Someone else might have said it was because he loved her that Jazz refused to give up. Might have been because, in this whole crazy universe, the stars and planets and billions of years of history had conspired to bring Kate and Jazz to this moment. It was as if to confirm that they were meant to be with one another. That they were destined not to perish on that doomed planet, and that the power of love could overcome any obstacle. Truth was, he was looking at her rack, and the thought of never seeing those cha-chas again was too much to bear.
Katy looked over, her face painted with terror. It wasn’t a look Jazz recalled ever seeing there. It said that she was nearly out of hope. She strained to hold on. Skull boy was a burden she just couldn’t bear any longer.
“Stop looking at my boobs,” she snapped. “This might be a good time to come up with a plan!”
The ship skidded along the riverbed, bouncing and banging off various obstacles. Boulders and debris crashed all around. Any one of them could easily smash the ship, or the bridge for that matter. Even if they didn’t it was apparent the ship would tumble past out of reach. Jazz looked wildly around. He was running out of time in more ways than he could count.
A large beam angled away over the river. It was flat on one side and if he could swing his body enough there was a better than even chance he could reach it. On the down side, there wasn’t a whole lot to hold onto, and if he missed, well, best not to think of the negatives.
Jazz swung back and forth for a little extra momentum. He let go and for a moment was airborne. It didn’t last long. Jazz landed hard, catching the beam in the gut and knocking the breath out of him. Hauling him self up Jazz half jogged, half skidded along the beam. He’d only gone a couple of yards before one of those boulders crashed into the bridge flipping him into the air.
At that moment the ship appeared directly beneath him. Jazz yelled and knew he’d hit hard. He slammed onto the rear of the craft and nearly bounced free. At the last instant he held tight to one of the stabilizers. He was getting too damn old for this crap, he thought, scrambling over the fuselage to the cockpit. He climbed in and pressed the ignition and nothing happened.
“You son of a …!” he hit the button again and this time the engines roared to life, and not a moment too soon.
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label comedy. Show all posts
Friday, May 28, 2010
Angry Jasper: Forty-nine
They ran along old Michigan Avenue, slowed by Buzz who lagged behind on those stubby little legs. Scrambling over heaping mounds of debris and dodging falling stone Jazz was of a mind to leave the robot behind, but Kate wouldn't hear of it. When Jazz reminded her Buzz was an obsolete bucket of bolts and moldy wires she froze in her tracks and refused to budge. Jazz kicked at a stone and threw up his arms in frustration.
“Remind me again why I risked my ass to rescue you from your fiancé, the monster?”
“You tell me, Jazz.”
He knew what she was asking. “Not on your life!”
Plasma bolts blasted the broken cityscape, drawing nearer. Jazz ignored them, favor instant vaporization to the hell Kate was attempting to put him through.
“Say it, Jazz, or we all fry on this godforsaken street.”
“Oh, do me a favor, lord!”
A bolt of searing hot plasma whipped high overhead, cracking like a deafening whip. Kate stood her ground, refusing to flinch or move a muscle. But it wasn't the imminent threat of death that got him, but the murderously cold stare that broke him.
“I friggin love you, all right,” he said, literally going down on one knee (Because he knew she wouldn't accept any less.).
Kate cocked her head and gave a satisfied smile. “Now was that so hard?”
She'd barely finished the words when a fissure opened up beneath her feet. That satisfied smile turned to shook as the earth disappeared beneath her feet.. Jazz was already diving towards her, catching Katy, quite by accident, with both hands around the throat.
She held tight to his wrists, straining to breathe beneath his grip. Far below, where the ground dissolved and fell away the rebel lair opened up disgorging bodies and everything else into the widening abyss. Jazz ignored it, digging his toes into the dirt to keep from being dragged over the edge with Kate. At the last moment Skullboy and Buzz fell upon his legs and dragged him back from the chasm. Jazz strained and shouted and pulled Kate up. She pulled free of his grip and rubbed her neck.
“I think you actually enjoyed that,” she coughed.
Jazz stood and helped her stand. Tumbling into hell with my hands around your neck? It's been a fantasy of mine for years!”
the battled the shattering planet all the way down the avenue until at last they came to the dry river bed. Jazz spotted the ship, where it was half buried in the bank. It was dented in a few places and covered with dirt and debris, but thankfully none the worse for wear. The ship had been through some tough scrapes, a lot tougher than crashing into that bank. But things were about to get a lot tougher. Jazz was less worried about the ship than he was about his own ass, and the others too.
They had just reached the twisted wreckage of the Michigan Avenue Bridge when the ground suddenly pitched sharply skyward. Whole buildings dislodged from the earth and slid or tumbled towards the dry lake bed, now hundreds of feet below. The four of them clung desperately to a bridge support. It was all they could do to hold on.
Reaching the ship seemed all but impossible now. The rain of debris from above grew and grew until it all seemed utterly hopeless. Jazz could feel those precious final minutes pounding away in his chest. It was all he could do just hold on and keep from being pummeled and smashed like a grape as the city and the planet disintegrated around them.
The beam of energy was weakening now, but the damage to the planet was irreversible. The crust had shattered like an egg, and the planet might have survived if that was as far as things went. But the beam sliced a hole deep into the mantle until the molten core poured into the breach. It threw the planet out of balance, like a loaded pair of dice. The entire planet shuddered violently, but this time it wasn’t resistance to the beam but a death throe.
When the earth pitched upwards it had dislodged the ship from the riverbed. Jazz watched as it began to slide down the steep bank towards the bridge. Clear to the other side of the river, it was too damn far away for all of them to reach together. At the pace of their progress Jazz didn’t see much chance in reaching it before it slid away forever. What really got him was that the thing didn’t simply tumble away where it was gone forever. Instead it sort of teased him, bumping, catching and skidding along the slope of the bank.
“Ain’t gonna make it,” he told himself. He looked over at Katy. She had a hold of the kid and it was all she could do to hang on. Next to her, clinging tight to a support, the pudgy little robot was all but useless.
“Remind me again why I risked my ass to rescue you from your fiancé, the monster?”
“You tell me, Jazz.”
He knew what she was asking. “Not on your life!”
Plasma bolts blasted the broken cityscape, drawing nearer. Jazz ignored them, favor instant vaporization to the hell Kate was attempting to put him through.
“Say it, Jazz, or we all fry on this godforsaken street.”
“Oh, do me a favor, lord!”
A bolt of searing hot plasma whipped high overhead, cracking like a deafening whip. Kate stood her ground, refusing to flinch or move a muscle. But it wasn't the imminent threat of death that got him, but the murderously cold stare that broke him.
“I friggin love you, all right,” he said, literally going down on one knee (Because he knew she wouldn't accept any less.).
Kate cocked her head and gave a satisfied smile. “Now was that so hard?”
She'd barely finished the words when a fissure opened up beneath her feet. That satisfied smile turned to shook as the earth disappeared beneath her feet.. Jazz was already diving towards her, catching Katy, quite by accident, with both hands around the throat.
She held tight to his wrists, straining to breathe beneath his grip. Far below, where the ground dissolved and fell away the rebel lair opened up disgorging bodies and everything else into the widening abyss. Jazz ignored it, digging his toes into the dirt to keep from being dragged over the edge with Kate. At the last moment Skullboy and Buzz fell upon his legs and dragged him back from the chasm. Jazz strained and shouted and pulled Kate up. She pulled free of his grip and rubbed her neck.
“I think you actually enjoyed that,” she coughed.
Jazz stood and helped her stand. Tumbling into hell with my hands around your neck? It's been a fantasy of mine for years!”
the battled the shattering planet all the way down the avenue until at last they came to the dry river bed. Jazz spotted the ship, where it was half buried in the bank. It was dented in a few places and covered with dirt and debris, but thankfully none the worse for wear. The ship had been through some tough scrapes, a lot tougher than crashing into that bank. But things were about to get a lot tougher. Jazz was less worried about the ship than he was about his own ass, and the others too.
They had just reached the twisted wreckage of the Michigan Avenue Bridge when the ground suddenly pitched sharply skyward. Whole buildings dislodged from the earth and slid or tumbled towards the dry lake bed, now hundreds of feet below. The four of them clung desperately to a bridge support. It was all they could do to hold on.
Reaching the ship seemed all but impossible now. The rain of debris from above grew and grew until it all seemed utterly hopeless. Jazz could feel those precious final minutes pounding away in his chest. It was all he could do just hold on and keep from being pummeled and smashed like a grape as the city and the planet disintegrated around them.
The beam of energy was weakening now, but the damage to the planet was irreversible. The crust had shattered like an egg, and the planet might have survived if that was as far as things went. But the beam sliced a hole deep into the mantle until the molten core poured into the breach. It threw the planet out of balance, like a loaded pair of dice. The entire planet shuddered violently, but this time it wasn’t resistance to the beam but a death throe.
When the earth pitched upwards it had dislodged the ship from the riverbed. Jazz watched as it began to slide down the steep bank towards the bridge. Clear to the other side of the river, it was too damn far away for all of them to reach together. At the pace of their progress Jazz didn’t see much chance in reaching it before it slid away forever. What really got him was that the thing didn’t simply tumble away where it was gone forever. Instead it sort of teased him, bumping, catching and skidding along the slope of the bank.
“Ain’t gonna make it,” he told himself. He looked over at Katy. She had a hold of the kid and it was all she could do to hang on. Next to her, clinging tight to a support, the pudgy little robot was all but useless.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Jangry Jasper: Thirty-six
Buzz tapped his forehead in frustration as thousands of files and articles downloaded from the Worm-net, which was very much akin to the ancient internet, but used wormholes to circumnavigate trillions of miles of solar system in seconds. To his great disappointment there simply wasn't much known about Thomas. There was little in the way of any sort of revelation. Buzz had even managed to hack a couple of secret Corporation files, but it was obvious they were as much in the dark about him as everyone else.
Thomas Claimed to be ancestor of the great profit from Branson, Yakov Smirnoff. For years everyone believed the fuzzy bearded Russian émigré was simply a fool, a two-bit jokester with a fully accent who made a career telling the same stale Cold War jokes about his Mother Russia:
“In Soviet Russia, the government controls corporations. In America corporations controls the government!”
Little did anyone suspect that Yakov was as gifted a thinker as Descartes or Foucault or Socrates. He was an oracle and a prophet to the coming doom about to befall the planet. For centuries devout followers of Yakov Smirnoff would recite is jokes, mimicking the accent, some of them sporting the signature beard and a hand-me-down suit and marvel at the brilliance.
One detail was certain. Thomas was the lone survivor of a mysterious blast that destroyed the rebel stronghold at Branson. The place had been under direct attack for many months. But one night, during a lull in the battle something large descended like a meteor from space. It struck the stronghold full force, with a resulting blast heard half way around the world. There seemed little doubt that the Corporation was responsible for the calamity, though they vehemently denied any responsibility for the act. Six days later Thomas stumbled into a rebel patrol searching for survivors.
Buzzed searched his archives and discovered a copy of the patrol’s report:
ACTION REPORT: January, 30, 2517
The Unit reached Springfield at the edge of the blast zone. The city is all but obliterated. The patrol encountered small bands of survivors fleeing towards enclaves along the old Mississippi basin. Constant threats from Corporation ships forced our unit to take refuge in the city before proceeding towards Branson. Expectations were low for encountering any further survivors. The ground here is devastated, as though an asteroid struck. On the sixth night a lone figure stumbled into our perimeter from the direction of the blast zone. Despite several warning shots the obviously disoriented male continued before collapsing. Subject held in isolation and refused, or was unable to speak despite repeated interrogation. When he could speak once more it was rudimentary, like an infant learning to speak.
Subject claimed ancestry to the Smirnoff lineage. No way to verify claim any longer due to complete destruction of region. Reached Branson on the tenth day, but the area was blasted clear to the bed rock. Came under Corporation attack soon after reaching area. Withdrew without locating any more survivors. Subject, named Thomas, handed over to command at base.
Of course, the news that Thomas was related to the great Yakov was met with great skepticism. In battle he proved himself as brave and ruthless as that short and swarthy lot he claimed heritage. In the right light he might have even passed as a descendent. The image of a valient Yakov had been honed through the centuries into a heroic and virtuous figure and Thomas seemed intent on recreating that legacy. Little else remained of the man, though some small bits of his brilliant oratory skills remained, mere glimpses into his more whimsical and human side. They were traits apparently not passed on to this ancestor.
Thomas' exploits in battle certainly were enough to get him recognized, and even praised, but Thomas’ career might well have ended there. He might have run out his days as a zealous commander, but for one powerful attribute: Ruthless ambition.
Indeed, there were many who would have, quietly to themselves, characterized it as murderous ambition. There were not a few who took offense when he described himself as prince, whose destiny was to rise as king over the rebellion, and thus taking his ancestor’s rightful place. Rivals met with mysterious demise, fell in suspicious Corporation ambushes, as though someone had tipped the enemy, or succumbed to some ailment or other-usually resulting in a fiery crash that erased all possible evidence. Critics and enemies met even harsher fates. Branded as traitors, often with transparently forged evidence, the poor souls who ran afoul of Thomas were summarily executed or simply disappeared.
Thomas Claimed to be ancestor of the great profit from Branson, Yakov Smirnoff. For years everyone believed the fuzzy bearded Russian émigré was simply a fool, a two-bit jokester with a fully accent who made a career telling the same stale Cold War jokes about his Mother Russia:
“In Soviet Russia, the government controls corporations. In America corporations controls the government!”
Little did anyone suspect that Yakov was as gifted a thinker as Descartes or Foucault or Socrates. He was an oracle and a prophet to the coming doom about to befall the planet. For centuries devout followers of Yakov Smirnoff would recite is jokes, mimicking the accent, some of them sporting the signature beard and a hand-me-down suit and marvel at the brilliance.
One detail was certain. Thomas was the lone survivor of a mysterious blast that destroyed the rebel stronghold at Branson. The place had been under direct attack for many months. But one night, during a lull in the battle something large descended like a meteor from space. It struck the stronghold full force, with a resulting blast heard half way around the world. There seemed little doubt that the Corporation was responsible for the calamity, though they vehemently denied any responsibility for the act. Six days later Thomas stumbled into a rebel patrol searching for survivors.
Buzzed searched his archives and discovered a copy of the patrol’s report:
ACTION REPORT: January, 30, 2517
The Unit reached Springfield at the edge of the blast zone. The city is all but obliterated. The patrol encountered small bands of survivors fleeing towards enclaves along the old Mississippi basin. Constant threats from Corporation ships forced our unit to take refuge in the city before proceeding towards Branson. Expectations were low for encountering any further survivors. The ground here is devastated, as though an asteroid struck. On the sixth night a lone figure stumbled into our perimeter from the direction of the blast zone. Despite several warning shots the obviously disoriented male continued before collapsing. Subject held in isolation and refused, or was unable to speak despite repeated interrogation. When he could speak once more it was rudimentary, like an infant learning to speak.
Subject claimed ancestry to the Smirnoff lineage. No way to verify claim any longer due to complete destruction of region. Reached Branson on the tenth day, but the area was blasted clear to the bed rock. Came under Corporation attack soon after reaching area. Withdrew without locating any more survivors. Subject, named Thomas, handed over to command at base.
Of course, the news that Thomas was related to the great Yakov was met with great skepticism. In battle he proved himself as brave and ruthless as that short and swarthy lot he claimed heritage. In the right light he might have even passed as a descendent. The image of a valient Yakov had been honed through the centuries into a heroic and virtuous figure and Thomas seemed intent on recreating that legacy. Little else remained of the man, though some small bits of his brilliant oratory skills remained, mere glimpses into his more whimsical and human side. They were traits apparently not passed on to this ancestor.
Thomas' exploits in battle certainly were enough to get him recognized, and even praised, but Thomas’ career might well have ended there. He might have run out his days as a zealous commander, but for one powerful attribute: Ruthless ambition.
Indeed, there were many who would have, quietly to themselves, characterized it as murderous ambition. There were not a few who took offense when he described himself as prince, whose destiny was to rise as king over the rebellion, and thus taking his ancestor’s rightful place. Rivals met with mysterious demise, fell in suspicious Corporation ambushes, as though someone had tipped the enemy, or succumbed to some ailment or other-usually resulting in a fiery crash that erased all possible evidence. Critics and enemies met even harsher fates. Branded as traitors, often with transparently forged evidence, the poor souls who ran afoul of Thomas were summarily executed or simply disappeared.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Angry-Jasper: Thirty-one
The heavy wooden cell door slammed shut behind Jazz with a soul shattering finality. The cell was as cold and dark as a cave, and only dimly lit by a dingy dull light stuttering from a bulb above the door. The room stunk of old sweat and piss, wet stone and thick mats of deep green moss that covered the walls. Tacky wet bits from the low ceiling pelted his head and shoulders as the Corporation continued its punishing retaliation.
Jazz wasn’t alone, and he knew it immediately. Just who or what was there was impossible to tell right off. He backed against the door as his eyes grudgingly adjusted to the darkness and clenched his fist, ready for a fight.. The light from the flickering bulb threw itself in a narrow channel across the wet stone floor. Jazz sort of rocked up and back, scanning the blackness for the slightest hint of danger.
Suddenly a small figure moved into the light startling him. Jazz screamed. It was the scream of a frightened little girl, high and sharp. The thing’s face was hideous and deformed, staring at him with these big black monstrous eyes. The creatures flesh was pale, and painted in the jaundiced hue of the bulb. It looked at him disbelieving, those huge black eyes blinking once.
“What the shit!” he exclaimed.
It disappeared again, skidding and scurrying to the back of the cell. Jazz strained to see, but it lost to the darkness.
“Count to three,” he said shakily. “You better show yourself!”
There was a painfully long moment when Jazz feared he would have to go hunting for his prey. He wondered if it had rabies, or might maul him in the blackness where it held the advantage with those mammoth eyeballs. It moved into the light again, this time looking up at him with sad, almost needing puppy dog eyes. Those huge eyes blinked again, and a tear ran down the creature’s pale cheek.
For Christ’s sake, Jazz could hardly look at the damn thing. Its sunken features and withdrawn lips nearly made him gag. It took a very long moment to realize that it was a young boy. What hair there was grew in thin patches in odd places. There was no nose to speak of, but rather two grotesquely open pits. Skin was pulled tight revealing blue-ish veins beneath. Jazz was staring into the face of a living freaking skull, thinking that this kid would lead a very lonely life, outside a home for the blind. Madame was right. Jazz had no trouble recognizing her kid.
“Bartholomew,” the boy said, catching Jazz by surprise.
“What?”
“My name. You were going to ask my name.”
“Bartholomew?”
The boy nodded.
“What kind of pussie name…? Never mind.”
“Mother calls me…”
“You’re skull boy,” he said flatly, running his fingers along the edge of the door. “Now what we need is a way out of here.”
“I think you will die,” said Skull Boy.
“What?’ Jazz turned, annoyed.
“I can see the future, and I’m not skull boy!”
“You got the head of a skull, and Bartholomew is just bit too dainty for me. So skull boy it is. Now what’s all this about me dying, huh?”
“Unfortunately it won’t be permanent.”
“Oh, okay,” Jazz scoffed, “I’ll just die for a little while. Got bats fluttering inside that skull, kid.”
Jazz peered through the slit in the door. Anything was better than looking at the kid. He could just see the guard at the end of the passageway. His fingers found the heavy iron hinges. They were bolted into the wall and seemed sturdy enough. Feeling around the edges the wall crumbled under his touch. He dug at the ancient concrete until he had loosed one of the hinges. Within a few feverish minutes Jazz had managed to dig the five of six bolts free of the wall, leaving just one to secure the door in place. The fifth made a bit too much noise as it came loose. Jazz heard the guard approaching and, suppressing a gag, pulled the kid back into the shadows.
“What the hell is going on in there?” the guard grumbled through the slit. Hearing no reply he mumbled under his breath and retreated to his post.
Jazz slid down the wall to his butt and sighed. Shouldn’t rush things too much, he thought. He was beat-tired and was bound to make a mistake, and that he couldn’t afford.
Jazz wasn’t alone, and he knew it immediately. Just who or what was there was impossible to tell right off. He backed against the door as his eyes grudgingly adjusted to the darkness and clenched his fist, ready for a fight.. The light from the flickering bulb threw itself in a narrow channel across the wet stone floor. Jazz sort of rocked up and back, scanning the blackness for the slightest hint of danger.
Suddenly a small figure moved into the light startling him. Jazz screamed. It was the scream of a frightened little girl, high and sharp. The thing’s face was hideous and deformed, staring at him with these big black monstrous eyes. The creatures flesh was pale, and painted in the jaundiced hue of the bulb. It looked at him disbelieving, those huge black eyes blinking once.
“What the shit!” he exclaimed.
It disappeared again, skidding and scurrying to the back of the cell. Jazz strained to see, but it lost to the darkness.
“Count to three,” he said shakily. “You better show yourself!”
There was a painfully long moment when Jazz feared he would have to go hunting for his prey. He wondered if it had rabies, or might maul him in the blackness where it held the advantage with those mammoth eyeballs. It moved into the light again, this time looking up at him with sad, almost needing puppy dog eyes. Those huge eyes blinked again, and a tear ran down the creature’s pale cheek.
For Christ’s sake, Jazz could hardly look at the damn thing. Its sunken features and withdrawn lips nearly made him gag. It took a very long moment to realize that it was a young boy. What hair there was grew in thin patches in odd places. There was no nose to speak of, but rather two grotesquely open pits. Skin was pulled tight revealing blue-ish veins beneath. Jazz was staring into the face of a living freaking skull, thinking that this kid would lead a very lonely life, outside a home for the blind. Madame was right. Jazz had no trouble recognizing her kid.
“Bartholomew,” the boy said, catching Jazz by surprise.
“What?”
“My name. You were going to ask my name.”
“Bartholomew?”
The boy nodded.
“What kind of pussie name…? Never mind.”
“Mother calls me…”
“You’re skull boy,” he said flatly, running his fingers along the edge of the door. “Now what we need is a way out of here.”
“I think you will die,” said Skull Boy.
“What?’ Jazz turned, annoyed.
“I can see the future, and I’m not skull boy!”
“You got the head of a skull, and Bartholomew is just bit too dainty for me. So skull boy it is. Now what’s all this about me dying, huh?”
“Unfortunately it won’t be permanent.”
“Oh, okay,” Jazz scoffed, “I’ll just die for a little while. Got bats fluttering inside that skull, kid.”
Jazz peered through the slit in the door. Anything was better than looking at the kid. He could just see the guard at the end of the passageway. His fingers found the heavy iron hinges. They were bolted into the wall and seemed sturdy enough. Feeling around the edges the wall crumbled under his touch. He dug at the ancient concrete until he had loosed one of the hinges. Within a few feverish minutes Jazz had managed to dig the five of six bolts free of the wall, leaving just one to secure the door in place. The fifth made a bit too much noise as it came loose. Jazz heard the guard approaching and, suppressing a gag, pulled the kid back into the shadows.
“What the hell is going on in there?” the guard grumbled through the slit. Hearing no reply he mumbled under his breath and retreated to his post.
Jazz slid down the wall to his butt and sighed. Shouldn’t rush things too much, he thought. He was beat-tired and was bound to make a mistake, and that he couldn’t afford.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Angry Jasper: Twenty-nine
CHAPTER THREE
IN A WORLD OF HURT.
This crap was getting old, jazz thought from the tiny holding cell. He was crowded together with a hand full of corporate soldiers from the ship. Several had been wounded, and one of those was very near death. The ship’s pilot, a salty old cuss, with the look of a discontent at the end of his career, cradled the dying man’s head in his lap. There were tears in the commanders taunt and straining expression. His lip quivered terribly each time the dying soldier grimaced in mortal pain.
The room was small and dingy, like an old basement that had not been cleaned in years. There were no windows, and only one heavy iron door. Jazz curled up close to the door, apart from the others, and the blood slowly covering the cold hard floor. The room was dark, with just a bit of pale light leaking through gaps around the door.
The pilot stared at Jazz. It was a contemptuous glare. The man seemed to be muttering under his breath. Jazz looked away. There was no sense in picking a fight, and making this situation any worse. But Jazz couldn’t escape that burning stare. It was soon too much to ignore. He met the man’s dark eyes.
“Do I owe you credits or something?” Jazz said.
“Keep thinking how we should have shot you and that bitch first off.”
“Might have been doing me a favor,” Jazz replied.
The dying man coughed. His breathing was slower and more labored now. The anguish of watching the man die was evident in everyone’s mood.
“The both of you ain’t worth one of these men,” the pilot’s voice choked with emotion.
“You mean this room full of heroes?” Jazz should have kept his mouth shut, but that was a lesson he just had never learned. He was hopelessly outnumbered, but it was far too late for recriminations. His mouth and piss-poor attitude was about to cost him one hell of a whipping.
There was an odd moment when it might have blown over, even though he knew it wouldn’t. The others waited to see what the pilot was going to do. When he lunged at Jazz the fight was on.
Jazz was ready for the man. He stepped aside and sent the pilot slamming face first into the wall. The impact made a sickeningly loud clapping noise, like two planks smacked together. The pilot was out cold before he hit the floor. Jazz was still regarding his handiwork when someone’s fist smashed his left cheek.
“Shit!” Jazz cried. The punch spun him around. Blood and snot and spit spattered the wall in front of him. He was still reeling when a kick to the back drove the air from his lungs.
So much for a fight. Jazz could only curl himself into a ball and hoped the louts exhausted themselves before they did some real damage. They kicked and stomped him with the unhinged intensity of men who had nothing to lose any longer. Jazz prayed for the cold numbness of unconsciousness, and even a bit for a quick painless death. It was quickly apparent that neither would come soon enough. Only once did he attempt to fight back, but caught the heel of a boot in the forehead instantly.
The cell door opened suddenly and several guards joined in the melee, swinging sticks and clubs at Jazz’ attackers. Still the frenzied prisoners persisted. For a long, painfully brutal moment Jazz was at the center of the storm, still fighting for air, and still fending off blows.
At last the prisoners had been pummeled into a heap. Jazz sat up, gulping air into reluctant lungs and pressing himself into a corner. He looked up at the guards and tried to speak, to offer some sort of thanks. That gratitude would be short lived, though. They grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him from the room, dumping him heavily on the floor outside the cell.
IN A WORLD OF HURT.
This crap was getting old, jazz thought from the tiny holding cell. He was crowded together with a hand full of corporate soldiers from the ship. Several had been wounded, and one of those was very near death. The ship’s pilot, a salty old cuss, with the look of a discontent at the end of his career, cradled the dying man’s head in his lap. There were tears in the commanders taunt and straining expression. His lip quivered terribly each time the dying soldier grimaced in mortal pain.
The room was small and dingy, like an old basement that had not been cleaned in years. There were no windows, and only one heavy iron door. Jazz curled up close to the door, apart from the others, and the blood slowly covering the cold hard floor. The room was dark, with just a bit of pale light leaking through gaps around the door.
The pilot stared at Jazz. It was a contemptuous glare. The man seemed to be muttering under his breath. Jazz looked away. There was no sense in picking a fight, and making this situation any worse. But Jazz couldn’t escape that burning stare. It was soon too much to ignore. He met the man’s dark eyes.
“Do I owe you credits or something?” Jazz said.
“Keep thinking how we should have shot you and that bitch first off.”
“Might have been doing me a favor,” Jazz replied.
The dying man coughed. His breathing was slower and more labored now. The anguish of watching the man die was evident in everyone’s mood.
“The both of you ain’t worth one of these men,” the pilot’s voice choked with emotion.
“You mean this room full of heroes?” Jazz should have kept his mouth shut, but that was a lesson he just had never learned. He was hopelessly outnumbered, but it was far too late for recriminations. His mouth and piss-poor attitude was about to cost him one hell of a whipping.
There was an odd moment when it might have blown over, even though he knew it wouldn’t. The others waited to see what the pilot was going to do. When he lunged at Jazz the fight was on.
Jazz was ready for the man. He stepped aside and sent the pilot slamming face first into the wall. The impact made a sickeningly loud clapping noise, like two planks smacked together. The pilot was out cold before he hit the floor. Jazz was still regarding his handiwork when someone’s fist smashed his left cheek.
“Shit!” Jazz cried. The punch spun him around. Blood and snot and spit spattered the wall in front of him. He was still reeling when a kick to the back drove the air from his lungs.
So much for a fight. Jazz could only curl himself into a ball and hoped the louts exhausted themselves before they did some real damage. They kicked and stomped him with the unhinged intensity of men who had nothing to lose any longer. Jazz prayed for the cold numbness of unconsciousness, and even a bit for a quick painless death. It was quickly apparent that neither would come soon enough. Only once did he attempt to fight back, but caught the heel of a boot in the forehead instantly.
The cell door opened suddenly and several guards joined in the melee, swinging sticks and clubs at Jazz’ attackers. Still the frenzied prisoners persisted. For a long, painfully brutal moment Jazz was at the center of the storm, still fighting for air, and still fending off blows.
At last the prisoners had been pummeled into a heap. Jazz sat up, gulping air into reluctant lungs and pressing himself into a corner. He looked up at the guards and tried to speak, to offer some sort of thanks. That gratitude would be short lived, though. They grabbed him by the ankles and dragged him from the room, dumping him heavily on the floor outside the cell.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Angry Jasper:Twenty-four
“Oh, I missed you,” she panted, riding him hard, sounding like some wretched beast in heat. The fighting seemed a thousand miles away as Kate’s pleasure built to a powerful crescendo.
“All of me,” he strained, pushing his hips up to meet her. He held her hips tight, absorbing the ecstatic look on her face, and swelling with hungry pride. He could feel her getting close, and felt his own climax rushing towards that unstoppable abyss. “All of me, or just certain parts?”
“Some parts more than others.”
“Like?”
“Shut up, Jazz, I’m almost there.”
“What parts don’t you like?” He was straining too, his own climax building quickly to meet hers. “Tell me.”
“I could do without the mouth right now, for one,” she said with a moan.
Instead of finishing at that moment Jazz turned her over and they coupled again. He held her tighter, slapping hard against that beautiful tail. Kate cried out with pleasure and realized why she’d first fallen in love with him from their very first interlude.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, kissing him wildly over her shoulder.
“Like that?”
“We haven’t done this since that wild weekend on Triton. Oh, baby!”
“You like that, watch this.”
He just started to flip her over again for another go when a Corporation soldier stumbled through the door, catching Jazz and Kate in something that was best described as acrobatic and animalistic. Pissed at being interrupted on the verge of a fantastic orgasm she shot the bloke through the chest. With that she turned and pressed the muzzle to Jazz’s forehead. A moment later a squad of rebel soldiers appeared. Buzz, dented, limping and covered in dust was with them.
“Took you mooks long enough!” she snarled.
She climbed off him. Jazz groaned. He was close too. “Ain’t fair, betraying a man without pants, and especially one that’s right at the edge!”
“Get dressed, Jazz.” Kate slapped one of the rebels and pulled ion her clothes. “What are you staring at? I want this one alive. Anything happens to him and I’ll have your nuts as earrings!”
Jazz dressed quickly before being bound again. The battle was waning when the rebels lead him out of the building. The street was littered with dead and the wreckage of war. The Corporation ship Kate had come in on was a smoldering hulk. In the distance a second Corporation ship had crashed. Plumes of thick black smoke billowed from the wreckage.
Smoke and dust hung thick in the air. Enough that the rebels, with Jazz and Kate, slipped unnoticed into the secret passages that led to the rebel stronghold beneath the city. A number of surviving Corporation soldiers from the ship followed at gunpoint. Holding a weapon on the prisoners was Maury’s spy who, amid the chaos of battle, had slipped in among the rebel ranks unnoticed.
“All of me,” he strained, pushing his hips up to meet her. He held her hips tight, absorbing the ecstatic look on her face, and swelling with hungry pride. He could feel her getting close, and felt his own climax rushing towards that unstoppable abyss. “All of me, or just certain parts?”
“Some parts more than others.”
“Like?”
“Shut up, Jazz, I’m almost there.”
“What parts don’t you like?” He was straining too, his own climax building quickly to meet hers. “Tell me.”
“I could do without the mouth right now, for one,” she said with a moan.
Instead of finishing at that moment Jazz turned her over and they coupled again. He held her tighter, slapping hard against that beautiful tail. Kate cried out with pleasure and realized why she’d first fallen in love with him from their very first interlude.
“Oh my god!” she exclaimed, kissing him wildly over her shoulder.
“Like that?”
“We haven’t done this since that wild weekend on Triton. Oh, baby!”
“You like that, watch this.”
He just started to flip her over again for another go when a Corporation soldier stumbled through the door, catching Jazz and Kate in something that was best described as acrobatic and animalistic. Pissed at being interrupted on the verge of a fantastic orgasm she shot the bloke through the chest. With that she turned and pressed the muzzle to Jazz’s forehead. A moment later a squad of rebel soldiers appeared. Buzz, dented, limping and covered in dust was with them.
“Took you mooks long enough!” she snarled.
She climbed off him. Jazz groaned. He was close too. “Ain’t fair, betraying a man without pants, and especially one that’s right at the edge!”
“Get dressed, Jazz.” Kate slapped one of the rebels and pulled ion her clothes. “What are you staring at? I want this one alive. Anything happens to him and I’ll have your nuts as earrings!”
Jazz dressed quickly before being bound again. The battle was waning when the rebels lead him out of the building. The street was littered with dead and the wreckage of war. The Corporation ship Kate had come in on was a smoldering hulk. In the distance a second Corporation ship had crashed. Plumes of thick black smoke billowed from the wreckage.
Smoke and dust hung thick in the air. Enough that the rebels, with Jazz and Kate, slipped unnoticed into the secret passages that led to the rebel stronghold beneath the city. A number of surviving Corporation soldiers from the ship followed at gunpoint. Holding a weapon on the prisoners was Maury’s spy who, amid the chaos of battle, had slipped in among the rebel ranks unnoticed.
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Angry Jasper: Twenty-three
As rounds chewed apart the walls earth around them Jazz pulled Kate down a side street. He kicked open an old wooden door as the battle cruiser blasted the street with its heavy cannons in stinging showers of earth and rock. Jazz shoved Kate through the door and followed as the cruiser hammered the building. The force of the blasts flung them against the far wall and splintered the door. Jazz landed up on top of her, which, given the circumstances, wasn’t a bad place to be.
“Care to explain all that?” he asked.
“All what?” she asked.
“Don’t play dumb.”
“At least for me it’s just playing,” she shot back. “Figure it out.”
“Trying,” he said. “I don’t like what I keep coming up with, though.”
A huge explosion rocked the street. Dust and bits of stone showered the pair. Kate hugged him closer. She somehow felt safer in his arms.
“I’d say we’ve got bigger problems than your dumb questions, Jazz.”
“Dumb?” He pushed the door back into place as best he could, then braced it with a couple of boulders. It wasn’t much, but at least they were out of the worst of the fighting for a time.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“I come to find some puke kid.”
“The money must be good.”
“Better than good. Maybe I can retire from bounty hunting.”
“I know you’d give your left nut to quit.”
“Once upon a time I had two, till you crushed ‘em.”
“Jazz, you have to admit we were no good for each other.”
“We were great together!” he protested.
“In the sack.”
“Right.”
“That ain’t enough.”
“What more do we need?”
“Sometimes, Jazz, you’re dumber than a rock.”
“And sometimes I’d like to smack the crap out of you.”
“Only if you want your ass kicked right back.”
Though he often threatened they’d only come to blows once before, except for that first night together. That other time Kate had pushed him just a bit too far and he'd slapped her hard enough to draw blood. She climbed back to her feet with a look that sent chills through Jazz. In a fit of what could only be described as animal rage, she damn near killed him. Not that he wasn’t bigger and stronger, but when Katy got into a fight she was a hell of a lot scarier.
“Don’t temp me, space tramp!”
“I’d love it, Peter Pan.”
They glared at one another until it came to a head, the way it always did.
“Your boobs looked awesome when I first saw you today.”
Outside the battle grew to a crescendo. More rebels poured into the fray. The drone of Corporation ships and explosions was deafening. Suddenly two rebel soldiers burst through the door. Katy shoved Jazz away and dispatched them with two well-aimed shots. Pushing what remained of the door closed again she turned to find that familiar look in his eyes.
“Don’t tell me you’re horny?”
“Want to?” he grinned like a dumb kid. An explosion leveled the building next door. In the street the battle had degraded into a bloody hand-to-hand scrap. The screams of dying men punctuated the clatter of gunfire and ARP rounds chewing up the rubble-strewn lane. Katy shook her head.
“Sure.”
“Really?” he asked, somewhat surprised.
“Just a quickie,” she replied. “I don’t want to die in the middle of an orgasm!”
“Can’t think of a better time to go,” he remarked, tugging off a boot.
She shimmied from her outfit. Jazz was quickly naked, sporting his right and ready manhood. He swaggered a bit and swung his hips at her a little, shaking his thing. She smiled and bit her lip demurely. Scratch that, she bit her lip hungrily, feeling as though she could devour him with her lust. He had changed quite a bit over the years. He had put on a pound or two(or twenty). There were more scars, and the hair grayed at his temples, but despite all that he still looked damn good to her.
Jazz took in her natural beauty for a moment, as though she was a juicy hunk of beef or a sticky hunk of pie to a starving man. How he would attack her, cover himself in her sweet juices, bury himself among her huge balloons and those milky-white thighs. He could already taste her, and licked his lips in anticipation. He’d hold those hips and drive his ship into her docking bay until they were both spent and quivering. He longed to be held by sturdy legs that could just about break a man’s hips in the throes of climax. If there was a hierarchy in the annals of sex then Kate was an admiral. Jazz rose to a full salute without using his hands! Aye, aye, admiral!
She didn’t mount him right away. Instead she teased a moment making him shudder and moan with anticipation. They found each other quite naturally, giving a mutual groan as she settled fully upon him. Funny how, when after months or years apart, that they always came together so perfectly. His hands went to her aching breasts, and they found that usual rhythm again. Kate groaned, pressing herself hard against him. She was in ecstasy and in awe. It just didn’t seem natural for a man to be this excited, but who was she to complain?
“Is that all you?” she gasped in amazement.
“Don’t know who you been doin’” he held those beautiful breasts, kneading their softness and heat. They were at a fever pace now.
“God, I missed you, Jazz.”
“Reckon you can tell how much I missed you, Kate.”
“Getting’ a hint,” she growled lustily.
Kate was just getting into the act, her sultry and unrestrained moans drowned in the sounds of street battle. But as the battle drew closer Jazz got distracted, just as she was getting close. Before long it was more than she could do alone.
“You could work a little too,” she complained.
“What?” He was losing his excitement. Kate frowned with disappointment.
“This could be our last time…”
He pursed his lips and cut her off quickly. “When were you gonna tell me you were with the rebellion?”
“And have you get hammered in some Martian bar and blab it all over the place? Now could you concentrate on the task at hand?”
To hell with it, he thought. He wasn’t about to let something as trivial as the rebellion, or something that sounded like Armageddon outside ruin a great piece of ass. He recovered and returned to her just as strong as ever. Katy couldn’t have been happier and responded in kind, whooping and hollering with pleasure...
“Care to explain all that?” he asked.
“All what?” she asked.
“Don’t play dumb.”
“At least for me it’s just playing,” she shot back. “Figure it out.”
“Trying,” he said. “I don’t like what I keep coming up with, though.”
A huge explosion rocked the street. Dust and bits of stone showered the pair. Kate hugged him closer. She somehow felt safer in his arms.
“I’d say we’ve got bigger problems than your dumb questions, Jazz.”
“Dumb?” He pushed the door back into place as best he could, then braced it with a couple of boulders. It wasn’t much, but at least they were out of the worst of the fighting for a time.
“What are you doing here anyway?”
“I come to find some puke kid.”
“The money must be good.”
“Better than good. Maybe I can retire from bounty hunting.”
“I know you’d give your left nut to quit.”
“Once upon a time I had two, till you crushed ‘em.”
“Jazz, you have to admit we were no good for each other.”
“We were great together!” he protested.
“In the sack.”
“Right.”
“That ain’t enough.”
“What more do we need?”
“Sometimes, Jazz, you’re dumber than a rock.”
“And sometimes I’d like to smack the crap out of you.”
“Only if you want your ass kicked right back.”
Though he often threatened they’d only come to blows once before, except for that first night together. That other time Kate had pushed him just a bit too far and he'd slapped her hard enough to draw blood. She climbed back to her feet with a look that sent chills through Jazz. In a fit of what could only be described as animal rage, she damn near killed him. Not that he wasn’t bigger and stronger, but when Katy got into a fight she was a hell of a lot scarier.
“Don’t temp me, space tramp!”
“I’d love it, Peter Pan.”
They glared at one another until it came to a head, the way it always did.
“Your boobs looked awesome when I first saw you today.”
Outside the battle grew to a crescendo. More rebels poured into the fray. The drone of Corporation ships and explosions was deafening. Suddenly two rebel soldiers burst through the door. Katy shoved Jazz away and dispatched them with two well-aimed shots. Pushing what remained of the door closed again she turned to find that familiar look in his eyes.
“Don’t tell me you’re horny?”
“Want to?” he grinned like a dumb kid. An explosion leveled the building next door. In the street the battle had degraded into a bloody hand-to-hand scrap. The screams of dying men punctuated the clatter of gunfire and ARP rounds chewing up the rubble-strewn lane. Katy shook her head.
“Sure.”
“Really?” he asked, somewhat surprised.
“Just a quickie,” she replied. “I don’t want to die in the middle of an orgasm!”
“Can’t think of a better time to go,” he remarked, tugging off a boot.
She shimmied from her outfit. Jazz was quickly naked, sporting his right and ready manhood. He swaggered a bit and swung his hips at her a little, shaking his thing. She smiled and bit her lip demurely. Scratch that, she bit her lip hungrily, feeling as though she could devour him with her lust. He had changed quite a bit over the years. He had put on a pound or two(or twenty). There were more scars, and the hair grayed at his temples, but despite all that he still looked damn good to her.
Jazz took in her natural beauty for a moment, as though she was a juicy hunk of beef or a sticky hunk of pie to a starving man. How he would attack her, cover himself in her sweet juices, bury himself among her huge balloons and those milky-white thighs. He could already taste her, and licked his lips in anticipation. He’d hold those hips and drive his ship into her docking bay until they were both spent and quivering. He longed to be held by sturdy legs that could just about break a man’s hips in the throes of climax. If there was a hierarchy in the annals of sex then Kate was an admiral. Jazz rose to a full salute without using his hands! Aye, aye, admiral!
She didn’t mount him right away. Instead she teased a moment making him shudder and moan with anticipation. They found each other quite naturally, giving a mutual groan as she settled fully upon him. Funny how, when after months or years apart, that they always came together so perfectly. His hands went to her aching breasts, and they found that usual rhythm again. Kate groaned, pressing herself hard against him. She was in ecstasy and in awe. It just didn’t seem natural for a man to be this excited, but who was she to complain?
“Is that all you?” she gasped in amazement.
“Don’t know who you been doin’” he held those beautiful breasts, kneading their softness and heat. They were at a fever pace now.
“God, I missed you, Jazz.”
“Reckon you can tell how much I missed you, Kate.”
“Getting’ a hint,” she growled lustily.
Kate was just getting into the act, her sultry and unrestrained moans drowned in the sounds of street battle. But as the battle drew closer Jazz got distracted, just as she was getting close. Before long it was more than she could do alone.
“You could work a little too,” she complained.
“What?” He was losing his excitement. Kate frowned with disappointment.
“This could be our last time…”
He pursed his lips and cut her off quickly. “When were you gonna tell me you were with the rebellion?”
“And have you get hammered in some Martian bar and blab it all over the place? Now could you concentrate on the task at hand?”
To hell with it, he thought. He wasn’t about to let something as trivial as the rebellion, or something that sounded like Armageddon outside ruin a great piece of ass. He recovered and returned to her just as strong as ever. Katy couldn’t have been happier and responded in kind, whooping and hollering with pleasure...
Angry Jasper: Twenty-two
Two commandos scrambled down the ramp, their weighted footfalls shaking the ship. They quickly took up positions behind broken mounds of charred asphalt and brick. The rest remained inside, hidden from view. Kate felt impotent to prevent what she was certain was some treachery. The Commander must have noticed something behind her darting gaze.
“Not a sound out of you,” he growled. “Got me?”
She looked him up and down, in a diminishing way only a woman can do, and smirked. “Take a better man than you to get any sound out of me.”
What she could see of the man’s face burned bright red with a mix of humiliation and rage. He sort of raised his rifle, reaffirming his grip on the phallus like object in an obviously threatening manner. Kate scoffed.
“If only, honey,” she remarked, suggestively. “A boy can dream though.”
“Move along,” The commander shook as though he might explode.
With a wave from the commander each hostage inched nervously down the ramp one at a time. Kate stepped onto the ramp and paused a moment. The setting sun was warm on her face and hands. A purple layer of dust at the horizon rose to meet that fattening golden disk. Closing her eyes, Kate turned her face to it. There was no telling when or if she would enjoy that simple blessing again. Instead a familiar voice yanked her right out of that moment of serenity.
“Sorry to intrude upon your moment,” Buzz shot, his mechanical mouth turned downward in a frown.
He was beside her. His mechanical pupils dilated grudgingly in the light. They gave an annoying whir that reverberated hollowly in his head. He’d have to scrounge up a new pair of eyes somewhere, though he had no clue where he would find any on this god forsaken rock. He hoped they wouldn’t give out before then. Buzz could navigate by radar well enough, but it was a real pain in his alloy ass.
“If I wasn’t tied up,” Jasper shouted from the ruins struggling against his binds, “I’d open a barrel of whup-ass on all of you!”
Kate looked up just as Jazz was shoved into the street. He tripped and very nearly went down. When he came up his eyes met Kate’s. Perplexed Kate shook her head. She might have guessed that with something this screwed up, Jazz would find himself in the middle of it all. Even still, a part of her was glad to see him.
They were in it deep now, she thought. Deep enough they might just die on that rubble strewn, rat picked over street. They were in it so deep that dying would have been the easy part. But neither of them had much intention of dying, least of all on that dusty planet, and certainly not without a fight.
This wasn’t an exchange, but a ruse of some kind. She had little doubt the Corporate guys were going to kill them all anyway. That thought seemed confirmed as the odd prisoner stepped from the ship behind her with a satisfied sort of expression. He slid past her and quickly crossed the open ground where several rebel fighters hurried him to cover.
Kate’s eyes swept the steadily darkening street. They found Jazz’ again, and could just about read his thoughts. They were saying the same thing as hers-although his thoughts, as usual, were in cartoons. They nodded knowingly to one another. If they were gonna die on this street, a fair number of these other mooks were going down too!
Buzz did a double take as he noticed Kate’s expression change to deadly resolve. He gave a mechanical groan. “You’re gonna do something stupid aren’t you.”
“Just get yourself clear,” she whispered. She looked around without drawing attention, getting a fix on exactly where everyone was. There was just one way to even the odds against the Corporation Commandoes, and that was surprise and confusion. There would no room for error. Buzz shook his head, imaging his wires and digital guts strewn across the avenue.
“Just don’t screw this up,” he remarked.
“Zero defects, pal.”
Kate sort of nodded, first one way and them the other, leading Jazz with her eyes. It took him a terribly long moment to catch on, the block-headed mope. Through the open hatch of the Corporation ship Jazz spied two Corporate troopers moving into firing positions. He looked again to Kate and knew what he needed to do. Why wait for the inevitable, he thought. Comes a time when a man has to take the initiative. He blew a kiss Kate. At that instant the Corporation guys were up and pouring through the breach.
Kate kicked backwards instantly, skewering one of the guys in the nuts with the spiked heel of her boot. With a stunning roundhouse kick she dropped another off the ramp to the ground. She somersaulted off the ramp and rolled behind a pile of debris, snapping the neck of a third commando.
Gunfire erupted from every direction. Suddenly the air was filled with Mercury rounds. A Corporation battle cruiser dipped low overhead, blasting rebel positions with huge explosive rounds. Jasper, caught in the open, knocked one of his guards off his feet, while the others were cut down in the shooting. He dodged a volley from Kate’s side. Behind the soldiers a man dressed in rebel clothing slipped from the ship and disappeared in the confusion. Jazz had seen him, but was helpless. His hands were still bound as rounds exploded around him.
Buzz was caught in the open on the ramp with nowhere to go. He turned and lumbered over the edge on those stubby little legs landing like an old oil can as he hit the ground with an awful bang. A rebel round banged through the back of his thigh, but missed anything vital. Buzz gave a yelp and prayed for a quick and painless end.
Jasper heard a cry behind him and turned to find a man rushing forward with an upraised samurai sword. Jasper threw up his bound hands in a vain blocking motion, turning his head and closing his eyes in anticipation of having his skull cleaved in two. Instead, the blade neatly sliced through the binds. Jazz opened his eyes one at time, not quite believing he was still alive. He looked up at the would be assailant who was just as surprised.
Jazz reacted first and swung sideways. He brought his elbow into the man’s throat and caught the sword in the air. In a move that a trained dancer would have envied, he brought the blade down lopping off the hand of another rebel just as the man raised a weapon.
Rounds were coming in fast and furious from the Governor’s ship now. They cut down a hostage next to Jazz as he bolted over open ground for cover. Jazz swore and raced through a hail of Mercury rounds to where Kate crouched between two low walls, the remnants of an old gangway. She had picked up a weapon off of one of the dead Corporation guys, but it wasn’t of much use at the moment, except to provoke more fire. She could muster only the occasional un-aimed shot, each time bringing punishing return fire. It had taken a glancing round to the muzzle and was all but useless. They were taking fire from both sides now. It chewed at cover that wouldn’t last much longer at this rate.
“We gotta get out of here!” Jazz cried above the din.
Kate ducked an especially furious volley. “I’m open to suggestions.”
“Not a sound out of you,” he growled. “Got me?”
She looked him up and down, in a diminishing way only a woman can do, and smirked. “Take a better man than you to get any sound out of me.”
What she could see of the man’s face burned bright red with a mix of humiliation and rage. He sort of raised his rifle, reaffirming his grip on the phallus like object in an obviously threatening manner. Kate scoffed.
“If only, honey,” she remarked, suggestively. “A boy can dream though.”
“Move along,” The commander shook as though he might explode.
With a wave from the commander each hostage inched nervously down the ramp one at a time. Kate stepped onto the ramp and paused a moment. The setting sun was warm on her face and hands. A purple layer of dust at the horizon rose to meet that fattening golden disk. Closing her eyes, Kate turned her face to it. There was no telling when or if she would enjoy that simple blessing again. Instead a familiar voice yanked her right out of that moment of serenity.
“Sorry to intrude upon your moment,” Buzz shot, his mechanical mouth turned downward in a frown.
He was beside her. His mechanical pupils dilated grudgingly in the light. They gave an annoying whir that reverberated hollowly in his head. He’d have to scrounge up a new pair of eyes somewhere, though he had no clue where he would find any on this god forsaken rock. He hoped they wouldn’t give out before then. Buzz could navigate by radar well enough, but it was a real pain in his alloy ass.
“If I wasn’t tied up,” Jasper shouted from the ruins struggling against his binds, “I’d open a barrel of whup-ass on all of you!”
Kate looked up just as Jazz was shoved into the street. He tripped and very nearly went down. When he came up his eyes met Kate’s. Perplexed Kate shook her head. She might have guessed that with something this screwed up, Jazz would find himself in the middle of it all. Even still, a part of her was glad to see him.
They were in it deep now, she thought. Deep enough they might just die on that rubble strewn, rat picked over street. They were in it so deep that dying would have been the easy part. But neither of them had much intention of dying, least of all on that dusty planet, and certainly not without a fight.
This wasn’t an exchange, but a ruse of some kind. She had little doubt the Corporate guys were going to kill them all anyway. That thought seemed confirmed as the odd prisoner stepped from the ship behind her with a satisfied sort of expression. He slid past her and quickly crossed the open ground where several rebel fighters hurried him to cover.
Kate’s eyes swept the steadily darkening street. They found Jazz’ again, and could just about read his thoughts. They were saying the same thing as hers-although his thoughts, as usual, were in cartoons. They nodded knowingly to one another. If they were gonna die on this street, a fair number of these other mooks were going down too!
Buzz did a double take as he noticed Kate’s expression change to deadly resolve. He gave a mechanical groan. “You’re gonna do something stupid aren’t you.”
“Just get yourself clear,” she whispered. She looked around without drawing attention, getting a fix on exactly where everyone was. There was just one way to even the odds against the Corporation Commandoes, and that was surprise and confusion. There would no room for error. Buzz shook his head, imaging his wires and digital guts strewn across the avenue.
“Just don’t screw this up,” he remarked.
“Zero defects, pal.”
Kate sort of nodded, first one way and them the other, leading Jazz with her eyes. It took him a terribly long moment to catch on, the block-headed mope. Through the open hatch of the Corporation ship Jazz spied two Corporate troopers moving into firing positions. He looked again to Kate and knew what he needed to do. Why wait for the inevitable, he thought. Comes a time when a man has to take the initiative. He blew a kiss Kate. At that instant the Corporation guys were up and pouring through the breach.
Kate kicked backwards instantly, skewering one of the guys in the nuts with the spiked heel of her boot. With a stunning roundhouse kick she dropped another off the ramp to the ground. She somersaulted off the ramp and rolled behind a pile of debris, snapping the neck of a third commando.
Gunfire erupted from every direction. Suddenly the air was filled with Mercury rounds. A Corporation battle cruiser dipped low overhead, blasting rebel positions with huge explosive rounds. Jasper, caught in the open, knocked one of his guards off his feet, while the others were cut down in the shooting. He dodged a volley from Kate’s side. Behind the soldiers a man dressed in rebel clothing slipped from the ship and disappeared in the confusion. Jazz had seen him, but was helpless. His hands were still bound as rounds exploded around him.
Buzz was caught in the open on the ramp with nowhere to go. He turned and lumbered over the edge on those stubby little legs landing like an old oil can as he hit the ground with an awful bang. A rebel round banged through the back of his thigh, but missed anything vital. Buzz gave a yelp and prayed for a quick and painless end.
Jasper heard a cry behind him and turned to find a man rushing forward with an upraised samurai sword. Jasper threw up his bound hands in a vain blocking motion, turning his head and closing his eyes in anticipation of having his skull cleaved in two. Instead, the blade neatly sliced through the binds. Jazz opened his eyes one at time, not quite believing he was still alive. He looked up at the would be assailant who was just as surprised.
Jazz reacted first and swung sideways. He brought his elbow into the man’s throat and caught the sword in the air. In a move that a trained dancer would have envied, he brought the blade down lopping off the hand of another rebel just as the man raised a weapon.
Rounds were coming in fast and furious from the Governor’s ship now. They cut down a hostage next to Jazz as he bolted over open ground for cover. Jazz swore and raced through a hail of Mercury rounds to where Kate crouched between two low walls, the remnants of an old gangway. She had picked up a weapon off of one of the dead Corporation guys, but it wasn’t of much use at the moment, except to provoke more fire. She could muster only the occasional un-aimed shot, each time bringing punishing return fire. It had taken a glancing round to the muzzle and was all but useless. They were taking fire from both sides now. It chewed at cover that wouldn’t last much longer at this rate.
“We gotta get out of here!” Jazz cried above the din.
Kate ducked an especially furious volley. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Monday, April 26, 2010
Angry Jasper-Twenty
Jazz came in high and fast over Chicago just as the sun was setting. After more than three centuries of war the city lay in ruins. Shadows pooled deep and dark among overlapping foundations and massive craters, concealing untold dangers. Once majestic skyscrapers were now great heaps of twisted steel beams and concrete. They overlapped, erasing boulevards and wide avenues whose bustling traffic long ago ceased. The millions that called the city home were gone as well. Scattered groups of loners, refugees and survivors huddled among the ruins, not daring to venture into the open in the light of day for fear of being targeting by Corporation ships. Those ships arrived periodically to pummel the city, like a frustrated gardener flailing madly at an anthill. Corporation ships kept a judicious distance by necessity, playing a deadly cat and mouse game with rebel gunners hidden throughout the city. The reasons for keeping a prudent distance was the wreckage of dozens of Corporation ships crashed among the ruins.
For the time being the skies were empty of Corporation ships. Jazz wasn’t into pushing his luck. He overshot the city, coming about over what was once the sprwaling suburb of Skokie and dropped hard and fast into the dry gully of the Chicago River’s North branch. The basin was far too narrow for Corporation ships, and cruising at what any sane pilot would describe as a treacherous speed Jazz wasn’t terribly worried about Rebel guns. Still, he had little doubt he was being observed from the ruins clustered to either bank.
Kate intruded on his thoughts once more. He would have preferred to see her one last time before leaving the wheel. Wasn’t that he had any particular sense that things would turn out bad. It was just that he was getting to the age where regrets carried a whole lot more weight.
An alarm told him the weapons array was down again. He'd meant to get it fixrd before leaving the wheel, but there was just no time. Jazz figured there was a short somewhere in the system. The array screen switch off and on unpredictably. A tap of his finger failed to get it going again so Jazz banged the console with his foot until the dull green readings came to life. The array was up and active. Should anyone fire an ARP or laser his way the array would deflect or absorb the round. But as Jazz swung the ship back and forth through and beneath collapsed bridge spans there was one thing he wasn’t prepared for.
Rebel defenders were waiting for Jazz as he rounded the last big bend in the river bed. Another few seconds and he would have been out over the old Lake Michigan Basin. He had hoped to set down there among the dunes and ancient shipwrecks where he would not be seen so easily. But just as he ducked beneath the rusty wreckage of the old La Salle Street Bridge a huge net shot from the south bank. Jazz shouted with surprise. There was no time to react.
The net enveloped the ship and brought it to a bone-jarring stop. If not for the safety harnesses jazz would have been slammed forward into the instrument panel, and seriously injured or worse. As it was the sudden stop nearly knocked him unconscious. He was helpless as the engines stalled with a mournful wail. In their dying gasp the engines surged briefly pitching the bow skywards, incinerating a rebel fighter that had rushed into the riverbed a bit prematurely.
For that heart stopping moment before the engines quit altogether Jazz almost believed the ship would tear through the net, but it held fast, turning the ship over. At that Jazz was looking up at the ground as he tumbled towards it. Figuring he was about to be smashed like a bug Jazz said the only thing that seemed fitting at the moment.
“Should have taken Doc Redhorse's advice!”
Just as suddenly the ship flipped back and landed on its belly with a horrendous bang. Jazz was tossed and thrown violently in the seat, the air forced from his lungs as if two great hands had slapped together with Jazz in the middle. The bow of the ship buried itself deep in the riverbed. It bounced once and came to a stop at last in a cloud of dust and smoke.
The impact had literally thrown Jazz from his seat. He lay for a moment on the floor behind his seat amid all sorts of trash and gear spilled from storage bins and lockers. Only several pressure tight compartments held fast. Somewhere in all that mess was his ARP-21. Jazz felt around in the trash for it, mumbling to himself.
“If I can’t fly outta here, by golly, I’ll shoot my way…
He was still fumbling for the weapon when three rebel soldiers appeared above him. Their weapons were old model ARP-7 assault rifles. They were bulky and not half as powerful as his ARP-21, but for the fact that they had theirs already. Jazz swore, threw up his arms and conceded defeat.
Their dress reminded Jazz of ancient Saharan Bedouins. They were wrapped in rags that covered every part of their bodies. Dark goggles were pulled tight over their eyes. They were young men, he noticed by the gap in the shrouds covering their faces. The tattered state of their clothing only underscored the precarious nature of the rebellion. Jazz thought it was a lost cause. The planet had been stripped bare and was now all but lifeless. These poor folks were clinging to the memory of what once was. They clung to the belief that the planet could be restored, but those days were long gone. Mankind had turned to the planets, and would one day travel to the stars and beyond. The Earth would become a distant memory, and in time completely forgotten as its future generations struck out into the universe. Yeah, it was definitely a lost cause, Jazz thought, but then, at the moment, so was he.
He swore under his breath and opened the canopy with a dopey grin, as if to convince them this was all one huge misunderstanding. It opened suddenly, nearly flipping one of the rebels off the ship. Jazz shook his head and frowned at the dope. The other two hauled him up and out of the ship. They patted him down quickly, confiscating his credit pod and a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.
“Hey!” he complained. “Can’t steal a guy’s smokes.”
“Shut up,” one of them said, turning him around a little roughly.
There was an odd moment when everyone just sort of stared at one another. He swore again, this time a curse for not walking away from Madame when he had the chance. All the credits in the solar system wasn’t worth getting killed.
“No reason we all need to get off on a bad foot,” he said, hoping it might buy him a little consideration. After all, he wasn’t their enemy. Truth be told, Jazz didn’t give a rat’s ass about the rebellion, or the Corporation for that matter.
“Who are you?’ said one of the young fighters.
“Name’s Jasper, Angry Jasper.”
“What’s the angry for?”
“Nothin’,” he replied. “I’m just naturally pissy. Hope you boys won’t take offense.”
“You’re a Corporation spy,” one of the others accused.
Jazz laughed. “Hardly.”
“No matter. You’re our prisoner now.”
“That’s a little harsh,” said Jazz. “What do you say we make a dea…”
Before Jazz could finish the sentence he took a rifle butt to the jaw. Could have been a lot worse. The guy had checked the shot a bit at the last second. Still, it was enough to drop Jazz to the deck. He was shaking it off when he was hauled up to his knees and his head pushed forward. The muzzle of a rebel ARP pressed to the back of his head. That was the first time he felt sure this wouldn’t turn out good. He was made to clasp his hands tightly behind his head. A cold shiver ran down his spine, half expecting to be executed as a spy right there and then. Instead a hood was slipped over his head. With that he was led away
Jazz had the impression of being led through long passage ways, of scrambling across mounds of broken debris and through the blasted remains of structures. They would pause at open places and wide boulevards. All the while Jazz was aware of the warm sun on his face, giving him the vaguest impression which direction they were headed.
After perhaps a half hour or so they came to a place beneath the toppled exspance of an expressway. Jazz could smell wood smoke and meat being cooked. He heard voices from the shadows. Someone came up and poked him hard in the side with a stick, catching him just below his still mending ribs. Jazz cried out and toppled back onto the hard ground. Looking down through the hood he could make out an old woman swinging a stick wildly as one of the rebels tried holding her back. She spit at Jazz, landing a nasty one right on his crotch.
“Corporate pig!” she crowed. “I'll cut his throat and eat his heart!”
“Relax, grandma of the world!” jazz blacked a swipe of the stick with his boot. “Hard to believe you aren't taken.”
“Scum!”
“I ain't on nobody's side,” he said.
“Even worse!”
The rest of her rat-like clan came forward now, whipped up by her hysteria. It was all the rebels could do to retreat quickly, taking their chances in the open with the Corporation ships, chased by a hail of stocks and stones. They were half way across when a Corporation ship appeared overhead. Someone yanked the hood off Jazz' head to reveal a long straight avenue. Collapse roadways and crumbling entrance ramps curved away to desolation, seeming even more so in the waning light. From a small mound of debris a faded green rectangular sigh read:
EISENHOWER EXPRESSWAY
FULLERTON AVENUE
NEXT RIGHT
Beneath it another smaller neon orange sign read:
CONSTRUCTION AHEAD
REDUCE SPEED
For the time being the skies were empty of Corporation ships. Jazz wasn’t into pushing his luck. He overshot the city, coming about over what was once the sprwaling suburb of Skokie and dropped hard and fast into the dry gully of the Chicago River’s North branch. The basin was far too narrow for Corporation ships, and cruising at what any sane pilot would describe as a treacherous speed Jazz wasn’t terribly worried about Rebel guns. Still, he had little doubt he was being observed from the ruins clustered to either bank.
Kate intruded on his thoughts once more. He would have preferred to see her one last time before leaving the wheel. Wasn’t that he had any particular sense that things would turn out bad. It was just that he was getting to the age where regrets carried a whole lot more weight.
An alarm told him the weapons array was down again. He'd meant to get it fixrd before leaving the wheel, but there was just no time. Jazz figured there was a short somewhere in the system. The array screen switch off and on unpredictably. A tap of his finger failed to get it going again so Jazz banged the console with his foot until the dull green readings came to life. The array was up and active. Should anyone fire an ARP or laser his way the array would deflect or absorb the round. But as Jazz swung the ship back and forth through and beneath collapsed bridge spans there was one thing he wasn’t prepared for.
Rebel defenders were waiting for Jazz as he rounded the last big bend in the river bed. Another few seconds and he would have been out over the old Lake Michigan Basin. He had hoped to set down there among the dunes and ancient shipwrecks where he would not be seen so easily. But just as he ducked beneath the rusty wreckage of the old La Salle Street Bridge a huge net shot from the south bank. Jazz shouted with surprise. There was no time to react.
The net enveloped the ship and brought it to a bone-jarring stop. If not for the safety harnesses jazz would have been slammed forward into the instrument panel, and seriously injured or worse. As it was the sudden stop nearly knocked him unconscious. He was helpless as the engines stalled with a mournful wail. In their dying gasp the engines surged briefly pitching the bow skywards, incinerating a rebel fighter that had rushed into the riverbed a bit prematurely.
For that heart stopping moment before the engines quit altogether Jazz almost believed the ship would tear through the net, but it held fast, turning the ship over. At that Jazz was looking up at the ground as he tumbled towards it. Figuring he was about to be smashed like a bug Jazz said the only thing that seemed fitting at the moment.
“Should have taken Doc Redhorse's advice!”
Just as suddenly the ship flipped back and landed on its belly with a horrendous bang. Jazz was tossed and thrown violently in the seat, the air forced from his lungs as if two great hands had slapped together with Jazz in the middle. The bow of the ship buried itself deep in the riverbed. It bounced once and came to a stop at last in a cloud of dust and smoke.
The impact had literally thrown Jazz from his seat. He lay for a moment on the floor behind his seat amid all sorts of trash and gear spilled from storage bins and lockers. Only several pressure tight compartments held fast. Somewhere in all that mess was his ARP-21. Jazz felt around in the trash for it, mumbling to himself.
“If I can’t fly outta here, by golly, I’ll shoot my way…
He was still fumbling for the weapon when three rebel soldiers appeared above him. Their weapons were old model ARP-7 assault rifles. They were bulky and not half as powerful as his ARP-21, but for the fact that they had theirs already. Jazz swore, threw up his arms and conceded defeat.
Their dress reminded Jazz of ancient Saharan Bedouins. They were wrapped in rags that covered every part of their bodies. Dark goggles were pulled tight over their eyes. They were young men, he noticed by the gap in the shrouds covering their faces. The tattered state of their clothing only underscored the precarious nature of the rebellion. Jazz thought it was a lost cause. The planet had been stripped bare and was now all but lifeless. These poor folks were clinging to the memory of what once was. They clung to the belief that the planet could be restored, but those days were long gone. Mankind had turned to the planets, and would one day travel to the stars and beyond. The Earth would become a distant memory, and in time completely forgotten as its future generations struck out into the universe. Yeah, it was definitely a lost cause, Jazz thought, but then, at the moment, so was he.
He swore under his breath and opened the canopy with a dopey grin, as if to convince them this was all one huge misunderstanding. It opened suddenly, nearly flipping one of the rebels off the ship. Jazz shook his head and frowned at the dope. The other two hauled him up and out of the ship. They patted him down quickly, confiscating his credit pod and a pack of cigarettes in his pocket.
“Hey!” he complained. “Can’t steal a guy’s smokes.”
“Shut up,” one of them said, turning him around a little roughly.
There was an odd moment when everyone just sort of stared at one another. He swore again, this time a curse for not walking away from Madame when he had the chance. All the credits in the solar system wasn’t worth getting killed.
“No reason we all need to get off on a bad foot,” he said, hoping it might buy him a little consideration. After all, he wasn’t their enemy. Truth be told, Jazz didn’t give a rat’s ass about the rebellion, or the Corporation for that matter.
“Who are you?’ said one of the young fighters.
“Name’s Jasper, Angry Jasper.”
“What’s the angry for?”
“Nothin’,” he replied. “I’m just naturally pissy. Hope you boys won’t take offense.”
“You’re a Corporation spy,” one of the others accused.
Jazz laughed. “Hardly.”
“No matter. You’re our prisoner now.”
“That’s a little harsh,” said Jazz. “What do you say we make a dea…”
Before Jazz could finish the sentence he took a rifle butt to the jaw. Could have been a lot worse. The guy had checked the shot a bit at the last second. Still, it was enough to drop Jazz to the deck. He was shaking it off when he was hauled up to his knees and his head pushed forward. The muzzle of a rebel ARP pressed to the back of his head. That was the first time he felt sure this wouldn’t turn out good. He was made to clasp his hands tightly behind his head. A cold shiver ran down his spine, half expecting to be executed as a spy right there and then. Instead a hood was slipped over his head. With that he was led away
Jazz had the impression of being led through long passage ways, of scrambling across mounds of broken debris and through the blasted remains of structures. They would pause at open places and wide boulevards. All the while Jazz was aware of the warm sun on his face, giving him the vaguest impression which direction they were headed.
After perhaps a half hour or so they came to a place beneath the toppled exspance of an expressway. Jazz could smell wood smoke and meat being cooked. He heard voices from the shadows. Someone came up and poked him hard in the side with a stick, catching him just below his still mending ribs. Jazz cried out and toppled back onto the hard ground. Looking down through the hood he could make out an old woman swinging a stick wildly as one of the rebels tried holding her back. She spit at Jazz, landing a nasty one right on his crotch.
“Corporate pig!” she crowed. “I'll cut his throat and eat his heart!”
“Relax, grandma of the world!” jazz blacked a swipe of the stick with his boot. “Hard to believe you aren't taken.”
“Scum!”
“I ain't on nobody's side,” he said.
“Even worse!”
The rest of her rat-like clan came forward now, whipped up by her hysteria. It was all the rebels could do to retreat quickly, taking their chances in the open with the Corporation ships, chased by a hail of stocks and stones. They were half way across when a Corporation ship appeared overhead. Someone yanked the hood off Jazz' head to reveal a long straight avenue. Collapse roadways and crumbling entrance ramps curved away to desolation, seeming even more so in the waning light. From a small mound of debris a faded green rectangular sigh read:
EISENHOWER EXPRESSWAY
FULLERTON AVENUE
NEXT RIGHT
Beneath it another smaller neon orange sign read:
CONSTRUCTION AHEAD
REDUCE SPEED
Friday, April 23, 2010
Angry Jasper-Nineteen
CHAPTER TWO
LIFE’S A BITCH, AND THEN YOU DIE.
When Kate came to she was shackled to a chair in Maury’s office. Well, that’s what he called it. The unmade bed was to one side, and his desk to the other. The world was still little more than a blur of unresolved images and motion. Her jaw ached, but not as badly as her tongue, which she had bitten hard after being clobbered. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and throat. She could feel it dried upon her lips. A burning headache spit fiery waves of hideous pain all the way down to her toes, no doubt from the rattling her brain had taken.
Kate struggled weakly against the binds, but they held her wrists and ankles fast. Aside from all that she didn’t seem any the worse for wear. Her clothes were still intact, and she was quite relieved to find she hadn’t been molested while incapacitated. At least there were small blessings still to be found. Several hybrid-looking guards stood to either side, holding ARPs at the ready. Obviously Maury wasn't taking any chances with Kate.
She spit out a mouthful of blood at one of the guard's teeth, delighting that it provoked a disgusted grimace. “Make you hot, huh?”
“Back among the living, I see.” It was Maury’s putrid little voice. It took a moment for her eyes to find their focus.
“That’s debatable,” she groaned, glancing knowingly at the hybrid guards.
He was dressed in a cheap looking shining leather coat and jeans, like some east European cop of old, or some creepy lout that frequented strip clubs and called the dancers his “lady friends.” His greasy hair was swept back in straight lines from that drooping dreary face. She could almost imagine him skulking around the gray rain-swept streets of some backwater Communist-era dump like Brno or Kiev or Belgrade harrassing Gypsies, bullying dissidents or taking advantage of nubile runaways. He was holding her credit pod, as well as that of the murdered rebel spy from the market. The rebel kid’s pod was scorched and partially melted from the glancing blow of a mercury round. Maury smiled. It was a snide, victorious gap-toothed smile.
“Guess you screwed me more ways than the usual, eh Kate?”
Kate was indignant. “Mind your own business instead of mine. I have a lot of clients, and some of them don’t like questions asked. I don’t ask questions. I’m just in it for the credits.”
“Ah, yes the money. And how much did you make on that transaction, huh?”
“I don’t have to answ…”
He cut her off quickly. “We tracked your account.”
“What right…?”
“I’m the Governor, remember? Don’t play the fool, Kate, we know you transferred the balance to your rebel contact.”
She swore under her breath. There was no use fighting it now, That was just more of the stupid game she had been playing for the better part of her life.
“So what are you gonna do, kill me?” she stood straight and defiant. “Do it in stead of playing at something you’re not, Maury.”
“And what would that be?” he asked without thinking.
“A man.”
“Touché,” he frowned. “Walked right into that one.”
The Governor moved slowly around her, breathing her in with those piggish, wheezing breaths. “Waste of energy and time torturing you for information. You wouldn’t give up any information anyway.”
“You know me too well.”
“Too well, indeed!” He rubbed his fat belly and looked over her body one last time. Maury grinned proudly. “Know every inch of you, inside and out.”
“Thought I felt something. Hard to tell with the little things.”
Maury chafed, but held his temper. “Had some good times. I know you did, by the sounds you were making.”
“I was thinking of taking up acting.”
His fat face turned bright red. For a second she almost thought he’d have a coronary right there. The governor caught himself again and forced a smile.
“I’m going to miss our moments together,” he said.
“Right,” she shot back, “a moment is how long I remember you lasting.”
“Have a laugh,” he said.
“Should have just killed me at the market.”
“And miss this snappy repartee? It was a consideration, but plans change, eh? It’s your lucky day Kate. One of our ships was shot down with some rather high value citizens on board. I’m going to send you back to Earth as part of a prisoner exchange.”
“You aren’t afraid I’ll blab about your nuclear penis extension?” she asked.
“Go ahead. Fat amount of good it will do.”
Kate wondered what Maury had up his sleeve. It was too simple that he would simply exchange her for some fat Corporate client or other. They were a dime a dozen, and most often anyone foolhardy enough to venture close to Earth was involved in something nefarious or just plain dumb. She felt around the inside of her mouth for a tracking patch, and burped hoping to taste the metallic flavor of one, thinking that Maury might have force fed her one. There was no way she would allow herself to lead Maury to the rebel base. She’d rather die than to betray the cause.
“I'd prefer death,” she said.
“So would I, dearest, but neither of us will get that lucky today at least.” With a nod he motioned to the guards.”Be careful with this one and make sure she gets to where she's going safely or you'll be pulling dredging duty in old China.”
Maury turned and went at the glass looking down at the wheel as Katy-did was led away. No woman would ever get the best of him. He’d see to that, and to the end of the rebellion. In seventy-two hours Kate and her rebel friends would all be history.
LIFE’S A BITCH, AND THEN YOU DIE.
When Kate came to she was shackled to a chair in Maury’s office. Well, that’s what he called it. The unmade bed was to one side, and his desk to the other. The world was still little more than a blur of unresolved images and motion. Her jaw ached, but not as badly as her tongue, which she had bitten hard after being clobbered. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth and throat. She could feel it dried upon her lips. A burning headache spit fiery waves of hideous pain all the way down to her toes, no doubt from the rattling her brain had taken.
Kate struggled weakly against the binds, but they held her wrists and ankles fast. Aside from all that she didn’t seem any the worse for wear. Her clothes were still intact, and she was quite relieved to find she hadn’t been molested while incapacitated. At least there were small blessings still to be found. Several hybrid-looking guards stood to either side, holding ARPs at the ready. Obviously Maury wasn't taking any chances with Kate.
She spit out a mouthful of blood at one of the guard's teeth, delighting that it provoked a disgusted grimace. “Make you hot, huh?”
“Back among the living, I see.” It was Maury’s putrid little voice. It took a moment for her eyes to find their focus.
“That’s debatable,” she groaned, glancing knowingly at the hybrid guards.
He was dressed in a cheap looking shining leather coat and jeans, like some east European cop of old, or some creepy lout that frequented strip clubs and called the dancers his “lady friends.” His greasy hair was swept back in straight lines from that drooping dreary face. She could almost imagine him skulking around the gray rain-swept streets of some backwater Communist-era dump like Brno or Kiev or Belgrade harrassing Gypsies, bullying dissidents or taking advantage of nubile runaways. He was holding her credit pod, as well as that of the murdered rebel spy from the market. The rebel kid’s pod was scorched and partially melted from the glancing blow of a mercury round. Maury smiled. It was a snide, victorious gap-toothed smile.
“Guess you screwed me more ways than the usual, eh Kate?”
Kate was indignant. “Mind your own business instead of mine. I have a lot of clients, and some of them don’t like questions asked. I don’t ask questions. I’m just in it for the credits.”
“Ah, yes the money. And how much did you make on that transaction, huh?”
“I don’t have to answ…”
He cut her off quickly. “We tracked your account.”
“What right…?”
“I’m the Governor, remember? Don’t play the fool, Kate, we know you transferred the balance to your rebel contact.”
She swore under her breath. There was no use fighting it now, That was just more of the stupid game she had been playing for the better part of her life.
“So what are you gonna do, kill me?” she stood straight and defiant. “Do it in stead of playing at something you’re not, Maury.”
“And what would that be?” he asked without thinking.
“A man.”
“Touché,” he frowned. “Walked right into that one.”
The Governor moved slowly around her, breathing her in with those piggish, wheezing breaths. “Waste of energy and time torturing you for information. You wouldn’t give up any information anyway.”
“You know me too well.”
“Too well, indeed!” He rubbed his fat belly and looked over her body one last time. Maury grinned proudly. “Know every inch of you, inside and out.”
“Thought I felt something. Hard to tell with the little things.”
Maury chafed, but held his temper. “Had some good times. I know you did, by the sounds you were making.”
“I was thinking of taking up acting.”
His fat face turned bright red. For a second she almost thought he’d have a coronary right there. The governor caught himself again and forced a smile.
“I’m going to miss our moments together,” he said.
“Right,” she shot back, “a moment is how long I remember you lasting.”
“Have a laugh,” he said.
“Should have just killed me at the market.”
“And miss this snappy repartee? It was a consideration, but plans change, eh? It’s your lucky day Kate. One of our ships was shot down with some rather high value citizens on board. I’m going to send you back to Earth as part of a prisoner exchange.”
“You aren’t afraid I’ll blab about your nuclear penis extension?” she asked.
“Go ahead. Fat amount of good it will do.”
Kate wondered what Maury had up his sleeve. It was too simple that he would simply exchange her for some fat Corporate client or other. They were a dime a dozen, and most often anyone foolhardy enough to venture close to Earth was involved in something nefarious or just plain dumb. She felt around the inside of her mouth for a tracking patch, and burped hoping to taste the metallic flavor of one, thinking that Maury might have force fed her one. There was no way she would allow herself to lead Maury to the rebel base. She’d rather die than to betray the cause.
“I'd prefer death,” she said.
“So would I, dearest, but neither of us will get that lucky today at least.” With a nod he motioned to the guards.”Be careful with this one and make sure she gets to where she's going safely or you'll be pulling dredging duty in old China.”
Maury turned and went at the glass looking down at the wheel as Katy-did was led away. No woman would ever get the best of him. He’d see to that, and to the end of the rebellion. In seventy-two hours Kate and her rebel friends would all be history.
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Angry Jasper-Eighteen
At twice the circumference of the moon the wheel was an impressive sight. Shimmering blue and green and silver-white just beyond the moon’s orbit the wheel reminded Jazz of those old images of Earth before war and the Corporation had turned it into a virtual ashtray. The wheel turned slowly on great spokes that connected in the center at the Governor’s palace. Jazz threw his feet onto the console and leaned back in the big leather pilot's seat as the wheel faded in the distance. He watched it for a time before turning his attention to more pressing matters.
Madame Pie had fronted him twenty-five thousand credits. He had already used most of it for provisions, to get the ship repaired and send old Doc Redhorse a box of his favorite Venetian cigars. When all this was over he’d see about getting a new ship, but at sixty or eighty thousand credits, that was a long way off.
He had no illusion about the dangerous nature of this mission. It was likely to be the riskiest he had ever undertaken. Enough that no small part of him thought the prudent move would be to spend the credits on supplies and fixing the ship, split to one of those roughshod colonies on the frontiers of the solar system and disappear for good. He'd get a fine job wrangling comets for water, and selling it yuppies at some frontier spa (yes, they still exist), or to colonists for a hefty little profit. What did he care for Old Lady Pie? Damned if Jazz wasn’t too honest for that sort of thing. Jazz was just too decent for his own damn good.
He'd saved a cigar for himself. He didn't smoke them much. The fragrance of the finely rolled leaves reminded him of his father, and a time when life had the chance to go so many better directions than this one. He ran the cigar slowly beneath his nose, taking in the cigar’s peppery-warm scent.
He was thinking that he hadn’t asked for nearly enough from the old bat. She had caved in a little too quickly. Hell, the old gal could have easily afforded another fifty thousand credits. That would have put him on easy street for, well, maybe for good. Then he wouldn’t have to traipse all over god’s creation, picking fights with Cretans, creeps and creatures!
Invariably Jazz' thoughts turned to Kate. He wondered where she was, and who she was with. It was that second part that tore at him most. Why couldn't he have lived a normal life, he wondered? What was it about Katy-did that spoiled him to other women? She was clearly not good for him, and vice versa? But something about her felt eternal, as though the entire purpose for the universe was to bring the two of them together in this life with the express purpose of making him gloriously miserable!
“Get over it, Jazz,” he groaned.
The ship moved into low Earth orbit. Jazz sat up and harnessed himself in for what was sure to be a rough entry. Below huge trenches gouged deep into the Russian steppe for thousands of miles. Caught by the morning sun deep dark shadows filled them to the brim. The land was parched and barren in a dull golden gray landscape now covered the planet, with only pockets of dusty green along the coasts.
Crossing the scarred and quarried Himalayas Jazz spied a pair of twin peaks and immediately thought of Kate again. He was missing her exquisite boobs. Jazz closed his eyes a moment and could almost feel them slapping him in the face as she rode him. Jazz smiled wistfully at the vision and could almost smell her sweat and musk. He imagined them together, in the wild throes of animal passion, as they had been a thousand times before.
Jazz chased away the thoughts. He’d put on a couple pounds lately, and the suit was getting tight. He didn’t need to make it any worse by thinking dirty thoughts about Katy. Besides, things were about to get a whole lot crazier from here on out and he'd need all the focus he could muster.
The holographic instrument readings in front of him danced and flickered as the ship skated over the atmosphere. Jazz was threading a needle here. Too high and he might run into a Corporation patrol cruiser. Too low and he could easily be tracked by Rebel batteries that would blast him out of the sky. Coming back to Earth always made for a tricky run. He set a course in the navigation system, keeping one eye to space for Corporation ships. The plan was simple. Jazz would come in high above the ancient ruins of old Chicago and then plunge towards the surface in hopes of outsmarting Rebel gunners.
Crossing the great Pacific basin, all but drained by the Corporation Jazz spotted Maury’s atomic weapon as maneuvered into low Earth orbit. He watched curiously as the narrow end tipped slowly towards the planet. It was obviously some sort of weapon, the likes of which he had never seen before. He lingered for a time, his gaze fixed almost hypnotically upon the object.
Jazz lingered just a bit too long. There were Corporation fighters everywhere above him now, though for the moment they hadn't appeared to notice him. Jazz had little interest in waiting around to be discovered, even accidentally. Pushing the throttle forward, he turned towards the northwest. And made his final run at Chicago.
Madame Pie had fronted him twenty-five thousand credits. He had already used most of it for provisions, to get the ship repaired and send old Doc Redhorse a box of his favorite Venetian cigars. When all this was over he’d see about getting a new ship, but at sixty or eighty thousand credits, that was a long way off.
He had no illusion about the dangerous nature of this mission. It was likely to be the riskiest he had ever undertaken. Enough that no small part of him thought the prudent move would be to spend the credits on supplies and fixing the ship, split to one of those roughshod colonies on the frontiers of the solar system and disappear for good. He'd get a fine job wrangling comets for water, and selling it yuppies at some frontier spa (yes, they still exist), or to colonists for a hefty little profit. What did he care for Old Lady Pie? Damned if Jazz wasn’t too honest for that sort of thing. Jazz was just too decent for his own damn good.
He'd saved a cigar for himself. He didn't smoke them much. The fragrance of the finely rolled leaves reminded him of his father, and a time when life had the chance to go so many better directions than this one. He ran the cigar slowly beneath his nose, taking in the cigar’s peppery-warm scent.
He was thinking that he hadn’t asked for nearly enough from the old bat. She had caved in a little too quickly. Hell, the old gal could have easily afforded another fifty thousand credits. That would have put him on easy street for, well, maybe for good. Then he wouldn’t have to traipse all over god’s creation, picking fights with Cretans, creeps and creatures!
Invariably Jazz' thoughts turned to Kate. He wondered where she was, and who she was with. It was that second part that tore at him most. Why couldn't he have lived a normal life, he wondered? What was it about Katy-did that spoiled him to other women? She was clearly not good for him, and vice versa? But something about her felt eternal, as though the entire purpose for the universe was to bring the two of them together in this life with the express purpose of making him gloriously miserable!
“Get over it, Jazz,” he groaned.
The ship moved into low Earth orbit. Jazz sat up and harnessed himself in for what was sure to be a rough entry. Below huge trenches gouged deep into the Russian steppe for thousands of miles. Caught by the morning sun deep dark shadows filled them to the brim. The land was parched and barren in a dull golden gray landscape now covered the planet, with only pockets of dusty green along the coasts.
Crossing the scarred and quarried Himalayas Jazz spied a pair of twin peaks and immediately thought of Kate again. He was missing her exquisite boobs. Jazz closed his eyes a moment and could almost feel them slapping him in the face as she rode him. Jazz smiled wistfully at the vision and could almost smell her sweat and musk. He imagined them together, in the wild throes of animal passion, as they had been a thousand times before.
Jazz chased away the thoughts. He’d put on a couple pounds lately, and the suit was getting tight. He didn’t need to make it any worse by thinking dirty thoughts about Katy. Besides, things were about to get a whole lot crazier from here on out and he'd need all the focus he could muster.
The holographic instrument readings in front of him danced and flickered as the ship skated over the atmosphere. Jazz was threading a needle here. Too high and he might run into a Corporation patrol cruiser. Too low and he could easily be tracked by Rebel batteries that would blast him out of the sky. Coming back to Earth always made for a tricky run. He set a course in the navigation system, keeping one eye to space for Corporation ships. The plan was simple. Jazz would come in high above the ancient ruins of old Chicago and then plunge towards the surface in hopes of outsmarting Rebel gunners.
Crossing the great Pacific basin, all but drained by the Corporation Jazz spotted Maury’s atomic weapon as maneuvered into low Earth orbit. He watched curiously as the narrow end tipped slowly towards the planet. It was obviously some sort of weapon, the likes of which he had never seen before. He lingered for a time, his gaze fixed almost hypnotically upon the object.
Jazz lingered just a bit too long. There were Corporation fighters everywhere above him now, though for the moment they hadn't appeared to notice him. Jazz had little interest in waiting around to be discovered, even accidentally. Pushing the throttle forward, he turned towards the northwest. And made his final run at Chicago.
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Angry Jasper-Eleven
Jazz had been going to Doc Redhorse for years. He worked out of a small office in the front of his turn of the Twentieth Century house at the edge of town. With big white turrets, bright sunny windows and a broad green-painted porch, the house appeared to have been lifted from some country lane circa 1910. The grass of the neatly trimmed yard was bright green. A crooked old willow hugged one side of the house. Colorful rushes of daffodils and snapdragons crowed at the porch, running along the narrow walkway to the Doctor’s door. There was a pair of rocking chairs by the door. A lavender shawl was draped across the smaller of the two. It had been there since Misses Redhorse passed on a few years earlier.
Jazz limped up the walk, cradling his chest. The pain grew less and less tolerable in proportion to Jazz’ sinking mood and energy. He paused at the step. The quiet country lane stretched among farm fields and small banks of woods. It arched with the curve of the wheel, through a small town and a distant rain storm. The sun was high overhead, where it was stretched by the clear ceiling of the wheel and separated into it’s constituent perspective at the edges.
First time Jazz saw Doc Redhorse was not long after he’d “met” Kate. Jazz had lost his hand in a nasty scrape with pirates attempting to hijack a freighter he was guarding for a paltry two hundred and eighty credits a week. Jazz came to in the infirmary, his body battered and torn. It was as close, at least up to then, to death as he had come. It was a moment in which life, or clinging to it was still in question and, in no small part, his decision. Indeed, Jazz might have made that decision, especially after seeing the shredded remains of his hand.
At that moment a face appeared over him. The Native American’ light brown flesh was smooth and handsome, framed by thick black hair. His eyes were deep agate pools, overflowing with a gentleness and brilliance that immediately stilled Jazz’ fluid emotions and runaway thoughts.
“I’m Doctor Redhorse,” he winked. “I’d shake your hand but…”
“Bad joke, doc,” Jazz managed.
“Don’t you worry.”
“Seen my hand, Doc?”
“Which hand do you jerk off with?” he grinned. Anyone else Jazz might have reached up with his good hand and choked the guy. There was something innocent and pure about Redhorse’s bedside manner.
“Use both hands, Doc. Out of necessity.”
“Gonna put you to sleep now,” he nodded to the anesthetist. “Have you healthy and defiling yourself again in no time.”
Jazz might have lost the arm if not for Doc Redhorse. Took the better part of twelve hours of micro-surgery and micro-nerve grafts to attach an artificial hand. It wasn’t about six months after that hen Jazz accidently stabbed himself in a bar fight-twice…front and back.
Doc Redhorse hadn’t fixed his eye, when a compressor exploded in the ship as he was making grilled cheese sandwich on it about tens years back. That’s why it looked as badly as it did, with the spider-web scars and the nasty discoloration that made Jazz appear like some bizarre cyborg character from some cheap Twentieth Century Sci-fi novel.
Jazz knocked loudly at the door. A passerby might have thought it rudely or obnoxiously loud. The old Doc was a little loud of hearing these days. It brought a certain levity to his wife’s funeral, as each time the Priest read a passage Redhorse would put a hand to his ear and reply: “Eh? Oh, right.”
It was only a couple years since the funeral, but as Redhorse came to the door Jazz could see the time since had been unkind. The doctor was bent nearly to the waist. He wore A thick old fashioned pair of eyeglasses, when he surely could have afforded a new pair of eyes if he wishes. His silver hair was unwashed and thin. Despite all that he recognized Jazz instantly.
“What did you get busted up now, Jazz?” His tone was dry, but with that certain sense of humor. He turned away from the screen door. It creaked as Jazz pulled it open and went inside.
“Hybrid fugitive with a piss poor attitude.”
“Give him what for?”
“Better than I got,” said Jazz. It was best not to have to mention the bartender’s part.
“Did you get him?”
“Just dropped off the head.”
“What can I do ya for, son?”
“Took a sucker punch to the ribs. Got another job coming up and I’d sure like to be as strong as possible for it, Doc.”
The dark house was quiet and comfortable. A soft breeze through open windows pushed old lace curtains and carried the scent of flowers and grass through wide, airy rooms decorated with real Art deco style furniture and big colorful landscape oils. The wood floor creaked with each step as they made their way along the hall to the Doc’s naturally lit examining room.
Jazz yanked off his shirt and sat up on the long examining table. The cold blue vinyl gave him a chill that resonated painfully through his chest. A nasty yellow and black bruise extended clear around his body. Jazz groaned and had a time trying to lay back at first. Doc Redhorse turned, holding an image resonance pen, IRP for short, and noticed the difficulty Jazz was having.
“One of these days, boy, they’re gonna put a tag on your toe.”
“Do it myself, Doc, if I wasn’t so damn chicken,” he replied. Say, why don’t you go and get your eyes fixed or get that back straightened. Hell, Doc, you could even get a whole new body just about!”
“Whole new body don’t fix a broken heart,” lamented the good doctor with a fatalistic smile.
Jazz sighed in agreement. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Redhorse began to run the IRP just above Jazz’s torso. In the air above an artificially colored hologram of Jazz appeared. He clicked the pen once and the skin peeled away. Clicking it several more times left only the ivory white image of Jazz’s ribs and spine. On one side the fourth and fifth ribs were very clearly busted. The fourth was broken in two places and had turned a bit, which was likely the cause of most of Jazz’ pain.
“How bad, Doc?”
“Seen worse.” He clicked the pen several times, moving through layers of tissue. Redhorse painted the extent of the bruising around the ribcage. “Ought to think about settling down, Jazz. Find a nice gal and have a kid or two.”
“Where would I go, Doc?”
“Take over this place when I’m gone.” He went to the cabinet for another instrument.
“Don’t talk that way,” Jazz moaned. “Still got a lot of good years left.”
He returned to the table. The instrument cam one with slight hum. He touched it gently to Jazz’ wounded side. As he ran it up and back the bones in the hologram steadily healed. “I’ll be a hundred and seventy next month. I could hang on for another forty or fifty years, but for what? I was married to the wife a hundred and forty-seven years. Don’t get me wrong, Jazz. I’m thankful for my friends and patients, but all the time in the world don’t mean a hill of beans without the misses.”
Doc Redhorse waved the fee. He and jazz shared a glass of decent brandy out on the porch for a time. The rain storm moved in and it poured good and hard for a bit. When it was done Jazz stood and stretched. The pain was mostly gone, but still lingered, especially where the hybrid had slugged him.
“Be careful for a bit. Let that heal good and proper.”
“Can’t thank you enough, Doc.”
It would be the last time he’d see Doc Redhorse, sitting on that porch, working the brandy around the bottom of his fat round snifter. Part way up the road Jazz turned and waved one last time, pausing to imagine himself growing old there with Kate, the shawl wrapped around her frail shoulders. That vision dissolved into something closer to reality, with the two of them spilling out the door and down the steps clutched in a death grip at one another’s throats.
Jazz limped up the walk, cradling his chest. The pain grew less and less tolerable in proportion to Jazz’ sinking mood and energy. He paused at the step. The quiet country lane stretched among farm fields and small banks of woods. It arched with the curve of the wheel, through a small town and a distant rain storm. The sun was high overhead, where it was stretched by the clear ceiling of the wheel and separated into it’s constituent perspective at the edges.
First time Jazz saw Doc Redhorse was not long after he’d “met” Kate. Jazz had lost his hand in a nasty scrape with pirates attempting to hijack a freighter he was guarding for a paltry two hundred and eighty credits a week. Jazz came to in the infirmary, his body battered and torn. It was as close, at least up to then, to death as he had come. It was a moment in which life, or clinging to it was still in question and, in no small part, his decision. Indeed, Jazz might have made that decision, especially after seeing the shredded remains of his hand.
At that moment a face appeared over him. The Native American’ light brown flesh was smooth and handsome, framed by thick black hair. His eyes were deep agate pools, overflowing with a gentleness and brilliance that immediately stilled Jazz’ fluid emotions and runaway thoughts.
“I’m Doctor Redhorse,” he winked. “I’d shake your hand but…”
“Bad joke, doc,” Jazz managed.
“Don’t you worry.”
“Seen my hand, Doc?”
“Which hand do you jerk off with?” he grinned. Anyone else Jazz might have reached up with his good hand and choked the guy. There was something innocent and pure about Redhorse’s bedside manner.
“Use both hands, Doc. Out of necessity.”
“Gonna put you to sleep now,” he nodded to the anesthetist. “Have you healthy and defiling yourself again in no time.”
Jazz might have lost the arm if not for Doc Redhorse. Took the better part of twelve hours of micro-surgery and micro-nerve grafts to attach an artificial hand. It wasn’t about six months after that hen Jazz accidently stabbed himself in a bar fight-twice…front and back.
Doc Redhorse hadn’t fixed his eye, when a compressor exploded in the ship as he was making grilled cheese sandwich on it about tens years back. That’s why it looked as badly as it did, with the spider-web scars and the nasty discoloration that made Jazz appear like some bizarre cyborg character from some cheap Twentieth Century Sci-fi novel.
Jazz knocked loudly at the door. A passerby might have thought it rudely or obnoxiously loud. The old Doc was a little loud of hearing these days. It brought a certain levity to his wife’s funeral, as each time the Priest read a passage Redhorse would put a hand to his ear and reply: “Eh? Oh, right.”
It was only a couple years since the funeral, but as Redhorse came to the door Jazz could see the time since had been unkind. The doctor was bent nearly to the waist. He wore A thick old fashioned pair of eyeglasses, when he surely could have afforded a new pair of eyes if he wishes. His silver hair was unwashed and thin. Despite all that he recognized Jazz instantly.
“What did you get busted up now, Jazz?” His tone was dry, but with that certain sense of humor. He turned away from the screen door. It creaked as Jazz pulled it open and went inside.
“Hybrid fugitive with a piss poor attitude.”
“Give him what for?”
“Better than I got,” said Jazz. It was best not to have to mention the bartender’s part.
“Did you get him?”
“Just dropped off the head.”
“What can I do ya for, son?”
“Took a sucker punch to the ribs. Got another job coming up and I’d sure like to be as strong as possible for it, Doc.”
The dark house was quiet and comfortable. A soft breeze through open windows pushed old lace curtains and carried the scent of flowers and grass through wide, airy rooms decorated with real Art deco style furniture and big colorful landscape oils. The wood floor creaked with each step as they made their way along the hall to the Doc’s naturally lit examining room.
Jazz yanked off his shirt and sat up on the long examining table. The cold blue vinyl gave him a chill that resonated painfully through his chest. A nasty yellow and black bruise extended clear around his body. Jazz groaned and had a time trying to lay back at first. Doc Redhorse turned, holding an image resonance pen, IRP for short, and noticed the difficulty Jazz was having.
“One of these days, boy, they’re gonna put a tag on your toe.”
“Do it myself, Doc, if I wasn’t so damn chicken,” he replied. Say, why don’t you go and get your eyes fixed or get that back straightened. Hell, Doc, you could even get a whole new body just about!”
“Whole new body don’t fix a broken heart,” lamented the good doctor with a fatalistic smile.
Jazz sighed in agreement. “Ain’t that the truth.”
Redhorse began to run the IRP just above Jazz’s torso. In the air above an artificially colored hologram of Jazz appeared. He clicked the pen once and the skin peeled away. Clicking it several more times left only the ivory white image of Jazz’s ribs and spine. On one side the fourth and fifth ribs were very clearly busted. The fourth was broken in two places and had turned a bit, which was likely the cause of most of Jazz’ pain.
“How bad, Doc?”
“Seen worse.” He clicked the pen several times, moving through layers of tissue. Redhorse painted the extent of the bruising around the ribcage. “Ought to think about settling down, Jazz. Find a nice gal and have a kid or two.”
“Where would I go, Doc?”
“Take over this place when I’m gone.” He went to the cabinet for another instrument.
“Don’t talk that way,” Jazz moaned. “Still got a lot of good years left.”
He returned to the table. The instrument cam one with slight hum. He touched it gently to Jazz’ wounded side. As he ran it up and back the bones in the hologram steadily healed. “I’ll be a hundred and seventy next month. I could hang on for another forty or fifty years, but for what? I was married to the wife a hundred and forty-seven years. Don’t get me wrong, Jazz. I’m thankful for my friends and patients, but all the time in the world don’t mean a hill of beans without the misses.”
Doc Redhorse waved the fee. He and jazz shared a glass of decent brandy out on the porch for a time. The rain storm moved in and it poured good and hard for a bit. When it was done Jazz stood and stretched. The pain was mostly gone, but still lingered, especially where the hybrid had slugged him.
“Be careful for a bit. Let that heal good and proper.”
“Can’t thank you enough, Doc.”
It would be the last time he’d see Doc Redhorse, sitting on that porch, working the brandy around the bottom of his fat round snifter. Part way up the road Jazz turned and waved one last time, pausing to imagine himself growing old there with Kate, the shawl wrapped around her frail shoulders. That vision dissolved into something closer to reality, with the two of them spilling out the door and down the steps clutched in a death grip at one another’s throats.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Angry Jasper-Ten
First thing he needed was to turn in the fugitive's head and get paid his bounty, jazz docked the ship and took a rail car down to the surface. It was a short ride into town. The place had the look of small New England hamlet, circa 2012, just before the great world war. Folks went happily enough from small shops, sidewalk market stalls and pleasant little cafes It was always sunny and always a perfect 74 degrees. Like some little piece of god-damned heaven.
The assessor’s office was on Maple Street, just past the flower shop and Morty Zuckerman’s deli in a little red-brick storefront. There w ere bright white lace curtains in the large front window, and in the glass door. The letters were etched upon the door in gold lettering. It might have been a street circa Earth in the 1940s, except that the light was just a little off, a consequence of the Wheel’s solar filters. A little bell over the door tingled as Jazz entered. He glared at it for a moment, and damn near ripped it off the wall. The tiny office was empty. There were a row of old chairs along the window, far more than the place ever needed. Jazz went to the counter and slapped his hand down hard beside a small bell. It rattled loudly just the same. When no one answered he shouted at the back office.
“Growing old out here!”
“Hold your horses, fella.” An impish little man in suspenders and a visor shuffled through the door. Small round spectacles teetered at the edge of the man’s round red nose. A notepad was tucked under one arm. His shirt was ivory white, and cut sharply by heavy black suspenders. “Good golly, mister, where is the fire?”
“No fire,” said Jazz, upending the sack, spilling the head and associated mess onto the counter. “But my friend is gonna turn soon.”
“Lord! Excuse my French, but what am I supposed to do…?” The assessor jumped back against a desk, lifting his legs absurdly into the air, sparing his shoes a dousing of fugitive gruel oozing and splattering on the floor beneath him.
Jazz pulled the wanted poster from his jacket and unfolded it. “Got five thousand credits coming to me.”
The assessor made no effort to hide his annoyance with Jazz. Who did? He purposely took forever with the paperwork. After nearly an hour, minus the assessor’s fee, wheel tax, various Corporation taxes and the like the assessor transferred to Jazz’s account a cool twenty-two hundred credits?
“Got to be some miskake,” Jazz almost thought he might cry.
“No mistake, mister.”
Freakin’ taxes were strangling the working man, Jazz lamented. Twenty-two hundred wasn’t enough to even get the ship repaired. He was better off junking the thing and taking a nice boring janitor position on the wheel. Jazz grabbed the little man by the suspenders and hauled in off the floor.
“What are you trying to pull here?”
“That’s how it goes,” the assessor trembled. “I don't write the tax code.”
“Ought to pound you into a pulp just for fun.” Jazz reeled back mulling over whether or not to bust the guy in the face.
“Marge, help!” cried the assessor to the back office. Jazz couldn’t help but laugh. What a puny pathetic creature. Nothing he hated worse than a man who couldn’t hold his own in a scrap.
“That’s right, call your little wife, maybe she’ll…” the words trailed away as the biggest meanest woman he’d ever seen appeared in the door. She had a baseball bat in one hand, and look that told jazz she knew how to use it.
“Marge?” he swallowed hard.
“Oh. I’m gonna enjoy this!” Marge charged through the office like a pissed off buffalo. She chased poor Jazz the better part of a block before he managed to lose her, doing his best not to linger over the fact that it took him that far to outrun a fat old woman!
The assessor’s office was on Maple Street, just past the flower shop and Morty Zuckerman’s deli in a little red-brick storefront. There w ere bright white lace curtains in the large front window, and in the glass door. The letters were etched upon the door in gold lettering. It might have been a street circa Earth in the 1940s, except that the light was just a little off, a consequence of the Wheel’s solar filters. A little bell over the door tingled as Jazz entered. He glared at it for a moment, and damn near ripped it off the wall. The tiny office was empty. There were a row of old chairs along the window, far more than the place ever needed. Jazz went to the counter and slapped his hand down hard beside a small bell. It rattled loudly just the same. When no one answered he shouted at the back office.
“Growing old out here!”
“Hold your horses, fella.” An impish little man in suspenders and a visor shuffled through the door. Small round spectacles teetered at the edge of the man’s round red nose. A notepad was tucked under one arm. His shirt was ivory white, and cut sharply by heavy black suspenders. “Good golly, mister, where is the fire?”
“No fire,” said Jazz, upending the sack, spilling the head and associated mess onto the counter. “But my friend is gonna turn soon.”
“Lord! Excuse my French, but what am I supposed to do…?” The assessor jumped back against a desk, lifting his legs absurdly into the air, sparing his shoes a dousing of fugitive gruel oozing and splattering on the floor beneath him.
Jazz pulled the wanted poster from his jacket and unfolded it. “Got five thousand credits coming to me.”
The assessor made no effort to hide his annoyance with Jazz. Who did? He purposely took forever with the paperwork. After nearly an hour, minus the assessor’s fee, wheel tax, various Corporation taxes and the like the assessor transferred to Jazz’s account a cool twenty-two hundred credits?
“Got to be some miskake,” Jazz almost thought he might cry.
“No mistake, mister.”
Freakin’ taxes were strangling the working man, Jazz lamented. Twenty-two hundred wasn’t enough to even get the ship repaired. He was better off junking the thing and taking a nice boring janitor position on the wheel. Jazz grabbed the little man by the suspenders and hauled in off the floor.
“What are you trying to pull here?”
“That’s how it goes,” the assessor trembled. “I don't write the tax code.”
“Ought to pound you into a pulp just for fun.” Jazz reeled back mulling over whether or not to bust the guy in the face.
“Marge, help!” cried the assessor to the back office. Jazz couldn’t help but laugh. What a puny pathetic creature. Nothing he hated worse than a man who couldn’t hold his own in a scrap.
“That’s right, call your little wife, maybe she’ll…” the words trailed away as the biggest meanest woman he’d ever seen appeared in the door. She had a baseball bat in one hand, and look that told jazz she knew how to use it.
“Marge?” he swallowed hard.
“Oh. I’m gonna enjoy this!” Marge charged through the office like a pissed off buffalo. She chased poor Jazz the better part of a block before he managed to lose her, doing his best not to linger over the fact that it took him that far to outrun a fat old woman!
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