Soothing even the common beast
The one that bares its teeth
Ready for its strike
Eviscerate whats right
Before the howl of doom
Streaking toward the full moon
Not a cloud in the sky
This is the beasts clarion cry
Then comes the attack
Swift and filled with black
Fangs of crooked grey
No longer white you’d say
While the eyes do glow
An emerald light of show
Clapping of the jaws
Three rows within its maws
Talons like a bird
Except its covered in fur
Cannot comprehend
What has been seen again
Instead it is a thing
A demon without sin
Just a feral shape
One that will not leave this place
Cause these are its plains
And here it will remain
Trollied
Line and space
Let’s bring the chase
What’s the point if we don’t have a case?
Mumbling faster than some old man on the corner
I feel a spin in the head that isn’t normal
But who really cares when there’s a party to see
Just make sure that we can scream one, two, three
Line and space
Let’s bring the chase
What’s the point if we don’t have a case?
Stop being serious this is part of the joke
Got to be a point at which I hear a croak
Maybe I’m just imagining things
Could be that I’ve taken one of your rings
Line and space
Let’s bring the chase
What’s the point if we don’t have a case?
Vouch for the couple that you met in the park
No one has even noticed how much we lark
That’s why I want you to give me another
Why do I keep getting questions about a brother?
Line and space
Let’s bring the chase
What’s the point if we don’t have a case?
Binge on the brew until we don’t have a clue
Wasn’t there a cow walking right past you?
Fires are safe even when you can’t stand
I don’t even know who the hell are this band
Line and space
Let’s bring the chase
What’s the point if we don’t have a case?
Ingress
Hi! I’ve got a shorter story for you this week at a little over 10,000 words. Overall, doing quite well at keeping these on the shorter side recently. Pleased about that because it means I can write more. Not that you’ll know any different as stories still only get posted once a week. Anyway, this one is about an archaeological dig. I’m saying no more than that. If you want to find out what happens you’ll just have to read Ingress, so enjoy!
Philippe Akinpelu walks across an open field filled with waist high yellow-brown grass. It’s something he often does during his lunch break as it affords him precious downtime he otherwise would not indulge in. After all, Philippe is a man forever obsessed with his work. Many think it an unhealthy obsession that he should curtail the effects of. He, however, does not agree with such thinking. His work, the search for extraterrestrial artefacts on Earth is more than a vocation or an obsession; it is a need. It is a need to discover more about the past than is currently known. He is well aware, as does the rest of the world, that advanced life once walked the surface on this world. They likely walked the surface of every world and yet so little relating of them remains.
He often wonders why that is. Is it because they moved on? Advanced to a plain of existence that humans can only guess at? Or is it because they ran out of time? Everything does run out of time in the end. To believe otherwise is, in his mind, foolish. The history of Earth is proof enough that when your time, as a species, is up it is up. There is no escaping your end and the more you try the worse things get until finally you are no more. The dinosaurs are an example of that. Not that Philippe thinks the ancient reptiles ever tried to escape, or were even aware, of their impending doom. No, that particular branch of beliefs is reserved for conspiracy theorists. Some continue to advocate that dinosaurs were the ‘aliens’ humanity is seeking and that they were far more advanced than even humanity is as of this moment. It’s a preposterous idea and one the Doctor cannot even begin to understand belief in. If that were the case then the Earth would be littered, liberally, with evidence that reinforces such a notion. It is not.
Philippe decides to force his thoughts aside. This isn’t the purpose of his little excursion around this wide open field. He rolls his hazel eyes closed. They remain that way for only a handful of seconds but when he peels his eyelids back, the light of day striking his eyes once more, all his thoughts are gone. His head is empty, like it had been when he had first stepped into this field some seventeen minutes ago. He dares not consider how long he has left before he must return to the dig site. Doing so will only help to further defeat his intentions of resting. And he does rest, contrary to popular belief. He just has a very different idea of rest compared to many of his colleagues. Not that most of those who judge his diligence are here to see it. Rather, this site is staffed by outside contractors and a number of undergraduates. Some are studying under him personally but for the most part they are here because they are cheap, comparatively, labour, eager to succeed on their own merit or have been forced into this due to their failing academic record.
The presence of undergraduates, bar his own, was not his idea. That was a suggestion, a demand to be accurate, made by the principal of the university. The university is the main backer of this expedition. If Philippe did not know Lambert Collerton he would not have accepted. At least that is what the archaeologist likes to tell himself when he begins to feel bothered by the lack of progress they are making. Because of the lack of progress he has been left with far too much time to think and not enough time spent analysing. Over thinking has always been an affliction the hazel eyed man with short cropped black hair has suffered. Right now, that affliction is not hindering him and so he enjoys the here, the now, the moment.
Doctor Akinpelu makes a turn through the long grass. It strikes him that if anyone were watching, they are not as he is alone, all that would be visible would be him from the waist up. He chuckles to himself imagining that as it would appear as though he is gliding about.
The sun is high in the sky but the blue is interspersed with fluffy white clouds. They float across the burning stars path to introduce short semi-successful respites from the otherwise sweltering heat. The archaeologist wishes he had adorned himself with shorts for the day, but with all the bugs and his daily stroll through the long grasses he settled on dealing with the discomfort of his legs getting hot over his legs being feasted upon. He’s suffered such outcomes already and to be truthful does not want to have to return to slathering his legs in bug repellent. For one, it stings mercilessly when your flesh is covered in bites. Quite distracting, he thinks while making another turn.
There is no set pathway which he is following or has marked out in his mind. He is instead mindlessly meandering, changing direction as frequently as his legs feel the wish to. They guide him wherever it is that they wish without any conscious input from his mind. His hazel eyes meanwhile search every millimetre of the view around him. Many, on the expedition, think it unremarkable. As a man who to this point has spent more than ninety percent of his life within the limits of metropolises, the change of scene is a welcome one.
Before he graduated, some years ago, he had set foot outside of urban areas perhaps thrice in all his near quarter century of life. He certainly couldn’t live out here in the emptiness but a few months isn’t so bad. Some of the undergraduates in the group could not disagree more. They detest being out amongst the bugs and the heat without easy getaways and abundant comforts.
Philippe rolls his eyes closed once more to bask in the light of the sun. He can feel the warmth of Sol’s only star on his skin. It brings a smile to his face. The moment is made all the more serene by the relative silence. He says relative because there is the familiar chirping songs of birds in addition to a few other wildlife related noises. Were he in a different part of the world he would have a need to be cautious of dangerous predators, but there are none here, for better or for worse. At one time there would have been lions, cheetahs, hippopotamuses, dangerous snakes and so on. Those days are gone. What remains of the various predatory or generally dangerous species in this region have been moved to reservations meant to maintain and proliferate their population sizes back to something approaching healthy. If that were not the case however it would be accurate to say that those species would not recognise these landscapes. They have changed quite unequivocally from desert and arid land to farmland and then finally to the grassy plains they are today.
How things change, Philippe thinks while continuing his blind walk. Were he new to this field and its accompanying terrain he would not risk walking eyes closed about. After so many jaunts around this and other similar open spaces he feels well versed in what his legs and feet will need to perform to avoid him stumbling like a newborn. His legs and feet are aware of the terrain; as if they have learned every ridge and contour that they might come across. He doesn’t know how and refuses to consider it for even a moment. Again that would defeat the point of why he is out in this field of tall grass.
Another turn soon follows. A buzzing begins near one of his ears. He ignores it hoping that it will soon pass. It does not. Rather, it gets louder. Philippe’s brow furrows. He’s irritated by the continuously noisy din that is cutting out the sweet birdsong. Suddenly he feels something skirt the surface of his ear. He can take no more and reflexively raises and swats his hand past his ear. The buzzing stops. A smile slides across his face. He re-welcomes the overlapping songs from the relatively nearby line of trees that mark out one edge of this field. They look dehydrated, their leaves like the grass he is drifting through is a yellow-brown colour. The bark meanwhile around the base of the trunk has been bleached by the sun. In a few years the trees will be dead, the grass might possibly persist for a while longer. Not that it matters. Before then, as long as Philippe is done with his dig, this land will be stripped and replanted. It’s a continuous cycle that is performed on Earth now. The only way enough oxygen can be created for all the souls, human and animal, that dare to call this ball of rock home. If science had not cracked easy ways to produce plentiful supplies of food things would be very different. It had been that way not too long ago. At that point humanity had been forced to alternate between enough food for every mouth and enough air to breathe comfortably. They were dark times.
Philippe opens his eyes and sighs. He realises he has been thinking again. It seldom happens but when it does the archaeologist is aware that he most probably will not succeed in getting a rest from his thoughts. Not when they are being as persistent as this.
“I’ll take what I can get.” He hears his deep voice in his ears. Shortly after, he looks to the sky to consider the wind direction. Right to left is his conclusion, though what direction that is according to a compass he has not a clue. It matters little but refuses to divert his attention as he hears what he thinks is a voice calling. He cannot make out the words. It might be a memory. He could discover if that is true with little effort. He is not inclined too. Rather, he changes direction again. Still, he has no thought as to when the changes will come. He has succeeded in at least maintaining that. A smile slides across his face again and then to not over think his victory he turns his focus to the birds. The calling is getting louder. He can hear the occasional word now. Still, he pays no mind to it.
“Professor. Professor!” A long straggly haired young man exclaims loudly as he rushes through the grass which is past his waste just a little. The young man can feel the sting from the brittle grasses as they slap and slice across his exposed shins. The impacts burn a little but Benjamin Colt pays them little mind. Later he might regret his decisions but that is a problem for another time.
“Professor! We’ve found something. We’ve hit pay dirt, professor!” Benjy, which is how most refer to him, doesn’t understand what that saying means. If he did he would know that this isn’t really the correct context to use it in. Yes, hitting pay dirt can mean success. Generally, it means you’re going to get a good payday out of whatever has been discovered. No one on the expedition will make a fortune out of any discovery that is made here. It’s all for science, history, not profit. If it were for profit things would be very different. Philippe would’ve gotten more backers than he would’ve known what to do with, but he hadn’t. The university was the only backer. They have and are funding everything here. As a result there can be and is no waste, unlike with a privately funded dig. Things are done on a shoe-string, comparatively speaking.
Benjy trips, he stumbles a couple steps but manages to recover his balance. His dance with embarrassment holds no sway over him and he continues to barrel along over a field he cannot see the purpose of wandering around.
Benjy is one of the undergraduates who doesn’t like being outside of his urban environment. To him cities are comfort. The country, nature, whatever you want to call it is irritation and bug bites. He has more than he thinks he could conceivably count. Plus, it seems to make no difference how much insect repellent he uses because each day he gets up and checks himself over to find a new round of bites and stings. More than a few times he has forced one of the expedition medical doctors to check him over to ensure none are fatal or debilitating. None of them have been. Benjy can be a bit of a hypochondriac. Especially, as the kinds of bugs he is panicking over, mosquitoes, no longer carry anything that can cause him harm. Sure, they’ll steal some blood if given the chance but there will be no malaria contracted as a result. God bless science, is what the young undergraduate should say. That is, if he were not oblivious to such advances. His lack of knowledge is in large part due to the fact that he refuses to interact with a great deal of the information which exists out in the world. No wonder he’s a failing student, and not one of Philippe’s either. But a deal was a deal, Philippe agreed and so here is a less than stellar performing student.
Finally, the young man with straggly hair reaches Doctor Akinpelu who, eyes closed once more, is swaying back and forth as he continues to walk. Benjy’s brow furrows in confusion. As far as the fresh faced young man can see the professor has nothing in his ears, so what is he listening to? Benjy considers for a few seconds, making sure to keep pace while he does. Ultimately, he admits defeat to inform, “Professor, we’ve found something. Something big. You’re going to want to see it.”
Philippe stops dead in his tracks. How he does dislike being called professor. However, that is not the cause for his abrupt halt. His eyes ease open following a roll hidden by his eyelids. Of all the people to send why did it have to be Benjamin Colt bringing him this news? He does not know but imagines that there had to be a more competent soul available, surely. It matters little, Philippe tells himself in the moments prior to him turning his attention toward the young man who is still as pale as he was the moment they left. Philippe doesn’t understand how. Sure Benjy has a straw hat atop that mop of sandy blond hair but that wouldn’t stop his exposed arms from tanning. Philippe considers for a moment as to how it is he has remained so pale. It takes him no longer than a blink of an eye because it is impossible for him not to take notice of the thick layer of white sun block that Benjy has seemingly bathed his arms in. The archaeologist has to resist the urge to roll his eyes, principally because Benjy is staring him in the face.
“Benjy, what do you mean we’ve found something. What something? Is there any detail you can give me?” Philippe questions calmly. He makes sure to keep his concerns that this could very well be a false alarm, or worse a prank, from tainting his tone of voice. A false alarm Philippe can cope with. He’s suffered a number since they begun, but a prank would boil his blood.
From what the doctor has heard around the camp Benjy has been trolling people with such things far more than a man of his age should. Reserve judgement, Philippe hears him demand of himself. The archaeologist agrees and so waits for a reply from the undergraduate alongside him.
“I-I don’t know.” Benjy’s blue eyes drop, breaking from Philippe’s. His feet begin to shuffle and the doctor gets the distinct feeling this is some kind of prank. He resists the urge to sigh or say anything he might otherwise regret. Instead, he vows he will wait.
“I didn’t see it. I was walking back to the dig site when I heard cheering. I’d just finished lunch. Tuna sandwich, it was the boom!”
“Benjy, stay on point.” Philippe urges softly.
“Oh. Yeah. Sorry about that professor. Well before I could get close Bianca comes running up and says they’ve found something. She looked super excited and was more animated than usual. I asked what it was. She apparently didn’t hear me…” Benjy shrugs. He doesn’t seem convinced that Bianca wasn’t ignoring him. He continues without encouragement however, which Philippe finds reassuring. “…and asked if I’d seen you. I said I hadn’t but that it was lunch so you’d probably be on one of your walks.” Benjy gestures with a smug smile to say that he was right. “She ordered that I find you and then ran off saying she was going to go tell the others. Before I could get a single word out she was gone. So here I am professor.”
Philippe doesn’t know what to say. It sounds plausible but then again doesn’t every prank until it’s unveiled. Well the good ones anyway. Still, if it came from Bianca, as Benjy has said, then it could very well be true. She is a star pupil and has been a real boon to the expedition. He believes he should dare to trust Benjy’s words but first feels he has to check, “And you didn’t see it?”
“Nah, wish I had, but everyone was staring at me so I bolted.” Philippe accepts the reply. Benjy doesn’t like being the centre of attention. Though a prank is very much in his ball park, having all eyes on him at any moment that isn’t of his choosing sounds like something that would compel him to do what he is meant to.
“Then come on Benjy, there’s no time to waste.” Philippe exclaims excitedly. The archaeologist breaks into a job right after. He isn’t going to attempt a sprint. That would be foolish, mainly due to the sweltering heat that is beating down upon them. As he goes Doctor Akinpelu wears a broad, it spans almost from ear to ear, smile across his slim face and its thirty six hours worth of stubble.
Fade And Decay
Too busy with your stash
To have noticed the flash
Chemicals have fried your brain
You barely even remember your name
Just a crutch on which you rest
Unprepared for any kind of test
Craving yet another hit
It’s not even been a bit
And watching is killing me
It’s so rough to have to see
Every attempt has failed miserably
You just walk right back constantly
Lie, steal and cheat to get…
Whatever you can to feed the debt
A burden upon what little remains
I know you do it to drown your pain
Memories from your childhood
No moment of it was good
This has never been the answer
You could have been a dancer
Set the stage on fire
Instead you build a personal pyre
Stoke the flames for your demise
Oblivion is not a prize
A pit into which to sink
You rarely even truly blink
Just a shell that sits in place
Vacant look tattooed upon your face
Track marks up your limbs
You don’t notice any of these things
Soon you’ll have gone away
Be taken apart by the decay
Fall for the final time
Be nothing but a line
Name within a tragic book
Ended by your own hook
Hex
Fashioned from the bones of crow
Do you really want me to go?
Then just say the words
Before the return of the birds
Selfish lie is how you like to cry
Another person with a false goodbye
Just angling for a goal
Ready to shovel out the coal
Pity you never thought to look
Instead you just mistook…
Compassion for weakness
Betrayed the new fetus
Wove a seam from ash
Then doled out the cash
Upon the splintered mass
Denying us the pass
Sick twisted life at last
Words you love to blast
While spinning spines
Claiming you are fine
But from the blackened throne
The words begin to moan
Before the dead do rise
The ravens join the flies
So will you finally speak the verse?
And not simply recite the curse
We just want the truth
Not some words wrapped in stolen youth
Simple when you think
You could have changed the link
But you were too wrapped up
Drinking from the shadow cup
Poisoned by your own hand
All an excuse for you to stand
Then begin the cycle again
Using the carcass of men
Born from the heart of bile
The ever present skeletal pile
Samurai
Silent as the wind
Then you feel the sting
Bite of the blade
Cold and hand-made
Fashioned from pure ore
Exploiting a fatal flaw
Look you in the eye
As you fade and die
Fighter to the end
A code I will not bend
Can’t tempt with a bribe
I’d rather give my life
While I face you head on
Warrior ’til I’m done
Protecting everyone
Through night and sun
Honour is my life
Won’t let the flame drift and die
Back To Back
Whatever trouble you’re in, know that I’m coming
You won’t face it alone, don’t tell me to go home
Cause if we need to fight, I’ll be right there
Not lending a hand, just wouldn’t be fair
Now fill me in, on whats going down
No need to worry, I always frown
You know that so, don’t you dare dither
Details are needed, to make the problem wither
You look so severe, like I think you are mad
Got it all wrong, just wish that you had
Come to me sooner, to ask for aid
Not that it matters, cause the debt will be paid
So run through the plan, one final time
Want to make sure I’m certain, about the use of the incline
Oh that is right, ramp of approach
These fools won’t see, before they’re broke
Thick of the fight, and numbers are thin
We’re on the verge of, outright just winning
Then I hear, a call of your name
I pause for second, only to feel pain
Turn of my head, and you’re on the ground
Boil over with rage, deadening of sound
My fists start to fly, then there’s the cry
These fools are, about to go bye bye
Then when its over, I give you a hand
Pick you right up, off of the ground
Ask me how I am, still even standing
Smile crooked, then reveal that I’m packing
A shake of your head, then comes the smile
I shrug my shoulders, then mock I am vile
You burst with laughter, and I follow suit
We are blood brothers, cut the rot at the root
Storm The Summit
Story time is back again. This one I’d call a thriller. It has light Sci-Fi elements but they in no way form a large part of this tale (its about 15,000 words long). Past that I’ll let you know that this is a small groups efforts to stop one man from wielding more power than any single person should ever be allowed to hold. With that I hope you enjoy, Storm The Summit.
“Incoming!” Is the only thing that can be heard being screamed by one of the members of Zeta team while they are aboard the oblong box which is kept suspended by four rotor blades. Each of the rotors and the shrouds surrounding them are affixed to the upper corners of the body which is known as a Finch.
On instinct alone Jaxson Orin known to everyone as Jax spins around. He had been faced toward Claribel Hu the pilot of the Finch and querying as to how far out they are from their intended drop point. It matters little now. Nevertheless, Jax has managed to turn just in time to see a rocket of some kind lancing toward the open side of the Finch. Ferris is on that side firing wildly at the shooters a good distance below them. The shooters are positioned haphazardly around the various terraces of the Linqi Corporation headquarters tower, Linqi Lance. It’s a stupid name. Jax has always thought so but it fits well with what he knows about the character of Linqi’s CEO Mortimer Davidson. The man is beyond arrogant. He’s the epitome of what people hate about the uber rich and is hell-bent on keeping Jax and his Zeta team away so he can finalise his power grab of Linqi. If he succeeds he will be the single most powerful man on the face of the Earth. That is bar none and that is what scares the various authorities. Especially, as he has shown many a time before that it is either his way or be left to decay. Those are exact words that once passed his lips. To make matters worse some of his choices have been borderline psychotic, but as the CEO of the largest corporation in history he has managed to keep his place. Jax can only imagine what might happen if he isn’t stopped from executing the board of directors. Worse still is why it was ever written into their contracts that the shares would be passed and divided among the surviving members should one or more of them die. It’s like the terms were written by Mr Davidson himself. They weren’t. In truth, they were written by the now long departed founder of Linqi, Jefferson Linqi. The exact reasons as to why he had such a thing written in were the man’s own, he never shared them and thus they died with him. It was in a freak accident that he perished. If it were not so long ago Jax would swear Mortimer had a hand in it but he hadn’t been born when it had occurred, so that ruled him that out.
Still, the fact that it happened before Mortimer was born, he’s in his fifties, should give you some idea of how long the corporations’ founder has been gone. Plus, with his entire family having expired in the same plane crash it in many ways made sense that the corporation, which at that time had been fledging in comparison to what it is today, would avoid uncertainty and a problematic transition of power by having such a clause embedded in the fine detail. Fine details that ran for hundreds upon hundreds of pages and that each employee who served on the board had to agree to if they wished to hold such a position.
Jax shakes himself free of his daze. It seems in all the time he’s spent mulling over details of the past no real time has passed whatsoever. Just as well, Jax thinks as he forces his body into action. He leaps for Ferris who is still firing down below with reckless abandon and with complete obliviousness at the danger hurling itself toward him. Typical Ferris, Jax thinks as he reaches the man decked out in the standard body armour and tactical gear including battle cap. Still, it doesn’t change Jax’s actions and why he grabs a hold of the straps across Ferris’ shoulders and hauls him away from the mounted gun. Ferris roars angrily and thrashes trying to break free. If Jax didn’t know the man better he’d swear he’s determined to die. Regardless, Ferris is unable to mount a worthwhile resistance and is dragged away just in time as the Finch banks. The incoming rocket projectile as a result zips through the open side door of the Finch right where Ferris had been perched and out the other side. Jax handed even considered whether the other side door had been open when he’d decided to risk his own skin. If it hadn’t have been it wouldn’t have mattered as the Finch would have exploded into a shower of flaming debris.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Ferris roars angrily while scrambling to his knees. He’s still completely unaware that a rocket nearly ended his life and zipped through the interior of the Finch. It’s why he comes whaling around on Jax, who isn’t entirely sure whether his Zeta squad mate is bellowing at him or Claribel the pilot. It would make the most sense for Ferris to be going off at Jax, but Ferris’ eyes keep flitting Claribel’s way. Still, his face is red, angry and deeply furrowed with rage. Ferris always gets like this. The only reason he’s still on Zeta is because Jax vouches for him. Maybe he shouldn’t because his recklessness is way over the line these days. At one time he’d operated close to it but now he’s fully over it on near enough every op they run.
“Saving your bacon Ris.” Jax barks using the shortened version of Ferris’ name while glaring at him with green eyes. This is a stare Jax uses whenever he needs someone to understand that he isn’t playing around. That this is serious and that lives could and should have been lost in the moments prior.
“I meant our sorry excuse for a pilot, Jax. She almost had me slide right out of this fucking bird!” Jax isn’t sure he believes his squad mate but can’t refute that his eyes are very much turned her way.
“Oh can it you sorry excuse for a…” Claribel begins only for another member of Zeta, Teddy Julian, to cry, “Fresh incoming! Brace!”
“Oh shit!” Lister can be heard saying as Claribel turns her attention instinctively toward what’s incoming. Nevertheless, she sees the projectiles too late, thankfully they’re only bullets and nothing explosive, but banks hard all the same. The four members of Zeta scream and swear but manage to grab hold of various edges and bars inside to keep themselves from being unceremoniously flung from the exposed interior of the flying black box fashioned from a reinforced metal frame that is wrapped is armour glass. Rounds pepper the hull of the Finch. Not all on the outside. The unmistakable sound of rapid thumps fills the ears of all five of those aboard the aircraft while Claribel banks at an increasingly sharp angle. During the increasingly sharp bank angle she also pulls up, effectively circling the building. If they were not under fire she wouldn’t have to circle but they are.
If you’re wondering why she’s gaining altitude it’s because Zeta are meant to be dropping on the roof of Linqi Lance. She knows the name meant to convey the general shape of the building. Though, in truth the lance shape only really relates to the lightning rod, satellite assembly that serves as the very pinnacle of the tower of armour glass that rises up into the air. It’s massive and monolithic and appears as if it cute the sky in two. In a manner as if it was sent down by the gods. It wasn’t and Claribel couldn’t care less about anything other than keeping the Finch airbourne right now. Rounds continue to patter against the hull of her bird. Her CO is going to have a fit when she gets back to the depot and he inspects the damage this flying box has suffered. Claribel doesn’t care at the moment. She’s only been following orders, his orders, and so he’ll just have to deal with the damage. Why these Zeta boys came to her CO, Drake Matheson, she will never know. Top secret blah blah some other excuse and so can’t it be blah otherwise it might be blah blah blah. Claribel didn’t pay attention to that side of the briefing. It didn’t matter to her as to the why she was being deployed, only that she was and so all that mattered to her were the cargo, Zeta, and the destination, Linqi Lance. Everything else was superficial and unimportant in her eyes.
At least that was what she thought at the time. Now, she wishes she’d paid a little more attention as to what might be the death of her tonight. In fact, the demand that this be done at night should have set off enough alarm bells to make her pay closer attention but she hadn’t. On the few instances she had tuned in to listen to detail she didn’t care about and quickly tune back out she heard some ramblings that gave nothing away but were meant to placate. Good reason in itself not to waste time listening she thought but it appeared to achieve its intended goal of getting Drake on board. He must have served with these guys once had been and still is her conclusion.
Finally, Claribel flicks the joystick of the Finch in the opposite direction. It has the desired effect and results in the Finch transitioning out of its bank and back to being level once more. Several of Zeta breath sighs of relief. She does to, just keeps it low enough for them not to hear. In truth, she was convinced during that manoeuvre that someone would clatter at least one of the protruding turbines. Somehow they either weren’t fortunate enough to hit one or didn’t try. She tells herself it’s the latter. That makes her feel a whole lot better about…
Right then, and as if on cue, they are assaulted by a second wave of bullets. “When the fuck is this going to end?” Teddy screams at the top of his lungs. Poor Teddy hates flying and only deals puts up with it so he can stay in Zeta. And by deal with it that means bitching and moaning or screaming at the top of his lungs when things go a little awry. This situation is a lot more than a little awry and so Jax won’t begrudge him his outbursts. Unlike Ferris, Teddy knows when and when not to gob-off.
“Fuck it! I’m returning fire.” Ferris cries with a snarl carved across his face. He is eager, as always, to enact some major violence on those who dare take them on.
“Denied! That is an…” Jax begins to shout in reply. Sadly his order falls on deaf ears. That’s why he trails off without finishing it. To do so would simply be a waste of breath because Ferris, who already has the mounted gun in his hands, opens fire with a renewed vigour and a seemingly unquenchable thirst for blood. It’s the side of Ferris that worries all the other members of Zeta. They’ve seen it every now and then. It’s what they term as when Ferris goes feral. A red mist descends and he will do what he wants, when and as he wants. Listening to orders goes out the window, or in this case out the open side of the Finch. Lister looks to Jax and notes his CO’s dejected look. It lasts a couple seconds, maybe, at most but it’s there long enough for him to notice it. Lister knows it’s hard for Jax to keep Ferris in Zeta and the rabid dog does nothing to make it easier a good chunk of the time, which Lister imagines must make it problematic, to say the least.
“What are your orders?” It’s why Lister offers such a query not long after. He feels the need to know what the plan is, if there is one. If there isn’t and they’re on, play it by ear and hope, he’ll fully understand but he feels compelled to ask nonetheless. It might also distract from Ferris and his brazen insanity.
“Stop that stupid son of a bitch from getting himself shot by…” Jax never gets to finish that statement as something slams into the underside of the Finch. Everyone, save for Claribel who is strapped securely into her seat, is thrown up off the deck of the aircraft. Screams fill the air. Claribel finds it difficult to concentrate with all the noise, but thankfully after so many years of piloting her body goes into running a series of checks and changes to systems that are entirely reflexive. If Zetas pilot were not as experienced that might have been the beginning of their end right there but Claribel has been flying nearly as long as the members of Zeta have been fighting. That’s saying quite a bit about the brown eyed and blonde haired woman whose face is blank, save for a slight muscle twitch that makes the lower left corner of her lip move a couple millimetres every few seconds.
Following a period of weightlessness the members of Zeta crash back to the Finch’s deck. Unsurprisingly the first to speak is Ferris. “Are you trying to get us killed you dumb bitch?”
“Fuck you.” Is Claribel’s calm retort to the enraged Ferris. Her eyes don’t drift from her consoles or the view out the cockpit window. It’s an endless flat expanse of glass that curves around the boxy front of the Finch only to disappear beyond the limits of her peripheral vision.
“We aren’t getting to the roof boys. There’s too much incoming flak. I’ll get you as close as I can but…” Claribel begins only to be cut-off by Ferris who still boiling shouts, “Not good enough! You are being paid to get us to the roof so that’s where we’re going!”
“Stand…” Jax begins only for Claribel to come in louder and remind, “Yeah and how we going to do that when he can’t even handle the shit we have incoming from these terraces?” I’m a pilot not a miracle worker. Jax, keep your dog on his leash before I dump him off my bird to see if he can fly.”
Ferris actually stops. It’s shocking to the other members of Zeta. They have never seen Ferris lost for words. In fact, all he does is stand there, his back to the open side he’d been shooting from, blinking rapidly over and over. Jax’s brow furrows. He knows, hell they all know, except their pilot, that this is very uncharacteristic for Ferris. He never stops. Not until he’s forced too. So why…
At that moment a trickle of blood is coughed up by Ferris. Quickly it runs down the length of his chin and then a little ways under it before dripping onto his tactical vest below. Jax’s eyes go wide. Someone in the squad swears. To no surprise they too have realised what is wrong with Ferris. Jax leaps forward. Ferris is off-balance and flops backward. If they were on solid ground it wouldn’t matter, but up nearly a thousand feet in the air it’s a big issue. This is especially so when you consider that Ferris is near the edge of the open side of this aircraft. Jax reaches but his fingertips barely glance across the fabric that spans Ferris’ chest before he’s gone. Jax screams. Claribel asks what’s going on. She can’t see from where she is. No one answers her. A second later she finds out when the tracking dot on Ferris registers him below the Finch. A few quick calculations but truthfully he’s already out of her reach. If they weren’t being assaulted by weapons fire she might have risked attempting to retrieve him, but it’s too late really. She knows that.
“FUCK!” Jax spits some time later. For the moment the incoming fire has died once more. None of them are aware of that. They are all too busy mulling over the loss of Ferris. He might have behaved like a rabid dog on operations but he was a member of Zeta and a friend.
“What’re your orders Jax? I need to know where you want me to drop you boys off.” Claribel says breaking the heavy silence that has hung between the four of them. She didn’t want to be the one to do it but saw little choice.
At first Jax says nothing. Rather, his eyes remain fixed on the spot Ferris had occupied. Finally he shakes himself loose. A thousand things that have been going through his head, he’s forces aside for the moment. If he survives this he’ll deal with them then. Now is not the time. He and the remainder of his squad have a job to do. It’s not officially sanctioned by their superiors at The Agency but that is only because of the influence Mortimer Davidson has over so many and at all different levels of society. The sad truth is that there are people who regard him like a messiah. Jax doesn’t get it but he’s spent his life in the field getting dirty, staining his hands with blood, so he doesn’t have the same outlook as the desk-bound who only see things from a limited viewpoint that comprises primarily of comfort and safety. There is no way many of them would feel the same if they’d seen even a handful of what he and his… His thought trails off. He shakes himself free of his thoughts for a second time and then after a quick glance to check on Teddy and Lister he makes the short crossing across the Finch to converse with Claribel.
“Get us as close to the roof as you can.” Jax’s voice is soft. It isn’t an order. It’s a request. She isn’t one of his team and while she might be being paid for this, what is happening is a whole lot worse than what Drake signed her up for.
“I’m sorry about Ferris.” Claribel offers in response.
Jax nods but says nothing. In all honesty he doesn’t know what to say. Ferris was a friend, a colleague but also a dangerous violent man and a royal pain in his ass. It doesn’t change the fact that he deserved to live. Everyone deserves to live. Except for Mortimer Davidson, that is. He holds a special seat. The root of most evil committed today in this world. After all, what most people don’t know and if they do refuse to believe is that he funds and inspires violent factions all over the world to resist the established order. Some of those groups have even succeeded in replacing apparently lethargic regimes that benefited more than many citizens liked to admit with a regime of exploitation and profiteering. Jax doesn’t understand how he hasn’t been taken down for the raft of charges that could be attributed to his name and wouldn’t have thought being the CEO of Linqi would offer that level of protection to save him. Seems the green eyed man is clearly wrong, or would be if The Agency weren’t sending him and his boys in. One less boy now, Jax thinks before hearing Claribel announce, “I can get you as far as the last public terrace. Any higher up and we’ll be gunned out the air before you get a chance to jump.” She doesn’t add how she knows that. Jax has enough on his plate without being told that there are automated anti-aircraft weapons ready to shoot the Finch out of the sky if they so much as crest the lip of the roof.
Jax nods taking note of what Claribel does and does not say. It speaks volumes, whether she is aware of that or not. Then the green eyed man queries, “How’s your bird holding up?”
“You don’t want to know.” Is Claribel’s succinct reply that tells Jax all he needs to know without any actual detail being given.
“Thanks.” Jax feels an overwhelming urge to say.
“Thank me if we get through this.” Claribel replies before advising, “You’re going to want to brace for this, it’s going to be a hard continuous bank ‘til we get to the terrace where I’m dropping your asses off.” A smile flashes across her face, which manages to be both slim and round at the same time. Jax nods once then pushes off against the bulkhead that separates the cockpit from the rest of the Finch’s interior. A quick turn thereafter and he’s face-to-face with Teddy and Lister. The only difference between the men and him, if he’s honest, is the colour of their eyes. OK, the shapes of their faces and their features too but the main distinguishing factor that is noticeable at a glance is their differing eye colours. Teddy’s are blue while Lister’s are a dark brown. Both men are looking to Jax who orders, “Grab hold and don’t let go. This is going to be a very bumpy ride.”
“As if it hasn’t been already boss.” Teddy manages a wry cheeky smile but makes no effort to argue the toss, unlike Ferris would have. Rather, Teddy grabs a hold of the internal overhead running bars. There are three in total. Two are near the open sides of the Finch while the third is an equal distance between the other two, which means it runs down the dead centre. It’s mounted just below the headlining, or where the headlining would be if this were a civilian specification conforming Finch. This one has had the headlining, meant to help deaden the sounds of whooshing air and the engines, ripped out to save a bit of weight. After all, four large guys with full assault gear and a host of weapons is pretty heavy. Far more than the twin passenger Finch, which is what this variant is, should be carrying.
The weight saving wasn’t really enough. This Finch is still an unhealthy amount over the maximum allowance but it was all that had been available without using one of The Agencies own Finch’s. That would have raised eyebrows and inevitably led to questions Zeta and the few above them who have greenlit this operation do not want to have asked in the first place.
With Lister, Teddy and Jax bracing, Claribel banks hard without dropping a lick of the speed the Finch has been attempting to maintain. The force of the bank strains Lister’s arm muscles while he clings on for dear life. There is not a shred of doubt that if he were to lose his grip he would be flung wide out the side of the Finch and left to plummet to his death. In some ways like what happened to Ferris. He’ll miss the loose cannon of the squad. He was a hazard, to put it mildly, but he was their hazard. Lister sighs deeply. The sound of the exhale is lost in the noise as the Finch strains and creaks to maintain such a severe bank while continuing to climb. Lister looks to Teddy who is, unsurprisingly, very green around in the face due to this manoeuvre.
Teddy would love to hurl. He can feel his body demanding that be his reaction. He refuses to oblige. He needs his hands to stay where they are, clamped around the overhead rails. He too knows what his fate would be if he took even one hand off. Teddy knows his limits and that he isn’t the strongest, physically, member of the team. He isn’t supposed to be. He’s Zetas tech guy, a hacker according to some. He wishes that were true. He is nowhere near a hacker. If he were he could subvert and crack systems without the use of the gadgets he’s equipped with. Truth is, he simply understands a little more about the hacks compared to Jax and Lister. They could probably both execute them if push came to shove, but defer to Teddy. That gives him a place in a squad he otherwise would not have. Other squads don’t have such a defined role. The tech stuff falls to whoever is closest and not under fire in whatever moment it’s required.
Out The Door
You can scale mountains and cut down trees,
But as you skipped out you’re just a disease
Don’t warrant a single solitary thought,
Because all that you did was just abort
Run out the door when you were needed most,
What kind of person doesn’t see that’s gross
Or were you too busy chasing other tail,
To realise that you’d been handed the holy grail
Answer me that
Cause these are fact
True statements here
No one will cheer
You send a little cash from time to time,
But that doesn’t mean they’re doing fine
If you actually cared you would do more,
Instead all you did was run out that door
Leaving them to fight for their life,
Talk about burdening them with a heap of strife
But even if you see now it’s way too late,
Maybe you shouldn’t have decided to date
Answer me that
Cause these are fact
True statements here
No one will ever cheer
Scream to the void about how you’ve failed,
Sorry not sorry there’s no getting bailed
It was a choice and you chose so wrong,
So for that you’re out where you belong
I know it’s cold but you won’t get a hand,
You are the reason that you became banned
That is why you’ll have to live with the mistakes,
Including all the pain that will come with the hate
Youth
Staring up at the sun
Wanting back the days of fun
A time when there wasn’t a care
Just long periods of being there
A fair mind in an open field
Nothing forcing you to shield
Passing time as you wished
Those are periods to be missed
Not petty squabbles spouting poison
Such things are born from poor decision
Instead you meandered through the day
Chanting and laughing all the way
Rain or sky never told a lie
It was just thoughts of flying high
Sailing across the fluffy clouds
Imagining whatever made you proud
Not concerns about failure and position
What strange things to drive living
That’s why those days are gold
Never did you feel locked out in the cold
So I will dwell on those memories
A period that was so dear to me
Simon A Jackson - Writer 