Bandaging a serious injury is always messy. When one is not a doctor, it becomes an annoying process of trying and retrying. And when it is your own injury it adds a whole new dimension of interesting to the equation.
Anyone who had not realized this before would have come to these same conclusions after watching a tall male in his late thirties. He was attempting to mitigate the bloodflow from his right stump with his remaining hand.
Having finished with this unenviable task, the man tried to light a cigarette with his shaking hand and found it much more difficult than he had expected. He gave it up as harder than it was worth, and gave himself up to the contemplation of the pain. Inevitably, this led to thoughts of revenge. His state of mind was not enhanced by his surroundings, which he was beginning to notice again. Then he passed out for the third time.
He was pulled back to consciousness by a pain cocktail of throbbing and stabbing pains with some nausea thrown in, apparently for good measure. He blinked, vaguely surprised to find himself in such a shabby hotel room. He froze at the sight of a second figure. It took him three full seconds to realize it was himself in the cracked mirror, which he could see from the bed. The room was dimly lit by a single bulb in a cracked lampshade. He looked around but saw no luggage, just a gun and a small black briefcase. Memory came storming back.
Tiring of all this, he pulled a phone forth from his pocket -- very carefully, with his left hand -- and called a number.
----
Elsewhere in the city, a phone began to ring into the special kind of silence produced only by despair. Mark (we mention no surnames, for his is a classified existence) fumbled for his phone. He was director of the Scientific Solutions Task Force, which entitled him to a large office all to himself. Even so, his agents had been speaking in hushed tones ever since the incident. They all liked the director, and his moods set the standard throughout SciSo.
"Hello?"
"Greetings, Mark."
Mark waved meaningfully to his subordinates, who got busy.
"I'm sure that you're feeling upset right now --"
"Why would I be upset?"
Mark wasn't sure how to answer that one. There was a bit of silence.
"Oh, yes. The matter of the hand. I remember now. You can put me down on my next performance review as highly disgruntled."
Mark was happy as long as he kept talking. His agent gave him the thumbs up sign, indicating that the tracing of the call's origin had begun.
"You stole the Object, and anything that comes from that is your own fault, as you well know. You also know I would do anything to get it back, which is why you called. What are your terms?"
"Well, I don't have any. I was thinking you could maybe let me keep it, and me and the agency go our separate ways?"
Mark almost laughed and almost cried. "Is that a joke? That is not an acceptable compromise."
"No, I didn't think so. That'll be all, then, I guess."
Mark tried to say something to hold him on the line, but it was too late. Mark whirled around to his agent. The agent held up his hand.
"No worries, boss. We got him. It's only about seven and a half miles from here."
Mark smiled for the first time since the theft of the Object.
"Get a team together. I don't want anyone shooting him out of hand, but the most important concern is the Object."
The room became a rush of activity and orders, as Mark strode hurriedly but with determination to the armory.
Showing posts with label Serial. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Serial. Show all posts
Sunday, April 15, 2012
Friday, April 13, 2012
The Exiles' Key, Chapter One
By Sleeping Inspiration
"Boys?" Katha leaned over the banister of her home, her long dark hair falling down on each side of her face.
A voice answered from the lower story."I think Mark's outside. What is it?" The speaker walked into her view. He was a boy of her age, and bearing a close resemblance to her. He looked up.
"I'd like to go on a bike ride, Alaric," she said. "Just a short one, before the feast. You think Markus would want to?"
Alaric looked thoughtful. "Probably- if we can find him, that is." He shrugged. "Where do you want to go? Willowgreen, maybe? There should be time to do something before it starts. We've got a little more than half an hour."
WillowgreenPark was a community park about half a mile away. It had multiple attractive bike paths, as well as a jungle gym and a small pond - and, incidentally, a large picnic area with pavilions, which was to be the site of the 'feast' they had both referred to.
"Maybe,"Katha said. "We'd have to dress up first, in that case, or else leave and come back here before the feast." She swung down thestairs, her skirt swirling gracefully about her legs."Anyway, let's go look for Mark, and then see what we have time for."
"Sounds reasonable,"Alaric agreed. "It shouldn't take that long to find our own triplet, should it?"
Katha shrugged smilingly. From their shared lives, they knew well that even triplets could get separated - at least, they all could. And they were quite close.
"By the way," Katha said a few moments later, as they put on their shoes, "calling it a 'feast' has to be one of the worst misnomers in our history, don't you think? It makes it sound like a celebration."
"I know," he agreed dryly. "And a mass exile from your homeland isn't exactly something to celebrate, is it. Although I will admit," he added, "the United States have been pretty good to us."
"Yes,they have," she admitted, opening the front door, "but - still, none of our people have ever really felt at home here, have they?" She took a breath of the spring air, reflecting that the evening would be cool.
"No,I don't actually know of a single person who really has," he said thoughtfully. "Funny, it's been generations, our people practically have their own town here (or all live in the same area, anyway), and we just haven't settled in."
"It's in our blood," Katha said assuredly. "We belong in the old land. The old land was better anyway," she continued. "For instance -" they were now in their front yard, and she looked up and down the street "- there, triplets - oh, look! There's Markus!" She pointed at a figure walking down the street toward them. He saw them, waved, and broke into a run.
In a few moments he was beside them. He bore a close likeness to both his siblings, especially Alaric, with the same dark hair, dark eyes, and fair, aristocratic features. However, he had a more animated, dashing look than his graver brother. He was also more inclined to start things - good and bad.
He seemed inclined to start something now. "Hi," he greeted them. "I had a cool idea the other day."
Alaric looked at him a trifle warily. "Is this one of your 'urgent' ideas?" he asked. "If it isn't, do you want to go for a bike ride before the feast?"
"Well,there's not much time for that," he said doubtfully. "And my idea's not urgent...but can I just tell it to you?"
"You may speak," Katha consented.
"I think we should build a treehouse," he said eagerly. "A good one, with walls, and a real door. We might even be able to find a lock for the door.
"Wouldn't it be fun to have our own place? A three-man castle in a tree. We could use it for what ever we wanted," he continued.
"We do already have two bedrooms between us," Alaric pointed out "-ours, and Katha's. I don't especially feel the need for a private place."
"Neither do I," Katha interjected, "but I do feel the need for a treehouse. I like treehouses. The problem is, I don't think we have a good tree in our yard."
"We could make it in Willowgreen then," Markus said.
"That's exactly the kind of thing local governments hate, you know,"Alaric said reluctantly. He, too, liked the idea.
"So we build it in one of the deserted spots," Markus answered quickly. "It's a good-sized park. There should be a suitable spot somewhere. Ofcourse, then we'd really want a lock, if it was on public property."
"That's the second time you've mentioned a lock," Katha told him. "You seem oddly fixated on the idea - not that we wouldn't need one,"she added.
Moving to their front porch, they sat there and discussed the idea.
As it was getting dark, their older sister Chryssa came out. She was a beautiful, stately girl with dark eyes, like those of her siblings,and long golden hair. Normally, she wore this hair in one plain braid, but now part of it was braided ornately and the rest flowing down her back. She was wearing a beautiful dress of silk brocade that swept the ground, a cloak of golden-colored velvet, fastened at the throat with a jeweled clasp, and around her head was a coronet - a simple hoop of gold with a diamond, flanked on each side by one smaller, in the center of her forehead.
"What are you talking about out here?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be getting ready? It's getting late."
Katha looked at her watch and jumped up. "You're right, Chris,"she said. "We were talking about a new project - building ourselves a treehouse, actually. We've been making plans." She looked at her triplets.
"Well,then," she said, "after the feast - or tomorrow, if there isn't time tonight - we can look around the park for a good place." She paused."Are we agreed, brothers?"
"Yes,"they both said.
"Guess we'd better dress, then," Markus added. "By the way, I was at the Falcons' just now, and Simon will be here today. Apparently his employer wasn't very happy, but he gave him the day off."
"Oh,good," Chryssa said. "I always hate it when someone can't be here for this feast." She added, "Do you want help with your hair, Katha? Mother's a little busy."
"All right," Katha replied. "Thanks, Chryssa." The children went inside.
* * * * *
A short time later, they had arrived at Willowgreen's picnic area. The tables were crowded with people, all wearing strange clothing - the ceremonial clothes of their homeland. Every family seemed to have its own place at a specific table, and all looked toward one, almost unoccupied table at the head of the pavilion. Seated there, facing the rest, were six figures.
On the edges were Alaric and Katha; next to them, Chryssa and Markus. Katha was dressed as Chryssa was, save that her coronet had only one gem. Alaric and Markus wore rich suits, also of silk brocade, embroidered with strange devices. They also wore the golden cloaks and the coronets with the single diamond.
In the center, similarly clad, stood a man and a woman - the children's parents. They were tall and majestic, both, like their eldest, dark eyed and golden haired, as was not uncommon for their people. Their cloaks were not of golden velvet, but of gold cloth. In each of their coronets was a brilliant topaz, surrounded by a ring of minuscule diamonds.
The man rose. The last rays of the sun illuminated him, and the book on the table before him. Although carefully preserved, it was clearly an ancient volume.
"My people!" the man spoke. "Exiles of Pris-Kador! It is now the one hundred forty-ninth anniversary-" he paused sorrowfully"- of our exile. One hundred forty-nine years, since the day our fathers were by sorcery cast out of our homeland, of the land of Kador in the kingdom of Prismia - the day we were cast out of our very world, and thrown into a strange one - this world, of Science,and no Magic.
"You all know this, my people - my fellow exiles. Now, as is our custom,I, Hereditary Lord of Kador, Fifty-third of that title and of my house, and Sixth Lord in Exile, shall read to you the Account of our Exile, as written by Lord Darion, Fiftieth Lord of Kador and First Lord in Exile."
"Boys?" Katha leaned over the banister of her home, her long dark hair falling down on each side of her face.
A voice answered from the lower story."I think Mark's outside. What is it?" The speaker walked into her view. He was a boy of her age, and bearing a close resemblance to her. He looked up.
"I'd like to go on a bike ride, Alaric," she said. "Just a short one, before the feast. You think Markus would want to?"
Alaric looked thoughtful. "Probably- if we can find him, that is." He shrugged. "Where do you want to go? Willowgreen, maybe? There should be time to do something before it starts. We've got a little more than half an hour."
WillowgreenPark was a community park about half a mile away. It had multiple attractive bike paths, as well as a jungle gym and a small pond - and, incidentally, a large picnic area with pavilions, which was to be the site of the 'feast' they had both referred to.
"Maybe,"Katha said. "We'd have to dress up first, in that case, or else leave and come back here before the feast." She swung down thestairs, her skirt swirling gracefully about her legs."Anyway, let's go look for Mark, and then see what we have time for."
"Sounds reasonable,"Alaric agreed. "It shouldn't take that long to find our own triplet, should it?"
Katha shrugged smilingly. From their shared lives, they knew well that even triplets could get separated - at least, they all could. And they were quite close.
"By the way," Katha said a few moments later, as they put on their shoes, "calling it a 'feast' has to be one of the worst misnomers in our history, don't you think? It makes it sound like a celebration."
"I know," he agreed dryly. "And a mass exile from your homeland isn't exactly something to celebrate, is it. Although I will admit," he added, "the United States have been pretty good to us."
"Yes,they have," she admitted, opening the front door, "but - still, none of our people have ever really felt at home here, have they?" She took a breath of the spring air, reflecting that the evening would be cool.
"No,I don't actually know of a single person who really has," he said thoughtfully. "Funny, it's been generations, our people practically have their own town here (or all live in the same area, anyway), and we just haven't settled in."
"It's in our blood," Katha said assuredly. "We belong in the old land. The old land was better anyway," she continued. "For instance -" they were now in their front yard, and she looked up and down the street "- there, triplets - oh, look! There's Markus!" She pointed at a figure walking down the street toward them. He saw them, waved, and broke into a run.
In a few moments he was beside them. He bore a close likeness to both his siblings, especially Alaric, with the same dark hair, dark eyes, and fair, aristocratic features. However, he had a more animated, dashing look than his graver brother. He was also more inclined to start things - good and bad.
He seemed inclined to start something now. "Hi," he greeted them. "I had a cool idea the other day."
Alaric looked at him a trifle warily. "Is this one of your 'urgent' ideas?" he asked. "If it isn't, do you want to go for a bike ride before the feast?"
"Well,there's not much time for that," he said doubtfully. "And my idea's not urgent...but can I just tell it to you?"
"You may speak," Katha consented.
"I think we should build a treehouse," he said eagerly. "A good one, with walls, and a real door. We might even be able to find a lock for the door.
"Wouldn't it be fun to have our own place? A three-man castle in a tree. We could use it for what ever we wanted," he continued.
"We do already have two bedrooms between us," Alaric pointed out "-ours, and Katha's. I don't especially feel the need for a private place."
"Neither do I," Katha interjected, "but I do feel the need for a treehouse. I like treehouses. The problem is, I don't think we have a good tree in our yard."
"We could make it in Willowgreen then," Markus said.
"That's exactly the kind of thing local governments hate, you know,"Alaric said reluctantly. He, too, liked the idea.
"So we build it in one of the deserted spots," Markus answered quickly. "It's a good-sized park. There should be a suitable spot somewhere. Ofcourse, then we'd really want a lock, if it was on public property."
"That's the second time you've mentioned a lock," Katha told him. "You seem oddly fixated on the idea - not that we wouldn't need one,"she added.
Moving to their front porch, they sat there and discussed the idea.
As it was getting dark, their older sister Chryssa came out. She was a beautiful, stately girl with dark eyes, like those of her siblings,and long golden hair. Normally, she wore this hair in one plain braid, but now part of it was braided ornately and the rest flowing down her back. She was wearing a beautiful dress of silk brocade that swept the ground, a cloak of golden-colored velvet, fastened at the throat with a jeweled clasp, and around her head was a coronet - a simple hoop of gold with a diamond, flanked on each side by one smaller, in the center of her forehead.
"What are you talking about out here?" she asked. "Shouldn't you be getting ready? It's getting late."
Katha looked at her watch and jumped up. "You're right, Chris,"she said. "We were talking about a new project - building ourselves a treehouse, actually. We've been making plans." She looked at her triplets.
"Well,then," she said, "after the feast - or tomorrow, if there isn't time tonight - we can look around the park for a good place." She paused."Are we agreed, brothers?"
"Yes,"they both said.
"Guess we'd better dress, then," Markus added. "By the way, I was at the Falcons' just now, and Simon will be here today. Apparently his employer wasn't very happy, but he gave him the day off."
"Oh,good," Chryssa said. "I always hate it when someone can't be here for this feast." She added, "Do you want help with your hair, Katha? Mother's a little busy."
"All right," Katha replied. "Thanks, Chryssa." The children went inside.
* * * * *
A short time later, they had arrived at Willowgreen's picnic area. The tables were crowded with people, all wearing strange clothing - the ceremonial clothes of their homeland. Every family seemed to have its own place at a specific table, and all looked toward one, almost unoccupied table at the head of the pavilion. Seated there, facing the rest, were six figures.
On the edges were Alaric and Katha; next to them, Chryssa and Markus. Katha was dressed as Chryssa was, save that her coronet had only one gem. Alaric and Markus wore rich suits, also of silk brocade, embroidered with strange devices. They also wore the golden cloaks and the coronets with the single diamond.
In the center, similarly clad, stood a man and a woman - the children's parents. They were tall and majestic, both, like their eldest, dark eyed and golden haired, as was not uncommon for their people. Their cloaks were not of golden velvet, but of gold cloth. In each of their coronets was a brilliant topaz, surrounded by a ring of minuscule diamonds.
The man rose. The last rays of the sun illuminated him, and the book on the table before him. Although carefully preserved, it was clearly an ancient volume.
"My people!" the man spoke. "Exiles of Pris-Kador! It is now the one hundred forty-ninth anniversary-" he paused sorrowfully"- of our exile. One hundred forty-nine years, since the day our fathers were by sorcery cast out of our homeland, of the land of Kador in the kingdom of Prismia - the day we were cast out of our very world, and thrown into a strange one - this world, of Science,and no Magic.
"You all know this, my people - my fellow exiles. Now, as is our custom,I, Hereditary Lord of Kador, Fifty-third of that title and of my house, and Sixth Lord in Exile, shall read to you the Account of our Exile, as written by Lord Darion, Fiftieth Lord of Kador and First Lord in Exile."
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Crooked Bridges: Day Three
Greenland, 999 AD:
A horn blows in the distance, the warriors and watchmen ready themselves, peering into the night. A single light appears, a spark in the ashen darkness. The sound of hooves on hard-packed earth heralds his coming, his horn sounds again, this time the clear eyed among the Greenlanders see a gold gleam as the rider raises it to his lips.
The steed, almost exhausted, skids to a stop in front of the gate, dust billowing in the lantern light. The rider does not dismount, but cries from below in their own language, his voice hoarse from the dust of his ride.
"Has the ship sailed? I know the tide turns at midnight, and one of the crew... "
"Traveler, I know not know who you are, or why you want to know, but Eric's Son has sailed with Noon tide," the captain of the guard returned.
The Messenger bowed his head.
A horn blows in the distance, the warriors and watchmen ready themselves, peering into the night. A single light appears, a spark in the ashen darkness. The sound of hooves on hard-packed earth heralds his coming, his horn sounds again, this time the clear eyed among the Greenlanders see a gold gleam as the rider raises it to his lips.
The steed, almost exhausted, skids to a stop in front of the gate, dust billowing in the lantern light. The rider does not dismount, but cries from below in their own language, his voice hoarse from the dust of his ride.
"Has the ship sailed? I know the tide turns at midnight, and one of the crew... "
"Traveler, I know not know who you are, or why you want to know, but Eric's Son has sailed with Noon tide," the captain of the guard returned.
The Messenger bowed his head.
Monday, April 9, 2012
Crooked Bridges: Day Two
Camelot, Circa 700 AD:
The First Messenger has passed from this world long ago, his task unfinished. But in his son his mission lives on, and generation after generation the title of Messenger is handed down. With the title is handed the great burden.
A lone rider passed through the gates of Camelot, dismounted hurriedly and entered the King's Court. He bowed, but did not remove his heavy traveling cloak.
"Arthur, King of England, I come in search of a man, or tidings of him. He is noble of stature and bearing, his arms are a slumbering Eagle on a field of black. I have a message for him that must be delivered without delay. I ask no boon save this."
The First Messenger has passed from this world long ago, his task unfinished. But in his son his mission lives on, and generation after generation the title of Messenger is handed down. With the title is handed the great burden.
A lone rider passed through the gates of Camelot, dismounted hurriedly and entered the King's Court. He bowed, but did not remove his heavy traveling cloak.
"Arthur, King of England, I come in search of a man, or tidings of him. He is noble of stature and bearing, his arms are a slumbering Eagle on a field of black. I have a message for him that must be delivered without delay. I ask no boon save this."
Sunday, April 8, 2012
Crooked Bridges: Day One
Rome 475 Anno Domini:
"The message is of absolutely vital importance, and should be delivered at the earliest possible date. The contents would be useless to you, and detrimental to The Cause in the wrong hands. Godspeed."
The Messenger of the Navigantium bowed and withdrew. He mounted his steed and rode swiftly to the docks, knowing every instant could be the difference between life and death. Not the life and death of one man, or even one nation, but of everyone who would ever live. He reached the water and the tide was with him. The ship was pulling at its cables, the captain and the sailors waiting silently for his arrival.
The voyage was ill fated, the powers of the sea seemed to be set against them. The ship foundered and was shattered by the storms. But one escaped the oceans wrath, whether guarded by a power of his own, through his own merits, or through some mere twist in the loom of fate cannot be said.
"The message is of absolutely vital importance, and should be delivered at the earliest possible date. The contents would be useless to you, and detrimental to The Cause in the wrong hands. Godspeed."
The Messenger of the Navigantium bowed and withdrew. He mounted his steed and rode swiftly to the docks, knowing every instant could be the difference between life and death. Not the life and death of one man, or even one nation, but of everyone who would ever live. He reached the water and the tide was with him. The ship was pulling at its cables, the captain and the sailors waiting silently for his arrival.
The voyage was ill fated, the powers of the sea seemed to be set against them. The ship foundered and was shattered by the storms. But one escaped the oceans wrath, whether guarded by a power of his own, through his own merits, or through some mere twist in the loom of fate cannot be said.
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