fff: Hard luck on Mars.

Shorty and a late one at that.

———————————————-

Where do you go when you’re fired? I mean if you are on Earth you can just go get another job at a different company, but Mars? It ain’t like there too many opportunities for reasonable employment if you ain’t working for one of the big orgs.

You end up a scrub…

Hold on a second will ya buddy, here comes a fatcat bureaucrat.

Hey gov’ner, you got any spare air credits for a martian down on his luck?

…

Yeah screw you buster.

So like I was sayin’, Mars ain’t for the weak. You either gotta step up or stomp on somebody to make it…

Me? I’m gonna be ok, I just need one lucky break.

FFF: The Last Prince of Atlantis

Short one today.  I like how this one turned out.
——————————————————–

The end was nigh. The end of all that had come before. The end to the millennia of magnificence that was Atlantis.

And so Selebor the lesser sat in the room of far-seeing in the highest part of his palace, brooding as the flames engulfed the city sprawled below him.

There was nothing left to do to save the empire now. The rebels of the eighth house had succeeded in breaching the walls of the citadel and would soon be scouring the seven palaces for the heads of the princes they sought so voraciously.

One of those heads belonged to Selebor.

He waited, patiently, brooding all the while as he watched his world burn. His eyebrows scrunched down hard over his eyes, his jaw clenched in powerless anger, one hand gripping the arm of his ornate chair, its knuckles white with effort, and the other idly banging the bottom of his long scepter on the marble floor.

He alone remained of his household. The rest he had sent away to his holdings elsewhere, far away from the desecration of their home. He didn’t expect to ever see them again.

And so he sat as the chants grew near and his doom approached.

Brooding.

FFF: The Blue Stone of the Incas

“My Lord!”

The dark haired Spaniard in breastplate that was dull and beaten from conquest, turned away from the view of destruction below him and faced the younger conquistador.

“Yes Nephew.” He answered. The temple complex of the Inca’s was theirs now, it had taken a day of slaughter but, God willing, they had been victorious.

“We’ve found the last of them.”

Gonzalo Pizarro followed his nephew as they turned and walked back into the main temple chamber. There were half naked bodies lying about the large room; shot, stabbed, burned. He ignored the devastation, he had seen it all so often; it was his way.

Deeper they went, through a cloud of smoke, down an ancient stone stairway lit only by torchlight. The air became cool all of a sudden as the heat from above could not penetrate so far. Still they went down.

“How far does this lead Francisco?”

“Not much further my lord.”

Their voices sounding trapped in the long dark stairway.

They finally reached bottom and entered what looked like a temple hall fully 50 feet on each side with columns through the center. The room was laden with gold as was the Inca’s wont. Gold was an adornment, a tool of the royalty and priesthood.

Two more Spanish soldiers were there, guarding an Inca priest in his garish red and yellow costume. He was bound and beaten, but praying still.

Gonzalo ignored him, what more could he learn from them, they were treacherous and ignorant. Best send them on to God, baptized before death, there was no further salvation available for them here on earth.

It was then he noticed the stone on the alter at the back of the room.

“What is that nephew?”

“It is for that I brought you here Uncle.” Francisco used the familiar term as a means to lord it over the other soldiers in the room. Gonzalo smiled slightly, admiring his nephew’s skill in politicking at the young age of nineteen.

[He’ll go far] he thought.

Gonzalo walked up to the alter and reached out a hand towards the large blue colored stone. It looked like a large egg, a little longer, a little bigger than it should be and blue as the sky on a summer day.

As he reached for it he heard the Inca begin to protest in his gutter tongue.

Gonzalo did not turn his gaze from the stone, “Shut the whore-son up!”

He didn’t even look as the blade was sunk into the belly of the Inca. The Inca’s scream was cut short by a second strike from the other soldier. There was no need to look, he had seen so much worse, what was one more death to him.

Gonzalo reached out, slowing his hand as it approached the blue stone; captivated, almost hypnotized by its allure. His eyes playing tricks in the flickering light for the stone seemed to shift, to almost shiver, as if anticipating his fingers.

It sparked. Gonzalo pulled his hand back in trepidation. Then, with his Spanish pride goaded, he reached for the blue stone with a sneer of disdain for himself, for the stone and for the pagans.

The stone almost seemed to jump into his hand as he grasped it, as if it were searching for a palm within which to rest. Gonzalo gripped the cool surface; it felt soft like the softest leather but cool like it had just been pulled from the bottom of a mountain stream. The coolness seemed to seep into his hand and up his wrist, pleasing and invigorating.

“Nephew, this stone feels magnificent. My arm feels rejuvenated.”

The stone started to warm a bit, the warmth like whisky in his veins, wicking up his arm.

“aaaaaahhhhh.” Smiling in pleasure, he motioned for his nephew to come take the stone but as Francisco approached Gonzalo found that he could not release his grip.

“uhhg…it appears to be stuck.” He reached up with his other hand to remove it, but his other hand was pulled like a lodestone pulls iron; both his hands were attached. It was then that the cold-heat changed to pain.

“AHHH! There are nails coming from it, AAAAHHH! My hands!” Gonzalo fell to his knees and began to strike his hands against the stone floor in desperation. The pain now was like needles or molten lead going up his veins.

“Uncle,” Francisco rushed to his uncle’s side but then stopped as Gonzalo fell on his side and started screaming.

“AAAAAAEEEEEEEEEESSSSS” His eyeballs rolled up into his head leaving just the whites of his eyes visible. He writhed on the floor, kicking with his feet and shaking his hands that were still glued to the mysterious stone.

Francisco stood in shock; the two soldiers backed out of the room, fearful that the pagan magic would possess them as well. First one bolted up the stairs followed quickly by the other. The clatter of their booted feet receded up the dark stairwell leaving Francisco alone with Gonzalo; frozen with fear, four feet from his uncle.

“…Uncle…” He reached towards the older man who now lay rigid and burbling on the floor in one long convulse.

Francisco leaned over his uncle and listened.  Gonzalo had quieted, no longer even burbling, but instead no his breath came at a rapid pace.  Still Francisco would not touch him.

“AAAAAAAAAEEEEEEEEE!” He screamed into Francisco’s ear, convulsed three more times and then collapsed, spent and flaccid.

The stone rolled free of its grip.

Francisco did not pick it up.

Finally, tentatively, he touched his uncle’s arm. It was cold as the snow and looked at his uncle’s face and noticed tears of blood running from the corners of Gonzalo’s eyes.

He was sure his uncle would die.

When Least Expected - Up pops some new material from Daniel Keys Moran.

If you have not read his work you are truly missing out.  He has only published a handful or so of novels but amongst them are some doozies!

My recommendation is to start with Emerald Eyes.  It reads a bit choppy in places but treat it like a prelude.  The follow up books in the series are remarkable.  The scope of the “Continuing Time” universe is daunting…but he stopped at three books.

1. Emerald Eyes
2. The Long Run
3. The Last Dancer

And then sheesh 15 years of silence as DKM went on to a different career.  During that time the first three chapters of the next novel the AI war was posted but nothing more.  And that was around 2000 or so.

Since then all hope of an actual completed novel has pretty much vanished.

Until now.

Interlude: The Crystal Wind

…can hope be rekindled.  Will we finally get to enjoy more exploits of Trent the Uncatchable?  And what exactly is the connection to the House of November and the Great Wheel of existence…

…maybe it’s just a snippet on his computer…

Heinlein - All You Zombies

Short story by Heinlein around a time travel paradox.

He had a load on, and his face showed that he despised people more than usual.

Go give it a read.

Brainstorm - How would you, Mr. Galactic Emperor, attack a solar system.

I’m working on a storyline and I have some interesting ideas about how I would attack a solar system.  I want to hear yours.

I have some basic ground rules.

1. Adhere, in general, to Einsteinian rules of the road.
1. some leeway with interstellar travel (wormholes etc.) but within the confines of the solar system nada mucho.
2. You want to conquer not obliterate.
3. You are not a god, you can’t just use all the energy of seven nearby stars to encapsulate the solar system or some other “Q” level power.
4. Assume a moderate level of human solar system colonization.
1. A couple million or more on mars.
2. some in the asteroids.
3. some further out.
5. If you take too long, we’re gonna fight back.

What would be your battle plan, how would you conquer those totally weak humans and make them your vassals.

Friday Flash Fiction - Interstellar 2

I wasn’t quite happy with the way the first version of this idea read so her it is from a personal point of view.

I’m still not totally pleased with it…but I’m too busy right now to devote any more time to it.

Verison 1: Interstellar

---

“LAURA!” he screamed at her. That seemed to break her trance finally.

“..oh Gil…I…where am I…” She noticed him again but only for a moment, then her eyes began to glaze over again.

He slapped her then. She was back with him.

“Gil, I can’t fight it, I’m trying, but it’s like my innermost me isn’t me.”

“Come with me.” He dragged her over to the bar and poured a tall shot of vodka.

“Drink it!”

“You can’t beat it with this Gil.” Her eyes started to glaze again.

“Drink IT!” She tossed the shot back and coughed, but it seemed to help her stay here.

This battle went on for awhile: Gil yelling, slapping, Laura crying, dazed and finally stone drunk. Only then did the compulsion from the star ship end. Only then when she could barely talk much less walk was she able to ignore its siren call.

He led and half dragged her down to his basement to the laundry room where she promptly threw up.

He went and got some rope.

****

The ship finally left orbit, continuing its journey across the stars.

Gil was afraid he had driven Laura insane. The ship owned her, had created her and had been insistent about wanting her back. She was one of the ship’s remote probes. Once it was gone she started to cry and couldn’t be consoled. He untied her finally the day the ship seemed fully gone.

He bathed her, treated her bruises and bleeding wrists and then put her to bed.

She slept.

Would she finally be free?

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

---

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.

---

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?