Saturday, May 28, 2011

Back to our regularly scheduled program

Part XXII – Old War Buddies

“So what is it between you two?” the bald man asks after his partner leaves the room.
“What do you mean?” the blonde in the red dress asks back.
“I mean he’s very fond of you.  And you can’t really be old war buddies.  I mean, you’re what, twenty-one?”  He takes a swig of his hooch.
“I’m twenty-four, and yes, he knew me from the war.  Before then, even.  But I wasn’t in the war.  I was only sixteen.  But I wanted to be.”
“So how did you two get so close?”
“My father and him served together in the Syneshtan War, and before that when I was younger, in the African Conflict.  My father was killed in action in the War, so he and Aunt Sarah took care of me for a few years.  I feel horrible about Sarah and Zoe.  I haven’t been around for a few years.  I didn’t even know.  How has he been?  How did it happen?”
“He doesn’t talk about it.  A while back, he took off for a few days.  When he came back, he seemed better.  But then Declan got killed, and Rock’s in the hospital.  He seems fine, but I’m sure he…”
“Did you miss me?” he asks, sitting back in his chair.
“Terribly,” she replies sarcastically.
“We were doing just fine without you, don’t worry partner,” the bald man adds, drinking his hooch.
“Well don’t get any ideas about my niece here, old man.  She’s gonna settle down with a nice cyberdoc, or an offworld biologist, not some old merc like us.”
“Don’t worry, partner.  She’s way outta my league.”
“Why, thank you; I’m flattered,” she says, drinking her hooch from a glass.

It may be the hooch, or the distraction of a beautiful woman, but none of them notices the robotic fly in the room.  None of them suspect it has been observing them.  None of them even conceive the idea it could be a bomb, waiting to be swatted.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

I was abducted by aliens...

And I've accounted for the missing time, and am back on track now. They cloned me, and the clone went to work for me for the last few days. They took him with them, the bastards.

This is a post to let you know I'm back to posting. Trying to make it more regular, say three times a week. 

Only in NYC;
     A married couple on the train. He's Jewish, she's Chinese, they're speaking Russian.

     Two guys coming out of a restroom; 1st guy; Eeew, you didn't wash your hands? Gro-o-ooss.
         2nd guy; I keep rubbing alcohol in my pocket, I use that.
         1st guy; That's not rubbing alcohol, that's lube.
         2nd guy; Well if that's what you use for lube, no wonder you don't have a boyfriend.

Friday, May 13, 2011

Oh no, not again

Someone must get the reference in the title and the story. Someone must get this, I don't want to pass the Dennis Miller Ratio (3 in 100 people will get his references). I'll give you a prize, possibly a no-prize, if you get it right.
This is the third time I've written out this blog entry. Both other times, something went awry with Blogger, and the post was deleted. I hope this problem doesn't repeat itself. Or...Oh no, not again...

Part XXI – My Favorite Wilson

“Hurry up, they’re coming.”  Declan says, wiping the sweat from his brow.
“I’m working fast as I can,” says Wilson.  “This lock’s real tough.”  He’s jacked into the door, trying to crack it.  “Where’s the bald man and his partner?  They’re supposed to be here.”
“Don’t worry, Wilson.  They’ll be here.  They’ve never let me down before.”
“I’ve almost got it,” Wilson says, looking up.  “Here they come!”
Around the corner step three Securbots, rifles raised and ready to fire.  Declan runs into the group, vibro-sword swinging in a whirlwind blur of motion.  One bot’s gun is cut in half, another’s legs are chopped at the knee.  The third loses its head.  He finishes them off before they fire a single shot.
“Almost too easy,” Declan says, smiling.  A second later, he dives to the floor to avoid the bolter fire from the six Securbots coming down the hall.
“I can’t get the door!” Wilson shouts.  “I’ve been locked out!”
“Shit!” Declan shouts.
The six Securbots round the corner, rifles at the ready.
The door behind Declan and Wilson, the door that denied them entry, opens.
“Get in!” the bald man shouts.  He’s holding a single-missile launcher, ready to fire.
With Declan and Wilson in the lift, the doors begin to close, the Securbots begin to fire, and the bald man takes his one shot at the group of bots.  The whole lift, indeed the whole building, rocks with the explosion.  The lift stops suddenly on the thirtieth floor.
“Uh-oh,” Wilson grunts.  “Our vehicle’s on the twenty-fifth.”
“Mine’s on this floor.  I had to change the escape plan.  My partner’s driving,” the bald man explains.
“He can drive an aircar?”
The three of them exit the lift and run down the hall.  The bald man takes the lead, going into an office to their left.
“There’s no way out,” Declan remarks, looking around the room with only one door.
“Yes there is.”  The bald man sets small charges on the wall.  They blast a section clean out, allowing them access to the next room.  They climb through into the room with windows.  The bald man places explosives on a window, blasting a hole for them to escape through.
“Now what?” Declan remarks.
“Now we jump,” the bald man says, straight-faced.
“Serious?”  Wilson blurts out, surprised.
“It’s fine,” the bald man says.  “My partner’s waiting.  We’ve done this before.”
“You first,” Wilson gestures to the bald man.
“No.  All at once.”  He motions the other two toward the window.  Wilson moves slowly, still unsure.  This makes him the first the Securbots see when they come through the door, rifles ready.  Their bolters cut him down as he draws his pistol.
“Wilson!”  Declan yells as the bald man dives into him, taking them both out the hole in the window.

In the aircar on the way to Declan’s place on Level Two, he has his head in his hands, pulling at his short, black hair.
“Wilson,” he says.  “Dammit.  Shit!”
“Hey, I’m sorry Declan,” the bald man says, turning to his friend.  “We’ve all lost a buddy in battle.  I know it can hurt.”
“Oh, I’m not worried about that.  Wilson’s a clone.  That was Wilson06.  I’ll just get another one.”
“Oh,” says the bald man, surprised.  “Then what’s wrong?”
“That particular Wilson had the data that we broke into that place to steal in his O.B.C.”
“He was my favorite Wilson,” the bald man’s partner chimes in, chuckling to himself.

Thursday, May 5, 2011

Another alien, a little explanation, and some more of Rock's nightmare. Enjoy...

Part XX – The Syneshtan Deal

“Did yer ears werk?  You herr me?”
“Yes I… I’ve just never seen a Syneshtan before.  Sorry.  I’ve got it.  Delivery arrives at seven.  Bomb blows at seven-thirty,” the bald man repeats the details.
“You say; O.K.” the Syneshtan utters.
“What if there are Eudorans checking the shipments?” the bald man asks.
“Udern na matter.  Agints use Syneshtan Mind Block.  No werry.”  The Syneshtan holds out one of its smaller, hairy tentacles to the bald man.  “Fee, please.”
“Ah, right.” The bald man picks up a briefcase.  “In full, in Trade Alliance Credit, like we agreed.  I’m sorry, I have to ask you; what is that above your eyes?  Another eye of some sort?”
“Yer rude, questin.”  The Syneshtan seems offended by the question.  “You ner see Synestan befer.  Yer government not much like us be on Erth.  You look bad to us, too.”  The Syneshtan takes the case of credits.  As the bald man leaves the room, the Syneshtan speaks again.
“Yer fernd Rock not crazed.”
“Pardon me?” The bald man is shocked by the Syneshtan’s words.
“You wunder.  Not crazy.  Someone mess his brain.”
“How did you know?” the bald man asks, eager to know.
“Syneshtans see tings Erther not.  Jelly see tings we not.  Queens fount of nollage.  You er tink how Syneshtia Bee talk to uther?  Brain to brain.  The Jelly knows.”
“Thank you,” the bald man says, closing the door on his way out.
‘Who would mess with Rock? Have to be Eudorans, but who would… Farmtech.  The money, the resources, and the motive.  Damn.  Now, how do I get him back to his old self?’

At that moment, Rock Tone is imprisoned, in a small, dark room, with one door and no windows.  He quickly discovers his hands are tied to a stone ring in the floor.  He is surrounded on all sides by stone representations of the horrifying gods of this nightmare city.  He cries out in the darkness, shielding his eyes from the stone visions no man is meant to behold.

Next time; My Favorite Wilson.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Names have power. And consequences.

Did you ever give someone a fake name, knowing you wouldn't see them again, so you could be whoever you wanted to be, just for the night? Then you know what I mean.
Did you ever give someone a fake number? Well then, you suck. Don't be a coward, just tell them you're not interested. You deal with a moment of feeling uncomfortable, rather than subjecting them to possibly hours or days of discomfort, and feeling like a fool, and looking like a heartless bitch.

On to the story...

Part XIX – Name Game

She watches him run the high hurdles course, clearing every one.  She admires his firm, lean body, muscles sweating in the heat of the day.  ‘Those legs,’ she thinks, ‘sooo well built.  Kurita-LR800; the best.  Good for anything, amazing for runners, especially pros like him.  Damn, he looks good in that bronze real-muscle look.’
When he finishes the hurdles, he begins laps on the outside track.  She runs up beside him.
“Hi.  Nice workout,” she says.
“Hi.  Thanks,” he responds.
“Kuritas, huh?  You like them?  Fast enough?” she asks.
“They’re plenty fast, pretty lady.”
“Wanna race?” she asks, putting her long, red hair into a ponytail.
“What do I get when I win?” he asks, confident of the outcome.
“A kiss.”
“And if you win, however unlikely that may be?”
“A kiss.”
“O.K.  Four times around the track, on three.”  He slows his pace to let her get a few steps ahead.  “One, two, three.”
She takes off in a blur.  He’s never seen anyone move so fast.  She shattered his world record, beating him by many seconds.  He couldn’t believe it.  She jogs over to him from the finish.
“How?  What kind of legs are those?  That’s incredible!”
“They’re alien tech,” she answers.  “Got them through the Pocait Trade Alliance.  Illegal for sports, but great for getting out of bad situations.  Or into good ones.”
“Wow. Amazing.”  He still can’t believe it.
“So where’s my kiss?” she asks, leaning toward him.
“Oh, I…” He is unable to finish his words.

As she gets into his vehicle to go to his place, he begins to speak, and turns to her.
“I feel I should at least tell you who I am.   My name…”  She stops him.
“Ssshh… no.  No names.”
“Why?” he asks.
“I don’t want anything strange to happen to us.”

 Hope you enjoyed this part. It's one of my favorites. More in a few days. Thanks for stopping by. Leave me a comment so I know you were here. ? Even if it's just 'Kilroy was here'. :)