Creech Duncan looked over the mission and scowled. This was an ordinary milk run, nothing to get nerved over, but that didn’t stop him from launching his breakfast over the side of the airship. He always did. In the superstitious part of his mind, that meant he would be coming back from this one. In the part of his mind that hated vomiting, it meant that if he had to do this job much longer, he would put in for a desk job rather than losing a good portion of his nutrients to the birds and wind.
Their last mission had not been so easy. Some Antag called The Rushing Wind had leveled most of a forest in Russia before they’d contained him. Fortunately, it was in an area where no one had lived for hundreds of years.
He wiped his mouth with a fresh handkerchief and went to freshen up. As he washed his hands he thought about retirement. It was looming closer every day and it frightened him. What would he do with his time? Could he ever truly be a civilian again after twenty years of service?
He stepped into the Ready Room. Cappy was sitting at her desk studying a picture of a man wearing an ornate mask. She did not seem to notice that Creech had entered the room. Creech found some work for himself over at his desk. He made a show of being noisy to try to get Cap’s attention.
Cappy had been unusually silent before missions lately, and that was not okay. Usually, she had a word of encouragement for the soldiers under her command. Every mission had a new speech, even the possibly boring ones, especially the possibly boring ones. Because when you were working Delta Squad it meant a level of prestige that most soldiers had never thought they could aspire themselves to. The men needed a lighthouse to guide them. But she was lost in thought. She seemed to be happy to emulate the rocks that would wreck their little dinghy of a unit if she did not do some goddamn shining with her words.
Creech cleared his throat. Cappy looked at him as if she were expecting to find something there on his face. Not finding anything, she looked down.
“Something on your mind, Creech?”
“I was just wondering if you had something to say to the crew. I know I always liked to hear a few words from my superior officer before mission go. It always got me ready.”
“Would that be before or after you’d lost your breakfast?”
Creech gaped for a moment as if to ask ‘how could you say such a thing?’, before bursting into a laughing fit. Cappy joined him. They had been through the war together. There was no topic off limits for jokes to either of them, which suited Creech just fine. Having had a stale humorless commander through most of his earlier career had made him leery of anyone who did not laugh, appropriate or not.
“Usually right after. There’s nothing like inspirational words to nourish a body.”
“Sure, sure, I’ve got that. Tell me something, Creech, have you dealt with this Ayres character before? The name sounds so familiar, but I just can’t place him. Also the dossier has no picture of his face. There’s just that stupid mask.”
“That mask probably cost him a cool two thousand. Look at all of those delicate features. That set him back some.”
“I don’t care if it is made of imported ground saber horn, it’s horrible and stupid. It’s not just the mask that bothers me. He’s wearing a mask, fine. Why is he still going by his real name? What is he hiding?”
“Maybe he was injured in the war. There’s no way to know at this point. He’s an Antag, he goes where power can be obtained. That’s all we need to know. If Radcliffe does his job, all we have to do is walk in, slap cuffs on Ayres, and get everyone back to civilization. It doesn’t have to be difficult.”
“You know better than that. Any number of things can go wrong in there. I don’t risk my people on maybe. Not now, not ever.”
“Relax. Radcliffe is a professional. I know that he’s done over twenty of these things.”
“You’re right, Creech. It’s just that Antag’s name. I just wish I could place it. It’s like I know it, in the edge of my brain, but it’s so slippery. I can’t pick it up and look at it.”
“You’ll get it, Cap. In the meantime, let’s go give those guys something to think about.”
Cappy nodded. She appreciated that Creech thought her pep talks were necessary, but lately she saw little point to them. Creech thought every mission was different. That may have been true just after The Competition had started, but more often than not, it seemed that they only got to do cleanup now. Some of the newspapers had taken to calling them the Denouement Squad. Fortunately, most people did not get the joke.
‘Let them laugh,’ she thought, ‘I’m just a few years away from early retirement. Maybe then I’ll get into the adventuring business myself. I didn’t make Captain at 26 on my looks.’
“Okay. I’m ready. Let’s get on the bird.”
Creech saluted. Cap didn’t like when he did that, but he was an old soldier. It would take a long time before he could break himself of it.
They walked from the ready room out onto the deck of the airship where the rest of the squad was waiting for them in formation. Cappy thought about it for a few seconds and then just launched into it.
“Attention! We are about to debark for the mission site. I need all of you to keep your collective head on a swivel. I know this job sounds like low hanging fruit. Hell, it has been for a while, but we are Delta Squad, dammit! We’re the people that can handle whatever is thrown at us! It’s up to every one of you to make sure this is another success in our folder. You are responsible for that. Let’s make it another win for Delta, people! Load up and let’s move!”
As one, Delta Squad grunted and made a beeline for the whirlybird. Cappy felt good about that one. Motivating the men seemed to be giving her a lift. She put Ayres out of her mind then and stepped into the command chair of the aircraft.
They were able to touch down a little under a hundred feet from the entrance to Marcurio’s cave. Creech thanked the twin gods of intel and logistics. He hurried the troops out of the chopper and made them check their equipment again. There was no excuse, in Creech’s mind, for mission failure due to controllable factors. Once the squad had checked everything, they lined up in marching formation.
“They look good, Cap. We’re ready to move out.”
“Good work, Creech. Let’s go earn our money.”
Delta moved through the snow quickly. Within moments they gained the entrance. Once they were in, Creech took a few moments to examine the first lock. He didn’t understand it. He recognized the odd letter here or there, but the rest were just symbols carved in to stone. The squad moved on without comment.
The next room was a dump. Shards of broken pottery were everywhere. In the center of the room an urn rested on a small pedestal. Creech walked over to it and lifted the urn slightly. Both doors leading out of the room started to close. He placed it back on the pedestal and the doors opened once more.
“Clever.”
“Leave the trap investigation for now, Creech. I just want to get this done. You’ll have plenty of time for your hobby after that.”
“Sorry, Cap, I let my curiosity get the better of me.”
“Just stay on your toes, we don’t have time to scrape you off the ceiling.”
Creech nodded and went to the next door. What he saw there made him gasp. The beauty of the carvings and brass were a stark contrast to the broken man half in the door. Hardigan was trying to pull himself through the third entrance with his arms. Blood was dribbling from his mouth. His legs were trailing behind him pathetically. An expression of excruciating pain wracked his face.
“Balmforth! Austen! Front and center! Get this man stabilized.”
Two soldiers stepped forward and started to assemble a stretcher. Within a minute, they had Hardigan’s neck in a brace and jammed a spike of morphine in his neck. Hardigan faded quickly into unconsciousness.
Balmforth did not like his patient’s chances for ever walking again. It was likely the man’s back was broken. There was no way to tell until they’d gotten him into the airship’s sick bay.
“Do we have an ID on this one, Creech?”
Creech pulled the mission dossier from his pack. He flipped through it quickly until he found a picture of the injured man. He skimmed over the information quickly.
“This is Robert Hardigan. He’s a nasty piece of work. Did some time for pederasty back five years ago. He got into doing henchman work right out of prison.”
“Ugh. Huddle up, everybody. We don’t know what happened to this man. Maybe Ayres got tired of this one. Maybe Radcliffe went rogue. What we do know is that this man has been seriously injured. I need you to have your weapons ready. This was not in the lesson plan. Balmforth and Austen get to babysit our friend here. The rest of you need to make me proud again today.”
Creech sneaked a peek into the room. He was not prepared for what he saw there. Ayres was on the ground, no discernible cause. Radcliffe was crouched behind cover holding a phaser and a red blur moved through the room with alarming speed. Suddenly, the blur stopped moving. He saw a boy where the blur stopped. The boy who, looked to be Radcliffe’s sidekick, fell in a heap next to Ayres. Creech signaled all clear and Delta moved into the chamber.
Wednesday, January 2, 2013
Luminosity
While Ayres and Jeremiah were having Palaver, Radcliffe was struggling and really starting to worry. The machine he’d dragged halfway across the country, their only hope to retrieve victory from that scoundrel Ayres was not responding at all. It was blinking softly in the gloom, but there was no response at all when he depressed the activation switch. He cursed and turned it over so he could see the small access hatch.
There was a tiny inset screw on the back that would allow access to the inner workings. Taking out his pocket tool set, he made short work of the screw and opened the hatch. What he found there made him curse again. In the device that Godfrey had called the Restore Button, was the tracking device that Ayres had told him about. There was a mess of wires connected to it that led into the power source and off to the deceptive lights lining the handle. Other than the wires and tracking device there was an assortment of small lead weights inside the device.
Radcliffe tried to calm himself. There was no use in panic. It never helps. He shook the weights free of the Restore Button and tried to assess the situation. The weights fell in a scatter across the tiles making soft clacking noises as they landed. Other than the weights, there were several tubes lined up on a small circuit board. Nothing useful there. He turned his attention back to the tracking device. It was a small grey device that thrummed softly in his hand.he turned it over and found a small access hatch like the one on the Restore Button. He used the screwdriver once more and was faced with a small battery and more circuitry. Nothing useful there, at least not seemingly so.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the phaser he’d thrown. He reached for it and heard Jeremiah’s voice. The boy sounded strained. He’d had no childhood to speak of. He’d never known his father. Radcliffe vowed to make these things up to the young man. That would have to wait until after he’d pulled their skins from the fire.
He pulled the gun towards himself and examined it closely. Another hatch faced him. Hatches upon hatches upon hatches. Radcliffe sighed and was thankful that this was just a sliding door that opened to the battery and internals. The battery matched the one he had just pulled from the tracking unit. Radcliffe thanked his luck and detached it from the weapon. Then he picked up the Restore Button and placed the depleted battery under it. Then he took the battery from the homing device. Hopefully its trip across the world from Monmouth had not been too taxing.
Radcliffe jammed the battery into the energy weapon and waited for it to acknowledge the power it now had. It hummed a happy little boot up tune and went through the safety checks to make sure it was ready for use. Within thirty seconds the weapon was ready and the green power light blinked steadily. Things were now looking up for them both. Radcliffe stole a peek over his cover and saw Jeremiah sitting palaver with Ayres.
Curious, he crawled over to listen to them. He tried to make sure to stay out of Hardigan’s line of vision. Did Jeremiah just call Ayres ‘father’? What had they been talking about while he’d been occupied? Radcliffe couldn’t see Jeremiah’s face, but the young man tensed considerably when Ayres casually mentioned hunting down the boy’s father and killing him.
Radcliffe remembered that there had been a lot of bad blood passed between Ayres and the elder Rickets. All of it had to do with the war, more specifically the things that the Grokols had made them do. People everywhere wished that the Grokols had never discovered this planet. The superior advancement of technology was a consolation prize at best. What good was a time machine if the people who used it were possibly broken? What good was a phaser if you had no hope?
Radcliffe shrugged off this bit of reverie. Where would that line of thinking get him right now? He tried to regain focus. This was not about the war or fathers. It was the fate of the world. The game would never be over while Radcliffe still lived and had the strength to fight evil.
Palaver ended, Ayres looked down at Jeremiah and laughed. He turned toward the mirror. It was time to spring into action. He looked down to make sure the safety was not engaged. It was, so he slid the switch over to live fire and leveled his aim at the henchman. He was ready to make his big move. All he had to do was fire a warning shot to get their attention. It was then that Radcliffe heard a scream, but it was unlike anything he’d ever heard before. It was primal and guttural, a terrible ululation that echoed through the cavern and left Radcliffe frozen.
Jeremiah felt as if his heart was going to explode. His throat was raw. He did not recognize that he had just screamed. He only saw the man who had pretended to be his father stand up and dust himself off as casually as someone who had just been sitting cross legged possibly could.
His heart was thumping hard against his rib cage. His blood was rushing through his ears. He felt hot. Somehow he was standing. He felt the rage return to him now. It started small in the pit of his belly then spread up into his torso and out through his limbs. It felt like he was an overly ripe melon left to rot in the sun and at any moment, he would explode if he did not use this energy inside of him. Somewhere he heard a gasp. It did not matter. Jeremiah moved. He had of course moved before in his young life, but now he felt as if he had become motion.
He willed himself at Ayres, and there he was, faster than he’d ever imagined. Ayres had a split second to register Jeremiah was now standing so close to him that he could smell his breath. It was rife with beef jerky.
Jeremiah’s fist met Ayres’ cheek with power and speed. Pain flared throughout his face. Consciousness flitted out like a rolling brown out. Somehow he was able to stay awake, but he was not counting it in his favor at that moment.
Hardigan saw Jeremiah stand and it frightened him. With the skills he had learned in his soldiering days the gun was in his hand and he’d squeezed the trigger, aiming for the young man’s leg. Within the space of that time, Jeremiah had gone. The bullet struck home into the ground. Hardigan looked around wildly trying to find his target again. All he saw was a red blur almost hovering in front of the boss. Hardigan turned the gun to the blur and worried he might hit the wrong person.
Jeremiah heard a faint popping sound coming from his left. He turned his head and saw that Hardigan had pulled his gun and had aimed it where Jeremiah had been standing a second and a half ago. He’d already released one shot. It travelled in a tight spiral into the empty space. Jeremiah marveled at how slow it seemed to him. He held Ayres still and smacked his face twice. He wanted him to feel every second of this. The bullet crashed into the ground, cracking the stone down there. Jeremiah punched him in the gut.
Ayres heard throaty roars each time the open hand struck his face. It was like a whip smacking him. The next thing he knew there was a force pushing into his stomach and all of the air in his lungs exploded from him at once. He felt his legs go out from under him. Gravity claimed him, and seconds later, as his head struck the ground, he lost consciousness.
Jeremiah turned to Hardigan. He became motion again. In the instant it took to cross the distance between them, Hardigan’s finger tightened on the trigger. The bullet exploded out of the gun barrel. Jeremiah watched it come towards him and then gently sidestepped it. He was on Hardigan a second later, grabbing the still how barrel and plucking it from the henchman. The flesh of his fingers was so hot that it barely registered the change in temperature. He threw it across the room. It landed with a clatter in between Hades’ feet.
Before Hardigan had a chance to gulp, Jeremiah was on him. The blow to the stomach had worked so well with Ayres, that he decided to let Hardigan have one. Punching was something new to Jeremiah. Radcliffe had usually handled the fisticuffs unless there was more than he could handle himself. Jeremiah was accustomed to watching from the sidelines. This was more work than he had thought it would be.
Jeremiah grabbed the henchman by the collar and shook him. Hardigan’s breath was whooshing out. Jeremiah felt disgust at the sight of this man and decided to fling him across the room. He didn’t know if it was possible for him, but he was going to try. He got the man swinging and, within seconds, Hardigan was flying across the room.
Radcliffe ducked as Hardigan flew past him. The phaser dropped from his fingers and discharged into the doorway. His mouth hung open in shock. His sidekick had just subdued his most dangerous villain.
Hardigan landed with a wet smack against the carved rock doorjamb. When he hit he could feel several bones snap against the stone surface. He was sure that he would die. There was no medical help for miles. His world was now a bleary jarred jumble of lights. He prayed for a miracle and tried to move his foot. It remained motionless. Hardigan wailed and hoped for a quick death.
There was a tiny inset screw on the back that would allow access to the inner workings. Taking out his pocket tool set, he made short work of the screw and opened the hatch. What he found there made him curse again. In the device that Godfrey had called the Restore Button, was the tracking device that Ayres had told him about. There was a mess of wires connected to it that led into the power source and off to the deceptive lights lining the handle. Other than the wires and tracking device there was an assortment of small lead weights inside the device.
Radcliffe tried to calm himself. There was no use in panic. It never helps. He shook the weights free of the Restore Button and tried to assess the situation. The weights fell in a scatter across the tiles making soft clacking noises as they landed. Other than the weights, there were several tubes lined up on a small circuit board. Nothing useful there. He turned his attention back to the tracking device. It was a small grey device that thrummed softly in his hand.he turned it over and found a small access hatch like the one on the Restore Button. He used the screwdriver once more and was faced with a small battery and more circuitry. Nothing useful there, at least not seemingly so.
Out of the corner of his eye he spotted the phaser he’d thrown. He reached for it and heard Jeremiah’s voice. The boy sounded strained. He’d had no childhood to speak of. He’d never known his father. Radcliffe vowed to make these things up to the young man. That would have to wait until after he’d pulled their skins from the fire.
He pulled the gun towards himself and examined it closely. Another hatch faced him. Hatches upon hatches upon hatches. Radcliffe sighed and was thankful that this was just a sliding door that opened to the battery and internals. The battery matched the one he had just pulled from the tracking unit. Radcliffe thanked his luck and detached it from the weapon. Then he picked up the Restore Button and placed the depleted battery under it. Then he took the battery from the homing device. Hopefully its trip across the world from Monmouth had not been too taxing.
Radcliffe jammed the battery into the energy weapon and waited for it to acknowledge the power it now had. It hummed a happy little boot up tune and went through the safety checks to make sure it was ready for use. Within thirty seconds the weapon was ready and the green power light blinked steadily. Things were now looking up for them both. Radcliffe stole a peek over his cover and saw Jeremiah sitting palaver with Ayres.
Curious, he crawled over to listen to them. He tried to make sure to stay out of Hardigan’s line of vision. Did Jeremiah just call Ayres ‘father’? What had they been talking about while he’d been occupied? Radcliffe couldn’t see Jeremiah’s face, but the young man tensed considerably when Ayres casually mentioned hunting down the boy’s father and killing him.
Radcliffe remembered that there had been a lot of bad blood passed between Ayres and the elder Rickets. All of it had to do with the war, more specifically the things that the Grokols had made them do. People everywhere wished that the Grokols had never discovered this planet. The superior advancement of technology was a consolation prize at best. What good was a time machine if the people who used it were possibly broken? What good was a phaser if you had no hope?
Radcliffe shrugged off this bit of reverie. Where would that line of thinking get him right now? He tried to regain focus. This was not about the war or fathers. It was the fate of the world. The game would never be over while Radcliffe still lived and had the strength to fight evil.
Palaver ended, Ayres looked down at Jeremiah and laughed. He turned toward the mirror. It was time to spring into action. He looked down to make sure the safety was not engaged. It was, so he slid the switch over to live fire and leveled his aim at the henchman. He was ready to make his big move. All he had to do was fire a warning shot to get their attention. It was then that Radcliffe heard a scream, but it was unlike anything he’d ever heard before. It was primal and guttural, a terrible ululation that echoed through the cavern and left Radcliffe frozen.
Jeremiah felt as if his heart was going to explode. His throat was raw. He did not recognize that he had just screamed. He only saw the man who had pretended to be his father stand up and dust himself off as casually as someone who had just been sitting cross legged possibly could.
His heart was thumping hard against his rib cage. His blood was rushing through his ears. He felt hot. Somehow he was standing. He felt the rage return to him now. It started small in the pit of his belly then spread up into his torso and out through his limbs. It felt like he was an overly ripe melon left to rot in the sun and at any moment, he would explode if he did not use this energy inside of him. Somewhere he heard a gasp. It did not matter. Jeremiah moved. He had of course moved before in his young life, but now he felt as if he had become motion.
He willed himself at Ayres, and there he was, faster than he’d ever imagined. Ayres had a split second to register Jeremiah was now standing so close to him that he could smell his breath. It was rife with beef jerky.
Jeremiah’s fist met Ayres’ cheek with power and speed. Pain flared throughout his face. Consciousness flitted out like a rolling brown out. Somehow he was able to stay awake, but he was not counting it in his favor at that moment.
Hardigan saw Jeremiah stand and it frightened him. With the skills he had learned in his soldiering days the gun was in his hand and he’d squeezed the trigger, aiming for the young man’s leg. Within the space of that time, Jeremiah had gone. The bullet struck home into the ground. Hardigan looked around wildly trying to find his target again. All he saw was a red blur almost hovering in front of the boss. Hardigan turned the gun to the blur and worried he might hit the wrong person.
Jeremiah heard a faint popping sound coming from his left. He turned his head and saw that Hardigan had pulled his gun and had aimed it where Jeremiah had been standing a second and a half ago. He’d already released one shot. It travelled in a tight spiral into the empty space. Jeremiah marveled at how slow it seemed to him. He held Ayres still and smacked his face twice. He wanted him to feel every second of this. The bullet crashed into the ground, cracking the stone down there. Jeremiah punched him in the gut.
Ayres heard throaty roars each time the open hand struck his face. It was like a whip smacking him. The next thing he knew there was a force pushing into his stomach and all of the air in his lungs exploded from him at once. He felt his legs go out from under him. Gravity claimed him, and seconds later, as his head struck the ground, he lost consciousness.
Jeremiah turned to Hardigan. He became motion again. In the instant it took to cross the distance between them, Hardigan’s finger tightened on the trigger. The bullet exploded out of the gun barrel. Jeremiah watched it come towards him and then gently sidestepped it. He was on Hardigan a second later, grabbing the still how barrel and plucking it from the henchman. The flesh of his fingers was so hot that it barely registered the change in temperature. He threw it across the room. It landed with a clatter in between Hades’ feet.
Before Hardigan had a chance to gulp, Jeremiah was on him. The blow to the stomach had worked so well with Ayres, that he decided to let Hardigan have one. Punching was something new to Jeremiah. Radcliffe had usually handled the fisticuffs unless there was more than he could handle himself. Jeremiah was accustomed to watching from the sidelines. This was more work than he had thought it would be.
Jeremiah grabbed the henchman by the collar and shook him. Hardigan’s breath was whooshing out. Jeremiah felt disgust at the sight of this man and decided to fling him across the room. He didn’t know if it was possible for him, but he was going to try. He got the man swinging and, within seconds, Hardigan was flying across the room.
Radcliffe ducked as Hardigan flew past him. The phaser dropped from his fingers and discharged into the doorway. His mouth hung open in shock. His sidekick had just subdued his most dangerous villain.
Hardigan landed with a wet smack against the carved rock doorjamb. When he hit he could feel several bones snap against the stone surface. He was sure that he would die. There was no medical help for miles. His world was now a bleary jarred jumble of lights. He prayed for a miracle and tried to move his foot. It remained motionless. Hardigan wailed and hoped for a quick death.
Palaver
Jeremiah looked at Ayres and thought he would vomit. The man who had chased Radcliffe and himself from one side of the world to the other was claiming to be his father. It was a lot to bear. What if this man, this personification of all the things that Radcliffe had taught him to abhor was telling the truth? Would he have to give up his role as an adventurer’s aide? Could he persuade Ayres to turn over a new leaf?
“Jeremiah, come give your father a hug. It has been so long.”
“Ayres, what are you trying to pull? If I come over there I go from being a hostage to what? A henchman? A corpse?”
“Jeremiah, you injure me. You think that I would cause harm to my own son? I am not a monster. I am merely a man who wants to reunite with you.”
Jeremiah found himself somewhat moved by Ayres’ plea, but remained unconvinced. There was something about Ayres that put him ill at ease, aside from the ghastly mask he always wore, his whim-some murderousness, and his rumored casual sodomy. No, Ayres had a reputation as a cheat, a liar, a charlatan. If you were dealing with him, the only thing you could be sure of was that he would step over you to get to his goal. If you were his goal, you were in danger.
“Ayres, you are a man who would strangle a babe in its mothers arms for the privilege of bragging about the deed. Do you really think that I would just believe you without any sort of proof? Your pleas of injury and harm only cement the big bad wolf you strut the world as.”
“I see that you have inherited my innate sense of logic. What a chase you’re leading, Jeremiah! Fine. Let us palaver together in the old way. Have a seat, my young man.”
With this, Ayres swept past Jeremiah into the wider area. He sat cross legged on the ground and bid Jeremiah to sit across from him. Ayres swept his vision across the room and found Radcliffe crawling towards his dropped device.
‘What a foolish man I have chosen as an adversary,’ Ayres thought, ‘an overgrown fraternity boy and a whelp with too much cynicism for his own good. What good will the the machine do him now? Even if it worked it would not help him put this cat back into its skin. I have won. The only thing left is to use the mirror. Corrupting the sidekick will be an additional knife in Radcliffe’s back.’
Jeremiah hesitated for a moment and stepped over to the place that Ayres designated. He sat cross legged to ape the position Ayres had assumed. The palaver protocols were clear. Anyone may call for a palaver to resolve a finer point of the goals. During such time the game would be suspended, even if the authorities of the game or their duly appointed representatives arrived. Palaver took priority. No weapons were allowed during such a session so Ayres gave Hardigan a look. The henchman lowered the gun slowly and switched on the safety before placing it in his pocket.
“Palaver, my son. We must palaver together and resolve our dilemma.”
“Me being your son is the dilemma. I do not believe you. You have put forth no proof to your claim. I see no reason to believe you.”
Ayres twirled his fingers at this as if they had been through this many times before. Jeremiah felt his breath stop then gather once again. The villain was trying to put him ill at ease in order to push him into a state of agitation. His leg throbbed as in response to his mental state. He could feel whatever had splashed into his wounds begin coursing through his body. There was nothing he could do about that right now. Palaver took precedence.
“You are my son. I will do my best to prove that to you. I give you my token to show my earnestness in this endeavor.”
At this Ayres took his insignia from his great cloak and offered it to Jeremiah. The young man held out his hand and Ayres let it drop into Jeremiah’s hand. It fell with a dull thud and the exposed metal still felt like the chill of the winter wind still raging outside the cave.
“Radcliffe is still trying to activate the device isn’t he?”
Jeremiah just stared at Ayres blankly.
“Really, Jeremiah, it isn’t difficult to work out. I’m afraid he won’t be successful. It is the only reason I haven’t sent Hardigan after him. The key elements that make it work are back at Monmouth. What he’s trying to make work is a mostly empty husk with my tracking device installed within.”
“Do you ever play fairly? I know that it is your job as a villain to make things difficult for us, but why do you play so far outside of the rules?”
“To me, the rules are a suggestion. I always follow the rough outline, but the fine lines are blurry. I don’t care about them, so they mean that much less to me. It is not a fair life that we were born into, Jeremiah. You would do well to remember that.”
“I know that life is not fair, but this. This was set up to be as fair as possible to all parties. Why have rules? Why have anything but chaos if they aren’t followed?”
“Don’t you see? I play the part of chaos. I am the ruiner of lives. It is the part I play. Your part, like it or not, is to keep Radcliffe from becoming me. You serve as reminder to him that innocence is always in peril and it is his job, no, his duty to protect that. You are his balance, and in turn, I serve as the balance to you both. I have to be ruthless because it is the role I play. The power I gain supplements me. It is the only way that this truly works.”
“Couldn’t you rise above this farce and become better than a villain? If I am your son, as you say, then you must not be completely evil. I am not evil, so this must be a choice that you made at some point in your life. Even the Red Mist remade himself into a hero. Surely there must be some good in you.”
“I would be lying if I said that I had not considered this. I have had with me a hero’s heart for quite some time. I just don’t know how to make the transition. It’s not an easy road, Jeremiah. For one such as myself, even the slightest misstep on the path to good can lead to expulsion from the Competition. I have no other career options. This is my life.”
Jeremiah thought about this for a minute. He opened his mouth as if to respond, but Ayres held up his hand. Jeremiah closed his mouth.
“There is not one thing that makes me who I am. I am a product of my experiences. But, if I could go back to the one moment that drove me down this path, I would choose my participation in the war. I did things there, I was made to do things there, that no one should ever have to do. We lost an entire generation of men and women in the war against the Grokols.”
“That may be so, but there are plenty of people who fought in that war that took it to heart. They aren’t villains. Radcliffe was in the war. The fact that there is a possibility to go back in time to fix things makes your argument invalid. There is no reason, save for the game, that explains the fate that you’ve chosen for yourself.”
“That is not actually possible. When the war looked like it would be won by the Grokols for certain they erected a time barrier around those key months when they put so many of us against each other. I would have already made that change if it were possible. You speak with intelligence beyond your years, but there is more to the situation than is readily visible to you. The aliens had machines that patterned human minds to their will. Our scientists worked hard to remove those patterns, but there was only so much they could do. Some base urges remain.”
“You have said a lot. I’m sorry that happened to you. Have you thought about trying other means?”
“You mean magic.”
“Yes. I guess I do. It sounds a little silly to say it out loud, but magic.”
“Please. Don’t you think I’ve tried that? What do you think I hope to accomplish trying to win artifacts? Your naivete is only so charming before it becomes tiresome.”
“Okay, I hadn’t thought of that. It makes sense, but we’re back where we started. I don’t know that you’re my father. You’ve just talked about why you’re this way, leaving out the reason for this palaver.”
Ayres nodded. Then he reached into his shirt and pulled out a necklace with a small medallion hanging from it. He held it out as if this were the only answer that mattered. Jeremiah held his hand out for the bauble and Ayres dropped it. Jeremiah then noticed that it was a locket. He opened it with shaking fingers to reveal two photographs within. One of his mother and one of him as a small child. He had carried his mother’s picture for all of these years. Jeremiah choked back a sob of surprise and looked over at the other man.
“You. You weren’t lying. You are my father. “
“Yes. Now you see why I need to obtain control of this mirror. I can cure myself, son. I can be the man I used to be. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes. I do. I’m sorry I doubted you, father. Please use the mirror. I won’t try to stop you.”
Ayres stood and walked over to the pew where he had laid the object. He looked back to Jeremiah as if in hesitation. Then he whispered something to Hardigan. The henchman smiled and pulled the gun from his jacket.
“Thank you for helping me win the competition, Jeremiah. I mean, I’d already won, but corrupting you was just so delicious. It also gave me so many points. There are two things I should tell you, though. One, the Grokols patterns could only work with things that are already there. Two, of course I’m not your father. I stole this from him after I thought I’d killed him. I will, of course, find and kill him as soon as I leave here. Quite helpful to discover that he’s still alive out there somewhere. As he takes his last breath I’ll be sure to let him know that it was your fault.”
“Jeremiah, come give your father a hug. It has been so long.”
“Ayres, what are you trying to pull? If I come over there I go from being a hostage to what? A henchman? A corpse?”
“Jeremiah, you injure me. You think that I would cause harm to my own son? I am not a monster. I am merely a man who wants to reunite with you.”
Jeremiah found himself somewhat moved by Ayres’ plea, but remained unconvinced. There was something about Ayres that put him ill at ease, aside from the ghastly mask he always wore, his whim-some murderousness, and his rumored casual sodomy. No, Ayres had a reputation as a cheat, a liar, a charlatan. If you were dealing with him, the only thing you could be sure of was that he would step over you to get to his goal. If you were his goal, you were in danger.
“Ayres, you are a man who would strangle a babe in its mothers arms for the privilege of bragging about the deed. Do you really think that I would just believe you without any sort of proof? Your pleas of injury and harm only cement the big bad wolf you strut the world as.”
“I see that you have inherited my innate sense of logic. What a chase you’re leading, Jeremiah! Fine. Let us palaver together in the old way. Have a seat, my young man.”
With this, Ayres swept past Jeremiah into the wider area. He sat cross legged on the ground and bid Jeremiah to sit across from him. Ayres swept his vision across the room and found Radcliffe crawling towards his dropped device.
‘What a foolish man I have chosen as an adversary,’ Ayres thought, ‘an overgrown fraternity boy and a whelp with too much cynicism for his own good. What good will the the machine do him now? Even if it worked it would not help him put this cat back into its skin. I have won. The only thing left is to use the mirror. Corrupting the sidekick will be an additional knife in Radcliffe’s back.’
Jeremiah hesitated for a moment and stepped over to the place that Ayres designated. He sat cross legged to ape the position Ayres had assumed. The palaver protocols were clear. Anyone may call for a palaver to resolve a finer point of the goals. During such time the game would be suspended, even if the authorities of the game or their duly appointed representatives arrived. Palaver took priority. No weapons were allowed during such a session so Ayres gave Hardigan a look. The henchman lowered the gun slowly and switched on the safety before placing it in his pocket.
“Palaver, my son. We must palaver together and resolve our dilemma.”
“Me being your son is the dilemma. I do not believe you. You have put forth no proof to your claim. I see no reason to believe you.”
Ayres twirled his fingers at this as if they had been through this many times before. Jeremiah felt his breath stop then gather once again. The villain was trying to put him ill at ease in order to push him into a state of agitation. His leg throbbed as in response to his mental state. He could feel whatever had splashed into his wounds begin coursing through his body. There was nothing he could do about that right now. Palaver took precedence.
“You are my son. I will do my best to prove that to you. I give you my token to show my earnestness in this endeavor.”
At this Ayres took his insignia from his great cloak and offered it to Jeremiah. The young man held out his hand and Ayres let it drop into Jeremiah’s hand. It fell with a dull thud and the exposed metal still felt like the chill of the winter wind still raging outside the cave.
“Radcliffe is still trying to activate the device isn’t he?”
Jeremiah just stared at Ayres blankly.
“Really, Jeremiah, it isn’t difficult to work out. I’m afraid he won’t be successful. It is the only reason I haven’t sent Hardigan after him. The key elements that make it work are back at Monmouth. What he’s trying to make work is a mostly empty husk with my tracking device installed within.”
“Do you ever play fairly? I know that it is your job as a villain to make things difficult for us, but why do you play so far outside of the rules?”
“To me, the rules are a suggestion. I always follow the rough outline, but the fine lines are blurry. I don’t care about them, so they mean that much less to me. It is not a fair life that we were born into, Jeremiah. You would do well to remember that.”
“I know that life is not fair, but this. This was set up to be as fair as possible to all parties. Why have rules? Why have anything but chaos if they aren’t followed?”
“Don’t you see? I play the part of chaos. I am the ruiner of lives. It is the part I play. Your part, like it or not, is to keep Radcliffe from becoming me. You serve as reminder to him that innocence is always in peril and it is his job, no, his duty to protect that. You are his balance, and in turn, I serve as the balance to you both. I have to be ruthless because it is the role I play. The power I gain supplements me. It is the only way that this truly works.”
“Couldn’t you rise above this farce and become better than a villain? If I am your son, as you say, then you must not be completely evil. I am not evil, so this must be a choice that you made at some point in your life. Even the Red Mist remade himself into a hero. Surely there must be some good in you.”
“I would be lying if I said that I had not considered this. I have had with me a hero’s heart for quite some time. I just don’t know how to make the transition. It’s not an easy road, Jeremiah. For one such as myself, even the slightest misstep on the path to good can lead to expulsion from the Competition. I have no other career options. This is my life.”
Jeremiah thought about this for a minute. He opened his mouth as if to respond, but Ayres held up his hand. Jeremiah closed his mouth.
“There is not one thing that makes me who I am. I am a product of my experiences. But, if I could go back to the one moment that drove me down this path, I would choose my participation in the war. I did things there, I was made to do things there, that no one should ever have to do. We lost an entire generation of men and women in the war against the Grokols.”
“That may be so, but there are plenty of people who fought in that war that took it to heart. They aren’t villains. Radcliffe was in the war. The fact that there is a possibility to go back in time to fix things makes your argument invalid. There is no reason, save for the game, that explains the fate that you’ve chosen for yourself.”
“That is not actually possible. When the war looked like it would be won by the Grokols for certain they erected a time barrier around those key months when they put so many of us against each other. I would have already made that change if it were possible. You speak with intelligence beyond your years, but there is more to the situation than is readily visible to you. The aliens had machines that patterned human minds to their will. Our scientists worked hard to remove those patterns, but there was only so much they could do. Some base urges remain.”
“You have said a lot. I’m sorry that happened to you. Have you thought about trying other means?”
“You mean magic.”
“Yes. I guess I do. It sounds a little silly to say it out loud, but magic.”
“Please. Don’t you think I’ve tried that? What do you think I hope to accomplish trying to win artifacts? Your naivete is only so charming before it becomes tiresome.”
“Okay, I hadn’t thought of that. It makes sense, but we’re back where we started. I don’t know that you’re my father. You’ve just talked about why you’re this way, leaving out the reason for this palaver.”
Ayres nodded. Then he reached into his shirt and pulled out a necklace with a small medallion hanging from it. He held it out as if this were the only answer that mattered. Jeremiah held his hand out for the bauble and Ayres dropped it. Jeremiah then noticed that it was a locket. He opened it with shaking fingers to reveal two photographs within. One of his mother and one of him as a small child. He had carried his mother’s picture for all of these years. Jeremiah choked back a sob of surprise and looked over at the other man.
“You. You weren’t lying. You are my father. “
“Yes. Now you see why I need to obtain control of this mirror. I can cure myself, son. I can be the man I used to be. Do you understand?”
“Y-yes. I do. I’m sorry I doubted you, father. Please use the mirror. I won’t try to stop you.”
Ayres stood and walked over to the pew where he had laid the object. He looked back to Jeremiah as if in hesitation. Then he whispered something to Hardigan. The henchman smiled and pulled the gun from his jacket.
“Thank you for helping me win the competition, Jeremiah. I mean, I’d already won, but corrupting you was just so delicious. It also gave me so many points. There are two things I should tell you, though. One, the Grokols patterns could only work with things that are already there. Two, of course I’m not your father. I stole this from him after I thought I’d killed him. I will, of course, find and kill him as soon as I leave here. Quite helpful to discover that he’s still alive out there somewhere. As he takes his last breath I’ll be sure to let him know that it was your fault.”
Tuesday, January 1, 2013
Sex? I suppose that's a thing.
I am about to make an embarrassing confession that is painful and very personal. I'm not sure why I'm doing this on my very public blog with I'm sure tens of eyes staring balefully at my words, but this project requires that I write every day, being a diary and all, so here goes. A personal confession to the world.
I have not had sex in ten years. Not sure exactly how that happens to a person who's not asexual and not me, but most of it is due to being painfully shy.
I'm sure those of you who read my first post are wondering how I've not done the deed in so long if I had a girlfriend less than two years ago. She was saving herself for marriage. I thought she was saving herself for me. Sadly, that is not the case.
I'm not sure I am still capable of sex. I mean I know the basic mechanics, but my first thoughts are always fear. What if I'm bad in bed? What if I never get another chance? What if I have no capacity to love left inside me? I'm torn to pieces with anxiety over this subject and my first reaction is usually to change the subject if it comes up. Flirting is very uncomfortable for me.
I'm sure there are questions. I will try to anticipate a couple of them.
Why haven't you tried a singles bar or other such similar place where people go for that sort of thing? Did I mention that I'm very shy? Especially when it comes to women.
Did you know that there are women that you can pay to be nice to your penis? Yes, but I'm afraid of getting arrested for trying.
Don't you feel that biological drive to procreate? To sow your seed and reap children? Sure. It comes and goes, but I am not all that fired up to be a father. I can barely take care of myself sometimes.
If you have a question I haven't covered here, go ahead and post it in the comments. I will answer any reasonable question asked in honest curiosity.
I have not had sex in ten years. Not sure exactly how that happens to a person who's not asexual and not me, but most of it is due to being painfully shy.
I'm sure those of you who read my first post are wondering how I've not done the deed in so long if I had a girlfriend less than two years ago. She was saving herself for marriage. I thought she was saving herself for me. Sadly, that is not the case.
I'm not sure I am still capable of sex. I mean I know the basic mechanics, but my first thoughts are always fear. What if I'm bad in bed? What if I never get another chance? What if I have no capacity to love left inside me? I'm torn to pieces with anxiety over this subject and my first reaction is usually to change the subject if it comes up. Flirting is very uncomfortable for me.
I'm sure there are questions. I will try to anticipate a couple of them.
Why haven't you tried a singles bar or other such similar place where people go for that sort of thing? Did I mention that I'm very shy? Especially when it comes to women.
Did you know that there are women that you can pay to be nice to your penis? Yes, but I'm afraid of getting arrested for trying.
Don't you feel that biological drive to procreate? To sow your seed and reap children? Sure. It comes and goes, but I am not all that fired up to be a father. I can barely take care of myself sometimes.
If you have a question I haven't covered here, go ahead and post it in the comments. I will answer any reasonable question asked in honest curiosity.
The End of Days?
Hardigan was looking at his boss with unbounded admiration. There was just something about the man that made him proud to serve. Maybe it was the mask that had inspired so mush fear and loyalty. Hardigan didn’t know, really, but he would follow where ever Ayres led, even at the cost of his own life. The other henchman had already met that fate, though. Hardigan vowed within himself to make sure that he would not meet the same end.
Jeremiah looked at Radcliffe at that moment, stunned at what he had just heard. Then he started thinking about what the artifact could do. Then he started getting angry at Radcliffe for not sharing all the necessary information with him. This was about the limit of things he could take today. Rivulets of blood were streaming down his good trousers, some unknown potion was infecting him, and now all hope was lost for the world as this mad man would destroy and enslave all of humanity. He felt sick.
Jeremiah took this moment to sit and try to pick the pieces of glass out of himself. That, he thought would at least be something to do while waiting for Ayres to figure out how to end them. Also, in the short term it might make him feel better. He pulled his pocket inside out and noticed a label stuck to his finger as he did so. The label read ‘ταχύτητα’. More Greek. Jeremiah had a feeling that everything in this place had a Greek label or tradition attached to it.
Hardigan noticed Jeremiah at this point and uttered a harsh bark. Jeremiah’s annoyance at the henchman showed in the sneer that painted his face.
“What are you doing there, pretty boy,” Hardigan asked.
Jeremiah winced and felt revulsion creep through him at the idea of being called pretty by this man.
“I’m trying to render myself some rudimentary first aid. I had something glass in my pocket when I fell. If you don’t mind, I’ll be down here trying not to die of blood loss,” Jeremiah said.
“You’re hurt? Here, take this,” Hardigan offered, “Rules are rules, and they always apply, even if we win.”
Hardigan tossed Jeremiah a first aid kit that contained many devices that weren’t from the current time period. He only recognized a few things that would help in his current predicament. One of them was a pair of tweezers. The others were a bottle of iodine and gauze.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Radcliffe moaned, “you cheated to get here. The committee will hear of this.”
Ayres looked at Radcliffe over his shiny new bauble.
“The committee will be eradicated. Your grievances will be unheard,” Ayres said, “You are just going to have to deal with that. There are a great many changes coming to this world as soon as I can get the mirror to start working.”
Radcliffe snorted, “So, after killing one of your own men and wounding my associate, you’re confounded by how the thing actually works? I’m surprised. Usually you’re the first one to have the answer. It’s what has made our working relationship so exciting.”
Ayres waved off Radcliffe’s remark and slipped the gun to Hardigan. The henchman took it and looked at Jeremiah with something that Jeremiah did not recognize, but made him want to ignore it. Once more, he set to work removing glass from himself. Within moments, most of the pieces now lay on the floor. Now there was the difficult matter of how to remove the smaller pieces of glass from his body. Jeremiah decided that there was nothing to do but remove his trousers. They were all men there, regardless of how icky the gun wielding thug was making him feel. He noticed that Hardigan was taking a special interest in this disrobing.
“Mister Radcliffe,” Jeremiah said, “ask him not to look at me like that.”
“He’s holding a gun, Jeremiah, there’s not much room for bargaining on my end.”
Jeremiah saw Radcliffe’s point without any further need of discussion. Using the tweezers he was able to get most of the smaller pieces without too much trouble. Then he opened the bottle of iodine.
“You’d better let me do that for you, Jeremiah.”
Radcliffe set to work coating the young man’s wounds in iodine. Jeremiah cried out as it worked its way into him, knowing that the sting was meant to protect him from infection, but not quite being able to help it. Radcliffe bandaged him quickly and Jeremiah felt a new throbbing coming from his leg and working its way up into his head then into his ears. His head was splitting from the worst headache he’d ever had in his life.
Radcliffe was whispering something to him, but he couldn’t make it out over the throbbing in his own ears. Ayres seemed to take no interest in what the two adventurers were doing at the moment as he was trying to decipher a bit of script engraved into the back of the mirror. Jeremiah tried to clear his head. He shook it and now some clarity emerged from the din.
“What, Mr. Radcliffe? I’m afraid it has been quite difficult to concentrate with all of this construction taking place behind my eyelids.”
Radcliffe took a deep breath and attempted to remain calm. He took the younger man’s shoulders in his big hands and looked Jeremiah straight in the eye.
“I don’t have time to explain. Just listen to me.”
Jeremiah faded for a span of ten-seconds just then. Radcliffe hoped he could wake up the boy long enough to put his plan into action. He spied smelling salts in the first aid kit and opened the bottle under his nose. Jeremiah coughed as his eyelids shot up and blinked a message of wakefulness.
“Jeremiah, we’re in a tight spot,” Radcliffe continued, “when I give the word, I want you to provide a distraction. I’ll use the device Dr. Godfrey gave me to get the drop on them.”
Jeremiah seethed with anger. Just like Mr. Radcliffe to put him in danger while he ran off to play the hero. He attempted to make a step sideways and was greeted with a sharp pain in his leg. There was definitely a grinding feel coming from within there. Jeremiah wondered if would ever walk without a limp again. From behind him he felt a small push from Radcliffe.
“Go,” Radcliffe urged. Something sounded slowed about Radcliffe’s speech. Jeremiah looked back and the older man seemed to be reaching for something within his coat, but he was certainly taking his time. It seemed to take him a minute to move his hand. Radcliffe must have been very nervous about the act he was about to commit himself to.
Jeremiah, wincing in pain with every step, walked forward toward Ayres and the henchman with no plan in mind. All that he had going for him was rage and pain that felt like a tangible part of himself. It was nebulous and contained within the pit of his stomach, but it felt more real than anything he had ever felt in his life. His very short life, if he could think of nothing more threatening than limping toward two men who meant to do him and the world very much harm indeed, if left unchecked.
Hardigan waved the gun shakily at Jeremiah. The slow movements of the weapon were almost mesmerizing and Jeremiah stopped for a moment where he stood. He gathered himself and took a long deep breath. This would have to do for now. One way or another he would provide this distraction.
“Not another step if you please. I wouldn’t want to use this on a fine young man such as yourself. I can’t believe your father can’t think of better uses for his career than putting you in certain danger all of the time.”
“Oh, he’s not my Father. He has just been looking after me for most of my life.”
Ayres’ ears perked up a little. This was something he could exploit to his advantage. Perhaps the boy had some inside knowledge that would make deciphering the script on the mirror easier.
“Ah, no Father? What a shame that is. Still, a boy does need a strong male influence in his life or he’ll never amount to anything. I say if a boy does not have that then he might as well be a girl. Forgive me. I think my loneliness gets the better of me sometimes.”
Ayres almost chuckled saying this. It was one thing to lie to get what one wanted, but making up fantasies out of whole cloth amused him. Of course playing with the emotions of people made Ayres’ heart almost warm.
“Mister Radcliffe is good to me. We were going to go try to find my Father after we finished with this adventure, but that’s looking like it won’t happen now, with you becoming some sort of god and all.”
“Jeremiah, you wound me,” Ayres said, “What did you think was going to happen after I acquire my power? Did you think I would just destroy you and Reginald? Do you really think I wouldn’t allow you to live your lives and let bygones be?”
“Frankly, sir,” Jeremiah said, “that’s exactly what I thought. It’s not too easy to go looking to find someone when you’ve been scattered to the winds by someone who’s got it in for you.”
Ayres slumped his shoulders and breathed a heavy sigh. He turned away from Jeremiah and put the mirror down on the stone pew. Jeremiah looked at the mirror. It was his only chance. If he could get there, he would have a place at the bargaining table. He would be able to make the thug give up the gun. All of this took place in his mind before Ayres had lost contact with the mirror.
Ayres turned back to Jeremiah and spoke the words that stopped him before he could dream up a way to disarm the henchman.
“Jeremiah,” Ayres said, “I can’t believe Radcliffe never told you this. I am your father.”
Jeremiah looked at Radcliffe at that moment, stunned at what he had just heard. Then he started thinking about what the artifact could do. Then he started getting angry at Radcliffe for not sharing all the necessary information with him. This was about the limit of things he could take today. Rivulets of blood were streaming down his good trousers, some unknown potion was infecting him, and now all hope was lost for the world as this mad man would destroy and enslave all of humanity. He felt sick.
Jeremiah took this moment to sit and try to pick the pieces of glass out of himself. That, he thought would at least be something to do while waiting for Ayres to figure out how to end them. Also, in the short term it might make him feel better. He pulled his pocket inside out and noticed a label stuck to his finger as he did so. The label read ‘ταχύτητα’. More Greek. Jeremiah had a feeling that everything in this place had a Greek label or tradition attached to it.
Hardigan noticed Jeremiah at this point and uttered a harsh bark. Jeremiah’s annoyance at the henchman showed in the sneer that painted his face.
“What are you doing there, pretty boy,” Hardigan asked.
Jeremiah winced and felt revulsion creep through him at the idea of being called pretty by this man.
“I’m trying to render myself some rudimentary first aid. I had something glass in my pocket when I fell. If you don’t mind, I’ll be down here trying not to die of blood loss,” Jeremiah said.
“You’re hurt? Here, take this,” Hardigan offered, “Rules are rules, and they always apply, even if we win.”
Hardigan tossed Jeremiah a first aid kit that contained many devices that weren’t from the current time period. He only recognized a few things that would help in his current predicament. One of them was a pair of tweezers. The others were a bottle of iodine and gauze.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Radcliffe moaned, “you cheated to get here. The committee will hear of this.”
Ayres looked at Radcliffe over his shiny new bauble.
“The committee will be eradicated. Your grievances will be unheard,” Ayres said, “You are just going to have to deal with that. There are a great many changes coming to this world as soon as I can get the mirror to start working.”
Radcliffe snorted, “So, after killing one of your own men and wounding my associate, you’re confounded by how the thing actually works? I’m surprised. Usually you’re the first one to have the answer. It’s what has made our working relationship so exciting.”
Ayres waved off Radcliffe’s remark and slipped the gun to Hardigan. The henchman took it and looked at Jeremiah with something that Jeremiah did not recognize, but made him want to ignore it. Once more, he set to work removing glass from himself. Within moments, most of the pieces now lay on the floor. Now there was the difficult matter of how to remove the smaller pieces of glass from his body. Jeremiah decided that there was nothing to do but remove his trousers. They were all men there, regardless of how icky the gun wielding thug was making him feel. He noticed that Hardigan was taking a special interest in this disrobing.
“Mister Radcliffe,” Jeremiah said, “ask him not to look at me like that.”
“He’s holding a gun, Jeremiah, there’s not much room for bargaining on my end.”
Jeremiah saw Radcliffe’s point without any further need of discussion. Using the tweezers he was able to get most of the smaller pieces without too much trouble. Then he opened the bottle of iodine.
“You’d better let me do that for you, Jeremiah.”
Radcliffe set to work coating the young man’s wounds in iodine. Jeremiah cried out as it worked its way into him, knowing that the sting was meant to protect him from infection, but not quite being able to help it. Radcliffe bandaged him quickly and Jeremiah felt a new throbbing coming from his leg and working its way up into his head then into his ears. His head was splitting from the worst headache he’d ever had in his life.
Radcliffe was whispering something to him, but he couldn’t make it out over the throbbing in his own ears. Ayres seemed to take no interest in what the two adventurers were doing at the moment as he was trying to decipher a bit of script engraved into the back of the mirror. Jeremiah tried to clear his head. He shook it and now some clarity emerged from the din.
“What, Mr. Radcliffe? I’m afraid it has been quite difficult to concentrate with all of this construction taking place behind my eyelids.”
Radcliffe took a deep breath and attempted to remain calm. He took the younger man’s shoulders in his big hands and looked Jeremiah straight in the eye.
“I don’t have time to explain. Just listen to me.”
Jeremiah faded for a span of ten-seconds just then. Radcliffe hoped he could wake up the boy long enough to put his plan into action. He spied smelling salts in the first aid kit and opened the bottle under his nose. Jeremiah coughed as his eyelids shot up and blinked a message of wakefulness.
“Jeremiah, we’re in a tight spot,” Radcliffe continued, “when I give the word, I want you to provide a distraction. I’ll use the device Dr. Godfrey gave me to get the drop on them.”
Jeremiah seethed with anger. Just like Mr. Radcliffe to put him in danger while he ran off to play the hero. He attempted to make a step sideways and was greeted with a sharp pain in his leg. There was definitely a grinding feel coming from within there. Jeremiah wondered if would ever walk without a limp again. From behind him he felt a small push from Radcliffe.
“Go,” Radcliffe urged. Something sounded slowed about Radcliffe’s speech. Jeremiah looked back and the older man seemed to be reaching for something within his coat, but he was certainly taking his time. It seemed to take him a minute to move his hand. Radcliffe must have been very nervous about the act he was about to commit himself to.
Jeremiah, wincing in pain with every step, walked forward toward Ayres and the henchman with no plan in mind. All that he had going for him was rage and pain that felt like a tangible part of himself. It was nebulous and contained within the pit of his stomach, but it felt more real than anything he had ever felt in his life. His very short life, if he could think of nothing more threatening than limping toward two men who meant to do him and the world very much harm indeed, if left unchecked.
Hardigan waved the gun shakily at Jeremiah. The slow movements of the weapon were almost mesmerizing and Jeremiah stopped for a moment where he stood. He gathered himself and took a long deep breath. This would have to do for now. One way or another he would provide this distraction.
“Not another step if you please. I wouldn’t want to use this on a fine young man such as yourself. I can’t believe your father can’t think of better uses for his career than putting you in certain danger all of the time.”
“Oh, he’s not my Father. He has just been looking after me for most of my life.”
Ayres’ ears perked up a little. This was something he could exploit to his advantage. Perhaps the boy had some inside knowledge that would make deciphering the script on the mirror easier.
“Ah, no Father? What a shame that is. Still, a boy does need a strong male influence in his life or he’ll never amount to anything. I say if a boy does not have that then he might as well be a girl. Forgive me. I think my loneliness gets the better of me sometimes.”
Ayres almost chuckled saying this. It was one thing to lie to get what one wanted, but making up fantasies out of whole cloth amused him. Of course playing with the emotions of people made Ayres’ heart almost warm.
“Mister Radcliffe is good to me. We were going to go try to find my Father after we finished with this adventure, but that’s looking like it won’t happen now, with you becoming some sort of god and all.”
“Jeremiah, you wound me,” Ayres said, “What did you think was going to happen after I acquire my power? Did you think I would just destroy you and Reginald? Do you really think I wouldn’t allow you to live your lives and let bygones be?”
“Frankly, sir,” Jeremiah said, “that’s exactly what I thought. It’s not too easy to go looking to find someone when you’ve been scattered to the winds by someone who’s got it in for you.”
Ayres slumped his shoulders and breathed a heavy sigh. He turned away from Jeremiah and put the mirror down on the stone pew. Jeremiah looked at the mirror. It was his only chance. If he could get there, he would have a place at the bargaining table. He would be able to make the thug give up the gun. All of this took place in his mind before Ayres had lost contact with the mirror.
Ayres turned back to Jeremiah and spoke the words that stopped him before he could dream up a way to disarm the henchman.
“Jeremiah,” Ayres said, “I can’t believe Radcliffe never told you this. I am your father.”
An Aged Artifact
The bullet that whizzed past Radcliffe struck home in the quartz eye of Dionysus and glittering fragments fell onto the floor. Radcliffe put his hands above his head and Ayres motioned to one of his henchmen to cover the adventurer.
Ayres struck an intimidating figure. He wore a black great cloak and false face carved with images of death. It was said that he showed no pity to man nor beast and that he had strangled his own mother with his umbilical cord. These were just rumors, of course, but looking at the man in the flesh made one reconsider that.
“How did you catch up to us so quickly, Ayres? I thought for sure sending that old prospector south to visit his brother would have confounded you completely.”
Ayres snorted at this, his contempt dripping from the plastistone that made up his false face and pooling on the floor. He lived for moments like this. His rival trounced, down and out and throughly defeated.
“It was quite simple, really, Radcliffe, you should really look into improving the security around your good friend Doctor Godfrey. It was a trivial matter to bribe his research assistant to slip a tracking device into the invention that the good doctor intended to give you to go on this little ski holiday.”
Radcliffe reeled at the idea that money had been used by his enemy to foil his plans. He briefly considered devising a system that would replace money with some sort of merit based aristocracy that would make adventurers the highest caste in his new system. He then tossed this plan as it would actually take money to implement and damn him for a fool if he was going to try that sort of thing again.
“So, all this time you’ve been tracking me using some sort of gadget. That isn’t in the rules, I’m afraid. You’ll have to forfeit the treasure.”
Jeremiah stifled a gasp. The rules did not mention tracking devices at all. It was an omission that the rules committee would soon have to rectify or else the competition would devolve into chaos.
“Nice try,” Ayres said, ” but I’m afraid that there are at least two things at flaw with that. One, there is no rule against them. In fact, I think the rules committee will find nice gift baskets to discourage them from putting the rule in there in the first place. Two, there is no one here to enforce the rules. No one at all.”
Jeremiah searched his surroundings for something to help Radcliffe out of his predicament and spotted a stoppered test tube with some sort of liquid inside it on the workbench. A mysterious red glow emanated from it. He slowly crept over and grabbed it. Despite being abandoned for who knows how long, it emitted a strange warmth. Ignoring this, he got into position behind Ayres.
“Really, Radcliffe,” Ayres said, ”Invoking the rules in your position? You surely didn’t think that would work did you?”
Radcliffe’s eyes turned down to the floor as if the key to his predicament were there. He shook his head, slowly. Then he began to laugh.
“I don’t suppose,” Ayres said, “you’d like to share what is so amusing that you can’t help but giggle?”
“It is just,” Radcliffe said, “that you are so unbelievably stupid that you forgot to account for my sidekick.”
At that moment Jeremiah eased behind Ayres and shoved the test tube into the back of the older man in the manner of a handgun. Ayres put his hands up and Jeremiah pulled the pistol from his hands. He quickly stowed the test tube in his pocket and replaced it with the handgun that he had just acquired.
“Ah, Jeremiah,” Ayres said, “I’d wondered where you were. I had half expected to find you standing on that pressure switch waiting for the conquering hero to return. Instead I found someone quite clever had made something to slip past the first trap. So clever, in fact, that I knew it could not have been Reginald’s doing.”
Radcliffe cringed at the Ayres mentioning his first name. Too much familiarity bred contempt and Ayres seemed to already have it in abundance. He also noticed at this point that he was on the winning side and motioned for the henchman to surrender the sidearm he was only pointing at him in token to the game being played.
Radcliffe took the weapon and examined it. It was a standard beam weapon, nothing too fancy. Ever since the time travelers had started coming through, these weapons were becoming more and more common among the villains and henchmen of the world. The only trouble was that the more elaborate beam weapons were generally the less reliable ones. This was one of the factors that had led to the Faust Treaty of 1854. History was something that Radcliffe really enjoyed. It was too bad that it was becoming more unbelievable and less relevant year by year.
Ayres slumped his shoulders with disbelief that he had been foiled so readily, then turned slightly. Jeremiah pushed the gun a little deeper into the man’s back and grunted his negative feeling to Ayres to try to get him to behave. Doing this put Jeremiah at a slight disadvantage as his weight was not distributed very well. Ayres took this opportunity to knock Jeremiah prone.
Jeremiah fell. He fell hard. The test tube shattered in his pocket letting all the liquid run out into his pants and into the cuts the pieces of glass had dug into his leg. Jeremiah spasmed in pain. In doing so the gun fell from his limp fingers and clattered to the floor. Jeremiah cringed waiting for the pistol to report a fired shot, but nothing happened.
Seeing what happened to Jeremiah, Radcliffe tried firing the beam weapon he had coerced from the henchman moments before, but nothing happened. The batteries were flat and it was as useful to him at that moment as a paper weight would have been. Slightly less useful, in fact, because a paper weight had real heft and he could have threatened the thug with it. As it was, the weapon he now held was a light weight novelty that could offer him no help at all.
Ayres plucked his pistol from the floor and laughed in a mocking tone that he had been saving for just this moment.
“Radcliffe,” Ayres said, “your methods are tired. I was always ten steps ahead. In fact, I could have just killed you and have done with it, but your are far too amusing alive. Now I will have my prize. I believe that you were just about to retrieve Marcurio’s mirror? Well, why don’t you go ahead and do that right now, but don’t get any strange ideas about using it against me. This gun held against your sidekick’s temple is quite real and I am just about at the end of my patience with you.”
Ayres pulled Jeremiah’s collar and held the cold barrel of the gun against his temple in illustration. The warmth of his own blood and whatever solution was in the test tube served a stark contrast to the cold he felt from the villain. The icy hands that were just behind his back made him shiver more than the wind had. Jeremiah whimpered appropriately in response. This was all in the sidekick’s handbook, of course. The book outlined the rules of capture, ingenious ways to remove oneself from the same, and recipes for hot chocolate. Jeremiah wished that he were back at home enjoying one right at that moment.
Radcliffe had stalled as much as he had dared. This might end badly, but it could be ten times as bad if Ayres got hold of the mirror especially if he knew the right way to activate it. Radcliffe walked up to the alcove, almost forgotten for the moment was his celebration of discovery. He picked up the mirror very gently and turned in place.
Ayres looked at Radcliffe and motioned for him to hurry because he did not have all day to dicker around in a dead man’s old deserted fortress in the mountains. Radcliffe walked toward him and the mirror gleamed more than it should have in the torch light. Ayres pulled Jeremiah roughly to his feet and pushed him forward.
“We make an even exchange. When you hand me the mirror, I will hand you your boy. No one has to die today,” Ayres said.
Radcliffe nodded in agreement and stretched the mirror toward Ayres. As he was doing so, Ayres pushed Jeremiah in a vector slightly off course from Radcliffe and snatched the mirror into his clutches as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. The mirror reacted to his touch and glowed a dark menacing red over the chamber. Ayres’ henchmen were in awe of this spectacle. The one who had been covering Radcliffe started feeling quite ill and vomited loudly onto the dusty floor. The henchman who had stayed at Ayres’ side dropped to his knees and began to prostrate himself to the object. Never before had he felt as if he were in the presence of the divine. He now felt an all too real divinity pass over him and finding him lacking.
“Boss! It’s reading my soul!”
“Yes, Mister Hardigan, but it can’t be helped that you’re inferior. That’s just the way the world works. The inferior are always going to be that way. No matter how many fancy hats or suits one owns.”
The henchman was getting his quite dirty lying on the floor as he was. The vomiting henchman seemed to regain himself and wandered over to where Ayres was standing triumphant holding his prize. Vomit man’s eyes went over all glazed and he rushed Ayres.
“You must not have that, you monster! The world does not need—“
The man never made it more than two steps. Ayres fired his pistol and a neat smoking hole appeared in the middle of the nameless henchman’s forehead. Henchman no longer, the man’s light was extinguished and he died in a heap.
Hardigan looked up at Ayres with cowed and obedient eyes. He was the very definition of sniveling. He dried the tears from his eyes and worked to straighten himself. He dusted himself off and demurred away from the man.
“What does it do, boss,” asked Hardigan.
“Hmm? That’s actually a good question,” Ayres said, “I see I didn’t drag two wastes of molecules through this god forsaken wasteland. It is very simple, Mister Hardigan. It makes men into gods.”
Ayres struck an intimidating figure. He wore a black great cloak and false face carved with images of death. It was said that he showed no pity to man nor beast and that he had strangled his own mother with his umbilical cord. These were just rumors, of course, but looking at the man in the flesh made one reconsider that.
“How did you catch up to us so quickly, Ayres? I thought for sure sending that old prospector south to visit his brother would have confounded you completely.”
Ayres snorted at this, his contempt dripping from the plastistone that made up his false face and pooling on the floor. He lived for moments like this. His rival trounced, down and out and throughly defeated.
“It was quite simple, really, Radcliffe, you should really look into improving the security around your good friend Doctor Godfrey. It was a trivial matter to bribe his research assistant to slip a tracking device into the invention that the good doctor intended to give you to go on this little ski holiday.”
Radcliffe reeled at the idea that money had been used by his enemy to foil his plans. He briefly considered devising a system that would replace money with some sort of merit based aristocracy that would make adventurers the highest caste in his new system. He then tossed this plan as it would actually take money to implement and damn him for a fool if he was going to try that sort of thing again.
“So, all this time you’ve been tracking me using some sort of gadget. That isn’t in the rules, I’m afraid. You’ll have to forfeit the treasure.”
Jeremiah stifled a gasp. The rules did not mention tracking devices at all. It was an omission that the rules committee would soon have to rectify or else the competition would devolve into chaos.
“Nice try,” Ayres said, ” but I’m afraid that there are at least two things at flaw with that. One, there is no rule against them. In fact, I think the rules committee will find nice gift baskets to discourage them from putting the rule in there in the first place. Two, there is no one here to enforce the rules. No one at all.”
Jeremiah searched his surroundings for something to help Radcliffe out of his predicament and spotted a stoppered test tube with some sort of liquid inside it on the workbench. A mysterious red glow emanated from it. He slowly crept over and grabbed it. Despite being abandoned for who knows how long, it emitted a strange warmth. Ignoring this, he got into position behind Ayres.
“Really, Radcliffe,” Ayres said, ”Invoking the rules in your position? You surely didn’t think that would work did you?”
Radcliffe’s eyes turned down to the floor as if the key to his predicament were there. He shook his head, slowly. Then he began to laugh.
“I don’t suppose,” Ayres said, “you’d like to share what is so amusing that you can’t help but giggle?”
“It is just,” Radcliffe said, “that you are so unbelievably stupid that you forgot to account for my sidekick.”
At that moment Jeremiah eased behind Ayres and shoved the test tube into the back of the older man in the manner of a handgun. Ayres put his hands up and Jeremiah pulled the pistol from his hands. He quickly stowed the test tube in his pocket and replaced it with the handgun that he had just acquired.
“Ah, Jeremiah,” Ayres said, “I’d wondered where you were. I had half expected to find you standing on that pressure switch waiting for the conquering hero to return. Instead I found someone quite clever had made something to slip past the first trap. So clever, in fact, that I knew it could not have been Reginald’s doing.”
Radcliffe cringed at the Ayres mentioning his first name. Too much familiarity bred contempt and Ayres seemed to already have it in abundance. He also noticed at this point that he was on the winning side and motioned for the henchman to surrender the sidearm he was only pointing at him in token to the game being played.
Radcliffe took the weapon and examined it. It was a standard beam weapon, nothing too fancy. Ever since the time travelers had started coming through, these weapons were becoming more and more common among the villains and henchmen of the world. The only trouble was that the more elaborate beam weapons were generally the less reliable ones. This was one of the factors that had led to the Faust Treaty of 1854. History was something that Radcliffe really enjoyed. It was too bad that it was becoming more unbelievable and less relevant year by year.
Ayres slumped his shoulders with disbelief that he had been foiled so readily, then turned slightly. Jeremiah pushed the gun a little deeper into the man’s back and grunted his negative feeling to Ayres to try to get him to behave. Doing this put Jeremiah at a slight disadvantage as his weight was not distributed very well. Ayres took this opportunity to knock Jeremiah prone.
Jeremiah fell. He fell hard. The test tube shattered in his pocket letting all the liquid run out into his pants and into the cuts the pieces of glass had dug into his leg. Jeremiah spasmed in pain. In doing so the gun fell from his limp fingers and clattered to the floor. Jeremiah cringed waiting for the pistol to report a fired shot, but nothing happened.
Seeing what happened to Jeremiah, Radcliffe tried firing the beam weapon he had coerced from the henchman moments before, but nothing happened. The batteries were flat and it was as useful to him at that moment as a paper weight would have been. Slightly less useful, in fact, because a paper weight had real heft and he could have threatened the thug with it. As it was, the weapon he now held was a light weight novelty that could offer him no help at all.
Ayres plucked his pistol from the floor and laughed in a mocking tone that he had been saving for just this moment.
“Radcliffe,” Ayres said, “your methods are tired. I was always ten steps ahead. In fact, I could have just killed you and have done with it, but your are far too amusing alive. Now I will have my prize. I believe that you were just about to retrieve Marcurio’s mirror? Well, why don’t you go ahead and do that right now, but don’t get any strange ideas about using it against me. This gun held against your sidekick’s temple is quite real and I am just about at the end of my patience with you.”
Ayres pulled Jeremiah’s collar and held the cold barrel of the gun against his temple in illustration. The warmth of his own blood and whatever solution was in the test tube served a stark contrast to the cold he felt from the villain. The icy hands that were just behind his back made him shiver more than the wind had. Jeremiah whimpered appropriately in response. This was all in the sidekick’s handbook, of course. The book outlined the rules of capture, ingenious ways to remove oneself from the same, and recipes for hot chocolate. Jeremiah wished that he were back at home enjoying one right at that moment.
Radcliffe had stalled as much as he had dared. This might end badly, but it could be ten times as bad if Ayres got hold of the mirror especially if he knew the right way to activate it. Radcliffe walked up to the alcove, almost forgotten for the moment was his celebration of discovery. He picked up the mirror very gently and turned in place.
Ayres looked at Radcliffe and motioned for him to hurry because he did not have all day to dicker around in a dead man’s old deserted fortress in the mountains. Radcliffe walked toward him and the mirror gleamed more than it should have in the torch light. Ayres pulled Jeremiah roughly to his feet and pushed him forward.
“We make an even exchange. When you hand me the mirror, I will hand you your boy. No one has to die today,” Ayres said.
Radcliffe nodded in agreement and stretched the mirror toward Ayres. As he was doing so, Ayres pushed Jeremiah in a vector slightly off course from Radcliffe and snatched the mirror into his clutches as if he had been waiting for this moment his entire life. The mirror reacted to his touch and glowed a dark menacing red over the chamber. Ayres’ henchmen were in awe of this spectacle. The one who had been covering Radcliffe started feeling quite ill and vomited loudly onto the dusty floor. The henchman who had stayed at Ayres’ side dropped to his knees and began to prostrate himself to the object. Never before had he felt as if he were in the presence of the divine. He now felt an all too real divinity pass over him and finding him lacking.
“Boss! It’s reading my soul!”
“Yes, Mister Hardigan, but it can’t be helped that you’re inferior. That’s just the way the world works. The inferior are always going to be that way. No matter how many fancy hats or suits one owns.”
The henchman was getting his quite dirty lying on the floor as he was. The vomiting henchman seemed to regain himself and wandered over to where Ayres was standing triumphant holding his prize. Vomit man’s eyes went over all glazed and he rushed Ayres.
“You must not have that, you monster! The world does not need—“
The man never made it more than two steps. Ayres fired his pistol and a neat smoking hole appeared in the middle of the nameless henchman’s forehead. Henchman no longer, the man’s light was extinguished and he died in a heap.
Hardigan looked up at Ayres with cowed and obedient eyes. He was the very definition of sniveling. He dried the tears from his eyes and worked to straighten himself. He dusted himself off and demurred away from the man.
“What does it do, boss,” asked Hardigan.
“Hmm? That’s actually a good question,” Ayres said, “I see I didn’t drag two wastes of molecules through this god forsaken wasteland. It is very simple, Mister Hardigan. It makes men into gods.”
Blu Electronic Cigarettes
A couple of weeks ago I purchased the Blu electronic cigarette to try to curb my smoking and save money. So far my will power has not allowed me to do this. I am a weak weak man.
I have quit smoking before using nicotine substitution devices such as gums, lozenges, and patches. I think the difference here is that I don't feel there is a significant reason for me to quit smoking.
My need to live is starting to outweigh my love of smoking. I only wish that Blu came as a pipe. I could really get behind a crazy electronic meerschaum.
I have quit smoking before using nicotine substitution devices such as gums, lozenges, and patches. I think the difference here is that I don't feel there is a significant reason for me to quit smoking.
My need to live is starting to outweigh my love of smoking. I only wish that Blu came as a pipe. I could really get behind a crazy electronic meerschaum.
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