I Feel Fine

          I don't know why people don't know how to use their imaginations. In 2025 some scientists figured out a way to manipulate the way sound waves move in the environment. Advances in the music entertainment industry were made. Fortunes were had. Yet militaries were afraid to touch it. Manipulation of the sound waves was boringly stable on small, low powered scales. Grand scales with abundant power? Unstable and unpredictable. So the idea was set aside.

          The new girls, April, May, and June, bought their roster spots with schematics for the only acoustic rifle ever designed. A well connected friend of the "family" created an actual prototype. Antediluvian lout that he is just had to call it a Boomstick.

          So I says to him, after he delivered his update on the weapon, "A boomstick is an obvious development. Make something fun for me, K?"

          A standard fortnight later I get a message to expect a special delivery. But nothing could have prepared me for the inconceivable creations of that mad man's mind.

l        l        l

          The main ballroom of the Bebop Cowboy Cruise pleasure ship was staged for a high dollar show. Scores of adolescents ranging from wanna be tweens to borderline illegal twenty year olds. In the midst of the mayhem was Horace Hawkins. He sat at a table surrounded by girls who were experimenting with the boundaries of their minds. A security screen, two bodies deep, separated him from the hoard.

          "Sir, the band is about to start. Would you relocate you closer to the stage for a better view?" A man in a flat black suit queried of the young dictator to be.

          "Naw, Geoffrey, let these kids have fun. This party is a political gig, it's not for me. Hey," Horace turned to one of the guards, "is there a safe place to put all these girls? They seem to have medicated themselves." With a sign from the guard, a detachment of the pleasure ships medical staff removed the girls to the hospital ward.

          "Sorry, Sir. Mr. Holt felt they were the safest companion s for the night. His security concerns yet again overrides his common sense." The unusually tall, fragile looking, Geoffrey replied. "I assured him they were unnecessary. Honestly, I am beginning to think that his motivations were not in your interests."

          "Careful Geoffrey. He's my Dad's pal more than he is Head of Security anymore. Just drop it; it's the safest course of action now." Horace turned his attention to the stage. "So what clown act have we got for tonight?"

          "The captain assured me they are a wonderful group, know as the Galaxy Girls."

          The curtains pulled back and the MC rushed on stage. "Ladies and Gentlemen we have a slight change of plans for tonight's entertainment." Sweat gleams off the MC's forehead as he glances off stage. "So without fu,further ado, I give you a 1990's Old Earth coverband, "Cloud Nine".

*        *        *

     We run onstage in our bright orange pressure suits. As far as Old Earth costumes go, we either look like convicts or astronauts. It's eerie how accurate that is. I'm the lead with an electric guitar, John-Pierre has a bass, Marla a violin, and our drummer is Ralph "The Dog".

          With my guitar slung over my back, I grab the mike from the MC as he scurries off the stage. "Hello party punks!" The crowd roars as the MC initiates the evacuation of the rest of the ship. "Are you ready to tear this place up?" Eager for a good time, the crowd presses forward. "Well get yourself ready, cause we are gonna shred this place up!"

          At my last words, Ralph, starts up a high octane beat on the drums. On the fifth beat the rest of us join in, and the crowd instantly erupts in cheers.

          "That's great it starts with an earthquake, birds and snakes and aeroplanes. Lenny Bruce is not afraid." The throng starts jumping up and down in unison now. I sing through the rest of the first verse; missing words here and there, but nailing every note. "You vitriolic, patriotic, bam, fight, bright light, feeling pretty psyched." I press a button on the back of my weapon, activating the sonic reverberaters that have been installed by my old friend. As I start in on the chorus, we all lower our instruments, and sing. The audience stops their moshing and echo the words back to us. We lift up our arms, and as I sing out the word "fine", make a single motion.

          All around the ship sirens blare in vain, as explosions of literal sound obliterate everything in sight. Before our performance we had managed to place reverb amplifiers in non critical areas in order to control damage. The spectators make a mad dash out of the ballroom. There are more than enough emergency craft to get them all off the ship.

          My crew makes quick work of scurrying to the brats table. His guards, who treated this job like a light vacation, only offer token resistance. That left me charging distance with three men.

          "Sir, I recommend that we retreat before that woman gets here." A tall dark glass of Old Britain speaks to my nemesis' spawn.

          The second turns and yells "You two aren't going anywhere. I'll take care of this..." My foot slams into his jaw before he turns back around to face me. While down on the ground he grabs a knife from his boot, I pull mine from belt. We slash and slice, blades carving skin, and ripping clothes.

          "Who are you!" Grunts my opponent as we grip each other's wrists.

          "My name is Nica jekkame'a Sinmoral." With a wrench I manage to dislocate his right arm, and his knife drops to the floor.

          "Your the brat I didn't get to kill." He lunged with his left hand. I duck underneath him, grabbing his arms as I slip around. Using his own momentum I flip him over.

          "So you are the one who killed my father. There's something I've always wanted to say to you. But seeing as your employer is not here, I can't have all my dreams come true. Instead, I'll take the kid. You get to stay and explain, to your ever so understanding boss, what happened."

City of Wall: Ch11

This chapter has been the most difficult one for me to write. It has gone through 3 revisions. Please, any criticism, suggestions, tips, any feedback would be appreciated.  Thank you.

          "Yes Aunt Helena. I promise to stop taking shortcuts." The woman in the holo screen before me drew her lips up tight. A heart beat passed. She blinked and her lips returned to their usual soft, easy smile.

          "All right, darling. Do you have to go back to work today?" Concern once again clear on her face.

          "No. I was given the rest of the day off. My friend Sonja will be coming by soon." I didn't mention that she wasn't coming to comfort me, but in fact the other way around.

          "Good, good. I'll tell Cecil that you are fine now." Her hand reached for the side of the screen.

          "Helena, wait." The words rushed out of my mouth.

          "Yes?" She looked at me with a puzzled expression.

          "Dr. Cecil told me once that he had many friends in the states."

          "Yes dear. That's how we knew about the job at Freidman's. You were very lucky to qualify for an interview while overseas. Now let me think. I believe there are a few individuals that Cecil wanted you to meet. He'd been hoping to introduce you himself, but his work has been keeping him so busy. He really wanted to be able to visit soon. He misses you greatly dear." This time her eyes had a slight glimmer in them, and her smile was a small, sad thing.

          "Oh I've missed you both every day. Most days are long and boring. I spend my time remembering." Here I could feel the tears brimming at the edges of my eyes. "Today has just been so crazy!" Tears retraced the tracks left earlier today. "I don't know who to trust. I've received weird messages, and a package from some historical society."

          "Historical Society?"

          "Yeah, I was given a package. There was a note it..."

          "Tara, I don't mean to interrupt, but it's imperative. Was it addressed to you?" Her voice was a tad bit higher than normal, as though she were alarmed.

          "No, it was a basic thank you for purchasing type of note."

          "Then who gave it to you?" Now Aunt Helena's voice was returning to normal.

          "A jeweler named Goldberg. He and his daughter..."

          "What did he say when he gave it to you?"

          "He said that it was a key."

          "A key?" Aunt Helena turned her face away from the screen. Turning back to the screen, "Tara, be careful who you tell about that package. Mr. Goldberg was an associate of your uncle's, you can trust him. Cecil had been planning to ask him to speak to you. It seems fate  has arranged introductions for us." She seemed calmer, and was smiling once again.

          Me and my paranoia! I bit my lip as I thought of how to fess up to the fact that I hadn't properly introduced myself to the Goldbergs. Luckily my aunt noticed my nervous habit.

          "Tara," her eyes were squinting at me, "What do you want to tell me?"

          "I've been using an alias. I was unconscious when the paramedics left me in the care of the Goldbergs. I didn't have a chance to explain."

          "So they don't know that you are really Tara Harris? Daughter of the late Howard and Vivian Harris?"

          I couldn't meet her eyes, so I simply shook my head.

          "Does anyone know?" I repeated my actions.

          Silence stretched out between us for quite some time. When I looked back up I was shocked to see Helena Gulf, one of the strongest people I know, crying silently.

          "Oh dear. I'm sorry. I never realized how difficult this must be for you. Fifteen long years. You were just eleven when it happened. Have you really thought of yourself as a Gulf all this time?"She dabbed at the corners of her eye with a tissue when she finished.

          "I don't know. I did think of myself as your niece. You were, are my only family. The rest was half a world away. But being here, in Fort Worth. My father started the building of the domes here. But those were little more that walls when we left for Russia. I just had to distance myself. I need to be a different person."

          "And forget your parents?"

          "Never! I just...just can't connect the past and the present."

          "I, I think I understand. I'm sorry to run, but I need to talk with Cecil. Maybe I can come over, even if he can't. Be strong Tara, I love you."

          "I love you too Aunt Helena." With our goodbyes done I flicked the holo off, and lay down on my bed. It'd be nice to see Uncle Cecil and Aunt Helena again. Maybe I'll get to find out why some historic group means so much to them. Oh that book! Where should I keep it? I don't want it near my ID.I swung up into a seated position and scanned the room. Maybe...

          After getting up from the bed I walked back to the table where the book and its wrapping still sat. Using the tattered brown paper I fashioned a crude book cover. On the spine I scrawled "Journal" in my nigh unreadable script. I placed it on my end table between a dictionary and a worn copy of Asimov's "I Robot". Walking back to the table I gathered up the rest of the packaging material and the note from the HTTPS. I stood study the note for a while. Best bet it to compost it. I won't bother to pulp this like I did my false ID, but I'll stick it in the building's pile this afternoon. I folded up the papers and stuck them in the container, on my counter, provided by the landlords for such material.

          The clock on my microwave now read 3:45. My how time has flown. Too bad most of it has sucked. Sonj will be here before too long. Maybe I'll scare us up some entertainment. I walked back into my closet and went to a different corner than last time. On a shelf, attached to the building's outer wall, was a high-end safe. The safe was a common amenity for level 4 buildings. One of its standard features was that it kept track of when the safe was opened and which items were removed. This, combined the building separate surveillance, made theft a difficult task. In my safe were two old photo albums, and a small wooden case. The case held all my media crystals and their energy converting necklaces.

          "Once Sonj gets here, we'll decide on music or movies."

Cloud Nine

I don't know about you, but its mighty difficult getting a strong signal to broadcast with. Not my problem though, Techie takes care of it for the ship. Though he tells me part of the problem is how we operate. Can I help it if we need to be trailing a pleasure vehicle in stealth in order to piggy back off their signal? I mean if we don't hide our signal, this pretty hide of mine could end up in the hands of the authorities.

          At least this time we were able to hack the Bebop Cowboy Cruise. Now she's towing us on her power.

          I unhook myself from the rewired dentist chair that we use for uplinks. Off to my left are a row of similar chairs, holding my crew. Some are rising just as I did, others stay connected, they have tasks to complete still.

          "Techie, see to it that all the proper personnel head for the bridge in a quart. I'll be in my ready room till then." As I address my trusty engineer it strikes me that he looks like someone just stole his puppy. I know I didn't steal his puppy, so I saunter over and wrap my arms around him. Didn't I mention he was my engineer?

          "Trevor, what is it love?"

          "I'm sorry, Nica. He's not on board. The intel was wrong! It's just his youngest brat and a security squad."

          "His kid?" I let go and begin to think of contingencies. "Get everyone to meet in the war room instead. We got a change of plans on our hands."

          "What about Mad Max and the Girls?"

          "They still have their mission."

*        *        *

          Mad Max is a funny one. While most of the crew take pleasure in traveling about UNI-Net as themselves, he uses a pseudo-identity. I asked him about it once. He told me that he was a man without normalcy, one who had slipped in the abyss of madness.

          "I get the mad part," I mean two thirds of crew wish they had a screw loose, "but your name's not Max. Where'd you get that from?"

          "It rolls off the tongue."

*        *        *

     At the bar of the "Nines" sat a nondescript Caucasian male. His hair was close cropped, and he wore a black biker jacket. An antiquated ballistic projectile weapon slung across the back was the only weapon seen on his person. Odd that he should take the time to code such a thing for the virtual world. To either side of him sat a lovely young girls. The one to the left had skin as fair as porcelain, and hair a dark shade of burgundy, like the deep shadows of the autumn forest. The one to the right had skin the rival the first, except for a smattering of small brown flecks in random places. Her hair was a vibrant hue of copper, like the reflection of flame on polished brass.

          These three companions concentrated their gaze upon the currently empty floor before the bar. In the midst of the rarely vacant space a third girl, whose skin was akin to the seated pair and whose hair was as dark as the void between stars, stood over a rumpled figure on the floor.

          "Is that really all you got? A poor excuse for a assassin you are! My mother could thrash you good, and she lost her leg to a pressure door!"

          "Show him who's boss, May!" The burgundy beauty called.

          "That's right! A sad sack of spit like that don't deserve mercy!" The coppery counterpart hollered. Their male companion continued drinking his ale.

          By now most of the clientele of the bar were adding cat calls of their own. The defeated assassin lay limp on the floor as his opponent began tying his feet together.

          "April, June, ya'll just gonna sit all night, or what?"

          "What." They replied in unison.

          "Max! Make them lazy bones help a girl out." May shook her finger as she spoke.

          "Darlin' you forget. Wrangling that bum is the easy part. Your sisters and I will be extracting valuable data from him. Delicate work it is." Max arose from his stool and sauntered over to the hogtied victim. "We must be cautious. Even though pain can't really be felt by the body plugged into this cyber world, the brain does track all the info being thrown at it. Wouldn't want to over stimulate it, would we. Be a shame to fry his implants." He leaned down to peer at their victims face. "Think of the cortical damage."

          "Wonder if his employer would cover the costs of repair.?" May asked as she began to press her foot into the back if her preys neck.

          "Naw. He didn't achieve his goal. Didn't retrieve any information. He also didn't get away unscathed." June, still seated to the right, countered.

          "Hell, he'll be lucky if he still has a job." April, the oldest of the three girls finished the conversation. With that Mad Max pulled up their quarry and looked over to the bartender.

          "Lancer. The girls and I need a room for the night. Put it on the captain's tab."

          The barkeep nodded and tossed a key through the air. April and June each lifted a leg and helped carry the bound man to a room upstairs.

          May sat at the bar "Might as well enjoy myself until I need to check back. Lancer! Vodka!"

*        *        *

          "Aboard the Bebop Cowboy Cruise a gala is underway. Horace Hawkins, youngest son of Governor Henry Hawkins, is celebrating his 13th birthday. Some low rate performer had been scheduled for the festivities, but I think an appearance by his favorite group, "Cloud Nine" would be better." I gaze at all of my attack squad seated in the war room. "We have some lovely new toys to play with. Suit up, tune up, and lets beam up!"

Welcome to the Ninerverse

          When you come to the "Nines", expect what you'd normally see at a popular watering hole. Crowds expanding towards every doorway, noise buffeting your eardrums, and a cornucopia of smells ranging from the putrid to the musky.

          What you won't expect is the community board, prominently displayed above the main bar. Thanks to the cybernetic implants that let the user maneuver around this particular realm, a steady gaze brings all the gathered info to ones fingertips. For the most part it's a mess. Advertisements, public messages, private ones that someone didn't know how to properly tag, and various announcements. But one corner, only a fourth of the whole board, is very organized. That's the wanted section.

          It's not what you think. It a list of people who've pissed off 2 or more of the larger corporations. I suppose somewhere there's a list of people that Humanity's Governing Body, or whatever it calls itself now, has it in for; but government is always behind on keeping those lists up to date. I once saw a man known as "The Bagdad Bomber". According to a historian I know on the net, that man died before the first settlement wave even took off.

          Currently on the big naughty list you'll find twenty names. Three of them are aliases that the big Co. don't yet know are mine. Five more are in my crew; who each have an alias on the list. The last remaining seven are either rivals or the companies are pretending that I'm not their biggest threat.

          Looking at each name info dump's all the data which the authorities have deemed pertinent to capture of said individuals; along with the reward for bringing them in alive or dead. Course what the authorities deem important, is far more boring that the truth. For instance, I'm wanted for acts of treason against the current Governor of Isle of Van Solaria. I've hacked the link, so that when you gaze upon it, you are redirected. What you see instead is my actual file from the Department of Intelligence. Why all the fuss? Just who am I you wonder.

          I'm The Scarlet Slash, the Killing Shadow of the Yaqui Tribe. You see me sitting front and center, dressed in my signature colors. Red leather pants with black highlighting my thighs, black silk shirt, red silk vest. My red duster hangs by the door, with all the other coats in the joint. Currently my hair is in a 40's do, piled up high and showing off my scar.

          To my right is my first mate, Jean-Pierre de Martin, a tall glass of wound up tension. Even here, where nothing is real and only perceived, he's on guard. To my left if Marla Hendrix, a small well toned woman of fire and brimstone. Throughout the "Nines" are the rest of my crew, getting some R&R, or showing off my newest recruits. Odd girls the three of them are, but that's another story for another day.

          Yes, I know there's a bounty on my head, and of my mates. But you have to catch me physically. For now, let's just have a good time shall we?

          "Barkeep! Another round for me and my crew."