NIGHTMART PRESENTS
The internet’s
first weekly nog*. In the finest literary tradition
of The Pickwick Papers, Hitchhiker’s Guide, and Fear and Loathing Does Debbie...
Out
of Space!
This serial picks up where the
infamous Nightmart strip left off, with many of the same characters. But don’t
worry if you’re not familiar with the strip; you’ll pick it up.
Literally, if you take a look at the sales ad after the story.
Depending on how much
space these take, I’ll add new episodes weekly, tagging them on the end to keep
them chronologically correct, and subtracting the oldest from the top. This
means at most four parts will be displayed on the site at any moment.
The
newest episode is after the illustration.
There WON’T be an
online archive. Although for most of 2006 I’ll respond to nice e-mail requests
for an episode you missed. After that, we’ll see how things go. Eventually I
hope to put out partial story collections in trade paperback format.
Feedback is
appreciated.
#big
puppy eyes#
This is a work of fiction. Obviously, none of this is
possible in the real world, and none of these people in any way, shape, or form
resembles anyone real or imaginary. I mean, how could they? This story is
obviously the random ramblings of a deranged mind, and any similarities to real
folks or real world events is simple coincidence or a product of suspicious
minds looking to profit from another person’s misfortune.
#big
puppy eyes#
*A nog is a fictional novel blog. I may or may not be the first to try this, but I’m
certainly the first to coin the name. Nyah!
And so, on to the story...
1.1
It’s been said that space is large, truly huge, mind-staggeringly
gigantic. Given that nature does seem to abhor a vacuum, entropy’s tendency to
spread everything out evenly only makes sense.
But with so little matter compared to the near-infinite volume, the
mean density is still so close to zero as makes no difference, pretty much
leaving an annoyed anthropomorphized principle with an entire universe yet to
fill.
However...
With one particle, you have a few simple bits of information. With two,
the possible information squares, three, it cubes. Each particle increases the
possible information by the power of the number of particles.
And while information really takes no space at all, understanding it
does. Organizing, transmitting, interpreting, discussing, arguing, just
experiencing, it all takes up space.
And requires intelligence.
At some level, it’s a little disturbing when you figure out that the
reason for your existence involves a bizarre cross between talk shows and why
your closets fill so damn fast.
******
The Martian Girl wriggled in her seat excitedly, causing sympathetic eye bulges in most of the male humans in range. And a few of the females. Her plush form, while not the official standard of anorexic beauty, was fit and oozed buckets of sensuality. Mind you, some folks were put off by her bright green skin, ear- and nose-less face, and hairless, pointed skull, but her bubbling enthusiasm and party attitude went a long way.
That and a penchant for tight, sexy outfits.
She’d come a long way to attend AlCon. The performances had been wonderful. Nowhere else in the universe could you find raw talent like this, and they were practically giving it away! Luke Ski had finished a set, and Tom Smith was about to start. There was a rumor he had a new song, something about zombies...
Her com beeped.
She was initially irritated. Had she forgotten to turn that thing off? Then she noticed the ‘override’ signal and frowned.
“Damn.” she muttered, leaving her seat and heading for a restroom. Reaching the porcelain sanctuary, she leaned against the sink and tapped the side of her head with a long finger.
“Yes?”
“Vacation’s over.” a chirpy voice echoed in her head. “Time to go back to work.”
“Aw, c’mon, don’t I have a couple years left?” she whined.
“Now, now, the station’s done. Besides, the locals have noticed you, big time.”
“Oh, poop.”
“Poop indeedy. Big fudgey chunks, heading towards the speedy rotating blades even as we speak.” The transmitted voice was amused. “Have you located a suitable correspondent?”
“I think so.” Loud rumblings from outside were distracting her.
“Think so?” The Martian Girl winced as outrage suffused the voice echoing in her head. “You haven’t even asked anybody yet, have you?”
She pouted. “I’ve been busy...” Peering out the door, she saw squads of National Guard hustling hither and yon in the convention center. “Um, lemme get back to you.”
“That’s the point, dearie.” The voice was warm again. “Time to come home, and be sure to bring some company. Talk to strangers.”
“Talk to strangers.” The Martian Girl repeated automatically, her mind racing ahead. One hand touched the air in front of her in a complex pattern, and a shimmering blurred out her form as she levitated.
“Man, I hate it when they change the radio stations at the garage.” She complained, fingertips flashing and weaving as she floated through the wall and into the main concourse.
It was tempting to leave, but she felt a little responsible for the disruption. Pondering, her eyes scanned the camo-clad figures below her...
‘There!’ she thought, ‘He’s the one.’
The starcraft swooped in next to a trim officer with steel gray temples in a leather flight jacket studying a map of the convention center. Snapping a safety portal around him, she spun around, leaned back casually and smiled at the shocked general.
“Hi there, handsome. I understand you’re looking for me?”
General Carter had always been known as a quick thinker. But to instantly pop from a pale white convention center to floating in a gray haze was more than he was ready for.
“Um, well...” His first impulse, the pistol at his belt, was dismissed rapidly as both probably useless and curiously inappropriate, given her relaxed attitude.
Waving a hand, she pouted. “Don’t understand why you had to spoil the party for everybody else. They didn’t do anything wrong.” Screens popped into existence behind her, showing views of soldiers chivvying convention-goers to and fro, shutting down activities and concerts.
“Well, I was ordered to...” Carter suddenly felt disturbed. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to work. Invaders didn’t call you to task over bad manners.
The screens continued to pan as she leaned forward, displaying dark depths of cool green cleavage. “Did it occur to anybody to maybe give me a phone call? For crying out loud, I’m in the book. Just stop by for a chat?” Standing, she edged close, running a hand along the zipper of his jacket. “Or perhaps, send a handsome guy to ask me out...” she cooed.
He froze. Deep inside his brain, synapses were busily shutting down to avoid burning out.
“I’m hurt.” she finished, returning to her invisible seat and sulking.
“Sorry.” he mumbled, unable to come up with any other response. “But we had to... you know...”
“You’re just mean.” she sniffed. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Bunch of bullies.”
He was amazed. It was so transparently manipulative, but somehow... She made him feel like a naughty kid and a potential protector at the same time. ‘And really,’ he thought, ‘Where’s the harm? I can play this game to our advantage...’
Clearing his throat, he said. “Um, look, I’m really sorry about all of this. What if we pull all the troops out, make everybody happy, and we, uh, arrange something?”
She looked up at him, her smile restored, and his toes tingled. “Oh, that would be sooo nice!” she purred. “How about the Tempura House, you and me, next Wednesday at noon, and one other little thing...”
The general’s eyebrow lifted, he gulped weakly, but agreed.
******
Tom Smith rubbed his aching calf and sighed. It’d been a bitch of a day. He’d barely gotten into his set when the auditorium had been invaded by soldiers on a mysterious ‘search and capture’, complicated by the audience’s disbelief in the whole situation. By the time it was over, the early concert was blown, as well as the recording. Or any sales. Or any fun, dammit.
‘Oh, well, still the evening concert. Maybe I can make it up there.’ he thought.
There was a knock on the door.
‘Huh, who..?’
Outside was a squad of national guardsmen. The lead officer saluted. “Mr. Smith?”
‘Oh, shit.’ “Yeah, what..?”
“Compliments of the U.S. Government, sir. Our apologies for the disruption of your performance.” He hesitated, then plunged ahead. “We’re at your disposal for the rest of the weekend, sir.”
“Huh?”
“We’re professional singers, two
with the Chicago Met, three with the
Tom stared at them, wheels turning in his head. Then with a chortle that a nervous person might describe as verging on evil, he turned and dove into a case, tossing sheets of paper at the bewildered soldiers, who studied them curiously.
Rolling back on his heels, the singer grinned at the guards, his face glowing. “This is gonna be good!”
“Brains?” One of the soldiers whispered nervously to another, who giggled.
1.2
The first thing you notice, assuming your prescription isn’t way
overdue, is the aircraft carrier. Relatively small as such things go, it still
manages to take up several blocks worth of space.
And ‘city blocks’ is the operative phrase here.
Because it’s lying in a mixed residential/commercial area of dry land.
Not intended for placement in the bucolic suburban environment, its
design has failed to keep it upright, and the deck has sagged heavily to the
starboard, from a distance giving it the appearance of an abandoned toy of some
gigantic child.
The illusion is increased by the swarms of antlike figures around the
buildings crushed by the great ship.
Only one of them is of particular interest today.
******
“You wanna slush?” The gangly clerk brushed some dust off his apron and offered a cup to the Secret Service man watching him.
The agent paused for a moment, then nodded. “Got grape?”
“Yeah.” The clerk poured two cups of violently purple liquid, grabbed straws and a bag of pork rinds, then ambled over to sit down in what remained of the break room of the Nightmart.
“You gonna get in trouble for giving this stuff away?”
Posey stuffed a rind in his mouth, chewed noisily, then answered. “I strongly suspect my job no longer exists. And I’m not likely to get any good references, either.” He waved a hand at the rubble that ended against the creaking hull. “And why did you leave your last position?” he said in a nasal tone. “It’s a secret...” in a childlike voice.
“See what you mean.” The agent shrugged, took a long draw on his drink. “But they’ll set you up with something.”
The clerk made a face. “Yeah, right. I saw too much, and not only called Uncle Karl an anal wuss, I kneed him in the groin.”
The Secret Service man shook his head. “Man, sucks to be you. Wondered why they were already calling you a suspect.”
“Because he’s a threat to the safety and well-being of the entire country!”
A puffy, red-faced man burst
through the remains of the outer rear door, glaring at the two. With a swift
stride forward, he swept the drinks and chips off the tiny table. “Is this how
you keep an alert watch on the enemies of
“Well...” the agent began, but Posey interrupted.
“Back off, fat boy! Bad enough you’re trying to find a way to blame this whole mess you created on me, the least you can do is treat the people on your side with some dignity!”
A thick finger jabbed at Posey like a sword. “You’ll have your chance to talk, scum.’ Hate-filled eyes swiveled to the agent. “In the meantime, don’t you have handcuffs? I suggest you use them!”
“Oooo, handcuffs! You get off on that?” Posey paused. “No wait, I’m sorry, you’re probably having trouble getting anything off right now. That’s okay, we can take pictures, and you can add them to your Abu Ghraib collection when you get to feeling better.”
The senior bureaucrat purpled. His mouth opened, but nothing came out. He spun around and left, his hands clenched like talons.
“If that’s the Prexy’s brain, I’d hate to see his ass.” The clerk commented dryly, as he stood and surveyed the mess.
“You know, there’s still a part of me that feels like this needs to be cleaned up. Funny how habits run so deep.” Shrugging, he walked over to the where the oddly still humming frozen drink machine had been forced through the wall by the expanding aircraft carrier. “You wanna refill? Assuming fizzy purple soda doesn’t violate national security.”
The agent hesitated, then smiled ruefully. “Yeah, thanks. And thanks for taking the heat from his royal redness there. Man, I’ve never heard anybody talk to him that way.”
“No problem. They can only hang me once.” Posey set the new cups down before relaxing on a box. “Maybe more people should. He’d be less inclined to act like a spoiled brat.”
“Pht!” Almost choking, the agent coughed for a moment before asking. “How’d you know?”
“What?”
Grinning, the agent leaned in and whispered. “You know we’ve got code names for everybody?”
“Yeah, I heard that.”
“Well, his is B-Mouse. We tell him B is for ‘big’, but everybody knows it’s not, and that mouse is for...”
Posey stared at him, then burst out laughing. Wiping tears from his eyes, he leaned back and sighed. “Thanks. First damn laugh I’ve had this week.”
“No prob. Wish I could do more.” The agent said, looking troubled.
The Martian Girl materialized at this point.
Actually, she merely stepped out of her cloaked ship, but to us primitives, it seems like materialization, so let’s go for it, hmm?
“Hi, boys. How’s it going?” Swaying saucily across the intervening space, she hugged each of the stunned males before surveying the landscape. “Wow. You really know how to party. And you didn’t invite me?”
“Well, you said you were gonna be out of town...” Posey responded to her pout.
“Still. You gotta tell me all about this sometime.” Arching an eyestalk, she tapped a finger against her full lips thoughtfully. “At a guess, you’re kinda out of a job at this point, I’d say.”
“That’s a good guess.” Posey sucked on his drink, then noticed the agent was wide-eyed. “Oh, relax. This sort of thing happens all the time. She’s nice, real nice; in fact we dated a few times. Her name is pretty long, but the short translated nickname she decided she liked was Quivers.”
The clerk nodded at the agent. “Quivers, this is..?”
“John, Agent John Dolby.” he gulped.
“He’s okay, seems like a nice guy. He’s Secret Service.”
“That’s a tough job.” she said sympathetically.
“Not always.” John grinned at her, feeling silly. ‘Probably oughta be doing something, but this doesn’t particularly fit any of the danger sims.’ he thought.
“Speaking of tough jobs...” She cocked her head. “Posey, I might know of a position you’d be interested in. High pay, executive level, lots of freedom in decision-making.”
The clerk mulled it over. “Sounds good. But I’m a little tied up here.”
“I’m supposed to keep an eye on him.” the agent said rather sheepishly.
“Hmm. Wouldn’t want to get you in trouble.” The Martian Girl pondered, then brightened. “No problem.” Disappearing for a moment, she reappeared with a small handheld device. “Here you go.”
John stared down at it. A tiny television screen, with cable access. “Nice.” he whistled. “But what..?”
Suddenly he noticed that the screen was showing the back of a ruined store, and a zoom-in as two figures climbed into a blurred little shape. The remaining figure was...
“Me?” He looked around in shock. They were both gone.
Posey’s head and one shoulder appeared out of nowhere. “Had a thought. You got those handcuffs?”
John nodded numbly. Had there been hallucinogens in the drinks?
“Toss them here.”
The agent complied.
The clerk held them momentarily, then let them drop. “Now, listen carefully. Here’s your line; ‘Honest to God, he had the cuffs on him when he escaped. But I think I know where to find him.’ Okay?”
Dolby nodded, then suddenly grinned. “Good luck.”
Quivers leaned past Posey to blow the agent a kiss. “Talk to strangers!”
Then they were gone.
He stared at the spot they’d disappeared into, thinking about the report he’d have to file, and the impact this was going to have on his career.
Then he glanced back at the gray steel wall behind him, and laughed.
Sauntering over to the drink machine, he refilled his cup, grabbed up the bag of pork rinds, and settled in to watch the little television.
Time enough to figure things out later.
1.3
Any sufficiently advanced technology will appear to be magic.
Well, duh.
Anything complex comes to resemble magic.
The whole point of magic is ritual and symbolism to exert control of a
mysterious and unfathomable universe. By arcane masters who
must spend a lifetime learning the proper ways and means.
Which pretty well describes any field of
learning or expertise after the second or third generation.
Make no mistake; this is, on some level, quite deliberate. Nothing is
as embarrassing as having an outsider point out the flaws in your logic
structure or beliefs, or coming up with superior results independently.
Not to mention the idiots who’ll think they can do whatever it is
without training and wind up doing some serious damage along the way.
Problem is, after a while, almost everything is done by experts and
specialists, because who can bring themselves to trust the opinion of someone
who isn’t totally dedicated to a single field of thought?
And communication begins to break down, as these fields begin to look
more and more arcane to each other...
Sometimes, knowing enough to ask the question is more important than
knowing the answer.
******
Actually, Posey and Quivers hadn’t moved an inch.
Why bother? They were invisible and intangible, and really had nowhere in particular to go.
Yet.
So they sat companionably in the cool grayness of her tiny starship. After the all of the recent chaos, it felt good to sit quietly and just watch the rest of the world for a while.
“Well...” Posey eventually interrupted the silence. “What’s this job you mentioned?”
The Martian Girl smiled winningly at him.
He got the feeling you get when a thunderstorm is gathering right over the horizon. A big, nasty one.
“Basically, we want you to be our spokeshuman.”
“Ah...” Too many queries struggled for expression at the same time; his mouth locked up.
“Please?”
He finally managed to settle on one question. “Mmmm, who are we, exactly?”
“Oh, you know...” she tossed one hand back nonchalantly. “The civilized part of the galaxy.”
“O---kay...” He’d known there was life elsewhere; talked with it, sold it tee-shirts and beer, heck, even dated it seriously. But somehow, it had always been a kind of ‘Oh, that...’ low key sort of thing. Even his peripheral involvement in an abortive invasion had turned into just an odd story for the holidays.
Um.
“This isn’t some sort of weird take-over thing is it?” Posey asked uncomfortably.
“Posey! Would I do that to my friends?” She leaned closer, her lower lip puffed out. Large green-black eyes stared into his. “Especially to you? I know you’ve got somebody special, but I thought we were still... close...”
“Sorry.” He mumbled, embarrassed by the tiny flare of xenophobia.
“I know!” Quivers bounced fetchingly back deep into her seat. Dexterous green finger traced patterns in the air. “There’s an orientation film here, somewhere...”
A screen lit up in front of them. Grainy, blotched images flickered into poor flat, partial animation.
“Sorry it’s so crappy. Dunno why. But the educational services can’t turn out anything else, no matter how much budget we give them...” she murmured softly, as the titles scrolled up to tinny muzak.
The Educational Department of the Civilized
Portion of the Galaxy Presents;
SO YOU’RE GOING TO BE A CULTURAL
SUBVERSIVE!
“In the past, when two cultures met, it usually went something like this;”
Two cartoon octopus-like humanoids faced each other across a field.
The first waved an axe and spoke. “We are strong, with many weapons. God loves us.”
The second replied. “We are stronger, with more and better weapons. God loves us more.”
The second octopoid pulls out a machine gun and blows the first into Swiss cheese, laughing insanely.
“Needless to say, this less than peaceful approach often resulted in intercene warfare lasting hundreds of years, wasting resources and lives. Sometimes the ‘weaker’ culture would simply surrender its identity completely.”
“Neither of these is satisfactory. But what can be done?”
The music returns as the picture zooms in on a single mushroom style abode among many similar ones.
Inside, another cartoon octopoid is sprawled loosely on a couch, staring at a glowing orb. The voice-over continues as the poor music fades away.
“Glortch is happy enough. But somehow, he knows there’s more to existence than snorfing handa chips on a couch in front of the orb.”
The scene transforms, and suddenly Glortch is standing on a platform in front of a group of octipoids, waving his tentacles.
As his limbs squirm, images take shape; great furry beings, tiny lizards, swift fish, blazing stars.
Initially the crowd pulls back in alarm, but soon they press forward, and begin playing with the image forms themselves.
“New ideas can be safely introduced through the medium of entertainment, provided it’s unrestricted. Information and acculturation to the concept of a bigger world become natural to the viewer. Happiness increases with knowledge and control.”
The picture changes. Glortch is sitting at a bar, surrounded by slightly smaller octipoids. It’s running it’s tentacles through piles of coins and giggling.
“And with any luck, we’ll make a serious profit while we’re at it.”
More crappy muzak, but Posey hardly heard it. Eyes glazing, he turned to Quivers.
“Isn’t it nifty?” she cooed. “We open your planet to galactic civilization, and everybody has fun!”
“Fun?” he mumbled, still trying to grasp the principles here. “Sorry if I’m slow, but I still don’t get it. How am I supposed to help? Do you want me to be an ambassador or something? Head up the embassy?”
“Hell, no!” she giggled. “We want you to run our free cable news and entertainment satellite business!”
“What?”
1.4
Safety and security are natural goals. It probably begins from the time
we leave the womb, this constant quest for the ultimate snug protection for
ourselves and our loved ones.
But this ignores the reality of a world with only one unchanging
feature; paradoxily, constant change itself.
Entropy, progress, death, birth, things happen. Seemingly infinite
resources run short, even the finest crafted material objects wear out. People sometimes
grow, experience life, and change their opinions.
Nothing is truly safe, nothing secure. Only blissful ignorance ever
assumes otherwise.
And the reaction of those who’ve chosen to ignore this, when finally
forced to encounter it in the dark alley of the human soul, runs the gamut from
tragedy to farce.
******
A shaggy haired figure shuffled through the darkened park. Budgetary cutbacks had resulted in the financially pious dimming of the lights after midnight, at a savings of nearly three hundred dollars a year to the city.
Mind you, the increase in crime, forced overtime for the police, and decreased safety for local citizens was probably worth many times that sum. But it didn’t show up on the Parks Board Budget, and that was the important part. That and they could write in the special newsletter that the board members were actually doing something about the energy crisis.
Posey sat down on a metal tube and wooden slat bench, leaned back, and stared up at the night sky. It looked different. Probably would never look the same again.
Now those lights weren’t just cold points of light, they were more like the lights you see from the window of an airplane, flying high. Each one a potential sign of intelligence, a marker of potential haven in the cold darkness of infinity.
It was one thing to ponder Life in Space. Even to encounter the (really) odd example here and there. Quite another to confront the fact that there was a thriving galactic community. And that your whole planet was a dull backwater of little interest on the whole.
He shook his head.
On top of that, they wanted him to run a business that sounded like no company ever formed on Earth.
“Heh.” The ex-clerk laughed softly. “Heck of an offer, anyway...”
“Ahem. Speaking of offers...” A metallic voice hesitantly cleared its throat nearby.
“Huh? Who’s there?” Posey peered into the darkness.
“It’s the, uh, bench.” The voice seemed a little embarrassed.
He jumped up. “Whoop! Are you one of them? Hey, I’m sorry, you should’ve said something earlier, I didn’t mean, um, are you okay?”
“No, no, I’m not the bench, the bench contains a monitoring system.” The voice explained. “Part of the Department of Parkland Security. We have all potential terrorist gathering spots under 24/7 surveillance.”
“You’re kidding.” He said, disbelief dripping cold. “Somebody actually thought terrorists were going to come to this park and discuss their plans? Don’t they usually do that sort of thing in basements or abandoned warehouses?”
“You’d think that. But they’re crafty.” The voice confided. “Plus, our surveys show that many of them were raised in more pastoral, non-urban surroundings, and would seek out something similar to facilitate planning and meditation.”
Posey looked around at the trees and bushes. “Um, assuming we’re talking about only Middle-East natives, and the ones who weren’t raised in the modern cities that I understand they do have a few of in those countries, wouldn’t we be aiming for arid places or deserts? Why this park, which resembles, well, not a desert?”
“Oh, it’s not just this park.” The voice said cheerfully. “We’ve got all the parks covered.”
“You’re kidding. Tell me you’re kidding, that this is one of those prank shows.”
“Very serious.” The voice grew solemn. “In fact, I’m breaking cover because we need to make a serious offer to you, Mr. Gallagher.”
“And that would be..?”
“You’ve been approached by dangerous enemies of this country, to be an agent.” The voice said ominously. “We want you to accept.”
The ex-clerk was silent, then burst out laughing. “Ah, geez, this is too much!” Leaning back, he breathed heavily, shook his head. “Didn’t you people learn anything at all from the Cold War? Or 9/11?”
“Don’t misunderstand me. We really want you...”
“To pretend to join them, while nobly reporting back on the bad guys to you. C’mon, who wouldn’t understand? Do you ever have to spell this out for anybody? Really?” Posey tapped the hidden microphone. “Look, are there any grown-ups in there that I can talk to?”
“Mr. Gallagher, I suggest you take this seriously.”
“Me? Me not take this seriously?” He leaned close to the post containing the mike, talking quietly. “Are you always going to make your plans based on the last conflict, forever one historical period behind? These folks have star drives, force fields, transmutation, nanotech, lord only knows what else. They’re centuries ahead of us. We don’t even have the technology to understand the technology that made the technology that made their technology! In a heads up conflict they can squash us faster than we could take out knights on horseback. But they don’t want to, they’re nice. Really, basically nice. And that’s what makes you nervous, isn’t it?” His voice was louder. “Because that’s exactly what you’d do, if you had that kind of advantage, and you can’t imagine anybody who wouldn’t, can you?”
Silence, save for distant sirens growing louder.
He rose from the bench, dusted himself off. “That’s the usual answer, when somebody peeks behind the curtain, isn’t it?”
Shaking his head, Posey gave a wry grin, and swiftly walked off into the economical concealing dimness.
1.5
It’s only natural to suspect someone who has hurt you of evil intent.
In fact, the hard thing is not to suspect everyone, even the ones who haven’t
harmed you.
Yet.
And suspecting a person of evil intent is the first step to believing
them to actually be evil, capable of any horror you fear.
Which can pretty well justify anything you
do to stop them from harming you, again. Or even for the first time, if you decide a pre-emptive strike is
necessary.
Some folks can be downright uncooperative when it comes to righteous
violence. If they weren’t ready to do deliberate evil before, they’re certainly
inclined to do so afterwards.
History shows, time and again, we can make our own monsters very
effectively. There are people whose sociopolitical power depends almost
entirely on the ability to find enemies for us to fear.
As Weng Shu, the
most revered of the immaterial philosophers once said, “Whatever you look for
in this world, you will find, except true love and justice. True love will find
you when it’s damn well ready, and there is no justice...”
******
Dawn broke uneasily over the
It was oddly quiet in the upper middle class neighborhood as Posey walked halfway up the driveway of a split-level house and paused.
Most of the houses in the neighborhood had added garages or decks, some sort of flair to deviate from the dreary master plan that had stamped them out decades before. Something to show that the owner was an individual, mostly. But this one truly stood out; an ominous tower with scaly black walls rose from the side of the building like an aberrant growth.
Sticking his hands in his pockets,
the lanky man called softly “Yo,
The air shimmered before him, and a hulking, hideous being wavered into view. Three meters tall, with a sloped head and jutting tusks, massive muscles covered with thick leathery skin.
“You going for a frontal assault tonight?” It said in a conversational rumble. “What, some goomba sell ya a charm or a ward or sumptin’? You gotta know that stuff is crap, man. Whatever it was couldn’t be any good. I’m not even gettin’ an itch.”
“Nah.” Posey shook his head. “It’s all the marbles time. I’m serious, big guy. This may be the last time. So, you said you owed me one, a while back. I need to collect.”
A low whistle. “No kiddin’? Well, okay...” The huge demon stepped aside, allowing the smaller human past.
Posey paused, held out a hand.
“Thanks. I gotta tell ya, you’re definitely one of the scariest things I ever
encountered,
A massive claw enfolded his hand, shaking it gently. “T’anks. You’re pretty sharp fer a mortal, too. Been a pleasure thwarting you.” The massive skull leaned in. “Most fun I’ve had in centuries.”
“You take care.” With a pat on rough scales, Posey headed on up to the house. He paused at the front door, pondering.
“Whoop!”
He stifled his alarm as huge scaly
hands lifted him up, high into the air, balancing him carefully on a gigantic
palm even with one of the bedroom windows. Glancing down,
“In fer a nickel...”
Posey grinned back, flashing it a thumbs up. Turning back to the window, he called out quietly. “Fran? Fran, it’s Posey!”
Nothing.
‘What do I do?’ He thought. ‘Can’t get too loud, don’t want to wake her mother...’
“Ya gotta get aggressive.”
With a grunt, he tossed Posey at the window.
Which thankfully opened just as he hit, tumbling into the dark room, rolling into something soft, and warm, and...
Holding him by the neck in a strangling grip.
“Fran! It’s me!” he bleated.
“Posey?” The crushing force on his windpipe lessened, and her round features swam into view. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry!”
The soft warmness was back, and it brought lots of distracting friends.
After a moment, she pulled back.
“How’d you fly in my window?” she asked. “And what are you doing here now anyway?”
Blazing light filled the room.
“A very good question, my dear.” Said an icy voice from the door.
“Oh, shit.” Posey muttered.
Fran’s foster mother, Mrs. Cara, was a resurrected Egyptian princess or sorceress or something. Whatever she was, she had issues. Heck, she had a lifetime subscription that included disapproving of their relationship for some sort of jealousy thing. And she had serious levels of mystical abilities that she wasn’t shy about using for the most petty of reasons.
Outside, sirens wailed distantly.
‘No pressure.’ Posey thought, as he rose to his feet.
“Breaking and entering, attempting to debauch my crippled daughter...” The slinky black clack sorceress gloated, her hands glowing with arcane energy. “Oh, I knew you were a beast, this will give me all the excuse I...”
“Hold it right there!” Posey stood his ground angrily. “You have no idea what I’ve gone through tonight, done to get here! This is important, dammit!” He pointed a finger at her. “You’re gonna give me some time here, then do whatever! But I get to say something first!”
Not waiting for her reply, he turned to Fran, still curled on the floor. He helped her up to her wheelchair.
“I got a job offer.” He explained. “It’s a big job, pays big, but it’ll piss of a lot of people, just getting the offer has already made some folks want to lock me up.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It’s legal, just steps on a lot of important toes.” Posey said hastily. “Thing is, I’ll have to leave the country, probably, maybe travel a lot.” He paused, then knelt formally in front of her.
“I don’t want to leave you, though. Would you marry me?”
Fran sniffed. “I, I’m not much on traveling...” Her face sank; as her hands rubbed the bare nubs where her calves should begin she whispered. “Not a whole person, either.”
He grabbed up her hands. “You’re twice as much as anybody else in the world, and worth a thousand times to me.”
Tears running down her face, she nodded, and they kissed.
Posey rose, turning to face Mrs. Cara, fists clenched. “Alright, whatever it takes, we’re...”
He was almost knocked down as the buxom older woman tackled him in a sobbing embrace.
After a slight hesitation, he patted her on the back, looking at an equally astonished Fran.
Eventually, she quieted down, patting her eyes, and held his shoulders, some of the fire returning to her expression.
“I expect grandchildren, lots of them, princes and princesses of the mortal realm, do you understand?”
They both nodded numbly.
“That’s good.” She kissed a
stunned Fran on the lips, and Posey on the cheek. “You pack now. Take your
time.
With a sprinkle of sparks, she was gone.
Fran stared at Posey. “She hasn’t kissed me since, since my fifth birthday, I think.” She said slowly.
He nodded. “We’d better get on that grandkid thing, I suspect.”
As she hit him with a pillow, they heard a giggle from downstairs, and a door open.
******
Half a dozen long black cars pulled up in front of the armored personnel carriers surrounding the house. Each one disgorged several equally raven dressed men. The soldiers backed off as they dispersed silently around the grounds. When they stopped moving, two of them who hadn’t moved in the initial rush signaled, and a squad of soldiers followed them to the front door.
Which opened as
they approached.
“What may I say is calling?” he rumbled pleasantly, showing a mouthful of teeth that would tempt a shark to trade on the spot.
It says a lot for the material of the American military that not one of them flinched.
One of the black-suited men raised
a hand. A small white disc flared, and
Only to halt as Mrs. Cara stepped out from behind the demon.
“Gentlemen, and I use the phrase loosely, to what do I owe the pleasure, however small, of this hideously early morning visit?” She inquired coldly.
“We have reason to believe that a dangerous individual has taken refuge in your home.” It was difficult to tell which of the two had spoken. “He must be apprehended.”
“Oh? What reason? Does it involve any legal documents?”
“None needed. Hot pursuit.”
“Mmmm. That would involve a felony of some sort. And what felony would that be?”
“Treason.”
“Oooo, that’s a biggie. But a little vague. Treason how?”
Silence.
One of the two opened a book, raised a hand and began to chant. “I abjure thee, begone from this plane...”
The book suddenly burst into flames. As he hastily dropped it, Mrs. Cara flipped open a cell phone.
“Yo, Marguerite? Look, tell Larry it’s time to earn that retainer. Feds tried to banish me, no reason, on my own doorstep. Yeah, thanks, sweetie.” Snapping it shut, she smiled at them. “Speed dial, ya gotta love it.”
“You’re not allowed to take any hostile actions against government agents.” A raspy voice accused. “The deal with you and your husband specifically stated...”
“Actually, I’m not allowed to start any aggressive actions.” Again, the wicked grin. “That wasn’t directly against an agent, and it was a defensive reaction against an unlawful assault against my person. And my lawyer will be happy to prove it in court.”
“You will stand aside.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“You cannot stop us without harming us and violating your pledge.”
“Really.” Her eyes and left hand glowed. A snake staff appeared from nowhere in her other hand. “You know so much for so few years on this world.”
The morning sky began to boil, dark clouds swirling from nowhere. Distant screams mingled with a groaning of the ether as the sky burst open and tiny green forms spilled forth.
One landed near the lead soldier of the squad. He gaped at it, then laughed. “Frogs? Yer gonna stop us with frogs?”
The amphibian swelled up, stood, and stared back at him. It wore white face paint, tiny gloves, and a beret. Reaching out, it’s hands suddenly flayed frantically at the air as if the creature were trapped in an invisible box. Nearby, an identical toad leaned against a nonexistent railing and watched in exaggerated fascination.
Others gathered, more and more. Walking against the wind, shouting silently at each other, bowing, saluting, and operating all sorts of invisible machinery...
“Not just frogs.” Mrs. Cara’s smile was cold. “Amphibian mimes. An unending horde, indestructible, inexhaustible. Day in and day out, performing constantly, following each of you around faithfully to the end of your lives, and entertaining you, then your children, and your grandchildren.”
One of the soldiers gagged.
“My gift to all
visitors to my home and neighborhood today, however unwelcome. No, don’t
thank me.” She tapped
When Fran and Posey came down, the block was back to normal. The only sign of anything odd was a single frog, sitting in the middle of the driveway. As they looked at him, he waved, bowed, doffed his beret, and popped like a soap bubble.
Stuff You Can Buy
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(I’m such a mercenary bastard... sob!)
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That’s an order, soldier!
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