Friday Flash Fiction: The Red Dress

Becker again.  I think I like this guy.  It’s playing out like a future-noir detective piece.  I like where it’s at and where it’s going.

Things are gonna get hot for Becker, in more ways than one.

Part 1: Jazz PIano and Johnny Freefall

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By the time the morning came around I knew this was going to be some damn party. I was royally drunk, but so was the crowd. I’d been in a zone now for about three hours. Jammin’ with the band; they were good enough to keep up with me, not many are, but then Johnny has access to good talent.

Finally Johnny Freefall called a break in the action. He snapped his fingers and started walking out but stopped on the top step and held up his hands for quiet.

I couldn’t let him have all the fun and made sure I was the last to become silent, ending in descending crescendo; making the point that Mr. Freidal wasn’t the only power in the room. I had my own domain.

I let the keys rest finally, slowly turned a drunken eye over at the don’t-call-him-a-gangster in the black silk suit and gave him a nice warm smile.

“Thank you Mr. Becker.” Freidal smiled back. Point made.

“Now all you cats are coming back here tonight. Go sleep off your drunk and get some grub and be here at ten tonight. I’m sure we can convince Mr. Becker to be back to entertain us.”

Touché. I guess when it comes to power I play second fiddle. With a smile that showed he knew it, Johnny Freefall left the room with his entourage: couple of goons, couple of “lawyers” and a couple of girls.

“meh,” was all I could say, that bastard’s got it figured, don’t know if I hate him or respect him.

I picked up my Macallan and tossed the last drink back just as cliché’ boy in the dark sunglasses came up, “We’ gots you a nice room wit’ a bed.”

I’m sure you do.

****

The shower felt great. I let the water flow over my neck and peed in the drain. Even the towels were top shelf, thick and rich.

I was slipping into the bathrobe when the door chime sounded with three pleasing tones.

I shuffled, tired and still somewhat drunk, from the marble floor of the bathroom onto the plush carpet of the bedroom and then back onto the marble hallway in front of the suite’s door.

I knew this wasn’t gonna play out good the minute I saw her standing there. Blond, blue eyed and perfect. It was one of Freefall’s dames.

“Becker…”

I put my hand out in front of me, palm out, trying to stop the inevitable, “Listen Lady, I don’t know what you want…”

“Hear me out Becker,” and she barged into my room leaving a trail of perfume loaded with pheromones. The scotch in me blunted her seduction a bit, but my libido still said [hey what’s this then]?

Crap!

I closed the door, trapping the alluring aroma and the bombshell within.

“I need your help.”

“Yeah…yeah…look lady I play music, I don’t help people, I help one person, me.” I headed past her back to the bathroom. I was trying hard to ignore her curves and gaps, enhanced so well by the red dress she wore.

“I think Johnny killed my sister.”

“Crap! Listen…what’s your name?…”

“Mira.”

“Listen Mira,” I grabbed the towel, “I don’t do this sorta thing. You follow me? I DON’T. It’s bad for my health.” I rubbed the last of the drips from my hair, trying to keep my thoughts in order.

“I need to find out what happened to her.” Mira said as she slowly walked towards me. “All you gotta do is go ask my friend MIckie, he’ll know what to do.”

“Why…eh…why don’t you ask him yourself…” Man she moved great, I gotta get another drink. I let the towel fall to the floor.

“Johnny don’t let me talk to nobody.” She said, coming even closer, sidling right up next to me and bringing a hand up to my wet hair.

“Figures.” I broke away and maneuvered around her over to the bar, I needed to add some ammunition in the war between the scotch and her mysteries.

“Look, Mira, I can see you’re in a tight spot, but I kinda like being alive and what you’re askin ain’t gonna help that.”

She looked right at me as I was twisting off the cap of some Glenlivet, “Isn’t there something I can do for you? Something that might help convince you?” She started to slide a strap of her dress off her shoulder.

Dammit!

“Woah lady, we’re not gonna go down that path.” I almost dropped the bottle on the counter as I rushed over to stop her doing what she was gonna do. I grabbed her hand and pulled the strap back up onto the shoulder.

“You ain’t gonna help?” She said. Her shoulder felt really nice: smooth, warm, just the right curve. My hand seemed to want to stay there.

I found myself answering, “Well…uh…Mickie you say,” Crap, why’d I say that.

She looked down at my hand then back up into my eyes, they were glazed from the scotch and my wandering naughty thoughts.

I knew why I said that and she knew it too. She had me then, she reached up and moved my hand back down, with me still holding onto her strap.

“You can’t call him,” she said as down the strap went, “nothin’ electronic.” She slid the other strap down and her dress fell away like the opening of an Opera.

I tried to swallow, it turned into more of a gulp. But there she was exposed, a blond Aphrodite.

“You gotta talk to him face to face.”

“yeah…Mira…I’ll talk to Mickie.”

“I knew you’d help me Becker, I just knew it.” And she nuzzled her nakedness up against me and kissed me luxuriously.

It was everything she’d promised.

Interstellar

So she went against her will.

Will? That wasn’t quite right, for in this decision she had none.

She was a made thing. Created for the purpose of the negotiations. An organic component of the starship. A tool made in the image of the local inhabitants. And with the negotiations complete and the starship prepared for its next journey, there was no longer a need for her existence.

The fact that during her “life” on this planet she had fallen in love mattered nothing to the ship.

So she went, unable to resist the call. Feeling the emotions of the end of times, for she knew that only a small part of her would live on, would she remember the love? Surely not.

So she went against her will.

To be re-absorbed.

Friday Flash Fiction: The Delivery Boy

Just a scene.

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I hate this damn building.

The elevator stank like you’d expect. Not for the first time I wondered when the last maintenance check had been done on it.

The doors opened up to a half lit hallway, gotta talk to the damn super again about the damn lights. Lazy slob that he is, perfect super for this damn building.

If it weren’t for the cheap rent, I’d be gone in a minute.

As I made my way to the door, dragging my suitcase behind me, Slink heard me and meowed back. How’d I get stuck with a damn cat? I hate cats…ok maybe not Slink. I unconsciously slid the key in and opened the door; home, such as it is.

Slink slid in for a quick pet and then away again, just like a cat, more interested in confirming I existed in her world than in actual contact. “I missed you too.” I said to her raised tail as she walked into the kitchen fully expecting me to follow. Damn cat.

I filled her food and water and then ignored her as she ignored me, we were a perfect match.

Routine, routine, routine. I picked up the remote and flipped on the tv letting the noise fill the background; tickers streaming at the bottom of Fox news. I walked out and pulled my suitcase into the bedroom flopped it on the bed and then stripped and showered.

By the time I came out of the shower sunbeams blinded me through the half closed shades. Sunset or sunrise, it took me a minute to remember, sunset…I think. I just got back to this side of the world an hour ago, I was tired but I needed to unload the stash first.

I opened the case and dumped the clothes on the bed. The data was woven into the fabric of the liner. No microchip, no silicon even, nothing to sniff for, nothing to detect. Carbon nano-tubes, grown with the data as part of their matrix. It was a time consuming process, but it let you hide so much data from so many prying eyes that for the right purpose it made economic sense.

Usually that purpose wasn’t quite legal, I lie to myself and call it a gray area.

I’m just a delivery boy. But a highly trained and valuable delivery boy; there are probably seven or eight people in the world that can do what I do. Friends and enemies all.

I pulled out my knife and cut out the liner, held it up to the sunbeams and  just barely saw the ten threads of different color and weight. I took the square meter of fabric out to the main room of the apartment, Slink was nowhere to be seen. Fox news was still going on about the latest bombing in Bangalore. I carefully laid the fabric sheet on my well lit drafting table.

Got a beer and changed the channel to ESPN.

It only took about an hour to extract the threads. Then another to feed them into the data recapture equipment. Before I hit the hay I had everything recompiled and burnt on two standard 128 gigabyte key fobs.

One for my client and one for me. You know, insurance.

I may be a valuable delivery boy, but I’m also a risk and you gotta look out for number one. My clients all know how discrete I am, but they also know I cover my ass. I gotta. Who’d feed Slink if I got wacked?

Tekepathic Love

I’m lame.

My triple-F writing frequency has fallen off a bit.  But I think I’ll be able to get it back up to speed for awhile now.

I like the way this one turned out, it might be a scene in one of the longer works I’m noodling on right now but it works pretty good on its own. 

It is hard to write about a new sense.  And I think I coined a term: techepathy or tekepathy.  Coming to a store near you over the next 10-15 years.

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MJ floated in front of the main observation window. Her father stared back, trapped

The station was coming apart.

“Get clear MJ…there’s nothing more you can do.” Her father’s voice sounded farther away than the mere feet between, scratchy and broken over her helmet radio.

“Shut up, I’ve got to get you out.” She answered, ignoring the truth.

“You can’t.”

She knew he was right, but reached out with her gloved hand anyway and felt the thick glass of the observation window. “No!” Her anger seeped out in a red flare of flower and smoke, briefly stunning her father with its intensity. She always had trouble keeping her filters tight on her headgear when emotion overtook her.

“MJ, you’ve done all you can, you’ve saved so many…you need to get away and get ready. You know this isn’t the end, it’s only the beginning.”

She couldn’t even bang her hand on the glass in the weightlessness of space, even venting frustration was denied her.

“No.”

“Mallory, face the truth. Go, they need you.”

“no” this time it was only a whisper from the girl.

“I…” Her father faltered. “…can you…can you take something to your mom?”

Her fingers grazed the glass again, she could feel the destructive vibrations through the precise sensors on the tips.

“I want to make sure she knows how I’ve felt about her all these long years apart.”

“Yes” MJ answered even quieter now.

He knelt down on one knee, put a hand on the window to balance himself and then looked up at MJ.

She didn’t expect what he did next. Nobody ever opened up their headgear on purpose. Everyone learned from the time of insertion to keep it locked down. Even lovers rarely opened themselves.

But her father stripped the layers of locks and protection away and she saw everything. She saw the fear of death as a black raven with wings outspread hovering behind him. She saw the determination he had to endure the fear, the courage as a flame burning and lighting the shadows of the deathbird, keeping the darkness at bay.

This was how her headgear was seeing it. The signals sent from her father were bits and bytes, but her gear interpreted it as MJ would see it, as MJ thought. Each person might experience it differently; it was a sixth sense, a created tech sense. Tekepathy.

Closer in, in a tighter halo she saw and felt and knew the love and pride in her he held.

And there seared in around him, in a shell of enamel, she could see the love for her mom. She had not expected to see the fierceness with which he still loved her.

The unfiltered headgear of emotions swirled and became merely a black and white whirlpool. He severed the feelings of fear from the others until a form of the yin-yang hung above him, simplified love and fear, distilled. He carved the love apart and packaged it into a ball of crackling light. A ball of pure emotion. A ball of painful love.

Flint raised a hand in a physical representation of the extreme effort involved in sending part of your mind away, part of your emotions. He pushed his hand towards her in a tendon-tight shaking thrust and the ball of glowing white seemed to “float” towards her.

She’d never received something like this, it was rare to be offered a raw unfiltered packet. It was hard to meld and painful.

“take it.” He whispered, rasping, “please take it and give it to Sophie.”

She knew then that he had carved the pieces of love from himself and remained corrupted in only fear. The effects would wear off as the mind recovered but for the short term it would be hell to be bereft of love. He put a hand on the floor.

“TAKE IT!” he shouted, “Please.”

She let the glowing sphere approach.

It touched her mindwall, she gave it access and screamed as the other of her father came in.

Blackness followed and she remembered no more.

***

The war was long. It was years before she was back on Earth, the enemy vanquished.

Eventually one summer she finally gave her father’s glowing love to her mother. She had resisted giving it for a long time, unsure if it would hurt or heal or if she would feel anything at all.

They cried for a long time. He had been one of many to have died, now at least a part of him would live on.

Friday Flash Fiction: The Bard and the Girl.

Sorry about the length here, but it just wouldn’t stay short. (1353 words)

I liked my Becker character and decided to transport him to a different setting.  I imagine I might do it again somewhere else.  Here he is as a Bard with ill intent.

Oh and not much editing here, I’m pretty busy, so forgive me for some rough spots in this entry.  I will come back to it and clean it up.

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Even with the big open fire pit and the roaring flames the cold seeped into the great hall.

Becker stood in the middle of the room, his lute across his chest recounting the exploits of Sir Thalan and the forty gremlins; a humorous tale that kept his audience in laughter from start to finish. He particularly liked starting with this one because it loosened the crowd up and let him gain their friendship before he entranced them and robbed them blind.

Laughter fully filled the chamber as he ended the tale with poor Thalan beating the gremlins but losing his wife to them when she realized they could bed her better than her knight. The gremlins being more ribald and virile and she more hearty and wanton than her man could satisfy.

They clapped and demanded more. The crowd now primed and receptive, Becker moved into the realm of improving his fortunes.

The chords for the next tale began with a melancholy tone, the crowd settled in for a tragedy as clearly the bard was beginning. The fire crackled and popped and Becker used its dancing light to begin his enchantment.

Perhaps it was a story they had heard or perhaps one similar or, more likely still, one based on age old themes repeated in many forms; a tale of woe and sorrow, of madness and anger. He sang of the two lovers forlorn and of their sad tale ending in death.

And as he played his tune and sang the story, his spell coursed with the smoke and the cackling flickering flame to entrance the audience. He began to weave in amongst the tables seeing how strong the spell was, some kept their eyes on him as he wandered in and around the gathered Baron’s household. Others kept their eyes on the fire, already succumbing to his enchantment.

He casually walked close to the flame and while holding a high somber note sprinkled some gindlebrau herb into the flames. The aroma of vanilla and pepper quickly filled the room, doubling the enchantment’s strength. This was a tricky phase of the trancing, the herb was strong enough to enchant the enchanter if he were not mindful of the effects.

Becker knew his craft well, the gindlebrau was ineffectual against him.

A few minutes further on and the entire gathered household was slackjawed and drooling. Becker placed his lute down and set it a-playing on its own with a trivial spell from his childhood. It kept the instrument traipsing along the sad melody. This allowed the bard to walk freely around the dining hall.

He cut purses from waists, lifted necklaces from necks, and pulled rings from fingers. Smiling as he did so. By the time his victims awoke he would be long gone. It was always so easy…

“What are you doing?” Asked a small voice.

Becker froze his smile. A girl of no more than fourteen stood in front of him watching, clear eyed and quizzical.

“ummm…Yes,” he answered quickly.

“Are you stealing m’lords baubles?”

“umm..” Again he brought his vaunted quick wit to bear. This had never happened before.

“Why…no lass, no, I’m…uh..I’m ..uh…merely taking inventory for the king.”

“I think you’re lying.”

Becker decided to change the subject, “Why aren’t you enjoying the nice music like everyone else?”

“I don’t know, it seemed kinda boring to me? Why’ur you stealing from everybody?”

“Boring? How could it be boring? And I’m not stealing.”

“Well I mean it was up until you cast your spell? Then what do you call it if it ain’t stealin’?” She said putting her hands on her hips.

“umm…who are you?” Said Becker now confused.

“..nobody…My daddy’s over there.” And she pointed across the room at one of the fat noblemen sitting stoned in his chair.

Becker was getting scared now. The enchantment would only hold so long, he needed to finish his round and depart; the sooner the better.

“Well little girl,” She grimaced at his patronizing tone.

“I’m not a little girl.”

He lifted another purse in his hand and felt its weight, 30 shillings at least. He looked her in the eye and then he started to continue his way around the room, talking as he went from victim to victim.

“Look girl, everyone’s got their own way of getting by. Your da there,” as he put a jeweled dagger in his bag, “Has lands that provide for him,” A ring from a slack finger followed, “The baron there as well.” He moved on as the girl followed him around.

“Me, I don’t have something like that, all I have is some rare gifts.” Brooch and necklace lifted and pocketed. “A little singing, a little enchantment, and I’m on my way.” He sidestepped his way around a particularly obese woman beginning to tip off her bench. Becker gently nudged her back to lean on what he supposed (and if so pitied) was her husband.

“Not much harm done really.” The fat one did have a very nice necklace though, Becker whistled briefly as it followed the rest of the loot into the bag.

“But it ain’t right to steal.”

“Now lassy, on one hand you’re absolutely right, but on the other you’re completely wrong.” Finally he was up to the Baron’s table. He focused on the little baubles, the goblets were too heavy anyways, but the rings and necklaces were light and full of gems.

“The Baron here can afford to buy a new necklace.” As he gently removed a heavy gold and silver chain encrusted with five rubies from around the Baron’s neck, “in a matter of a few seasons…He’ll barely miss it.”

The baroness lost her tiara and some rings as well as the matching necklace to her husband.

“If I were to steal 30 shillings from a farmer or 100 from the blacksmith, now that wouldn’t be right. That’d hurt his family and…well…I’d feel all bad about it.”

“You don’t feel bad about this?” She said walking around following him.

“Nope. It’s fun.” He finished and walked back to his lute by the fire, picked it up carefully so that it continued it’s magic tune and started to walk out of the hall.

“What do you intend to do girl?” He said as he walked backwards up to the great doors, eyeing her.

“What can I? I can’t stop you.”

Becker paused before grabbing the brass ring on the door and looked at her again. She was nearly a woman, but still a year or two short. Was she too old? What would a woman bard be like?

“You know you have a rare gift…umm…what are you called?”

“Carmen.”

He opened the door and repeated himself, “You know you have a rare gift Carmen, it would be a shame to waste it as some little lordlings wife.”

She asked in return, “What are you saying Becker.”

“I have no apprentice, and you are a gifted child…woman…young woman… Carmen.” He pushed the door open a bit further, held it open with his foot, bowed slightly and motioned out the door, “I offer knowledge, adventure, song and dance. The likes of which you will not get in this backwater barony.”

“I…I…can’t. I can’t.” She looked around the room again. Her life was here. She shook her head.

“Suit yourself. Pity though, you have some gifts that are going to be wasted, I would have enjoyed seeing them brought forth.”

And he walked out and let the door close behind him.

Suddenly the music was gone and the crackle of the fire was all that was left. She turned in a circle and looked at everyone there. She tried to find a face of someone in the dazed audience that she cared about.

There was nobody here who mattered to her for more than a bed and a meal for her mother was long dead and her father was a drunken bastard. What did she have to look forward to here but as Becker had said of becoming some lordlings wife.

Carmen nodded to herself, grabbed her cloak and followed Becker out the door.

Friday Flash Fiction: The Captain

Sorry I missed the last week or two.  Work is coming up on our M2 Milestone and I’ve been dang busy.

I wrote this piece for my brother.  He had this cool idea for how he’d like an opening scene of a movie for his favorite…well I don’t want to spoil it.  It reads a bit better if you don’t know who it is about at the beginning.

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Rodriguez was prayin’. The other three soldiers thought about it too, they were dead and they knew it.

They could hear German voices over the rain of death, the Nazis were close, and it was only a matter of moments now. All the rest of the platoon had to be dead.

“Dammit Rodriguez, shut the hell up, they’re gonna hear you!” Samuels growled in the direction of Rodriguez who paid him no heed and rocked back and forth slowly in time with his rosary.

Miller was gripping his rifle and stuttering gibberish. He was trying to push himself deeper into the mud walls of the bomb crater.

Bullets whistled and grenades fell nearby, spitting dirt over the four of them huddled in the bottom of the small hole, a refuge from the slaughter. Samuels glanced over at Baker and their eyes locked, the question was there for them to see in the each other, Is this the way it ends?

There seemed so much more left to life than this.

The Nazi voices above them changed. They became alarmed. Shouts became screams.

“Der Kapitan! Der Kapit….”

The mayhem of bullets lessened incrementally, one by one, until there was just one gun lonely firing.

Rat-tat-tat [Only after each “tat” there was a “ting”] Rat-tat-ting!-tat-ting!-tat-ting!-tat-ting!-tat-ting!

Like the bullets were bouncing off something.

The GIs heard the click-click of an empty magazine followed by hysterical shouts of “NEIN! NEIN!” Amidst his shouts they heard a sound that was out of place, like a strong wind through the trees. “SWOOOOSH”

Then a moist sounding crunch followed by silence.

Rodriguez stopped his swaying and praying.

The men in the foxhole didn’t know what to think. Why was it quiet? They could hear their own feet shift in the dirt. Miller’s gibberish could be heard clearly now too, “nojesus, nojesus, nojesus, nojesus, nojesus.” He’d been prayin’ after all. Samuels shook him until he finally shut up.

Revalinski poked his head over the dirt edge. The field was empty of movement.

They crawled out and started wandering around the battlefield. All the Nazi’s were dead. Beaten to death, shot to death, and one with his head almost cut clean off.

How’d this happened? Who’d dunit? They all thought

Wandering dumbstruck through the smoke and desolation and blood and mud until they came upon Williams. He was sitting on what was left of a tree, toppled from the battle.

“I saw him.”

Revalinski spat then spoke for the four of them, “whodja see?”

“I’m not crazy you know…look around you…” They noticed his shaking then.

“Quien?” said Rodriguez he was still freaked out and fell back into Spanish.

“You see what he did right?”

“Yeah, yeah..you ain’t crazy Williams, who dunnit?” Miller had regained his composure.

“The Captain.”

The four from the foxhole looked at each other, Samuels almost laughed, but he looked around him at the death and stayed silent.

The Captain. THE Captian? He must really hate Nazis.

“You mean…?” asked Revalinski.

“Yeah, that’s who I saw. He was one mean lookin sonuvabitch too! Big and fast and angry as hell!”

Williams stood up then and walked towards them, maybe he was crazy, he was still shaking as he went on, “…an’ he’s got this shield that he used to block and hit and throw. He kil’t that one over there with it.” Pointing to the Nazi almost decapitated.

“He went through them like they were wheat. It was easy for him.”

Now with the bullets no longer flying the surviving soldiers looked around at the Germans on the ground with a weird sense of pity. They never stood a chance. Not against him.

Arthur C. Clarke - R.I.P.

Author Arthur C. Clarke dies

Another Grand Master of SF passes away.

Now THIS is a story: Asimov’s "The Last Question"

I’ve read it before and it’s one of those things that just plain sticks with you.  One of those stories that you finish and say, “Why didn’t I write that, it’s brilliant.”

The Last Question

Friday Flash Fiction: Jazz Piano and Johnny Freefall

I really like this one.  I love it when they write themselves.  The words jumped out before I could practically put them in order.

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The night was dark, but the scotch was good and my piano beckoned.

I find as the evening moves on and the scotch clicks in my brain the notes take on a life of their own. They seem to float in front of me: my brain, my fingers, the piano, the keys, the notes in the air, all weave together in a blanket of smoke.

These midnight sessions are private.

Just me and music.

No audience. Nobody around but me.

I hold a chord and take a sip of the Laphroig.

“Mr. Becker?”

I’m startled by the voice, pausing mid sip, but I hold the chord.

I tip the sip back then calmly put the glass back down and continue to play. Tasty.

“yup.” I answer, still not turning to look. This can’t be good, it’s 2:30.

“Mr. Becker, my employer is…eh…requesting your appearance at a party.”

I start working up into a transition, pounding out a few sequences until I hit a nice little resolution on a major third.

“Sorry pal, I’m a bit busy.”

He finally walks up and leans on the edge of the piano. The dude has sunglasses on, what a cliché’. Then I notice they have a digital readout inside ‘em. He’s fully wired.

“Listen Mr. Becker, my boss ain’t the type to take no fer ‘n answer.”

It was then that I found out he wasn’t alone as two goons grabbed me by the arms.

“All right, all right,” I answer as I lift up my hands and my music ends abruptly, the sad silence filling the room, “will you at least let me put on a change of clothes first?”

“Ya, a’ight.”

****

I’d heard about him of course, who hadn’t. But I never expected to meet him.

We hit about ten telediscs before we finally reached the party. Flitting from London to Dublin to Reykjavik to Boston to Chicago to Deadwood to Spokane, Seattle, Portland, SanFran and LA. Took about ten minutes.

As soon as I flitted in there was a cheer, “Becker!” The crowd was primed for a night of it and more. It was barely 9:30 here in LA.

Some people called him Babyface, but only behind his back, he hated that handle. Most people called him Johnny Freefall but I was gonna call him Mr. Freidal. Why be stupid.

The two goons and cliché’ boy politely led me right to his table in the middle of the vast party. He was sitting surrounded by courtiers like a king. Dressed in a nice, pressed black suit, with a black hat and tie. He had sunglasses (digital) too.

“Mr. Becker, so glad you could join us.” His voice was smooth as business.

“Mr. Friedal, I’m so glad to be here.”

That got a laugh. He chuckled honestly and deep, “I’m sure you are less pleased then you let on. I like truth Mr. Becker, even when it’s hidden in a lie like yours.”

I stood with a half grimace trying to hold my cool, the scotch had left me sober. “Watcha want Mr. Friedal?”

“I like you Becker, you don’t bullshit around. Well as you can see I am throwing this party for a few friends and we all want some music, your name came up and I said that’s our man.” He waved over to a piano, with an accompanying band standing and waiting for me, “Would you be so kind as to show us something…eh…show us what Becker’s got?”

“I’d like a scotch.”

Johnny Freefall looked me up and down, “Darlin’ get this man a scotch,” a waitress hurried off to take care of my order, “Boys, show Mr. Becker to the peeeeano.”

The two goons politely led me once again, this time to the piano. A scotch was laid down as I sat on the bench. Sip. Ahh…Talisker, sharp, peppery, just right to get the party going.

I hit them keys hard and fast to start. The band kicked in after my four bars of intro. We lit that place up like kerosene.

Fuck ‘em, I like to play.

Friday Flash Fiction: The Witch on Oasis

So I’m not sure if this is out of bounds for Friday Flash Fiction, but I used it to work through a scene for a longer piece of work I’m working on.

I also end up going over the 1000 word mark a bit.  Oh well…I’ll try something shorter next week.

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Kira sat in the back of the bar trying her best to be inconspicuous.

The sounds and sights and other data flowing into her headgear was a rush of input that was ubiquitous in the modern world. Unless you were an all-nat, you got used to it and let your agents and filters refine the noise of life into a manageable din.

She listened and watched and observed and let her augmented systems organize and prioritize and point out pertinent facts to her.

The murder was all the news. Oasis had never had a murder on board her before. Everyone was talking about it. It was already being romanticized; a KNIFE fight! A knife fight on a cycler. Whispers of awe spread around the bar. The ancient barbarity of the act making the perpetrators legends before the blood was cold.

Kira scowled. She knew the murder was no chance thing but a planned assassination attempt.

[The fools must have known it would fail.] She thought.

They knew her husband well enough to know he would best any modern man in a knife fight.

[This was merely a faint.]

Matters were dire, Gabriel was compromised. They were toying with him, letting him know they could get him at any time.

[Why toy with us?]

“Can I get you a drink?” Kira started at the voice. She hadn’t noticed the tall dark haired woman standing next to her.

“uh…I already have one.” She answered.

[Where did she come from? I should have noticed her?]

The other woman was stunning. A full two meters tall with straight black hair, wearing a functional gray outfit, perfect for moving around in the varying gravity environments of the spacecraft. On her, the outfit looked tailored and perfect, as if she would not allow it to be anything but.

“aahh I see now…” And she sat down, uninvited, next to Kira and ordered a martini with a nonchalant flick of her finger and toss from her headgear.

“Can’t get a good scotch out here, but a martini, that’s just clear alcohol, if they use decent vermouth and an olive or two it’s passable.” She said with a sly smile.

Kira consented to acknowledge her, it would be worse if she kept trying to ignore her, “Yeah that’s why I stay with gin and tonics. At least the flavor hides the synthetic…ness.” She trailed off lamely

[Why am I so nervous?]

“Don’t be nervous, I’m not hitting on you…unless you want me to?”

Kira coughed into her drink, splurting the sip out over the bar.

“..cough..ahh…I’m straight.” She noticed her headgear was spitting out a lot of noise, she reigned in the disturbance.

[God she’s got me all twisted!]

The martini came and the black haired stranger offered a brief toast to Kira, “To the future…and the past.”

Kira raised her glass uncertainly. She wasn’t getting any reading on the other woman, nothing was seeping out from her headgear, she was holding a tight filter. That took concentration. Was she an all-nat? No, there were interface connections and the simplest of b-cards exposed.

[She’s so tight, I thought I was good?...]

“My name is Valen.”

“That’s an interesting name.”

“It’s very old.”

Kira was starting to feel trapped.

[She’s one of them.] “I..uh…I” But she was suddenly having trouble remembering what she was going to say.

“I…”

“Yes?” And Valen smiled, “Yes…Kira? You were about to say something?”

[…my name…she knows my name…] But Kira’s thoughts were thick like glue.

“Who…I…” Kira dropped her glass and seemed to be able to watch its fall in slow motion: the glass tumbling…seven ice cubes, 1…2…3…4…5…6…7..seven…now it was halfway to the floor…the swizzle straw was floating free…

…the lime-cube was half dissolved

…a drip hit her shoe

…the light sparkled off the edge of the glass…

[YES KIRA! I AM ONE OF THEM!] Kira heard inside her head.

SMASH! Her gin and tonic hit the floor and became a thousand pieces of ice and glass.

Kira wanted to scream, but had no voice.

[YOU WILL COME WITH ME!]

[…no][YES]

[…no][YES!][…yes]

KIra felt compelled to go along, she was a shattered being, both at once knowing it was the right thing to do and hating it. Wanting to shout “NO!” while calmly speaking “yes”. Her mind was cracking, her vision narrowing, her hands trembling.

She started to teeter over to her side.

The black haired woman leaned over and grabbed Kira, keeping her from falling, “Easy girl, let’s get you back to your cabin.” Valen turned to the bartender, “She’s had a bit much, I’ll take care of her.” [YES I WILL!]

Kira let herself be half led, half carried out of the bar. The rightness so wrong, nausea welled unbidden from her stomach. She started feebly to say something but vertigo wiped the effort away as she fought to maintain consciousness. She went along with the black haired woman; to Valen’s cabin door, they both entered.

The door closed behind them, it had all happened so fast.

“Ahhh…Kira, you don’t know how long I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” She dragged the near comatose woman to the bed in the room and laid her on her back. Kira was unable to move, she was unable to do anything more than blink and breath.

“It’s a pity about Gabriel, I would have liked to bring you both back to meet my Brother and the family.” And she chuckled at that. “You know who I am don’t you.”

[…yes…you’re the witch…]

[AHH YOU’RE STILL IN THERE GOOD.]

“The next two months would be boring if I had crippled your mind.” She smiled an evil grimace, “The witch eh? I am called that sometimes yes. I won’t disown the title. But it is a bit short and nondescript for the skills I possess.”

[…please…please…let…me go…]

“No, no my dear,” She laughed lightly, almost innocently, “We are going to enjoy ourselves, you and I. We shall become the talk of Oasis. The two stunning women together…ooooh are they lovers? It will be scandalous.”

[….no….please…]

“You’ll love it dear…I will make sure you do. And by the time we reach Earth, you will disembark with me and no one will think anything of it at all.”

“You will come to meet my brother and the family.” [AND YOUR FATE WILL BECOME THE SAME AS THE REST OF YOU SPANISH BASTARDS!] It was like she was shouting in Kira’s head, Kira’s eyes remained open and blankly staring at the ceiling. But pain like lighting was ricocheting inside her skull.

[…I’m not Spanish…]

“I know.” [BUT YOU MARRIED ONE.]

Hope left Kira then, she couldn’t scream, she couldn’t even cry.

“Now, let’s begin with some questions…”