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.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
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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