Emily had to find a way to contact the woman in the picture she had been shown of Juneau. She pulled her copy of the photo from her bag and studied the background for other clues of the woman's whereabouts. Again, there was that look of a club in the background of the photo. She absolutely didn't have the time to go through every club in Mesca. Who could she contact? She felt like she had writer's block, only spies couldn't get writer's block. Could they? Maybe she had a covert block.
She decided to head out into the city; perhaps she'd get some inspiration from that. Mesca, even though it was a big city, felt like a place with lots of small cities in it. A city of neighborhoods like New York used to be. As she walked out of the hotel onto the square, they were setting up for market. It was Saturday, and that took her aback; when was the last time she had consciously realized what day it was? Usually they tended to run all together, but as she stood staring at the square she was it was market day, Saturday, in this part of Mesca. The vegetable peddler was setting up his stall even though the day looked like rain. There were rows of carrots, still on their stems with the leafy greens, next to the bright red, shiny tomatoes, and lying right in front of the leeks, big bushy leeks, next to the lush full heads of lettuce. Three different colors of peppers, red, yellow, and green were piled high. They stood next to fresh melons, cut open for a taste, so they could be sold. The melons flanked pineapple, which must have been imported for it was too cold on Mesca, or the surrounding planets to grow them. There were flats of strawberries, raspberries and blackberries, piles of peaches, apricots, and nectarines.
On the other end of the table there were mounds of potatoes and every kind of cabbage you could think of for preparing the Mescans favorite dish of cabbage and potato dumplings.
The cheese cart was next to one of the vegetable stalls. Looking at some of the soft, fragrant cheeses oozing from their rinds she wanted only to home to the kitchen to cook, but she knew that would be a long time in coming. There had to be every type of cheese imaginable -- cheeses that she knew from Earth -- which meant that artisanal cheese makers had come to Mesca after the nuclear winter to create their artistry once again. Edam, gouda manchego, brie, camembert, just to name a few, were piled on the table.
Emily shook herself out of her reverie. "I've got to find this woman." She took the picture out of her bag and started asking the vendors if they could i.d. her. As she moved from stall to stall -- the crowd seemed to part, making her progress easy. It was like magnets that repel each other. A static electricity was charging the air. Emily could feel that something was about to pop.
And pop it did, literally. It was the pop-gun sound of rifle-fire and she dropped quickly behind a cart of apples. She watched as first a bright red apple and then several green ones spattered into apple sauce.
She scrambled backward trying to keep her eye out for the sniper and not lose her balance and go sprawling. As she slowly worked her way behind a pear wagon she saw the muzzle fire of an 810 Meegan -- this was the choice of any sniper worth his salt, and definitely the weapon of choice; the one that NASA assigned to all their operatives.
Obviously she was on to something. It had to be the next vendor. It was galling to her that she might lose a lead. It wasn't going to happen today. She threw her bag over her shoulder -- carrying it like a messenger bag, and dove for cover as the pop, pop, pop started again.
"Damn," she pulled her gun from her waistband holster. It was useless to put a gun in your bag. You had to dig for it. As she pulled the weapon out, and glanced around, she caught sight of the 810 Meegan again. This time, rather than scramble back, she steadied herself, took the gun in both hands, and fired.
The 810 Meegan cartwheeled to the ground quickly followed by its operator. She jumped over the apple cart and darted around a cart of oranges hoping to get to the sniper before anyone else. She knew it was a long shot, but she hoped he might have been careless and was carrying i.d. As she pushed her way through two men, she saw Juneau lying at her feet. What was next?
This couldn't be the real Juneau. Was it that damned look-a-like from J9? the only real way to tell was blood i.d., but she didn't have the time or the i.d. kit to do anything with the blood.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Fixer #8
Emily sat for a moment trying to decide on a course of action. Did she approach the woman first, or Juneau? Well, she'd have to get to Nevas 4 and then make the decision.
The trip to Nevas 4 from Terris Minora was easy. The physics were hard, but the jump was easy. Emily had never really understood the principles behind it, but the ease of movement made her job so easy. Do a job, make a jump! No one knew where you were going. She stepped into the float just like back on Earth, but because the distance between Terris Minora and Nevas 4 was so great, she had to take the jump float. It worked on the principles of teleportation. You entered the float, it flew to approximately fourteen miles planetary orbit and then the whole ship was teleported, (picked up and droped) in a fourteen mile planetary orbit around your destination planet. The float flew to the tube station and there you have it, travel that would take hundreds of years in about two hours.
The Nevans were an interesting group of poeople. The original settlers had left Earth when the teleportation jump had been proven successful. Many of them left Earth because of religious and political differences with those around them. The leader/president/guru of Nevas was a man named Redran Joll. Joll was fanatical about personal freedoms. In his world there would be no oppression for differing points of view, there would be openness to to everyone's ideas, there would be no political parties, and if anyone else wanted to lead, they could, although the duties of a leader were nominal on Nevas 4.
Because there wer no rules as to who could come on planet -- that would be discriminatory -- it had become a haven for a collection of interesting law-skirters. Not law-breakers, skirters. Just on the fringes of what was right and what was wrong!
Emily knew that this made her job more difficult because no one felt compelled to offer any kind of information.
Upon her arrival on Nevas 4, she took a horse-drawn cab to her hotel in Mesca. She was staying at the Condes de Mesca, it was an exact replica of the Condes de Barcelona,the luxury hotel in Barcelona, the capitol of the country Catalunya.
The Condes de Mesca was the height of luxury, in a modern decor. The suites were divided into a living area done in shocking blues and greans and a sleeping area of pale gold with red oak accents in the bedstead and the hardwood floor. The view wasn't as lovely as that at the Condes de Barcelona, but it was close.
The trip to Nevas 4 from Terris Minora was easy. The physics were hard, but the jump was easy. Emily had never really understood the principles behind it, but the ease of movement made her job so easy. Do a job, make a jump! No one knew where you were going. She stepped into the float just like back on Earth, but because the distance between Terris Minora and Nevas 4 was so great, she had to take the jump float. It worked on the principles of teleportation. You entered the float, it flew to approximately fourteen miles planetary orbit and then the whole ship was teleported, (picked up and droped) in a fourteen mile planetary orbit around your destination planet. The float flew to the tube station and there you have it, travel that would take hundreds of years in about two hours.
The Nevans were an interesting group of poeople. The original settlers had left Earth when the teleportation jump had been proven successful. Many of them left Earth because of religious and political differences with those around them. The leader/president/guru of Nevas was a man named Redran Joll. Joll was fanatical about personal freedoms. In his world there would be no oppression for differing points of view, there would be openness to to everyone's ideas, there would be no political parties, and if anyone else wanted to lead, they could, although the duties of a leader were nominal on Nevas 4.
Because there wer no rules as to who could come on planet -- that would be discriminatory -- it had become a haven for a collection of interesting law-skirters. Not law-breakers, skirters. Just on the fringes of what was right and what was wrong!
Emily knew that this made her job more difficult because no one felt compelled to offer any kind of information.
Upon her arrival on Nevas 4, she took a horse-drawn cab to her hotel in Mesca. She was staying at the Condes de Mesca, it was an exact replica of the Condes de Barcelona,the luxury hotel in Barcelona, the capitol of the country Catalunya.
The Condes de Mesca was the height of luxury, in a modern decor. The suites were divided into a living area done in shocking blues and greans and a sleeping area of pale gold with red oak accents in the bedstead and the hardwood floor. The view wasn't as lovely as that at the Condes de Barcelona, but it was close.
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Fixer #7
"Hello, Fixer. Have you been waiting long?"
"Just got here."
"I didn't see you come in the front,' she said questioningly.
"Tried to stay out of the lime light. Came in through the back," he said curtly.
"Well then, let's get down to business," Emily said. "We've got to take care of more than one problem now."
"Yeah?"
"It seems that we have a Juneau look-a-like following me. A look-a-like that reports to Johansen."
"Damn!"
"My thoughts exactly. I know we don't need that kind of heat or action right now."
"How did you get rid of him?"
"I tapped him on the shoulder -- he fell down and I left."
"You are good!"
"Not really, but thanks."
"What do you want to do now?" Emily asked. "Let's go through what's been happening. 1. Juneau is in hiding. 2. You, Mr. Black, are supposed to neutralize Juneau. 3. I have mixed emotions about this because I worked for Juneau and now I work for the resistance. 4. the resistance is made up of a few old NASA employees who know the new situation and are unhappy about it. 5. So why would members of a group that supports the old NASA be against the leader of the old NASA? Lots of exciting questions, hunh?"
"So what do you want me to do Emily? I'm certainly happy to take out Juneau, as I've already been paid half my fee; but, I'd like to know soon, I do have a schedule, such as it is."
"You told me you'd have a report for me when we got to J9. What did you find out?" Emily asked.
"The latest intel on Juneau is that he is staying on Nevas 4. He's changed his face, which is why it's confusing to me that you were attacked by the Juneau look-a-like. Why would he change his face to look like a guy who just changed his face? It really just makes no sense. I had planned to go to Nevas 4 tonight after this meeting and deal with him, but I'm tempted to wait now and see what you come up with; it could make for an interesting story."
"Thanks for the intel. Do you have a picture of the new and improved Juneau?"
Black handed her a photo of a man with reddish=brown hair, greying a the temples. He had a roman nose, but it looked as if it had been broken in a fight. His eyes were very pale, icy blue, and in the photo they were filled with anger. When she was the eyes Emily knew it was Juneau, there are somethings that facial surgery and enhancements just can't change. The photo had been take at a club. she really couldn't make out too many details and as she stared at the photo something else in the background captured her attention. Actually it was a someone else, there was a lovely young girl in the background. She had jet-black hair and the olive-skin you see on Italian women. She was looking at Juneau as if she'd never seen something so exquisite and tasty. That might be the angle to play; the love interest.
"Black, I'm off to Nevas 4. I want to check out the girl in this picture. She knows something."
" I wondered if you saw that . Here's the plan; you go to Nevas 4, I'm off to take care of another job and I'll meet you in three days at the Condes in Mesca on Nevas 4", and he left the table.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
Fixer # 6
“All right,” she gasped, “Enough foreplay. Who the hell are you?”
He coughed and asked her in a wheezing whisper, “Relax your foot, I can hardly breathe.”
“If you don’t give me the answers I want you won’t breathe,” she replied as she let up a fraction on the pressure she had placed on his neck.
“All right, let me breathe.” She let up just a fraction more. The man’s color slowly started to return. “My name is Xavier. I am a decoy put in place to keep the real Juneau out of harm’s way. My boss is Jim Johansen, the primary in charge of enforcement.”
“Why would one of the triumvirate want to save Juneau’s life? They’ve done everything imaginable to bring him out of hiding so they can kill him,” Emily replied.
“Wait, I’ve got it. You’re trying to draw him out by creating some situation hat he would have to become involved in. When you, as Juneau, screwed it up, he’d have to come out of hiding to save face literally and figuratively. God, don’t you people ever give up?”
“I have to report back to Johansen within the hour saying that you were neutralized. If I don’t an entire hit squad comes down on you like rain,” he said.
“Oh, Damn, I told the black man we should have spoken in a more inconspicuous place. So what do you have to show Johansen – my head on a stick? What? I’m certainly not going to let you kill me today and you’ve made me late for my meeting. Up you go!”
The Juneau look-a-like got up and shook his head trying to straighten out his neck. “How about I go to that meeting with you and we try to work this out. I mean, what to show Johansen and all.”
It was always interesting that even in the nicest parts of a city people did not become involved in situations that might entertain a notion to call the police. So, Emily, who had received no interference with her handling of Xavier hailed a cab. Have you ever been to London and seen those lovely black cabs? J9 was rife with black cabs, and Emily sank back into the luxury of the seat staring at Xavier. He really did look like Juneau. The only feature that was slightly off was the nose. Juneau’s didn’t come to quite as sharp a point as Xavier’s.
“So how did you really get involved in this?” Emily asked.
“Like I said, I work for Johansen. Maybe 10 years now. I got the new face eight months ago. I had to have the heal time before I could go out in public. Plastic surgery is still a witch. I wish they could create a different way to change your face. Hell, they can make a mechanical horse smell like a live horse, why not come up with a way to change a face?”
It was strange that plastic surgery and enhancements had not moved at the same pace that other technology had. That was about to change, but Xavier and Emily knew nothing about it.
“Beats me! Too bad you had to through all that only to have your plan blow-up in your face. Sorry, bad pun,” Emily chortled.
I’m not so sure it did blow up in my face, maybe, just maybe, this is all for the best. You have me in a cab and you’re taking me to Mr. Black. Perhaps my face is going to make it intact.”
“Level with me, said Emily. Why me, why Mr. Black? And are you going to report in to Johansen so I can live to die another day?”
“Damn, I can’t believe that I forgot – give me your comm-.”
“Sorry, I don’t’ carry a portable comm.- Too many people know where you are when you carry one. It has GPS and I don’t need that. I carry around enough hardware. If someone really wants to get a hold of me, they can find me, or leave a message at my service. If they come to find me then I know that it’s utterly important.”
“Have the cab pull over then because I’m going to have to call.”
“Why don’t you carry a comm.-? I’d think a tough guy – assassin like you would make that a necessity.”
“Same deal. I don’t want every Jim, Karen, or Jacob calling me.”
“So, it’s true. You are a part of it all; they are going to try to change things aren’t they? We’ve got to get the real Juneau out of danger so that we can continue to exist.”
Does it sound melodramatic to you? Wow, it sure does to me, but perhaps we need some melodrama, no – we have to much melodrama. It’s time to tone down the characters. So let’s change the last bit of dialogue to this:
“We’ve got to find the real Juneau, only he’ll know how to stop the triumvirate.”
The car pulled up at the Jessso Club at 9:25. Emily didn’t like being too early. Who knows who could be following her? Hell, if this idiot had found her, anyone could. What was she going to do with him? He couldn’t keep following her around. That would never do. So, maybe the fixer could take him out; but she had to get him alone. She couldn’t very well tell the fixer, “Oh, by the way, can you get rid of the guy in the corner? He’s been sent to kill me and has attached to me like a puppy. I don’t need this growth. Amputate it!!”
She needed to go online and figure out who he really was and why he was following her. But that was going to have to wait.
“O.K. You wait here in the cab, or go someplace else. I don’t have time for you right now.”
“Sorry, I’m like glue.”
“Well, Elmer, I don’t need this!” And she tapped him on the shoulder. The would-be assassin slid to the floor of the cab in an unconscious heap. “Gees, they sure make them trusting nowadays,” she thought. Emily paid the cabbie adding an extra 100 so he would quietly dispose of the sleeping guy.
She smoothed down her pin-striped suit as she stepped out of the cab. She looked good and it was a certainty that she wasn’t going to blend in. As she walked into the bar, she took in her surroundings. The Jessso was wood-paneled like the old English gentleman’s club. It really catered to the expensive executive who wanted a plush setting for an after hours meeting or for that little assignation after work. It was a perfect place to meet the fixer because everyone was so discreet.
As Emily looked from the bar to the tables placed at discreet distances from each other she saw the fixer seated with his back against the wall, watching everyone who came into and went out of the room. His eyes settled on her and she moved slowly over to the table. She wanted to give him the time to see that she was harmless. Well, not exactly harmless, but certainly not ready to kill him today.
He coughed and asked her in a wheezing whisper, “Relax your foot, I can hardly breathe.”
“If you don’t give me the answers I want you won’t breathe,” she replied as she let up a fraction on the pressure she had placed on his neck.
“All right, let me breathe.” She let up just a fraction more. The man’s color slowly started to return. “My name is Xavier. I am a decoy put in place to keep the real Juneau out of harm’s way. My boss is Jim Johansen, the primary in charge of enforcement.”
“Why would one of the triumvirate want to save Juneau’s life? They’ve done everything imaginable to bring him out of hiding so they can kill him,” Emily replied.
“Wait, I’ve got it. You’re trying to draw him out by creating some situation hat he would have to become involved in. When you, as Juneau, screwed it up, he’d have to come out of hiding to save face literally and figuratively. God, don’t you people ever give up?”
“I have to report back to Johansen within the hour saying that you were neutralized. If I don’t an entire hit squad comes down on you like rain,” he said.
“Oh, Damn, I told the black man we should have spoken in a more inconspicuous place. So what do you have to show Johansen – my head on a stick? What? I’m certainly not going to let you kill me today and you’ve made me late for my meeting. Up you go!”
The Juneau look-a-like got up and shook his head trying to straighten out his neck. “How about I go to that meeting with you and we try to work this out. I mean, what to show Johansen and all.”
It was always interesting that even in the nicest parts of a city people did not become involved in situations that might entertain a notion to call the police. So, Emily, who had received no interference with her handling of Xavier hailed a cab. Have you ever been to London and seen those lovely black cabs? J9 was rife with black cabs, and Emily sank back into the luxury of the seat staring at Xavier. He really did look like Juneau. The only feature that was slightly off was the nose. Juneau’s didn’t come to quite as sharp a point as Xavier’s.
“So how did you really get involved in this?” Emily asked.
“Like I said, I work for Johansen. Maybe 10 years now. I got the new face eight months ago. I had to have the heal time before I could go out in public. Plastic surgery is still a witch. I wish they could create a different way to change your face. Hell, they can make a mechanical horse smell like a live horse, why not come up with a way to change a face?”
It was strange that plastic surgery and enhancements had not moved at the same pace that other technology had. That was about to change, but Xavier and Emily knew nothing about it.
“Beats me! Too bad you had to through all that only to have your plan blow-up in your face. Sorry, bad pun,” Emily chortled.
I’m not so sure it did blow up in my face, maybe, just maybe, this is all for the best. You have me in a cab and you’re taking me to Mr. Black. Perhaps my face is going to make it intact.”
“Level with me, said Emily. Why me, why Mr. Black? And are you going to report in to Johansen so I can live to die another day?”
“Damn, I can’t believe that I forgot – give me your comm-.”
“Sorry, I don’t’ carry a portable comm.- Too many people know where you are when you carry one. It has GPS and I don’t need that. I carry around enough hardware. If someone really wants to get a hold of me, they can find me, or leave a message at my service. If they come to find me then I know that it’s utterly important.”
“Have the cab pull over then because I’m going to have to call.”
“Why don’t you carry a comm.-? I’d think a tough guy – assassin like you would make that a necessity.”
“Same deal. I don’t want every Jim, Karen, or Jacob calling me.”
“So, it’s true. You are a part of it all; they are going to try to change things aren’t they? We’ve got to get the real Juneau out of danger so that we can continue to exist.”
Does it sound melodramatic to you? Wow, it sure does to me, but perhaps we need some melodrama, no – we have to much melodrama. It’s time to tone down the characters. So let’s change the last bit of dialogue to this:
“We’ve got to find the real Juneau, only he’ll know how to stop the triumvirate.”
The car pulled up at the Jessso Club at 9:25. Emily didn’t like being too early. Who knows who could be following her? Hell, if this idiot had found her, anyone could. What was she going to do with him? He couldn’t keep following her around. That would never do. So, maybe the fixer could take him out; but she had to get him alone. She couldn’t very well tell the fixer, “Oh, by the way, can you get rid of the guy in the corner? He’s been sent to kill me and has attached to me like a puppy. I don’t need this growth. Amputate it!!”
She needed to go online and figure out who he really was and why he was following her. But that was going to have to wait.
“O.K. You wait here in the cab, or go someplace else. I don’t have time for you right now.”
“Sorry, I’m like glue.”
“Well, Elmer, I don’t need this!” And she tapped him on the shoulder. The would-be assassin slid to the floor of the cab in an unconscious heap. “Gees, they sure make them trusting nowadays,” she thought. Emily paid the cabbie adding an extra 100 so he would quietly dispose of the sleeping guy.
She smoothed down her pin-striped suit as she stepped out of the cab. She looked good and it was a certainty that she wasn’t going to blend in. As she walked into the bar, she took in her surroundings. The Jessso was wood-paneled like the old English gentleman’s club. It really catered to the expensive executive who wanted a plush setting for an after hours meeting or for that little assignation after work. It was a perfect place to meet the fixer because everyone was so discreet.
As Emily looked from the bar to the tables placed at discreet distances from each other she saw the fixer seated with his back against the wall, watching everyone who came into and went out of the room. His eyes settled on her and she moved slowly over to the table. She wanted to give him the time to see that she was harmless. Well, not exactly harmless, but certainly not ready to kill him today.
Tuesday, September 9, 2008
Tomorrow, Tomorrow
Tomorrow, I promise installment #6 tomorrow. It's too late tonight and my notebook with the story is in my classroom, which is in the dark, icky building. So it will have to be tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
The Fixer #5
Three hours later Emily was ensconced in the swankiest room at the J9 Savoy. The room, suite actually, had two floors. The first floor consisted of a living area, a bar, and a small powder room. The entire floor was bathed in shades of green. It was as if a jungle had grown up around you as you walked into the suite. The second floor contained the bedroom, which was done in even more shades of green. As you climbed the stairs and turned to go up to the bedroom, the landing contained a Jacuzzi bath. It was surrounded by more plants and looked like a hidden grotto. The suite couldn’t really compare with the unadulterated luxury of the Savoy in London, but it certainly wasn’t bad. She had bathed away the uncertainties she had been feeling after she left the tube station and was ready to tackle her meeting with “Mr. Black.” She liked that name better than “The Fixer.” And, since she didn’t have any other name for him, it would have to do.
They were to meet at 9:30 at the Jessso Club. The Jessso was a trendy bar that catered to the after hours business crowd. To blend in she put on a business suit – not strictly business – it might just turn some heads. Was she really trying to blend in? The grey pin-striped suit was cut to flow with her figure, it never bunched or creased. She paid through the nose for this look, but it was worth it.
She took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped out on the street to hail a cab. As she put her hand in the air to signal the driver, she was clubbed behind the knees and knocked off her feet. She rolled quickly and looked up just in time to see a man she had thought was Juneau on the comm.-portal. She kicked out and landed a well-placed blow to his knee. She heard a snap and hoped that the heel of her shoe had shattered his patella, and not the other way around. He quickly limped to the right trying to hit her with the cane he had used to knock her down. As he put the cane on the ground to steady himself, she grabbed the cane, knocked it out from under him and hen he landed on the ground she stepped on his neck with her shoe, heel ready to puncture his esophagus.
“Alright,” she gasped, “Enough foreplay. Who the hell are you?”
He coughed and asked her in a wheezing whisper, “Relax your foot, I can hardly breathe.”
“If you don’t give me the answers I want you won’t breathe,” she replied as she let up a fraction on the pressure she had placed on his neck.
They were to meet at 9:30 at the Jessso Club. The Jessso was a trendy bar that catered to the after hours business crowd. To blend in she put on a business suit – not strictly business – it might just turn some heads. Was she really trying to blend in? The grey pin-striped suit was cut to flow with her figure, it never bunched or creased. She paid through the nose for this look, but it was worth it.
She took the elevator down to the lobby and stepped out on the street to hail a cab. As she put her hand in the air to signal the driver, she was clubbed behind the knees and knocked off her feet. She rolled quickly and looked up just in time to see a man she had thought was Juneau on the comm.-portal. She kicked out and landed a well-placed blow to his knee. She heard a snap and hoped that the heel of her shoe had shattered his patella, and not the other way around. He quickly limped to the right trying to hit her with the cane he had used to knock her down. As he put the cane on the ground to steady himself, she grabbed the cane, knocked it out from under him and hen he landed on the ground she stepped on his neck with her shoe, heel ready to puncture his esophagus.
“Alright,” she gasped, “Enough foreplay. Who the hell are you?”
He coughed and asked her in a wheezing whisper, “Relax your foot, I can hardly breathe.”
“If you don’t give me the answers I want you won’t breathe,” she replied as she let up a fraction on the pressure she had placed on his neck.
The Fixer #4
She reached J9 forty-five minutes later. It was strange to get somewhere so quickly, but no one said time travel wasn’t strange. Another oddity was that the T. Minorans named each city a letter and a number, as if they couldn’t be bothered with anything creative. She believed that they were up to KK999 now. The planet was certainly growing by leaps and bounds and she hoped that this wouldn’t create a problem for the fixer. How was he to find Juneau on a planet that was expanding that fast?
Some faq’s about Juneau and his former position as the director might benefit the reader. The first question: Director of what? Juneau was director of covert operations for NASA – yes, the NASA. Things have changed in the last fifty years and with the continued need to populate more planets because of the North American Irradiation. NASA had become more powerful until it became the sole overseer of the world. So yes, they did need a covert operations department. They needed it for sheer survival. So NASA was in charge of all space exploration, settlement, policy, etc. You name it, they did it. It finally started to annoy the other countries as they had to give up all autonomy in their programs. It was one huge bureaucracy.
But now I’m being redundant, so on with the FAQs.
Why wasn’t Juneau director anymore? Six years ago there was a shake up at NASA – a new regime entered the playing field led by a man named Jacob Ladden. Ladden had been in charge of primary planet exploration. He was tired of the bureaucracy that he faced so he decided to go into business for himself so to speak. He aligned himself with Jim Johansen, the primary in the enforcement division and with Kara Martell, the director of communications, off and on planet. The three of them were reminiscent of the Roman triumvirate of Pompey, Crassus, and Julius Caesar. They wanted power and would do what was necessary to gain it. The three of them created a situation on Dicon 5 that needed the immediate – on site intervention of the director! Juneau went. When he returned his position had been usurped by Ladden. He had nowhere to go, so he went under. Way under. Where did Juneau go under? What do you mean by under?
Juneau went under in NASA. There is a secret wing of the agency that even Martell and Johansen knew nothing about. Juneau was given a new face, a new name, and a new life. But I’m afraid that life wasn’t agreeing with him and he wanted his old job back. NASA wasn’t any better with the terror trio in charge, but it wasn’t any worse and the official party line was to go with the flow.
That doesn’t explain with the unofficial line was, but I have a feeling Juneau is a part of that line.
The float touched down. All these questions, but are the answers correct? Has Juneau gone rogue or is he following doctrine? Emily hoped she would find out before the fixer fixed the problem.
Upon disembarking Emily heard, “Emily Jerris please go to a white courtesy comm.-portal.”
“Damn!” she thought. Seriously no one was supposed to know she was here. She strode over to the nearest comm.-portal watching the crowd diligently for any signs of trouble.
“This is Emily Jerris,” she said when she reached the portal. The comm.-portal was a device similar to a TV. The person you were speaking with showed up on screen and you could see each other. Because of the advances in technology there was no longer a time delay between the speakers. Up flashed the face of someone she didn’t want to see. “Juneau, what are you doing? How did you know that I would be her? And who was the girl calling my name as I boarded the transport?” she asked in one breath.
“Number 1, I’m not Juneau. I’ve never heard of anyone by that name. Number two, who are you? I was paged to the comm.-portal and number three, I don’t’ know what you are talking about.”
“Shit!” she exclaimed and hurriedly signed off the comm.-portal. “Damn, Damn, Damn. Will I never learn?” The wheels were turning hard and fast. “Not Juneau, doesn’t know who I am, looks like Juneau, knew (I’m pretty sure) why we were both at the comm.-portal even though he pretended ignorance. Hell, how could it be Juneau – he’d had plastic surgery. Things were getting funkier all the time.” Jerris quickly left the tube station to find her accommodations in J9.
Some faq’s about Juneau and his former position as the director might benefit the reader. The first question: Director of what? Juneau was director of covert operations for NASA – yes, the NASA. Things have changed in the last fifty years and with the continued need to populate more planets because of the North American Irradiation. NASA had become more powerful until it became the sole overseer of the world. So yes, they did need a covert operations department. They needed it for sheer survival. So NASA was in charge of all space exploration, settlement, policy, etc. You name it, they did it. It finally started to annoy the other countries as they had to give up all autonomy in their programs. It was one huge bureaucracy.
But now I’m being redundant, so on with the FAQs.
Why wasn’t Juneau director anymore? Six years ago there was a shake up at NASA – a new regime entered the playing field led by a man named Jacob Ladden. Ladden had been in charge of primary planet exploration. He was tired of the bureaucracy that he faced so he decided to go into business for himself so to speak. He aligned himself with Jim Johansen, the primary in the enforcement division and with Kara Martell, the director of communications, off and on planet. The three of them were reminiscent of the Roman triumvirate of Pompey, Crassus, and Julius Caesar. They wanted power and would do what was necessary to gain it. The three of them created a situation on Dicon 5 that needed the immediate – on site intervention of the director! Juneau went. When he returned his position had been usurped by Ladden. He had nowhere to go, so he went under. Way under. Where did Juneau go under? What do you mean by under?
Juneau went under in NASA. There is a secret wing of the agency that even Martell and Johansen knew nothing about. Juneau was given a new face, a new name, and a new life. But I’m afraid that life wasn’t agreeing with him and he wanted his old job back. NASA wasn’t any better with the terror trio in charge, but it wasn’t any worse and the official party line was to go with the flow.
That doesn’t explain with the unofficial line was, but I have a feeling Juneau is a part of that line.
The float touched down. All these questions, but are the answers correct? Has Juneau gone rogue or is he following doctrine? Emily hoped she would find out before the fixer fixed the problem.
Upon disembarking Emily heard, “Emily Jerris please go to a white courtesy comm.-portal.”
“Damn!” she thought. Seriously no one was supposed to know she was here. She strode over to the nearest comm.-portal watching the crowd diligently for any signs of trouble.
“This is Emily Jerris,” she said when she reached the portal. The comm.-portal was a device similar to a TV. The person you were speaking with showed up on screen and you could see each other. Because of the advances in technology there was no longer a time delay between the speakers. Up flashed the face of someone she didn’t want to see. “Juneau, what are you doing? How did you know that I would be her? And who was the girl calling my name as I boarded the transport?” she asked in one breath.
“Number 1, I’m not Juneau. I’ve never heard of anyone by that name. Number two, who are you? I was paged to the comm.-portal and number three, I don’t’ know what you are talking about.”
“Shit!” she exclaimed and hurriedly signed off the comm.-portal. “Damn, Damn, Damn. Will I never learn?” The wheels were turning hard and fast. “Not Juneau, doesn’t know who I am, looks like Juneau, knew (I’m pretty sure) why we were both at the comm.-portal even though he pretended ignorance. Hell, how could it be Juneau – he’d had plastic surgery. Things were getting funkier all the time.” Jerris quickly left the tube station to find her accommodations in J9.
The Fixer , #3
He stared at her with venom in his dark eyes. That was unusual. He rarely gave anything away. He said, “I’ll take care of it. Meet me at J9 in three days. I’ll have a report then.”
He turned – hailed a horse-drawn cab and was gone.
She watched him go and then turned to walk back into the building. Something caught her attention; she saw something out of the corner of her eye. “What was that computer generated floating billboard doing there?” she thought, and just as quickly it disappeared. “Damn, I knew we should have gone some place less conspicuous. Now everyone will know we’re on to something.” She swung around and entered the building.
Two days later she, (I guess she should have a name) Emily, made her way to the tube station. It’s not like the tube stations people used thirty years before, but a platform where you caught an aerofloat to the next city or station, or planet for that matter. The building looked like one huge ice-sculpture – clear and glistening. You looked at it and waited for a drop of water to fall off the corner. It never did, but you could be mesmerized by the shimmer for days just waiting for the drop.
As she entered, she turned left toward the escelvator. Picture an escalator with an enclosed stair. She you reached the top, the cubicle slid onto the downward side and someone would enter and ride down. The contraption served the whole station; all ten levels.
Emily rode up to level 5 – the interplanetary level. Here she would take an aerofloat to Terris Minora. The city J9 was the capital of the planet and it was there she would meet the fixer.
As she went through customs, she by passed the internal scanner and this garnered evil looks from the people stranded in the interminable lines. Traveling had never become easy again after the terrorists hit the US on 9/11. She was allowed to carry weapons and she did. She had two pistols and a stun-laser ready to fire if the need should arise, but she certainly didn’t want every blinking Joe to know she was carrying. The jacket she was wearing under her long fur was cut so that she could pull a weapon out at any time. “Always armed – never sorry,” was her motto.
Emily continued down the corridor striding along in brown leather leggings with skin tight brown boots showing off her short, but exquisite figure. Her flight left from platform 5D and she wanted to be the last passenger on board. Safe—never sorry!!
“Please prepare for final boarding of Aerofloat 9 to Terris Minora. Boarding is at gate 5D,” sounded the disembodied voice over the speaker.
“Ah, perfect,” she thought and strode the final feet to the gate. Just before she stepped on the floatway to the craft she heard, “Emily, wait! Emily!”
She could have turned at this point and acknowledged the female voice, but instead she hurried onto the spacecraft as the door quickly rolled own behind her.
“I wonder what that was all about,” she thought. “No one knew I was coming here today, not even Josiah.” (Josiah Adam was the director of the agency that Emily worked for and he only knew things when there was a need, and this wasn’t one of those things.) She decided to worry about it only I and when it presented a difficulty.
He turned – hailed a horse-drawn cab and was gone.
She watched him go and then turned to walk back into the building. Something caught her attention; she saw something out of the corner of her eye. “What was that computer generated floating billboard doing there?” she thought, and just as quickly it disappeared. “Damn, I knew we should have gone some place less conspicuous. Now everyone will know we’re on to something.” She swung around and entered the building.
Two days later she, (I guess she should have a name) Emily, made her way to the tube station. It’s not like the tube stations people used thirty years before, but a platform where you caught an aerofloat to the next city or station, or planet for that matter. The building looked like one huge ice-sculpture – clear and glistening. You looked at it and waited for a drop of water to fall off the corner. It never did, but you could be mesmerized by the shimmer for days just waiting for the drop.
As she entered, she turned left toward the escelvator. Picture an escalator with an enclosed stair. She you reached the top, the cubicle slid onto the downward side and someone would enter and ride down. The contraption served the whole station; all ten levels.
Emily rode up to level 5 – the interplanetary level. Here she would take an aerofloat to Terris Minora. The city J9 was the capital of the planet and it was there she would meet the fixer.
As she went through customs, she by passed the internal scanner and this garnered evil looks from the people stranded in the interminable lines. Traveling had never become easy again after the terrorists hit the US on 9/11. She was allowed to carry weapons and she did. She had two pistols and a stun-laser ready to fire if the need should arise, but she certainly didn’t want every blinking Joe to know she was carrying. The jacket she was wearing under her long fur was cut so that she could pull a weapon out at any time. “Always armed – never sorry,” was her motto.
Emily continued down the corridor striding along in brown leather leggings with skin tight brown boots showing off her short, but exquisite figure. Her flight left from platform 5D and she wanted to be the last passenger on board. Safe—never sorry!!
“Please prepare for final boarding of Aerofloat 9 to Terris Minora. Boarding is at gate 5D,” sounded the disembodied voice over the speaker.
“Ah, perfect,” she thought and strode the final feet to the gate. Just before she stepped on the floatway to the craft she heard, “Emily, wait! Emily!”
She could have turned at this point and acknowledged the female voice, but instead she hurried onto the spacecraft as the door quickly rolled own behind her.
“I wonder what that was all about,” she thought. “No one knew I was coming here today, not even Josiah.” (Josiah Adam was the director of the agency that Emily worked for and he only knew things when there was a need, and this wasn’t one of those things.) She decided to worry about it only I and when it presented a difficulty.
Monday, August 18, 2008
The Fixer, cont.
She imagined a hardened criminal-type with a three-day growth of beard and small black-glassy eyes; or a tall man with no neck, no personality, and no talent for communication. She was wrong on both accounts. He wasn't classically handsome. What does that mean? Did he have a roman nose, or was he six-foot all, or was he classical? No, he was ordinary. He had black - jet black - hair. It was the kind that showed blue highlights in the sun. His eyes were black - not brown - black - piercing black, but everything else was ordinary. He wasn't one of a fabulous build, he didn't stand out in the crowd except that he was dark.
And he did dark things for a living - his whole existence was dark. He was the fixer, the one who took care of any problems.
Just as she had given up, deciding hat he wasn't going to show and that she would have to bear the bad news to her boss, he appeared. He stepped out of a horse-drawn cab.
The mechanics of this new post-nuclear era were strange. People looked back to a simpler time, they wanted the feeling of the 1800s but without the work. They concentrated on an effort to survive, so the cars became horses, the mechanical kind. They looked like a horse, they had hair just like one, and they even had that tangy smell all horses carry, but in place of a heart, in place of a brain, there was an engine and a computer chip. The only thing you had to feed a mechanical horse was a little oil once a month. But this moves us away from our topic.
He stood up -- out of the cab,and she didn't know what to think. He wasn't what she had expected. She believed he probably wasn't what anyone expected. He didn't fit the profile, but none of them really did. He was wearing the long-fur coat. His was of black bear, it matched his eyes and his hair. He wore black boots and he looked dark, always dark.
"What information do you have for me?" he asked without preamble.
"Could we go somewhere a little less conspicuous? she asked.
"No, here will be fine. Tell me what is so important that they brought me to this God forsaken place. Do they have heat here? Ever?"
"Alright, here it is. Juneau has become the man. You are to find him, neutralize the situation, and then neutralize him."
"Juneau? You must be joking. He's been out of the picture for at least five years. Where are you getting your information? Do you have the slightest idea what could happen if I neutralize Juneau and then he's the wrong man? Do you understand the repercussions?"
"Do I understand the repercussions, he asks. Of course I do. Do you think I like freezing my ass off out here to tell you the former director of covert operations is the man? Do you really think that someone I have had a personal relationship with for 15 years is the man? Do you? I don't want to be the one telling you this, I don't want to know who you are, or what you look like. I don't want to know that you are the fixer. And I really don't want to know the repercussions of your job, but I do. If you neutralize Juneau and he isn't the one, the whole organization collapses, because someone has been playing us all for fools. Our lives will be worth nothing. Oh, yes, Mr. Fixer, I know the repercussions."
And he did dark things for a living - his whole existence was dark. He was the fixer, the one who took care of any problems.
Just as she had given up, deciding hat he wasn't going to show and that she would have to bear the bad news to her boss, he appeared. He stepped out of a horse-drawn cab.
The mechanics of this new post-nuclear era were strange. People looked back to a simpler time, they wanted the feeling of the 1800s but without the work. They concentrated on an effort to survive, so the cars became horses, the mechanical kind. They looked like a horse, they had hair just like one, and they even had that tangy smell all horses carry, but in place of a heart, in place of a brain, there was an engine and a computer chip. The only thing you had to feed a mechanical horse was a little oil once a month. But this moves us away from our topic.
He stood up -- out of the cab,and she didn't know what to think. He wasn't what she had expected. She believed he probably wasn't what anyone expected. He didn't fit the profile, but none of them really did. He was wearing the long-fur coat. His was of black bear, it matched his eyes and his hair. He wore black boots and he looked dark, always dark.
"What information do you have for me?" he asked without preamble.
"Could we go somewhere a little less conspicuous? she asked.
"No, here will be fine. Tell me what is so important that they brought me to this God forsaken place. Do they have heat here? Ever?"
"Alright, here it is. Juneau has become the man. You are to find him, neutralize the situation, and then neutralize him."
"Juneau? You must be joking. He's been out of the picture for at least five years. Where are you getting your information? Do you have the slightest idea what could happen if I neutralize Juneau and then he's the wrong man? Do you understand the repercussions?"
"Do I understand the repercussions, he asks. Of course I do. Do you think I like freezing my ass off out here to tell you the former director of covert operations is the man? Do you really think that someone I have had a personal relationship with for 15 years is the man? Do you? I don't want to be the one telling you this, I don't want to know who you are, or what you look like. I don't want to know that you are the fixer. And I really don't want to know the repercussions of your job, but I do. If you neutralize Juneau and he isn't the one, the whole organization collapses, because someone has been playing us all for fools. Our lives will be worth nothing. Oh, yes, Mr. Fixer, I know the repercussions."
The Fixer
She wasn't very tall! 5'0" She had red hair that tended to frizz in wet weather and looked like curly straw when it was dry. Her complexion wasn't flawless, she had freckles or maybe it was just one big freckle running across the bridge of her nose. Her eyes were hazel green. Not that startling green, that gets a person noticed, just hazel.
She wore the clothing of the time -- the long fur outer coat, made to keep an Icelander warm. She wore a short brown leather skirt with woolen stockings to keep her legs from chapping with the cold. Her sweater was of the same iridescent purple as her stockings and she had red cheeks from the cold. She wore leather gloves that matched her skirt and a hat made of the same fox-colored fur as her coat.
Warmth was the primary objective, because it hadn't been warm anywhere on planet for years. It hadn't been warm since before the nulear winter thirty years ago.
She stood at the corner, in front of the huge office building. The Icelanders rebuilt quickly after the accident (no one called it a war) because they had people to house and refugees to absorb, as large parts of North America wer irradiated and uninhabitable.
She was waiting -- seemed that was all she ever did -- wait. The news she was about to convey was not good; it was important and she wished that anyone else would have been given the mission to impart it. As she stood there watching the traffic - the mechanical horses pulling everyone along the street - she wondered what her contact, the man who fixed everything, would look like.
She wore the clothing of the time -- the long fur outer coat, made to keep an Icelander warm. She wore a short brown leather skirt with woolen stockings to keep her legs from chapping with the cold. Her sweater was of the same iridescent purple as her stockings and she had red cheeks from the cold. She wore leather gloves that matched her skirt and a hat made of the same fox-colored fur as her coat.
Warmth was the primary objective, because it hadn't been warm anywhere on planet for years. It hadn't been warm since before the nulear winter thirty years ago.
She stood at the corner, in front of the huge office building. The Icelanders rebuilt quickly after the accident (no one called it a war) because they had people to house and refugees to absorb, as large parts of North America wer irradiated and uninhabitable.
She was waiting -- seemed that was all she ever did -- wait. The news she was about to convey was not good; it was important and she wished that anyone else would have been given the mission to impart it. As she stood there watching the traffic - the mechanical horses pulling everyone along the street - she wondered what her contact, the man who fixed everything, would look like.
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