It's that time of year again, and i'm going to attempt to put my slightly bruised brain to work crafting a novel for the November challenge. Currently, i have a science fiction piece that's built off the bones of the two science fiction snippets i've all ready written. right now, we're starting the second chapter and clocked in at 3300 words. Here's hoping i can finish on time.
Friday, November 6, 2015
Friday, October 30, 2015
Science Fiction (Lets whirl)
The alien price for saving the station had been a heavy one. After that leviathan destroyed the alien vessels that were attacking, it assumed a high orbit over the colony, and waited. Thirteen local days later, the aliens patient watch ended with the arrival of more ships. Massive bulk landers descended on the planet below, and the colonists found out the price of their salvation.
Of the nine million colonists, eight and a half million were loaded onto the transports and taken back into space. Resistance was met with instant lethality, and the colony was turned into a ghost town over the course of a week. Factories and labs were abandoned, and the basic infrastructure started to break down without the people needed to maintain them. The supply ship that arrived after the aliens took their price found a colony in shambles, and evacuated the remaining thirty thousand souls off world.
My life found its direction in the aftermath of that grim harvest. The Hycanthians, the aliens that performed that harvest were a part of a vast interstellar community of nations. Hycanthian scientists very quickly figured out how to build us out of our constituent parts using their genetic technologies. Cheaper to build than robots, we were accepted into the service of many different species at the lowest rung of their social structures. For a while we were new and exotic, and that meant that we were meat to consumed.
They were hungry for us, using us up and discarding us like cattle or sheep back home. The ones that weren't trying to eat us were trying to fuck us. Of the initial grouping of eight and a half million, ninety percent were dead within that first year of our bondage. Most were eaten as an exotic delicacy by the lords and ladies of interstellar empires. We were the hot ticket item, and i heard stories of our children sold as pets to the children of the fabulously wealthy.
Fortunately, in a twisted way of looking at things, our fad faded, and soon we were just another primitive bipedal race that didn't understand how technology worked. We became the lowest level of labor used by most of the more advanced races. Hard labor, mining, and agriculture became our stock in trade, we weren't advanced enough yet to understand alien construction technology.
Five natural born generations of our people were born, lived, and died under the cruel watch of alien overseers. We dug across a million mines, and fed trillions upon trillions of other more advanced sentient creatures. One of the workers at a mining colony showed a remarkable bit of craftiness, and his overseer saw the potential and put him to work repairing mining equipment and overseeing other humans.
Five more generations of our kind labored under the watchful eyes of our own people. We were a wonderfully exploitable resource. We kept ourselves in line, could fix our own equipment, and if given parameters to operate under, we could effectively keep ourselves motivated to complete a task. Thy Hycanthians made vast fortunes on the backs of human labor pods, and we were integrating slowly into the landscape of the interstellar collective we had been forced into.
Then something unexpected occurred that changed the way we were seen forever. The Gulark insurrection attacked the Hycanthians. The rest of the aliens stayed out of the fighting, but the Hycanthians panicked. They armed us, and sent us into the field against the Gularks. We died in the millions, but the Hycanthians could always build more. Using brain recordings and advances in cybernetic technology, they built a better human being, one that emerged from the genevats ready to take up arms and destroy their enemies.
At a cost of 12 billion human lives, the Hycanthians destoyed the Gulark insurrection and added their planets to the Hycanthas regime. The secret about humans was out though. Intelligent enough to follow orders in combat but expendable enough to throw into the jaws of certain death, we became a commodity again. Hycanthian technology is capable of building many different kinds of human soldiers, from common infantry all the way up to something like me.
I remember the first time my purchaser came to the Hycanthian Ark. Common infantry could be grown in less than a month, but something as complicated and advanced as i was took longer, almost five years and a fabulous cost in money. My purchaser was a Brellian. He was a large creature, covered in very soft, very fine fur. Three eyes rounded its conical head, giving it the ability to see almost all the way around its head. He nodded at the Hycanthian who was responsible for my construction.
Despite his apparent approval, my appearance was deemed less than ideal, and i was modified. My canine teeth were elongated and sharpened, and my skin texture was modified to a more pleasant texture. Other humans i would later encounter had extremely smooth, soft skin. Mine was much rougher and thicker, and had an abrasive feeling. They also modified my skin color, giving me a dark blue coloration, with lighter highlights radiating away from my core.
Of the nine million colonists, eight and a half million were loaded onto the transports and taken back into space. Resistance was met with instant lethality, and the colony was turned into a ghost town over the course of a week. Factories and labs were abandoned, and the basic infrastructure started to break down without the people needed to maintain them. The supply ship that arrived after the aliens took their price found a colony in shambles, and evacuated the remaining thirty thousand souls off world.
My life found its direction in the aftermath of that grim harvest. The Hycanthians, the aliens that performed that harvest were a part of a vast interstellar community of nations. Hycanthian scientists very quickly figured out how to build us out of our constituent parts using their genetic technologies. Cheaper to build than robots, we were accepted into the service of many different species at the lowest rung of their social structures. For a while we were new and exotic, and that meant that we were meat to consumed.
They were hungry for us, using us up and discarding us like cattle or sheep back home. The ones that weren't trying to eat us were trying to fuck us. Of the initial grouping of eight and a half million, ninety percent were dead within that first year of our bondage. Most were eaten as an exotic delicacy by the lords and ladies of interstellar empires. We were the hot ticket item, and i heard stories of our children sold as pets to the children of the fabulously wealthy.
Fortunately, in a twisted way of looking at things, our fad faded, and soon we were just another primitive bipedal race that didn't understand how technology worked. We became the lowest level of labor used by most of the more advanced races. Hard labor, mining, and agriculture became our stock in trade, we weren't advanced enough yet to understand alien construction technology.
Five natural born generations of our people were born, lived, and died under the cruel watch of alien overseers. We dug across a million mines, and fed trillions upon trillions of other more advanced sentient creatures. One of the workers at a mining colony showed a remarkable bit of craftiness, and his overseer saw the potential and put him to work repairing mining equipment and overseeing other humans.
Five more generations of our kind labored under the watchful eyes of our own people. We were a wonderfully exploitable resource. We kept ourselves in line, could fix our own equipment, and if given parameters to operate under, we could effectively keep ourselves motivated to complete a task. Thy Hycanthians made vast fortunes on the backs of human labor pods, and we were integrating slowly into the landscape of the interstellar collective we had been forced into.
Then something unexpected occurred that changed the way we were seen forever. The Gulark insurrection attacked the Hycanthians. The rest of the aliens stayed out of the fighting, but the Hycanthians panicked. They armed us, and sent us into the field against the Gularks. We died in the millions, but the Hycanthians could always build more. Using brain recordings and advances in cybernetic technology, they built a better human being, one that emerged from the genevats ready to take up arms and destroy their enemies.
At a cost of 12 billion human lives, the Hycanthians destoyed the Gulark insurrection and added their planets to the Hycanthas regime. The secret about humans was out though. Intelligent enough to follow orders in combat but expendable enough to throw into the jaws of certain death, we became a commodity again. Hycanthian technology is capable of building many different kinds of human soldiers, from common infantry all the way up to something like me.
I remember the first time my purchaser came to the Hycanthian Ark. Common infantry could be grown in less than a month, but something as complicated and advanced as i was took longer, almost five years and a fabulous cost in money. My purchaser was a Brellian. He was a large creature, covered in very soft, very fine fur. Three eyes rounded its conical head, giving it the ability to see almost all the way around its head. He nodded at the Hycanthian who was responsible for my construction.
Despite his apparent approval, my appearance was deemed less than ideal, and i was modified. My canine teeth were elongated and sharpened, and my skin texture was modified to a more pleasant texture. Other humans i would later encounter had extremely smooth, soft skin. Mine was much rougher and thicker, and had an abrasive feeling. They also modified my skin color, giving me a dark blue coloration, with lighter highlights radiating away from my core.
Tuesday, October 27, 2015
Fictional Science (Word Play...its trendy)
The engines are humming, the dull pulsing sound of the fusion reaction chambers firing, giving this beast the energy to power itself. Like the circulatory system of a living creature, the power system runs the length of the ship, carrying fresh energy to a thousand hungry mouths. Shields, life support, the slip stream drive, even the sub light engines all crave power. The hungriest mouths on the ship belong to the cavernous weapons arrays. High intensity beam exotic energy projectors mounted around the ship took all the energy the ship could spare and eagerly drank it down.
The ship itself was a great armored beast, gliding through the darkness, like an ancient leviathan, daring anything to catch its gaze. If only it were that simple, if only this were some primordial hunter, some simple minded predator looking for its next meal. Unfortunately, this great beast carried others to war, and it served ably, raining death from high above, or savaging other ships in the night.
The bridge of the ship was alive with activity. a half dozen weapons stations surrounded the primary control station. Each was crewed by a seasoned veteran who'd proven themselves on countless assaults and boarding actions. Now, they were responsible for clearing the way for others to follow. The central station, an immersive pool made of blackened carbon held the captain firmly, protected by the pool's energy shields and personal life support system.
The captain's eyes drifted over every deck plate and access panel, sweeping deck by deck as the ship reviewed its internal workings. The ship's neural network had taken to this form extremely well, and was performing above expectations since its implantation. The previous network had grown too old and unreliable, so it was time for replacement.
The captain's eyes came to rest in the central cargo bay, where drones were busy working on replacement ammunition and armor from the internal stores. The dead meat from the last engagement were being processed back into their constituent parts so they could be recycled into new soldiers. The captain could see the tiny forms moving back and forth in their gestation tanks, the tiny lives being built from the broken bodies of the old and the dead.
The other pods in the chamber drew the captain's attention. the soft hum of the individual maturation pods resonated at its own frequency. One of the shipwright's had explained it as the easiest way to get the soldier back to its own stasis pod for long flights. The resonance was soothing to the meat body, and the soldier was much more pliable and capable of sleep for longer periods of time that way.
The ship had a compliment of just over 5,000 active soldiers sleeping inside it, with around 1,000 either too old or young to fight anymore. Those that were too old to fight labored on as technicians or engineers, working on equipment and preparing solutions to the problems that availed their younger kin.
The tiny lights along the interior of the command pool were blinking, the ship was alerting the captain to something. The focus shifted away from the cargo bays and to the exterior of the ship. With an almost predatory glee, the ship had located a target, it looked to be a space station, or a base of some kind. Sensors were picking up unusual readings, fluctuations in the energy fields surrounding it. It shuddered, as if struck by something, and the ship's external sensors locked on.
They were under attack by something, sensors were picking up three distinct ships, each one firing mass driven projectiles. Magnetically propelled explosive shells were hitting the station across its dorsal axis, and it looked like they were trying to hit it hard enough to snap its spine. The station's sensors started to scan them, and a moment later, the communications channel flared to life.
"This is the station Fallkirk, to unknown vessel, we have come under attack by hostiles, and we're requesting your assistance. Please, save our station." The deck officer on the station was young, and ugly looking for a biped. Smoke was filling up the command center, and small electrical sparks were crisscrossing the console.
"Our Price is heavy, will you pay it?" The captain said quietly. It wasn't a real voice, but the ship had amplified the captain's thoughts into a mechanical vocalization. The gun crews were all ready coming to life, and the ship's power plants were dialing up for combat.
"Yes, for the love of god, we'll pay your bloody price." The screen flickered and in the next moment, the officer was laying backwards over a console, his body barely moving.
"Unsheathe the blades, ready the men, we're going hunting." The ship rolled into an attack posture, and the targeting arrays for the exotic energy weapons flared to life.
The ship itself was a great armored beast, gliding through the darkness, like an ancient leviathan, daring anything to catch its gaze. If only it were that simple, if only this were some primordial hunter, some simple minded predator looking for its next meal. Unfortunately, this great beast carried others to war, and it served ably, raining death from high above, or savaging other ships in the night.
The bridge of the ship was alive with activity. a half dozen weapons stations surrounded the primary control station. Each was crewed by a seasoned veteran who'd proven themselves on countless assaults and boarding actions. Now, they were responsible for clearing the way for others to follow. The central station, an immersive pool made of blackened carbon held the captain firmly, protected by the pool's energy shields and personal life support system.
The captain's eyes drifted over every deck plate and access panel, sweeping deck by deck as the ship reviewed its internal workings. The ship's neural network had taken to this form extremely well, and was performing above expectations since its implantation. The previous network had grown too old and unreliable, so it was time for replacement.
The captain's eyes came to rest in the central cargo bay, where drones were busy working on replacement ammunition and armor from the internal stores. The dead meat from the last engagement were being processed back into their constituent parts so they could be recycled into new soldiers. The captain could see the tiny forms moving back and forth in their gestation tanks, the tiny lives being built from the broken bodies of the old and the dead.
The other pods in the chamber drew the captain's attention. the soft hum of the individual maturation pods resonated at its own frequency. One of the shipwright's had explained it as the easiest way to get the soldier back to its own stasis pod for long flights. The resonance was soothing to the meat body, and the soldier was much more pliable and capable of sleep for longer periods of time that way.
The ship had a compliment of just over 5,000 active soldiers sleeping inside it, with around 1,000 either too old or young to fight anymore. Those that were too old to fight labored on as technicians or engineers, working on equipment and preparing solutions to the problems that availed their younger kin.
The tiny lights along the interior of the command pool were blinking, the ship was alerting the captain to something. The focus shifted away from the cargo bays and to the exterior of the ship. With an almost predatory glee, the ship had located a target, it looked to be a space station, or a base of some kind. Sensors were picking up unusual readings, fluctuations in the energy fields surrounding it. It shuddered, as if struck by something, and the ship's external sensors locked on.
They were under attack by something, sensors were picking up three distinct ships, each one firing mass driven projectiles. Magnetically propelled explosive shells were hitting the station across its dorsal axis, and it looked like they were trying to hit it hard enough to snap its spine. The station's sensors started to scan them, and a moment later, the communications channel flared to life.
"This is the station Fallkirk, to unknown vessel, we have come under attack by hostiles, and we're requesting your assistance. Please, save our station." The deck officer on the station was young, and ugly looking for a biped. Smoke was filling up the command center, and small electrical sparks were crisscrossing the console.
"Our Price is heavy, will you pay it?" The captain said quietly. It wasn't a real voice, but the ship had amplified the captain's thoughts into a mechanical vocalization. The gun crews were all ready coming to life, and the ship's power plants were dialing up for combat.
"Yes, for the love of god, we'll pay your bloody price." The screen flickered and in the next moment, the officer was laying backwards over a console, his body barely moving.
"Unsheathe the blades, ready the men, we're going hunting." The ship rolled into an attack posture, and the targeting arrays for the exotic energy weapons flared to life.
Saturday, October 24, 2015
Subject Interview BS Session 1 (Introduction Story)
I smile softly, its the response that's expected right now. I look out at them with an old mind hidden behind fresh eyes. I know what they expect me to do, they want to ask me questions about what i am, where i come from. That story is an incredibly long, bloody tale of sex and violence. I'm literally made of magic, and it scares most of them. They're a reaction to an alien material entering our atmosphere during the crash landing, they're not even supposed to be here. Not me, I was born this way, Something like me has always been here.
"Lex, I'm eternally grateful you elected to give us some of your time today, thank you again." Molly smiles at me, and i feel the blood rush to my cheeks. Molly's an angel, not literally, but she's the nicest person in the universe, and she always puts me off my game. I think she knows it, and i think she kind of likes it.
"Any time, Molly, I like questions." I lie gently to her, and i know she knows that i'm lying, but she turns the microphone out to the crowd of students. She knows this is thing i like to do least. Let me kick in doors, and chase down bad guys. Let me put this thing to use helping people. It's not what i was made for, but i decided that i was going to make it mine anyway.
"What's your name, for the record?" One of the kids asks. This question again, i should have known.
"I chose the name Blood Speaker as my 'hero identity,' but operationally the higher ups usually refer to me as Red, or Agent Red."
"But what about your real name?"
"For the official record, my real name is Lexington Massachusetts, it's a name i took from the place i was found as a child."
"Could you explain that?"
"I sprang into existence as an eight year old child, and i was found wandering the outskirts of Lexington."
"Sprang into existence?"
"I wasn't born in the conventional sense, i don't have a mother or a father, i was built this way." I lift the shirt, because i know they've heard the rumors. Yep, no belly button, no umbilical attachment to another living creature. I hear the murmurs run through the crowd. I'm not like them at all, and now they're starting to grasp that.
"Haven't you tried to figure out where you come from, who your genetics tell you you are?"
"My blood isn't anything normal, and it doesn't like to be analyzed. It changes from moment to moment, and i simultaneously carry infectious vectors for every blood born pathogen in existence, and their antibodies." I let that one drop for a moment, just to give them a scare.
"What are you made of?"
"Blood." I smile at the teenager that asked the question. When you get down to it, humans are made up of a lot of different things. "If you were able to get my cells to sit still long enough to take a look at them, they're putting on a hell of a show. Bone, brain matter, musculature, they're all blood cells that have assumed the form and roles of other biological material."
"So you're a blood avatar?"
"Not exactly, but it's a close enough metaphor."
"So what exactly do you do?"
"Aside from being made of living blood?"
"Yes?" The girl doesn't seem impressed by it, it's a shame, but i'm used to it. They understand how their own powers work, and it gives them a connection to each other, a family. They call each other brother and sister, even call the old man Father. They don't know what to call me, they don't have a place for me in their little wall of mail boxes. Day's honest about it, but he's the only one. He's fucking nuts, but he's honest. He respects the differences between us, and humors me by calling me 'cousin' with the familiarity they address each other with.
"I can control the blood, and form it into shapes and objects."
"All the blood?"
"Just the stuff in my veins."
"Isn't that gross?"
"The clothes i'm wearing right now, the sidearm i usually carry in the field, even my badge are all made of my blood." The quiet echoes through the crowd, they're still completely baffled by me.
"But they're not red?" one of the boys asks.
"I can shape every aspect of it, down to the color and the smell. I can also dissolve it with a thought."
Molly's seen that trick, she's a fan of it.
"Lex, I'm eternally grateful you elected to give us some of your time today, thank you again." Molly smiles at me, and i feel the blood rush to my cheeks. Molly's an angel, not literally, but she's the nicest person in the universe, and she always puts me off my game. I think she knows it, and i think she kind of likes it.
"Any time, Molly, I like questions." I lie gently to her, and i know she knows that i'm lying, but she turns the microphone out to the crowd of students. She knows this is thing i like to do least. Let me kick in doors, and chase down bad guys. Let me put this thing to use helping people. It's not what i was made for, but i decided that i was going to make it mine anyway.
"What's your name, for the record?" One of the kids asks. This question again, i should have known.
"I chose the name Blood Speaker as my 'hero identity,' but operationally the higher ups usually refer to me as Red, or Agent Red."
"But what about your real name?"
"For the official record, my real name is Lexington Massachusetts, it's a name i took from the place i was found as a child."
"Could you explain that?"
"I sprang into existence as an eight year old child, and i was found wandering the outskirts of Lexington."
"Sprang into existence?"
"I wasn't born in the conventional sense, i don't have a mother or a father, i was built this way." I lift the shirt, because i know they've heard the rumors. Yep, no belly button, no umbilical attachment to another living creature. I hear the murmurs run through the crowd. I'm not like them at all, and now they're starting to grasp that.
"Haven't you tried to figure out where you come from, who your genetics tell you you are?"
"My blood isn't anything normal, and it doesn't like to be analyzed. It changes from moment to moment, and i simultaneously carry infectious vectors for every blood born pathogen in existence, and their antibodies." I let that one drop for a moment, just to give them a scare.
"What are you made of?"
"Blood." I smile at the teenager that asked the question. When you get down to it, humans are made up of a lot of different things. "If you were able to get my cells to sit still long enough to take a look at them, they're putting on a hell of a show. Bone, brain matter, musculature, they're all blood cells that have assumed the form and roles of other biological material."
"So you're a blood avatar?"
"Not exactly, but it's a close enough metaphor."
"So what exactly do you do?"
"Aside from being made of living blood?"
"Yes?" The girl doesn't seem impressed by it, it's a shame, but i'm used to it. They understand how their own powers work, and it gives them a connection to each other, a family. They call each other brother and sister, even call the old man Father. They don't know what to call me, they don't have a place for me in their little wall of mail boxes. Day's honest about it, but he's the only one. He's fucking nuts, but he's honest. He respects the differences between us, and humors me by calling me 'cousin' with the familiarity they address each other with.
"I can control the blood, and form it into shapes and objects."
"All the blood?"
"Just the stuff in my veins."
"Isn't that gross?"
"The clothes i'm wearing right now, the sidearm i usually carry in the field, even my badge are all made of my blood." The quiet echoes through the crowd, they're still completely baffled by me.
"But they're not red?" one of the boys asks.
"I can shape every aspect of it, down to the color and the smell. I can also dissolve it with a thought."
Molly's seen that trick, she's a fan of it.
Friday, October 23, 2015
A Stab at Poetry
The Long Road
I was a child then, so long ago
My house aflame, no parents, no hope
I heard the screams, that's how i woke,
I thought they got out,
i thought they were calling me
I was so terribly wrong
My Home was a smoking ruin
I would not get back there again
The Road stretched out in front of me
Two paths, one decision, one terrible decision
I shouldn't have had to make it, It wasn't fair
I felt the sirens in the distance, splitting the air
No choice at all really
Snowflakes crunched under tiny feet
I felt so cold, so empty inside
Icy tears ran down my cheeks
Frost burned inside my lungs
I kept running, nowhere left to be
I felt the darkness close in around me
I felt the life drift away
So very cold, no life left to breathe
My eyes fluttered closed,
I knew the road had ended
And i would never be home
Subject Interview JD Session 2 (Origin Story Continued)
The door flew open, a flash bang following it with the greatest of ease. The first two goons otuside teh vault were down, grabbing their heads and hoping for the pain to stop. The other two goons opened fire, spraying the door with hot lead. I took one to the tactical vest i was wearing, and i felt the sharp pinch of the one that caught me across the shoulder. Didn't make full contact, grazed across the top of my shoulder and went whizzing into the hallway.
Two more incredibly loud blasts from the shotgun i was carrying ended them. The other two goons who were rolling around on the floor died ugly, their throats opened and blood everywhere. I planted the charge on the door and took cover, i didn't have a lot of time, and i knew that this was the last opportunity i was going to have to get back what was taken from me.
The vault door blasted clear of its hinges, opening the darkened room. I checked the fiber optic cam i'd set in the hallway, and i saw the trouble coming down. There were 8 of them, plus Marsden. Full tactical gear, assault rifles, the works. This was going to get ugly fast. I slipped into the vault, and hoped to god this entire thing hadn't been a wild goose chase.
She put her hands up, covering her face. She was alive, my heart started beating again.
"Please don't hurt me, i don't know why you're doing this, i don't know anything, i'm not special!" she screamed at me, her chest heaving with sobs as she tried to cover herself up. "Please let me go!"
"Fiona, you're going to be fine, you're almost out of trouble, but i need you to pull yourself together." My voice wasn't my own, the synthesizer wasn't the best, so i sounded like the tin man gargling buckshot, but it was necessary in my line of work.
"Who are you, why are you doing this?" She looked up at me with abject horror. I couldn't blame her for that, I would have run the other direction if i had seen me coming into a room that i'd just blown a hole in. The mask hid my face, and the synthesizer stole my voice, and i was hoping that now we could move.
"I owe a debt, a debt that i don't think i'll ever be able to pay back, but that's not here and now, here and now is getting you out of here before the bad guys get here."
"You're not the bad guys?"
The laugh caught in my throat, and i know the sound startled her, i could see it in her eyes. "Fiona, I'm the worst guy, but today, I have the privilege of being your worst guy. Stay behind me, and do exactly what i tell you to."
Two goons tried to enter the room behind me, between the way out for her. The shotgun quickly stifled their ambitions and served its purpose in warning off the rest. I heard them come to a quick halt outside the door.
"Hammer, you're a dead man."
"We all are, act accordingly." I tossed back at him. I loved that movie. The shotgun was stowed with its tactical sling, and i pulled the heavy revolvers out of the holsters. 12 bullets, 7 bad guys. These were heavy slugs, custom made, something in the .50 caliber range. "I would have left you alone if you hadn't taken her."
"And if you hadn't decided to do something stupid, i would have left her alone."
"So we're both assholes, and both equally deserving of death."
"That's about the long and the short of it, see you in hell."
I saw the grenades bounce into the room, i knew the situation had gone from bad to worse. Then i heard the noise of thunder, and the angels spoke to me
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WE'RE TRYING TO REPAIR OUR VESSEL, PLEASE STOP SHOOTING AT US. WE AREN'T HOSTILE, PLEASE STOP."
It hit me like a thunderbolt, a voice from beyond, and i knew that if it was the last thing i could do, she'd be safe. My pulse quickened again, and i knew that i had to move. My head was pounding, but i crossed the room and managed to snag both grenades before they went off. I tossed them back into the hallway and it felt so strange. The grenades should have gone off, but they didn't forever. Finally, i took a breath and the room exploded.
"How did you do that?" Fiona asked me, her voice quaking with terror.
"Do what?"
"Move so fast?"
"What?"
I didn't have time to think, Marsden had to go down. I was through the door in a flash, my pistols in Marsden's face. "You should have known better, you don't touch a man's family, especially when it's the last of his family."
"Fuck you, you're a tool, not a person, you don't get to have a normal life, henchman."
The hammers dropped, and the bullets flew. Something happened that i couldn't explain, i could see the smoke from the end of the barrels, and i saw the tiny projectiles screaming out of them at faster than the speed of sound. I saw the way the air displaced around them, and i tracked them right up until they made contact with Marsden's stupid looking face.
The first bullet struck him in the cheek, under his right eye. I watched the bullet penetrate his skin, opening up the bones and the musculature. It was the most amazing thing i'd ever seen, at least up to that point. The other bullet struck through his eye, and they shattered his skull, spraying tiny bone chips and bits of white and grey brain matter out the other end. Marsden wouldn't threaten Fiona again.
She was free, but not secure yet, we had to get out of this house...
Two more incredibly loud blasts from the shotgun i was carrying ended them. The other two goons who were rolling around on the floor died ugly, their throats opened and blood everywhere. I planted the charge on the door and took cover, i didn't have a lot of time, and i knew that this was the last opportunity i was going to have to get back what was taken from me.
The vault door blasted clear of its hinges, opening the darkened room. I checked the fiber optic cam i'd set in the hallway, and i saw the trouble coming down. There were 8 of them, plus Marsden. Full tactical gear, assault rifles, the works. This was going to get ugly fast. I slipped into the vault, and hoped to god this entire thing hadn't been a wild goose chase.
She put her hands up, covering her face. She was alive, my heart started beating again.
"Please don't hurt me, i don't know why you're doing this, i don't know anything, i'm not special!" she screamed at me, her chest heaving with sobs as she tried to cover herself up. "Please let me go!"
"Fiona, you're going to be fine, you're almost out of trouble, but i need you to pull yourself together." My voice wasn't my own, the synthesizer wasn't the best, so i sounded like the tin man gargling buckshot, but it was necessary in my line of work.
"Who are you, why are you doing this?" She looked up at me with abject horror. I couldn't blame her for that, I would have run the other direction if i had seen me coming into a room that i'd just blown a hole in. The mask hid my face, and the synthesizer stole my voice, and i was hoping that now we could move.
"I owe a debt, a debt that i don't think i'll ever be able to pay back, but that's not here and now, here and now is getting you out of here before the bad guys get here."
"You're not the bad guys?"
The laugh caught in my throat, and i know the sound startled her, i could see it in her eyes. "Fiona, I'm the worst guy, but today, I have the privilege of being your worst guy. Stay behind me, and do exactly what i tell you to."
Two goons tried to enter the room behind me, between the way out for her. The shotgun quickly stifled their ambitions and served its purpose in warning off the rest. I heard them come to a quick halt outside the door.
"Hammer, you're a dead man."
"We all are, act accordingly." I tossed back at him. I loved that movie. The shotgun was stowed with its tactical sling, and i pulled the heavy revolvers out of the holsters. 12 bullets, 7 bad guys. These were heavy slugs, custom made, something in the .50 caliber range. "I would have left you alone if you hadn't taken her."
"And if you hadn't decided to do something stupid, i would have left her alone."
"So we're both assholes, and both equally deserving of death."
"That's about the long and the short of it, see you in hell."
I saw the grenades bounce into the room, i knew the situation had gone from bad to worse. Then i heard the noise of thunder, and the angels spoke to me
"FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WE'RE TRYING TO REPAIR OUR VESSEL, PLEASE STOP SHOOTING AT US. WE AREN'T HOSTILE, PLEASE STOP."
It hit me like a thunderbolt, a voice from beyond, and i knew that if it was the last thing i could do, she'd be safe. My pulse quickened again, and i knew that i had to move. My head was pounding, but i crossed the room and managed to snag both grenades before they went off. I tossed them back into the hallway and it felt so strange. The grenades should have gone off, but they didn't forever. Finally, i took a breath and the room exploded.
"How did you do that?" Fiona asked me, her voice quaking with terror.
"Do what?"
"Move so fast?"
"What?"
I didn't have time to think, Marsden had to go down. I was through the door in a flash, my pistols in Marsden's face. "You should have known better, you don't touch a man's family, especially when it's the last of his family."
"Fuck you, you're a tool, not a person, you don't get to have a normal life, henchman."
The hammers dropped, and the bullets flew. Something happened that i couldn't explain, i could see the smoke from the end of the barrels, and i saw the tiny projectiles screaming out of them at faster than the speed of sound. I saw the way the air displaced around them, and i tracked them right up until they made contact with Marsden's stupid looking face.
The first bullet struck him in the cheek, under his right eye. I watched the bullet penetrate his skin, opening up the bones and the musculature. It was the most amazing thing i'd ever seen, at least up to that point. The other bullet struck through his eye, and they shattered his skull, spraying tiny bone chips and bits of white and grey brain matter out the other end. Marsden wouldn't threaten Fiona again.
She was free, but not secure yet, we had to get out of this house...
Tuesday, October 20, 2015
History is a winding road
The old car lumbered up the hill, its massive bulk propelled by a an old engine that had seen better days. It was raining gently, soft drops of water hitting the windshield, the squeaking sound of the wiper blades drowning out an old country song on the radio . The GPS on the dashboard counted down the mile markers towards his destination. The car felt cold, which it should have been, the thermometer said it was almost eighty outside, even with the rain.
He let out a long sigh, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing. Lily did this to him, sent him on this fool's errand. They'd shared an office at University of Kansas, in the social sciences department when they were both graduate assistants. They'd been friends, but not a lot more than that. She was getting her doctorate in American folklore, and he was working on finishing up his doctoral program in the American West. His dissertation was on the need for western expansion driving the frontier off the continent.
She'd sent him an e-mail two weeks ago, and he was still reading the e-mail over in his brain.
"Carter, i know it's been a long time, but i found something amazing, and i need you to check this out." She'd sent a series of pictures attached to the e-mail. They were tombstones, from an old boneyard somewhere in the middle of nowhere. "I think this is it, I think i found it." the message had continued. "You remember the story from Knob's Creek in the Civil war? I think i found part of it."
Knob's creek was a little tributary of the Arkansas river that ran through Kansas. During the civil war, a confederate unit was operating near Knob's creek, and was terrorizing runaway slaves and the abolitionists that were helping them move across the Kansas prairie towards a new life. Nearly a hundred confederate soldiers were thought to be raiding along the Arkansas, but their base somewhere in the vicinity of Knob's Creek.
Late one night in 1863, a union patrol found that camp in Knob's Creek. It was a grisly site. The entire confederate patrol had been butchered, by person or persons unknown, their bodies torn asunder and their bones left to bleach in the sun. The horses had been slaughtered, and the only person who'd survived had been a young African American boy named Silas. Silas was owned by the commander of the Confederates, a passionate firebrand named Henry GoodChurch. The story that Silas had told the northern soldiers had become a puzzle that Lily had determined she had to solve.
Silas had been tending Captain Goodchurch's horse when he felt a chill roll across the creek bed. Something spooked the horses, and it had taken all of Silas's ability to calm the horse he was tending when the campfires started to go out. He saw the lights go out one by one across the campsite, but the thing that shook his nerve was the noise. Every single sound had stopped, no birds, no animals in the underbrush, nothing. Even the horses had gone silent.
He told them that he felt the icy grip of death on him, but it had passed him over. He spoke of Death as a person, a real flesh and blood thing that had walked into that camp, and judged everyone. His description of Death was bizarre.
Yes'sir, he was a tall thing, thin like a rail, with a weird catch in his step. He was dressed in black, all black, with a white collar like a preacher and he was cold, like ice in the veins. He didn't have no expression on his face, no smile, no frown, just those angry red eyes. Around his waist was a long, heavy golden chain, and wrapped in that chain was a heavy book, i was sure it was a bible. He stared into me with those angry red eyes, and i knew i wasn't long for the world, that Saint Peter was going to ask me how i'd managed to die as a boy.
"Live in peace, Silas Greene, you will know the love of a wife, children, and many grandchildren." He said with a voice that rumbled like thunder, and he laid his hand across my shoulder. That cold went through me all the way to my soul, and i felt the chill of the grave. "Sleep now, this is not for your eyes, boy." And i slept, the most peaceful sleep i'd ever had, before or since. I slept that night, like a baby attached to his momma. I awoke the next morning to see the hell that had been wrought, but i carried Death's mark, where he'd lain his hand across my shoulder, the skin had scarred over and turned white.
The soldiers had scoured the campsite, and found no one alive, save for Silas and the horse, and when they returned later to examine it again, the campsite was gone, like the creek had swallowed it up again.
"I need your help, Carter, please, I have attached the coordinates for this town, I hope to see you soon, old friend."
And like that, like an idiot, he was off chasing a windmill to slay.
He let out a long sigh, trying to figure out what the hell he was doing. Lily did this to him, sent him on this fool's errand. They'd shared an office at University of Kansas, in the social sciences department when they were both graduate assistants. They'd been friends, but not a lot more than that. She was getting her doctorate in American folklore, and he was working on finishing up his doctoral program in the American West. His dissertation was on the need for western expansion driving the frontier off the continent.
She'd sent him an e-mail two weeks ago, and he was still reading the e-mail over in his brain.
"Carter, i know it's been a long time, but i found something amazing, and i need you to check this out." She'd sent a series of pictures attached to the e-mail. They were tombstones, from an old boneyard somewhere in the middle of nowhere. "I think this is it, I think i found it." the message had continued. "You remember the story from Knob's Creek in the Civil war? I think i found part of it."
Knob's creek was a little tributary of the Arkansas river that ran through Kansas. During the civil war, a confederate unit was operating near Knob's creek, and was terrorizing runaway slaves and the abolitionists that were helping them move across the Kansas prairie towards a new life. Nearly a hundred confederate soldiers were thought to be raiding along the Arkansas, but their base somewhere in the vicinity of Knob's Creek.
Late one night in 1863, a union patrol found that camp in Knob's Creek. It was a grisly site. The entire confederate patrol had been butchered, by person or persons unknown, their bodies torn asunder and their bones left to bleach in the sun. The horses had been slaughtered, and the only person who'd survived had been a young African American boy named Silas. Silas was owned by the commander of the Confederates, a passionate firebrand named Henry GoodChurch. The story that Silas had told the northern soldiers had become a puzzle that Lily had determined she had to solve.
Silas had been tending Captain Goodchurch's horse when he felt a chill roll across the creek bed. Something spooked the horses, and it had taken all of Silas's ability to calm the horse he was tending when the campfires started to go out. He saw the lights go out one by one across the campsite, but the thing that shook his nerve was the noise. Every single sound had stopped, no birds, no animals in the underbrush, nothing. Even the horses had gone silent.
He told them that he felt the icy grip of death on him, but it had passed him over. He spoke of Death as a person, a real flesh and blood thing that had walked into that camp, and judged everyone. His description of Death was bizarre.
Yes'sir, he was a tall thing, thin like a rail, with a weird catch in his step. He was dressed in black, all black, with a white collar like a preacher and he was cold, like ice in the veins. He didn't have no expression on his face, no smile, no frown, just those angry red eyes. Around his waist was a long, heavy golden chain, and wrapped in that chain was a heavy book, i was sure it was a bible. He stared into me with those angry red eyes, and i knew i wasn't long for the world, that Saint Peter was going to ask me how i'd managed to die as a boy.
"Live in peace, Silas Greene, you will know the love of a wife, children, and many grandchildren." He said with a voice that rumbled like thunder, and he laid his hand across my shoulder. That cold went through me all the way to my soul, and i felt the chill of the grave. "Sleep now, this is not for your eyes, boy." And i slept, the most peaceful sleep i'd ever had, before or since. I slept that night, like a baby attached to his momma. I awoke the next morning to see the hell that had been wrought, but i carried Death's mark, where he'd lain his hand across my shoulder, the skin had scarred over and turned white.
The soldiers had scoured the campsite, and found no one alive, save for Silas and the horse, and when they returned later to examine it again, the campsite was gone, like the creek had swallowed it up again.
"I need your help, Carter, please, I have attached the coordinates for this town, I hope to see you soon, old friend."
And like that, like an idiot, he was off chasing a windmill to slay.
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