antelope_writes

Thinking out loud

Tue, 22 Jul 2008 19:58:06 GMT

Any advice on what to do about the following will be vastly appreciated.
I'm being sent on a job that will be 6 weeks on, 3 weeks off. The 6 weeks on will be in the states...3 weeks in the gulf of mexico, 3 weeks in california. (I don't know. It's really bizarre.) Because of the short turnaround, I probably won't be home for the first three weeks, certainly, and I'm probably going to be (a) driving around the north island with my parents in November and (b) driving around the south island with my friend Eleanor in February. After that, who knows.

At the moment, the question du jour is: do I keep my apartment or not.

I've got my own little patch of paradise overlooking the Tasman sea. 3 bedrooms, one of which I'm actively trying to find a roommate for, and I'm watching a very rowdy, snarly ocean from my breakfast table. I can hear the roaring of the surf from where I'm sitting, and it's a five-minute walk to a good swimming beach--something I did a lot more in the summer than I'm doing now!

OTOH, I'm not going to be here for 6 months, and it's costing me $1500/month to store stuff that I'll never use, a bed I'll never sleep in, etc. Even were I to have to forfeit my deposit and a month's rent for breaking the lease, that's still 4 months worth of rent I'd be bankrolling.

OTOH, I'm not hurting for money at ALL, and when I'm out at sea, well, I'm not spending anything...plus I'll be earning twice as much in offshore allowance--separate from my regular salary--than I pay in rent/bills per month.

OTOH, that's money I could be tucking away for when the tax man cometh, and because I'll be working BACK in the states, he's going to take a fsckin' HUGE bite out of my hide. Pound of flesh, indeed. And in the meantime, everything just sits there collecting dust.

OTOH (I must be an octopus today), I'd have to find somewhere to put all my stuff, pack up, move, find somewhere else to live, all that crap that I did just 6 months ago, and frankly, I don't know if I have it in me to move again so soon.

I guess what it really boils down to is it's time to make a hard-nosed financial decision versus the question "how much is my sanity worth?" Because if I've learned one thing about myself over time, it's that I do need my own sanctuary.

The saddest bit of all this, to me, is that Bob and Mi-Ke will not be coming to New Zealand as planned. There's no point in flying them down here, putting them in quarantine, etc if I'm not going to be here. If I were doing a 6-week-on, 6 week-off schedule like I THOUGHT I'd be doing, it'd be fine, because I'd be here as often as not. But now, when it looks like I may be in New Plymouth for 10 days total over the next 6 months, well, it's cruel to do that to them. And I really, really, really hate that.

Kirin

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 19:18:38 GMT

In case anybody was wondering.

Ficlet Suite: Three Portraits of Divinity

Sun, 20 Jul 2008 01:19:30 GMT

Ficlet Suite: Three Portraits of Divinity
Characters: Jack, Gwen, Owen
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Angst and language in #2, none for #1 or #3
Spoilers: #1 has spoilers for DW 4.12 and 4.13, #2 has spoilers for TW 1.10.
Disclaimer: Torchwood is property of BBC and RTD.

This fic was kindly beta-read by demotu. Thanks!

I. Children of the Middle Kingdom (Jack, Gwen)

Jack swings the SUV into the car park, and they both hop out.

They look around for the disturbance. Gwen is about to look behind the school building when Jack calls her back. He gestures to his left, saying, “It's over there.” He's pointing towards the small rise that separates the cricket pitch from the rest of the school grounds.

They get up the hill onto the pitch and sure enough, there's something on fire. Except...it isn't. Burning, that is. There are flames in it and on it and around it, and perhaps the flames are it...but it's not burning. It is, however, using a very long tongue to strip leaves from the branch of a tree hanging over the far side of the oval.

Jack stops by the stumps, about fifteen meters away from the creature, and Gwen comes up on his left-hand side, stopping perhaps just a bit further away. It's enormous, the size of one of Rhys' delivery lorries, with a body like a horse, a head like the dragon on the Welsh flag, antlers like a deer, and...scales? Scales, like one of those expensive fish in the ponds at Japanese restaurants.

It's beautiful, that's what it is.

Beside her, Jack's quiet murmur echoes her thoughts. “Oh, you beautiful, perfect thing.” She flicks a glance at him, then turns to stare when she realizes that he's a million miles—or a million years—away. It's different, though. Not like when John first told him about Grey, not like when he came out of the ground or when the Daleks came or when the Doctor called him. It's peaceful, it's reverent, and it's such a surprise to see him like this that she steps back and nearly trips over her own feet.

“So, now, what is it?”

Jack is enough in the here-and-now to answer, “Not an alien, if that's what you're asking.”

“Jack...” The reproach in Gwen's voice brings him back to reality with a snap, and as the weight of his life floods back into his face, she's abruptly sorry she spoke.

“It's...it's like the Night Travelers, or the Mara. It belongs to this planet but it lives outside what humans normally see. The difference being, this one is absolutely harmless.” He pauses, considering. “Well, mostly harmless. If you got up close to it, you'd see that it isn't even crushing the blades of grass where it stands. I am kind of wondering what it's doing here, though...” His voice trails off, and he drifts away to wherever it was he'd just come back from.

The creature ceases its attentions to the tree and drops its head, reaching around with a hind foot to scratch behind an antler. Errant tendrils of flame spark off its foot, spiraling out to wrap around the antler tip and arc off into nothingness. A pose like that should look awkward and undignified, but somehow it still manages to look fiery and magnificent and, if she's being completely honest, much more amazing to behold now that she knows it's not going to try to kill her, and the next thing she knows, Jack's voice snaps her mind back to the here and now.

“It's called a qi-lin. They're considered to be children of the gods in China and Japan, which is why I'm rather surprised to see one in South Wales.” His voice is quiet and respectful, and there is no irony in his words. “I'm also surprised that it's allowing us to be this close to it.” The qi-lin resumes stripping leaves from the branch.

“Allowing us? It doesn't even seem to know we're about.”

“Oh, it knows we're here, it's probably known since we got out of the SUV. Remember what I said about mostly harmless? The pure of heart, it won't bother. The ones who aren't, well, either it will run away or it will kill them.” Jack smiles as he puts a hand on her back and gives her a light push. “Go on up and touch it, if you want.”

Gwen opens her mouth to speak, but shuts it once the implications of Jack's words sink in. She remembers Suzie, Suzie and Lisa and Mary and Jasmine and Carys and the blowfish and the Nostrovites and Beth and Tommy and the man in the hospital who was killed by the Weevil, and she closes her eyes, because Jack's old and Jack's battle-weary and those are just the ones she knows about. But then, from behind her eyelids, she watches him throw himself screaming before Abbadon, imagines him shivering under the earth for two thousand years , and remembers something that Martha had let slip about how he'd chosen to run through an incinerator rather than surrender and give the Earth to the Daleks.

“Fire purifies,” she says.

II. Ad Te Omnis Caro Veniet (Owen/Diane)

Nobody understands angels. They think they do, but the angels they think they understand are these horrid little things that you buy in cheap shops, with their fancy gold wings and gold halos. How those angels are watching over them and making sure they don't fart in public or walk out in front of trains or otherwise act like a complete twat.

The problem with all that la-dee-dah shite about angels is that angels aren't nice. These are things where they come to see you and the first thing out of their mouths is “Fear Not!” Shouldn't that tell you something? If the first thing you have to say when you see a bloke is “Fear Not,” could it be because you're really fucking scary? That's what I thought. And then you have to take into account that every time angels show up, bad shit happens. Can you imagine, some poor bird at home making soup and an angel shows up on her ceiling and tells her, “Fear Not! And congratulations, princess, you're knocked up now. Have a nice day.” Can you? Or you're out in a field, minding your own bloody business with your friends and your sheep when an army of angels show up in the sky telling you that you need to go look at some random bird's kid, or to chase you out of your home with a flaming sword? They're not nice people. Just ask anybody who lived in Sodom, although to be quite honest I'd be a little upset too if I rocked up at some place wanting a good night's sleep and all the men in the town showed up at my doorstep for a friendly bit of nonconsensual Sunday evening buggery.

See, I reckon that angels were people once, and then they either discovered something that made them different or they were already different and just changed, and then they mostly forgot that they ever were anything like us. They go about through the heavens, la la la fly away, and that's just fine. Us on the ground, we're too busy eating and drinking and fucking and fighting for them to notice us, or for us to notice that they're even there. And they won't notice, because they've forgotten.

Now, so long as they keep forgetting, everything is okay. It's when they remember that trouble starts, and that happens now and again. They remember that they were human once, remember how it felt, and decide that they want to feel it again. So they come down out of the sky, and find somebody who they think will help them remember, and next thing you know you're dancing under the stars and making love on purple satin sheets and pulling in every favour you ever had to put wind under their wings, but it will never work, because sooner or later they'll remember everything they wanted to remember about being human, go back to being angels, and fly off again.

And that's when you realize you forgot to put the lamb's blood on your door.

III. Crescendo (diminuendo) (Jack)

Jack has no idea how old he is anymore. He's old enough that his hair is as white as snow (and he still has it all, more's the luck) and that he's witnessed the dawn of sentient life on at least ten planets now, including this one. He's been on this planet for about ten thousand of their long years, quietly watching as they emerged from the dreamtime into sapience some fifteen or twenty generations ago. That's the way of things.

It's midnight in the midwinter, and he's in the town of Xiel-al-qulochoa, and Jack is doing what he has done every year at midnight in the midwinter for ten thousand years: rowing a boat. The oars dip into the water, piercing the reflections of the two moons and shaping them into intersecting circles. At precisely the center of the lake, he stops, heaves an anchor into the water, and tugs on the line made fast to the bow until he's convinced that he's not going anywhere. It's peaceful out here, where the first moon (the setting one) illuminates the snow and the still-high second moon (the green one) casts shimmering emerald light over everything else.

He is in a small boat in the middle of a lake surrounded by a small town on a small continent drifting in an iridescent blue ocean on the smallest planet in a solar system ringing like jewels around a small M-class star located in the central stellar cluster of a small spiral-arm galaxy somewhere in the middle of a great, glorious, amazing universe. Needless to say, the night stars here are spectacular.

Jack stares at the sky, smiling, loving every second of every minute of every hour he's out on the lake, watching the second moon (the green one) gracefully sail through the star-studded blackness until it too retreats beyond the horizon. By now it's quite cold out, and he's glad of the blankets and heat packs he's brought. His heart races in anticipation of what's coming—any minute, any minute now—

A spark of brilliant scarlet explodes across the sky. Then yellow, then gold, then flaming red. While the last emerald moonbeams dissipate amongst the mountains, the meteor shower begins, tens, then hundreds, then thousands of them, marking the light-flecked dark with glorious trails of colour. Jack closes his eyes and imagines, raising his hands above him as he's done every year for ten thousand years, that he can catch that blazing light and hold it forever in his hands. The universe with its galaxy with its star with its solar system with its planets with its oceans with its continents with its cities with its lakes have all coalesced into one point of joy reveling in the sheer mad glory that is existence from the bottom of a rowboat.

On the snow-covered shore, thousands and thousands of silent pilgrims watch the God of Winter row his boat to the center of the lake, watch as he lifts his hands and calls the first light of the new year from heaven, just as he's done every year since the dawn of time.

*********

Author's notes: This is not the first fic I've ever written about a kirin (the Japanese spelling, and most commonly encountered outside east Asia as the mascot of the supremely delicious Kirin Beer). My first TW fic (and first fic ever) featured a kirin, and it shall not be linked here as it is a bad, bad, bad fic indeed. The Kirin is supposed to be a creature of great luck and wisdom, third only behind Dragon and Phoenix in terms of holiness in imperial China, and I felt it deserved better than bad-fic, so I made it come on over and eat the shrubbery in South Wales. Insert your own punch line here.

The title of Owen's little soliloquy is taken from the Requiem mass, and translates to mean, "To you shall all flesh come." The inspiration for Owen's piece comes from a comment in sarcasticchick's fic The Windhovers, although her interpretation of the subject matter and mine are (to commit the sin of massive understatement) somewhat different.

Holy whacktacular hailstorms, Batman!

Sat, 19 Jul 2008 06:46:30 GMT

Yeah, so much for me walking to the movie theater tonight.

It's REALLY coming down!

The Devil lives in New Hampshire

Tue, 15 Jul 2008 06:46:26 GMT

File this under "Americans will sue for the weirdest things." Ganked from Wikipedia, emphasis mine:

Gerald Mayo filed a claim before the United States District Court for the Western District of Pennsylvania, in which Mayo alleged that "Satan has on numerous occasions caused plaintiff misery and unwarranted threats, against the will of plaintiff, that Satan has placed deliberate obstacles in his path and has caused plaintiff's downfall" and had therefore "deprived him of his constitutional rights". This is prohibited under several sections of the United States Code. Notably, Mayo filed in forma pauperis - that is, he asserted that he would not be able to afford the costs associated with his lawsuit and that they therefore should be waived.

In its decision the Court first noted that the jurisdictional situation was unclear. While no previous cases had been brought by or against Satan and so no official precedent existed, there was an "unofficial account of a trial in New Hampshire where this defendant filed an action of mortgage foreclosure as plaintiff", a clever reference to the short story "The Devil and Daniel Webster." The court suggested that the defendant (who had claimed in that story to be an American), should he appear, might have been therefore estopped from arguing a lack of personal jurisdiction.

The Court also noted that the case was certainly appropriate for class action status, and it was not then clear that Mayo could properly represent the interests of the entire (immense) class. Ultimately, though, the Court refused the request to proceed in forma pauperis on what might be considered a technicality: the plaintiff had not included instructions for how the U.S. Marshall could serve process on Satan.

There you have it, folks--it is the LEGAL OPINION OF THE UNITED STATES that Satan exists and lives (or lived) in New Hampshire.

The actual text of the decision can be found here.

And yes, I know my choice of music is so ironic for the topic at hand.

Fic: Scratch (6/?)

Wed, 09 Jul 2008 03:37:12 GMT

Title: Scratch Part 6
Characters: John Hart, Blowfish, Woman from KKBB, numerous OCs
Rating: HARD NC-17 (see warnings)
Summary: A retelling of the Faust myth using TW characters.
Disclaimer: All canon characters are property of the BBC, all OCs are my own, and Faust is the property of Mephistopheles.

WARNING: The Faust myth is a story about dealing with the devil. As such, this is an extremely dark and mature work of fiction. Specific warnings for this chapter include assault, murder, torture, and mindfuckery.

As always, kind thanks to used_songs and invisible_lift for the beta reading.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Fjoaan Tsuhn woke up on the floor of John Hart's hotel room. He was alone.

As awareness trickled in, he realized that the reason he had woken was a combination of the pounding in his head and a persistent pounding on the door. Waves of pain and dizziness washed over him, making the short trip from lying on the floor to standing nearly impossible. Bracing himself awkwardly against the wall, he made his way to the door and looked through the peephole.

On the other side, looking equal parts furious and frantic, was the man who had been drinking with John Hart the previous morning.

Fjoaan Tsuhn opened the door.

The man swept in in a flourish of brilliant colour. He wore a shirt made of leather, a material second only to wood in terms of rarity on Fjoaan Tsuhn's homeworld because of how poorly it withstood the ravages of salt water. The garment had magnificent beadwork in red and yellow and blue and white, fringe, and some material that looked like the fur on that Raksha creature of Manon'sl. It looked gaudy and somewhat frightening and most of all expensive, and it was on the body of a stocky, grey-haired, brown-skinned Earth-human.

“Where is he?” No need to ask who “he” was.

Fjoaan Tsuhn sank to his knees, pressing his eyes closed. “Taken.”

“Taken where?” The man was walking around the bedroom, fiddling with a wristband that looked like the twin of John Hart's.

“Teleport.” He paused to wait out a wave of pain. Whoever had subdued him had known exactly what they were doing—how to bring him down in the shortest possible time with the greatest possible amount of pain. “Red things,” he sputtered, “with tentacles.”

“Shit.” The man kicked violently at the side of the bed. “How long ago?”

Fjoaan Tsuhn looked at the chronometer. “Two hours.”

“Good, we can still find him. You're the bodyguard, right?”

Fjoaan Tsuhn nodded.

“Excellent. I'm Coyote Walker.” At Fjoaan Tsuhn's wary expression, he explained himself further. “We used to work for the same group.” He waved the wristband. “I saw you looking at this, so I know you know what I mean. He hit the distress signal on his, and this is where it led me.”

“Lady Manon. She was here too, with...” Fjoaan Tsuhn coughed violently several times before continuing. “Her guard.”

“Does this have something to do with that shipment he brought here?” Coyote Walker asked. At Fjoaan Tsuhn's sudden look of distrust, he said, “Cut through the bullshit, eh? I can put two and two together and get four. He mentioned he was here on business and I was sitting with him when those knuckleheads with Qu'qualrian blasters came for us. More to the point, I know John. I've known John for fifteen years. I know whatever he has is probably illegal, most likely dangerous, and he is probably counting on me to clean up his mess again. Stupid bastard.”

Suspicion met trust head-on and lost. This man might be strange, but he knew John Hart, and John Hart was the only way he was getting home. “He was supposed to deliver psychic blockers to the Safri army today.”

Coyote Walker stared at Fjoaan Tsuhn, mouth open in complete shock. He went to the bed and sat on the edge.

“The delivery is supposed to be in two hours,” Fjoaan Tsuhn offered.

Coyote Walker lay down and stared at the ceiling. He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath, just low enough that Fjoaan Tsuhn couldn't make out the words. Then he swung his body into a standing position and offered him a hand. “Get up. You need a healing unit, and if we have any hope of getting that idiot back alive, we need to hurry. Let's go.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn allowed this stranger wearing the skin of an animal to haul him to his feet and lead him out the door.

*****

They arrived at the Light-bearer in short order. Fjoaan Tsuhn punched his access code in on the hatch and motioned for Coyote Walker to wait. Shortly after, Oriax and Botis appeared on the brow.

“What is happening, Fjoaan sir?” Oriax must have just come out of its sleeping unit; the only time he'd ever seen either creature walk was when they were half-awake.

“John Hart has been kidnapped.” He waved at Coyote Walker behind him. “This Earth-human is a friend of John Hart's and will help us find him. He claims to have known John Hart for fifteen galactic standard years.”

Botis flew down and poked Oriax with a long extremity. Oriax made a grinding, grumbling noise and launched itself into the air. They flew off into the interior of the ship.

Fjoaan Tsuhn beckoned for Coyote Walker to follow him inside, waiting until they were both on board before pressing a button sealing the hatch behind them. Botis zipped back to the waterworlder and Earth-human, whistle-chirping something that his translator for whatever reason didn't pick up. Coyote Walker raised an eyebrow and chirruped back, surprising Botis so much that it nearly fell out of the air. After a hurried conversation of chatters and clicks and the occasional buzz, he turned to Fjoaan Tsuhn and said, “We have two hours until the scheduled meeting, and I can teleport us there. Go to your healing unit. What's your name, anyway?”

“Fjoaan Tsuhn.”

“Good. Get moving. I'll find out what I can from Botis here, and meet you in there.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn walked down the hall to the infirmary. Oriax, who was still grumbling and possibly still only half-awake, used two limbs to chase him into the bed. It was designed for an Earth-human, so it was a bit too narrow to be comfortable. Once he had settled himself in as best as he could, Oriax started the mechanism.

The pain in his gill covers subsided almost instantly. Fjoaan Tsuhn rejoiced at the increased flow of oxygen as he fell asleep.

*****

“Feeling better?”

The Earth-human's raspy voice shook him from his sleep.

“Yeah.”

“Get up, then. We've got work to do.” He disappeared into the passageway.

Fjoaan Tsuhn found him on the bridge, examining a set of maps on the main viewscreen. Without turning to face him, Coyote Walker said, “I know where he's being held. Whether or not he's still alive is anybody's guess.”

Oriax whistled a question to Coyote Walker.

“I can trace his wristband. I can't trace his heartbeat.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn asked, “What about the trade delegation?”

“We're going to have to meet them. I'm not going to waste my life doing a delivery, though. Where's it supposed to happen, anyway?”

Fjoaan Tsuhn frowned. “The kitchen loading dock. I don't know where that is.”

“Neither do I.”

“Is there a map of the casino somewhere? Or something like that?”

Coyote Walker scratched his head, frowning, marking his wrinkled face with deep furrows. “I don't have one, and John has the Light-bearer's files locked, but we might be able to get one from the staff. I know the bar and hotel areas pretty well, and there's always somebody about.” He started fiddling with his wristband.

Fjoaan Tsuhn started for the hatch, then turned to face Coyote Walker. “Should we trust you?” He waved a foreflipper at Oriax and Botis. “Give me a reason.”

“The last time we messed with the Safri, John saved my life. Only fair to return the favour.” He turned and faced Fjoaan Tsuhn. “Can't believe that bastard is messing with them again.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn started to ask another question, but Coyote Walker cut him off with a curt gesture. “Out. To the casino. Get going.”

The walk to the casino was short and quiet. Fjoaan Tsuhn followed Coyote Walker into the main door, through the gambling floor, and back to the hotel area. All above them, the night sky blazed with colour and light.

Once in the hotel hallway, they passed a small Pourahsim wearing the uniform of the kitchen staff. Fjoaan Tsuhn doubled back to follow it, trying to avoid alerting it to his presence. He couldn't see Coyote Walker, but the man was so close behind him he could hear his breath and sense his body heat.

The Pourahsim turned into a small room. Fjoaan Tsuhn checked the sign on the door. Excellent. A lavatory. No security cameras in the lavatory. He pushed open the door and entered.

When the Pourahsim exited the elimination stall, Fjoaan Tsuhn swooped over to it, pinned it to the wall, and pressed down hard against a red patch on its hide. It let out a panicked squeak before falling to the floor, unconscious. Fjoaan Tsuhn rifled through its clothing, found a security pass and identification badge, and shoved them in his pockets. He nodded at Coyote Walker, who put an arm around him and teleported them both back to the bridge of the Light-bearer.

The Pourahsim lay slumped on the floor.

*****

Back on board, Coyote Walker held out his hand; Fjoaan Tsuhn put the pass and badge in the outstretched palm.

“Fjoaan, how long have you been working for John Hart?” He had a strange expression on his face.

Fjoaan Tsuhn calculated the months in his head. “Seven galactic standard months?”

Coyote Walker looked at him with that strange, measuring expression again but did not offer any further comments. He took off his wristband, swiped the pass over the computer, and began fiddling with some of the buttons. It beeped loudly as he punched in commands. Several minutes later, he repeated the process with the identification badge.

“That's it. I know how to get to the kitchen loading dock and the security codes. I love this thing.” He put the wristband back on. Come on now and show me where John's quarters are.” Coyote Walker took off down the hall.

“What?” That was the last thing Fjoaan Tsuhn expected to hear.

“The traders will be expecting John, not me. I assume they've been told to look for a red jacket, since it's fairly distinctive.” He turned to see if Fjoaan Tsuhn were following him. “That, and I don't want anybody to associate me with this sad sorry business. I'm tired of cleaning up his messes.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn pushed ahead of him and led him to a smooth wooden panel in the wall. Aside from a decorative lintel that didn't quite match the wood around it, there was nothing that suggested a room. He pointed at the wall and said, “In here.”

Coyote Walker sighed, fiddled with his wristband again, and a door swung open. Earth-human and waterworlder walked inside.

“Ouch! Damn.” Fjoaan Tushn hadn't realized that John Hart had installed a power curtain. Even with the door open, nobody could see inside.

John Hart's personal quarters were something of a surprise to Fjoaan Tsuhn. He'd never actually been inside them before; not even Laaessy was allowed within. They were completely opposite to the rest of the ship: instead of the warmth of golden wood and lavish fabric on the floor, the room felt cold and unwelcoming. The floor was inlaid stonework like the bridge, but the stone was a mixture of pale translucent blues that resembled nothing more than the lake of ice he'd seen on the ride to Laaessy's pit-fight. In the center of the frigid mosaic sat a metal-framed bed covered with the tanned hair-on-hide of some very large white animal. The walls were made of dark gray metal etched with an abstract pattern and polished to a mirror shine. Even the air in the room was palpably colder than without. Fjoaan Tsuhn was unable to suppress a shiver. He wondered how John Hart could have such warmth everywhere else on the ship but spend every night cocooned in a cave of ice.

Coyote Walker stood just before the bed with his lips pursed into a frown. He turned to Fjoaan Tsuhn and said, “The Pourahsim in the casino. Why did you kill it?”

Fjoaan Tsuhn looked confused. “I didn't kill it. I just knocked it unconscious.”

Coyote Walker shook his head. “That species has to keep moving in order for oxygen to flow across its alveoli, and you left it in a pile on the floor. Unless somebody found it and rescued it within two minutes after we left, which I doubt, it's dead. You killed it.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn shrugged. He really didn't care one way or the other.

“Listen to me.” Coyote Walker had that strange, measuring expression on his face again. “Listen to me and pay attention. There is always another way. You could have asked nicely. You could have bribed it. You could have threatened it without touching it. There is always another way.”

He walked over to the wall nearest the bed and began feeling it. His eyes never left Fjoaan Tsuhn, not even when he triggered a hidden catch in the door. He reached in with one hand, pulled out one of John Hart's jackets, and said, “Let's go.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn looked around the cabin one more time, shivered, and followed Coyote Walker out.

*****

Coyote Walker swaggered into the cargo bay wearing John Hart's red jacket and a pair of white trousers. He had strapped a holster containing two large blasters to his waist and shoved a cutlass under the belt. He handed Fjoaan Tsuhn a pair of firewhips and a stunner and took a psychic blocker in exchange.

Fjoaan Tsuhn counted the pallets for what seemed like the thousandth time. Oriax alit on the topmost pallet and folded its limbs under itself on top of the contract and documentation.

Coyote Walker paced around the cargo bay, counting time to go. “Are you sure we have all of them in place?” Fjoaan Tsuhn nodded, fiddling with the psychic blocker around his neck. Oriax watched them both from its perch on the shipment of teeth.

Finally, Coyote Walker beckoned to Fjoaan Tsuhn and Oriax. Putting a hand on each of them, he teleported them to a small, well-concealed landing within sight of the loading dock. Thick clouds had blanketed the sky sometime during the night, extinguishing the flaring auroras and leaving the ground as dark as the inside of a lava tube without even the barest hints of dawn.

As planned, Oriax flew out to survey the area while the other two lay down behind a low retaining wall. Oriax could see as well in darkness as it could in daylight, and it left neither footsteps nor a human-shaped shadow as evidence of its arrival. Fjoaan Tsuhn strained his ears to hear the sound of wingbeats. Occasionally he would hear something, but then it would be drowned out by the cries of nocturnal creatures of this world.

After it seemed like the night had swallowed himself and Coyote Walker whole and waiting to digest them, Oriax flew back and landed between them. It tapped Coyote Walker's legs in a code of some sort, once, two, three, five beats, then repeated. Coyote Walker pushed Fjoaan Tsuhn's head down, out of sight of the loading dock. Oriax flew away again.

Fjoaan Tsuhn lay next to the Earth-human on the cold hard stone.

When Oriax returned, it carried an object made of some kind of material Fjoaan Tsuhn had never before seen, rough and hard and a mottled brown-yellow in the dim red light of a torch Coyote Walker had produced from a pocket. He fiddled with its latch until the object obligingly sprung open, hissing as air broke a vacuum seal. Inside was a piece of paper, a blue pearl, and Fjoaan Tsuhn's sapfo-stone bracelet, the one Laaessy had given him and John Hart had made him give to the psychic tooth things. The silver was tarnished to black with the weight of a thousand years, but the stone itself blinked with yellow fire.

Coyote Walker whispered, “Is this it?”

“That's it.”

The three of them gathered together, Fjoaan Tsuhn with his spines fully extended, Coyote Walker with weapons drawn, and the fragile Oriax between them, and teleported to the loading dock.

Three creatures stood before them, figures of nightmare and legend with their tentacled arms, many legs, and long white tusks clearly visible in the few shards of ambient light.

Coyote Walker hissed, “Now!”

They lined up, foreflipper to spindly limb to hand, and rushed forward to the Safri. Once all six beings were in contact with one another, Coyote Walker teleported them away.

*****

Fjoaan Tsuhn blinked and looked around him. It looked like the cargo bay Light-bearer, but there was something wrong...

The Safri delegation were all bellowing at the top of their lungs. One was flailing around with its topmost two tentacles, frightening Oriax into flying haphazardly around the bay and tossing loose bits of paper at its red head. One was attempting to smash its way out; another launched itself at Fjoaan Tsuhn. He ducked out of the way, tripped it, and sat on top of it.

“I demand to know what is happening! Skeelbrau! Get off...me...” The Safri beneath him bellowed and twisted and tried to throw him off to the side.

“Enough!” The roar was punctuated by a painfully loud, shrilly metallic noise.

Everybody in the cargo bay stilled save Oriax, who darted up to the ceiling away from danger.

Coyote Walker stood in the middle of the three delegates and flicked a button on his wrist strap. The noise mercifully ceased. “This is the starship Lux Aeterna, where you are safe and we cannot be observed. Under the circumstances, telling you to brace yourselves for travel would have jeopardized all of our safety.” He quickly surveyed the tattoos and insignia on their bodies. “Fjoaan, if you would kindly get off the Trade Ambassador?”

Fjoaan Tsuhn stood up and politely offered to help the creature to its feet, ignoring its mutinous expression. The other two creatures fell in behind it, guarding its back.

“If you'll all follow me, we have things we need to discuss, and there are many other, far more comfortable places on this ship than the cargo bay. Trade Ambassador?” Coyote Walker opened a hatch and led them into a passageway.

The Lux Aeterna was laid out in the exact same plan as the Light-bearer, but was much more modestly furnished. They went to the mess, where Coyote Walker, the Trade Ambassador, and the two other Safri sat at a table covered with a simple white cloth. Fjoaan Tsuhn adopted a guard's pose behind Coyote Walker. Oriax, for lack of anywhere else safe to land, alit on the top of his head.

When the press and scrabble of tiny feet kept threatening his vision, Fjoaan Tsuhn extended his broken spine. “Here.” Oriax took the hint and moved its perch.

“Right. Trade Ambassador, you were expecting something from John Hart, I believe?”

It turned the four-eyed, tusked face towards Coyote Walker. “Why should I tell anything to you? You do not match John Hart's description.”

“John Hart was kidnapped sometime within the last 8 hours by creatures that his bodyguard,” and he pointed to Fjoaan Tsuhn, “described as Safri. I am assuming,” and he paused again, fixing the clearly furious Trade Ambassador with a firm stare, “that he was taken by the rebel side to prevent the delivery.”

“So?” It shook its ponderous head, causing its tusks to slice dangerously close to Coyote Walker. “How can I be sure you are not involved in his kidnapping? You've already shown that you are willing to hold us prisoner. If you're hoping to get money or a part of the deal, you're sadly mistaken.”

Coyote Walker gave a dry, mirthless chuckle. “You're very funny. Goddamn barrel of monkeys.” Three red faces jerked back and forth. Coyote Walker ignored their reaction. “I'm involved, alright, but not because I want money or a cut or even to be in the same room with you. I'm here to make sure you and everybody else involved in your twisted little game gets the hell off this planet.”

The Trade Ambassador inhaled a great gasp so that it appeared to double in size, staring at Coyote Walker. It seemed to be readying itself to do...something...but then Coyote Walker met its gaze, and Fjoaan Tsuhn remembered from that picture-book on Earth animals that staring was a way to assert dominance. Maybe it was the same for Earth-humans.

The Trade Ambassador looked away first, deflating.

“Now that we have that dick-measuring contest over with, here's what we're going to do. The only person in the galaxy who can give you the teeth is John Hart. I help you rescue him, which you will do free of charge—”

“We will do no such thing!” The Trade Ambassador leapt to its feet and shoved its tusks into Coyote Walker's face. “The Safri will not be intimidated or blackmailed, least of all by a Jiquali.”

Coyote Walker put both his hands on the Trade Ambassador's tusks and shoved the them down to the table. “Christ on a crutch, you're an idiot. You do what I tell you, you get your goddamn delivery and you get off this dirtball in one piece. You don't play, you don't win. Are we clear?” He released the tusks and leaned back in his chair.

Fjoaan Tsuhn held his breath. The room was crackling with tension, as if one party or other would inhale at the wrong moment and violence would explode. He felt Oriax shivering on top of his spine.

The three Safri broke the standoff first. The Trade Ambassador shoved back its chair, stood up, and lumbered for the door with its two guards following in close pursuit. It extended two tentacles to bull the door open, only to be stopped short and have one guard plow a tusk into its back. “Ow!” It cuffed the offending guard across the face, then whirled and made a threat-pose at Coyote Walker. With its head forward, tusks straight out, and all arms waving, it said, “Open the door or I will kill you and force our way out.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn turned his head to Oriax and muttered under his breath, “Wings out.” He pretended to sneeze, flicking his broken spine violently as he did so and launching Oriax into the air. As soon as the little alien was clear, he triggered the hyperfield controller that he had used with Iblis' goons, smiling in satisfaction as a glowing blue field enveloped the them.

Coyote Walker watched all of them with amusement. In a tone of voice Fjoaan Tsuhn had only ever heard used with very young fry, he said, “Trade Ambassador, do you remember Jiqualitza?”

White tusks flickered in the harsh ship's light. The Trade Ambassador froze, spirals of darker red appearing over its skin.

Coyote Walker continued. “The Time Agency made some changes after that incident. Now, unless you have one of these,” and he paused to tap his wristband, “this class of ship can't be tracked, can't be hijacked, and can't be found. Nobody knows you're here and nobody can find you.”

While the Trade Ambassador butted against the hyperfield in an incoherent rage, Coyote Walker put his feet up on the table, prompting Oriax to say something quite rude at his sullying the white tablecloth. Coyote Walker waved him silent with his hand and said, “In other words, I tried to be nice to you scum-sucking shitbags and give you the option to do what you needed to do to get your fucking weapons delivery sorted because it was in your interest to do so. But since you're a nasty, cheating, thieving pile of steaming hot shit who can't take a hint even when your life depends on it, I have to resort to bad manners and blue language to get my way. Somewhere in this universe, my momma is spinning in her grave and crying, God rest her soul, because of the things I am doing to get you to play nice with me. I hope you're happy.”

Coyote Walker gestured for Fjoaan Tsuhn to come to him and give him the hyperfield bracelets. He did something to some buttons on his wriststrap, causing the field to intensify, and left the bracelets on the table. Then he opened another door into another part of the ship. Beckoning to Oriax and Fjoaan Tsuhn, he said to the three Safri, “And now, I want you to sit here and think about what you did.” He followed Fjoaan Tsuhn out, shutting the door behind him.

*****

Coyote Walker, Fjoaan Tsuhn, and Oriax were on the bridge of the Lux Aeterna, trying to figure out the proper frequency to hail somebody Coyote Walker knew. The Earth-human had stripped off all his weapons save a firewhip, leaving them and his psychic blocker on a small hand-table attached to the captain's chair.

“Fjoaan, there's a sheaf of paper on the chart table over there. Go get it, will you?”

Fjoaan Tsuhn obediently went and found the folder and brought it back. “Ouch! Shefteh!”

“What?” Coyote Walker took the papers.

“I always trip on that last step.”

“Yeah, she's just enough different than the Light-bearer to screw you up, isn't she? There were five ships in the light class besides the Berrie and the Aeterna, but the other three are long gone.”

“What happened to them?” Fjoaan Tsuhn picked at the food he'd been given, pulling out a chunk of meat. “Hey, Oriax.” He tossed it in the air.

“Thank you Fjoaan sir!”

Coyote Walker paged through the pile of papers, looking for something. Absently he said, “Well, one of them was lost in a supernova that caught us all by surprise. The pilot jumped out of the Time Vortex at the worst possible moment, and boom! The irony of it is the ship was named the Black Light. Ah, good.” He put the page in his hand on the console and began punching things into both his wristband and the bridge controller.

“The Luceat Eis is on a stick somewhere in the Andromeda galaxy. Got stripped down to bare skin, doors taken off, and now it's in a children's park. And the last one, the Lux Perpetua, was captured by the Safri army at Jiqualitza, pilot thrown into slavery, paradoxes, Reapers, all kinds of happy horseshit that I really don't want to talk about. One more...and heeeeere we go.” With a beep! and a flash of lights, the viewscreen flicked on.

“Algirs Planetary Command, Starboard Battalion Control.” The Earth-human male on the screen sounded bored.

“Wake up, ensign.” Coyote Walker thrust his chin forward. “I need to talk to the Great God Kong.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

Coyote Walker spoke in the same tone of voice he'd used with the Trade Ambassador. “Your boss, knucklehead. Go find Commander Kong and tell him that Yellow Dog Dingo needs to talk to him five minutes ago.” The man on the screen sat bolt upright and scrambled off.

Coyote Walker turned to Fjoaan Tsuhn and said, “They get younger and dumber every year.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn snorted. Earth-humans were stupid indeed, and their young had no sense at all.

A few moments later, a very harassed-looking Earth-human in a uniform of some sort appeared on the screen. “Coyote, what the hell do you want?”

“Good to see you too, Kong.” He tipped his head to the side, narrowing his eyes, and said, “What would you do if I told you there was an active Safri rebel cell on your planet?”

Commander Kong froze. “Not funny.”

Coyote Walker's stared right at the screen. “No, it's not. But it's true.”

“Bullshit.”

“That's what you said last time.”

The two Earth-humans argued back and forth on the existence of the Safri cell and how Coyote Walker came by that knowledge. Fjoaan Tsuhn got bored and restless and started wandering around the ship, trying to work off some of his frustration.

After poking around the passage, he walked into the mess deck, where the Safri delegates were still encased in their prison of energy. Coyote Walker had it set so that anything could go in, allowed them ample food and water, but he refused to allow them to move and refused to remove anything from the hyperfield. They had been captive for several hours, and one of them had fouled itself. The waste slopped around the bottom of the hyperfield, held away from the decking but still noxious.

Fjoaan Tsuhn walked around the three captives. “You stink worse than a lava tube. Ever heard the word 'bathe?'”

The Trade Ambassador ignored him.

“I used to guard a sewage treatment plant for a living, and it didn't stink as bad.” He balled up a piece of paper on the table and threw it at the hyperfield. It made a frizzling noise as it crossed the boundary and landed on one guard's head.

Fjoaan Tsuhn smiled. “Nice hat.”

Not too terribly long ago, Oriax had taught him how to fold paper into interesting shapes. An art on its home planet, supposedly, and one Fjoaan Tsuhn had thought it useless, but now he was seeing many, many uses for it.

“Try this.” He folded another sheet of paper into a bird-shape, blank except for a logo that read “Time Agency” on the top right, and tossed it at the Trade Ambassador. “Wipe your ass.”

The Trade Ambassador turned away from him. One of the guards lunged at the hyperfield, and was thrown backwards into the Trade Ambassador by the shock.

This is fun.

“Wobble-faced squid licker...” His translator, it seemed, was having some difficulties.

“My face doesn't wobble,” he said, “but these do.” And he thrust his spines out and waved them back and forth, eyes lighting up with glee as the guard scrabbled backwards. Interesting. His spine-poison must do a number on them.

Experimentally, he dripped poison onto another folded bird shape and threw it into the hyperfield. It hit the guard in the side, who screamed shrilly.

“What was that you called me again?”

Without turning around, the Trade Ambassador said, “Brave little child, teasing at the caged animal. Are you brave when the animal breaks free?” And it turned around and...did something. It looked like it was inflating itself, and something strange was happening to its face, but whatever it was, it wasn't affecting him.

“If you inflate like that, does it mean you'll pop if I poke you?” Fjoaan Tsuhn went back to the table to fold another bird shape, but the door burst open and a furious Coyote Walker ran into the room.

“You stupid goddamn sonofabitch!” He cuffed Fjoaan Tsuhn right across the face, hard enough to knock him to the floor. Pulling a blaster out of a hip holster, he pointed it at the Trade Ambassador and called out, “You have five seconds to stop that or I will turn you to dust. Five...four...three...two...that's better.”

From his vantage point on the floor, Fjoaan Tsuhn could see the Trade Ambassador deflating, shrinking like it had been punctured, quivering with rage in its prison of energy and shit. Coyote Walker said, “Do that again, and you're dead. This is your last warning.”

A shock, and then a painful lurch, and Fjoaan Tsuhn's attention whipped to Coyote Walker, who had roughly hauled him to his feet.

“You're coming with me.”

As he was bodily dragged out of the room by the livid Earth-human, Fjoaan Tsuhn let loose a parting shot of venom at the ceiling above the hyperfield, enjoying the knowledge that it would drip down slowly on them.

*****

“You are one stupid fuck. You know that?” Coyote Walker's face was flaming red with fury. “One stupid, idiotic, shit-for-brains dumb fuck.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn stared at him in utter confusion. “What?”

“Don't give me that shit. Your little party games there nearly just killed Oriax, that's what.”

“What are you talking about?”

Coyote Walker shook him by the scruff of his neck. “You didn't hear it? You should have, you were right next to it.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn's eyes darted from the mess deck door to Coyote Walker and back again, and said, “I don't know what you're talking about.”

With a quick flick of his wrist, Coyote Walker sent him tumbling to the floor. “The psychic screech. Sounds like the gates of hell opening up. That noise?”

Fjoaan Tsuhn, who had banged his face on a step when he fell, rubbed his nose with a foreflipper and stared dumbly at the Earth-human. The front of his shirt, already rucked and rumpled from being used for hauling, gaped open. The tooth spilled out over the fabric, catching on a buttonhole.

Time seemed to freeze.

Then it started up again, and Coyote Walker was racing up to him, seizing him, eyes strange and bright. “That's the...that...” He ripped the tooth off of Fjoaan Tsuhn's neck, leaving him in a graceless pile on the floor, and dashed into the mess decks.

He could hear an argument through the door, loud voices and bellowing and Coyote Walker threatening them with a blaster to do whatever it was he'd just told them to not do. Fjoaan Tsuhn pushed himself once more into a sitting position. Oriax burst into the room from a sleeping room, screaming in agony, and then...

screamingragingHELPfirewaterburningPANICmakeitstop!foreflippersoverauralreceptors-coveryoureyesNOspinesoutdefensiveposition*painAGONYfrightscreaminggoingtodieTERRORhelpmerunaway...nowrongwrongnowrong
HELPME...

...and then it was over.

Reeling from shock and fright, Fjoaan Tsuhn jumped to his feet and ran for the hatch, desperate, and collided full-on with a smug, well-pleased Coyote Walker.

“Did you hear it this time?”

From his vantage point on the floor (always on the floor, always down on his knees), Fjoaan Tsuhn nodded. “Yeah.” He realized his spines were still out, fully bristled and...he'd leached poison onto the floor in his panic. Damn. He looked around frantically for Oriax, suddenly terrified that he'd shot venom at the little creature by mistake, and relaxed when he saw it perched on a light fixture.

“Excellent.” Coyote Walker smiled, dangerous and predatory and very, very happy. “Clean up your mess, and then we're going to have a little talk.”

*****

The moment the last drop of poison was mopped up and the gear was stowed away, Coyote Walker dragged Fjoaan Tsuhn onto the bridge of the Lux Aeterna. Shoving him roughly in the captain’s chair, he gave him a stern order of “Sit,” and then began fiddling with the keypad.

After a few moments, the sleepy face of the same bored ensign who’d answered Coyote Walker’s first hail flicked onscreen. When he saw who was on his viewscreen, he scrambled to look alert.

“Battalion command, how can we…”

Coyote Walker didn’t bother to wait for him to finish. “Go get me Commander Kong. Right now.”

The ensign took off at a flat run, looking as if somebody had set his trousers on fire.

“Now what, Coyote?” Commander Kong's tired, wrinkled face appeared.

“I know how we can get close to the rebel base. Safely.”

Commander Kong frowned, but leaned forward. “And?”

“Look at this.” Coyote Walker’s hands were shaking, and he was moving so quickly and violently that Fjoaan Tsuhn wondered if he were ill. “This is why they’re here, this is what they want, and this is what will stop them.”

“Coyote. Slow down. Sit down, and tell me in plain Galactic A. Because you’re not making sense.”

“This thing,” and Coyote Walker waved one of the teeth in the air, shifting his weight from foot to foot, “this thing will make the job easy. Damn idiot fish figured it out by accident.”

“Coyote…”

“Don’t you see? Don’t you get it? They can’t mind-blast us if we…”

“COYOTE!”

At Commander Kong’s bellow, Coyote Walker was shocked into stillness. He stood in front of the viewscreen, psychic blocker and chain dangling from his hand.

“Now that I have your attention, slow down and tell me from the beginning what the hell you’re talking about.”

Coyote Walker took a deep breath, deflating to half his size on the exhale. He wandered over to the captain’s chair and waved Fjoaan Tsuhn out of it before sinking down.

“You know how the Safri win battles, right?”

Commander Kong frowned. “I’ve never seen or heard it, but I’ve heard of it. It’s the mind-screech, right?”

“Yeah.” Coyote Walker’s face turned horribly blank for a moment. “Once you hear it, you’ll never forget it.” He shook out of the haze and said, “That was the main problem we would have had in subduing the rebel base, right? The Safri, they wouldn’t need to fire one shot before killing everybody.”

“It’s been on my mind, yes, and I still have half a mind to just carpet-bomb it and be damned with the humans there.” The old officer rubbed at his graying temple. “If I do that, though, we’re no better than the squids.”

“Yeah, well. The other Safri delegation I told you about, the ones here for the weapons deal I broke up? This is what they were after.” He tossed the tooth up in the air. “Got a receiver there?”

“Yeah. Need coordinates?”

Coyote Walker nodded. “Please.”

“Patch two-five-three-niner-two, alpha mode, four-xray-zulu-alpha-three-three-niner.” As Commander Kong spoke, Coyote Walker deftly pressed the code into his wrist computer.

“Got it. Sending in three…two…one…mark.” He hit a button on the Lux console, and the psychic blocker disappeared in a flash of brilliant blue.

Some five seconds later, another flash of brilliant blue and it was in the hand of Commander Kong. “It looks like a tooth?”

Coyote Walker turned to Fjoaan Tsuhn. “Your turn.

“What?” He was playing dumb, and he knew it.

So did Coyote Walker. “Tell the commander why you’re on this planet.” He had that tone of voice again, the one that implied he was at best a simple child.

“My...my employer made a deal to run psychic blockers to the Safri army. Those teeth, they’re the psychic blockers.” Fjoaan Tsuhn shrunk back while he spoke, as if he expected Commander Kong to leap through the viewscreen and beat him.

He wasn’t far off in that assessment. Commander Kong leaned so close to the viewscreen that it looked like he planned to put his face through it, sallow complexion turning ruddy, nostrils flaring. “You…you…what the fuck were you thinking?” He slammed one hand against a panel, causing the viewscreen image to jump and stutter, and roared, “Coyote, did you know about this?”

Coyote Walker spat back, “Not before this morning. You think I’d want anything to do with those pigfuckers?”

The old Earth-human abruptly stood up straight. “I think you’ve played your cards on both sides of the table enough that I need proof that you’re not playing me here.” He crumpled up a piece of paper and savagely threw it at his desk. “Give me one good reason I should trust you. Ten seconds.”

“The Safri Trade Ambassador is prisoner here on the Lux Aeterna, with two of its flunkies.”

Commander Kong stiffened, but didn’t move. “Bullshit.”

Fjoaan Tsuhn piped up, “It's true, sir, they were sent to pick up the goods.”

“You. Shut. Up.” The Earth-human pointed at Fjoaan Tsuhn, pulsing with rage. “I'll deal with you later. Coyote, five seconds.”

“Oriax, come here.” called Coyote Walker, untying a red scarf from around his neck. “Kong, I’m going to patch the viewscreen through to the mess decks.” He unfurled the scarf and held it out in front of him, so that its gaudy design was plainly visible. When Oriax flitted down from its perch on a wall sconce, Coyote Walker tied it to a forelimb. “Alright, Oriax is going to fly into the room once I’ve patched you through. When it gets there, it will untie the bandana and wave it at the camera. Clear?”

On the other side, Kong narrowed his eyes. “Keep talking.”

“Ready in three, two, one.” The door to the mess decks swung open and Oriax flew into the next room.

Although Fjoaan Tsuhn couldn't see what Commander Kong saw, he saw the man blanch and then colour a deep, dangerous scarlet. Small veins on his forehead bulged out, causing him to bear an uncanny resemblance to the Trade Ambassador. He lowered himself into a seat with careful deliberation, eyes averted from the camera and hands clenched into fists on the desk.

After a long moment, he said, “When those goddamn Safri are off my planet, you are going before the Algirs Colonial Commission.”

Coyote Walker didn't reply straight away. He fiddled with the buttons on the console, switching the viewscreen back to the bridge of the Lux Aeterna.

Oriax flew back into the room and gave Coyote Walker his scarf.

Finally, Coyote Walker spoke. “Ten thousand psychic blockers. The ability to equip your entire army plus half the starfleet traders that come to this planet after being chased by the Safri. All yours.”

The other Earth-human shot Coyote Walker a sharp, suspicious gaze. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“No, I'm giving you impounded cargo because I have a thousand more reasons than you do to hate those scumsucking bastards, and I want to see them wiped off this planet. You have the people I'd need to do that, and I have the weapon to keep your people from dying.” He paused and ducked his head. “That, and I'm trying to talk my way out of a prison cell for aiding and abetting in a crime I didn't commit.”

The ensuing silence was so tense and loaded that Fjoaan Tsuhn backed away from the viewscreen, away from Coyote Walker, right up against the bulkhead to where Oriax was still perched on the lamp.

He peeked at the screen, and noticed that the Earth-humans on the other side had all backed away from Commander Kong.

Nobody spoke for a very long time.

The silence was broken by a loud ratcheting noise in the Algirs command office. Something white in a dark blue uniform went running, coming back not ten seconds later with some papers.

“Field recon report, sir.” A Caynnyd! He stepped back in surprise.

“Thank you, lieutenant.” Kong took the papers and read through them, his face growing darker and darker with each passing page.

Finally he slapped them down on the table. “Alright, Coyote. You stay right where you are—do not leave the Lux, do not let that fish leave the Lux, and we'll contact you in...” He paused, checking a timepiece, “Two standard hours.” The viewscreen went dark.

**********
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Author's notes: I will be going to sea for a while starting Friday, so the next installment of Scratch may take a while to get to you. Have heart--being stuck between the devil and the deep blue sea should make for plenty of good writing! Also, please see the previous post with the definition of that term. I will not actually be between the devil and the deep blue sea, thank goodness, because I'll be on a large, modern vessel and not something made of wood that I have to fix with pine tar.

things you learn!

Tue, 08 Jul 2008 22:45:39 GMT

My most excellent beta invisible_lift, who has been helping me muddle my way through Scratch, had a question about a word I used. It's a nautical term, and not one he'd seen before. He went to the Oracle of Wikipedia and sent me this:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Glossary_of_nautical_terms

It's really, really cool. I use a LOT of those words in regular conversation when I'm afloat, and it's amazing to see how many of them have crept into casual conversation (like son of a gun).

And it's amazing just how many of them are fodder for kink!fic. Check out what they call the cat'o'nine that they would use on cabin boys.

This brings a whole new meaning to Scratch

Thu, 03 Jul 2008 22:35:10 GMT

LOL. Perfect.