Wednesday, May 30, 2007
After stepping into the apartment, Masonry slipped the bolt into its housing with a loud click that seemed to echo everywhere. "Shhh!" he whispered at the door.
It was over with Artie, he knew that now, and, to tell the truth, it didn't hurt. Like Fyre said, "He's not interested in her anymore."
No, I'm interested in guys. He smiled and chuckled to himself.
Jack responded with humor, Good, you've accepted it if you can make fun of it.
He sighed. Yeah, I suppose so. He walked along the hard wood floor to the common area and put on the small light over the sink. He went toward the bathroom, which was more toward Frosty's side of the apartment.
There seemed to be an invisible line, where the air grew colder. He nodded to himself; he didn't trust that jewel. He, like E, didn't trust magic as far as he could throw it. But Vagz's mace, he thought with a sudden surge of pride - okay, maybe magic's not so bad.
He put a hand on the doorknob of the bathroom, it was a little cold. Then he heard a whimper.
"Frosty?" He stopped, his hand on the door, listening. Then he remembered Frosty saying he was having nightmares about Carnie Illusionists.
He began speaking in Japanese, and Jack translated: "No, bro, get away. Get away from me... I'll burn you, I'll burn you both..." It drifted off into a groan.
He's screaming in his dream, Jack said.
Mase closed his eyes. Should I?
The groan stopped, slipping into a gentle snore. He realized he was standing nearer the Japanese screen that he had put up for him, creating a makeshift room in the studio.
He didn't. I wish I could, I mean, just to let him know I care, I mean... good Lord.
Jack chuckled warmly. Nate, it's all right to comfort anyone with a hug or a touch. You know how it feels.
He sighed. Yeah, I do. But he said it bothers him. And his frostbite...
Don't worry about that, Jack said firmly. You should tell him not to worry about that.
But it bothers him a little. I'll leave him be. Masonry opened the door to the bathroom with a sigh.
It was over with Artie, he knew that now, and, to tell the truth, it didn't hurt. Like Fyre said, "He's not interested in her anymore."
No, I'm interested in guys. He smiled and chuckled to himself.
Jack responded with humor, Good, you've accepted it if you can make fun of it.
He sighed. Yeah, I suppose so. He walked along the hard wood floor to the common area and put on the small light over the sink. He went toward the bathroom, which was more toward Frosty's side of the apartment.
There seemed to be an invisible line, where the air grew colder. He nodded to himself; he didn't trust that jewel. He, like E, didn't trust magic as far as he could throw it. But Vagz's mace, he thought with a sudden surge of pride - okay, maybe magic's not so bad.
He put a hand on the doorknob of the bathroom, it was a little cold. Then he heard a whimper.
"Frosty?" He stopped, his hand on the door, listening. Then he remembered Frosty saying he was having nightmares about Carnie Illusionists.
He began speaking in Japanese, and Jack translated: "No, bro, get away. Get away from me... I'll burn you, I'll burn you both..." It drifted off into a groan.
He's screaming in his dream, Jack said.
Mase closed his eyes. Should I?
The groan stopped, slipping into a gentle snore. He realized he was standing nearer the Japanese screen that he had put up for him, creating a makeshift room in the studio.
He didn't. I wish I could, I mean, just to let him know I care, I mean... good Lord.
Jack chuckled warmly. Nate, it's all right to comfort anyone with a hug or a touch. You know how it feels.
He sighed. Yeah, I do. But he said it bothers him. And his frostbite...
Don't worry about that, Jack said firmly. You should tell him not to worry about that.
But it bothers him a little. I'll leave him be. Masonry opened the door to the bathroom with a sigh.
Friday, May 25, 2007
"More coffee, Mase?"
He looked up from the newspaper. "Oh, hey, Shel - sure."
She looked over his shoulder. "You're looking for an apartment?"
"Yeah, in Talos. They're expensive."
"That's cuz heroes are making money hand over fist over with the consignment shops."
"Yeah. Some." He winced at paying out his entire savings account for some "goo" that was worthless. He was so angry with himself that he boycotted buying anything any more from the consignment shop, and he promised himself that he would not put up anything for sale for that high of an amount. Ever.
Frosty would want to be near the consignment shop, because he did stuff for his dad there all the time. He glanced at the clock again, only ten minutes after he last looked at it. He was concerned about the vampire bite, although Jack told him that kind of thing happened all the time. "If you believed half the crap they say about vampires, you wouldn't go outside."
He debated again, Should I call him now?
No, he likes his sleep.
Mase looked back down at the classifieds. TI: Bankers Row 2br overlook Spankys, close to everything. $4K mo. lease 4018837720.
Hm. . . that number. . . He looked in his phone book, and laughed in surprise. The last digit was off, but it could be part of an office network - he called it. "AF Publishing."
"I'm calling in response to an ad for an apartment."
"One moment."
He waited, heard the clicking of lines, then a man's voice came on. "Conti."
"Tell."
There was silence for a moment. "Who's this?"
"Masonry."
"You're the one calling about the apartment?"
"I sure am."
"Sweet. Want to come look at it?"
"I'll come, but then I'll have to get my roomie to look again."
"If you like it, I'll reserve it so your roomie can look at it. I know who you are, Mase."
"Yeah, but I'm not as rich as you."
He laughed. "We can haggle about price later. See you in... fifteen?"
"Twenty."
"Done."
It wasn't a bad apartment, and Masonry killed two hours bullshitting with the man he knew as Tell, the Guardian Angel of Bloody Bay - so he termed himself. It was now ten o'clock, and Masonry could hold himself back no longer.
He called Frosty.
He looked up from the newspaper. "Oh, hey, Shel - sure."
She looked over his shoulder. "You're looking for an apartment?"
"Yeah, in Talos. They're expensive."
"That's cuz heroes are making money hand over fist over with the consignment shops."
"Yeah. Some." He winced at paying out his entire savings account for some "goo" that was worthless. He was so angry with himself that he boycotted buying anything any more from the consignment shop, and he promised himself that he would not put up anything for sale for that high of an amount. Ever.
Frosty would want to be near the consignment shop, because he did stuff for his dad there all the time. He glanced at the clock again, only ten minutes after he last looked at it. He was concerned about the vampire bite, although Jack told him that kind of thing happened all the time. "If you believed half the crap they say about vampires, you wouldn't go outside."
He debated again, Should I call him now?
No, he likes his sleep.
Mase looked back down at the classifieds. TI: Bankers Row 2br overlook Spankys, close to everything. $4K mo. lease 4018837720.
Hm. . . that number. . . He looked in his phone book, and laughed in surprise. The last digit was off, but it could be part of an office network - he called it. "AF Publishing."
"I'm calling in response to an ad for an apartment."
"One moment."
He waited, heard the clicking of lines, then a man's voice came on. "Conti."
"Tell."
There was silence for a moment. "Who's this?"
"Masonry."
"You're the one calling about the apartment?"
"I sure am."
"Sweet. Want to come look at it?"
"I'll come, but then I'll have to get my roomie to look again."
"If you like it, I'll reserve it so your roomie can look at it. I know who you are, Mase."
"Yeah, but I'm not as rich as you."
He laughed. "We can haggle about price later. See you in... fifteen?"
"Twenty."
"Done."
It wasn't a bad apartment, and Masonry killed two hours bullshitting with the man he knew as Tell, the Guardian Angel of Bloody Bay - so he termed himself. It was now ten o'clock, and Masonry could hold himself back no longer.
He called Frosty.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
When Nathan Greene stepped into her office, the first thing that shocked her was his hair. It was white.
“Hey, Linda.”
“Nate?”
“Yeah?” He grinned, and the grin reached his eyes mischievously. No sense of madness or anger behind them. He’s different, changed…which is good.
“So being out on bail really helped.”
He sat down. “Not to mention the very good shrink Fyre sent me to.” He rubbed the back of his head. “A little rough, but dragging up a lot of shit. And helping me to deal with it.”
“Good. So, the DA isn’t telling me what’s going on. But I’m thinking he doesn’t have anything.”
Nathan rubbed at the palm his right hand – Styrm’s “calling card”. It had faded considerably, and would fade more the more often he healed himself. He thought about that night he saw Styrm, and the bag with hair strands, E’s saying, “Styrm wouldn’t give you the whole thing, even if it was yours.”
“Can I get you a coffee?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t be nervous, Nate. Whatever it is, I’ll bargain them down.”
There was a gentle knock on the door. Linda’s secretary opened it, and Linda nodded to her. She stepped aside to let three people in. Two he knew from the last hearing, the other was new. He rose when they came in.
“What happened to your hair?”
“It happens sometimes to people who are bonded with Peacebringers.”
Linda smiled, Good, good point to bring up, Nate.
Jimmy Carr said nothing as he sat across from Linda. He set the briefcase on the table and turned to his two associates, then focused on Nathan for a moment before turning to his lawyer.
“Here’s the offer: Plead guilty to the four civilian murders, receive 20 years’ probation for each, jail time is time served. Continued psychiatric services for the rest of his life. Continued wearing of the teleport belt for the rest of the probation.”
Nathan blinked. Probation..?
“Eighty years’ probation? You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
The two lawyers looked at each other across the table, and Mase could almost feel the battle of wills between them.
“I would like to speak with my client.”
“No, I’ll take it.”
They turned to Nathan. His lawyer said to him, “Are you sure, Nathan? Eighty years is a long time to report to someone.”
“It’s fine! I don’t mind. In fact, I want to. I want to make sure someone knows what I’m doing.”
“You’re also assuming that he’ll never be better,” Laura looked at the assistant DA.
“Fine. If he’s clinically better he can stop.”
“And be released from the probation.”
Nathan was shaking his head. “It’s fine, it—“ Linda put a hand on his.
Jimmy Carr chuckled a little. “You don’t make a very good bargainer, Mr. Greene. How about we reassess when and if that happens.”
Linda folded her arms. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”
The DA rose from the table. “The papers will be drawn up and his probation officer assigned. Good luck, Mr. Greene. We’ll be watching you.”
“Hey, Linda.”
“Nate?”
“Yeah?” He grinned, and the grin reached his eyes mischievously. No sense of madness or anger behind them. He’s different, changed…which is good.
“So being out on bail really helped.”
He sat down. “Not to mention the very good shrink Fyre sent me to.” He rubbed the back of his head. “A little rough, but dragging up a lot of shit. And helping me to deal with it.”
“Good. So, the DA isn’t telling me what’s going on. But I’m thinking he doesn’t have anything.”
Nathan rubbed at the palm his right hand – Styrm’s “calling card”. It had faded considerably, and would fade more the more often he healed himself. He thought about that night he saw Styrm, and the bag with hair strands, E’s saying, “Styrm wouldn’t give you the whole thing, even if it was yours.”
“Can I get you a coffee?”
“No, I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t be nervous, Nate. Whatever it is, I’ll bargain them down.”
There was a gentle knock on the door. Linda’s secretary opened it, and Linda nodded to her. She stepped aside to let three people in. Two he knew from the last hearing, the other was new. He rose when they came in.
“What happened to your hair?”
“It happens sometimes to people who are bonded with Peacebringers.”
Linda smiled, Good, good point to bring up, Nate.
Jimmy Carr said nothing as he sat across from Linda. He set the briefcase on the table and turned to his two associates, then focused on Nathan for a moment before turning to his lawyer.
“Here’s the offer: Plead guilty to the four civilian murders, receive 20 years’ probation for each, jail time is time served. Continued psychiatric services for the rest of his life. Continued wearing of the teleport belt for the rest of the probation.”
Nathan blinked. Probation..?
“Eighty years’ probation? You’re kidding, right?”
“No.”
The two lawyers looked at each other across the table, and Mase could almost feel the battle of wills between them.
“I would like to speak with my client.”
“No, I’ll take it.”
They turned to Nathan. His lawyer said to him, “Are you sure, Nathan? Eighty years is a long time to report to someone.”
“It’s fine! I don’t mind. In fact, I want to. I want to make sure someone knows what I’m doing.”
“You’re also assuming that he’ll never be better,” Laura looked at the assistant DA.
“Fine. If he’s clinically better he can stop.”
“And be released from the probation.”
Nathan was shaking his head. “It’s fine, it—“ Linda put a hand on his.
Jimmy Carr chuckled a little. “You don’t make a very good bargainer, Mr. Greene. How about we reassess when and if that happens.”
Linda folded her arms. “I suppose that’s acceptable.”
The DA rose from the table. “The papers will be drawn up and his probation officer assigned. Good luck, Mr. Greene. We’ll be watching you.”
Thursday, May 17, 2007
I introduced this thread on the Futura Force boards, based on StarWyng's statement "It's about the people." We play the game and have these little dramas - and we forget the big picture.
I hope with this thread to explore the point of view of our heroes from the perception of the civilians they're sworn to protect.
Michelle watched the man sitting alone in the diner's booth sat absently stirring his coffee, staring out into space. His white hair made him look old. He had a deep voice with a local accent, so she knew he was from around here. Tall, broad, with dark blue eyes - he reminded her of one of her friends, Derek, who was planning on entering the military.
"Shelly," whispered her friend Pam, "I bet he's one of those heroes."
"What's he doing here? Wouldn't he be over in Atlas Park with the rest of them?"
"I see them around. I saw one taking out a gang of those slugs near Falls Ave." Pam sucked on her teeth. "He's old. He's probably looking to retire here."
Michelle attended to another customer's coffee, walked by and saw that the man's cup was empty. She poured some in, while he still stirred. He shook his head for a moment and focused on the cup, the coffee pot, then her. "Oh, sorry. Daydreaming."
"It's okay, it's still early." She left some creamers on the table. "Are you from around here, sir?"
"Huh? Founders'? No. I'm originally from IP." He smiled at her. "I've come into some money, so figured I'd tool around here for a while."
She smiled back - he's cute, even if he is old. "It's nice here. Except for the slugs and the men-in-black."
"Slugs?"
"Those aliens." She bent over to peek out the window to look for them, but didn't see any.
"Rikti?"
"Yeah, I think that's what they're called. They have guns and other ugly things in armor."
"Slugs. All right." He chuckled. "And the men-in-black must be Crey."
"The Countess says they're for our benefit, but, sometimes... Like Lee - " she thumbed toward the kitchen - "there was some of those military guys that shook Lee down on the way to the bank last week, and there was a bunch of those men-in-black right near there, and they just watched. One of them scanned Lee with a machine and he hasn't been right since."
"Hasn't been right how?"
She bent over and whispered. "He used to sing when he cooked, but he doesn't anymore."
He absently stirred his coffee again, thinking, and she realized when she was dismissed. She went to another customer, while Lee came out from the back to join her and Pam, since it had slowed down.
Lee and a customer at the end started talking about the Bruins when a gang of Crey walked in. The hum of the tank's machinery, and the crackle of electricity followed them. Lee watched them warily.
"What can I get you?" asked Pam, her voice a little higher than usual.
The men-in-black fanned out in silence, while the tank stepped forward. "It is understood," said the tank in a modulated mechanical voice, "that Mr. Kernagan has a genome that the Countess would find useful."
"Hey, I never gave you people my DNA."
"No, you did not."
Michelle glanced around the diner. The four customers were not built for fighting, in fact, one threw money on the counter and ran out the door. Pam still forced her smile, "Wouldn't you guys want a cup of coffee?"
Lee roared, "Takin' my DNA without my permission is against the law."
The tank shrugged slightly. "Will you come with us."
"No." He folded his arms across his chest.
The men-in-black started converging on him.
"The man said no."
Michelle's heart leapt as they all turned to the area of the voice, the man still sitting in the booth, still stirring his coffee cup. Everyone froze.
The Crey tank walked toward the booth. "And who are you? His grandfather?"
Michelle could see the man in the booth as he looked up at the tank. He was shaking his head. "The shock of hair always misleads everyone, thanks Jack."
The tank folded his arms, but Michelle could hear him power up as he did so. "Even if you stop us, you cannot be here forever."
"True." He slid out of the booth, and the tank allowed him. "But it can be reported that you've threatened him, he'll be allowed protection, and you guys might have to go through a cordon of Longbow - or better - to get at him." He gave the tank a feral smile. "He makes damn good pancakes and I wouldn't want to lose him." Then the white-haired man turned to look at Lee. "You don't mind that I'm stepping in here?"
Lee waved his hand, "No, no, I don't mind."
"Good." The white haired man walked over to Lee, pointedly avoiding the two men-in-black that attempted to block his way to the door. "I would suggest that we take this outside. There's an awful lot of glass to break in here."
"That's right," the tank said. They heard a building hum, and the tank pointed at the coffee pots. One minute the white haired man was standing next to one of the customers, the next he was taking the exploding burst of energy that the tank meant to use against the coffee pots.
"Get out!" The white-haired man commanded, while Michelle stood there, dumbfounded. All the Crey pulled out guns - the rest of the customers ran. One gun was purple, and the woman-in-black grinned in glee as she shot at the white haired man floating in front of the coffee pots.
Whatever came out of the purple gun slammed the white-haired man back into the coffee pots, shattering them all and making him slump against the glass and twisted metal. "Q-gun," he moaned. The Crey woman advanced, and then got thrown back as Michelle saw black spots appear on the woman's pristine white shirt.
The shotgun blast deafened everyone, and Lee was standing in the corner, sweeping the gun around. Meanwhile, the white-haired man streaked by her and slammed fully into the woman with the gun. The gun went one way, the woman the other. The gun skidded to a stop a few inches from her.
"Get the gun!" Lee yelled, as three Crey disarmed him.
The white-haired man turned from the woman, jumped over the counter and tore two Crey off Lee, throwing them aside like they were garbage. Lee landed a haymaker on one, and then the tank aimed to shoot at Lee.
Michelle aimed the gun at the tank but couldn't feel a trigger. She looked under the gun to find it, and the gun went off, blowing a hole in the ceiling. Meanwhile, the white-haired man took the shot aimed at Lee, and went full-bore at the tank. Michelle aimed at the tank and shot, but it went wide and took out the window instead. Michelle focused to see the white-haired man pull his hands out of the torso of the tank.
"Oh dammit," he muttered, as the Crey tank disappeared; its life signs had dipped to zero, and it automatically was teleported back to Crey labs. Blood dripped from his hands onto the white linoleum floor. The three remaining men-in-black took one look at the man dripping blood and ran over themselves to get out the door.
Lee went in the back and came out with a large towel. "Pam, Shelly, we better clean this up."
"I'll help you. I made some of it."
Michelle started to approach the white-haired man. She held the gun out to him but he flinched. "No, better give it to Mr. Kernagan."
"Lee," he said, taking the gun from Michelle. "And Shelly, remind me to never let you use a gun again."
The white-haired man chuckled and finished wiping his hands. "Got a mop and bucket?"
"You stay right there, mister - what's your name, anyway?"
"Which one? My hero one or my real one?"
"Either."
"Masonry's my hero name."
"I've heard of you," said Pam suddenly.
Masonry turned to her, a smile crossing his face but he looked worried. "Good, I hope."
She looked away. "I read you were in jail for murder."
"Yes, I was."
"So you're clear?"
"No. I'm actually out on bail."
The two waitresses looked at each other, but Lee took the towel from Masonry. "That's okay, Masonry. My brother was in the pen for a couple of years, but he deserved it. He's just fine now, working security at Wentworth's."
"What did he do?"
Lee grinned. "Forged checks."
A customer peeked into the shattered window. "Hey, Lee. Somebody broke your window."
Michelle blushed, and Masonry burst out laughing.
I hope with this thread to explore the point of view of our heroes from the perception of the civilians they're sworn to protect.
Michelle watched the man sitting alone in the diner's booth sat absently stirring his coffee, staring out into space. His white hair made him look old. He had a deep voice with a local accent, so she knew he was from around here. Tall, broad, with dark blue eyes - he reminded her of one of her friends, Derek, who was planning on entering the military.
"Shelly," whispered her friend Pam, "I bet he's one of those heroes."
"What's he doing here? Wouldn't he be over in Atlas Park with the rest of them?"
"I see them around. I saw one taking out a gang of those slugs near Falls Ave." Pam sucked on her teeth. "He's old. He's probably looking to retire here."
Michelle attended to another customer's coffee, walked by and saw that the man's cup was empty. She poured some in, while he still stirred. He shook his head for a moment and focused on the cup, the coffee pot, then her. "Oh, sorry. Daydreaming."
"It's okay, it's still early." She left some creamers on the table. "Are you from around here, sir?"
"Huh? Founders'? No. I'm originally from IP." He smiled at her. "I've come into some money, so figured I'd tool around here for a while."
She smiled back - he's cute, even if he is old. "It's nice here. Except for the slugs and the men-in-black."
"Slugs?"
"Those aliens." She bent over to peek out the window to look for them, but didn't see any.
"Rikti?"
"Yeah, I think that's what they're called. They have guns and other ugly things in armor."
"Slugs. All right." He chuckled. "And the men-in-black must be Crey."
"The Countess says they're for our benefit, but, sometimes... Like Lee - " she thumbed toward the kitchen - "there was some of those military guys that shook Lee down on the way to the bank last week, and there was a bunch of those men-in-black right near there, and they just watched. One of them scanned Lee with a machine and he hasn't been right since."
"Hasn't been right how?"
She bent over and whispered. "He used to sing when he cooked, but he doesn't anymore."
He absently stirred his coffee again, thinking, and she realized when she was dismissed. She went to another customer, while Lee came out from the back to join her and Pam, since it had slowed down.
Lee and a customer at the end started talking about the Bruins when a gang of Crey walked in. The hum of the tank's machinery, and the crackle of electricity followed them. Lee watched them warily.
"What can I get you?" asked Pam, her voice a little higher than usual.
The men-in-black fanned out in silence, while the tank stepped forward. "It is understood," said the tank in a modulated mechanical voice, "that Mr. Kernagan has a genome that the Countess would find useful."
"Hey, I never gave you people my DNA."
"No, you did not."
Michelle glanced around the diner. The four customers were not built for fighting, in fact, one threw money on the counter and ran out the door. Pam still forced her smile, "Wouldn't you guys want a cup of coffee?"
Lee roared, "Takin' my DNA without my permission is against the law."
The tank shrugged slightly. "Will you come with us."
"No." He folded his arms across his chest.
The men-in-black started converging on him.
"The man said no."
Michelle's heart leapt as they all turned to the area of the voice, the man still sitting in the booth, still stirring his coffee cup. Everyone froze.
The Crey tank walked toward the booth. "And who are you? His grandfather?"
Michelle could see the man in the booth as he looked up at the tank. He was shaking his head. "The shock of hair always misleads everyone, thanks Jack."
The tank folded his arms, but Michelle could hear him power up as he did so. "Even if you stop us, you cannot be here forever."
"True." He slid out of the booth, and the tank allowed him. "But it can be reported that you've threatened him, he'll be allowed protection, and you guys might have to go through a cordon of Longbow - or better - to get at him." He gave the tank a feral smile. "He makes damn good pancakes and I wouldn't want to lose him." Then the white-haired man turned to look at Lee. "You don't mind that I'm stepping in here?"
Lee waved his hand, "No, no, I don't mind."
"Good." The white haired man walked over to Lee, pointedly avoiding the two men-in-black that attempted to block his way to the door. "I would suggest that we take this outside. There's an awful lot of glass to break in here."
"That's right," the tank said. They heard a building hum, and the tank pointed at the coffee pots. One minute the white haired man was standing next to one of the customers, the next he was taking the exploding burst of energy that the tank meant to use against the coffee pots.
"Get out!" The white-haired man commanded, while Michelle stood there, dumbfounded. All the Crey pulled out guns - the rest of the customers ran. One gun was purple, and the woman-in-black grinned in glee as she shot at the white haired man floating in front of the coffee pots.
Whatever came out of the purple gun slammed the white-haired man back into the coffee pots, shattering them all and making him slump against the glass and twisted metal. "Q-gun," he moaned. The Crey woman advanced, and then got thrown back as Michelle saw black spots appear on the woman's pristine white shirt.
The shotgun blast deafened everyone, and Lee was standing in the corner, sweeping the gun around. Meanwhile, the white-haired man streaked by her and slammed fully into the woman with the gun. The gun went one way, the woman the other. The gun skidded to a stop a few inches from her.
"Get the gun!" Lee yelled, as three Crey disarmed him.
The white-haired man turned from the woman, jumped over the counter and tore two Crey off Lee, throwing them aside like they were garbage. Lee landed a haymaker on one, and then the tank aimed to shoot at Lee.
Michelle aimed the gun at the tank but couldn't feel a trigger. She looked under the gun to find it, and the gun went off, blowing a hole in the ceiling. Meanwhile, the white-haired man took the shot aimed at Lee, and went full-bore at the tank. Michelle aimed at the tank and shot, but it went wide and took out the window instead. Michelle focused to see the white-haired man pull his hands out of the torso of the tank.
"Oh dammit," he muttered, as the Crey tank disappeared; its life signs had dipped to zero, and it automatically was teleported back to Crey labs. Blood dripped from his hands onto the white linoleum floor. The three remaining men-in-black took one look at the man dripping blood and ran over themselves to get out the door.
Lee went in the back and came out with a large towel. "Pam, Shelly, we better clean this up."
"I'll help you. I made some of it."
Michelle started to approach the white-haired man. She held the gun out to him but he flinched. "No, better give it to Mr. Kernagan."
"Lee," he said, taking the gun from Michelle. "And Shelly, remind me to never let you use a gun again."
The white-haired man chuckled and finished wiping his hands. "Got a mop and bucket?"
"You stay right there, mister - what's your name, anyway?"
"Which one? My hero one or my real one?"
"Either."
"Masonry's my hero name."
"I've heard of you," said Pam suddenly.
Masonry turned to her, a smile crossing his face but he looked worried. "Good, I hope."
She looked away. "I read you were in jail for murder."
"Yes, I was."
"So you're clear?"
"No. I'm actually out on bail."
The two waitresses looked at each other, but Lee took the towel from Masonry. "That's okay, Masonry. My brother was in the pen for a couple of years, but he deserved it. He's just fine now, working security at Wentworth's."
"What did he do?"
Lee grinned. "Forged checks."
A customer peeked into the shattered window. "Hey, Lee. Somebody broke your window."
Michelle blushed, and Masonry burst out laughing.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Nathan accepted the key from the hotel clerk. "Enjoy your stay, Mr. Greene."
"Thanks." He didn't want to be in the base. He didn't want to look at anyone or see anyone. Fighting in the guise of a koosh ball only added to the embarrassment of what the psychologist dug up yesterday. He woke up this morning and told Prov he just needed to get out - she understood entirely and quietly helped him pack.
He had seen this hotel last night in Founders' Falls. It was located right near the new train station, so was easily convenient. In fact, the doorman knew him right away because he had taken out a Nemesis who was on the roof of the hotel.
He tossed his knapsack on the bed and bounced on it. It would be fine. He had to settle for this since he wasn't sure what would happen at the next hearing on June first. As far as he knew, he had left behind no evidence. The worst they could charge him with would be excessive force, as most of the ones he had killed were criminals already. There were only three "murders", three dead civilians.
Star in her new outfit totally disarmed him, not only because she looked pretty in it, but because she reminded him of what he was trying to forget since the psychologist's discovery. Then his brother...
I should have just tossed him over the railing - I wonder if he flies. Hero, my ass. He's clueless. He was the jock, lacrosse, wrestling, softball, more bulk than brains.
He was what you had been.
That was his own voice, not Jack at all. He stared at himself in the mirror, his shock of white hair against the brown jacket - need a darker color. He wasn't angry at Jack for turning his hair white; he liked it himself. Made him look old, yes, but maybe serious.
"Hero, my ass," he muttered to himself. "Jack?"
Yes.
Nathan looked at his reflection in the mirror and watched his eyes slowly glow.
I need to calm down.
Yes.
Would you mind driving for a while?
"Are you sure you would not want the distractions?"
Even as he spoke the words, Jack - Lodestar - realized he was already in the forefront. Lodestar coughed, pulling the polyphonic voice back within, all the while thinking, The body needs rest.
"Thanks." He didn't want to be in the base. He didn't want to look at anyone or see anyone. Fighting in the guise of a koosh ball only added to the embarrassment of what the psychologist dug up yesterday. He woke up this morning and told Prov he just needed to get out - she understood entirely and quietly helped him pack.
He had seen this hotel last night in Founders' Falls. It was located right near the new train station, so was easily convenient. In fact, the doorman knew him right away because he had taken out a Nemesis who was on the roof of the hotel.
He tossed his knapsack on the bed and bounced on it. It would be fine. He had to settle for this since he wasn't sure what would happen at the next hearing on June first. As far as he knew, he had left behind no evidence. The worst they could charge him with would be excessive force, as most of the ones he had killed were criminals already. There were only three "murders", three dead civilians.
Star in her new outfit totally disarmed him, not only because she looked pretty in it, but because she reminded him of what he was trying to forget since the psychologist's discovery. Then his brother...
I should have just tossed him over the railing - I wonder if he flies. Hero, my ass. He's clueless. He was the jock, lacrosse, wrestling, softball, more bulk than brains.
He was what you had been.
That was his own voice, not Jack at all. He stared at himself in the mirror, his shock of white hair against the brown jacket - need a darker color. He wasn't angry at Jack for turning his hair white; he liked it himself. Made him look old, yes, but maybe serious.
"Hero, my ass," he muttered to himself. "Jack?"
Yes.
Nathan looked at his reflection in the mirror and watched his eyes slowly glow.
I need to calm down.
Yes.
Would you mind driving for a while?
"Are you sure you would not want the distractions?"
Even as he spoke the words, Jack - Lodestar - realized he was already in the forefront. Lodestar coughed, pulling the polyphonic voice back within, all the while thinking, The body needs rest.
Monday, May 14, 2007
I want to slap her upside the head.
Violence solves nothing.
Neither does placating her.
They showed you patience.
Yeah, I blazed the trail so now whatever patience they would have had for her they wasted it on me.
They thought it was worth it.
Why can't she just stop doing stupid stuff?
How did you stop doing "stupid stuff"?
I trust them, all of them. Even Fyre.
It's because she got you out of prison, right?
Don't you start sounding like E.
I'm making sure your loyalty is not because of an obligation.
It's not, all right? She started to trust me again after I earned it. And I need to keep earning it, Jack - Star's not even trying to. She still rushes in. She still doesn't listen. She offers up crazy tactics that no one listens to -
She is an anachronism.
Huh?
She has been locked away for a very, very long time, Nate. Whatever training may still be in her mind is thousands of years old.
Thousands?
The Nictus had just begun scouting Earth for potential and I was one of the very first Kheldians here.
You've told me.
I was here for just under a thousand years and returned to the homeworld to teach others of the Earth and the human art of war. I returned to Earth just as Sparta gained the upper hand during the Peloponnesian War.
I know.
I knew N'shta then. N'shta believes Star is older than her.
She's over 3000 years old, then.
Yes.
They why won't she act it?
Because N'shta is holding back memories of the torture.
Can't she pick and choose which memories? Like when Star was a commander and knew what she was doing?
I believe it's more complicated than that.
She should just let the memories out and let Star deal with it, instead of coddling her. Thad pulled out my memories and I dealt with it. E's got the memories of his hell and deals with it. Most of the time.
It may be because of her Aerian race.
Yeah, okay Em.
Ha.
What do you know about Aerians?
Their joinings are not looked well-upon. It's considered either the highest martyrdom or suicide.
How come?
We can separate and live. They cannot. Aerians are very stubborn and private people.
Stubborn, eh? So that's an excuse for her, that they're Aerians and they're supposed to be stubborn? So it's okay for a stereotype to define them?
No.
Then what's her problem?
You'll have to ask her.
She doesn't freakin' know! And N'shta won't let any of the memories out to tell us!
The memories are there but difficult to assimilate.
What gives N'shta the right to hold them?
She is trying to protect her host. And maybe herself. If their joinings are that close...
What would drive Star mad would drive N'shta over the edge too.
We might lose them both, Nate.
Well, I'm sick of waiting.
You will be responsible for whatever happens.
What's another death on my soul, Jack?
Violence solves nothing.
Neither does placating her.
They showed you patience.
Yeah, I blazed the trail so now whatever patience they would have had for her they wasted it on me.
They thought it was worth it.
Why can't she just stop doing stupid stuff?
How did you stop doing "stupid stuff"?
I trust them, all of them. Even Fyre.
It's because she got you out of prison, right?
Don't you start sounding like E.
I'm making sure your loyalty is not because of an obligation.
It's not, all right? She started to trust me again after I earned it. And I need to keep earning it, Jack - Star's not even trying to. She still rushes in. She still doesn't listen. She offers up crazy tactics that no one listens to -
She is an anachronism.
Huh?
She has been locked away for a very, very long time, Nate. Whatever training may still be in her mind is thousands of years old.
Thousands?
The Nictus had just begun scouting Earth for potential and I was one of the very first Kheldians here.
You've told me.
I was here for just under a thousand years and returned to the homeworld to teach others of the Earth and the human art of war. I returned to Earth just as Sparta gained the upper hand during the Peloponnesian War.
I know.
I knew N'shta then. N'shta believes Star is older than her.
She's over 3000 years old, then.
Yes.
They why won't she act it?
Because N'shta is holding back memories of the torture.
Can't she pick and choose which memories? Like when Star was a commander and knew what she was doing?
I believe it's more complicated than that.
She should just let the memories out and let Star deal with it, instead of coddling her. Thad pulled out my memories and I dealt with it. E's got the memories of his hell and deals with it. Most of the time.
It may be because of her Aerian race.
Yeah, okay Em.
Ha.
What do you know about Aerians?
Their joinings are not looked well-upon. It's considered either the highest martyrdom or suicide.
How come?
We can separate and live. They cannot. Aerians are very stubborn and private people.
Stubborn, eh? So that's an excuse for her, that they're Aerians and they're supposed to be stubborn? So it's okay for a stereotype to define them?
No.
Then what's her problem?
You'll have to ask her.
She doesn't freakin' know! And N'shta won't let any of the memories out to tell us!
The memories are there but difficult to assimilate.
What gives N'shta the right to hold them?
She is trying to protect her host. And maybe herself. If their joinings are that close...
What would drive Star mad would drive N'shta over the edge too.
We might lose them both, Nate.
Well, I'm sick of waiting.
You will be responsible for whatever happens.
What's another death on my soul, Jack?
Thursday, May 10, 2007
"We that are true lovers run into strange capers; but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal in folly."
--From As You Like It (II, iv, 53-56)
Nathan stared out the window, a cup of orange juice in his hand, as the bedroom door opened. Providence came out dressed in her chef's outfit. She no longer had to work, but she liked to still cook. Now she worked in one of the many hotels in Atlas Park, her specialty in creative Creole and French cuisine.
"What's today's special, Prov?" After his first meeting with his counselor on Monday - a three-hour affair that almost made him late for shopping with Fyre - he brought Fyre to Firitio's, where Providence "performed". Nate had Suprêmes de Volaille à l'orange (chicken with orange sauce) and Fyre had Terrine du Jambon et du Veau (Ham and Lamb Terrine).
Providence said proudly, "Homard Henri Duvernois. 'Tis lobster with brandy and cream sauce, served on a trencher."
Nathan smiled, still looking out the window. "Pardon if I skip that."
She walked over to him, hugged him from behind. "'Tis well."
For almost a week they had been together, and by Sunday night it had already cooled to spooning. Sex was fine at first blush. But then there was nothing there, and they both knew it. Now it was mere comfort, touches, and hugs. She cooked for him because she liked to cook for someone; they sat and talked while lying in each other's arms just for company.
He sighed, looked out the window. "Prov..?"
"Aye?"
He closed his eyes to better feel her heat and inhale her scent. "Do you... is this...?" He had to be sure before taking any further steps. "Am I what you want?"
She sighed, leaned on him. "Nay, my heart art not thine."
He smiled, took her hands that were wrapped around his waist. "Nor is mine."
"We find what comfort where we may, Nathan."
He turned around in her arms and held her. "It's not meant to be, is it?"
She rested her head against his chest. "I wisheth."
"Me too. You're a wonderful person."
"As art thou."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"Nay!" She looked up into his blue eyes. "Stay until thou must leave. I mindeth not."
"Or until you kick me out?" He smiled.
She stepped back, put her fists on her hips. "I shan't 'kick thee' out. Thou wouldst know when, true?"
He kissed the top of her head and inhaled her patchouli scent. "I would. Go on, off to work." He tapped her backside gently.
"What art thy plans for today?"
"None." He gazed back out the window. "None at all."
--From As You Like It (II, iv, 53-56)
Nathan stared out the window, a cup of orange juice in his hand, as the bedroom door opened. Providence came out dressed in her chef's outfit. She no longer had to work, but she liked to still cook. Now she worked in one of the many hotels in Atlas Park, her specialty in creative Creole and French cuisine.
"What's today's special, Prov?" After his first meeting with his counselor on Monday - a three-hour affair that almost made him late for shopping with Fyre - he brought Fyre to Firitio's, where Providence "performed". Nate had Suprêmes de Volaille à l'orange (chicken with orange sauce) and Fyre had Terrine du Jambon et du Veau (Ham and Lamb Terrine).
Providence said proudly, "Homard Henri Duvernois. 'Tis lobster with brandy and cream sauce, served on a trencher."
Nathan smiled, still looking out the window. "Pardon if I skip that."
She walked over to him, hugged him from behind. "'Tis well."
For almost a week they had been together, and by Sunday night it had already cooled to spooning. Sex was fine at first blush. But then there was nothing there, and they both knew it. Now it was mere comfort, touches, and hugs. She cooked for him because she liked to cook for someone; they sat and talked while lying in each other's arms just for company.
He sighed, looked out the window. "Prov..?"
"Aye?"
He closed his eyes to better feel her heat and inhale her scent. "Do you... is this...?" He had to be sure before taking any further steps. "Am I what you want?"
She sighed, leaned on him. "Nay, my heart art not thine."
He smiled, took her hands that were wrapped around his waist. "Nor is mine."
"We find what comfort where we may, Nathan."
He turned around in her arms and held her. "It's not meant to be, is it?"
She rested her head against his chest. "I wisheth."
"Me too. You're a wonderful person."
"As art thou."
"Do you want me to leave?"
"Nay!" She looked up into his blue eyes. "Stay until thou must leave. I mindeth not."
"Or until you kick me out?" He smiled.
She stepped back, put her fists on her hips. "I shan't 'kick thee' out. Thou wouldst know when, true?"
He kissed the top of her head and inhaled her patchouli scent. "I would. Go on, off to work." He tapped her backside gently.
"What art thy plans for today?"
"None." He gazed back out the window. "None at all."