Oi!

sorry i haven't been very faithful to the old blogholio...i've been lazy. i have the beginnings of two new stories and just started on the second half of convoy. i'm still not drinking, so there is a good possibility that there will be a rash of new stuff up later on this week. i will also be posting some new rock that i have been a part of lately...good stuff, maynard!

Convoy I

“If only there were windshield-wipers for the inside of your helmet,” mumbled jason. as if in answer, a drop of sweat beaded off of his nose and floated lazily towards his face shield. the holographic field he was viewing his world through didn’t change, but it was still unnerving to have his real-time vision in space looking like a rain-spattered windshield on the interstate. under the circumstances, climate control or no, it was definitely reasonable.

the com ship had been picking up ghosts at the outside of it’s range for the last few cycles and about the fifth time the ensign on duty slapped the alarm, the commodore decided to triple the patrol. just the double duty the bored pilots all needed…something new to bitch about. unfortunately for all of them, it wasn’t just a case of a jumpy captain, and it definitely wasn’t forming up to be a drill.

the convoy consisted of twenty ships, one of which was a class three battle cruiser, and one carrier…the fls drake. jason had been attached to the drake for his entire tour—three and a half standard years—and he was looking forward to a break after his remaining six months. sure he had seen action before but, contrary to popular belief, that makes imminent conflict actually more frightening. he had seen friends sucked into vacuum through holes in their canopies that were not quite large enough for them to fit intact…he had seen others disappear in a flash that left only particles the size of a grain of sand and a light imprint on his eyes…he had seen the wrong end of a mig’latai plasma cannon warming to fire into his face only to be plucked from certain death by an out-of-control comrade crashing into the insect’s ship and diverting the blast into his wingman. there was no bravado—no illusions about combat left in jason—only cold hard fear and a sweat that had nothing to do with heat.

at this stage of the game, even the limited sensors on his lance (light array nilgrav combat escort) could pick out the multiple contacts making their way steadily towards the convoy. the hud was showing about fifteen separate bogeys, but if they actually were hostile, it is not so hard to piggy-back signals. in other words, there could be anywhere from fifteen to forty.

“Bravo one to tac-com, any id numbers off of inbound?” Jason waited for the reply while checking and re-checking his inventory.

“Negative, bravo one, zero conformation or response from inbound vessels. Be advised, bogeys are to be considered hostile. Please await engagement clearance, over.”

“Roger that, com, positioning at attack vectors and waiting on command, over.” great. tac-com had no idea what we were up against and command was sitting on their thumbs, thought jason as he switched to squadron push. “Bravo and Echo wings, form up on squad leaders, spearhead formation. Squadron leaders, slave to my channel and wait for engagement clearance. Forward elements, maintain splits two hundred, that’s two zero zero klicks. Stay sharp, boys.” the blanketed squadron push erupted in sub-unit orders and dressing assignments. jason filtered back to command channel only and watched his units form up in four angled fronts. he checked his stores yet again and settled deeper into his harness.

the unidentified bogeys were nearing the100,000 kilometer layer on his sensors. if any of them were large enough and were carrying any heavy deep space launchers, they would almost be in range…not that deep space rockets would be any problem for a lance’s automatic targeting system, but the idea that the convoy could be fired on—that they could be touched…

as jason was thinking about this, one of the contact icons on his hud split into two different signals. they were stacking their signals! he toggled the push, “Command, this is bravo one, additional signatures reported, repeat, i have additional bogey signatures!”

“Roger that, bravo one, hold formation and await engagement clearance, over…”


[any suggestions on what should happen next?]

Scavenger Hunt

the voices were getting more and more insistent. arvis had been sitting in the high-backed chair at the end of the hall and watching his hands to their funny little dance for two hours. he wasn't willing them to wring each other with the intensity of two lovers at play, nor was he unamused at their spontaneity--who was he to have a say in the matter anyway? he had read a story somewhere about a man's hands deciding they were being oppressed and killing their owner by severing themselves form his body while their owner slept in an effort to escape. that wouldn't be arvis; oh no no no, his little friends could do anything they pleased. anyway, he needed them for his work. he had a good occupation. he didn't like to call it his "job"--that made it sound too much like he would rather be doing something else--he preferred "occupation" because of the fact that it really did occupy all of his time and attention. there was not a waking moment in his day that he was not receiving instructions, so he just moved from work-site to work-site, following the instructions he was given.

today was a special day though. that must be why his hands were playing their nervous little game. he had never had to wait this long before going to work, but every time he had gotten up to leave, his hands would not let go of the arms of the comfortable chair and the voices had shouted at him. He didn't like to be shouted at, so he sat and waited.

a small rather good-looking woman came bustling out of a door halfway down the hall. arvis stilled his hands with a simple whispered request and they were happy to oblige. he hoped she wasn't his work for the day. she had a very nice face with very nice eyes and when she stopped at the elevator, not five feet from arvis' chair, she smiled at him. she had a very nice smile as well.

"Excuse me, miss," said arvis pleasantly, "do you have the time? I have been waiting a while, you see, and i seem to have left my watch at home."

"Oh, of course," she was still smiling as she rearranged her load to free her left hand enough to see her watch. a single piece of paper fell towards the ground at arvis' feet. still looking at the woman, arvis' hand leapt from the arm of the chair and plucked the paper out of the air like it was not moving. arvis realized what it had done with a start, but as he handed the page back to the nice lady, she didn't seem to notice it hadn't hit the ground.

"Thank you," she was still smiling as her left hand accepted the paper and turned itself over. "It's a quarter after ten...i hope you won't have to wait much longer."

"Thank you so much, young lady. I'm sure it won't be much longer." as he said this, the elevator made it's pinging noise and the door slid open smoothly, "Have a good day."

"You too." she was still smiling as she got into the elevator. arvis leaned back in his chair to continue his wait, allowing his hands to continue their little game.

after a few moments, there was a sudden snapping sound within the walls, followed by the sound of sliding steel on steel. there was an ear-splitting crash as the elevator hit the bottom floor with the weight of twenty stories of free-fall behind it. the compression of air and shattering metal jarred the doors apart next to arvis, and he stood immediately up. prying the doors a bit farther apart just enough to slip through, arvis made his way into the crumpled compartment.

"Damn" he said in a quiet voice. there were three broken bodies within the elevator car...one was the woman who had given him the time.

his hands were already crawling over the bodies searching for valuables and the like, while arvis lamented the fact that the young woman actually was a part of his business today. she had such a nice smile...oh well, a job was a job. he heard a shout in his head as his right hand started tugging at something. arvis tore his eyes away from the form of the girl to see what his hand was on about. one of the two gentlemen in the elevator was carrying a briefcase. when the case popped open, a bundle of large bills fell out of it. "Pay-dirt," mumbled arvis as he registered three more bundles as thick as his fist. he transported the cash from the case into his pockets, closed it and, immediately, the voices fell silent.

he squeezed back out through the doors of the broken elevator and brusquely walked down the hall and out of the building. he began whistling a tuneless tune to the backdrop of sirens as he walked down the street towards his flat. his left hand was toying with something in his pocket. when he withdrew it, he saw the nice woman's watch. he gave his hand a disapproving look and put it back in his pocket.

-end

III

my proximity sensors went crazy right before a small mound of dirt next to me exploded with a flash. i was moving so fast, the dirt that was blown into the air rained down after i was a good twenty meters gone. thank the gods this guy couldn't aim so much...but you give a kid a big enough fly-swatter...

"Marta," (name of my suit ai) "damage indicator, full suit, twenty percent mask!" my ai overlaid my vision with a light schematic of my suit as i dived behind a rather large rock. the servos on my left leg where a light yellow indicating perceptible damage, but nothing to hamper functionality. the emp behind my laser on the other hand was flashing red...it caught some of the heat slap from a close call with mr. pulse cannon and would not be joining this particular battle. no worry, that monster suit was most likely insulated well enough to take whatever my emp could produce. lucky for me, this guy wasn't much of a mover. he was methodical and had some really nasty guns, but had not moved more than two hundred meters the entire fight. on the other hand, i was definitely nearing the two kilometer mark!

"Marta, deploy chaff." a heat flare shot out of the back of my helmet and from the direction of the rippled lasers that smacked it out of the air, i could figure out where that big bastard was holed up. i was just getting ready to slide out from behind the rock when my alarm sounded again. this time, i could see what they were going on about...the rockets where arcing up at a steep angle. mortars. "Counter measures!"

i curled my head to my knees and the rain strips on my back shot thousands of little bbs into the air, detonating the rockets (of which there were more than twenty) about five meters over my suit.

the explosions tossed me around...really.

it wasn't going to do to sit around and wait for this guy to pound me into paste.

as soon as my vision cleared, i shot another flare off, but didn't wait for the reaction...i was running and triggering my painting laser before i even had a target. i slashed it up to where i thought he was standing and was rewarded with a bright flash as i prematurely blew up a rocket he had fired. i now had a second before he could pick himself up...i stuck out my tongue at him.

it is hard to aim a pov guided weapon on the run. by the time the first disk got to him, he was on his knees and i could see the shiny little circles flying off of his chest plate in many directions...so i looked at his weapons. the line of silver went from the base of his rocket cluster (which fell off his back) and traversed across his neck to the pulse cannon. unfortunately, he was quick enough to duck his chin to avoid beheading; fortunately, his pulse cannon exploded spectacularly, knocking him down again.

i paused long enough to look as my range finder...150m.

i wish i had a can opener.

i had an idea. i started running directly at the big guy firing the cyclic rifle at him and the ground around him with my right as i prepared for a last ditch effort on the way... "Marta, manual override left trigger release!" the other suit was making it to it's feet as my rifle ran out of ammo. i was still 80m away, he started bringing one of his arms to bear and i could feel my left arm getting hot. i leaned forward, still running, until i was past my falling point and said, "Jump!"

i felt a bit of a shift as some ring penetrators from his coilgun sheared off my own coilgun, but it was too late for him...i hoped. i waited until i was close enough to see the pock-marks on his armor and shouted "FIRE!"

my laser gave off a beam as thick as my leg and less than a meter long--and then connected with the big suits mid-section. his systems shorted and gave out with a loud bang. my momentum blasted me through him and sent me rolling into the dirt some twenty meters past the ruined pile that was a combat suit.

i could smell something burning and realized it must be my left arm...i was just lucky my laser only shorted as opposed to blowing up. i turned back to the prone form of the other suit and did a full scan. infrared showed it glowing like a star--power flux and output showed no difference between the suit and the nearby rocks. it was, most likely, around 400*c inside the other suit, but it wouldn't be bothering it's inhabitant.

and damn, i really needed a drink.

-end

II

i've heard it told that the social structure of "dueling" is more ancient than ftl travel. it originated on terra hundreds of years before the thought of mechanical flight was even thought of. while the idea of honor and defending said honor with force is an extremely old concept, the manner in which it is performed and the tools that are involved have evolved greatly. lucky for me, in this case, i had the proper suit to wear to the party. after a few tours off planet with a mercenary company, i developed a healthy respect for the boy scout motto: "be prepared." you could say that i am now an armor enthusiast...call it a hobby. it seemed that this interest in toys was going to pay off because, judging by the look and fluid movements of the pretty boy from the bar's suit as he tested his systems, it was one of the best money could buy.

modern dueling (and warfare, for that matter) is done in "a.m. suits." a short description: an a.m. (anti-matter) suit is a kind of powered exo-skeleton. it is run by a small anti-matter power plant (thus the name) that functions like a battery that is only good for about two hundred years of constant use. the suit moves by reading the same electric pulses that agitate your muscles themselves, so a well-tuned suit will move much like a second skin...a second skin that can jump over twenty meters per kick and lift over eight hundred kilos. this is the standard. the sensor package and nasty little offensive goodies are unique to each unit. take mine, for example: my hud shows a mixture of light, heat signature and energy fluxuation in it's standard mode. the edges of my pov also warp so i have a 320* field of vision. i have a painting laser on my left wrist that will burn out sensors coupled with an emp (electro magnetic pulse) as an emergency secondary. my right arm houses a cyclic rifle that will throw around a thousand teardrop pieces of depleted uranium a minute at a fraction of the speed of light. shooting these babies is a lot like child’s play because to trigger them, i point with my first finger and pull an imaginary trigger with my second. "bang!" on my left shoulder, i sport a coilgun, that fires little steel disks that are sped down the barrel magnetically. the rate of fire on that particular toy allows me to walk it around like a saw (i've actually cut down trees a meter thick for fun) but it is greatly limited to ammunition stores. that is a fun one to trigger as well...it tracks as i look at something and fires when i stick out my tongue...that's right, the raspberry of death! there are a bunch of other little toys all over my suit, but these are my primary bits.

like i said, every suit has a different makeup. for the most part, mine sacrifices thick plating for speed and agility (and freakin rocket-man jump-jets!). looking across the field at smiling boy's armor, i could tell that a lot of my toys would only annoy him; and by the look of the rocket cluster and pulse cannon he sported on either shoulder, i was going to be in real trouble if he got me even once. best not let him.

"Are you prepared to defend your transgressions against my family's honor?" came the booming challenge from across the field. nice loud-speakers.

"I guess now's as good a time as any," i shot back as i did a final check on my stores, "unless, of course, you would like to reconsider and settle this with a game of checkers?"

"On the count of three, then," this guy, no sense of humor, "ONE...TWO..."

-continued

I

morning.

i hate mornings.

unfortunately, tradition was tradition...duels are always held an hour after sunrise and there is no getting around it; even for night-owls like myself...


it really was all a misunderstanding. i was sitting in the tavernette above the vidscan repair shop in south mertzia, drinking a fair amount of lesterian whiskey (the blue stuff, not the orange...ugh!), when this guy walks in towing a pear-shaped (woman?) painted up like she just got done marching in a day-of-the-dead parade. i mean really, she was a sight. i didn't quite understand what the guy (rich looking peacock of the walk type) was doing with this circus clown on his arm. you would expect someone wearing expensive duds like that could afford a reasonable looking professional companion or the like.

i turned to my right and blurted out, "Bam, you see this bird just rolled in?" bam had been a drinking companion of mine for about two years. he was a veteran of about three wars (his first, without a suit!) and had accrued just about enough credits to keep him under a roof for the rest of his days. he's a good listener and i trade the old cuss drinks for stories most every night of the week. "I've never seen anything so ugly even on the vid!"

"Seen better faces on donkeys, i s'pose...but i seen worse'n m'day." oh, what age does to the eyes of the beholder!
jimmy, the bartender, tossed me a sidelong glance that warned me i should maybe keep my voice down. hmmmm, funny thing about lesterian whiskey...

"I'm serious, old buddy," i pitched my voice to where i was sure everyone in the bar could hear me, "even with that much paint on her, there is no way that thing (pointing rudely) could pass for human! I mean, maybe if you swing that way, but to shave off all the fur like that..." that got pretty-boy's attention. i watched as his face went from a pleasant pink, to red, to almost purple. he had gotten it back to red when he got up out of his seat and strode pointedly across the bar to stand behind me and bam.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but you were not referring to my sister in such a manner that would be offensive to her as a lady?" I gave a snort, spilled some of my whiskey and turned around on my stool. bam had suddenly found something extremely interesting at the bottom of his drink.

"Thank god," i almost laughed back at him, "your SISTER! i was afraid that someone, namely yourself, was going to procreate with that thing. thanks a lot, pal, you have put my mind at ease...it's obligation...i understand."

"Sir, you insult me and my family!" at this point, this well-to-do-so-and-so starts taking off one of his tanned leather gloves. i'm so tossed at this point and so interested in this strange behavior, that i don't even see the obvious coming and it isn't until the bastard actually slaps my face with his glove and challenges me to a duel an hour past sunrise that i actually get fired up (Scotland the brave on the pipes in the back of my head and all). so i did what anyone would naturally do...i didn't have a glove, so i hopped up and slapped him in the head hard enough to turn him half way around and as he turned back to back to me, open mouthed with a startled look in his eyes, i planted a firm boot to his minerals.

as i stepped over the writhing rich boy, i threw a haughty "i accept your challenge" over my shoulder and stumbled home to pass out. it didn't even occur to me that this could be a bad idea...funny thing about lesterian whiskey...


...so, after being woken up by a banging on my door, collecting my suit and following a porter to a cleared area just outside of town, i found myself groggily checking the monitors and stores on my suit and wondering why in the hell i was up so early...and why in the hell i even bother with that blue poison as it always seems to bite me in the ass one way or another.

-continued

Whoopass!

the bar was boring toight, but home is rocking house! a new case for my acoustic guitfiddle arrived in the mail today and the box is huge. my kittens love nothing better than big boxes to play in and, at this time, they are beating the crap out of each other in and out of the box. it is so much fun to watch cats fight for fun...it's like hide-and-seek with a beat-down at the end! i love my little fuzzies!

tomorrow, i get to go down south and play with my favorite drummer and favorite guitar-master and i get to see how i do with the whole singing thing, seeing we have a gig coming up that the lead singer for this project can't make. wish me luck!

my spellchecker is still not working and i am far to lazy to transfer text...please have mercy on me;)

Falling Down

mini-me has been ill...she was falling down without any provocation. it was some of the most entertaing stuff i have seen for a long time. it was also one of the most disturbing four days ever...i'm not used to seeing my girl so unstable whilst sober. i took her to the doctor because she couldn't get ahold of her hippy doctor...they gave her some cursory tests, told her it was an inner ear infection and gave her nothing. she finally got to her hippy doctor today and within five minutes, the doctor had her standing upright and seeing strait. i am not one for naturopathic medicine, but the magic beans, as mini-me refers to them, actually did the trick. punchline: we found out later they are made of bugs. hehe!