kid. He had lost his dad to the rebels. The wheel had taken a direct hit as Earth broke apart. It smashed through the wheel like a stone through a spider’s web.
They swung around the planet, racing above the swirling cloud tops. Jazz was uncomfortable exposing the ship to the planet’s incredible magnetic field for too long. The radiation meter on the console was nearly off the dial. The ship was pretty well protected for interplanetary space and could withstand short spikes in radiation, but itstruggled around behemoths like Jupiter and Saturn. The ship shuddered and groaned at its closest approach to the planet, and Jazz feared the engines might stall. He sighed with relief when icy yellow Europa came into view.
Everyone aboard that little ship would remember, as they barreled through space. Even at a tenth the speed of light it took the better part of two days to reach the subterranean colony on Europa in the Jupiter system. The broad red and white bands of clouds sweeping across the giant gas planet were magnificent to behold after so much empty space. Jazz doubted the Corporation would be looking for them. It didn’t seem likely that anyone could have survived Earth’s end. Jazz couldn’t quite believe it either, and was quite certain they had been the only ones to escape.
He looked over at Kate. She was in a tangled heap of limbs with Buzz and the boy. They were sacked out cold against the lockers. Skullboy was sort of weaving, his head tilted back and mouth agape. Jazz felt sorry for the kid. He had lost his dad to the rebels. The wheel had taken a direct hit as Earth broke apart. It smashed through the wheel like a stone through a spider’s web.
They swung around the planet, racing above the swirling cloud tops. Jazz was uncomfortable exposing the ship to the planet’s incredible magnetic field for too long. The radiation meter on the console was nearly off the dial. The ship was pretty well protected for interplanetary space and could withstand short spikes in radiation, but itstruggled around behemoths like Jupiter and Saturn. The ship shuddered and groaned at its closest approach to the planet, and Jazz feared the engines might stall. He sighed with relief when icy yellow Europa came into view.
Angry Jasper: Fifty-two
The pressure was unbearable now. Skull boy collapsed screaming, his cries lost to the grinding pressure and the violent shuddering of the planetoid and the strain of the engines. Kate was crawling, fighting with every ounce of strength to pull herself into the locker. Behind her, Jazz managed to shove the boy into locker. It sealed instantly as he slammed the door shut. fighting for air, and feeling as though his body might turn itself inside out, Jazz saw the door close and seal behind Kate as well.
The wounded ship bucked and kicked hard away from the dissolving chuck of rock and Ocean. Jazz screamed in pain. Clamping his hands tight over his ears in a vain attempt to keep his eardrums from bursting. He closed his eyes shot, but felt sure his eyes would explode from their sockets.
Jazz fumbled with the handle of the nearest locker. The pain was excruciating. His fingers felt as if they were swelling outward. Warm blood ran from his nails. Jazz fought one last time, knowing that this was likely his last chance. With all his might he hauled himself into the locker and pulled it closed. He fought for breath even as the door pressurized with a squealing hiss. With that fresh oxygen flooded into his lungs. He gave a long low groan, and would have cussed if he had the strength. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped Buzz could wrestle the ship away from the planetoid. His body could have cared less at that moment as he passed out cold.
Maury watched helplessly from his chamber at the center of the wheel as part of the smashed weapon, a piece roughly the size of an old Naval destroyer hurtled straight for him. There was no hope of escape, and Maury knew his fate was sealed. He hung his fat ugly head and moaned.
“Mother f…”
He and his chambers were vaporized by the impact. The wheel structure sort of collapsed around it, sort of like ball thrown into a net. This net didn’t hold, though. It buckled and snapped and ripped itself to pieces, spilling thousands of souls into space, like the Assessor and his wife, Marge. They instantly freeze-dried in the near absolute cold of space, then evaporated into dust. Madame had just dropped her slacks in the toilet when the calamity flung her out into space, bare-assed for all the Universe to see.
One small chunk of Earth fell steadily towards the sun. Somehow a part of Crawford remained intact. Just west of the train tracks and crossroads was a small ranch. Long abandoned, world leaders had once been summoned there to confer with a President whose name no one could recall any longer. If only folks could have seen that his own brand of politics set the stage not only for the rebellion, but for the rise of the Corporation as well. Indeed, it set in motion the long chain of events that doomed the planet and eventually led to its final destruction.
Crawford fell steadily towards the sun, the little ranch and the graffiti covered gravestone beneath the old cedar bough protected on the dark side of the chunk of earth. The stone was a study in kitsch, with big marble pillars. In the center of the gravestone was a larger than life picture of the long passed president. He was smirking, as though filled with contempt for damn near everyone. Like the Sphinx, his nose had been shot away by vandals.
There was a small shack by a creek not far from the gravesite. It was empty now. The bleached bones of the last of the president’s ancestors were scattered on the floor where he had died alone and in shame. A bible was open on the table next to a pair of spectacles and a dusty tin cup.
It evaporated as cinders and then as constituent atomic particles stripped of character and distinction. Curiously the shack was the last to be consumed. The words on the page of the book seemed fitting, and somehow prophetic:
“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given onto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death; and with beasts of the earth…”
The wounded ship bucked and kicked hard away from the dissolving chuck of rock and Ocean. Jazz screamed in pain. Clamping his hands tight over his ears in a vain attempt to keep his eardrums from bursting. He closed his eyes shot, but felt sure his eyes would explode from their sockets.
Jazz fumbled with the handle of the nearest locker. The pain was excruciating. His fingers felt as if they were swelling outward. Warm blood ran from his nails. Jazz fought one last time, knowing that this was likely his last chance. With all his might he hauled himself into the locker and pulled it closed. He fought for breath even as the door pressurized with a squealing hiss. With that fresh oxygen flooded into his lungs. He gave a long low groan, and would have cussed if he had the strength. Somewhere in the back of his mind he hoped Buzz could wrestle the ship away from the planetoid. His body could have cared less at that moment as he passed out cold.
Maury watched helplessly from his chamber at the center of the wheel as part of the smashed weapon, a piece roughly the size of an old Naval destroyer hurtled straight for him. There was no hope of escape, and Maury knew his fate was sealed. He hung his fat ugly head and moaned.
“Mother f…”
He and his chambers were vaporized by the impact. The wheel structure sort of collapsed around it, sort of like ball thrown into a net. This net didn’t hold, though. It buckled and snapped and ripped itself to pieces, spilling thousands of souls into space, like the Assessor and his wife, Marge. They instantly freeze-dried in the near absolute cold of space, then evaporated into dust. Madame had just dropped her slacks in the toilet when the calamity flung her out into space, bare-assed for all the Universe to see.
One small chunk of Earth fell steadily towards the sun. Somehow a part of Crawford remained intact. Just west of the train tracks and crossroads was a small ranch. Long abandoned, world leaders had once been summoned there to confer with a President whose name no one could recall any longer. If only folks could have seen that his own brand of politics set the stage not only for the rebellion, but for the rise of the Corporation as well. Indeed, it set in motion the long chain of events that doomed the planet and eventually led to its final destruction.
Crawford fell steadily towards the sun, the little ranch and the graffiti covered gravestone beneath the old cedar bough protected on the dark side of the chunk of earth. The stone was a study in kitsch, with big marble pillars. In the center of the gravestone was a larger than life picture of the long passed president. He was smirking, as though filled with contempt for damn near everyone. Like the Sphinx, his nose had been shot away by vandals.
There was a small shack by a creek not far from the gravesite. It was empty now. The bleached bones of the last of the president’s ancestors were scattered on the floor where he had died alone and in shame. A bible was open on the table next to a pair of spectacles and a dusty tin cup.
It evaporated as cinders and then as constituent atomic particles stripped of character and distinction. Curiously the shack was the last to be consumed. The words on the page of the book seemed fitting, and somehow prophetic:
“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was death, and Hell followed with him. And power was given onto them over the fourth part of the earth, to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death; and with beasts of the earth…”
Friday, May 21, 2010
Angry Jasper: Forty
Kate should have known her world was about to take a decided turn for the horrible when Thomas’ guards sealed off either end of the dark tunnel. Not that mny dared this way, but it was obvious that what he wished to show her wasn’t something he wished many others to know. She could feel the oppressive heat and humidity coming off the heavy iron door. It looked like some sort of prop from a schlocky Twentieth Century Medieval movie. It was set deep in ragged bedrock. The entrance was low and arched. Moss grew long and heavy from the stones, but with a sickly quality, as if it was afflicted by whatever Thomas held or had hidden inside.
A shiver ran through her. Thomas went to the door and ran his long spindly fingers across it in an oddly and creepily sexual way. His expression was fluid. He looked t her and seemed about to burst. The only question was, thought Kate, was what might jump out of that zombie-like body.
“So why bring me here?” she asked.
“Something you must see.”
“I can only guess,” she said.
His voice was low and seedy. “Never in a million years, my dear..”
The lock look primitive enough, but obviously there was much more to it. Thomas pressed his hand to a smooth place hidden deep in shadow beside the door. The rock lit up and scanned the full length and breadth of Thomas’ hand. It was obviously some sort of bio-metric mechanism, but of a sort and sophistication Kate had never seen before. The latch on the door opened with an audible clang and the door swung heavily back. Not much enough to see, especially for the dull yellow-green light within, but enough that she was instantly hit by the stale must of putrefied bodies.
“Dear god!” Kate raised a hand to cover her nose and mouth.
“God?” Thomas laughed mockingly. “There is no god, Kate. God resides,” he began, drawing her to the door, “in the eternal competition for each species’ survival.”
Thomas pushed open the door and shoved he into the chamber. Kate stumbled forward, skidding and slipping on the slick and slimy floor. The light was low and hazy. It took her eyes a moment to adjust. It took her brain a few seconds longer.
She swooned and felt dizzy as her mind swam and spun fighting to accept, or not to accept, what her eyes beheld. She blinked once and turned abruptly to Thomas and the door, gauging her chances of escape. The look in his deadly black eyes-an insects soulless eyes- had the futility of any attempt abundantly clear. Kate turned back to the horror before her, doing her damnedest to stifle a scream.
It wasn’t a chamber, at least not in the sense someone had carved it from the bedrock. Rather it was a natural formation, though what it had become now was anything but natural. Kate was standing between the open legs of a desiccated corpse that she could only assume was a woman. Hundreds of bodies were strewn or piled across the floor where, for the most part they had been stripped to bone and sinew. The mass of them formed a huge pile at the center of the room, where it appeared they had been tossed like old chicken bones after being devoured.
There were other, fresher corpses, all women, cocooned in grayish orange webbing to the rocky walls. Their distended bellies had been ripped open. Horrifying like hybrids, part human child and part spider were hungrily devouring their hosts. One woman, Kate noticed was still alive. She thrust her arms out from those rgged trappings and screamed as one of those disgusting spider-children ripped itself from the poor woman’s belly.
“Tell me again why I never had a kid?”
“You’ll bear my children.” Said Thomas.
Kate’s sly and ready smile, there in the worst of circumstances failed her completely now. “Interested in a loveless marriage?”
He laughed loudly. It thundered in the chamber, startling the insect-child hybrids, who squealed and scurried away into the shadows, or slithered back inside their long dead hosts. It was a belly laugh that went on a little too long. Kate choked back bile noting the darkly yellow urine stain spread across the front of Thomas’ gown.
“Now I’m turned on,” she said with ample disgust under her breath.
“Dear, this isn’t your fate,” he said. “This will form the vanguard of our army, but you and I, we will create a new royal class, a species all our own. It will be the next phase in the evolution of both our species, which will rise beyond this little system to create and empire across this corner of the galaxy. You and I, my dear will be Adam and Eve to a new civilization.”
Kate couldn’t look at him. She was trapped in the horror of the chamber, and of the terrible vision Thomas’ voice evoked and predicted.
“And if I say no?” she said.
Thomas moved behind her. His cold, calloused slithering fingers held her throat. His slimy tongue circled and explored her ear. He bit down upon the lobe, enough to draw blood. His breath carried the fresh scent of decomposition. Kate felt faint, but sadly unconsciousness never rescued her.
“Dearest,” he said, lapping at the trickle of blood at her neck, “that was not a question nor a choice.”
A shiver ran through her. Thomas went to the door and ran his long spindly fingers across it in an oddly and creepily sexual way. His expression was fluid. He looked t her and seemed about to burst. The only question was, thought Kate, was what might jump out of that zombie-like body.
“So why bring me here?” she asked.
“Something you must see.”
“I can only guess,” she said.
His voice was low and seedy. “Never in a million years, my dear..”
The lock look primitive enough, but obviously there was much more to it. Thomas pressed his hand to a smooth place hidden deep in shadow beside the door. The rock lit up and scanned the full length and breadth of Thomas’ hand. It was obviously some sort of bio-metric mechanism, but of a sort and sophistication Kate had never seen before. The latch on the door opened with an audible clang and the door swung heavily back. Not much enough to see, especially for the dull yellow-green light within, but enough that she was instantly hit by the stale must of putrefied bodies.
“Dear god!” Kate raised a hand to cover her nose and mouth.
“God?” Thomas laughed mockingly. “There is no god, Kate. God resides,” he began, drawing her to the door, “in the eternal competition for each species’ survival.”
Thomas pushed open the door and shoved he into the chamber. Kate stumbled forward, skidding and slipping on the slick and slimy floor. The light was low and hazy. It took her eyes a moment to adjust. It took her brain a few seconds longer.
She swooned and felt dizzy as her mind swam and spun fighting to accept, or not to accept, what her eyes beheld. She blinked once and turned abruptly to Thomas and the door, gauging her chances of escape. The look in his deadly black eyes-an insects soulless eyes- had the futility of any attempt abundantly clear. Kate turned back to the horror before her, doing her damnedest to stifle a scream.
It wasn’t a chamber, at least not in the sense someone had carved it from the bedrock. Rather it was a natural formation, though what it had become now was anything but natural. Kate was standing between the open legs of a desiccated corpse that she could only assume was a woman. Hundreds of bodies were strewn or piled across the floor where, for the most part they had been stripped to bone and sinew. The mass of them formed a huge pile at the center of the room, where it appeared they had been tossed like old chicken bones after being devoured.
There were other, fresher corpses, all women, cocooned in grayish orange webbing to the rocky walls. Their distended bellies had been ripped open. Horrifying like hybrids, part human child and part spider were hungrily devouring their hosts. One woman, Kate noticed was still alive. She thrust her arms out from those rgged trappings and screamed as one of those disgusting spider-children ripped itself from the poor woman’s belly.
“Tell me again why I never had a kid?”
“You’ll bear my children.” Said Thomas.
Kate’s sly and ready smile, there in the worst of circumstances failed her completely now. “Interested in a loveless marriage?”
He laughed loudly. It thundered in the chamber, startling the insect-child hybrids, who squealed and scurried away into the shadows, or slithered back inside their long dead hosts. It was a belly laugh that went on a little too long. Kate choked back bile noting the darkly yellow urine stain spread across the front of Thomas’ gown.
“Now I’m turned on,” she said with ample disgust under her breath.
“Dear, this isn’t your fate,” he said. “This will form the vanguard of our army, but you and I, we will create a new royal class, a species all our own. It will be the next phase in the evolution of both our species, which will rise beyond this little system to create and empire across this corner of the galaxy. You and I, my dear will be Adam and Eve to a new civilization.”
Kate couldn’t look at him. She was trapped in the horror of the chamber, and of the terrible vision Thomas’ voice evoked and predicted.
“And if I say no?” she said.
Thomas moved behind her. His cold, calloused slithering fingers held her throat. His slimy tongue circled and explored her ear. He bit down upon the lobe, enough to draw blood. His breath carried the fresh scent of decomposition. Kate felt faint, but sadly unconsciousness never rescued her.
“Dearest,” he said, lapping at the trickle of blood at her neck, “that was not a question nor a choice.”
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Angry Jasper: Thirty-four
Maury’s sleek and polished weapon moved slowly into position high above the planet. The sun, just rising above the long curbed limb of the planet shimmered across the weapon's long cylindrical form. Reports from the weapon were that they were well ahead of schedule. It would be a matter of hours not days as had originally been planned. Even now technicians were running the final series of tests. Maury was pleased with himself. His thoughts ran through all sorts of scenarios, all of which would secure for him a position of supreme power within the Corporation.
“Thing of beauty,” Maury beamed.
Two finely dressed men stood behind Maury. They were pencil thin engineering clones, known as Identicals, because they were absolutely indistinguishable from one another. Their mahogany features were chiseled, their jet black hair combed away from those oversized foreheads in harsh straight lines. The two men shared an odd look. Maury caught it instantly.
“Let me guess, this is where you tell me there’s a problem right?” he grumbled
“There is a problem.”
“I can’t wait,” said Maury. “Okay. Out with it.”
“Well, we sort of…about the weapon, it hasn’t been tested yet.”
“I am to bore a hole right through the crust of that ashtray of a planet and roast all those little rats alive.”
“Well, therein lies the issue,” said one of the Identicals.
“So we went through all of this and the damn think might not…”
“No, it will work.”
“What he’s saying is, it might work too good.”
“The two of you are seriously pissing me off. What do you mean too good?”
“There’s a chance it could, well, blow the planet apart.”
Maury turned back towards the gold and blue ball of Planet Earth drifting in space. At this distance the planet was a magnificent sight. He imagined the earth dissolving into a million pieces. Maury snickered. It turned into a chuckle and then an uproarious laugh. He laughed so damn hard that tears were quickly tumbling down his engorged cheeks, and a little bit of pee stained his trousers. He nodded and wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Well, shit, I thought it was going to be something bad!” he turned, squinting at the Identicals. “I want the rebels eradicated. I could care less about the damned planet. Besides, it will be easier to mine in pieces.” He turned back to the planet. His expression was stark and resolute. “Proceed with the operation.”
“Governor,” said the short man, “it would be advisable to move the wheel to a safer distance should the unthinkable…”
Maury swiveled sharply, staring accusingly at the two men. “And how long would that take?”
“We could be at a respectably safe distance in a week to ten days.”
“Ha!” Maury scoffed. “Ten days? The longer that thing sits about the planet the greater chance the rebellion will discover and neutralize it. Out of the question!”
“But Governor…” one of them protested.
“Is this a mutiny, gentlemen?” asked Maury, quite indignant.
“No, no, your honor,” they stammered nervously.
“In that case you have your orders.”
The men started to leave. They paused. “Governor, one more small detail. Our spy on the planet...”
Maury could have cared less about the fellow. This was a war, after all, and war meant casualties. At long last he was close to annihilating the rebellion, and the payoff on that was far greater than the loss of one man.
“His sacrifice will be long remembered,” said Maury, with not the slightest remorse.
When the Identicals had gone Maury fondled himself while pondering the fate of the planet. He almost lamented his lack of sympathy that the Earth might soon be reduced to dust, erasing for all time humanity's first assertions towards the endless universe. Then again, why should he care? He hadn’t been born there. His parents, nor even his grandparents had been born there. He was a child of the stars. So what did he care if the Earth was gone. Would men in the Twenty-first century have lamented if the Olduvai Gorge was bulldozed, strip-mined or covered over simply because some fossil had crawled from that sun-baked ditch? Mankind had always been progressing, pulling away from a planet that was of little consequence any longer, but for its mineral wealth and a throw-back rebellion whose time was at hand. Good riddance, he thought and didn’t give it another thought.
“Thing of beauty,” Maury beamed.
Two finely dressed men stood behind Maury. They were pencil thin engineering clones, known as Identicals, because they were absolutely indistinguishable from one another. Their mahogany features were chiseled, their jet black hair combed away from those oversized foreheads in harsh straight lines. The two men shared an odd look. Maury caught it instantly.
“Let me guess, this is where you tell me there’s a problem right?” he grumbled
“There is a problem.”
“I can’t wait,” said Maury. “Okay. Out with it.”
“Well, we sort of…about the weapon, it hasn’t been tested yet.”
“I am to bore a hole right through the crust of that ashtray of a planet and roast all those little rats alive.”
“Well, therein lies the issue,” said one of the Identicals.
“So we went through all of this and the damn think might not…”
“No, it will work.”
“What he’s saying is, it might work too good.”
“The two of you are seriously pissing me off. What do you mean too good?”
“There’s a chance it could, well, blow the planet apart.”
Maury turned back towards the gold and blue ball of Planet Earth drifting in space. At this distance the planet was a magnificent sight. He imagined the earth dissolving into a million pieces. Maury snickered. It turned into a chuckle and then an uproarious laugh. He laughed so damn hard that tears were quickly tumbling down his engorged cheeks, and a little bit of pee stained his trousers. He nodded and wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Well, shit, I thought it was going to be something bad!” he turned, squinting at the Identicals. “I want the rebels eradicated. I could care less about the damned planet. Besides, it will be easier to mine in pieces.” He turned back to the planet. His expression was stark and resolute. “Proceed with the operation.”
“Governor,” said the short man, “it would be advisable to move the wheel to a safer distance should the unthinkable…”
Maury swiveled sharply, staring accusingly at the two men. “And how long would that take?”
“We could be at a respectably safe distance in a week to ten days.”
“Ha!” Maury scoffed. “Ten days? The longer that thing sits about the planet the greater chance the rebellion will discover and neutralize it. Out of the question!”
“But Governor…” one of them protested.
“Is this a mutiny, gentlemen?” asked Maury, quite indignant.
“No, no, your honor,” they stammered nervously.
“In that case you have your orders.”
The men started to leave. They paused. “Governor, one more small detail. Our spy on the planet...”
Maury could have cared less about the fellow. This was a war, after all, and war meant casualties. At long last he was close to annihilating the rebellion, and the payoff on that was far greater than the loss of one man.
“His sacrifice will be long remembered,” said Maury, with not the slightest remorse.
When the Identicals had gone Maury fondled himself while pondering the fate of the planet. He almost lamented his lack of sympathy that the Earth might soon be reduced to dust, erasing for all time humanity's first assertions towards the endless universe. Then again, why should he care? He hadn’t been born there. His parents, nor even his grandparents had been born there. He was a child of the stars. So what did he care if the Earth was gone. Would men in the Twenty-first century have lamented if the Olduvai Gorge was bulldozed, strip-mined or covered over simply because some fossil had crawled from that sun-baked ditch? Mankind had always been progressing, pulling away from a planet that was of little consequence any longer, but for its mineral wealth and a throw-back rebellion whose time was at hand. Good riddance, he thought and didn’t give it another thought.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Angry Jasper-Two
The door swung open, banging loudly against the wall. Daylight splashed across the filthy floor. The stranger stopped just inside, his footfalls falling like two hollow exclamation points. The only thing missing was the clang of spurs, or someone playing an upright piano in the corner, some cowpokes backing anxiously away from the bar and a rabble of done-up dancehall girls in low cut tops and frilly dresses. Cliché, indeed!
The sound startled the proprietor, half dozing behind the bar, sort of leaning back against the cracked mirror, his arms folded tightly at his chest. He was a sturdy soul, with more neck than shoulders, scratching out credits from dregs in a place not fit for the living. Hell, this place would have been sacrilegious for the dead too. The bar keep’s white button shirt was stained in spots with rust-red blood from ancient dozen scrapes. It was thread-bare and a shade too tight. All the blood was somebody else’s. A black apron was tight below the bowl of his belly. The telltale contours of a set of brass knuckles was conspicuous in one of the apron pockets.
The barkeep was up in an instant, a well-used aluminum baseball bat raised in the air, as if both actions were second nature, the way most folks might wake with a yawn. Several thick blood-matted hairs curled from places at the end of the bat. It wasn’t much of a way to welcome customers, but by the looks of things the stranger wasn’t there for the hospitality. Besides, earth was no longer a place for useless courtesies. If a body wanted to be pampered and gushed over there were plenty of those snooty-type digs scattered across the solar system.
His eyes narrowed on the stranger, whose tattered cape and dusty garments were whipped by the broiling Texas wind. It was a man. That much he could tell, the stranger’s face partly hidden by a scarf and dark goggles. One arm and black-gloved hand was still outstretched from shoving open the door. The other arm remained beneath the cape, no doubt resting on a weapon. Behind him, at the end of the desolate and steadily darkening street, a small gray ship wavered unsteadily like a drunkard a few feet off the ground,. There were odd mechanical banging and clunking sounds that coincided with the ship’s errant dips and sways.
The stranger tugged the scarf and goggles down under a square jaw. Ragged scars concentrated around the man’s left eye. That eye was all together different from the right. It was a cheap mechanical implant, no doubt the consequence of a botched procedure or some godforsaken Jovian clinic, veritable meat factories for freighter trash or the rough-necked sods working Helium and Methane farms. The mechanism behind the eye whirred annoyingly, though only the stranger could hear it. The sound reverberated in his skull and gave him the most awful migraines. At the moment it merely pissed him off.
The fugitive at the end of the bar looked up slowly. A line of drool oozed from his lip and pooled beside the empty vodka bottle. If there was murder in his eyes before, there was hunger for it now. He had dined on the liver of one bounty hunter, and incinerated two more. One poor schmuck he had pulled the fingers and toes from one by one. That done he moved on to various other appendages until there was nothing left to remove. He took another swig of booze and slamming the bottle down hard on the bar, banging like a gunshot as he did.
The gnarled bartender was already sweating bullets between them. He lowered the bat and sighed heavily. There wasn’t much chance this would turn out good. He did the only thing he could at that moment and poured three shots of bourbon. He downed the first one and gave another to the fugitive. The fugitive gave him a curious look.
“Go ahead,” said the bartender, setting down the last shot in front of the stranger, who was now standing at the bar.. “Probably gonna be your last.”
The stranger slammed the shot without taking his eyes off the fugitive. He sort of shivered as the bitter spirits ran through him from head to toe.
“Martian,” he said low, recognizing the origin of the rot gut instantly. He’d lost count of the number of hangovers inflicted by cheap Martian Bourbon, each the consequence of a busted heart.
“Imported,” the bartender said.
“My favorite,” he smirked dryly.
“Rot gut,” snorted the fugitive.
“I ain’t pretentious.”
“Gonna trash the place, ain’t ya?” The barkeep almost seemed to take it in stride. Not happily, but in stride.
The stranger nodded respectfully to the fugitive. “Depends on him.”
“In case you’re wrong, got a name so I know where to send the body? Or what’s left of it?”
The stranger started to answer, then smiled and said. “Jasper. Angry jasper. And just save my shootin’ hand. The only part of me that’s worth a damn.”
And that was stretching things. There wasn’t a part of Jasper worth a damn without her, and God only knew where the hell in the solar system she was, not to mention with whom. She was the cause of his busted heart, well, from Jasper’s perspective anyway. Not that any of that mattered much now. Which wasn’t to say he was looking forward to getting bent in two or pounded like a rusty nail by the fugitive. Wasn’t open to question any longer that there would be a fight, only what the outcome would be.
Jasper had a twisting feeling in his gut that this would, like the bartender said, turn out good. Seemed a damn shame he might die in some crappy bar, in a crappy Texas town on a crappy little planet without seeing her one last time. He looked past the bartender and straight in the dark and dangerous eyes of the fugitive.
“Friends call me Jazz. You can call me Angry.”
Jazz’ eyes narrowed on the monster across the bar. Didn’t matter a wit what he was wanted for, only that he was wanted by someone willing to pay good money. This time it was the Corporation, but it might as well have been anyone willing to pay the right number of credits. Jazz had worked for some pretty unsavory types over the years, tracking crooked business associates, two-timing tramps, punks skipping out on mob debts and all manner of scum all across the solar system. Wasn’t a place he wouldn’t go and a man he would fight. Didn’t make Jazz the most loved guy, but it made him one of the most sought after. Staring down the slack-jawed mope across the bar, Jazz looked at it like he was hunting a rabid predator, nothing more and nothing less.
“Welp,” Jasper licked his chops, tasting the bourbon again. “Best not to put this off any longer.”
Truth of it was Jasper didn’t have to do this in the bar. He could have just as easily waited the guy out, He could have waited till the fugitive stumbled out or got tossed into the street by the bartender, which by the size of him seemed like the least likely possibility. That would have been the easy way, and that just wasn’t Jazz. He was a Twenty-second Century man in a Twenty-fourth Century world. Out of date, some folks would say, but Jasper called himself traditional. Better folks would call him freighter trash, the son of a Grinder mechanic, those behemoths pushing asteroids and comets from planet to planet.
He looked around the bar, sort of taking in the arena of battle, as it were. Jasper was asking for a whole lot of pain picking a fight in here. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. He’d need every bit of space he could get to take this pug down. Even then he was sure to take a good pounding. Not that he cared. A healthy dose of physical hurt would go a long way to soothing the pain in his heart. Bitch!
“Come a long way, Bounty hunter,” drooled the fugitive. He grabbed the bottle and squeezed it in those mighty hands. It shattered there with a muffled crack. A thin line of blood ran from the enclosed palm, mixing with the drool and the vodka and the cigarette butts. He grinned a filthy grin, unconcerned by the ragged lacerations to his palm.
“Drug me a long ways, you sad sack son-bitch,” Jasper moved away from the bar, stepping aside near the middle of the room.
The fugitive spit. It was a massive amount of brownih liquid that made an audible splat on the floor near Jazz’ feet. He curiously eyed the blood now pouring from a dozen deep cuts in his palm. It was like he was looking at someone else’s hand, not his own. He chuckled and smeared the mess down the front of his shirt.
“Bout five minutes they’re gonna drag you away by your heels, bounty hunter, that is if there's anything left worth dragging away.”
As the mutt stood Jasper’s nuts sort of recoiled into his body. The guy wasn’t just huge, he was a freakin’ monster! That misshapen, oversized gourd he called a head nearly touched the ceiling. It would have been a step forward in the evolutionary chain to call the guy a mutant- a hybrid!
“Ain’t armed,” he said, swinging his head from side to side. Sort of the same motion an angry elephant makes before charging. “I ain’t going quietly either.”
Jasper drew the weapon from beneath his cape. It was an ARP-21, and looked rather like one of those revolvers from the Old West. But it was a lot bigger and a hell of a lot more powerful. The Arrayed Resistance Pulse-21 pistol fired a mercury-encased plasma round that changed shape and density depending on the target. The power meter, just behind the barrel, came on bright and strong. If there was one detail he attended to religiously, it was maintaining his weapon. As for the rest of his life, eh, that was another story.
Jazz pointed the ARP squarely at the fugitive’s broad-as-a-barn chest. He knew it was going to take a clean shot to the heart or head to bring the guy down. Anything less gave the hybrid a fighting chance of tearing Jazz limb from limb. Of course, a head shot was out of the question. That is if Jazz intended to get paid. The guy snorted, staring down the barrel of the ARP. He was completely un-phased. Jasper even thought he saw a grin crease the guy’s slimy lips.
The sound startled the proprietor, half dozing behind the bar, sort of leaning back against the cracked mirror, his arms folded tightly at his chest. He was a sturdy soul, with more neck than shoulders, scratching out credits from dregs in a place not fit for the living. Hell, this place would have been sacrilegious for the dead too. The bar keep’s white button shirt was stained in spots with rust-red blood from ancient dozen scrapes. It was thread-bare and a shade too tight. All the blood was somebody else’s. A black apron was tight below the bowl of his belly. The telltale contours of a set of brass knuckles was conspicuous in one of the apron pockets.
The barkeep was up in an instant, a well-used aluminum baseball bat raised in the air, as if both actions were second nature, the way most folks might wake with a yawn. Several thick blood-matted hairs curled from places at the end of the bat. It wasn’t much of a way to welcome customers, but by the looks of things the stranger wasn’t there for the hospitality. Besides, earth was no longer a place for useless courtesies. If a body wanted to be pampered and gushed over there were plenty of those snooty-type digs scattered across the solar system.
His eyes narrowed on the stranger, whose tattered cape and dusty garments were whipped by the broiling Texas wind. It was a man. That much he could tell, the stranger’s face partly hidden by a scarf and dark goggles. One arm and black-gloved hand was still outstretched from shoving open the door. The other arm remained beneath the cape, no doubt resting on a weapon. Behind him, at the end of the desolate and steadily darkening street, a small gray ship wavered unsteadily like a drunkard a few feet off the ground,. There were odd mechanical banging and clunking sounds that coincided with the ship’s errant dips and sways.
The stranger tugged the scarf and goggles down under a square jaw. Ragged scars concentrated around the man’s left eye. That eye was all together different from the right. It was a cheap mechanical implant, no doubt the consequence of a botched procedure or some godforsaken Jovian clinic, veritable meat factories for freighter trash or the rough-necked sods working Helium and Methane farms. The mechanism behind the eye whirred annoyingly, though only the stranger could hear it. The sound reverberated in his skull and gave him the most awful migraines. At the moment it merely pissed him off.
The fugitive at the end of the bar looked up slowly. A line of drool oozed from his lip and pooled beside the empty vodka bottle. If there was murder in his eyes before, there was hunger for it now. He had dined on the liver of one bounty hunter, and incinerated two more. One poor schmuck he had pulled the fingers and toes from one by one. That done he moved on to various other appendages until there was nothing left to remove. He took another swig of booze and slamming the bottle down hard on the bar, banging like a gunshot as he did.
The gnarled bartender was already sweating bullets between them. He lowered the bat and sighed heavily. There wasn’t much chance this would turn out good. He did the only thing he could at that moment and poured three shots of bourbon. He downed the first one and gave another to the fugitive. The fugitive gave him a curious look.
“Go ahead,” said the bartender, setting down the last shot in front of the stranger, who was now standing at the bar.. “Probably gonna be your last.”
The stranger slammed the shot without taking his eyes off the fugitive. He sort of shivered as the bitter spirits ran through him from head to toe.
“Martian,” he said low, recognizing the origin of the rot gut instantly. He’d lost count of the number of hangovers inflicted by cheap Martian Bourbon, each the consequence of a busted heart.
“Imported,” the bartender said.
“My favorite,” he smirked dryly.
“Rot gut,” snorted the fugitive.
“I ain’t pretentious.”
“Gonna trash the place, ain’t ya?” The barkeep almost seemed to take it in stride. Not happily, but in stride.
The stranger nodded respectfully to the fugitive. “Depends on him.”
“In case you’re wrong, got a name so I know where to send the body? Or what’s left of it?”
The stranger started to answer, then smiled and said. “Jasper. Angry jasper. And just save my shootin’ hand. The only part of me that’s worth a damn.”
And that was stretching things. There wasn’t a part of Jasper worth a damn without her, and God only knew where the hell in the solar system she was, not to mention with whom. She was the cause of his busted heart, well, from Jasper’s perspective anyway. Not that any of that mattered much now. Which wasn’t to say he was looking forward to getting bent in two or pounded like a rusty nail by the fugitive. Wasn’t open to question any longer that there would be a fight, only what the outcome would be.
Jasper had a twisting feeling in his gut that this would, like the bartender said, turn out good. Seemed a damn shame he might die in some crappy bar, in a crappy Texas town on a crappy little planet without seeing her one last time. He looked past the bartender and straight in the dark and dangerous eyes of the fugitive.
“Friends call me Jazz. You can call me Angry.”
Jazz’ eyes narrowed on the monster across the bar. Didn’t matter a wit what he was wanted for, only that he was wanted by someone willing to pay good money. This time it was the Corporation, but it might as well have been anyone willing to pay the right number of credits. Jazz had worked for some pretty unsavory types over the years, tracking crooked business associates, two-timing tramps, punks skipping out on mob debts and all manner of scum all across the solar system. Wasn’t a place he wouldn’t go and a man he would fight. Didn’t make Jazz the most loved guy, but it made him one of the most sought after. Staring down the slack-jawed mope across the bar, Jazz looked at it like he was hunting a rabid predator, nothing more and nothing less.
“Welp,” Jasper licked his chops, tasting the bourbon again. “Best not to put this off any longer.”
Truth of it was Jasper didn’t have to do this in the bar. He could have just as easily waited the guy out, He could have waited till the fugitive stumbled out or got tossed into the street by the bartender, which by the size of him seemed like the least likely possibility. That would have been the easy way, and that just wasn’t Jazz. He was a Twenty-second Century man in a Twenty-fourth Century world. Out of date, some folks would say, but Jasper called himself traditional. Better folks would call him freighter trash, the son of a Grinder mechanic, those behemoths pushing asteroids and comets from planet to planet.
He looked around the bar, sort of taking in the arena of battle, as it were. Jasper was asking for a whole lot of pain picking a fight in here. There wasn’t much room to maneuver. He’d need every bit of space he could get to take this pug down. Even then he was sure to take a good pounding. Not that he cared. A healthy dose of physical hurt would go a long way to soothing the pain in his heart. Bitch!
“Come a long way, Bounty hunter,” drooled the fugitive. He grabbed the bottle and squeezed it in those mighty hands. It shattered there with a muffled crack. A thin line of blood ran from the enclosed palm, mixing with the drool and the vodka and the cigarette butts. He grinned a filthy grin, unconcerned by the ragged lacerations to his palm.
“Drug me a long ways, you sad sack son-bitch,” Jasper moved away from the bar, stepping aside near the middle of the room.
The fugitive spit. It was a massive amount of brownih liquid that made an audible splat on the floor near Jazz’ feet. He curiously eyed the blood now pouring from a dozen deep cuts in his palm. It was like he was looking at someone else’s hand, not his own. He chuckled and smeared the mess down the front of his shirt.
“Bout five minutes they’re gonna drag you away by your heels, bounty hunter, that is if there's anything left worth dragging away.”
As the mutt stood Jasper’s nuts sort of recoiled into his body. The guy wasn’t just huge, he was a freakin’ monster! That misshapen, oversized gourd he called a head nearly touched the ceiling. It would have been a step forward in the evolutionary chain to call the guy a mutant- a hybrid!
“Ain’t armed,” he said, swinging his head from side to side. Sort of the same motion an angry elephant makes before charging. “I ain’t going quietly either.”
Jasper drew the weapon from beneath his cape. It was an ARP-21, and looked rather like one of those revolvers from the Old West. But it was a lot bigger and a hell of a lot more powerful. The Arrayed Resistance Pulse-21 pistol fired a mercury-encased plasma round that changed shape and density depending on the target. The power meter, just behind the barrel, came on bright and strong. If there was one detail he attended to religiously, it was maintaining his weapon. As for the rest of his life, eh, that was another story.
Jazz pointed the ARP squarely at the fugitive’s broad-as-a-barn chest. He knew it was going to take a clean shot to the heart or head to bring the guy down. Anything less gave the hybrid a fighting chance of tearing Jazz limb from limb. Of course, a head shot was out of the question. That is if Jazz intended to get paid. The guy snorted, staring down the barrel of the ARP. He was completely un-phased. Jasper even thought he saw a grin crease the guy’s slimy lips.
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
Angry Jasper-One
CHAPTER ONE
The World Sucks
ONE
The sun was just coming up, blood red through the dusty haze of a pitched battle on the horizon. Bright orange and red laser arcs chewed the sky at unseen targets. The long low continuous rumble of distant war shook the dusty streets of that little Texas town, somewhere south the ancient city of Dallas, which was now a deep and lifeless crater. The rectangular silhouette of a Corporation freighter rose silent across the oblong disk, running for hard mars. Ships went far more frequently than they came these days. It left an undeniable impression that the earth was being abandoned to the Rebel alliance, and that the last Corporation enclaves might be overrun at any time. That sense was fully evident on the deserted streets of tiny Crawford.
The freighter climbed quickly, keeping just ahead of two rebel rockets that raced skyward before tumbling impotently back to earth. The rebellion was problematic enough on earth, but they had taken their cause throughout the solar system. Their operatives and saboteurs were woven and concealed within every level of the Corporation. For now they were a latent cancer, biding their time and waiting, even as the Corporation hunted them relentlessly.
The freighter threw a shadow momentarily across the wood plank floor of an all night tavern. The ship and fat red sun were neatly framed by the tavern’s only window. A rusting metal sign reading THE SANCTUARY creaked on rusting hinges, a few decibels louder than the encroaching battle. There were three bullet holes in the window. All of them went out.
The place was empty, almost. Its wood blank wall were sooted from decades of tobacco smoke, spattered blood and filth. The tables and chairs were simple, adorned with cheap white doilies and tea-light candles in yellowing shot glasses. Much of the furniture appeared to have been repaired many times over, the legs broken or shortened so that some leaned precariously. The floor was worn to bare wood. Faded centerfold harlots, most torn, or sporting obscene scribbles were tacked to the walls at odd angles.
The bar reeked of stale beer, sweat and ammonia fighting to conceal the biting stink of vomit. It gave the place a dark and dangerous quality, like a back alley crime scene. A Hank Williams’ song was playing from a small and ancient radio behind the bar. It only confirmed the languishing desperation of the place.
A lone figure sat at the end of the bar, half consumed in shadow. He could see the door from where he sat. Not that he was expecting anyone in particular, just in general. He had his fair share of enemies, and was a fugitive a dozen times over, from Jupiter to the moon. He'd come to Earth in a halfhearted wish to join the rebellion. Not because he cared a wit about their cause, the so-called Earth-firsters who clung to the fool-hardy belief that man's place was on the home planet, the place of mankind's birth and evolution. They believed that abandoning Earth for the stars was an abomination, a denial of the very essence of our humanity. If nothing else, the fugitive figured, he'd get to kill someone and get paid for it!
Naw, he didn’t put much faith into all that Earth-first tripe. The fugitive didn't buy a lick of it, nor did he give a Titan-sea-slug either, but he figured it was the last place in the whole god-forsaken solar system where the Corporation could touch him. Only problem was, he’d have to go and fight if he crossed to the rebel side. Not that he ever ran from a fight, but he preferred them where when and with whom he chose.
Even the Corporation had long ago forgotten his original crimes. Not that he would admit any guilt, not often anyway. He bragged about them when he felt the need to bend the ear of a fellow drinker or some hybrid trollop he was momentarily smitten over. Didn’t much matter what those crimes were anymore. All that matter was that they felt like part of a larger process that was quickly coming to its conclusion. Just what that conclusion was exactly, well, who could say?
He was a huge sod, with arms the size of tree trunks. His mis-formed face was folded with a feverish scowl betraying a murderous mood. The deep lines of his brutish forehead overlapped, shadowing deep-set black eyes. A huge double chin and crooked jaw line protruded almost grotesquely outward. Scars, odd lumps and strange patches of hair covered his face.
That massive head sort of lolled back and forth to a rhythm of short, grunting breaths, like a mad dog that ought have been put down long ago. Drinking only helped focus his nasty mood. He’d gone through a bottle of vodka already, and was well into his second. Giant hands wrapped fully around the bottle, as though he meant to crush the thing, or that he might just swallow the whole damn thing, bottle and all. The ashtray before him was filled to overflowing.
The guy stunk something awful, a putrid mixture of sweat, turned liquor and death. The kind of stink that chased flies away, made hogs bury their nose or made maggots gag. But it was his expression that told the lout’s story best. It was the face of a man who knew he was done for, and now it was just a matter of how many he would take down with him.
He lit a cigarette and looked up through a cloud of smoke at a figure striding down the center of the street. Tumble weed bounced between the approaching stranger and the tavern, chased by a dusty gust of wind. The fugitive grinned and crumbled the lit cigarette in his palm. When life becomes a cliché, he thought of the tumbleweed, then its time to get out. But he was damned to leave this world easily, and certainly not alone!
The World Sucks
ONE
The sun was just coming up, blood red through the dusty haze of a pitched battle on the horizon. Bright orange and red laser arcs chewed the sky at unseen targets. The long low continuous rumble of distant war shook the dusty streets of that little Texas town, somewhere south the ancient city of Dallas, which was now a deep and lifeless crater. The rectangular silhouette of a Corporation freighter rose silent across the oblong disk, running for hard mars. Ships went far more frequently than they came these days. It left an undeniable impression that the earth was being abandoned to the Rebel alliance, and that the last Corporation enclaves might be overrun at any time. That sense was fully evident on the deserted streets of tiny Crawford.
The freighter climbed quickly, keeping just ahead of two rebel rockets that raced skyward before tumbling impotently back to earth. The rebellion was problematic enough on earth, but they had taken their cause throughout the solar system. Their operatives and saboteurs were woven and concealed within every level of the Corporation. For now they were a latent cancer, biding their time and waiting, even as the Corporation hunted them relentlessly.
The freighter threw a shadow momentarily across the wood plank floor of an all night tavern. The ship and fat red sun were neatly framed by the tavern’s only window. A rusting metal sign reading THE SANCTUARY creaked on rusting hinges, a few decibels louder than the encroaching battle. There were three bullet holes in the window. All of them went out.
The place was empty, almost. Its wood blank wall were sooted from decades of tobacco smoke, spattered blood and filth. The tables and chairs were simple, adorned with cheap white doilies and tea-light candles in yellowing shot glasses. Much of the furniture appeared to have been repaired many times over, the legs broken or shortened so that some leaned precariously. The floor was worn to bare wood. Faded centerfold harlots, most torn, or sporting obscene scribbles were tacked to the walls at odd angles.
The bar reeked of stale beer, sweat and ammonia fighting to conceal the biting stink of vomit. It gave the place a dark and dangerous quality, like a back alley crime scene. A Hank Williams’ song was playing from a small and ancient radio behind the bar. It only confirmed the languishing desperation of the place.
A lone figure sat at the end of the bar, half consumed in shadow. He could see the door from where he sat. Not that he was expecting anyone in particular, just in general. He had his fair share of enemies, and was a fugitive a dozen times over, from Jupiter to the moon. He'd come to Earth in a halfhearted wish to join the rebellion. Not because he cared a wit about their cause, the so-called Earth-firsters who clung to the fool-hardy belief that man's place was on the home planet, the place of mankind's birth and evolution. They believed that abandoning Earth for the stars was an abomination, a denial of the very essence of our humanity. If nothing else, the fugitive figured, he'd get to kill someone and get paid for it!
Naw, he didn’t put much faith into all that Earth-first tripe. The fugitive didn't buy a lick of it, nor did he give a Titan-sea-slug either, but he figured it was the last place in the whole god-forsaken solar system where the Corporation could touch him. Only problem was, he’d have to go and fight if he crossed to the rebel side. Not that he ever ran from a fight, but he preferred them where when and with whom he chose.
Even the Corporation had long ago forgotten his original crimes. Not that he would admit any guilt, not often anyway. He bragged about them when he felt the need to bend the ear of a fellow drinker or some hybrid trollop he was momentarily smitten over. Didn’t much matter what those crimes were anymore. All that matter was that they felt like part of a larger process that was quickly coming to its conclusion. Just what that conclusion was exactly, well, who could say?
He was a huge sod, with arms the size of tree trunks. His mis-formed face was folded with a feverish scowl betraying a murderous mood. The deep lines of his brutish forehead overlapped, shadowing deep-set black eyes. A huge double chin and crooked jaw line protruded almost grotesquely outward. Scars, odd lumps and strange patches of hair covered his face.
That massive head sort of lolled back and forth to a rhythm of short, grunting breaths, like a mad dog that ought have been put down long ago. Drinking only helped focus his nasty mood. He’d gone through a bottle of vodka already, and was well into his second. Giant hands wrapped fully around the bottle, as though he meant to crush the thing, or that he might just swallow the whole damn thing, bottle and all. The ashtray before him was filled to overflowing.
The guy stunk something awful, a putrid mixture of sweat, turned liquor and death. The kind of stink that chased flies away, made hogs bury their nose or made maggots gag. But it was his expression that told the lout’s story best. It was the face of a man who knew he was done for, and now it was just a matter of how many he would take down with him.
He lit a cigarette and looked up through a cloud of smoke at a figure striding down the center of the street. Tumble weed bounced between the approaching stranger and the tavern, chased by a dusty gust of wind. The fugitive grinned and crumbled the lit cigarette in his palm. When life becomes a cliché, he thought of the tumbleweed, then its time to get out. But he was damned to leave this world easily, and certainly not alone!
THIRD BOOK IN THE CHALLENGE
a bit of a change from the two heavy pieces I've just completed. "Angry Jasper," is a wry and risque Science Fiction piece inspired by the old paperback Westerns by authors like Luke Short, Court Martin and Zeke masters, with titles like "Naked Outpost, Badman's Bordello and Six-gun Outcast. The heroes were hard lovin', hard drinkin' men with a chip on their shoulder, fighting for a bit of justice in a cruel world, and taking love where they could get it-often from an old flame in some dusty frontier brothel.
Jasper is an interplanetary bounty hunter on the trail of the kidnapped kid of a wealthy family. He's in love with a space hooker named kate, who spies for the resistance. Kate and Jazz are great in bed, the best each has ever had, but can't stand one another otherwise. But their seperate trails are about to crash land them together on a barren and strip-mined Earth and a battle in which the fate of the planet and mankind hangs in the balance...
Jasper is an interplanetary bounty hunter on the trail of the kidnapped kid of a wealthy family. He's in love with a space hooker named kate, who spies for the resistance. Kate and Jazz are great in bed, the best each has ever had, but can't stand one another otherwise. But their seperate trails are about to crash land them together on a barren and strip-mined Earth and a battle in which the fate of the planet and mankind hangs in the balance...
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