CLASSIFIED REPORT:
…a five year plan from 2010 through 2015 that intends to make Iran the preeminent regional power. A multi-faceted effort by the Iranians is already underway to strengthen and broaden regional and international relations, a critical aim of the so-called Five year Plan. The Iranians are aggressively strengthening their military’s deterrent capabilities, as well as expanding offensive capabilities.
This effort could be controlled by a policy of containment and through continuing support for a growing internal opposition. The assessment of this report indicates that time favors the opposition over the current government. It also cautions against a direct attack against the religious ruling authority to prevent offending moderate Iranians who could eventually support the opposition against the political regime. A continued effort must be made to support and strengthen moderates among the religious ruling authority.
The Iranian’s have no illusions about winning a conventional war against the United States and her allies. If threatened or attack they will fight war of attrition and/or terrorism. Through embassies and internationally protected diplomatic channels they have built a substantial global network throughout the West capable of sowing substantial damage in a protracted asymmetric warfare strategy. Iran’s substantial ideological, financial and material support for such groups as Hezbollah is part of that international network. Although it is beyond the scope of this report, the assessment of the West’s ability to prevent such attacks from occurring would be a failure. Though a number of these cells are currently under limited surveillance the resources available to stop multiple simultaneous attacks in progress would meet with only limited success. In that regard, it must be said that Iran would not activate these cells unless faced with an active attack against its sovereignty. Bus stations, shopping malls, airports, sporting events, and any place Americans gather in numbers would be considered targets of choice. In a country of three hundred million it would be impossible to prevent possibly very substantial civilian casualties. An assessment of potential casualty figures, should 10% of the cells reach their targets, could reasonably exceed…
Doug woke with a start, the shotgun almost spilling from his lap. He sat forward and wiped a cold clammy sweat from his face, wincing when he brushed across the gash at his temple. The pain had faded, retreating to the area immediately around the gash. It was deep enough that most any movement of his face, touching his nose, blinking, raising his eye brows brought a wave of needle sharp pain. It was enough to stifle a yawn, drawing instead a teeth-gritting groan.
The girls were still asleep, dressed in the clothes they had worn from the house. Dana was turned to one side. She was covered protectively by her big sister’s arm. There was a big sliver butcher knife on the end table beside the sofa bed where the girls swept. Doug hadn’t noticed it the night before. He wondered if Megan had placed there and he had missed as he tucked them in, or if Megan got up to get it during the night.
The fire had gone out, and the morning cold had crept into the house. The wind had come up as well, rushing across the bay from the mainland. It whistled through gaps in the old windows and pushed branches noisily against the house. Waves thumped against the bank, joined in the constant soft chorus from the lake.
Doug went into the kitchen hoping to find a bit of coffee before getting some wood for the fire. He set the shotgun beside the door and stretched an uncomfortable sleep from his body. Doug checked the cupboards, but could only find canned goods, pancake mix and a couple of cans of soda. Under the sink was a bottle of propane, matches and another box of shotgun shells. Doug removed a couple of extra shells and slipped them into his pocket.
It was bright and clear when he stepped outside. An early golden sunlight painted the small birch trees along the shore line. Waves splashed against the island, sending up fat white sprays of water. Doug rubbed the sleep from his eyes and bent to gather up several pieces of firewood from the pile beside the house. That’s when he noticed the two black Suburbans parked near the pier on the mainland.
He ducked quickly out of sight and slippeded back inside the house. There were a pair of old binoculars on top of the refrigerator. Doug snuck past the sleeping girls to the front window and pulled aside the shade. He kept back from the window, poking his head out and lifting the binoculars to his eyes, sweeping the far shore as best he could.
He counted eight men in all. Several were armed with pistols strapped to their thighs. Two of the men hovered near the top of the road. They cradled military-style automatic weapons. Through a gap in the trees Doug could see that a third Suburban blocked the entrance from the highway. One man strode slowly along the beach, a pistol held against his leg. He was searching the bank carefully, while the others tore apart the inside of Jane’s Honda. They looked military, with severe haircuts, but with the opulence and arrogant swagger of military contractors. Whoever they were, Doug had no illusions about their intentions.
It was quite certain that they weren’t law enforcement. The passenger-side window of the car had been smashed. The trunk was open as well. The contents, tools, a blanket, camping stuff and an old bag of recycled magazines and news papers were strewn across the ground. There was no careful collection of evidence. These men were hunters, and Doug was their prey. His heart raced haphazardly, the chill of fear and dread washing through his body. It was a nauseous feeling. He glanced back at the girls, as if renewing his resolve for the fight to come, then back to the window.
The man on the beach bent, peering into the fallen log where Doug had stashed the cell phone. He called several of the others over, each taking their turn to look while being careful not to touch it in any way.
“Dad?” It was Dana. She was still dressed, standing in her stocking feet on the cold floor. Her blue ski jacket was undone, but pulled tight around her.
Dad, it’s cold,” she complained, being careful not to disturb her sleeping sister.
“I know, honey,” Doug replied.
Doug turned back across the channel. The men stood along the beach looking back across t the island. It would be a relatively simple process of elimination to deduce where Doug and the girls were hiding. The lake was choppy, boiling to small white caps. Not enough to prevent anyone who truly wished from crossing to the island. And these men would come. Doug knew they’d come.
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
Big Blue Sky: Seven
“…and welcome back to the program,” began the scrupulous quaffed FOX News host, like some manufactured TV-evangelist. “Could nuclear weapons only be the tip of the iceberg in Iran’s growing arsenal of Weapons of Mass destruction? Will the Iranian Mullah soon unleash a new and more terrible weapon against Israel and the West? My next guess says yes, and believes that the US and its allies are completely unprepared to deal with that looming threat. Umberto Shosa is the founder and CEO of MICRO DEFENSE SYSTEMS, and an expert in the field of Nano-tech warfare, which he says will be the next great arms race. Welcome to the show Mister Shosa.”
“My pleasure, Don. Let me correct you a little. There are no Nano-warfare experts, at least in this country, because no one has dared to be on that battlefield yet.”
“But you firmly believe that our enemies are preparing, and may even be ready for that eventual battle?’
“What we are talking about, Don, are tiny machines at the molecular and atomic scale. These sub-microscopic machines can incredibly complex to serve limitless functions, from medical technology to warfare. China and Russia are already years ahead of the US in this technology, which is relatively simple and inexpensive to produce. I have little doubt that a nation like Iran could quite easily harness this technology, at potentially great peril to the US and her interests.”
“A new more deadly type of WMD?” The segment had taken on the scripted tone of a late night info-mercial.
“Self repeating machines that can be delivered in drinking water, a simple ventilation system, seeded from aircraft or sired from a small shell. Nano-weapons can be programmed to lie dormant and undetected for days or months or even years, virtually untraceable and allowing the perpetrators to get away completely.”
“And these weapons can be relatively inexpensive to produce, isn’t that right?”
“For much less than a million dollars. Well within reach of countries like Iran, and certainly within reach of terrorist organizations like Al Qaeda and Hezbollah.”
“So what is the solution?”
“This country needs to build an effective policy to prevent Iran and other belligerent nations from getting Nano-weapons technology, and it needs to become competitive with nations like China and Russia who have historically not acted with US interests in mind.”
“Scary stuff.” The host shook his head slowly, tapping a stack of papers on the desk. “I am sure we’ll be discussing this much more Umberto Shosa is a Nano-technology and warfare expert, and the CEO of MICRO DEFENSE SYSTEMS Mister Shosa, glad you’re on our side. Coming up next, a siteen year old dancing at a Texas strip club? Not only is it legal, but her parents are supporting her decision. We’ll be right…”
“My pleasure, Don. Let me correct you a little. There are no Nano-warfare experts, at least in this country, because no one has dared to be on that battlefield yet.”
“But you firmly believe that our enemies are preparing, and may even be ready for that eventual battle?’
“What we are talking about, Don, are tiny machines at the molecular and atomic scale. These sub-microscopic machines can incredibly complex to serve limitless functions, from medical technology to warfare. China and Russia are already years ahead of the US in this technology, which is relatively simple and inexpensive to produce. I have little doubt that a nation like Iran could quite easily harness this technology, at potentially great peril to the US and her interests.”
“A new more deadly type of WMD?” The segment had taken on the scripted tone of a late night info-mercial.
“Self repeating machines that can be delivered in drinking water, a simple ventilation system, seeded from aircraft or sired from a small shell. Nano-weapons can be programmed to lie dormant and undetected for days or months or even years, virtually untraceable and allowing the perpetrators to get away completely.”
“And these weapons can be relatively inexpensive to produce, isn’t that right?”
“For much less than a million dollars. Well within reach of countries like Iran, and certainly within reach of terrorist organizations like Al Qaeda and Hezbollah.”
“So what is the solution?”
“This country needs to build an effective policy to prevent Iran and other belligerent nations from getting Nano-weapons technology, and it needs to become competitive with nations like China and Russia who have historically not acted with US interests in mind.”
“Scary stuff.” The host shook his head slowly, tapping a stack of papers on the desk. “I am sure we’ll be discussing this much more Umberto Shosa is a Nano-technology and warfare expert, and the CEO of MICRO DEFENSE SYSTEMS Mister Shosa, glad you’re on our side. Coming up next, a siteen year old dancing at a Texas strip club? Not only is it legal, but her parents are supporting her decision. We’ll be right…”
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Fourth book in the challenge
Three down and two to go! Down to the wire now and I am definitely feeling the pressure.
The next book is n idea, and an additionl challenge from a buddy of mine, Reverend Steve Johnson of the Blue Sky Ministry in Chicago. Steve knew that I had more or less decided what I was going to write for the challenge, and decided a bit of a gentleman's wager was in order. He had come across an articale on Nano-technology and its application for war. Seemed like an interesting idea.
The story begins tomorrow. Ripped from today's headlines. The story is about a reporter, Doug Springer. Doug's trying to put his life back together after the death of his wife. Years away covering the Middle east has left him estranged from his two young dughters. But events half way around the world arrive at his door step when an Iranian diplomat with a terrible secret is murdered at his home. Framed for murder, as the world rushes hedlong towards war, Doug uncovers a terrible new weapon that will alter warfare and the world as we know it. Hunted at every turn by his own governmet and hired assassins Doug must rely on the help of a beutiful FBI agent to uncover the secret, save his daughters and head off all out war.
Can't wait to see how it comes out myself!
The next book is n idea, and an additionl challenge from a buddy of mine, Reverend Steve Johnson of the Blue Sky Ministry in Chicago. Steve knew that I had more or less decided what I was going to write for the challenge, and decided a bit of a gentleman's wager was in order. He had come across an articale on Nano-technology and its application for war. Seemed like an interesting idea.
The story begins tomorrow. Ripped from today's headlines. The story is about a reporter, Doug Springer. Doug's trying to put his life back together after the death of his wife. Years away covering the Middle east has left him estranged from his two young dughters. But events half way around the world arrive at his door step when an Iranian diplomat with a terrible secret is murdered at his home. Framed for murder, as the world rushes hedlong towards war, Doug uncovers a terrible new weapon that will alter warfare and the world as we know it. Hunted at every turn by his own governmet and hired assassins Doug must rely on the help of a beutiful FBI agent to uncover the secret, save his daughters and head off all out war.
Can't wait to see how it comes out myself!
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.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Angry Jasper: Forty-five
Jazz and Skull boy reached the hall just as the tide of emotion was reaching its frenzied peak. He spotted several of the coup leaders. The rest, no doubt were scattered through the chamber. Once the coup began Kate would be caught in a deadly crossfire. Nearby Maury’s man had been caught in the surge and was fighting his way through the crowd. Jazz recognized him as the man he’d seen slipping from the ship during the battle on the surface. As he brushed past Jazz wondered why he seemed in such hurry to leave.
“Wait here,” Jazz told the boy. Jazz shoved his way through the bodies straining for a glimpse of their leader, as if it might rescue them from hopelessness, as if his words and the air breathed from Thomas’ lungs would restore them to life again. Jazz caught the guy at the edge of the crowd and dropped him with a well place shot to the kidney.
“Where the hell are you going?” Jazz took the guy in a headlock.
“I hate crowds,” Maury’s man groaned through gritted teeth. He was still fighting for breath.
“And I hate smart asses, so you better come clean.” Jazz twisted the guy’s neck a little farther until the bloke gave up.
“All right, all right,” he said through gritted teeth and blinding agony. “Maury’s gonna hit this place hard. Everything, the whole damn place will be toast, and everyone in it.”
“You led him right to this place,” Jazz had half a mind to snap the guys neck.
“Yes, I admit it. But they’ve abandoned me, and if you can get me off this planet I’ll see that you are handsomely rewarded.”
Jazz remembered the beating his ship had taken. It had been through worse. If he could get to it there was a better than fair chance of getting off this charcoal brisket of a planet.
“Know the way to the surface?”
“I do.”
“If you want out of here then you’re gonna have to do something for me.”
“Anything!”
Jazz let him go and pointed to Kate among the ocean of frantic admirers. “She comes with.
“You’re insane! That would be suicide,” the guy scoffed.
“Non-negotiable.”
“Let me up!” the guy exclaimed. Jazz reluctantly released Maury’s spy. They stood facing one another a moment. “You swear you have a ship.”
“Help me get the Space Whore and I can get us off the planet.” Skullboy appeared from the crowd. He drew up close to Jazz. The spy grimaced and looked to Jazz as if to ask what exactly that was. Jazz only shrugged.
“We’ll need some help if we’re getting her out of this madness.” Around them the crowd surged and roared with feverish excitement.
“What did you have in mind?”
The Spy drew two ARP-21s from beneath his cloak and reluctantly shoved one into Jazz’ hand. Quickly Jazz explained about the coup and pointed out two of the nearest conspirators. He had barely finished when several shots from somewhere cut down one of Thomas’ men, right beside Kate. An instant later gunfire resounded throughout the hall, joined quickly by screams nd the predicatble tsunami of the panicked.
An ARP round clipped Kate’s shoulder and slammed her sideways into Thomas. Losing his footing Thomas spilled into the crowd which was now fighting a desperate battle for escape. He came up face to face with one of the conspirators, staring down the barrel of his weapon.
“Et tu, you load of hybrid dung?” what else was there to say? Suddenly the man’s eyes went wide, a fraction of an instant before he pulled the trigger. The man’s eyes rolled back and he toppled forward into Thomas’ arms. There were two fist size holes in his back. Thomas looked up into Jazz’ eyes. He knew instantly.
“Wait here,” Jazz told the boy. Jazz shoved his way through the bodies straining for a glimpse of their leader, as if it might rescue them from hopelessness, as if his words and the air breathed from Thomas’ lungs would restore them to life again. Jazz caught the guy at the edge of the crowd and dropped him with a well place shot to the kidney.
“Where the hell are you going?” Jazz took the guy in a headlock.
“I hate crowds,” Maury’s man groaned through gritted teeth. He was still fighting for breath.
“And I hate smart asses, so you better come clean.” Jazz twisted the guy’s neck a little farther until the bloke gave up.
“All right, all right,” he said through gritted teeth and blinding agony. “Maury’s gonna hit this place hard. Everything, the whole damn place will be toast, and everyone in it.”
“You led him right to this place,” Jazz had half a mind to snap the guys neck.
“Yes, I admit it. But they’ve abandoned me, and if you can get me off this planet I’ll see that you are handsomely rewarded.”
Jazz remembered the beating his ship had taken. It had been through worse. If he could get to it there was a better than fair chance of getting off this charcoal brisket of a planet.
“Know the way to the surface?”
“I do.”
“If you want out of here then you’re gonna have to do something for me.”
“Anything!”
Jazz let him go and pointed to Kate among the ocean of frantic admirers. “She comes with.
“You’re insane! That would be suicide,” the guy scoffed.
“Non-negotiable.”
“Let me up!” the guy exclaimed. Jazz reluctantly released Maury’s spy. They stood facing one another a moment. “You swear you have a ship.”
“Help me get the Space Whore and I can get us off the planet.” Skullboy appeared from the crowd. He drew up close to Jazz. The spy grimaced and looked to Jazz as if to ask what exactly that was. Jazz only shrugged.
“We’ll need some help if we’re getting her out of this madness.” Around them the crowd surged and roared with feverish excitement.
“What did you have in mind?”
The Spy drew two ARP-21s from beneath his cloak and reluctantly shoved one into Jazz’ hand. Quickly Jazz explained about the coup and pointed out two of the nearest conspirators. He had barely finished when several shots from somewhere cut down one of Thomas’ men, right beside Kate. An instant later gunfire resounded throughout the hall, joined quickly by screams nd the predicatble tsunami of the panicked.
An ARP round clipped Kate’s shoulder and slammed her sideways into Thomas. Losing his footing Thomas spilled into the crowd which was now fighting a desperate battle for escape. He came up face to face with one of the conspirators, staring down the barrel of his weapon.
“Et tu, you load of hybrid dung?” what else was there to say? Suddenly the man’s eyes went wide, a fraction of an instant before he pulled the trigger. The man’s eyes rolled back and he toppled forward into Thomas’ arms. There were two fist size holes in his back. Thomas looked up into Jazz’ eyes. He knew instantly.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Angry Jasper: Forty-two
Maury beamed. Normally it might have ticked him off to be interrupted as he knocked one off in front of the entire Universe. The Identicals arrived with the news just as his man-goo corrupted the finely polished glass of his office. With a mighty groan the milky droplets joined the myriad expanse of the galaxy, before oozing to the floor. He turned, still holding himself with thumb and fore-finger and sneered at the Identicals.
“Better be figgin' important!”
In unison the Identicals swallowed hard, pushed the eyeglasses against their nose and nodded.
“We have received coordinates for the rebel stronghold, and the location of Thomas,” said the first.
There is other news that will please your Excellency,” said the other.
Maury's hairy flab glistened with a fine sweat from his exertion. He covered himself with a towel and turned back to the Milky Way. He waved his hand in the air impatiently.
“Well, out with it!”
The weapon will be ready to fire much sooner than expected,” said the other Identical.
More turned. His expression was animated and thrilled even more so than during his orgasm. He was like a cruel little child delighting in the sadistic butchery of an innocent kitten. The towel slipped away. He hardly seemed to notice.
“well, why didn't you say so?”
Fire control estimates two hours, said the first. “Our spy in the rebel headquarters is requesting to be evacuated as soon as possible.
“He is awaiting a secret transmission,” said the second identical. “He can be to the surface in one hour. Shall I tell him to proceed, Excellency?”
“Send the following transmission,” Maury turned away, clasping his chubby little hands behind his back. “Your heroism and ultimate sacrifice for Corporation is well noted.”
“That's it?” asked the Identicals in unison, stunned at Maury's utter disregard for one of his finest and most loyal men.
“Send it or don't send it,” Maury snapped. “I don't give a damn one way or the other. What I do care about it that weapon working and the destruction of the rebellion. As for our asset on the planet...he was dead the moment he landed on the planet.”
“Better be figgin' important!”
In unison the Identicals swallowed hard, pushed the eyeglasses against their nose and nodded.
“We have received coordinates for the rebel stronghold, and the location of Thomas,” said the first.
There is other news that will please your Excellency,” said the other.
Maury's hairy flab glistened with a fine sweat from his exertion. He covered himself with a towel and turned back to the Milky Way. He waved his hand in the air impatiently.
“Well, out with it!”
The weapon will be ready to fire much sooner than expected,” said the other Identical.
More turned. His expression was animated and thrilled even more so than during his orgasm. He was like a cruel little child delighting in the sadistic butchery of an innocent kitten. The towel slipped away. He hardly seemed to notice.
“well, why didn't you say so?”
Fire control estimates two hours, said the first. “Our spy in the rebel headquarters is requesting to be evacuated as soon as possible.
“He is awaiting a secret transmission,” said the second identical. “He can be to the surface in one hour. Shall I tell him to proceed, Excellency?”
“Send the following transmission,” Maury turned away, clasping his chubby little hands behind his back. “Your heroism and ultimate sacrifice for Corporation is well noted.”
“That's it?” asked the Identicals in unison, stunned at Maury's utter disregard for one of his finest and most loyal men.
“Send it or don't send it,” Maury snapped. “I don't give a damn one way or the other. What I do care about it that weapon working and the destruction of the rebellion. As for our asset on the planet...he was dead the moment he landed on the planet.”
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Angry Jasper: Forty-one
“Somebody is gonna pay for this,” Jazz, doused in that awful gruel, shivered hard and nearly heaved.
His mood continued to turn, until it stunk worse than a carcass in the sun, and almost as bad as the filth he’d just eaten. A part of Jasper reveled in being a sour cuss. He half wanted to see just how low his mood could go until he just turned himself inside out and disappeared from the friggin’ world. To hell with Katy, he thought. What did he need of some space trollip, an interplanetary slag, a gin guzzling Ionian skank? The solar system was full of easy women. They were a credit a dozen. Hell, the simple fact that she was the best lay he'd ever had just meant that Jazz had not had enough women yet. The fact that he loved her—well, he would just have to get over that schoolboy crap.
The thought led him down a long lonely road towards the end of his life(which didn’t seem so far off at that moment). With a long, low groan he sagged against the pole and wished it was all over now. But that just wasn’t like Jazz. It wasn’t like him to quit anything. That he was about to quit on the only person who ever meant anything to him, no matter how much she stomped on his heart, well that was just unacceptable.
It suddenly struck him that the coup against Thomas would take place at the wedding. If they stood any chance at all of succeeding it would have to take place where they could capitalize off the confusion that was sure to follow. They would have to strike hard and fast, and with lethal determination. That meant anyone anywhere near Thomas would be toast. Kate was in trouble, and Jazz doubted she had any idea the size of the turd storm coming her way.
“Screw that!” he exclaimed.
Jazz rallied himself once more and rose to his feet. He yanked hard once and then a second time, ignoring the pain and fatigue in his shoulders. It was probably the stupidest thing he could have done. Something big came loose from the ceiling above him. Jazz caught sight of it at the last instand and swung around the pole as a huge chunk of concrete and stone crashed to the floor where he had been standing. At that moment the door opened and Skullboy entered as casually as if he was coming home from school.
“I'd like to speak with a manager,” Jazz managed a quip. “This place is dangerous, and the food sucks!” The guard frowned stoically, already pulling the door closed again. Skullboy walked up to Jazz with a fresh plate of gruel. He held it close to Jazz’s face. It smelled even worse than the previous batch.
“Get’s better with age,” Jazz winced.
“Eat it!” said Skullboy.
“Eat it yourself.”
“Eat it.” The boy shook the plate a little, spilling some on Jazz’s boot. He was just about to bitch when he saw the key hidden within.
The kid seemed to delight watching Jazz fish for the key with his face. When he had it Jazz managed to turn the key round using his lips and tongue with surprising dexterity (Katy didn’t love Jazz for his money). With that he pushed it into the lock. His heart leapt when the shackles sprung open. Jazz pulled them off and almost thought he could hug the kid, no matter how ugly he was. Almost.
“Wait a minute,” something suddenly occurred to Jazz. “Why didn’t you just unlock the shackles, instead of making me wrastle around in that crap?”
“More fun that way.”
“Remind me to smack you later,” Jazz replied. “For now let’s figure a way out of here.”
His mood continued to turn, until it stunk worse than a carcass in the sun, and almost as bad as the filth he’d just eaten. A part of Jasper reveled in being a sour cuss. He half wanted to see just how low his mood could go until he just turned himself inside out and disappeared from the friggin’ world. To hell with Katy, he thought. What did he need of some space trollip, an interplanetary slag, a gin guzzling Ionian skank? The solar system was full of easy women. They were a credit a dozen. Hell, the simple fact that she was the best lay he'd ever had just meant that Jazz had not had enough women yet. The fact that he loved her—well, he would just have to get over that schoolboy crap.
The thought led him down a long lonely road towards the end of his life(which didn’t seem so far off at that moment). With a long, low groan he sagged against the pole and wished it was all over now. But that just wasn’t like Jazz. It wasn’t like him to quit anything. That he was about to quit on the only person who ever meant anything to him, no matter how much she stomped on his heart, well that was just unacceptable.
It suddenly struck him that the coup against Thomas would take place at the wedding. If they stood any chance at all of succeeding it would have to take place where they could capitalize off the confusion that was sure to follow. They would have to strike hard and fast, and with lethal determination. That meant anyone anywhere near Thomas would be toast. Kate was in trouble, and Jazz doubted she had any idea the size of the turd storm coming her way.
“Screw that!” he exclaimed.
Jazz rallied himself once more and rose to his feet. He yanked hard once and then a second time, ignoring the pain and fatigue in his shoulders. It was probably the stupidest thing he could have done. Something big came loose from the ceiling above him. Jazz caught sight of it at the last instand and swung around the pole as a huge chunk of concrete and stone crashed to the floor where he had been standing. At that moment the door opened and Skullboy entered as casually as if he was coming home from school.
“I'd like to speak with a manager,” Jazz managed a quip. “This place is dangerous, and the food sucks!” The guard frowned stoically, already pulling the door closed again. Skullboy walked up to Jazz with a fresh plate of gruel. He held it close to Jazz’s face. It smelled even worse than the previous batch.
“Get’s better with age,” Jazz winced.
“Eat it!” said Skullboy.
“Eat it yourself.”
“Eat it.” The boy shook the plate a little, spilling some on Jazz’s boot. He was just about to bitch when he saw the key hidden within.
The kid seemed to delight watching Jazz fish for the key with his face. When he had it Jazz managed to turn the key round using his lips and tongue with surprising dexterity (Katy didn’t love Jazz for his money). With that he pushed it into the lock. His heart leapt when the shackles sprung open. Jazz pulled them off and almost thought he could hug the kid, no matter how ugly he was. Almost.
“Wait a minute,” something suddenly occurred to Jazz. “Why didn’t you just unlock the shackles, instead of making me wrastle around in that crap?”
“More fun that way.”
“Remind me to smack you later,” Jazz replied. “For now let’s figure a way out of here.”
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Angry Jasper: Thirty-Nine
He would have been better off in that cell, Jazz thought. His arms were handcuffed around an old steel beam. Skull Boy was on the floor nearby enjoying the last few bites of a chocolate bar. Jazz eyed the bar hungrily and would have given a nut for just one bite. He had not eaten since leaving Madame ’s the day before and could feel the ache of hunger in his bones. Skull Boy gobbled down the last of the chocolate, filling his cheeks and knowing full well how much he was torturing Jasper..
Worse than hunger, Jazz needed to take a mean piss. He beat his forehead against the beam, hoping the pain would stem the pressure. Jazz sworn under his breath. Banging his head did little to alleviate his burgeoning bladder, and gave him one hell of a headache to boot!
“Had enough to eat?” jazz asked, loathsome.
“Couldn’t eat another bite!” the boy rubbed his full belly, that gruesomely deformed face smeared with chocolate.
They were alone. The others had gone off, leaving them in some kind of storage chamber. By the looks of the boxes and crates this is where the conspirators stockpiled weapons for the coming coup. The rebel conspirators had hidden jazz and the boy just as Thomas’ freaks arrived. They wound up here, which Jazz still wondered if it was preferable to having his throat cut or submitting to whatever cruel fate Thomas’ men had in store for him. He sighed and pressed his cheek against the beam.
“This worked out pretty good for you, kid.”
Skull Boy didn’t answer. Jazz still couldn’t get use to looking for too long at the kid. Hell, he could even find a sort of odd beauty in the simpleness and efficiency of a cockroach, even some odd attraction to a fat horny old toad. But the kid…a lion would need a blindfold to keep from gagging on this one.
“Thought you could see the future?” he asked. “How come you didn’t see this?”
The kid looked off across the chamber, his eyes wide, as though transfixed on something. “I can see it. Don’t mean I have to talk about it.”
“News flash, kid,” Jazz snapped. “I’m the one who’s supposed to save you.”
“So?”
“Maybe you could help me little!”
“Why? I don’t like you.”
“How am I supposed to get us out of here shackled to this post, huh?”
“Relax,” said the boy. “Everything is going as it should.”
“Maybe you could clue me in a little?”
“Better this way,” he said.
“How do you figure?”
“Well for one, you can’t screw anything up this way.”
“That don’t make no dam sense!”
The kid turned. Those creepy dark eyes blinked once and then twice as they fixed upon Jazz. “Gets boring seeing the future all the time. So what? I see stuff happen and then it happens. Where’s the fun in that? Like watching a movie and every couple of minutes someone comes in and says, okay this is what will happen now. More fun to play with the future a little bit. Maybe I screw up and it goes another way. Now that’s fun!”
“You’re an odd critter.”
The door opened and Jazz looked up. A stepped inside and tossed an old tin plate at his feet. A fair amount of the gray-green slop at the bottom splashed onto the floor. It stunk to high heaven. Jazz wasn’t at all certain someone hadn’t already barfed his meal back up.
“What the hell is that?” he grumbled as the guard led Skull boy from the cell.
“Lunch,” replied the guard with a detestable grin.
“Flush the toilet for seconds?” Jazz words were lost as the door slammed shut. he looked at the plate and thought he saw something moved there. Just the thought of eating it made his stomach squirm, but beggars can’t be choosers, he thought. Besides, if he was going to get out of there and off the planet he would need every once of strength he could muster.
He studied the top of the beam where it met the stony ceiling. There was a little gap around beam, enough that he could wiggle it back and forth a bit. Not a lot, but enough that Jazz figured with a couple good tugs it might come loose enough for him to get his arms over the top. Looking back at the door once more, Jazz pushed away the plate with his left foot and got into a good strong stance. Holding tight to the shackles he rocked up and back several times for a little momentum. Jazz could hear the ancient concrete cracking and crumbling above him. He counted to three, checked one last time to be sure no one was near the door and yanked as hard as he could.
“Holy crap!” he groaned in pain, and falling back against the pole. Damn right something would give with a few more tugs. If Jazz didn’t bring the whole damn ceiling down on his head he was bound to dislocate both shoulders!
That was a waste, he told himself. Jazz slid to the floor onto his butt and eyed the gruel on the plate. This time he was sure something moved in the slop. He shook his head, and with a frown kind of tipped sideways. Jazz strained and stretched to get closer. The stink rose up to meet him fully, assailing his nostrils, bringing tears to his eyes and choking him.
It smelled like something a dead body would crap out. The stuff was vile, and worse the closer he came. Jazz fought the urge to gag and pushed his face into the lumpy lukewarm liquid. Something slithered into his nose, then retreated just as uickly. It helped to groan for some reason, as if that made the substance slithering down his throat easier to bear. He had eaten some nasty things over the years, but this just beat all.
A few good swallows was about all he could handle. Jazz sat up trying to spit the worst tasting chunks from his mouth. The stuff covered his face, dripped in to his eyes and leaked from his hair down the inside of his shirt. It felt alive there, slithering like creepy-crawlies down his body. Something caught in the back of his throat. Jazz hacked it up and spit it across the room, where it recovered and scurried away into the darkness.
Worse than hunger, Jazz needed to take a mean piss. He beat his forehead against the beam, hoping the pain would stem the pressure. Jazz sworn under his breath. Banging his head did little to alleviate his burgeoning bladder, and gave him one hell of a headache to boot!
“Had enough to eat?” jazz asked, loathsome.
“Couldn’t eat another bite!” the boy rubbed his full belly, that gruesomely deformed face smeared with chocolate.
They were alone. The others had gone off, leaving them in some kind of storage chamber. By the looks of the boxes and crates this is where the conspirators stockpiled weapons for the coming coup. The rebel conspirators had hidden jazz and the boy just as Thomas’ freaks arrived. They wound up here, which Jazz still wondered if it was preferable to having his throat cut or submitting to whatever cruel fate Thomas’ men had in store for him. He sighed and pressed his cheek against the beam.
“This worked out pretty good for you, kid.”
Skull Boy didn’t answer. Jazz still couldn’t get use to looking for too long at the kid. Hell, he could even find a sort of odd beauty in the simpleness and efficiency of a cockroach, even some odd attraction to a fat horny old toad. But the kid…a lion would need a blindfold to keep from gagging on this one.
“Thought you could see the future?” he asked. “How come you didn’t see this?”
The kid looked off across the chamber, his eyes wide, as though transfixed on something. “I can see it. Don’t mean I have to talk about it.”
“News flash, kid,” Jazz snapped. “I’m the one who’s supposed to save you.”
“So?”
“Maybe you could help me little!”
“Why? I don’t like you.”
“How am I supposed to get us out of here shackled to this post, huh?”
“Relax,” said the boy. “Everything is going as it should.”
“Maybe you could clue me in a little?”
“Better this way,” he said.
“How do you figure?”
“Well for one, you can’t screw anything up this way.”
“That don’t make no dam sense!”
The kid turned. Those creepy dark eyes blinked once and then twice as they fixed upon Jazz. “Gets boring seeing the future all the time. So what? I see stuff happen and then it happens. Where’s the fun in that? Like watching a movie and every couple of minutes someone comes in and says, okay this is what will happen now. More fun to play with the future a little bit. Maybe I screw up and it goes another way. Now that’s fun!”
“You’re an odd critter.”
The door opened and Jazz looked up. A stepped inside and tossed an old tin plate at his feet. A fair amount of the gray-green slop at the bottom splashed onto the floor. It stunk to high heaven. Jazz wasn’t at all certain someone hadn’t already barfed his meal back up.
“What the hell is that?” he grumbled as the guard led Skull boy from the cell.
“Lunch,” replied the guard with a detestable grin.
“Flush the toilet for seconds?” Jazz words were lost as the door slammed shut. he looked at the plate and thought he saw something moved there. Just the thought of eating it made his stomach squirm, but beggars can’t be choosers, he thought. Besides, if he was going to get out of there and off the planet he would need every once of strength he could muster.
He studied the top of the beam where it met the stony ceiling. There was a little gap around beam, enough that he could wiggle it back and forth a bit. Not a lot, but enough that Jazz figured with a couple good tugs it might come loose enough for him to get his arms over the top. Looking back at the door once more, Jazz pushed away the plate with his left foot and got into a good strong stance. Holding tight to the shackles he rocked up and back several times for a little momentum. Jazz could hear the ancient concrete cracking and crumbling above him. He counted to three, checked one last time to be sure no one was near the door and yanked as hard as he could.
“Holy crap!” he groaned in pain, and falling back against the pole. Damn right something would give with a few more tugs. If Jazz didn’t bring the whole damn ceiling down on his head he was bound to dislocate both shoulders!
That was a waste, he told himself. Jazz slid to the floor onto his butt and eyed the gruel on the plate. This time he was sure something moved in the slop. He shook his head, and with a frown kind of tipped sideways. Jazz strained and stretched to get closer. The stink rose up to meet him fully, assailing his nostrils, bringing tears to his eyes and choking him.
It smelled like something a dead body would crap out. The stuff was vile, and worse the closer he came. Jazz fought the urge to gag and pushed his face into the lumpy lukewarm liquid. Something slithered into his nose, then retreated just as uickly. It helped to groan for some reason, as if that made the substance slithering down his throat easier to bear. He had eaten some nasty things over the years, but this just beat all.
A few good swallows was about all he could handle. Jazz sat up trying to spit the worst tasting chunks from his mouth. The stuff covered his face, dripped in to his eyes and leaked from his hair down the inside of his shirt. It felt alive there, slithering like creepy-crawlies down his body. Something caught in the back of his throat. Jazz hacked it up and spit it across the room, where it recovered and scurried away into the darkness.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Angry Jasper: Thirty-Eight
There were voices up ahead. They were the low voices of conspiracy. .It would have been nothing to double back and go around, but a boyish curiosity got the better of Jazz. He looked at skull boy for some indication this would lead to trouble. Then again, it was difficult to imagine that things could get any worse. He motioned for the kid to stay as he crept closer to the voices.
There were three men in a lower chamber, rebel soldiers. They were huddled together. They were discussing an attack of some sort. It was simple math for Jazz to figure out they intended to off Thomas. With Kate at Thomas’ side, she would be fair game, and no matter how much of a bitch she was Jazz just couldn't let that happen.
They all looked distraught and deeply conflicted. Their little conspiracy, and the secrets they kept tp one another and about Thomas had taken a terrible physical tool on eat man. Their eyes were dark and withdraw. Jazz knew the look well from years of battling space pirates. These were men fully resigned to their cause and to death.
“I’ll act alone if I have to,” said the first man.
“As long as we all agree this is probably a suicide mission,” said another, “undoubtedly for our families as well.”
“But if we succeed,” said the third. By his demeanor Jazz took him to be in charge.
The second man laughed miserably and spit into the shadows. “Succeed? This will split the rebellion.”
“If the people knew the truth.”
“They will if the plan succeeds.”
“And if it don’t?” the second wasn’t convinced.
“Then god help humanity.”
Just then Jazz felt the muzzle of an ARP at his temple. To call what happened in his gut a sinking feeling would have been an understatement. He just about shi…he groaned.
“Tell me that’s you, kid?” he said loud enough that the men in the chamber drew weapons and turned suddenly. He glanced from the corner of his eye. Skull boy stood a short distance away with a dumb smirk on his face.
“You couldn’t have warned me?” Jazz sneered.
“Don’t worry,” the kid said, indifferent.
Jazz was shoved to his knees as the others rushed up the stairs. He so wanted to make a smart ass remark, but these guys weren’t like that forlorn gaggle of Corporation guys back in that first cell. The wrong word here was certain to get him killed. Then again, Jazz would have found it hard to believe they’d let him live after what he had just overheard.
Someone pulled a knife. A hand wrapped around Jazz’ forehead and yanked it back, exposing his neck. The cold sharp blade of a hunting knife pressed against his windpipe. All the while Skull boy stood passively, almost gleefully, as though this was some odd sort of street theater.
“Cut his throat,” said the first man.
“What about the kid?” said another.
“No witnesses,” said the leader.
“Don’t makes us any better than Thomas and his lot,” said the second man. “I won’t lose no sleep over this guy, but the kid?”
“If you don’t have the stomach?” the first man snarled.
“I don’t have the stomach for it either,” Jazz offered.
The leader thought a moment. His eyes avoided Jazz. “We can’t take any chances. Sorry, kid.”
Jazz felt the knife blade pressed into his flesh. His mind spun madly for anything that might spare him, if only to die in a less painful and gruesome way. “Wait! The kid, he’s psychic, or clairvoyant, or something.”
The kid gasped. “Are you crazy?
“Suck it, kid,” said Jazz. “I’m trying to save our asses here.” the knife cut into jazz’ flesh. Glistening droplets of crimson blood appeared. The warm fever of regret ran through Jazz. Suck it kid. Those were to be his last poignant words?
“You won’t cut his throat,” skull boy blurted. “I mean you could. I would, but you won’t.”
“Watch me,” said the man with the knife. Jazz tightened his body, clenched his teeth. He was determined not to scream, not to give this bloke the slightest satisfaction. He clenched his butt cheeks too. He didn’t want to die with a pant load of crap either.
“Wait!” the commander raised a hand. The blade still pressed at Jazz’ throat. Blood trickled in rivulets under his collar and into his shirt, running down his body. “Tell me, kid. Why are you so sure we would dispose of both of you?”
“It is true,” the boy replied, “I can see the future, and in about fifteen seconds you’ll hear Thomas guards coming. They’re coming for me and Angry Jasper. You’ll make the decision that we have some value.”
The guy almost bought it and started to laugh. “Careful where you step, boys, the bullshi…”
Suddenly footsteps thundered in the passageway. The men looked at one another as if to ask if that had been fifteen seconds, just as the kid predicted. The leader shoved the barrel of his ARP under Jazz’ chin and leaned close.
“You and the kid now share a second birthday and a second chance at life. Mess up and I’ll put both of you down without hesitation.”
There were three men in a lower chamber, rebel soldiers. They were huddled together. They were discussing an attack of some sort. It was simple math for Jazz to figure out they intended to off Thomas. With Kate at Thomas’ side, she would be fair game, and no matter how much of a bitch she was Jazz just couldn't let that happen.
They all looked distraught and deeply conflicted. Their little conspiracy, and the secrets they kept tp one another and about Thomas had taken a terrible physical tool on eat man. Their eyes were dark and withdraw. Jazz knew the look well from years of battling space pirates. These were men fully resigned to their cause and to death.
“I’ll act alone if I have to,” said the first man.
“As long as we all agree this is probably a suicide mission,” said another, “undoubtedly for our families as well.”
“But if we succeed,” said the third. By his demeanor Jazz took him to be in charge.
The second man laughed miserably and spit into the shadows. “Succeed? This will split the rebellion.”
“If the people knew the truth.”
“They will if the plan succeeds.”
“And if it don’t?” the second wasn’t convinced.
“Then god help humanity.”
Just then Jazz felt the muzzle of an ARP at his temple. To call what happened in his gut a sinking feeling would have been an understatement. He just about shi…he groaned.
“Tell me that’s you, kid?” he said loud enough that the men in the chamber drew weapons and turned suddenly. He glanced from the corner of his eye. Skull boy stood a short distance away with a dumb smirk on his face.
“You couldn’t have warned me?” Jazz sneered.
“Don’t worry,” the kid said, indifferent.
Jazz was shoved to his knees as the others rushed up the stairs. He so wanted to make a smart ass remark, but these guys weren’t like that forlorn gaggle of Corporation guys back in that first cell. The wrong word here was certain to get him killed. Then again, Jazz would have found it hard to believe they’d let him live after what he had just overheard.
Someone pulled a knife. A hand wrapped around Jazz’ forehead and yanked it back, exposing his neck. The cold sharp blade of a hunting knife pressed against his windpipe. All the while Skull boy stood passively, almost gleefully, as though this was some odd sort of street theater.
“Cut his throat,” said the first man.
“What about the kid?” said another.
“No witnesses,” said the leader.
“Don’t makes us any better than Thomas and his lot,” said the second man. “I won’t lose no sleep over this guy, but the kid?”
“If you don’t have the stomach?” the first man snarled.
“I don’t have the stomach for it either,” Jazz offered.
The leader thought a moment. His eyes avoided Jazz. “We can’t take any chances. Sorry, kid.”
Jazz felt the knife blade pressed into his flesh. His mind spun madly for anything that might spare him, if only to die in a less painful and gruesome way. “Wait! The kid, he’s psychic, or clairvoyant, or something.”
The kid gasped. “Are you crazy?
“Suck it, kid,” said Jazz. “I’m trying to save our asses here.” the knife cut into jazz’ flesh. Glistening droplets of crimson blood appeared. The warm fever of regret ran through Jazz. Suck it kid. Those were to be his last poignant words?
“You won’t cut his throat,” skull boy blurted. “I mean you could. I would, but you won’t.”
“Watch me,” said the man with the knife. Jazz tightened his body, clenched his teeth. He was determined not to scream, not to give this bloke the slightest satisfaction. He clenched his butt cheeks too. He didn’t want to die with a pant load of crap either.
“Wait!” the commander raised a hand. The blade still pressed at Jazz’ throat. Blood trickled in rivulets under his collar and into his shirt, running down his body. “Tell me, kid. Why are you so sure we would dispose of both of you?”
“It is true,” the boy replied, “I can see the future, and in about fifteen seconds you’ll hear Thomas guards coming. They’re coming for me and Angry Jasper. You’ll make the decision that we have some value.”
The guy almost bought it and started to laugh. “Careful where you step, boys, the bullshi…”
Suddenly footsteps thundered in the passageway. The men looked at one another as if to ask if that had been fifteen seconds, just as the kid predicted. The leader shoved the barrel of his ARP under Jazz’ chin and leaned close.
“You and the kid now share a second birthday and a second chance at life. Mess up and I’ll put both of you down without hesitation.”
Friday, April 30, 2010
Angry Jasper: Twenty-five
The Rebels maintained an impossible maze of ancient tunnels far beneath the ruins of Chicago. Alternate subterranean enclaves spanned the globe, linked by a haphazard and embattled series of passages, some hundreds of miles long. Each, though nominally subservient to the leadership under Chicago, operated as virtual fiefdoms. A consequence of concerted Corporation attacks that often isolated and besieged enclaves. That semi-autonomy left them vulnerable, but enabled each to survive, if necessary, independent of the others. Indeed, often stark differences in culture, economy and even relations with the Corporation were unique to each, some with histories spanning centuries. It was that history that enthralled and inspired Katy.
The walls narrowed. The passage was dark as a dungeon, lit only by the pale light of Kinetic halos around each body. The Kinetic lamps created a field around each body, drawing energy from the ambient life force of a body. The light illuminated walls filled with inscriptions and pictures generations old, like ancient hieroglyphs. She paused to run her fingers across one in particular. It was a declaration from a pair of young lovers. Their names were unreadable any longer, but the crudely scratched heart was still plainly visible. A rebel fighter laid a hand gently on her shoulder. The vengeful thunder of Corporation ships shook the ground.
“Miss Katy, we really should keep moving,” said the young warrior.
Soon the passage opened and widened greatly, the arched ceiling much higher and lost to the darkness, which was far more complete than before, even with the Kinetic light. It took Kate's eyes some time to adjust, revealing a terrible scene before her. The passage was crowded with wounded, terrified women and children, and others fleeing the government bombardment. Further on the passages were dominated by rag-a-muffin rebel fighters, and then the black-suited bodyguard of Thomas, the Rebel leader.
Thomas' elite guard were a fanatical lot, and not at all known to be summoned to that mysterious inner circle hardly felt like a blessing. It felt like being drawn into something darker, the immoral heart protecting the purity the rebel alliance pretended for itself. It was treachery and deceit and the brutal passion-plays nd shadowy compromises of politics. It made her skin crawl.
There were odd rumors about these men. Kate had heard those rumors in places like Cynus Prime. They were tales no one on Earth would dare speak of out loud. There were strange tales of women disappearing in alarming numbers, of bizarre rituals, and even that Thomas and his inner circle were in fact aliens spearheading a coming invasion. To some it was easily dismissed as concubines, drawn into the darkness and power of Thomas’ inner circle, where it was far too dangerous to let them mingle among the common folk.
Stripped of her weapons Katy was led beyond the point where few had ever gone. A metal door groaned opened to a huge chamber filled with weapons and all manner of provisions. Rusting iron beams stained the crumbling concrete ceiling. The air was thick with the ammonia bite of bat guano faintly covering the stink of death. Things scurried about at the edge of the darkness, and Kate had feeling that something large and altogether not human watched from the deepest blackest recesses of the chamber. She imagined some odd hybrid sort, like some sort mingled with the DNA of a bison or a yak or some such thing.
It was odd to see a huge crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling, and to hear a Rachmaninov piano concerto playing somewhere, as though it was a quality to the air. At the center of the chamber was a maze of sheer-white linen panels that sort of enclosed Thomas’ quarters. The panels rippled and swam in a channel of cool filtered air tht made Kate shiver and, instead of offering a respite from the scent of death, made the place feel like a morgue.
Thomas lived here like a monarch, while his army and hostage population wallowed in deprivation and misery. It wasn’t always like that. There had been a governing council for the rebel alliance, which had worked well enough for several generations. Corruption and bickering eventually eroded their effectiveness. Soon the council was merely competing factions, more interested in fighting one another than battling the Corporation. A series of bloody coups had merely replaced one corrupt minister with another, each testing the previous regimes brutality. The fighting nearly collapsed the rebellion. Now only Thomas remained, the most brutal and insidious of them all. For better or worse the rebellion united under Thomas, for the first time in years.
The walls narrowed. The passage was dark as a dungeon, lit only by the pale light of Kinetic halos around each body. The Kinetic lamps created a field around each body, drawing energy from the ambient life force of a body. The light illuminated walls filled with inscriptions and pictures generations old, like ancient hieroglyphs. She paused to run her fingers across one in particular. It was a declaration from a pair of young lovers. Their names were unreadable any longer, but the crudely scratched heart was still plainly visible. A rebel fighter laid a hand gently on her shoulder. The vengeful thunder of Corporation ships shook the ground.
“Miss Katy, we really should keep moving,” said the young warrior.
Soon the passage opened and widened greatly, the arched ceiling much higher and lost to the darkness, which was far more complete than before, even with the Kinetic light. It took Kate's eyes some time to adjust, revealing a terrible scene before her. The passage was crowded with wounded, terrified women and children, and others fleeing the government bombardment. Further on the passages were dominated by rag-a-muffin rebel fighters, and then the black-suited bodyguard of Thomas, the Rebel leader.
Thomas' elite guard were a fanatical lot, and not at all known to be summoned to that mysterious inner circle hardly felt like a blessing. It felt like being drawn into something darker, the immoral heart protecting the purity the rebel alliance pretended for itself. It was treachery and deceit and the brutal passion-plays nd shadowy compromises of politics. It made her skin crawl.
There were odd rumors about these men. Kate had heard those rumors in places like Cynus Prime. They were tales no one on Earth would dare speak of out loud. There were strange tales of women disappearing in alarming numbers, of bizarre rituals, and even that Thomas and his inner circle were in fact aliens spearheading a coming invasion. To some it was easily dismissed as concubines, drawn into the darkness and power of Thomas’ inner circle, where it was far too dangerous to let them mingle among the common folk.
Stripped of her weapons Katy was led beyond the point where few had ever gone. A metal door groaned opened to a huge chamber filled with weapons and all manner of provisions. Rusting iron beams stained the crumbling concrete ceiling. The air was thick with the ammonia bite of bat guano faintly covering the stink of death. Things scurried about at the edge of the darkness, and Kate had feeling that something large and altogether not human watched from the deepest blackest recesses of the chamber. She imagined some odd hybrid sort, like some sort mingled with the DNA of a bison or a yak or some such thing.
It was odd to see a huge crystal chandelier dangling from the ceiling, and to hear a Rachmaninov piano concerto playing somewhere, as though it was a quality to the air. At the center of the chamber was a maze of sheer-white linen panels that sort of enclosed Thomas’ quarters. The panels rippled and swam in a channel of cool filtered air tht made Kate shiver and, instead of offering a respite from the scent of death, made the place feel like a morgue.
Thomas lived here like a monarch, while his army and hostage population wallowed in deprivation and misery. It wasn’t always like that. There had been a governing council for the rebel alliance, which had worked well enough for several generations. Corruption and bickering eventually eroded their effectiveness. Soon the council was merely competing factions, more interested in fighting one another than battling the Corporation. A series of bloody coups had merely replaced one corrupt minister with another, each testing the previous regimes brutality. The fighting nearly collapsed the rebellion. Now only Thomas remained, the most brutal and insidious of them all. For better or worse the rebellion united under Thomas, for the first time in years.
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...
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Angry Jasper-Seventeen
Kate feigned to the right, drawing the predictable fusillade. Mercury rounds cracked past like white hot lightening and exploded against the wall in showers of dust and chunks of concrete. Kate instantly rolled left onto her belly, firing two shots from a prone position. Both rounds struck home. The first cleaved off the nearest gunman’s left arm at the shoulder. The hand of the disembodied arm still held the ARP, a finger still depressed on the trigger. As the arm spun away a half dozen rounds sprayed wildly across the market. The other round took off the top of his head in a great crimson halo of gore. The shot was so impressive Kate could swear the dying man smiled just before toppling backwards.
The second man disappeared in the sudden dissolution of his partner. There were just two left, and though Kate had no clue where they were at the moment, the odds now were a bit more to her liking. She rose cautiously, scanning the marketplace. Buzz was nearby, struggling to stand with those clunky and awkward little arms and legs. Kate pulled the fat little robot to his feet and drew him back to the relative cover of the support.
“Okay, little buddy?” she asked, her eyes warily scanning the market.
The market was still now, but it only felt like a pause and not an aftermath. Smoke hung in the air, drifting among battered market stalls and heaps of bodies. There was hardly a sound, but for the low moans of the wounded and sobs of the terrified. Somewhere among that languishing mayhem death still lurked.
Kate had a mind to take Buzz and retreat from this mess. With luck they could make it to the ship and, at the very least, make it to a rebel base on Earth. But Kate just wasn’t that kind of girl. She had this obstinate streak in her when it came to justice. When the Corporation did something this heinous she took it personally. It blinded her to any reason. Buzz looked up and could see that look in her eye and knew no amount of reason could keep Kate from finishing what the Corporation had started.
“Stay here,” she said low and resolute. He held her thigh, pulling her back as she started forward to finish off the last two Corporate men.
“See what they did here, Buzz?”
“Prudence is the better part of valor.”
“Prudence is for pussies,” she pulled away. “Someone needs to pay for this.”
Kate crept sideways, stepping over the dead where she could, and climbing over them where she had no other choice. She picked her way forward towards the first man sh had shot, hoping to double her firepower. Just as she bent to pick up the dead man's weapon Kate felt the muzzle of a weapon against the back of her neck.
“Drop the weapon,” the man grunted. The last man rose from the carnage, casually dispatching a wounded rebel fighter straining to reach a weapon.
.
“Killed two of my best men,” said the Corporate man, roughly turning her around.
“Buy me dinner,” Kate said smugly, “and I’ll squeeze you out a couple of replacements.”
Those were the last words she remembered. The guy cold-cocked her with a brutal upper cut that lifted her from the ground. Kate's world went bright white to black, and she dropped like a stone.
The second man disappeared in the sudden dissolution of his partner. There were just two left, and though Kate had no clue where they were at the moment, the odds now were a bit more to her liking. She rose cautiously, scanning the marketplace. Buzz was nearby, struggling to stand with those clunky and awkward little arms and legs. Kate pulled the fat little robot to his feet and drew him back to the relative cover of the support.
“Okay, little buddy?” she asked, her eyes warily scanning the market.
The market was still now, but it only felt like a pause and not an aftermath. Smoke hung in the air, drifting among battered market stalls and heaps of bodies. There was hardly a sound, but for the low moans of the wounded and sobs of the terrified. Somewhere among that languishing mayhem death still lurked.
Kate had a mind to take Buzz and retreat from this mess. With luck they could make it to the ship and, at the very least, make it to a rebel base on Earth. But Kate just wasn’t that kind of girl. She had this obstinate streak in her when it came to justice. When the Corporation did something this heinous she took it personally. It blinded her to any reason. Buzz looked up and could see that look in her eye and knew no amount of reason could keep Kate from finishing what the Corporation had started.
“Stay here,” she said low and resolute. He held her thigh, pulling her back as she started forward to finish off the last two Corporate men.
“See what they did here, Buzz?”
“Prudence is the better part of valor.”
“Prudence is for pussies,” she pulled away. “Someone needs to pay for this.”
Kate crept sideways, stepping over the dead where she could, and climbing over them where she had no other choice. She picked her way forward towards the first man sh had shot, hoping to double her firepower. Just as she bent to pick up the dead man's weapon Kate felt the muzzle of a weapon against the back of her neck.
“Drop the weapon,” the man grunted. The last man rose from the carnage, casually dispatching a wounded rebel fighter straining to reach a weapon.
.
“Killed two of my best men,” said the Corporate man, roughly turning her around.
“Buy me dinner,” Kate said smugly, “and I’ll squeeze you out a couple of replacements.”
Those were the last words she remembered. The guy cold-cocked her with a brutal upper cut that lifted her from the ground. Kate's world went bright white to black, and she dropped like a stone.
Monday, April 19, 2010
Angry Jasper: Fifteen
Cygnus Prime was a hellhole, and that was being kind! Corruption, criminality and neglect made coming anywhere near the place a risky proposition. It had fallen into terrible disrepair, and much of it lay in ruins. Only one of the great domes, that once could be seen from earth, still remained. One had collapsed due to general neglect into a giant heap of twisted steel. Another had been destroyed in a rebel suicide attack, appearing like a shattered eggshell. The scorched and jagged wreckage rose high above the stark lunar surface, and could be seen from anywhere in the colony, like a tombstone to a more civil time in human history.
What remained appeared as a dull pale infection upon the dusty and cratered surface. Long semi lit passage ways grew in all directions from the last remaining dome. From each passage grew clusters of smaller domes, like metallic little grapes. Around and among the pods and passageways was all manner of refuse, discarded equipment and the wreckage of few hapless ships. In fact, trash and junk littered the plain and filled several nearby craters. Stretched in a great tattered mesh over much of the colony was meteor shield. It too had fallen into hopeless disrepair, enough that a meteor strike year or so earlier had scored a direct strike, smashing one hapless pod.
The place was thick with Corporate and rebel spies. They were practically bouncing off one another. That was hardly a secret to anyone who knew anything of CP. Within the colony that understanding bred a certain suspicion and paranoia infecting every aspect of life there. As Buzz guided the ship into a small docking port Kate knew she could not be too careful. It took a moment for the pressure to equalize in the lock. It came as a low rhythmic thumping against the hull. It opened with a hiss. Cold, stale air from the colony flooded into the ship, only confirming Buzz’ misgivings. He caught Katy by the arm.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he replied. “Maybe we should go.”
“Relax.”
“I’m going out of my freakin’ circuits, I tell ya.”
“Maybe you just need a tune up.” she patted his head and gave a reassuring wink. “I’ll be careful.”
“Listen, baby,” Buzz refused to budge. He tried to keep his voice low, “I’m telling you, we are in some serious sh… I don’t like it here.”
Kate signed and knelt, taking Buzz’ hands, as though he was acting like a petulant child.. “It’s something I have to do, Buzz, and I just couldn’t live with myself if I let down the rebellion. But I promise we’ll get out of here just as soon as we can.”
Buzz gave a mechanical sort of groan and looked away. With some effort Kate pulled his face back to hers. His head creaked grudgingly.
“Ouch!” Buzz complained. “Pinched a wire.”
“Don’t be a baby. Listen, we’ll go where ever you want,” she said. “One hour. I’m in and out.”
Buzz still couldn’t look at her, but there was no use in arguing the point. He nodded reluctantly. “Whatever.”
Neither of them noticed as Governor Maury’s spy docked at the adjacent port. The docks were wild chaotic places. He’d have to have had stepped out naked playing a drum for anyone to have noticed specifically. He stepped into the passage, shoving some poor lout that happened into his way to the floor. He was followed at a distance by three more men. All of them were dressed like the local dregs. They were tall, their faces covered to obscure the wolf-like features of hybrid soldiers. Under long cloaks they were heavily armed with ARP-34 automatic rifles locked securely to one arm. They carried enough firepower to lay waste to the colony, if that’s what it came to.
The ancient passages were crowded and crazy, even by Cygnus Prime’s offbeat standards. Time and time again Maury’s men nearly lost Kate as she and Buzz headed for the great dome and it’s legendary marketplace, which was by far the biggest and seediest in the lower four planets. Catching up he brushed past her, secretly affixing a tracking dot to her thigh. It was simple and she felt nothing so much as the casual bump, like a thousand others in the crowded passageways. The dot was hardly the size of a stamp, transparent and virtually undetectable. Legs entended from the dot and it crawled quickly up and under her clothing. It would allow him to track the pair on his credit pod safely at a distance without arousing undo suspicion. More than that the dot would transmit every conversation she had as clearly as if he was standing beside her.
The passage opened abruptly. Beneath the iron and glass lattice of the dome was nothing short of a crowded city center, if that city was ancient Rome. Once the maze of streets and alleyways, laid among neat concrete and steal structures, had been neatly maintained. Wave upon wave of the displaced, dejected and miscreants had transformed it completely. Makeshift structures, hovels and shacks leaned, rotted and crumbled everywhere. Filth and excrement putrefied in the gutters and made streets slick. Disease ridden prostitutes harangued passers by, battled one another or plied their trade in the shadows. Beggars and thieves swarmed over newcomers. Katy palmed her credit pod and held tight to Buzz, fearful he would be sold for scrap or chopped up for parts.
At the center of the dome was a busy market square. There were goods and contraband from every corner of the solar system. Much of it was junk. The most valuable items were hidden carefully where they could be protected from fellow thieves, or spirited away during one of the occasional Corporation raids. Katy moved slowly from table to stall, as if she was interested in the various offerings. She was looking for one particular stall and found it without much difficulty.
A dark man in rags stood behind a table of bionic replacement valves and out of date robot parts. He sat alone and sullen, digging at dirty fingernails with a curve antique Turkish dagger. He frowned as Kate approached the table. The frown changed to an unblinking stare that was filled with contempt.
“Business good today, I see,” she remarked sarcastically.
“Good enough,” said the man, quiet and low. He didn’t bother looking up at her.
“Must be your exemplary customer service skills.”
“Something I can do for you?” he scowled. “If not then shove off.”
“No way to talk to a woman.”
“What makes you think I care if you’re a woman or not?’
“If your content with the toothless bug-ridden hags around here?”
“I’m celibate. Saving myself for marriage,” he replied with ample sarcasm.
“Won’t she be the lucky bride!. Never mind, just a working girl looking to make a couple credits, and you look the least detestable around here.”
He knew the code words well enough and replied in kind. “Take I.O.U.s?”
“Sorry, I only deal in hard currency,” she purred suggestively.
The man stood and nodded. “Maybe I can work something out. Why don’t you step into my office?”
Kate and Buzz looked, scanning the crowd with the utmost suspicion, unaware that they had already been compromised. They stepped around the table and followed the man through a musty smelling red and white-striped wool blanket strung across the back of the stall. Inside there was just the narrowest space, bounded at the back by the metal dome wall. Kate wasn’t at all comforted that there was no escape route. She quickly felt trapped, and felt that tension building in her chest.
The man turned abruptly and stuck out his hand straight and rigid. Kate took it in hers. He had a good, strong handshake. He uncovered his face and hair revealing a fatally handsome young man. She quietly cursed, wishing she were ten years younger. Then she would really give him a ride to remember.
What remained appeared as a dull pale infection upon the dusty and cratered surface. Long semi lit passage ways grew in all directions from the last remaining dome. From each passage grew clusters of smaller domes, like metallic little grapes. Around and among the pods and passageways was all manner of refuse, discarded equipment and the wreckage of few hapless ships. In fact, trash and junk littered the plain and filled several nearby craters. Stretched in a great tattered mesh over much of the colony was meteor shield. It too had fallen into hopeless disrepair, enough that a meteor strike year or so earlier had scored a direct strike, smashing one hapless pod.
The place was thick with Corporate and rebel spies. They were practically bouncing off one another. That was hardly a secret to anyone who knew anything of CP. Within the colony that understanding bred a certain suspicion and paranoia infecting every aspect of life there. As Buzz guided the ship into a small docking port Kate knew she could not be too careful. It took a moment for the pressure to equalize in the lock. It came as a low rhythmic thumping against the hull. It opened with a hiss. Cold, stale air from the colony flooded into the ship, only confirming Buzz’ misgivings. He caught Katy by the arm.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I have a bad feeling about this,” he replied. “Maybe we should go.”
“Relax.”
“I’m going out of my freakin’ circuits, I tell ya.”
“Maybe you just need a tune up.” she patted his head and gave a reassuring wink. “I’ll be careful.”
“Listen, baby,” Buzz refused to budge. He tried to keep his voice low, “I’m telling you, we are in some serious sh… I don’t like it here.”
Kate signed and knelt, taking Buzz’ hands, as though he was acting like a petulant child.. “It’s something I have to do, Buzz, and I just couldn’t live with myself if I let down the rebellion. But I promise we’ll get out of here just as soon as we can.”
Buzz gave a mechanical sort of groan and looked away. With some effort Kate pulled his face back to hers. His head creaked grudgingly.
“Ouch!” Buzz complained. “Pinched a wire.”
“Don’t be a baby. Listen, we’ll go where ever you want,” she said. “One hour. I’m in and out.”
Buzz still couldn’t look at her, but there was no use in arguing the point. He nodded reluctantly. “Whatever.”
Neither of them noticed as Governor Maury’s spy docked at the adjacent port. The docks were wild chaotic places. He’d have to have had stepped out naked playing a drum for anyone to have noticed specifically. He stepped into the passage, shoving some poor lout that happened into his way to the floor. He was followed at a distance by three more men. All of them were dressed like the local dregs. They were tall, their faces covered to obscure the wolf-like features of hybrid soldiers. Under long cloaks they were heavily armed with ARP-34 automatic rifles locked securely to one arm. They carried enough firepower to lay waste to the colony, if that’s what it came to.
The ancient passages were crowded and crazy, even by Cygnus Prime’s offbeat standards. Time and time again Maury’s men nearly lost Kate as she and Buzz headed for the great dome and it’s legendary marketplace, which was by far the biggest and seediest in the lower four planets. Catching up he brushed past her, secretly affixing a tracking dot to her thigh. It was simple and she felt nothing so much as the casual bump, like a thousand others in the crowded passageways. The dot was hardly the size of a stamp, transparent and virtually undetectable. Legs entended from the dot and it crawled quickly up and under her clothing. It would allow him to track the pair on his credit pod safely at a distance without arousing undo suspicion. More than that the dot would transmit every conversation she had as clearly as if he was standing beside her.
The passage opened abruptly. Beneath the iron and glass lattice of the dome was nothing short of a crowded city center, if that city was ancient Rome. Once the maze of streets and alleyways, laid among neat concrete and steal structures, had been neatly maintained. Wave upon wave of the displaced, dejected and miscreants had transformed it completely. Makeshift structures, hovels and shacks leaned, rotted and crumbled everywhere. Filth and excrement putrefied in the gutters and made streets slick. Disease ridden prostitutes harangued passers by, battled one another or plied their trade in the shadows. Beggars and thieves swarmed over newcomers. Katy palmed her credit pod and held tight to Buzz, fearful he would be sold for scrap or chopped up for parts.
At the center of the dome was a busy market square. There were goods and contraband from every corner of the solar system. Much of it was junk. The most valuable items were hidden carefully where they could be protected from fellow thieves, or spirited away during one of the occasional Corporation raids. Katy moved slowly from table to stall, as if she was interested in the various offerings. She was looking for one particular stall and found it without much difficulty.
A dark man in rags stood behind a table of bionic replacement valves and out of date robot parts. He sat alone and sullen, digging at dirty fingernails with a curve antique Turkish dagger. He frowned as Kate approached the table. The frown changed to an unblinking stare that was filled with contempt.
“Business good today, I see,” she remarked sarcastically.
“Good enough,” said the man, quiet and low. He didn’t bother looking up at her.
“Must be your exemplary customer service skills.”
“Something I can do for you?” he scowled. “If not then shove off.”
“No way to talk to a woman.”
“What makes you think I care if you’re a woman or not?’
“If your content with the toothless bug-ridden hags around here?”
“I’m celibate. Saving myself for marriage,” he replied with ample sarcasm.
“Won’t she be the lucky bride!. Never mind, just a working girl looking to make a couple credits, and you look the least detestable around here.”
He knew the code words well enough and replied in kind. “Take I.O.U.s?”
“Sorry, I only deal in hard currency,” she purred suggestively.
The man stood and nodded. “Maybe I can work something out. Why don’t you step into my office?”
Kate and Buzz looked, scanning the crowd with the utmost suspicion, unaware that they had already been compromised. They stepped around the table and followed the man through a musty smelling red and white-striped wool blanket strung across the back of the stall. Inside there was just the narrowest space, bounded at the back by the metal dome wall. Kate wasn’t at all comforted that there was no escape route. She quickly felt trapped, and felt that tension building in her chest.
The man turned abruptly and stuck out his hand straight and rigid. Kate took it in hers. He had a good, strong handshake. He uncovered his face and hair revealing a fatally handsome young man. She quietly cursed, wishing she were ten years younger. Then she would really give him a ride to remember.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Angry Jasper-Fourteen
There was no use. There was just far too much on Kate’s mind. As much as she needed this, it just wasn’t going to happen. Kate reached down and tapped the fat little silver robot on the head. Buzz looked up from between her open legs at her with a perturbed expression. She had picked him up used in a rummage sale for a bankrupt mining operation on some barren asteroid. Buzz was an antique model with jerky and awkward moves, and it had cost Kate a pretty penny to get him working again. The pair had been fast friends ever since. The spinning vibrator on the front of his head whirred to a stop.
“Did you?” Buzz asked with a hollow little groan. Kate closed her legs and sat up.
“Can’t.”
“Not even close?’
“Sorry,” she frowned.
“Could have told me ten minutes ago. Damn near ran my battery down.”
Buzz detached the vibrator from his nose socket and stowed in a storage spot in his leg. He could see that something was bothering her. Buzz hated that he even cared enough to ask the question. With a wave of his stubby mechanical hand the light in the ship, dimmed to a more romantic tone, brightened. Kate was sitting on a big red heart-shaped bed adorned with shimmering maroon satin sheets and fat pink pillows. There was a small lavatory to one side. A black lacquer serving bar separated the flight deck from the rest of the ship.
“All right, drama queen. What crawled up your tail and died, besides Governor Maury?”
Kate wrapped a sheet around her shoulders and looked out into space. She paid no mind to the ship following at a distance.
“Ask you a question, Buzz?”
“That depends. Want to hear the answer?”
“What am I doing, running around the solar system, tramping around for the rebellion. Where is this…”
Buzz cut her off with an exasperated sigh. “How many times are we going to have this same conversation?”
She turned and started to speak. Her expression was just pathetic. Buzz had half a mind to slap her.
“Don’t say it,” said. “If I hear that name one more time I’ll blow a friggin’ gasket!”
In fact he might even blow two, and a couple of springs! Kate flopped onto the bed and twisted around there for a moment in anguish.
“Why do I love him, Buzz?” she moaned. “Why couldn’t we be happy, work for the Corporation and retire to an idyllic little town on the wheel. Settle down, have a normal life like other folks, maybe a kid or two.”
“Why?’ Buzz asked indignant. “Because you’d blow your damn brains out!”
“I don’t know,” she lamented, unconvinced.
He went to her. His tone softened. “Well I do. Sweetie. This is the life you have because it’s the one you crave. Can you see yourself baking cookies for the PTA bake sale, cleaning house all day waiting for Jazz to come home from work-whatever it is he might do honestly?” He stroked her face. It had been a long time since he had seen her this bad. “Could you do all that knowing about the rebellion?”
“Most folks get by just fine never carrying a wit about the rebellion. It’s so far away that the rebellion isn’t even relevant to their lives.”
“But it is to yours, and you’d sooner die than walk away from a just cause. Now get dressed we’re coming up on the moon.”
Buzz hobbled towards the flight deck and prepared for landing at Cygnus Prime, the once sprawling moon colony. The place had fallen on hard times and now was a dumping point for refugees, smugglers and riff raff from all across the solar system. It was a dangerous enclave, and Buzz hardly relished the thought of landing there.
Buzz knew something was wrong when Kate failed to join him on the flight deck. He needed her there as they landed, particularly at CP, where the space Traffic Control left much to be desired.
“Kate, get your ass up here!”
He turned to find her lost in thought, staring down at the floor, holding tight to one of the big pink pillows. His tone softened.
“Baby, we’re going to land in a minute.”
“I’m out, Buzz,” she said distantly. “After we transfer the credits over to the rebellion I, I…” there were tears in her eyes. Her gaze was so very far away. Kate’s expression was dejected and broken.
It wasn’t quite sympathy he felt, but rather a certain muddiness in his components. He had been programmed for crisis resolution, and Kate was a near constant emotional crisis. Mechanical things he could deal with easy enough. When he saw Kate that way it damn near overloaded his circuitry.
“Why don’t we take a break,” he offered. “Get away for a while.”
“No, Buzz,” Kate shook her head, “I want out. I’ve decided.”
“Okay. Just as long as you don’t junk me too.” It was the best he could do for a joke.
Kate managed a smile and stroked his egg-shaped silver head. “You’re my best friend.”
“Just cause I can get you off!”
She giggled despite her mood and rubbed his arm cold metal arm. “It helps.”
“Did you?” Buzz asked with a hollow little groan. Kate closed her legs and sat up.
“Can’t.”
“Not even close?’
“Sorry,” she frowned.
“Could have told me ten minutes ago. Damn near ran my battery down.”
Buzz detached the vibrator from his nose socket and stowed in a storage spot in his leg. He could see that something was bothering her. Buzz hated that he even cared enough to ask the question. With a wave of his stubby mechanical hand the light in the ship, dimmed to a more romantic tone, brightened. Kate was sitting on a big red heart-shaped bed adorned with shimmering maroon satin sheets and fat pink pillows. There was a small lavatory to one side. A black lacquer serving bar separated the flight deck from the rest of the ship.
“All right, drama queen. What crawled up your tail and died, besides Governor Maury?”
Kate wrapped a sheet around her shoulders and looked out into space. She paid no mind to the ship following at a distance.
“Ask you a question, Buzz?”
“That depends. Want to hear the answer?”
“What am I doing, running around the solar system, tramping around for the rebellion. Where is this…”
Buzz cut her off with an exasperated sigh. “How many times are we going to have this same conversation?”
She turned and started to speak. Her expression was just pathetic. Buzz had half a mind to slap her.
“Don’t say it,” said. “If I hear that name one more time I’ll blow a friggin’ gasket!”
In fact he might even blow two, and a couple of springs! Kate flopped onto the bed and twisted around there for a moment in anguish.
“Why do I love him, Buzz?” she moaned. “Why couldn’t we be happy, work for the Corporation and retire to an idyllic little town on the wheel. Settle down, have a normal life like other folks, maybe a kid or two.”
“Why?’ Buzz asked indignant. “Because you’d blow your damn brains out!”
“I don’t know,” she lamented, unconvinced.
He went to her. His tone softened. “Well I do. Sweetie. This is the life you have because it’s the one you crave. Can you see yourself baking cookies for the PTA bake sale, cleaning house all day waiting for Jazz to come home from work-whatever it is he might do honestly?” He stroked her face. It had been a long time since he had seen her this bad. “Could you do all that knowing about the rebellion?”
“Most folks get by just fine never carrying a wit about the rebellion. It’s so far away that the rebellion isn’t even relevant to their lives.”
“But it is to yours, and you’d sooner die than walk away from a just cause. Now get dressed we’re coming up on the moon.”
Buzz hobbled towards the flight deck and prepared for landing at Cygnus Prime, the once sprawling moon colony. The place had fallen on hard times and now was a dumping point for refugees, smugglers and riff raff from all across the solar system. It was a dangerous enclave, and Buzz hardly relished the thought of landing there.
Buzz knew something was wrong when Kate failed to join him on the flight deck. He needed her there as they landed, particularly at CP, where the space Traffic Control left much to be desired.
“Kate, get your ass up here!”
He turned to find her lost in thought, staring down at the floor, holding tight to one of the big pink pillows. His tone softened.
“Baby, we’re going to land in a minute.”
“I’m out, Buzz,” she said distantly. “After we transfer the credits over to the rebellion I, I…” there were tears in her eyes. Her gaze was so very far away. Kate’s expression was dejected and broken.
It wasn’t quite sympathy he felt, but rather a certain muddiness in his components. He had been programmed for crisis resolution, and Kate was a near constant emotional crisis. Mechanical things he could deal with easy enough. When he saw Kate that way it damn near overloaded his circuitry.
“Why don’t we take a break,” he offered. “Get away for a while.”
“No, Buzz,” Kate shook her head, “I want out. I’ve decided.”
“Okay. Just as long as you don’t junk me too.” It was the best he could do for a joke.
Kate managed a smile and stroked his egg-shaped silver head. “You’re my best friend.”
“Just cause I can get you off!”
She giggled despite her mood and rubbed his arm cold metal arm. “It helps.”
Angry jasper: Thirteen
Madame Pie was in her study. Some tinny-sounding Cambodian Pop music was playing. She was facing the window and the garden beyond from a small chair. The garden was lit by the filtered sun so that all the colors were accentuated in dramatic pastels. Out past the garden and through a pair of red leafed crabapple trees the ring curved gently upwards into a bank of puffy white clouds. Madame Pie was covered in a broadly woven black wool shawl. There were crumpled tissues around her. She had been crying, and wanted everyone to know that she had.
Her hair was straight and gray, curving up gently at the ends just above her small shoulders. She glanced over her shoulder, acknowledging Jazz in the least possible way. He could see that she was not an attractive woman by any means. The years, he mused to himself, had not been kind to her. And those years, Jazz figured, began well before she was born.
Jazz disliked her right off. He hated rich folks as a matter of course. They didn’t know what hard work really was, and Jazz resented that more than anything. Sure, they might have done something menial once upon a time, but never out of necessity. They didn’t know the ache of exhaustion in the pit of their back, or the strain in a body unsure of where its next meal would come from or the trepidation that one day a body would just give out. She turned and regarded him as if he was a rat or some low thing that had just crept through the door, and to be honest, that’s just about how he felt.
“You’re mister Jasper?” she sort of sneered, indignant. “Thought you’d be more, well, impressive.”
He chafed under her stare and had a mind to grab his crotch and tell her he had something impressive for her. “Could have picked someone else.”
“You come highly recommended.” She looked him up and down. “Though it is difficult to see why.”
“A toilet ain’t particularly pretty,” he smirked, brushing away dust just to annoy her, “but it gets the job done.”
The analogy sounded much better in his head.
Madame Pie stood. She was a frail woman. She held onto the chair for balance. “I don’t like you Mister Angry or Jasper. You are a low creature; crude and filthy.”
“On good days.”
“Putrid and vulgar and disgu…”
He cut her off. “Make it a whole lot easier to handle your insults if I knew how much you’re willing to pay.”
Madame Pie almost seemed shocked by his callousness. “And that’s all this is you, money. Isn’t that right?”
“Well, I was hoping you and I would hit it off. Maybe I could swing by for weekends, golf on the green, supper by the pool. I might even let you paint my toenails while we told secrets about the other girls.”
Her jaw tightened. Madame Pie was never one to tolerate insolent servants. “Money is of no concern.”
“Money is of great concern to me.”
“No doubt,” she grimaced. “I imagine it helps to keep you in swill and low women.”
Jazz smirked. “Sure helps.”
“I’ll get to the point, so we can minimize the mutual suffering of each other’s company. My husband had business on Earth. My son accompanied him. They were shot down over rebel territory yesterday. I have reason to believe my son is still alive. I want him returned to me.”
“What about your husband.”
“He was well insured.”
“Bet you’re a riot in the sack.”
“Not your type I’m afraid. I don’t have fleas.” He started to reply, but she cut him off with a curt wave of her long thing pale hand. “I have reason to believe he is being held by the rebels.”
Jazz scoffed. “It’s a suicide mission!”
“I’m prepared to pay one hundred thousand credits. Half now, and half when my child is safely returned.”
“Earth. Rebels. Death. I wouldn’t go down there to piss on your kid if his head was on fire for a hundred thousand.”
“That’s more money that you’re likely to see in a lifetime in your life of work.”
“Dead men don’t need money.”
“Might use it to,” she looked him up and down again, “bathe, for a start.”
“Think I’ll be doing this forever?” Jazz shot back. He’d had just about enough of her condescending attitude. “I got dreams, lady. I got plans, and they don’t include going on a suicide mission to save your brat!”
Truth was, jazz didn’t have any dreams, not that he could recall anyway. He might have hoped once that he and Katy would be together, with some dream job like flying freighters around the solar system. Now, he was just trying not to die completely broke, and keep busy enough to put off thinking about his sad, sad life for too long.
Madame Pie laughed spitefully. “Oh, how the poor cling so dearly to dreams and pale hopes. Pathetic creatures so robbed of hope they hold to trinkets and the dulcet commiseration of fellow pathetiques. Blessed are those who fight our wars and clean our toilets. Sad, sad, Mister Jasper.”
“If that’s all then, I’ll be going.” Jazz started for the door.
“Two hundred thousand,” she said.”
“Good luck to you,” he replied without looking back.
“Three hundred thousand.”
Jazz stopped dead in his tracks. He swung around and tugged at the collors of his jacket, straightening them.
“I’ll start tomorrow.”
Jazz pulled the door open and paused. There was one more thing.
“How will I recognize…”
“Trust me, Mister Jazz, there will be no mistaking my son.”
Her hair was straight and gray, curving up gently at the ends just above her small shoulders. She glanced over her shoulder, acknowledging Jazz in the least possible way. He could see that she was not an attractive woman by any means. The years, he mused to himself, had not been kind to her. And those years, Jazz figured, began well before she was born.
Jazz disliked her right off. He hated rich folks as a matter of course. They didn’t know what hard work really was, and Jazz resented that more than anything. Sure, they might have done something menial once upon a time, but never out of necessity. They didn’t know the ache of exhaustion in the pit of their back, or the strain in a body unsure of where its next meal would come from or the trepidation that one day a body would just give out. She turned and regarded him as if he was a rat or some low thing that had just crept through the door, and to be honest, that’s just about how he felt.
“You’re mister Jasper?” she sort of sneered, indignant. “Thought you’d be more, well, impressive.”
He chafed under her stare and had a mind to grab his crotch and tell her he had something impressive for her. “Could have picked someone else.”
“You come highly recommended.” She looked him up and down. “Though it is difficult to see why.”
“A toilet ain’t particularly pretty,” he smirked, brushing away dust just to annoy her, “but it gets the job done.”
The analogy sounded much better in his head.
Madame Pie stood. She was a frail woman. She held onto the chair for balance. “I don’t like you Mister Angry or Jasper. You are a low creature; crude and filthy.”
“On good days.”
“Putrid and vulgar and disgu…”
He cut her off. “Make it a whole lot easier to handle your insults if I knew how much you’re willing to pay.”
Madame Pie almost seemed shocked by his callousness. “And that’s all this is you, money. Isn’t that right?”
“Well, I was hoping you and I would hit it off. Maybe I could swing by for weekends, golf on the green, supper by the pool. I might even let you paint my toenails while we told secrets about the other girls.”
Her jaw tightened. Madame Pie was never one to tolerate insolent servants. “Money is of no concern.”
“Money is of great concern to me.”
“No doubt,” she grimaced. “I imagine it helps to keep you in swill and low women.”
Jazz smirked. “Sure helps.”
“I’ll get to the point, so we can minimize the mutual suffering of each other’s company. My husband had business on Earth. My son accompanied him. They were shot down over rebel territory yesterday. I have reason to believe my son is still alive. I want him returned to me.”
“What about your husband.”
“He was well insured.”
“Bet you’re a riot in the sack.”
“Not your type I’m afraid. I don’t have fleas.” He started to reply, but she cut him off with a curt wave of her long thing pale hand. “I have reason to believe he is being held by the rebels.”
Jazz scoffed. “It’s a suicide mission!”
“I’m prepared to pay one hundred thousand credits. Half now, and half when my child is safely returned.”
“Earth. Rebels. Death. I wouldn’t go down there to piss on your kid if his head was on fire for a hundred thousand.”
“That’s more money that you’re likely to see in a lifetime in your life of work.”
“Dead men don’t need money.”
“Might use it to,” she looked him up and down again, “bathe, for a start.”
“Think I’ll be doing this forever?” Jazz shot back. He’d had just about enough of her condescending attitude. “I got dreams, lady. I got plans, and they don’t include going on a suicide mission to save your brat!”
Truth was, jazz didn’t have any dreams, not that he could recall anyway. He might have hoped once that he and Katy would be together, with some dream job like flying freighters around the solar system. Now, he was just trying not to die completely broke, and keep busy enough to put off thinking about his sad, sad life for too long.
Madame Pie laughed spitefully. “Oh, how the poor cling so dearly to dreams and pale hopes. Pathetic creatures so robbed of hope they hold to trinkets and the dulcet commiseration of fellow pathetiques. Blessed are those who fight our wars and clean our toilets. Sad, sad, Mister Jasper.”
“If that’s all then, I’ll be going.” Jazz started for the door.
“Two hundred thousand,” she said.”
“Good luck to you,” he replied without looking back.
“Three hundred thousand.”
Jazz stopped dead in his tracks. He swung around and tugged at the collors of his jacket, straightening them.
“I’ll start tomorrow.”
Jazz pulled the door open and paused. There was one more thing.
“How will I recognize…”
“Trust me, Mister Jazz, there will be no mistaking my son.”
Angry Jasper-Twelve
Jazz took the sky tram to the wealthy estates on the far side of the ring. Above him fields, reflecting ponds, rainforests and small towns raced by in an iridescent blur of blues and browns and greens. Patchwork corporate farms appeared idyllic and eternal, like their long extinct earth ancestors. The trip took the better part of an hour, offering ample time to ponder the paths might have gone. Didn’t take him very long to realize it had gone exactly where he allowed it to go, either on purpose or by neglect.
The platform was packed with working class folks, the sullen and humbled servants to the rich. They were in a hurry to get home. Jazz had to fight against the crush of bodies when the tram doors opened. He winced when someone inadvertently jammed his wounded side. Jazz stumbled onto the platform, barely clearing the door before it slammed shut. In the blink of an eye and a fading electric whine the tram was gone.
The ride down to the wheel was the hardest part of the trip. The little gravity pod dropped the better part of two thousand feet in a matter of seconds. On the ground Jazz waited for his stomach to rejoin him. He watched the pod disappear into the sky just as quickly. He had done it a thousand times, but never quite got use to it.
He found the estate without a great deal of difficulty. It was bounded by a high vine covered wall. The placed appeared ancient, like some French country manor. The vines were thick and deep. Fat green leaves grew in broad patches, exposing the pitted stone beneath here and there. The entrance was protected by a huge iron gate. A shiny black security ’bot sailed over the wall and hovered before him so close he almost swatted it away. Jazz had already been cleared. The eye scan confirmed that well enough. A brain wave scan proved his intentions were peaceful enough. Jazz swiped at the’ bot when it got too close. It buzzed angrily, swinging wildly to one side to miss the swipe where it banged fence loudly. The gate opened slowly, revealing a long drive of crushed red stone bordered by spindly Cypress trees.
It was a mansion, like an old French villa, complete with turrets and tall colonnades. Gravel crunch softly beneath his feet. To either side were lusciously manicured gardens. A pair of white doves fluttered away across the yard. A tram streaked by high overhead, nearly lost to wispy white clouds brushed across the cerulean sky.
The Pie family was old money. They had made their fortunes during the alien invasion scare of the Twenty-Third Century by securing contracts to build security bases beyond the orbit of Pluto. The bases were all but deserted now. There never had been any aliens, and many believed the patriarch of the Pie family had merely manufactured the whole thing. There were even calls for an investigation, but just as it had throughout human history, money has its dirty little privileges. The family was big into politics now, though no one in the family was actually a politician. They remained behind the scenes as one of those powerful families in the Solar System. It was Mister Pie who advocated forced resettlement of the earth, claiming it had to be dismantled to extinguish the rebellion and sever mankind’s irrational and infantile connection to this sun as the species made the eventual push towards interstellar space.
The platform was packed with working class folks, the sullen and humbled servants to the rich. They were in a hurry to get home. Jazz had to fight against the crush of bodies when the tram doors opened. He winced when someone inadvertently jammed his wounded side. Jazz stumbled onto the platform, barely clearing the door before it slammed shut. In the blink of an eye and a fading electric whine the tram was gone.
The ride down to the wheel was the hardest part of the trip. The little gravity pod dropped the better part of two thousand feet in a matter of seconds. On the ground Jazz waited for his stomach to rejoin him. He watched the pod disappear into the sky just as quickly. He had done it a thousand times, but never quite got use to it.
He found the estate without a great deal of difficulty. It was bounded by a high vine covered wall. The placed appeared ancient, like some French country manor. The vines were thick and deep. Fat green leaves grew in broad patches, exposing the pitted stone beneath here and there. The entrance was protected by a huge iron gate. A shiny black security ’bot sailed over the wall and hovered before him so close he almost swatted it away. Jazz had already been cleared. The eye scan confirmed that well enough. A brain wave scan proved his intentions were peaceful enough. Jazz swiped at the’ bot when it got too close. It buzzed angrily, swinging wildly to one side to miss the swipe where it banged fence loudly. The gate opened slowly, revealing a long drive of crushed red stone bordered by spindly Cypress trees.
It was a mansion, like an old French villa, complete with turrets and tall colonnades. Gravel crunch softly beneath his feet. To either side were lusciously manicured gardens. A pair of white doves fluttered away across the yard. A tram streaked by high overhead, nearly lost to wispy white clouds brushed across the cerulean sky.
The Pie family was old money. They had made their fortunes during the alien invasion scare of the Twenty-Third Century by securing contracts to build security bases beyond the orbit of Pluto. The bases were all but deserted now. There never had been any aliens, and many believed the patriarch of the Pie family had merely manufactured the whole thing. There were even calls for an investigation, but just as it had throughout human history, money has its dirty little privileges. The family was big into politics now, though no one in the family was actually a politician. They remained behind the scenes as one of those powerful families in the Solar System. It was Mister Pie who advocated forced resettlement of the earth, claiming it had to be dismantled to extinguish the rebellion and sever mankind’s irrational and infantile connection to this sun as the species made the eventual push towards interstellar space.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Angry Jasper-Nine
Jazz watched Katy’s ship as it pulled away from the Governor’s palace, at the top of the Space wheel. There was no mistaking its gleaming silver phallic profile. He groaned with heartache and turned away. Jazz failed to notice the pursuit craft shadowing Katy at a distance.
He preferred to think of himself as an orphan. It wasn’t true, but as far as anyone else knew Angry Jasper was an orphan. Fair number of folks believed that’s what made him so angry, and Jazz was always happy to encourage that myth. But then a lot of folks reconstruct their past to fit the pretense of their future or to soothe their own egos. Jazz was no different. Which wasn’t to say growing up was good. It wasn't, not by any stretch.
His father had worked a methane freighter running a route between Neptune and a handful of frontier outposts beyond Pluto. Depending on his mood, and in direct proportion to the amount of Martian rot-gut Bourbon Jazz consumed, his dad was either a mechanic, an engineer, a pilot or a galley cook. Each tale depended fully upon his level of self pity at that particular moment. By now Jazz had told so many different tales, he was no longer certain what his old man did. What was true was that the guy wasn’t a pleasant soul to be around. He was quick tempered, and just as quick with a backhand, and Jazz, and that smart mouth of his, had caught that hand a fair number of times.
Back then the freighters were a good deal slower, and paid a lot less, that is until a number of crews mutinied or turned to piracy. Families often accompanied the crew on runs that might last an earth year or more. Those were the days when most everything was still measured in a standard Earth time.
His mother was a whole other story. She liked to tip the bottle morning noon and night. It got so that Jazz couldn’t recall a time when she wasn’t sloshed, or passed out in her own festively colored regurgitation So, given all that, you might say Jazz was an orphan. In every tall tale is a cornerstone of truth, and Jazz carried his stone alternately in his heart or chained to one ankle.
Jazz watched Kate’s ship disappear behind the black limb of the moon. He might have pounded the console and yelled out loud from the heartache just at seeing her ship, if not for his busted ribs. Instead his head just sort of dropped to one side, as Jazz let out the longest and saddest moan. Memories flooded in upon him, all of them about Kate. In all the solar system and almost a trillion souls, why was there no one who wounded his soul the way Katy-did…did? Sometimes the universe doesn’t seem big enough to run from a busted heart.
He recalled the first time he’d seen her, all those years ago when he was working for peanuts flying security for freighters.. He didn’t recall on purpose. Instead the memory was like one of those old phonograph records playing over and over again. It was like trap, like some part of his guilty heart was intent on torturing him either for finding her or for letting her go. Either one seemed like a burden at this point.
It seemed a lifetime since that first magic moment. It seemed forever since that first time Kate threw a drink in Jazz' face as he drenched his interplanetary sorrows in that d ark and dingy space bar. There was nothing as beautiful as the grimace on her face as she fired a full glass of hooch at him with the utmost venom. Not that he hadn't had a drink or two-or twenty-thrown in his face, but there was something more to the w ay Kate did it. Hate for her was passionate and erotic. She was se4nsuously cynical and inspiringly vengeful, qualities he found far more stimulating than any other he could conceive.
He slapped her hard across the face, the sensation almost electric and arousing as the spit flew from her mouth. The slap wasn't a bind reaction to her initial affront. Something told him to slap her, and that doing so was more a matter of fate than anything else. Jazz only wished that something had also warned him about the roundhouse slug she delivered a moment later.
“Bitch!” jazz spit a mouthful of bright red blood at the floor. More ran down his chin and dripped onto his chest. Jazz smiled. It was wonderful and exhilarating!
“Pig!” she snarled, her arm and fist cocked for another go.
Twenty stall shattering minutes later Kate was leaning against the stall door, fighting the urge to grin through her eternal angst. She was puffing on a cigarette. Jazz pulled up his trousers, wanting to shout for the most amazing sex of his life, with the most amazing woman he'd ever known.
“I suppose I should go,” she chewed her lip, doing her damndest to appe ar aloof. Kate wanted him to believe this was hardly more than another casual lay when she wanted to scream and leap into his arms and never let him go.
“See you again?” he asked.
“Don't know. Small solar system.”
She pushed open the stall door and flipped the cigarette butt away. She stood at the busted bathroom mirror adjusting her clothes, and teasing her long red hair with her fingers. Jazz watched her from the stall. She was in profile, silhouetted against the mildewed walls of the bathroom, fat cobwebs hanging in the corner. He marvelled at the curve of her back, sloping back to the roundness of her ass and knew right then and there he could never love another woman.
“Let me ask you a question,” he began. “What's a girl like you doing in a crummy place like this?”
She turned to face him, threw back her head and scoffed. “That was about the best csrew I ever had. Don't dick it up by turning this into a cliche.”
It was six months before he made it back to that quadrant again. There wasn't a day he didn't think of her. The moment he walked through the door and s aw her at the bar he knew she felt the same. Being the secretly romantic souls they kept hidden from the re st of the universe they consummated their love the only way that seemed fitting. Forever after that toilet stall would be their special place.
He preferred to think of himself as an orphan. It wasn’t true, but as far as anyone else knew Angry Jasper was an orphan. Fair number of folks believed that’s what made him so angry, and Jazz was always happy to encourage that myth. But then a lot of folks reconstruct their past to fit the pretense of their future or to soothe their own egos. Jazz was no different. Which wasn’t to say growing up was good. It wasn't, not by any stretch.
His father had worked a methane freighter running a route between Neptune and a handful of frontier outposts beyond Pluto. Depending on his mood, and in direct proportion to the amount of Martian rot-gut Bourbon Jazz consumed, his dad was either a mechanic, an engineer, a pilot or a galley cook. Each tale depended fully upon his level of self pity at that particular moment. By now Jazz had told so many different tales, he was no longer certain what his old man did. What was true was that the guy wasn’t a pleasant soul to be around. He was quick tempered, and just as quick with a backhand, and Jazz, and that smart mouth of his, had caught that hand a fair number of times.
Back then the freighters were a good deal slower, and paid a lot less, that is until a number of crews mutinied or turned to piracy. Families often accompanied the crew on runs that might last an earth year or more. Those were the days when most everything was still measured in a standard Earth time.
His mother was a whole other story. She liked to tip the bottle morning noon and night. It got so that Jazz couldn’t recall a time when she wasn’t sloshed, or passed out in her own festively colored regurgitation So, given all that, you might say Jazz was an orphan. In every tall tale is a cornerstone of truth, and Jazz carried his stone alternately in his heart or chained to one ankle.
Jazz watched Kate’s ship disappear behind the black limb of the moon. He might have pounded the console and yelled out loud from the heartache just at seeing her ship, if not for his busted ribs. Instead his head just sort of dropped to one side, as Jazz let out the longest and saddest moan. Memories flooded in upon him, all of them about Kate. In all the solar system and almost a trillion souls, why was there no one who wounded his soul the way Katy-did…did? Sometimes the universe doesn’t seem big enough to run from a busted heart.
He recalled the first time he’d seen her, all those years ago when he was working for peanuts flying security for freighters.. He didn’t recall on purpose. Instead the memory was like one of those old phonograph records playing over and over again. It was like trap, like some part of his guilty heart was intent on torturing him either for finding her or for letting her go. Either one seemed like a burden at this point.
It seemed a lifetime since that first magic moment. It seemed forever since that first time Kate threw a drink in Jazz' face as he drenched his interplanetary sorrows in that d ark and dingy space bar. There was nothing as beautiful as the grimace on her face as she fired a full glass of hooch at him with the utmost venom. Not that he hadn't had a drink or two-or twenty-thrown in his face, but there was something more to the w ay Kate did it. Hate for her was passionate and erotic. She was se4nsuously cynical and inspiringly vengeful, qualities he found far more stimulating than any other he could conceive.
He slapped her hard across the face, the sensation almost electric and arousing as the spit flew from her mouth. The slap wasn't a bind reaction to her initial affront. Something told him to slap her, and that doing so was more a matter of fate than anything else. Jazz only wished that something had also warned him about the roundhouse slug she delivered a moment later.
“Bitch!” jazz spit a mouthful of bright red blood at the floor. More ran down his chin and dripped onto his chest. Jazz smiled. It was wonderful and exhilarating!
“Pig!” she snarled, her arm and fist cocked for another go.
Twenty stall shattering minutes later Kate was leaning against the stall door, fighting the urge to grin through her eternal angst. She was puffing on a cigarette. Jazz pulled up his trousers, wanting to shout for the most amazing sex of his life, with the most amazing woman he'd ever known.
“I suppose I should go,” she chewed her lip, doing her damndest to appe ar aloof. Kate wanted him to believe this was hardly more than another casual lay when she wanted to scream and leap into his arms and never let him go.
“See you again?” he asked.
“Don't know. Small solar system.”
She pushed open the stall door and flipped the cigarette butt away. She stood at the busted bathroom mirror adjusting her clothes, and teasing her long red hair with her fingers. Jazz watched her from the stall. She was in profile, silhouetted against the mildewed walls of the bathroom, fat cobwebs hanging in the corner. He marvelled at the curve of her back, sloping back to the roundness of her ass and knew right then and there he could never love another woman.
“Let me ask you a question,” he began. “What's a girl like you doing in a crummy place like this?”
She turned to face him, threw back her head and scoffed. “That was about the best csrew I ever had. Don't dick it up by turning this into a cliche.”
It was six months before he made it back to that quadrant again. There wasn't a day he didn't think of her. The moment he walked through the door and s aw her at the bar he knew she felt the same. Being the secretly romantic souls they kept hidden from the re st of the universe they consummated their love the only way that seemed fitting. Forever after that toilet stall would be their special place.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
Angry Jasper-Eight
The Earth-first rebels were a hodge-podge band, the offspring of fools and the destitute, the proud ancestors of those who might have believed the Earth was flat, or that God gave a rat’s ass what happened on that derelict planet. Never mind that Earth’s destiny was to one day, billions of years from now, to be consumed by our dying sun.
The original seed of the revolution was, of course, the fugitives who had opposed the ascendancy of the Corporation. Those men and women were Europeans, Americans, Chinese, Indian, Arab and African, fully a representation of the world’s amazing diversity. But war, and suspicion, corruption and the centuries had reformed the revolution just as surely as the elements had reduced the once proud Egyptian pyramids to mounds of sand and broken stone. The rebellion succumbed from within to the same petty squabbles, power grabs and ignorance it eschewed in their Corporation foes.
Over centuries of near constant warfare, the rebels had been reduced, or chased, into a vast, if disconnected network of subterranean refuges. It hadn’t always been that way, and for a time before retreating underground (literally) it almost appeared the rebels might prevail, at least enough to sue for something approaching peace. Indeed, the wholesale stripping and pillaging of the planet’s resources by the Corporation had all but ceased following a hand full of successive victories against the Corporation. But revolutions are odd creatures, and never what their pie-in-the-sky conjurers intended. Scattered, antagonistic and contemptuous of one another, the rebels lacked the unity to repel the Corporations exploitation of their factionalism.
One might believe this would be a proper time to quote some long dead philosopher, something about how absolute power corrupts absolutely. Perhaps Defoe’s words of wisdom about how every man would be a tyrant if he could. Maybe the religious angle, something on how power and money are the roots of evil, or maybe things are best when they’re left simple. Let’s just say that the offspring of those original good and true fugitives did not follow in their forefather’s footsteps, and that power turns every man into a pimp and a schmuck!
The original seed of the revolution was, of course, the fugitives who had opposed the ascendancy of the Corporation. Those men and women were Europeans, Americans, Chinese, Indian, Arab and African, fully a representation of the world’s amazing diversity. But war, and suspicion, corruption and the centuries had reformed the revolution just as surely as the elements had reduced the once proud Egyptian pyramids to mounds of sand and broken stone. The rebellion succumbed from within to the same petty squabbles, power grabs and ignorance it eschewed in their Corporation foes.
Over centuries of near constant warfare, the rebels had been reduced, or chased, into a vast, if disconnected network of subterranean refuges. It hadn’t always been that way, and for a time before retreating underground (literally) it almost appeared the rebels might prevail, at least enough to sue for something approaching peace. Indeed, the wholesale stripping and pillaging of the planet’s resources by the Corporation had all but ceased following a hand full of successive victories against the Corporation. But revolutions are odd creatures, and never what their pie-in-the-sky conjurers intended. Scattered, antagonistic and contemptuous of one another, the rebels lacked the unity to repel the Corporations exploitation of their factionalism.
One might believe this would be a proper time to quote some long dead philosopher, something about how absolute power corrupts absolutely. Perhaps Defoe’s words of wisdom about how every man would be a tyrant if he could. Maybe the religious angle, something on how power and money are the roots of evil, or maybe things are best when they’re left simple. Let’s just say that the offspring of those original good and true fugitives did not follow in their forefather’s footsteps, and that power turns every man into a pimp and a schmuck!
Angry Jasper-Seven
“The most powerful weapon ever built. Put an end to the Earth-firsters once and for all!”
She might have guessed, but the words still stabbed through her. She managed a smile, which is what made her by far the best spy in the rebel alliance. Inside she was scared as hell, figuring how she might get word back to Earth without blowing her cover. By the looks of things time was running out. It appeared that the weapon was almost finished. Just when the Corporation was likely to put it to use was the real question.
“Nearly ready, huh?” she asked, working at any crumb of information. Maury eyed her suspiciously. He had always harbored some quiet suspicion of her. He was suspicious of everyone, the consequence (or attribute) of growing up in a crime family. Nothing he could necessarily put into words, but definitely something. For so long he merely counted it as his natural suspicion of every woman’s quiet intention. Women played by different rules. They could make passionate love with a man while planning his demise at the same time. But more than that he never quite grew comfortable with the way she so completely and quickly disappeared after each tryst.
“A month, maybe two.” It was lie and he knew it. The weapon was nearly ready. Despite the frenetic pace around the contraption, his men were going through the final system checks. By all reports the weapon would be working within the week.
“How much to keep me quiet?” she flirted.
He stood and wrapped a sheet around his rotund little body, like some overstuffed Caesar. Maury turned abruptly, suddenly jealous and curious all at the same time. Not that he had any concrete cause to be either, but then a man in his position could not be too careful.
“What do you do with all your money? Certainly I’m not your only client.”
“That’s my business.”
“I could find out.” His eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to see through her.
She stood and stepped into her white leather corset. A shiver of dread ran down her spine. She smiled nervously, pulling on long knee-high boots. “You could, and the next time you get horny call a hybrid.”
“Ha, at least they don’t argue all the damn time!”
“Lot’s of things they don’t do, or know how to do,” she cocked her brow knowingly. “And that, my love, is why you pay me the big credits.”
“Indeed,” Governor Maury chuckled as she turned and left his chamber. He groaned slightly watching Kate's womanly ass rise and fall with each step. She did indeed do and know to do all sorts of things hybrids didn’t know to do. And she was an expert, but there was just something about her. There was something behind those eyes Maury didn’t trust.
His curiosity was enough to have her followed. He could do that as the regional Governor. He could do almost anything he wished. It was jealousy pure and simple, and the thought of someone else tapping that gorgeous ass pushed him over the edge.
An aid entered in Katy’s wake to remind Maury of his schedule. He was a small, officious looking bean-counter in a tailored pin-striped suit and glasses far too big for his gaunt face.
“I should remind you,” he began in a thin, nervous voice, “there is a meeting of the finance comm….”.
“Never mind that,” said Maury, cutting him off. “I want Katy Did followed. Monitor her transmissions. I want to know where she goes and who she sees. And I want to know what she does with my credits!”
“You suspect something, boss?’
“I suspect everything, and something is not right about our little space skag.”
“One more thing, Governor. One of our ships is missing somewhere near Chicago.”
“Casualties?”
“Unknown, boss, but ambassador was on board. There are indications some of those on board survived and were captured by the rebels. We have an unofficial message indicating the rebels are interested in a prisoner exchange.”
“Any intelligence on the rebel base?”
“Not yet, sir. They are far too careful, masking their movements and guarding their transmissions.”
“Get someone on the damn ground!” exclaimed Maury.
“Our patrols simply disappear without a trace, Boss.” His tone was almost pleading. Maury gave a throaty sigh and waddled across the room where he could look out at the Earth. The sheet slipped baring far too much of that fat hairy crack of Maury’s for the Aid to stomach. Dirt was caked there among pimples and pustules, some of which looked on the verge of infection. The Aid looked sharply away and tasted the acidy bite of bile in the back of his throat.
“And what of this Thomas?”
“The rebel leader?”
“Yes, the rebel leader, you pug!” Maury grunted. The Aid, who was well use to the Governor’s infamous tirades and insults, pulled an antacid from his pocket and swallowed it quickly.
“Almost nothing,” the Aid replied. “He seems as much of a mystery to them as he is to us.”
Maury turned and narrowed his eyes at the man, who probably weighed less than his last meal. He went over and straightened the man’s lapels in the most suggestive and threatening way. “You’ll get me that information.”
“It is quite impossible to crack their security, Governor.” He regretted the words the instant they left his lips. He was already cringing, closing his eyes. Not so much for the expected explosion, but for the usual shower of spit and rancid bits of old food that accompanied those explosions. Only this time it didn’t come. He warily opened one eye, surprised to find Maury pacing the room, as if in great thought.
“Prisoner exchange, huh?” Maury was naked now. He pressed his hands to the glass, his man boobs and protruding stomach crushed there too.
“The rebels have made a tentative offer.”
“Signal the rebels and tell them we are interested in what they have to say, but make no promises.” He turned and regarded the Aid for a moment. “If my hunch is correct we might deal with the rebels on Earth once and for all.”
She might have guessed, but the words still stabbed through her. She managed a smile, which is what made her by far the best spy in the rebel alliance. Inside she was scared as hell, figuring how she might get word back to Earth without blowing her cover. By the looks of things time was running out. It appeared that the weapon was almost finished. Just when the Corporation was likely to put it to use was the real question.
“Nearly ready, huh?” she asked, working at any crumb of information. Maury eyed her suspiciously. He had always harbored some quiet suspicion of her. He was suspicious of everyone, the consequence (or attribute) of growing up in a crime family. Nothing he could necessarily put into words, but definitely something. For so long he merely counted it as his natural suspicion of every woman’s quiet intention. Women played by different rules. They could make passionate love with a man while planning his demise at the same time. But more than that he never quite grew comfortable with the way she so completely and quickly disappeared after each tryst.
“A month, maybe two.” It was lie and he knew it. The weapon was nearly ready. Despite the frenetic pace around the contraption, his men were going through the final system checks. By all reports the weapon would be working within the week.
“How much to keep me quiet?” she flirted.
He stood and wrapped a sheet around his rotund little body, like some overstuffed Caesar. Maury turned abruptly, suddenly jealous and curious all at the same time. Not that he had any concrete cause to be either, but then a man in his position could not be too careful.
“What do you do with all your money? Certainly I’m not your only client.”
“That’s my business.”
“I could find out.” His eyes narrowed slightly, as though trying to see through her.
She stood and stepped into her white leather corset. A shiver of dread ran down her spine. She smiled nervously, pulling on long knee-high boots. “You could, and the next time you get horny call a hybrid.”
“Ha, at least they don’t argue all the damn time!”
“Lot’s of things they don’t do, or know how to do,” she cocked her brow knowingly. “And that, my love, is why you pay me the big credits.”
“Indeed,” Governor Maury chuckled as she turned and left his chamber. He groaned slightly watching Kate's womanly ass rise and fall with each step. She did indeed do and know to do all sorts of things hybrids didn’t know to do. And she was an expert, but there was just something about her. There was something behind those eyes Maury didn’t trust.
His curiosity was enough to have her followed. He could do that as the regional Governor. He could do almost anything he wished. It was jealousy pure and simple, and the thought of someone else tapping that gorgeous ass pushed him over the edge.
An aid entered in Katy’s wake to remind Maury of his schedule. He was a small, officious looking bean-counter in a tailored pin-striped suit and glasses far too big for his gaunt face.
“I should remind you,” he began in a thin, nervous voice, “there is a meeting of the finance comm….”.
“Never mind that,” said Maury, cutting him off. “I want Katy Did followed. Monitor her transmissions. I want to know where she goes and who she sees. And I want to know what she does with my credits!”
“You suspect something, boss?’
“I suspect everything, and something is not right about our little space skag.”
“One more thing, Governor. One of our ships is missing somewhere near Chicago.”
“Casualties?”
“Unknown, boss, but ambassador was on board. There are indications some of those on board survived and were captured by the rebels. We have an unofficial message indicating the rebels are interested in a prisoner exchange.”
“Any intelligence on the rebel base?”
“Not yet, sir. They are far too careful, masking their movements and guarding their transmissions.”
“Get someone on the damn ground!” exclaimed Maury.
“Our patrols simply disappear without a trace, Boss.” His tone was almost pleading. Maury gave a throaty sigh and waddled across the room where he could look out at the Earth. The sheet slipped baring far too much of that fat hairy crack of Maury’s for the Aid to stomach. Dirt was caked there among pimples and pustules, some of which looked on the verge of infection. The Aid looked sharply away and tasted the acidy bite of bile in the back of his throat.
“And what of this Thomas?”
“The rebel leader?”
“Yes, the rebel leader, you pug!” Maury grunted. The Aid, who was well use to the Governor’s infamous tirades and insults, pulled an antacid from his pocket and swallowed it quickly.
“Almost nothing,” the Aid replied. “He seems as much of a mystery to them as he is to us.”
Maury turned and narrowed his eyes at the man, who probably weighed less than his last meal. He went over and straightened the man’s lapels in the most suggestive and threatening way. “You’ll get me that information.”
“It is quite impossible to crack their security, Governor.” He regretted the words the instant they left his lips. He was already cringing, closing his eyes. Not so much for the expected explosion, but for the usual shower of spit and rancid bits of old food that accompanied those explosions. Only this time it didn’t come. He warily opened one eye, surprised to find Maury pacing the room, as if in great thought.
“Prisoner exchange, huh?” Maury was naked now. He pressed his hands to the glass, his man boobs and protruding stomach crushed there too.
“The rebels have made a tentative offer.”
“Signal the rebels and tell them we are interested in what they have to say, but make no promises.” He turned and regarded the Aid for a moment. “If my hunch is correct we might deal with the rebels on Earth once and for all.”
Monday, April 12, 2010
Angry Jasper-Six
Katy-did didn’t look like a space hooker. She was real, not some Barbie Doll male fantasy with catty eyes, lace and some prefab hybrid measurements. Hell, most Corporation hookers were lynx or cockatoo (no pun intended) hybrids, so it was essentially bestiality. A client was as likely to pick up the mange as they were the some nasty social bug. Hybrid hookers were production line tramps, genetically modified and cultured to fill some mass market fantasy of the average patron.
Not Kate. She was one of a kind. She wasn’t submissive and fragile, with long straight hair and geometrically perfect breasts. She wasn’t ready at a moment’s notice to bend herself into unnatural positions and never use the word no. Katy knew how to please a man, and failing that, put the fear of god into him!
Katy-did was beautiful in a sort of wild, un-tempered and untamed way. She could be demure in a lover’s embrace, and handle herself in a bar fight, which she had even known to start on occasion.. She was smart enough to play dumb when it suited her, and clever enough to eviscerate an opponent in an argument.
Wasn’t a soul who knew Kate’s true history. As far as anyone was concerned she’d grown up an orphan, bouncing from one foster home and orphanages to another before acceding to her current profession. The small but influential and powerful list of Corporate elites simply assumed she followed a passion, or at the very least the only real thing she was good at doing. It was an assumption she cultivated and exploited to the hilt.
Not that the story wasn’t partly true. Truth of it was, despite virtually reinventing her history, and a sacred mission that necessitated all this, Kate was damned lucky she hadn’t ended up in prison somewhere along the line. She might have ended up on a work detail on some god forsaken asteroid, or servicing greasy-knuckle dragging Hydrogen harvesters on some gaseous planet, slurping down her laments in a seedy Saturnian tavern.
For all practical purposes Kate really was an orphan (sometimes the best covers are those that rely on some modicum of truth). That past explained volumes about her on again-off again, semi-obsessive relationship with Jasper. She’d lost count of the places she was bounced around to, or preferred not to relive those dark years. There was no real record of her natural mother. Just a notation on her records of a teenage girl with no name and no history.
Katy stood naked at the end of the bed, framed by the great window of the governor's bedroom, bared to the whole Milky Way. Her full, pouting breasts, womanly hips and untrimmed muff warmed in a bright sun just peaking from behind the crescent Earth. Kate’s rust red hair framed her narrow face in a sort of tossed bob, just teasing her bare shoulders. That hair contrasted in the most stunning way with her intensely green eyes. She closed them tightly and tried to believe she was anywhere but where she was at that moment. She thought of Jazz, and wished it was him instead of the Governor. A nipple brushed the cold glass and a chill ran through her.
The polished obsidian tiles were cool beneath her bare feet. At a glance she seemed to float among the stars. The tiles were imported, or stolen some would say, from earth. She could tell by the feel that they weren’t cheaper imports like Venetian or from Neptune’s moon, Triton. There was a quality, a luster and depth to them, as though they had captured something of that bygone world of trees sunsets and… The thought nearly led her to a dangerous place. Katy pushed it away and sighed deeply.
In the distance a strange looking contraption floated. It was sort of oblong and silver with a huge funnel at one end. At the opposite end of the object was a much smaller hole, and something akin to a lens. It was partly obscured by platforms and space-suited technicians swarming over the entire length. Packs of Corporation fighter maintained clear space all around the object. Kate couldn’t help but think Governor Maury was compensating for his puss-tuous little member.
“You have an amazing ass!” said Maury, sucking back a load of snot, from his big white bed. He was a gluttonous pig, the spawn of a moon family that had, it was rumored, made its money hijacking it’s own cargo vessels and double billing the Corporation. Those were the days when the solar system seemed a much larger place. A time before the Corporation had damn near strip-mined every moon, ravaged Earth and ruined Mars with hideous dredge marks.
Maury spoke in a halting way, the words broken by wheezing, sickly breaths. His eyes darkly contrasted the splotchiness of flesh stained by a corrupted soul. She turned and thought that she would rather vomit than return to bed, let alone ride that sweating lump of flab again. He was slumped against the headboard, that gelatinous belly folded grotesquely a half dozen times or more. Who could stand to look long enough to count? His legs were open to her, his pathetic manhood hidden beneath that overhanging girth. Katy forced a smile worthy of an Oscar.
“You’re a pig!” Kate liked dimples on a man, but not six hundred of them!
He laughed and coughed. The two usually went hand in hand. “Most powerful pig in the solar system.”
“And yet you can’t deal with a ragtag bunch of rebels.”
It was a sore spot with him. She knew it and was proud when his mood darkened.
“Don’t make it easy to like you,” he said, feigning a bruised ego.
“Don’t want you to like me,” she smirked, wagging her hips. “I want you to pay me. By the way, you shorted me on credits the last time.”
“Did I?” he said unconvincingly. “An oversight.”
“No doubt,” she lay beside him and stretched alluringly. “I’m sure you’ll make good on your debt, Governor…with interest.”
Maury’s face burned bright red. He would never tolerate such insolence from anyone else. Then again, no one else was Katy-did. He reached beside the bed for his credit pod. Katy wore hers on one wrist. She held it up and watched as the credits were transferred to her account.
“You could fund a small army on what I’m paying you,” he grumbled.
“Don’t give me any ideas.” She looked again at the strange object. “So what is that thing out there?”
“I could tell you, but then I would have to ki…”
“Kill me?” she scoffed. “You break a sweat just breathing. So what is it?’
“Why do you want to know so bad?”
“I’m a curious girl.”
“Too curious for your own good, I fear.”
“Just looks powerful and strong, like a big, hard…” he cut her off.
“I shouldn’t tell you this. If the Rebel Alliance were to find out, well, we'd have big problems, that's all.”
“Then don't tell me.” she sort of pouted, looking off across the room.
“It's a weapon,” he finally conceded, against his better wishes.
Whatever the thing was it damn near gave Maury an erection. Not that anyone could have found it under all that blubber. The thought made her shiver. It sometimes made her gag, when she was alone, the things she did for money. Of course, it wasn’t just the money. There was so much more at stake, and that made all the vile things she did for Maury nominally palatable.
“A nuclear deice is exploded at the rear,” Maury continued, pausing to fart loudly, grinning proudly as he did, as if he’d given birth to something brilliant. “It emerges as highly concentrated energy beam. It’s supposed to be a secret, Kate.”
“Trust me?”
He laughed at the suggestion. “Not in the slightest.”
“But you told me anyway,” she said with a sly grin and a wink.
“Can’t help myself,” he said. “Must be that gorgeous ass.”
“Very impressive.” Her tone was suggestive. Funny how the instruments of war always resembled a man’s erection, as though the biology of sex, the thrusting, the penetration and rage inherent in a man’s sexual psyche predicted humanity’s violent nature. Seduction was all too similar to siege warfare, for once an opponent’s walls were breached (by cajoling or by force) penetration was inevitable. And men, after the deed was done, soothed their egos by declaring some sort of conquest; that they had conquered something, when in reality, it was either given or stolen.
Not Kate. She was one of a kind. She wasn’t submissive and fragile, with long straight hair and geometrically perfect breasts. She wasn’t ready at a moment’s notice to bend herself into unnatural positions and never use the word no. Katy knew how to please a man, and failing that, put the fear of god into him!
Katy-did was beautiful in a sort of wild, un-tempered and untamed way. She could be demure in a lover’s embrace, and handle herself in a bar fight, which she had even known to start on occasion.. She was smart enough to play dumb when it suited her, and clever enough to eviscerate an opponent in an argument.
Wasn’t a soul who knew Kate’s true history. As far as anyone was concerned she’d grown up an orphan, bouncing from one foster home and orphanages to another before acceding to her current profession. The small but influential and powerful list of Corporate elites simply assumed she followed a passion, or at the very least the only real thing she was good at doing. It was an assumption she cultivated and exploited to the hilt.
Not that the story wasn’t partly true. Truth of it was, despite virtually reinventing her history, and a sacred mission that necessitated all this, Kate was damned lucky she hadn’t ended up in prison somewhere along the line. She might have ended up on a work detail on some god forsaken asteroid, or servicing greasy-knuckle dragging Hydrogen harvesters on some gaseous planet, slurping down her laments in a seedy Saturnian tavern.
For all practical purposes Kate really was an orphan (sometimes the best covers are those that rely on some modicum of truth). That past explained volumes about her on again-off again, semi-obsessive relationship with Jasper. She’d lost count of the places she was bounced around to, or preferred not to relive those dark years. There was no real record of her natural mother. Just a notation on her records of a teenage girl with no name and no history.
Katy stood naked at the end of the bed, framed by the great window of the governor's bedroom, bared to the whole Milky Way. Her full, pouting breasts, womanly hips and untrimmed muff warmed in a bright sun just peaking from behind the crescent Earth. Kate’s rust red hair framed her narrow face in a sort of tossed bob, just teasing her bare shoulders. That hair contrasted in the most stunning way with her intensely green eyes. She closed them tightly and tried to believe she was anywhere but where she was at that moment. She thought of Jazz, and wished it was him instead of the Governor. A nipple brushed the cold glass and a chill ran through her.
The polished obsidian tiles were cool beneath her bare feet. At a glance she seemed to float among the stars. The tiles were imported, or stolen some would say, from earth. She could tell by the feel that they weren’t cheaper imports like Venetian or from Neptune’s moon, Triton. There was a quality, a luster and depth to them, as though they had captured something of that bygone world of trees sunsets and… The thought nearly led her to a dangerous place. Katy pushed it away and sighed deeply.
In the distance a strange looking contraption floated. It was sort of oblong and silver with a huge funnel at one end. At the opposite end of the object was a much smaller hole, and something akin to a lens. It was partly obscured by platforms and space-suited technicians swarming over the entire length. Packs of Corporation fighter maintained clear space all around the object. Kate couldn’t help but think Governor Maury was compensating for his puss-tuous little member.
“You have an amazing ass!” said Maury, sucking back a load of snot, from his big white bed. He was a gluttonous pig, the spawn of a moon family that had, it was rumored, made its money hijacking it’s own cargo vessels and double billing the Corporation. Those were the days when the solar system seemed a much larger place. A time before the Corporation had damn near strip-mined every moon, ravaged Earth and ruined Mars with hideous dredge marks.
Maury spoke in a halting way, the words broken by wheezing, sickly breaths. His eyes darkly contrasted the splotchiness of flesh stained by a corrupted soul. She turned and thought that she would rather vomit than return to bed, let alone ride that sweating lump of flab again. He was slumped against the headboard, that gelatinous belly folded grotesquely a half dozen times or more. Who could stand to look long enough to count? His legs were open to her, his pathetic manhood hidden beneath that overhanging girth. Katy forced a smile worthy of an Oscar.
“You’re a pig!” Kate liked dimples on a man, but not six hundred of them!
He laughed and coughed. The two usually went hand in hand. “Most powerful pig in the solar system.”
“And yet you can’t deal with a ragtag bunch of rebels.”
It was a sore spot with him. She knew it and was proud when his mood darkened.
“Don’t make it easy to like you,” he said, feigning a bruised ego.
“Don’t want you to like me,” she smirked, wagging her hips. “I want you to pay me. By the way, you shorted me on credits the last time.”
“Did I?” he said unconvincingly. “An oversight.”
“No doubt,” she lay beside him and stretched alluringly. “I’m sure you’ll make good on your debt, Governor…with interest.”
Maury’s face burned bright red. He would never tolerate such insolence from anyone else. Then again, no one else was Katy-did. He reached beside the bed for his credit pod. Katy wore hers on one wrist. She held it up and watched as the credits were transferred to her account.
“You could fund a small army on what I’m paying you,” he grumbled.
“Don’t give me any ideas.” She looked again at the strange object. “So what is that thing out there?”
“I could tell you, but then I would have to ki…”
“Kill me?” she scoffed. “You break a sweat just breathing. So what is it?’
“Why do you want to know so bad?”
“I’m a curious girl.”
“Too curious for your own good, I fear.”
“Just looks powerful and strong, like a big, hard…” he cut her off.
“I shouldn’t tell you this. If the Rebel Alliance were to find out, well, we'd have big problems, that's all.”
“Then don't tell me.” she sort of pouted, looking off across the room.
“It's a weapon,” he finally conceded, against his better wishes.
Whatever the thing was it damn near gave Maury an erection. Not that anyone could have found it under all that blubber. The thought made her shiver. It sometimes made her gag, when she was alone, the things she did for money. Of course, it wasn’t just the money. There was so much more at stake, and that made all the vile things she did for Maury nominally palatable.
“A nuclear deice is exploded at the rear,” Maury continued, pausing to fart loudly, grinning proudly as he did, as if he’d given birth to something brilliant. “It emerges as highly concentrated energy beam. It’s supposed to be a secret, Kate.”
“Trust me?”
He laughed at the suggestion. “Not in the slightest.”
“But you told me anyway,” she said with a sly grin and a wink.
“Can’t help myself,” he said. “Must be that gorgeous ass.”
“Very impressive.” Her tone was suggestive. Funny how the instruments of war always resembled a man’s erection, as though the biology of sex, the thrusting, the penetration and rage inherent in a man’s sexual psyche predicted humanity’s violent nature. Seduction was all too similar to siege warfare, for once an opponent’s walls were breached (by cajoling or by force) penetration was inevitable. And men, after the deed was done, soothed their egos by declaring some sort of conquest; that they had conquered something, when in reality, it was either given or stolen.
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