LOA--Deadman
Spaceman
In the future. A man deranged by porn, unleases midgets upon helpless people. Yesterday heros are called into battle to descide the fate of idiots everywhere...
The inside of Two’s starport had been built around a commercial area, with several offices for local frieght lines, a broker, a few tired-looking shops, and several resteronts and bars. The whole place was done in lively pastels that both lightened the gloomy surroundings and showed every speck of dirt. The floor was carpeted in some kind of tough, age-spotted commercial fiber that had worn through in spoots.
He angled for the canteen, certain it hadn’t been moved. Pilots hung out in spacer bars, useually located within spitting distance of the starport’s front gate, if not on the premises. Two made it easier by packing most of its facilities in close togeather, to reduce the amount of air they would have to chill.
The canteen was a dive located along the far wall of a tiny plaza built off the main drag. It appeared to share space with a pawnshop and what he guessed was either a brothel or a hotel, if not both. He sung his bag more tightly over his shoulder, crossed to the canteen, and entered.
He entered the outer alcove and was immediately struck by the din of the niosy crowd within. He glanced up and saw a clock displaying the local time. Eleven-thirty, and the place was already packed. He checked his bag in a rented locker and pocketed the key before he entered the main bar. His rough plan was to do his quick recon and find a good table before Maniac entered. A sign saying ‘no weapons allowed’ flasdhedon and off over the door.
He stepped through the inner batwing doors and glanced around. The place had been a pilot’s hangout during the war, catering to the long-haul patrols and transit jockies ferrying fighters out to the frontier. The walls were decorated with two-dee renderings of warcraft throughout the ages, from primitive prop-driven aircraft to state-of-the-art fighters and bombers. Bric-a-brac and pilot memoriabilia were scattered about on shelves. Models hung from the low ceiling, scattered between the celing fans, dencing lights and holos of yet more machines.
The place had always seemed contrived too Blair. Two had never had enouh of a military presence to support a pilots’ bar on it’s own, so it had to depend on transients.
Blair glanced around the bar, looking for Maniac. The bar was filled to overflowing with the flotsam of a half-dozen reces and a hundred planets. Pimps and whores of every possible color and gender plied their trades next to homeless vets begging for a handout or a drink. Several spacers in the shiny boots and creased flight suits of one of the inter-system liners swapped lies and swilled drinks with a pair of Confed piolots in rumpled fflight suits. The next table had a woman with a tattooed face and ab green hair who fed cherries from the bar to a spider monkey perched on her shoulder. Blair watched the anmimal a moment, uncertain if its bright blue hair was a mutation or a dye job.
Men and women, manuy in remnants of Confederation uniforms, mostly indentifiable as Kilrathi War veterans byv their decorations and badges, littered the small round tables that surrounded the cenral area. Many drank or were drunk, whhile others played cards or dominoes. They shared the boredm listless expressions thart Blair had come to associate with people who had no place to be and nothing much to do. Drug dealers worked the corners of the bar, playing the drunk or stoned with their wares, and occasionally discreetly rolling the comatose. Money changers and card-sharps sized up the rubes and each other.
Terrans stood cheek by jowl with aliens, Border Worlders, and mixed reces, all talking at once, jabbering, negotiating,argueing, fighting, and drinking. The niose, the activity, and the odors; sweat, oil, and vomit, clogged Blair’s senses.
He recovered some of his poise and worked his way a little deeper into the closly-packed mass, enogh that he could pick out snippets of the conversations around him. Everyone was looking to score, whether it was money, stolen property, sex, power, or off-planet. They all had some need they wanted met, and were willing, often frantic, to trade. He moved into the center of the room, shifting his ID plate and credit chips into his pockets. He looked around the room, searching for Maniac.
He shook his head, tired of the game. Too much had changed since he’d retired to his farm for him to be comfortable with this situation. He made for the bar, seeking a safe haven while he pondered his next move. The bartender, seeing him placehis elbos on the cheap, wood- grained plastic bar top, placed a glass in from of him and poured him a stiff drink.
Brair looked up, puzzled. “I didn’t ask for this.”
The bartender shrugged. “I only serve one kind of drink here. I figured that’s what you came in for.”
Blair looked at the amber-colored liquid. He took a careful sniff, then rinkled his nose at the smell of raw alcolhal. He lifted the glass and took a sip, his first whisky since Rachel had left. He coughed slightly as it burned a track down his throat. The stuff may have been rotgut, but it was better than the hooch produced by many ship’ stills and far superior to the stuff he’d brought with him.
He cleared his throat. “How much?” He asked, indicating the glass.
“One point two.” The bartender replyed. “Standard credits only. None of that Border Worlds trash.” He looked at Blair examining the glass. It’s cheap at the price.”
“It’d be cheap at any price.” Blair replied sourly. He handed his credit chip to the bartender. The bartender rang the change, then looked up at Blair hopefully. “A tip?”
Blair thought a moment. “Don’t go outside without a coat.”
The bartender returned his credit chip and walked away, a sour expression on his face.
Blair wasjust turing around to scan the bar again, when someone bumped into him, spilling part of his drink on his hand. He quikly held the glass away from his clothing while he turned his head to curse at his josiler. The profanity died in his lips. A grissled vetran, wearing the scraps of what had once been Confederation crew overalls, looked up at him with rheumy eyes. He reeked of cheap wisky and other, less savery odors.
The veteran wiped the back of a dirty hand across his mouth an tried to focus on Brair. “Hey, kid.” The man said. “Can you spair a vet a drink?”
Blair glanced over the old man’s overalls. The man’s patches had been removed at some point, leaving dark shapes where they had protected the material beniethfrom fading. Blair thought he recognised some of the shapes. “Were you a flyer?”
The vetran drew himself up in pride and met Blair‘s eye. “Yep.” He said. “Started out as a turret gunner on a Broadsword. Got m’self a field commision as a pilot and flew em’.”
“What happened?” Blair asked.
The man sighed, exhaling a stench into Blair’s face. “I didn’t have no collage, so I lost m’ commision in the ‘reduction in forces’ when the war ended.” He shrugged, his face a mix of pain and humiliation. “I flew off the ole Liberty for nineteen years. I was plank-owner, been on her since her commision’. That shoulda’ counted for somethin’, ya know?” He glanced away and his shoulders slumped. “Poor girl, the Liberty, I mean. She fought hard an’ did her part, ya’ know, then got broken up for scrap. It was like she was nothing.”
Blair nodded sypathetically. “Yeah, it’s hell.” The vet gave Blair a hard look. “I was on the Concordia.” Blair supplied. “So I know all about loosing a ship.”
The vet dipped his head in agreement, accepting Blair as a member of the club. “Say, you don’t know of any spacers takin’ on crew, do ya?”
Blair shook his head. “Sorry. Why don’t you go down to the hiring hull?”
The vet shrugged. “There’s nothing there. The cats got awful good at going after our transports in the tail end of the war, and with the loss of the shipyards on Earth and the scale-down after, there ain’t been a whole lot of constructing. What slots there are got captains and majors scrambling for third mate’s jobs.” He looked morose. “It’s bad, especially for a RIF’ed lieutenant like me.”
“Yeah.” Blair agteed.
“Ya know.” The vet continued. “We fought awful hard and alful long to win the war, an’ for what? There’s still Cat’s out there, making trouble, an’ pirates, an’ whatnoy. Nothing’s going like it should. It’s like we lost the war, too.” He looked down meaningfully at Blair’s drink. “You can’t get a decent glass of whisky.” He pointed at the amber liquid. “Just bilge waste.”
Blair opened his moth to speak, only to have the vet run over him. “Prices of everything been going up. It’s like everything’s fallin’ apart.”
That’s because it is. Blair thought. The war had gone on so long it had achieved a life of its own. He hadn’t realized until after he had retired and had to live on the civilian economy just how much of it had become geared to support the war effort. That, coupled with the devistation of the Kilrathi attack on the home worlds, the sheer expence of the war, and the loss of the cream of human generations, had drained off what few resources were avalible to maintain the economic infrastructure.
The vet was looking a Blair intently. “Look, buddy, if I’m bothering you…”
“No.” Blair replyed. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of…old friends. Comrades, you know?” It was the safest answer that came to mind.
The vet nodded, drawing his sleeve across his mouth again. “I didn’t mean to ramble on.” He said. “It’s just, you spend your whole life workin’ for something, working for victory, you know. Then we got it, an’ then what? They throw us all out, tell us we gotta find jobs, like there was any to be found. An’ they tells that NOW we gotta contribute, ya know.” His face turned bitter. “Like we havn’t been.”
Blair looked deep into the vets eye’s and couldn’t help but be drawn to him. “Take me. I need you, I want you.” Was all Blair could say as threw himself at the shocked vet.
“Get the hell away from me man! Your nuts!!!” The vet yelled as Blair tried to kiss him full on the lips. It was all the vet could do to get away grabed clutched to his tattered flightsuit tearing it even more.
The vet ran away from Blair and strait for the exit. “No! Please don’t leave me! I have so much love to give! Blair yelled as the vet disapeared from sight. He was left standing alone with nothing but a scap of the vets uniform as a reminder of the love between them. It was all Chris could do to keep from breaking down in tears.
Blair sat down at the bar and began nursing what was left of his drink. The bartender, sensing Chris’ pain pulled a gun from beneth the bar and pointed it at Blair. “Look bud, you try that crap with me and you’ll end end up with a third eye. Get the message?”
“Yeah, I get the message.” Blair said with some sorrow. For a second there he almost thought he had a chance with the bartender. Those dreams were shattered. It would be better to get drunk and try to forget about them. “Um, could I get another drink?”
“Sure thing bud.” The bartender slowly but the gun back in it’s place behind the bar and poored Blair another whisky. Blair quikly downed it and handed the bartender a cred chip.
Once again the bartender made change and handed Blair his change but seemed to loiter waiting for a tip. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” Blair began. “Never pet a buring dog.”
With that he walked away to find an open booth to sit down in and wait for Maniac to arrive, but as he turned the corner he could see Manick. He was obviosly being cursed at by a woman. The tall, blond woman turned to storm away from Maniac but suddenly she turned and kneed him in the groin. Blair flinched knowing the pain that Maniac must be feeling. But remarkably Maniack just grinned.
Taken off guard since her knee didn’t seem to have produced the disired effect. Before she could react however Marshal decked her. She fell to the saloons floor like a pile of bricks. Maniack kicked the woman in the stumack as she lay unconsios on the floor for good measure.
Blair quikly ran over to Maniack. He couldn’t allow this defenseless woman to be beaten like this. He wanted in on the fun too dammit!
“Hia Maniac.” Blair said as he got into kicking range. Maniac had already worked the woman over pretty well but there was still life in her. “What was so Important that you had to drag me all the way out here?” Blair asked in between kicks.
“I don’t have a damn clue. I was just told to come here and get you.” Todd panted, he was clearly out of breath. He gave the now bloodied woman one last kick and sat down agsaughsted.
“What do you mean?” Blair asked trying to clear things up.
“Look asshole. They don’t tell majors everything you know.” Though obiosly tired and still trying to catch hios breath Blair could see that Marshal still had enough energy left in him to beat him to a pulp. “I was just told to inform you that you’ve been recalled to active service.”
As Blair took in what Marshal said he could see a dark figure appeared from a far booth. As the man slowly walked up to Blair and Marshel he glanced at the twitching body lying on the floor next to their table.
The dark man turned to Blair and
Marshal. His eye’s seemed to penataed them as he stared intently at them “Is this your work?” The dark man hissed.
“Blairs heart was in his throught, all he could doo was stare at the man before him and think of all that could be between them. Marshal on the other hand was at no loss for words. “Yeah it’s ours. What of it?”
“Just wanted to say you two do nice work. Perhaps we’ll meet again.” With that the dark man departed .
“lets get going Cornel, I’ve got a couple of fighters waiting for us.” Marshal said. Blair didn’t hear a word though. He was to lovestruck to hear Todd speak. Oh what a dreamboat… Blair was violently awakened by Maniack bitchslappedinghim.
“Hay asswipe! Could you stop thinking between your legs and start thinking with your head for once? God! And you say I’m bad. Lets get going before we’re declared AWOL.”
With that the two of them got up, but before leaving they gave the now lifeless body on the floor a few more swift kicks for fun.
[This message has been edited by LOA--Deadman (edited June 09, 2000).]
The inside of Two’s starport had been built around a commercial area, with several offices for local frieght lines, a broker, a few tired-looking shops, and several resteronts and bars. The whole place was done in lively pastels that both lightened the gloomy surroundings and showed every speck of dirt. The floor was carpeted in some kind of tough, age-spotted commercial fiber that had worn through in spoots.
He angled for the canteen, certain it hadn’t been moved. Pilots hung out in spacer bars, useually located within spitting distance of the starport’s front gate, if not on the premises. Two made it easier by packing most of its facilities in close togeather, to reduce the amount of air they would have to chill.
The canteen was a dive located along the far wall of a tiny plaza built off the main drag. It appeared to share space with a pawnshop and what he guessed was either a brothel or a hotel, if not both. He sung his bag more tightly over his shoulder, crossed to the canteen, and entered.
He entered the outer alcove and was immediately struck by the din of the niosy crowd within. He glanced up and saw a clock displaying the local time. Eleven-thirty, and the place was already packed. He checked his bag in a rented locker and pocketed the key before he entered the main bar. His rough plan was to do his quick recon and find a good table before Maniac entered. A sign saying ‘no weapons allowed’ flasdhedon and off over the door.
He stepped through the inner batwing doors and glanced around. The place had been a pilot’s hangout during the war, catering to the long-haul patrols and transit jockies ferrying fighters out to the frontier. The walls were decorated with two-dee renderings of warcraft throughout the ages, from primitive prop-driven aircraft to state-of-the-art fighters and bombers. Bric-a-brac and pilot memoriabilia were scattered about on shelves. Models hung from the low ceiling, scattered between the celing fans, dencing lights and holos of yet more machines.
The place had always seemed contrived too Blair. Two had never had enouh of a military presence to support a pilots’ bar on it’s own, so it had to depend on transients.
Blair glanced around the bar, looking for Maniac. The bar was filled to overflowing with the flotsam of a half-dozen reces and a hundred planets. Pimps and whores of every possible color and gender plied their trades next to homeless vets begging for a handout or a drink. Several spacers in the shiny boots and creased flight suits of one of the inter-system liners swapped lies and swilled drinks with a pair of Confed piolots in rumpled fflight suits. The next table had a woman with a tattooed face and ab green hair who fed cherries from the bar to a spider monkey perched on her shoulder. Blair watched the anmimal a moment, uncertain if its bright blue hair was a mutation or a dye job.
Men and women, manuy in remnants of Confederation uniforms, mostly indentifiable as Kilrathi War veterans byv their decorations and badges, littered the small round tables that surrounded the cenral area. Many drank or were drunk, whhile others played cards or dominoes. They shared the boredm listless expressions thart Blair had come to associate with people who had no place to be and nothing much to do. Drug dealers worked the corners of the bar, playing the drunk or stoned with their wares, and occasionally discreetly rolling the comatose. Money changers and card-sharps sized up the rubes and each other.
Terrans stood cheek by jowl with aliens, Border Worlders, and mixed reces, all talking at once, jabbering, negotiating,argueing, fighting, and drinking. The niose, the activity, and the odors; sweat, oil, and vomit, clogged Blair’s senses.
He recovered some of his poise and worked his way a little deeper into the closly-packed mass, enogh that he could pick out snippets of the conversations around him. Everyone was looking to score, whether it was money, stolen property, sex, power, or off-planet. They all had some need they wanted met, and were willing, often frantic, to trade. He moved into the center of the room, shifting his ID plate and credit chips into his pockets. He looked around the room, searching for Maniac.
He shook his head, tired of the game. Too much had changed since he’d retired to his farm for him to be comfortable with this situation. He made for the bar, seeking a safe haven while he pondered his next move. The bartender, seeing him placehis elbos on the cheap, wood- grained plastic bar top, placed a glass in from of him and poured him a stiff drink.
Brair looked up, puzzled. “I didn’t ask for this.”
The bartender shrugged. “I only serve one kind of drink here. I figured that’s what you came in for.”
Blair looked at the amber-colored liquid. He took a careful sniff, then rinkled his nose at the smell of raw alcolhal. He lifted the glass and took a sip, his first whisky since Rachel had left. He coughed slightly as it burned a track down his throat. The stuff may have been rotgut, but it was better than the hooch produced by many ship’ stills and far superior to the stuff he’d brought with him.
He cleared his throat. “How much?” He asked, indicating the glass.
“One point two.” The bartender replyed. “Standard credits only. None of that Border Worlds trash.” He looked at Blair examining the glass. It’s cheap at the price.”
“It’d be cheap at any price.” Blair replied sourly. He handed his credit chip to the bartender. The bartender rang the change, then looked up at Blair hopefully. “A tip?”
Blair thought a moment. “Don’t go outside without a coat.”
The bartender returned his credit chip and walked away, a sour expression on his face.
Blair wasjust turing around to scan the bar again, when someone bumped into him, spilling part of his drink on his hand. He quikly held the glass away from his clothing while he turned his head to curse at his josiler. The profanity died in his lips. A grissled vetran, wearing the scraps of what had once been Confederation crew overalls, looked up at him with rheumy eyes. He reeked of cheap wisky and other, less savery odors.
The veteran wiped the back of a dirty hand across his mouth an tried to focus on Brair. “Hey, kid.” The man said. “Can you spair a vet a drink?”
Blair glanced over the old man’s overalls. The man’s patches had been removed at some point, leaving dark shapes where they had protected the material beniethfrom fading. Blair thought he recognised some of the shapes. “Were you a flyer?”
The vetran drew himself up in pride and met Blair‘s eye. “Yep.” He said. “Started out as a turret gunner on a Broadsword. Got m’self a field commision as a pilot and flew em’.”
“What happened?” Blair asked.
The man sighed, exhaling a stench into Blair’s face. “I didn’t have no collage, so I lost m’ commision in the ‘reduction in forces’ when the war ended.” He shrugged, his face a mix of pain and humiliation. “I flew off the ole Liberty for nineteen years. I was plank-owner, been on her since her commision’. That shoulda’ counted for somethin’, ya know?” He glanced away and his shoulders slumped. “Poor girl, the Liberty, I mean. She fought hard an’ did her part, ya’ know, then got broken up for scrap. It was like she was nothing.”
Blair nodded sypathetically. “Yeah, it’s hell.” The vet gave Blair a hard look. “I was on the Concordia.” Blair supplied. “So I know all about loosing a ship.”
The vet dipped his head in agreement, accepting Blair as a member of the club. “Say, you don’t know of any spacers takin’ on crew, do ya?”
Blair shook his head. “Sorry. Why don’t you go down to the hiring hull?”
The vet shrugged. “There’s nothing there. The cats got awful good at going after our transports in the tail end of the war, and with the loss of the shipyards on Earth and the scale-down after, there ain’t been a whole lot of constructing. What slots there are got captains and majors scrambling for third mate’s jobs.” He looked morose. “It’s bad, especially for a RIF’ed lieutenant like me.”
“Yeah.” Blair agteed.
“Ya know.” The vet continued. “We fought awful hard and alful long to win the war, an’ for what? There’s still Cat’s out there, making trouble, an’ pirates, an’ whatnoy. Nothing’s going like it should. It’s like we lost the war, too.” He looked down meaningfully at Blair’s drink. “You can’t get a decent glass of whisky.” He pointed at the amber liquid. “Just bilge waste.”
Blair opened his moth to speak, only to have the vet run over him. “Prices of everything been going up. It’s like everything’s fallin’ apart.”
That’s because it is. Blair thought. The war had gone on so long it had achieved a life of its own. He hadn’t realized until after he had retired and had to live on the civilian economy just how much of it had become geared to support the war effort. That, coupled with the devistation of the Kilrathi attack on the home worlds, the sheer expence of the war, and the loss of the cream of human generations, had drained off what few resources were avalible to maintain the economic infrastructure.
The vet was looking a Blair intently. “Look, buddy, if I’m bothering you…”
“No.” Blair replyed. “I’m sorry. I was thinking of…old friends. Comrades, you know?” It was the safest answer that came to mind.
The vet nodded, drawing his sleeve across his mouth again. “I didn’t mean to ramble on.” He said. “It’s just, you spend your whole life workin’ for something, working for victory, you know. Then we got it, an’ then what? They throw us all out, tell us we gotta find jobs, like there was any to be found. An’ they tells that NOW we gotta contribute, ya know.” His face turned bitter. “Like we havn’t been.”
Blair looked deep into the vets eye’s and couldn’t help but be drawn to him. “Take me. I need you, I want you.” Was all Blair could say as threw himself at the shocked vet.
“Get the hell away from me man! Your nuts!!!” The vet yelled as Blair tried to kiss him full on the lips. It was all the vet could do to get away grabed clutched to his tattered flightsuit tearing it even more.
The vet ran away from Blair and strait for the exit. “No! Please don’t leave me! I have so much love to give! Blair yelled as the vet disapeared from sight. He was left standing alone with nothing but a scap of the vets uniform as a reminder of the love between them. It was all Chris could do to keep from breaking down in tears.
Blair sat down at the bar and began nursing what was left of his drink. The bartender, sensing Chris’ pain pulled a gun from beneth the bar and pointed it at Blair. “Look bud, you try that crap with me and you’ll end end up with a third eye. Get the message?”
“Yeah, I get the message.” Blair said with some sorrow. For a second there he almost thought he had a chance with the bartender. Those dreams were shattered. It would be better to get drunk and try to forget about them. “Um, could I get another drink?”
“Sure thing bud.” The bartender slowly but the gun back in it’s place behind the bar and poored Blair another whisky. Blair quikly downed it and handed the bartender a cred chip.
Once again the bartender made change and handed Blair his change but seemed to loiter waiting for a tip. “Oh yeah, I almost forgot.” Blair began. “Never pet a buring dog.”
With that he walked away to find an open booth to sit down in and wait for Maniac to arrive, but as he turned the corner he could see Manick. He was obviosly being cursed at by a woman. The tall, blond woman turned to storm away from Maniac but suddenly she turned and kneed him in the groin. Blair flinched knowing the pain that Maniac must be feeling. But remarkably Maniack just grinned.
Taken off guard since her knee didn’t seem to have produced the disired effect. Before she could react however Marshal decked her. She fell to the saloons floor like a pile of bricks. Maniack kicked the woman in the stumack as she lay unconsios on the floor for good measure.
Blair quikly ran over to Maniack. He couldn’t allow this defenseless woman to be beaten like this. He wanted in on the fun too dammit!
“Hia Maniac.” Blair said as he got into kicking range. Maniac had already worked the woman over pretty well but there was still life in her. “What was so Important that you had to drag me all the way out here?” Blair asked in between kicks.
“I don’t have a damn clue. I was just told to come here and get you.” Todd panted, he was clearly out of breath. He gave the now bloodied woman one last kick and sat down agsaughsted.
“What do you mean?” Blair asked trying to clear things up.
“Look asshole. They don’t tell majors everything you know.” Though obiosly tired and still trying to catch hios breath Blair could see that Marshal still had enough energy left in him to beat him to a pulp. “I was just told to inform you that you’ve been recalled to active service.”
As Blair took in what Marshal said he could see a dark figure appeared from a far booth. As the man slowly walked up to Blair and Marshel he glanced at the twitching body lying on the floor next to their table.
The dark man turned to Blair and
Marshal. His eye’s seemed to penataed them as he stared intently at them “Is this your work?” The dark man hissed.
“Blairs heart was in his throught, all he could doo was stare at the man before him and think of all that could be between them. Marshal on the other hand was at no loss for words. “Yeah it’s ours. What of it?”
“Just wanted to say you two do nice work. Perhaps we’ll meet again.” With that the dark man departed .
“lets get going Cornel, I’ve got a couple of fighters waiting for us.” Marshal said. Blair didn’t hear a word though. He was to lovestruck to hear Todd speak. Oh what a dreamboat… Blair was violently awakened by Maniack bitchslappedinghim.
“Hay asswipe! Could you stop thinking between your legs and start thinking with your head for once? God! And you say I’m bad. Lets get going before we’re declared AWOL.”
With that the two of them got up, but before leaving they gave the now lifeless body on the floor a few more swift kicks for fun.
[This message has been edited by LOA--Deadman (edited June 09, 2000).]
Oh well, life does go on. We all have an opinion. Like that time I didn't want to go to school so resorted to burning it down. BTW, where can in find WC 4.123106? I only got to read parts of it and from what I did see it was good.