Denubis' Stories

City on fire

2008-02-06T00:36:34Z

The sun set hours ago, but it was still light. The clouds were low and full over the city and reflected the numerous city lights. The diffuse orange glow was a scarce comfort to Jimothy , staring out his bedroom window.

The cry city on fiiire kept echoing through his mind in the voice of what’s her name from that movie with that barber. He had more important matters to think about, but again and again his mind wailed: Smoke, smoke / Sign of the devil / Sign of the devil / City on fire / Witch, a witch / Smell it sir, an evil smell / Every night at the vesper’s spell / Smoke that came with an awful hell / City on fire!”

This was the night he had to make the decision. His answer was expected tomorrow. Should he do it? Should he not show up? But, instead of weighing the pros and cons, city on fiiire echoed again.

He stood up, went to the bathroom. A drink of water and a short walk back. His thoughts shied away from the monumental decision and once again he looked at the orange glow through his window.

"So We're Not Being Hired by Some Débutante, Right?"

2008-02-05T04:03:31Z

A shock, perhaps aftershock, of barely processed ethanol and acid jumped from Gregor’s stomach into the delicate tissues of his throat. As he started coughing, Matti’s face lit with a huge smile. “Will we be catering to the needs of a wealthy young débutante out to make her mark on an unsuspecting solar system?”

Hope stared at the man. Her glare seemed to combine incredulity, horror, humor, and depression. It was remarkably communicative. Flatly: “No.”

A pause while her response went completely over the irrepressible Matti’s head. “You two will be gofers, cooks, stewards, and deckhands for a big cargo hauler hauling ‘chips and bots to the Jovian Moons.” Her stern face cracked a smile, “And they wanted me to be Third Shift Watch captain for the Fusion Bottle!”

The two earthers failed to appreciate her enthusiasm. Gregor was still coughing, and Matti was partially lost in his dream. “Pay will be transport, air, food, and 10 grams of AI ‘chips per person.” That was low, but more than what they had now.

A Rant Sans Audience

2008-02-05T03:11:29Z

“Turning and turning in a widening gyre / The falcon cannot hear the falconer; / Things fall apart; the center cannot hold; / Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,” Quoted the young man in dark polo and jeans. “We live in a time,” he continued in his own words, “of superstition and ignorance. We live in a time of hope.”

The audience, uncaring coffee shop patrons in the main, mostly ignored the young man’s speech and sipped their coffees. They were used to fiery ideologues and the attraction of the faddishly nouveau-coffee was far more absorbing.

“You all misunderstand my words.” Projected the young man as he warmed to his subject. “You seem to think that I’m advocating, ” his tone turned bitter and biting for a moment, “Hope as some sort of anodyne to our problems! Far be it!”

He sipped his own custom made coffee then, his slightly novel assertion distracting some of the drinkers. “Hope is the source of our problems. We think that if we wish for something, it somehow becomes real! Fie on that, say I!”

Spinning Despair

2008-02-03T19:16:58Z

The “Bar” shifted under Gregor’s feet. The plastic bulbs on the walls looked like nothing Gregor would serve, but he did admit that the alcohol stored in them was as good as what he used to serve.

It turned out, he mused, that getting a trip to Mars was simplicity itself. All one had to do was hold one’s breath and push off the station. In a couple of hundred years, your corpse would reach Mars: no problems. Finding a faster, more survivable trip, on the other hand: that posed real problems. There were no passenger or freight transits scheduled to Mars for the foreseeable future. Something about tariffs or blockades or politics.

Now they were in this dingy bar again drinking their problems away. Hope, figuratively and literally, had departed. Literally, she was somewhere talking to her old friends, trying to rustle up a roundabout route. Figuratively, the tantalizing chance to get off of that desolate dirt-ball had only opened the door wider to despair. Meanwhile, his stomach was spinning uncomfortably.

The Stamp of Doom

2008-02-03T18:32:40Z

Bellow, as Howard thought of himself, swung the precious copy of Joyce’s Ulysses through the air at the troubled teen, more like the unwitting pawn, from the Kitteh Armai.

As if time turned into treacle, Agent Bellow watched the book describe a smooth arc. Midway through, his grip slipped slightly and the book cover fluttered open. The teen, unconsciously raised the stamper to protect herself.

Kathunk! The book landed. Horrified, Agent Bellow quickly looked down at the book. The due date, freshly stamped, was two weeks ago! He was holding an overdue book in his hands and it was… his… fault! With a fury born of despair he prepared to perform the unthinkable act: he opened Joyce’s Ulysses and took a deep breath.

“Certainly,” intoned Agent Bellow with voice of dread, “Ned Lambert said. Bring the camera whenever you like. I’ll get these bags cleared away from the windows. You can take it from here or from here.”

The terrified teen stared at Agent Bellow with round eyes, too stunned to object.

Beware Asteroid Miners Bearing Gifts!

2008-02-02T19:57:12Z

It all started upside down: topsy-turvy like. Tracy opened her eyes to find the landscape skewed around her. Strange lines and angles fought in her sleepy brain for long moments. Then certain lines, lines that would be familiar had they been rotated in a different direction, registered in her brain.

That was a chair. Those lines made a door. Those others a window. Everything snapped into perspective, though her slightly hung over mind still wondered what she was doing in the air.

Memories of last night snuck up on her consciousness like a bashful mugger. The drinks, the cheers. Oh Gods!—the singing. It was her first week on the Agenor Asteroid Station. She was a co-op from some college back on Earth! The job had said “Interns with an interest in out-system activities needed! Excitement and good pay await in the Trojan Asteroids of Jupiter’s Lagrangian Points!”

She felt that she could now amend the ad slightly: “Beware Asteroid Miners who bring gifts! Hangovers, tricks, and scams await in the Trojans!”

At the Station

2008-02-01T20:30:42Z

As the world below them rotated, the ship’s engines kicked a few times. Echoes of God’s terrible roar rippled through the room: a reminder, a caution, or a mundane course correction; none could say.

The commuter rocket docked at space-station Rho. Not one of the glamorous new stations, but new enough. Gregor watched the rocket nestle into its appropriate slip like some obscene act shown on late-night TV. In the pseudo-null gravity of free fall, Gregor’s alcohol-burned sinuses seemed far more important than gathering his bag for unshipping.

Matti, with long-forgotten experience, maneuvered out of the harness. Gregor just sat and keened for hope long past. The pods ahead of them emptied slowly as Matti took their bags down from the compartments overhead.

A lithe form tumbled gracefully over the seat tops. The offerer of a bottle turned out to be a very slim young woman with what seemed to be a cast-iron stomach and a spacer’s jumpsuit. “I’m Hope,” she said, “Who might you folks be?”

Paradise Mall

2008-02-01T19:19:04Z

“Why Paradise?” Asked the young CNN reporter.
“Why not?” Responded the developer, suave in suit and tie, “It was for sale, cheap. But let’s not talk about what was here before. I’m holding this press conference to announce to the world that the Paradise Mall is now open. I hear there’s a great sale on indulgences over at the Rosary gift shop.”

Another reporter, grizzled with ink-stains on his fingers spoke. “But what about accusations that you purchased this property from Satan himself?”

The developer allowed himself a slight simple. “As I’ve said before, I can’t really comment on the circumstances of the sale. As you folks have reported yourselves, though, leading theologians seem to be indicating on a recent reorganization in heaven.”

The reporter interrupted. “But what can you tell us?”

The developer’s smile shrank, indicating a disappointment in the media. “I’m sorry. I’m contractually barred from answering that question. Since we seem to be rehashing the same questions, shall we start our tour?”

Rendezvous, A Book Found

2008-02-01T19:02:48Z

He pinched his arm. It hurt. He was here, but he was also on the ground. All he knew was that the figure on the ground had been holding a plastic shopping bag.

The logo on the bag was unreadable in the side-scatter of his headlights. A book, initially quite battered, now worse, lay accusingly on the ground where it had fallen from the bag. The incised letters of the cover blurred in his eyes making it hard for him to pick out the title.

He knew he couldn’t be caught here. A horrible meeting with his parole officer had turned into a “night with the boys.” With a strength born of desperation, he stuffed his body into the trunk of his car and tossed the shopping bag and book in his passenger side seat.

Swerving only slightly, with a caution born of incomprehensible terror, he continued his drunken path home.

Permission Denied (Tellman Tales)

2008-02-01T03:20:16Z

Permission Denied blazed the red letters on his screen. Gary nodded, not unsurprised. But not for nothing was he a member of the internal affairs bureau.

He walked out of his office, pulling the door shut until the lock beeped. A brief walk brought him to his supervisor’s door. He knocked, and barely heard a muffled “Enter.”

“Marna,” he started, “I need clearance for Gary Tellman and G2. I think something fishy is happening in Paris.”

The Wrath of an Old Man (Challenge: A Picture is Worth A Thousand Characters)

2008-02-01T02:58:50Z

The elderly man wiped away tears as the music box in his late daughter’s room ran down. He stared at the shelf of her toys. She was so young and so devoted to the blue-eyed doll the day she died.

Mercy, his fogged memories told him. Mercy was the name of the doll. As the man slowly bent his knees, joints complaining, he clasped his hands. “Oh God,” prayed the man, “Why did you not show mercy? Why did you take my Suzanna?”

Jonas opened his soul and waited for some sign that God was listening. As always, all he felt now was silence. This void in his soul was why he had left the clergy back then.

Wrath surged through the thin, gaunt, frame. Wrath against an uncaring world. Wrath against a spiteful God. With a lurch Jonas rose to his feet, mind a blank. As his arm swept the reminder of his past off the shelf.

The shattering of fragile porcelain brought a measure of sanity to his senses. He looked down to see one unshattered, accusing, blue eye staring at him surrounded by the remains of a priceless antique.

The Cats Strike Back.

2008-02-01T02:08:09Z

As the group hurried out, a despairing scream echoed from the front desk. Howard was the first to turn. A young teen, no older than 13, had a book on the checkout desk. Looking closer, Howard could also see the fluffy, tabby, head of a kitten peeking out of the teen’s bag.

“You can haz bookz!” Screamed the volunteer manning the front desk. “Mee done nou! Kay thx bai!” Every corrupted syllable fell into place like the tumbling of rocks from Mount Doom.

Still holding the return date stamper, the volunteer vaulted the front desk and ran towards the group at the front door.

Special Book Services

2008-02-01T01:07:52Z

A young lady, probably in her mid-twenties approached the group. She already had the practiced sour-faced expression of veteran librarians and her tweed dress, stylishly cut, just shouted her status.

Reaching into her handbag, she delicately placed three items onto the table. A gilt-edged library card, The Unadulterated Cat, and The Selfish Gene. The latter in rare leather editions. “Your plight,” she said with aplomb, “has come to the attention of higher authorities. I will be your liason with Special Book Services. “

At the sight of the gilt-edged library card and the name of Special Library Services, Howard couldn’t restrain himself further. “YES!” He shouted, “We’ve mad-”

Almost simultaneously, Kristin and Agent Rebecca glared at Howard and put their fingers to their mouths. “Shhh! This is a library! You will be quiet!” They hissed in an eerie echo.

Opening up The Unadulterated Cat Agent Rebecca paged to the first Appendix. “Your mission is here. You have one week. Supplies are in the closet.”

Revenge of the Librarians.

2008-01-31T23:41:46Z

The librarian looked up from the video monitor embedded in the decrepit book. The cloth bound, metal covers offered decent sound quality via bone induction and no mundane would be caught dead reading Adventures of the Great Accountants, Part 3, Volume 2.

Something had to be done about those damn cats. Another child lost to their burgeoning empire. Somehow the cats evaded the typical localizing techniques, usually acceptably efficacious. Sniffing in distaste, the severe bun on top of the librarians head bobbed as she replaced the book on the high, crowded, shelf. Walking with measured strides to the front desk, she glanced around and loaded a popular game. While being caught playing the game would cause some embarrassment, it provided an excellent cover.

To a specific chat channel, she typed “LFG Library Run. Secret Agents wanted.” With any luck, her contact was online.

Launch Warning

2008-01-31T22:54:30Z

The voice continued. “Yea, the signs tell us that we shouldn’t eat for twenty four hours, but I reckon no-one here would have the guts to board this heap of junk without a good linin’ of booze in their gut.”

A glugging noise indicated that the speaker hadn’t left the forbidden booze behind. A hip flask, held in an incongruously slender hand, was passed through the seats. “You gents want a shot?”

At that time, the warning lights pulsed red three times.

“Drink quick like, we’ve only got 30 seconds left on this rock.”