A Long Awaited Return

*Hi readers, your author here.  Life got in the way of this little project, but I seem to be getting it back on course.  This particular entry was interesting.  I had written it earlier as a script and then had to adapt it to this new format, adding in more descriptors and what not.  It definitely was an exercise in how many times I had to write or not write "he said".  It is a dialogue driven scene, and is the beginning of a space opera that I have been concocting for a year or so now.  Enjoy*

It’s been one thousand years since the “War to Preserve Civilization” was successful.  Civilization has been preserved.  Preserved like day old caf in the chiller.  Most everyone lives without ever noticing it, but a few of us see the horror of it all.  The whites a little to white.  The air so clean you feel the sanitizer in your lungs.  They say that the Conclave is the “Light of the Universe”.  That their words are Truth.  Their rule, Supreme, and that the Janissari are the proof.  I was taught, long ago, that the only true light comes from within us.  Some of us recognize this light.  Some of us embrace it.  Others suppress it.  And still there are those who don’t know it dwells within in them and are, unknown to them, waiting for the moment the light bursts through, like water when the dam breaks…

            The bridge of the Felix is very functional.  Large panels of switches and dials.  Displays illuminating the surrounding metal with their halos of multi-colored light.  A very large viewport peering deep into the nothingness of space, filled with the light of stars light-years away.  There are two large chairs, obviously worn with much use, not the best looking seats in the galaxy, but maybe the most comfortable, as far as star ship seats go, at least.    Sitting in those two seats are two of the galaxy’s many residents; one a human, the other a Thoru.  Two races who once swore to destroy one other, but things have changed.

“They’re late.” Says the blue skinned Thoru, bald head crinkling with stress.

“No, you just think they are.” Replies the human.

“They are totally late,” Insists the Thoru, his voice growing more agitated.

“Leo, relax,” says the human, “you’re going to go all murdery on us. Put your feet up.”

“Maybe you’re right Jensen.” says Leo. “Time does vary on different planets.”

”There you go pal, thinking on the bright side.” Smiles Jensen.

”What does the moon have to do with this?”Leo asks, turning his blue head toward Jensen in complete seriousness.

”What?!?”” says Jensen incredulously.

”You know, bright side, dark side, it has two sides.” Explains Leo.

”No no, thinking on the bright side of things - Being Positive.” teaches Jensen.

“Oh. . .right.” Leo says sheepishly.

“ Why is it that when I get abstract you always go concrete?” asks Jensen, “Is it a Thoru thing?”

“No, I think it’s a me thing.” Leo responds, sadly matter of fact.  “I have trouble with the abstract it always eludes me.”

”But aren’t you being abstract right now?” points out Jensen.

“Sorry,” Leo begins,  “I don’t follow. . .”

“What you just said, about having trouble with the abstract and it eluding you.” Interrupts Jensen,  “That is an abstract thought.”

“Is it?” amazes Leo.

”YES!” Jensen screams.

”I don’t know,” Leo states questionably, “is it like there not being air in space?”

“No, that’s. . .”

“Cause if there isn’t any air, how can there be sound?” defends Leo.

“There isn’t sound in space.” Says Jensen flatly.

“But we’re in space.”

“Yes, but. . .”

“And I can hear you.” says the navigator.

“I know, however. .” Jensen starts.

”So there must be sound in space.” Leo says staring Jensen square in the face, unblinking.

”Amazing use of logic, Leo.” Jensen says conceding the argument.

Leo smiles with delight, his bright red tongue sticking out in joy. ”Thank you very much, and they’re late.”

“Yes, they are.” Says Jensen checking the sensors with concern.

”Do you think?”

”Don’t do that!”yells Jensen.

”Do what?”

”You know what you were doing there!”

”I was just sayin’. . .” starts Leo.

”You were trying to bring bad luck here.” Acuses Jensen, very seriously. “Look, like I’ve always said:”

”If you bring it up, it always comes down.” They both say in unison, Jensen much more seriously than Leo.

”Exactly!” emphasizes Jensen.

”So, do we have a backup plan?” asks Leo.

”Well, if it goes south, then we can just dump ‘em. . .” begins Jensen.

Sudden the proximity alarm blares to life.  The panels begin to light up like fireworks.  Two explosions rock the ship, knocking it down hard to the right, the internal gravity takes a moment to compensate, sending the two men bouncing in their seats.  Leo and Jensen both cry out, “WOAH!”

“What the?!” begins Leo.

“Full power to shields!” yells Jensen, “NOW!”

Leo’s hands move over the panels, pressing various buttons and dials, changing screens, and executing many tasks with the precision that only muscle memory can perform. 

“Laying in an escape vector.” Calmly announces the Thoru.

The small vessel springs to life, the engines taking the deeper hue of hyperspace travel.  The Felix takes a quick “S” maneuver dodging several ordinances, but takes a direct hit to the aft.  Jensen throws himself to the rear of the cabin.  Punching buttons and shifting digital screens he takes an assessment of the damage. . . AFT BREACH-SEALED, AFT LANDING GEAR-DISENGAGED, CRITICAL SYSTEMS-FULL POWER. 

“Come on baby, just hang on,” he whispers to himself.  He quickly redirects his aft shields and jumps back into his seat.  “How could they have been on to us?” he asks as he redirects power to the aft shields.

“Tracking device?” suggests Leo.

“Who would bug us?” asks Jensen.

“Ten seconds to vector lock.” Leo states

 “Let’s see if they can hit us on manual.” Says Jensen.

“Like the good ol’ days, boss!” cheers Leo releasing some of the stress that had been building in his chest. 

The Felix begins to take seemingly erratic movements in space, dodging missiles and laser fire.  Whoever the gunner firing upon them may be must be either astounded or impressed, perhaps both.  Jensen smiled to himself cheating death is always a thrill.  As they bank, another barrage of laser fire erupts from the above their ship.

“Another destroyer! We have to recalculate. . . fifteen seconds till vector lock!” yells Leo.

“You had to bring up the negative, Leo, you had too!” accuses Jensen.

“It’s not my fault they could hear my through space!” reacts Leo.

“Maybe they did!” retorts Jensen.

“Hah! So you admit it!  There is sound in space!” cheers Leo, suddenly a green light on the consol burns bright along with a chime. “Sudden lock! PUNCH IT!”

Jensen reaches for the consol in front of him, flips the cover, and mashes the button.  The stars in the viewport elongate as if they are being pulled through water, and then suddenly disappear all together. 

Someone once said traveling at faster than light speeds was like traveling through death.  You can see nothing, you can sense nothing.  The computer tells you on occasion where your course should be taking you, but it is only making educated guesses.  You are everywhere and nowhere all at once.  Most spacers tend to sleep or at least close their viewports during FTL.  Jensen didn’t.  He liked to look long and deep into the darkness. 

Leo took a deep breath and sat back in his chair.  He was reading the screen to see what had caused the sudden lock, it did happen on occasion, but Leo didn’t leave things up to luck like Jensen.  He wanted to know why.  “I’m going to have to dig through all this code.” He groaned.

“What the hell. . .”Jensen said staring out the viewport, staring into nothingness.

“I just really want to know how the sudden lock happened.  If I can do that, then we could shorten the lock every time.  Maybe even sell that!  Think of it Jensen, we could be rich! On the up and up too! The Conclave offers a big reward for tech breakthroughs. . .”

“The Conclave is going to be offering a big reward for information on this ship, Leo.” said Jensen pensively, “but I wasn’t questioning you.  I was questioning why what just happened, happened.   We were running completely dark, as agreed in the contract.  We told no one of this job.  We were running a randomly plotted course to keep any strangers off our backs and away from anyone else for that matter. “

“Coincidence?” suggested Leo, “Right place, right time?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in luck?”

“Coincidence isn’t luck, random occurrences do happen, especially when humans are involved.” defends Leo.

“I don’t think so.” Jensen said quietly “I think there is only one thing in the universe that could have found us.”

Leo’s large eyes widened as his blue flesh turned to a pale-ish blue green. “Why would they be after us?  No smuggling gig should pop up on their radar, not even a little bit.” whispered the Thoru.

Jensen turned to exit the cockpit.  “I think it’s time we started asking some questions of our guests.”

The Prologe to My Steampunk Novel

                “Another Scotch, Dr. Winter?” Anthony was a bright young man, very intuitive, he always new when you wanted another drink. 

                “Just one finger, Anthony, I will be departing soon.” replied Dr. Winter.  He had always liked the Knickerbocker club.  It wasn’t too formal, but the exclusivity kept it quiet, mostly.  Friday and Saturday evenings could get rambunctious, but Dr. Winter generally spent those evenings at home, or in the laboratory.

                “If you don’t mind me asking sir,” began Anthony, “was it business or pleasure?”  “You are referring to my dinner engagement, I take it?” said Winter, “a bit of both.”  “Not to be too forward,” said Anthony, “but I don’t think it went very well.”  “No, my dear boy, unfortunately it did not.” Winter said introspectively.  Anthony was intuitive indeed, or perhaps the conversation wasn’t as subtle as Winter had thought.

                “I’m sure he’ll turn around sir,” Anthony said pouring the pale Islay amber, “he is your friend, after all.” 

                “He is, but even friendships can end.  Thank you Anthony, treat yourself to a cigar tonight.” said Winter, downing the scotch, and rising from the bar.  He felt the pockets of his velvet waistcoat, pulled out a gold timepiece, checked the time, gave it two turns, and nodded to himself.   Ten Thirty, he thought, still a respectable hour.  Looking up at the Imperial Longcase Clock he noticed an inaccuracy: Ten Forty.  ”You can never trust other peoples work.” He mumbled.  The Knickerbocker’s host returned his overcoat, hat, gloves, and cane; the footmen opened the door, and out Dr. Winter went into the cool air of early spring.

                “Sorry, Governor, but Mr. Morgan requested the club’s carriage but a moment ago.” said the groomsman, “if you care to wait. I can summon another, posthaste.” 

Among the upper class the adoption of a British affectation had become common place.  Why use slang and airs of a disenfranchised nobility? Winter thought, Just another way to separate from the hoi polloi. The moneyed individuals were obsessed with all things Imperial.  From the sprawling country estates of the Vanderbilts and Astors, to their palaces crowded along Fifth Ave; the high society was experimenting with a notion of unrestraint and dangerous one-upmanship.  Earlier in the evening he had overheard the rosy J. Pierpont Morgan expressing his dissatisfaction that the Knickerbocker Club had become too common.  Too common! 

But Dr. Winter didn’t hold Mr. Morgan up to a high standard.  During the war, while Winter had been working furiously to end hostilities as quickly as possible, Morgan paid one thousand dollars for a substitute to take his place.  So much pride in himself, reflected Winter, but none for the country that made him rich.

“Never you worry about Mr. Morgan’s carriage young man,” said Winter tipping his hat, “it’s a fine evening for a walk.”  Dr. Winter set his cane to the ground and started taking long strides toward Fifth Ave, turning the corner, he smiled. He had always admired Mrs. Marcellus H. Dodge’s garden.  Some of the winter foliage was waning, and the pungent smell of vegetation flowing over the fence was refreshing.  Dr. Winter took a deep breath and admired the essence of life while the metal tip of his cane pinged against the grey green slate sidewalk.  They may be blowhards he thought, but they hired architectural artists to create these masterpieces. 

“Spare a penny, gov?” said a voice from a pile.  The pile appeared to be a bundle of rags with a hat adorned on top.  Upon closer inspection the pile turned out to be Sykes, a familiar sight to Dr. Winter’s ageing eyes.

“Learning to work different crowds, eh Sykes?” Dr. Winter asked with an eyebrow raised.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin.  “What have you got for me today?” Dr. Winter flipped the coin toward the pile of rags that was known as Sykes.

“Word spreads from the capital that the Confederacy is up to something. . .” began Sykes.

“Bah, nonsense, you know better than to feed me speculation and fear, I want something real, and much more local than a distant threat from our new southern border.”  Said Winter, “make good Sykes.”

“Well, sir,” said Sykes with only a hint of sarcasm, “they say that the plague has returned, worse than ever, downtown.”

“I’ve heard as such, but please don’t refer to it as plague; it is Steam Sickness, nothing else.  Go on.”

“This time, it was spread on purpose, to what end I do not know, but my source found something, something that would be of interest to you.” smiled Sykes, opening up a grubby hand and revealing a token that gleamed in the gaslight.  Winter pulled out his spectacles from his jacket pocket to inspect the item.  Sykes quickly snatched his hand away, “The usual, if you please Doctor.” he said opening up his other hand.

Winter would generally believe he was being taken advantage of, but over the course of several years, Sykes, if that was his real name, had proven to be very reliable in finding information.  The doctor unbuttoned his monogrammed cuff, rolling the sleeve back to reveal a pocket.  Unbuttoning that pocket, he pulled out a roll of notes.  “I’m just glad you come to me with this information first,” said Winter handing over the payment, “and I’d like to continue our arrangement.” 

Sykes winked and handed over the item. “You’ve always paid the correct price, Doctor,” began Sykes, “ol’ Jolly Pierpont and I know the truth, ‘Information can make you rich or get you killed’, luckily for us both, it’s not the latter.”  Sykes turned to leave, “and lucky for you, I like to keep things interesting.”

“What do you mean by that?” asked Winter suspiciously.

“Something is afoot tonight Doctor, wait for the carriage, or better yet summon one of those fancy light-steam contraptions of yours, the night is chill with misdeeds.” With that Sykes walked out of the warm lamplight, and into the foggy dark of Manhattan night. 

Bah, thought Winter, Sykes should know that I can take care of myself.  Opening his gloved fingers the Doctor inspected the trinket that Sykes had given him.  A jeweled pin, almost a broach, oval shaped, and inlaid with gold.  He had seen this symbol before, but where?  A mysterious man, spreading Steam Sickness in the tenements of downtown?  Yes, he thought, that falls into alignment.  He must record this information at once.  A plan was being put into action, he was sure of it.  He felt it in his bones, what was left of them at any rate.

Dr. Winter’s mind was focused on his theory, constantly going over facts in his mind. Where had he seen that symbol before?  His steps rang off the cobblestones of the Manhattan street. His mind was working furiously. Yes, yes, I know it now. Of course!  He knew he recognized the design.  He couldn’t go home tonight, no. He must get to the lab.  He had to record this into his notes and secure the evidence.  Dr. Winter looked around for a carriage to call, but it was too late in the night.  Perhaps there would be a Central Park horse he could rent?  No.  Too late for that as well.  There were a few people walking along the street, taking a pleasant night stroll, a few more in the distance.  Damn that scotch!  Leaving the club he had been relaxed and ready for a stroll, but now?  Now he needed to be in his lab!  This was it!  This was the final piece for which he had been looking! 

So wrapped up in his thoughts, was Dr. Winter, that he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going or where he was.  The street was quiet.  And dark.  Why is it dark?  The doctor looked around.  Two of the gas lamps at the end of the street were lit, but the others had been blown out.  Probably the wind.  It had been quite breezy all day.   He began to walk back toward the intersection from which he came, when he noticed two men watching him.  They were just at the edge of the light.  Both appeared to be young, probably veterans of the War.  Dr. Winter stood his ground and watched the young men in return.  Their coats were large enough to conceal any defining body characteristics.  They wore dark gloves.  The caps they were wearing were pulled down to help disguise the face.  And if they were just passersby, they would turn and go on their way.

No such luck for Dr. Winter.  The men stood in their place.  How long had they been following me?  Winter asked himself.  Did they see me talking to Sykes?  Winter made his decision.  He turned, and began walking through the darkness toward the far intersection.  The men began following him. 

Dr. Winter increased his pace.  The lackeys did the same.  He reached the corner, and noticed that they were now half the distance they had been before.  He couldn’t outrun them on his own.  Not at his age.  But these men did not know who they were chasing.  This was a very different type of chase, and the power of ingenuity was on Dr. Winter’s side.  He reached into his coat pocket, and revealed a small metal cylinder. 

The men following Dr. Winter hesitated.  “Goodnight, gentlemen.” Dr. Winter said to his pursuers, and jammed the cylinder into its slot on the side of his thigh.  Or, more correctly, where Dr. Winter’s thigh should be.  The metal tore through his trousers, revealing a metal leg.

It bore the dullness of galvanization, obviously prepared to withstand the elements.  Clockwork gears articulated back and forth.  It was a masterful piece of engineering, custom designed and built by the Doctor himself.  The cylinder engaged, and with the hiss of air, the compacted steam pressed into the limb.

Dr. Winter had only tested the strength and speed of the steam powered leg in his laboratory.  He had been most proud to create a replacement limb, especially after seeing so many soldiers lose their own to artillery fire during the War.  It would become his crowning achievement..  His other discoveries were hailed as milestones, but once this became more accepted; he would restore life to thousands of men who deserved better.

With the pressure reaching its maximum, Dr. Winter adjusted his weight, and sprung into surprising speed.    He tucked his cane under his arm and hoped that his new velocity, plus the surprise of his escape, will convince his pursuers to be otherwise engaged.

No such luck.  While he is rapidly expanding the distance between them, the two men are still in pursuit.  Persistence is a virtue. Dr. Winter tells himself.  He scans the area as he sprints past houses, street lamps, and closed shops.  The doctor knows that his bottled steam won’t last forever.  He had designed it for emergency situations, but had not thought of what to do after fleeing.  If I turn the corner, I could hide somewhere, he thinks desperately.  Bearing down on his leg, he puts pressure to make the turn off the avenue.

Dr. Winter’s shoe is not designed to take this amount a wear in such a short amount of time.  His mechanical foot tears through the sole, and slips on the fog-slick cobblestones. I should have installed a grip surface, he thinks as he falls to the ground.  His top hat flies off his head, and Dr. Winter’s old bones hit hard upon the cobbles.

“That was a strange thought,” Dr. Winter says to himself, “I would have thought it would have been much more illuminating.”

He is in pain.  Moving slightly, he appears to be intact.  His gloves are quite damaged, but they saved his hands from a similar fate.  Half of his trousers have been shredded by his clockwork leg.  His head is pounding from striking the ground, and he is bleeding from his lip where he bit down upon impact.  Slowly he pulls himself up to a sitting position. 

                The fog begins to clear from his mind, and through the fog of the street he sees his pursuers closing in.  He hauls himself to his feel.  His galvanized leg has been moderately damaged, several gears are loosely spinning and at least one spring has become uncoiled. No more running this night.

“Who’s there!?” he calls out, “I tell you, leave now and you will be unharmed.”  Slowly Dr. Winter pulls out a thin blade, previously hidden inside his cane. The sword’s edge glints with uncanny sharpness.  “Once more, I say, get you gone!”  There is no response from his pursuers.  They are good.  If anyone heard anything, it would be evidence for the constabulary.  No, whatever they mean to do, they won’t say a word.

Dr. Winter takes a defensive stance and raises the blade into position.  His mechanical leg may freeze up at any moment, so he must put himself in the best place possible.  If they came at him with clubs, he could best them.  If they rushed him into a tackle, he would easily dispatch them from this mortal coil.

 A low roar comes down as a dirigible passes over head.  Temporarily distracted, the doctor looks away from the street, upwards toward the sky.  Am I really this far downtown?  he thinks, the cylinder works far better than I anticipated. . .

A shot rings out, and the good doctor collapses in the darkness.  As he falls he flings the painted pin Sykes gave him into the darkness. 

One of the men who had been chasing Dr. Winter returns his pistol to its holster between his jacket and waistcoat.  The other searches Dr. Winter’s body and removes the doctor’s pocket watch while warm blood stains the doctor’s body.  The first man snatches the doctor’s polished top hat off the street.  The two men nod to each other and leave in opposite directions.  They know that the gunshot will stir the neighborhood. 

Rose, Dr. Winter thinks as the world turns to haze, I’ll be with you soon, my dearest.

Comic Book Story

Author's Note: This is a bit sloppy, but will definitely be revisited in the future.  Also, think of this as a comic book.  I have plans to have it drawn into one in the future.  I played with voice this week.  Enjoy.

This is the last time, after this I’m done.

                “Macy! Are you with us? Macy!” The Colonel slammed his fist onto the table.  “Damn it, Macy. Get your head in the game.  The nation needs you.”   “Aye aye, sir.” I grumble, “I pilot the drones into Benghazi, under cover of course, then take out the target.  Mission accomplished.”

                Someone snorted in the back of the room.  I bet it was Allen. “Mr. Allen,” started the Colonel, “is something funny to you?” “No, sir.” Replied Allen.  “I swear to God, if you freaks weren’t so useful I’d kick you all out into the cold.” The Colonel was prone to rants of this kind.  He didn’t much care to be the head of a secret government organization, let alone one that was as effective as MERC; Meta-human Engagement and Reconnaissance Corps.  No this Army officer wanted glory and honor in the field.  He wanted to die in battle, in full view of everyone, so that his sacrifice would be written down in the history books.  What pride. He hates his job, and I hate being here. It’s surprising how effective we are.

                “Sir, why don’t we just Jump a team into Gaddaffi’s headquarters?” I ask, “Wouldn’t that be easier than a stealth drone attack?”  Colonel Strayer smirked, “Good instincts there Jack, but unfortunately James can’t penetrate.” He almost giggled, “His abilities get all limp in the desert.” “When did you get all naughty?” began James Allen, “last time I talked to your wife, she said something of similar effect about you colonel.” Someone near the door spit out their coffee.  Colonel Strayer bounded across the room and grabbed Allen by the collar, “You god damned freaks, I wouldn’t kick you out into the cold, no no Allen, I’ve got something special in mind for you.” Allen stared him straight in the eyes, “And if you did have these damn restraints,” Allen pointed to his neck, “I’d have dropped you off Angel Falls years ago.  It would have been poetic, maybe a little ironic.”

                That one wasn’t bad. Allen always did have a way with words, sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn’t, but it was nice to know that anther MERC shared my sentiment.  Macy reached up and ran his fingers over the almost unnoticeable bulge in his neck.  So small, and yet so controlling.  Some doctor had figured out how to dampen meta-human abilities by placing a chip near the thyroid.  Apparently it had something to do with the endocrine system.  All I know is that I can’t communicate with this chip, maybe it has something to do with its placement close to my brain, or maybe it’s because it’s inside my body. 

                Others had tried to cut out the chip, only to have the small explosive they placed in the back of the skull trigger and kill them.  Land of the free, right.  I’ll figure it out soon enough.  “Are we done here?” I ask, “cause I gotta prepare for this.” “Prepare?” questioned the Colonel, “I thought you tech boys just kinda did it.” “I didn’t know you ever had other techno-kinetics. .  .” “I was just speaking in generalities.” Colonel Strayer covered quickly.  I’ll have to do some more digging.

                My name is Jack Macy, and I can talk to machines.  Well computers mostly.  I’m a member of the black ops group codenamed MERC.  Member, more like prisoner.  My abilities, like most meta-humans, began to manifest at puberty, but since computers were just beginning to be placed in schools, I didn’t recognize my powers till high school.  I was always good with them, programs just seemed to make sense to me.  My teachers were impressed.  They suggested that I go to college to study programming.  Little did they know that I was good with computers because I interfaced with them, not through a keyboard and mouse, but through my mind.  It didn’t take me long to use this for my advantage.  What kid wouldn’t? 

                It really started when the school decided to computerize the grading system.  Susy Boyd was cute.  Really cute. The perfect high school cute.  Blonde hair, green eyes, wore plaid skirts and tight sweaters.  She was in almost all my classes.  I heard her complaining that she was getting a B in trigonometry.  I could fix that.  So the day that grades were due, I said ‘hello’ to the school’s network.  You’d be surprised how much a computer will do for you, as long as you ask politely and directly.  I changed Susy Boyd’s B to an A, and while I was there I thought that the jerk Greg Ertman definitely didn’t deserve to pass English. Not when he bullied poor Mike Fuller into writing his papers for him.  Maybe I shouldn’t have done it, but damn it felt good.

                Chaos erupted the next day.  Had I just changed Susy’s grade, I doubt anyone would have gotten wise.  But Greg Ertman flipped his shit.  His teacher didn’t know what had happened. “It’s those damn computers!” I heard his father yelling in the hall, “This never would have happened if we stuck to the old system!” Some people refuse progress in their lives, they love their luddite ways.  At the time the school board took him seriously, but now people would just laugh at him.  I did then.  In the end Susy got a B and a new system security program was installed on the network.  Luckily for me this one responded just as well to a “Please and thank you” as the rest of the programs do.  ‘I learned a good . Be subtle, and no one will get wise.’

                College was easy, a little too easy. But why drop out when I was having so much fun.  You see, the campus ATMs didn’t have cameras on them.  Mysteriously, every one of them was empty every week, but no accounting mistakes were noticed.  Not until tax season.  By then I had plenty of cash on hand, so the bank never figured it out. Eventually my ATM habits got me caught, but instead of jail, I was offered MERC.  Let me think, secret government team or soap dropping showers?  Easy decision. 

                But now I’ve had enough of hacking sovereign nations’ secrets and guiding drones to kill the opposition.  Yes I am glad that I’m increasing our national security, and yes I am very proud of keeping soldiers alive.  But I don’t have any choice.  I do this, or die.  They never say that explicitly, but having your abilities dampened and an explosive inserted into the back of your brain spells it out pretty clear.  If you try to remove it, bang, if you don’t check in every 24 hours when out on assignment, bang.  Bastards. Anyways, back to the present.

                Walking down the tight corridor of the USS Enterprise, or Mobile Chernobyl, as the Nuke Engineers call it, I could feel them calling to me.  So much tech all around!  I don’t know if they are calling to me, or my senses are reaching out to them, regardless we are aware of each other.  I could improve the network of this ship by 78%.  I could, if I could work with the gloves off, but they don’t even let me use 100% when piloting the drones.  I could interface with them directly, even at 100 miles, but not with this damn chip.  I flirt with the propeller system, but can’t even log in.  There’s a reason James was so quick to anger when Strayer called him impotent.  It’s so much more than that.

                I can imagine how not being able to ‘get it up’ could be frustrating. But that is just one part of who you are, not your most valuable talent. Or if it is your most valuable talent, you’ve probably wasted your life.   This is more like not being able to breath, but not dying, and every now and then getting a desperate gasp.    It’s insulting.  You dream about what you would do if you were unchained.  How much damage could you cause?  With one thought, I could lock up the nuclear reactor until it melts down; taking out the ship, everyone on it, and, if it’s in port, take out a large populace.  Yeah, I could do that, but am I that angry?  No.  Well, not anymore.  I used to be angry.  Now I just want to settle down in a nice mountain town, where I can access the internet, and then funnel an unlimited amount of virtual cash into an off shore account. Once it’s in the account, it’s not virtual anymore, what a glorious age we live in!

                I walk into the control room.  The Marines that had been following me line up next to the door.  Ah yes, I failed to mention that, when the gloves are going to change into mittens, the security gets hyped up.  I imagine that if I went “rogue” I’d be shot in the back.  I sit down in front of the computer panel.  Reaching for the controls, “Okay, I’m ready,” I say into the receiver, “cut me loose.”  “Copy control, you’ll know when to go.” comes the voice from the panel.  I’ll know, yes, it’s on its way.

                The control room has some kind of frequency control that affects the restraint chip.  I’ve tinkered with those controls but got too scared to try to loosen it up.  Ah, there it is. It’s like a drug.  A little bit of my old talent back in the blood stream.  Just a little bit.  Okay computer, “Hello.”  I don’t even see the screen anymore.  Drones, three of them, fully powered, fully loaded, each with a special ordinance load of two Morays, a small rocket, packed with plastic explosive, that could easily take out a house.    Ready for launch? AFFIRMATIVE.  The thrill of networking with all three of these drones through this interface is fantastic.  Imagine having three sets of eyes, and being able to understand and control all three sets as easily as you do your own single set.  Oh yes, this is fun.

                Launching off the ship in the middle of the night, I have the cameras turn to their night settings.  Seeing the world in shades of green and black is interesting.  Things don’t look quite right, but seeing the infrared spectrum is defiantly beyond human.  I’ve heard of an Army lieutenant who had developed this ability, but hadn’t let anyone know about it, until she felt she wasn’t being appreciated enough.  She snuck into her commanding officer’s tent to steal high level information to use as a bargaining chip.  All in the dark, mind you.  The thing about secret documents is that stealing them is treason.  She was offered MERC or death.  She chose the latter. 

                The North African desert sand is beautiful in dark green.  It has cooled off enough from the day, and is in that lower spectrum.  We turn east southeast, that should put us right to the capital.  He’s probably not even there. Maybe I can get Saif. If he’s smart, he’d be in a bunker somewhere.  Okay, status update. POWER LEVEL 65% ALL SYSTEMS OPERATIONAL. Great.  These drones are losing a lot of power, guess we’ll be using the self destruct to take out our targets.  Wouldn’t want any evidence left behind.  BENGHAZI IN SIGHT.  Thank you. My own eyes would barely be able to see Benghazi, even during broad daylight, especially not at this hour.  That’s one of the nice things about tech, it can do things we can’t.  Then I can use that tech to enhance myself, bringing a human aspect to the tech.  It’s a win/win.  All the advantages of the brain plus the advantages of tech.  Wait.

                There is a flash. Searing pain and suddenly nothing.  What was that? Drone Three report. Silence.  Drone two do you see Drone Three? NEGATIVE. Something has taken out Drone Three. “Colonel, something has happened.” I say to the speaker, my voice monotone with focus. “Drone Three is out of commission.”  “We saw that Macy, it wasn’t unexpected, just carry on with One and Two.” Replies the Colonel. Wasn’t unexpected? “Colonel is there something you’re keeping from me?” “Just carry on Macy, that’s an order.”  I hate that shit more than anything else.  “Aye Aye.”

                I reach out and scan the area with my remaining eyes.  Drone Three had been sent ahead at my request to scout.  We are approaching the site now.  Arm Ordinance. AFFIRMATIVE. ORDINANCE ARMED.  I don’t care who you are, blowing up stuff is fun.  We see nothing coming up to where Three disappeared.  Green sand, no movement, no other heat signatures.  In the distance I see signs of a city. ELECTROMAGNETIC INTERFERENCE REGISTERED. What?! ELEC.. . . One ends its transmission suddenly. Flash! Pain! Aahhhh!

                Imagine having an eye plucked out, except the pain isn’t real, it’s all in your brain.  Then again, all pain is only in your brain.  It’s how the human computer interprets electrical signals coming from wherever they come from.  Just because machines don’t have nerves, doesn’t change that fact.  It’s one of the only disadvantages to technokinesis, your brain accepts the interfacing computer as if it was another limb, and therefore a sudden disconnect would be as painful as having your hand suddenly removed.  It sucks.  I guess it’s not a win/win all the time, sometimes it’s a win/loose.

                After a few moments, my mind clears, and I wake up on the cold metal floor of the carrier.  “Sir, are you alright?” asks one of my Marine guards.  He looks really concerned.  I must have screamed pretty loudly. “Sir?” I respond, “My parents were married.”  The Marine cracks a grin.  They love officer jokes.  I get up and prepare to make my way to the Colonel, but surprise surprise, he enters the room on his own. “You’re keeping things from me Strayer.” I start. “I keep things from lots of people Macy, what stopped the drones?” the Colonel interrupts, “did you get a reading?”  “Yeah,” I respond, “Electromagnetic interference. One caught it right before she died.” “It.” “Excuse me?” “Before it,” says the Colonel, “was destroyed. Not she, and it didn’t die.  It was a damned drone Macy.”  “You didn’t feel it.” “Machines don’t feel anything.  You’re projecting.  I can’t have you cracking on me.” The Colonel actually looks concerned for a moment.  This isn’t new to him. “Right.  It.  Like you said.” But he didn’t feel the pain, I did. “What is causing the interference?” I ask.  “We are unsure, but it is most likely what is keeping Jack from Jumping into the city directly.” responds the Colonel, “We’re going to try something different, and quickly.”

                That’s not his style, he’s being pressured by something, and it’s not Libyan rebels.  “An what do you want me to do?”  “Jack is going to Jump you, right to the border of the interference.  If there is anything to recover, you are going to do so.  Destroy what you can’t.” “And if there is trouble?” I ask, “am I allowed to use my abilities?”  “We’ll keep you at your current level.  Take those toys of yours with you, just in case.” Responds the Colonel.

                Those toys are an incarnation of my genius.  They are small radio controlled cars, however they each are armed with a different weaponized device.  Explosives.  Firearms.  Gas.  All sorts of fun.  They are also each equipted with a tiny camera, usually used for surveillance.  I’ve dropped as many as ten at a time and controlled them with ease.  This time I’ll bring more.  Just because I’m cautious though, I pack my Baretta M9.  Sometimes the best way, is the simplest way.  All black fatigues make you feel like a badass.  It’s like in the movies, those guys are just so cool.  Won’t give me much time though.  Sunrise is in 4 hours. 

                I make my way back to the control room, and Jack is waiting by the bulkhead.  “You look nervous.” He says to me, “don’t worry, we won’t meld into one person or anything.”  “Good,” I respond, “I hate your haircut.”  He laughs.  “We won’t be doing this forever partner, let’s just get this done and over with.”  “Agreed.”  We enter the room and the Colonel eyes us.  He’s always suspicious this man, perhaps that’s what his job does to him, or perhaps that’s why he was picked for the job.  “Ladies, I need you back here in four hours.  Once that sun starts to rise, Jump back here immediately.  Am I clear?” says the Colonel, sounding incredibly cliché while doing so.  Jack and I both respond with the rough neck’s favorite, “Crystal, sir.”  Jack winks at me.  His chip must be loosening.  He puts his arms on my shoulders and looks me in the eye.  I just nod to him.

                Jumping is an incredibly strange sensation.  I imagine it’s what being born is like.  It feels like you are being squeezed through this insanely tight space, where you shouldn’t be fitting in the first place.  Then suddenly you are hit by the sights, smells, and sensations of wherever you have just made your way to.  Jack tried to explain it to me once, since he has much more insight on the matter, but it was all Greek to me.  The drones are nowhere to be seen.  That is either a very good thing or a very bad thing.  If they exploded, which was my first instinct, there should be shrapnel everywhere, if they just crashed, they should be intact in the sand.  This is very strange.  James is walking forward very slowly, concentrating. 

                “Here’s the barrier,” James said reaching his hand out into the air, “I can’t Jump past this, whatever it is.”  I decide to walk through it, what could go wrong?  It was a strange sensation.  I could feel the electromagnetism in my skin.  A slight tingle, and then I was clear.  Immediately I could sense something.  It must be a really powerful computer for me to feel it this far away.  Hello. I reached out. I’m waiting.  What was that?  That was no computer.  I definitely reached out to a computer, but a person responded.  Another techno-kinetic?  I’ve never met any others.  I assumed there were, but they must either be dead or covering their tracks really well.  But here?  Now?  This is quite unexpected.

                “James, can you Jump inside the barrier?” I ask.  “Let me give it a try,” he responds walking quickly through the field. “here goes. . .” Jack starts to step forward, and is suddenly 100 yards in the direction he’s was headed, “ . . .looks like it!”  “Alright then, take me to the palace, and wait for my signal.” “What signal?”  “You’ll know it when you see it.”  “Oh, boom. Gotcha.”  We make several Jumps through the desert.  How people have lived here for thousands of years I’ll never know.  The lush mountain green of American is definitely my home.  James grabbed my arm and we set off on a series of Jumps, I’ll never get used to that feeling.  Smaller Jumps are better in stealth situations, so that you can be aware of where you are going, and what you might be up against. 

                As we got closer to Benghazi I could feel the amount of tech.  It wasn’t even close to the Aircraft Carrier we were on moments before, but still so inviting. “That’s the palace.” I said pointing east, “let’s go there.” “Do you want to hack the gate, or just Jump through?” asked James.  “Your so sweet to ask,” I start, “I’d love to open the gate, but there will probably be guards, so Jumping is easier.” “Yeah, I wasn’t going to let you do that anyway,” he responds, “it’s just polite to ask.” Jerk. Jump. Jump. Jump.  No sign of anyone.  That is strange.  This whole job has been strange.  “Let’s get this over with. You come back here when you see the signal.” I tell James.  He salutes and disappears.  I’d never get used to that.  I start down the corridor, pulling out one of my “toy” cars.  It responds to my impulses like a glove.  The corner looks clear.  I follow.

                The security room is up ahead.  I don’t even have to enter the room. It’s so nice to have the volume turned up on my abilities, rather than its usual 2 it’s about a 6.  Hello. Status please. CONTAINMENT FIELD ACTIVE. AIR FILTRATION ACTIVE. DOOR SECURITY DISABLED. CAMERA FEEDS DISABLED. PERSONEL MINIMUL. Why? ALL SECURITY MEASURES AS ORDERED. By whom? ACCESSING. . .ACCESSING. . .UNKNOWN. Unknown.  This is bad, this isn’t right.  This is a. .

                “Trap,” says a voice from behind, “Indeed Jack, I’ve been expecting you.”  I slowly turn to see who has bested me, it’s not all that hard now that I think about it.  We rarely expect anyone to expect us, so any counter measure to meta-humans is looked over as flukes or something else.  This man has dark hair and tan skin.  He has obviously spent some time here in North Africa.  No trace of an accent though, so he’s American.  “I figured the electromagnetic field was set up to stop Jumpers,” I say, “so I didn’t think beyond it.  I really should have.”  “Yes, MERC doesn’t really do a great job at that. Strayer really needs to be given that cushy retirement he’d hate.” The mystery man says.  So he knows about MERC and Strayer, perhaps he was a member at some point.  “You used to be in MERC, I take it?” I ask as I put my hands in my pocket, a defeated gesture.  “I wasn’t just in MERC, my friend, I helped start the damned thing.”  Stranger and stranger.  The dark haired man continued, “you are probably wondering who I am and, most importantly, why I’m not dead.” 

                “Yes, those would be the questions.” I say, “but before those, why is this place deserted?  All the intel suggests otherwise.”  The dark haired man laughs, “My boy, I’ve been in and out of the Enterprise’s systems so many times, I could make it think that the Russians had decided to bomb the US. You’re smarter than that.”  He’s got that right.  I pull out my “toys” and through them into the man’s face.  He laughs as he swats them out of the way.  Thinking I’m going to run for it, he leaps toward the door, right into the sights of my handy Beretta. “Now,” I say strongly, “Who are you?”  He just laughs. “You have three seconds.” I say.  “Three.” The man just chuckles more. “Two.” Sudenly a shot is fired. AHH my leg. I turn, it’s one of my toy cars, it fired it’s single bullet into my leg.  I reach out for them.  “No no, my friend, they are mine now.” The dark haired man states matter of factly.  All 8 of my cars come rolling around, circle me, and arm their weapons. 

                I could be taken out by gas, an explosion, electric shock, or poison.  Why did I make these so effective against myself? “Because you have never fought another Tech.” the man says.  “How did you hear that!?” I demand.  “You were still reaching out to these tiny creations of yours.  Very smart by the way, their design.”  “You can hear me through these machines?”  “I’m in control of them aren’t eye?  Your thoughts are received by them and transmitted to my brain.”  “So what are you going to do now, kill me?” I ask earnestly.  He smiles, “If you wish, but I don’t fight with the gloves on, and neither should you.”

                “What do you mean. . .” I freaze.  Something is happening.  I can feel everything.  My strength has been suddenly and violently unleashed. I can feel the ship in the distance.  The security cameras around the palace’s wall.  A reporter is using his cell phone to access the internet out in a rebel camp. “Yes, that’s right, I’ve cut you loose from MERC’s hold.” The man says, but I ignore him.  Everything is so amazing.  I focus on the ship, Hello. Access engine control. ACCESS GRANTED. Hah,  I could destroy the ship, take out Strayer, MERC, everything.  The amount of power is intoxicating.

                “Yes, use that, hit them for what they did to you.  Cuffing you.  Holding you in bondage.  A slave forever.” The dark man says, “I have set you free.”  No, not the ship, Strayer will get his eventually.  What else is around.  PCs, MACs, some new cars, Drones Two and Three. . . Hello. Status report. ALL SYSTEMS ENABLED.  “How about it Jack?  Want to join me?  Rule the world?” the man asks.  “With whom? Ghadaffi?”  I say.  The man laughs, “Ghadafi was just means to an end.  I knew they would send MERC over here to help move things quickly.  Gas prices are being effected to much. No no.  This was for you.  We’ll free the other techs.  No one could stop all of us.”  “What makes you think I want to help you?” “Well, Jack.  I was hoping you would do it voluntarily, since I just freed you from your chains.  But I could also blow out the back of your brain with that explosive you hate so much. Just take out the ship, it would be a nice gesture.”

                I stand very still. “You want me to murder all those sailors?  That could start World War Three!” “Yes, and in the confusion, we would orchestrate everything from wherever we please.  The internet is a beautiful thing.  Where would you like to go Jack?  The mountains?  I could use some R&R.”  “And if I refuse?”  “Then I’ll kill you and take out the ship anyway. What will it be Jack?  Win/win or loose/loose?”

                I made my decision.  I took a step back, and crushed one of my “toys”.  “AHHHHH!” The dark haired man screamed.  I dove to the ground, just barely escaping the wild attacks from the other tiny tanks.  MERC may be a shitty choice to make, but the weapons training is superb.  I took my time to aim, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.  The shot was loud, especially in these confined halls.  It was hard to tell if I hit him or not.  I waited.  One breath.  Two, and opened my eyes.  As the gas from “toy” three faded I could see clearly.  Blood splattered on the walls was a good sign.  I looked down on my would be master, “It’s not always win/win or loose/loose in this game.” I say to his corpse. 

                There’s no target to hit here anymore, but just because I don’t want to hear about failure from Strayer. . . Arm Morays. ARMED. Detonate. AFFIRMATIVE. There is a large explosion on the other side of the palace.  I grab my tiny friends, even the crushed one, and hustle back to my exit point.   Pop, James is there right on time.  “Alright, ATM, nice signal.” He says to me smiling.  I stare at him for a minute.  Reaching out with full power ‘Hello’ ACCESS GRANTED. Deactivate. AFFIRMATIVE.  James looks at me strangely, then his eyes open wide.  He reaches up and touches his neck.  “How did you. . “ he begins to ask, I interrupt “Nevermind, where would you like to go?”  “I got a few ideas.” James says as he puts his arm around my shoulder.