Adventure, Inc & Other Stories

As promised, here’s the third satire I mentioned I was working on. I think I need to work on being less heavy-handed. Thoughts?

+++

The cameras moved in dramatically on the host, preparing to air his latest groundbreaking interview. It was time to shine more light into the seamy underbelly of America’s true enemy.

“I’m Mutt Tackle, welcome to another edition of SitRep. Today, our topic is one of great importance.” He turned to face another camera, making his eyes very serious. “The youth of today are facing a scourge that is unprecedented in history. They are under attack by something so insidious, that no one can see the threat. No one, that is, except for me and tonight’s guest. I’d like to welcome renowned video game expert Tack A. Johnson.”

They switched cameras to show Mutt’s guest. An older gentleman with a distinguished look. He favored Mutt and the camera with a grandfatherly smile. “Good evening, Mutt. Good to be with you again.”

“Of course, of course. Now, we’ve talked before about the evils of video games and the companies who inflict them on our children.”

“That’s right, Mutt. These unscrupulous companies prey on our children. Our children would be perfect little angels if not for these murder and crime simulators. This trend is only exemplified by the latest abhorrent release by StoneSun Games.”

“You’re talking about SimCriminal?”

“Absolutely. A game that allows you to raise a child, even simulated, to become a criminal overlord has no place in this world.”

“Strong words, Tack.”

“Not strong enough, Mutt. This game will encourage a generation to become hardened criminals, leading to more prisoners in our already overcrowded jails.”

Mutt stroked his artfully cropped salt and pepper beard thoughtfully for a beat before gesturing towards his guest. “Some of your detractors have pointed out that the game is rated ‘M’, and therefore out of children’s reach. What would you say to these people?”

“Well, Mutt, first of all, I question these people’s motives. Obviously, they are in Big Gaming’s pocket. No one with a true conscience would even think of approving of these types of games. They are harmful in the extreme and just in poor taste.”

“Of course, but the rating, isn’t that a good thing?”

“Mutt, the rating isn’t the problem. The problem is the people who make this sort of tripe, and peddle it to our children. Much like drugs, games should be subject to government regulation.”

“Mm, interesting thought. What about those who would say that is an unwarranted increase in government, and would require an increase in taxes?”

“Isn’t our children’s future worth a tax increase?”

“I don’t think anyone could justifiably argue otherwise.”

“Unless they had a pro-Big Gaming agenda. I say to those people that they ought to be ashamed. Putting money before children.”

“Shameful.”

“If we don’t think of the children, Mutt, who will?”

“Very convincing argument, Tack. So, let’s go into this SimCriminal a little. Let people know why this game should be avoided.”

“Right, Mutt, though I have made the argument on your show before that all games should be avoided. Anyway, SimCriminal. The game starts by allowing the player to create a character. A child character, in fact.”

“Playing God, then?”

“Absolutely. Having your in-game character be a child is a blatant attempt at marketing to children, then to have the player ‘create’ the child character? An obvious push for the Atheist Agenda.”

“So, this game not only encourages criminality, but Atheist Agendas? Shameful!”

“That’s just the tip of the iceberg, Mutt. The game allows the player the option to kill their character’s parents. This could lead to more children becoming homicidal maniacs! Not to mention that you follow this character throughout his simulated life, encouraging bad choices and outright anti-social behavior.”

“It doesn’t stop there, does it?”

“No, it does not. There are numerous instances of ‘quests’ where your character must pull off famous crimes from history.”

“It sounds like the wrong message to be sending to our youth. Opponents to your criticism of the game point out that there are multiple game paths, one of which leads you to become a kind of vigilante, combating crime in a way.”

“It’s true, the game has this, however if one looks at it, the vigilante path is much more challenging, and as you know, Mutt, all these video games our children play make them lazy, so they are less likely to play something more challenging. Even if they did, the path is still encouraging deplorable amounts of violence.”

“Well, I applaud your efforts to get the word out to parents about this horrible game, Tack. Always a pleasure to speak with you.”

“Of course, Mutt. Anything for our children.”

Here’s another free-writing session. Post-hospital stay, which is where this came to me. I kinda like it.

+++

The electrodes were finally in place. This revolutionary new surgery was finally complete. If everything went well, and there was no reason it shouldn’t, the once great scientist now in a vegetative state would once again be able to communicate with the outside world.

“Are we ready to connect him to the computer?”

“Yes, sir. At this stage, it will either work, or it won’t. ”

The elder man nodded. “Very well. Proceed. ”

The younger man gestured at a group of technicians who plugged in a set of complex looking interface connectors. For a few minutes nothing happened, both scientists kept glancing at one another and checked their watches. Slowly, the readouts began to light up and beep. Information began scrolling across the monitors as the connections between the computer and the once brilliant scientist were made.

The prone body showed no change at all, but that was to be expected. Everyone’s eyes were fixated on the screens as the random information rapidly scrolling filtered into what looked like a stream of consciousness accounting of feelings and impressions.

After what felt like an eternity, the screen blanked out and displayed a simple blinking cursor in the upper left corner. Then, a single question slowly appeared on screen, letter by letter, as if someone was typing it.

“How long?”

The scientists froze. The phrase was retyped twice before the younger scientist shook himself and went to the keyboard. Tentatively, he typed “Ten years. “

I had fun with this. Something I did for my Satire class, and I wanted to share. I’m working on another satire now, and I’ll post that up when it’s finished. Hope it makes you laugh a little!

+++

The secret service agent looked the consultant up and down severely. “Mr. Roberts, what I am about to tell you must remain in the strictest confidence. Do you understand that?”

“Of course Agent,” Roberts paused, “Smith, was it?” Roberts looked the nondescript agent in the sunglasses. “I’ve already signed the dozen or so non-disclosure agreements you wanted me to. If I so much as think about this meeting outside of the White House, I lose my security clearance,‚Äù he paused again, taking a slight breath, “and my first born, apparently.”

“That’s just to see if you were paying attention. Obviously, that would be,” the agent tilted his head, “…unethical.”

“Uh..huh‚” Roberts pursed his lips and leaned back slightly from the man. “Unethical. Good to hear.”

“Of course. Right through this door, Mr. Roberts,” he gestured as the door to the Oval Office opened before them.

They passed through the door, which was flanked by heavily armed soldiers in full armor. Roberts eyed the soldiers, wondering what could justify this sort of security. “This is worse than the airport,” he muttered.

“I’m sure you’ll agree that these precautions are necessary, once you understand the full situation. Normally the President would have postponed your briefing, but we are on a war footing.” Smith stopped just inside the door and announced Roberts to the room.

Chaos. Spin-doctors rushed back and forth, wringing their hands, women were weeping and men gnashing their teeth. Roberts stood there stunned. “Agent Smith, what’s going on? Is the President hurt?”

“Worse.”

Roberts felt his mouth dropped open as he saw the President.

“The President of the United States… has a blemish.”

Roberts was stunned into momentary silence. “A pimple? That’s it? That’s what the fuss is about?”

Smith leaned in and said, gravely, “Please, use the term ‘Blemished-American’.”

“This is a joke, right?”

“I’m afraid not. You see the need for the security precautions. If this were to get out, there would be widespread panic.”

“For a pimple, Agent Smith? Put some cream on it.”

“No. Seeing a topical cream on The President’s face would be perceived as a weakness by our enemies. We cannot let our Commander in Chief be seen as week.”

Roberts stammered, “Then get some foundation or concealer or something! This is not a national emergency!”

“Are you mad?” Smith looked shocked, “Do you know how hard it is to find make-up in the President’s shade?”

Roberts covered his face in his palm. “This is insane. You are all overreacting, you know that, right?”

“Mr. Roberts, I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation.”

“Oh, no, I get it. I get that you’re all a bunch of crazy people.” Roberts looked at the President, who sat morosely at his desk, staring into a small mirror. “Aren’t there more important things to worry about?”

“What’s more important than our War on Acne?”

“‘War on..’, What? That’s… No. I refuse to accept that this is happening. I’m dreaming. Yeah! I’m still sleeping!” Roberts looked at his hands, “That’s the last time I have cold garlic pizza before bed.”

“I’m afraid you are fully awake. Just calm down, and let the situation sink in. We’re all hit hard by this. And on the eve of his State of the Nation speech.”

“Sink in? This an elaborate gag, isn’t it? Haze the new guy?”

“I’m afraid not. That’s part of the reason you’re here, Mr. Roberts. We need more advice on how to spin this.”

“Spin…?” Roberts laughed. It sounded hysterical even to himself.

“Of course. You did work in marketing and public relations in Hollywood?”

“Well, yes, but…”

“Your experience here could be invaluable.”

Roberts blinked and looked around the room. He saw someone and pointed, “Hey, wasn’t he on ‘The West Wing’?”

Smith looked over his sunglasses. “Yes. We’ve called in our markers for this.”

“I even know what to think about all of this.” Roberts rubbed the back of his head.

Smith looked at Roberts impassively. “We are trying to prevent nationwide panic. Possibly even worldwide, if the general populace realized that their leaders were susceptible to such things. We have public safety to think about.”

“I… I can’t talk about this with anyone even if I leave,” Roberts felt his sanity slipping.

“No, Mr. Roberts, you can not.”

Roberts threw his hands up and laughed. “What the hell. If you can’t beat them, might as well join them.”

Smith smiled. “Very well, Mr. Roberts. Let’s go see the President.”

Finally, part three. Not entirely sure if I want to go anyplace with this, but honestly, it was one of the most free-flowing writing sessions I’ve had in a while. That alone makes it worth it.

+++

Malcolm excused himself and went to the bathroom and knocked on the door. He didn’t hear the water yet. Good. “No, you can’t come in!” At least he didn’t sound mad, he thought.

“No, it’s not that. There’s two detectives at the front door asking for you.”

“What?”

“Two detectives.”

She swore, and Malcolm heard her scrambling. “Keep them busy for a second, I need to throw a robe on or something.”

“Will do.” He hurried back to the detectives and opened the door again. “Sorry about that, she’ll be right out.”

Detective Kaminsky nodded and smiled a charming smile. “No problem at all, mister….?”

Malcolm internally rolled his eyes. “Malcolm Preacher.”

Sorus glowered, “Unusual name.”

Malcolm shrugged. “Nothing for it, detectives. It’s what I was born with.”

Kaminsky nodded in a way that suggested he sympathized. “Of course, Mr Preacher.”

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence until he heard Gally’s soft footfalls behind him.

“Detectives? What can I do for you?”

Sorus’ eyes turned sharp. “Ms. MacIlraith?”

“That’s me. I apologize for making you wait. I was about to take a shower, and didn’t hear the door.”

She stood there in silence, big fluffy robe almost swallowing her up, while the detectives watched her. She shifted her eyes to Malcolm who barely shrugged. “Uh, detectives? I would guess you didn’t come here to stare at a woman in a robe?”

Kaminsky looked at Sorus, who shrugged. “Of course not. We’ve been getting reports of burglaries in the area, and were curious if you’ve seen anything unusual in the area?”

Gally shook her head, and gave them her best puzzled look. “I’m sorry, no. I haven’t heard anything.” She shrugged

The detectives looked at each other, then nodded. Kaminsky pulled a card from his breast pocket. “Okay, Miss, if you notice anything odd, please give us a call.”

Gally took the card, nodded and smiled. “Of course. Anything I can do.”

With one last nod, both detectives turned at left. Gally shut the door behind them and leaned back against it.

Malcolm frowned. “You okay?”

“Yeah. They couldn’t have been looking for me, could they? There’s no way anyone could have seen me leave the museum.”

“I know, considering you didn’t leave the roof. But if they weren’t looking for you, then that means,” he trailed off.

She blew out a breath. “That means there’s someone lurking in the area that was also near the museum tonight. Crap.”

“Yeah, crap.” He paused. “You sure you’re okay?”

She nodded. “Just a bit worried. I didn’t even think of a weight sensor, and now cops sniffing around.” She shrugged. “Not the best night for me, Mal.”

He gave her a small smile. “Anything I can do?”

“Nah. Thanks, though.” She looked up at him. “What?”

His gaze was steady. “I’m worried about you, Gally.”

“I’m fine, really.”

He pursed his lips. “When’s the last time you had a vacation?”

She blinked. “Uh, a while?”

“Yeah. Maybe this is a good time to take one. Just a few days.”

She shook her head. “Malcolm, we can’t really take vacations. Inevitably, something happens, and we end up working anyway. Besides, what if a new artifact shows up here?”

“How often do new ones show up in this area anymore?”

“Not often.”

“Sure. Besides, even if you end up working, it’s a change of scenery. That can be good.”

“I suppose.”

“We could go together. Someplace nice. Someplace out of the way.”

“Hmm.”

“It sounds good, you know it does.”

“Yes,” she drew out the word. “Only a couple of days?”

“Only a couple of days.”

She blew out a breath. “Yeah, okay. Let me take a real shower, then we can make the arrangements.”

He gave a slow smile, “You won’t regret it.”

She tried not to smile, but failed. “Fine, you old charmer.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him close. Her eyes sparkled and she whispered, her lips just barely brushing his. “I might just work you into needing a vacation from our vacation.”

Hey, part two!

+++

Gelis MacIlraith went straight from the portal to a heavy bookcase on one wall and pulled on the corners of a few books in sequence. The case clicked and pulled away from the wall slightly. Gally pulled it open and walked a step inside to a large metal door. She tapped a combination onto the touchpad to one side, then pulled a glove off and placed her palm down. The heavy metal door slid to one side with a low grinding noise. The room beyond was filled with artifacts as old or older than the vase Gally carried. She stalked to the back of the room, and carefully placed the vase onto a shelf. She let out a heavy breath and nodded to herself. “Done.”

She walked out on the vault and closed it behind her. Malcolm was waiting for her. She favored him with a glare and walked past without a word.

“What? Not even a thanks?”

“I didn’t ask for your help.”

He rolled his eyes. “You never asked for help. People just give it. And besides, it’s better if no one is seen leaving the place.” He moved after her, his pace slow and easy.

“What are you doing here anyway?”

He shrugged. “Was in the area. When you weren’t home, I traced you.” He held up his hands, “I know, I know, but I wanted to see you, and I didn’t interfere with your job. I was just the wheelman.”

She raised an eyebrow. “The wheelman?”

He shrugged again, and grinned disarmingly. “Apt enough description.”

She laughed, her anger evaporating. “Yeah, I guess.” Her expression softened, and her voice went to a whisper. “How’ve you been?”

He shrugged out of his leather duster and nodded. “Alright. Kept on the move. Didn’t find anything major. Been rather quiet.”

“Yeah.” She dropped easily into a chair and nodded for him to do the same. “Around here, too. Not many people seem to really bid for big stuff anymore. Maybe they don’t remember what kind of power they can give them.”

“Less cash on the market, too. Plus, artifacts have a tendency to disappear from supposedly secure storage occasionally.” He smirked.

She gave a tired smile, the adrenaline from the job wearing off. “Yeah, that too. You mind if I shower?”

“Go ahead. I’ll make myself at home.”

Her smile turned fond, “You usually do, darling. You usually do.”

As Gally went to take a shower, Malcolm leaned back in the chair and thought. There was more to his visit than he told her, but there generally was when he was able to visit her. They clashed often, but underneath was a genuine fondness for one another. Their jobs were essentially the same, keeping an eye out for artifacts with magical potential, steal them, and lock them in a safe place. Malcolm had his, Gally had hers, and other operatives around the world have theirs. As with war, it was a business characterized by long periods of boredom punctuated by brief periods of intense action.

Not everyone was cut out for it, and most had some sort of talent. Gally specialized in stealth while Malcolm was a fair hand with defense. Neither wanted to admit it, but they complemented each other so well, that they rarely needed to talk to each other while on a job. Of course, they didn’t do many jobs together anymore. The Powers, an amorphous collection of very old and very powerful beings, decreed that they were too dangerous together. It was a decision both disliked, but the Powers were not to be trifled with. The few who tried rarely came out of it intact.

Malcolm rested his hands on the stomach and chewed on his lower lip. The Powers told him he couldn’t tell her everything he knew, but that wouldn’t work for long. Gally would tell in fairly short order that he was hiding something from here. At that point, his job would become a lot harder.

He jumped as loud thumps sounded from the front door. “Police. Open up.”

“Damn.” He opened the door. “Can I help you?”

“Detectives Sorus,” the speaker was a tall woman who looked as if she was sucking on a lemon, “and Kaminsky.” A slightly shorter man dressed immaculately. “We’re looking for,” she looked at a small notebook, “Gelis MacIlraith?”

He pursed his lips briefly. “Uh, Miss MacIlraith is in the shower.”

“We need to speak with her. Would you get her?” The man’s voice, Kaminsky, was smooth. He would be good cop, Malcolm assumed.

Okay, so, I sat down with Write or Die! Desktop Edition earlier and pounded this out on Monday. Since I’m going in for surgery on Wednesday, and this ended up being a 2k word sprint, I’m breaking this up into a couple of posts, since I’m going to be in no shape to actually write for a while.

+++

The lithe form slid down the rope and landed without a sound. Clad head to toe in formfitting black, the only thing visible were brilliant green, slightly canted eyes. Her eyes surveyed the room in the dim light before pulling out a small device and consulting it. She nodded to herself then set off down the hallway at a light jog. After a short while, she came to a halt and knelt before an iron frame set in the hall.

She strode forward, slipping a small canister from her webbed belt. She narrowed her eyes and sprayed the air in front of her, revealed glittering beams of laser light in the mist. She nodded to herself and sprayed the more mist into the air. With cat like grace, she slipped between the beams, her lithe form twisting between the beams in almost impossible ways. Her skin-tight outfit hugged her form, best to not touch any lasers as she slipped, twirled and twisted through the long hallway.

A seeming eternity later, her feet stopped in front of a large metal door with no visible means on entry. Her long fingers slipped a small device from her belt, after replacing the mist canister. She pointed it at the door, and after tapping something on the screen, the door slid soundlessly open.

The room was large but it contained only one object. A single pedestal that held a vase that just felt old. It was under glass and the air around it seemed to shimmer in the dim light. The woman approached it carefully, eyes flicking around the room, noting everything. Slipping the device back into her belt, she pulled out a more conventional device; a glass cutter.

With careful speed, she cut a large circle into the glass enclosure and took a long breath. With slow, careful movements, she reached into the glass and put her hands on the vase. As she did that, two things happened. First, her eyes flickered, green deepening and subtly shifting into cat-like pupils. Second, the alarms went off.

She cursed and pulled the artifact from the case. Sprinting back through the hallway, no need to avoid the beams this time, she skidded to a stop at her exit rope. With inhuman grace, she climbed the rope one-handed in moments. Once back on the roof, she pulled the rope after and closed the skylight.

She swept her eyes over the roof, looked for a quicker exit than rappelling down the side of the building as sirens began to get louder and louder. She was about to start securing her rope again when someone cleared his throat behind her. She whirled and glared at the amused looking man leaning against the door to the stairs.

“Need a hand?”

“Go away, Malcolm!”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself. Those police cars seem like they’re getting quite close, though.” She looked over the side for a moment then snarled something unflattering, which just made him smile.

“Fine. My place.”

“Your wish is my command, Princess.” He snapped his fingers and an inky blackness coalesced on the wall to the side of the door. “After you.”

She said nothing, and stalked through, back rigid. He smirked, and walked through more at a more sedate pace. Once he was through, the blackness faded away, leaving no trace that they had been there at all.

Okay, another poem. Yeah. Like I said, I try my hand every so often.

+++

The edge of the forest is my backyard
Anytime I step on the porch I may smell him
Is that your stench, or just a skunk?
Flash of black and brown, I know when he’s there.

There is a delicate dance among the trees.
Is he there? What is he? Where does he come from?
How long has he been there, in the deep dark
Of the ancient forests.

How is it that we never see you?
Only casts and hair.
Is that your nest?
You’ll never say.

This is why we search
This is why we ask
Too many questions
Not enough answers

I think this is one of my gems. It’s a flash fiction piece I’ve been toying with for a while. I decided to sit down and tweak it a bit more today, so here you go. Enjoy.

+++

The trial had begun.

The young girl ran for her life down the gilded path, hunted by the three guardians of the wood. Her trespass had been grave. “Seek not to pass through the wood,” the enchantress had told her. “Stay to the path, or your heart, blood, and mind are forfeit.” Yet she did not listen. She strayed, and now the price must be paid.

Behind her, a roar shook the ground and any remaining courage fled. With a whimper, she tried to run faster, yet knowing she would not get away, padded feet following on her heels. The snarls of the golden beast driving her forward, she felt its hot breath upon her neck. If she looked back, she would have seen dark flecks of old blood on its muzzle, but she dared not.

A tattered hand reached for her as she screamed. The smell of death filled her lungs with suggestions of rotted hay and the grave. The desiccated figure, followed by the ironic voices of crows full of dark amusement, lunged from the cornfields lining this part of the glittering path, moaning hungrily as cracked and yellowing nails caught in her hair. She pulled away, leaving the harsh whispers of hunger and need behind.

From directly in front of her came a heavy clank and a hiss of steam. She skidded to the ground, fear drenched sobs wracking her chest as she beheld the clanking horror. Steam vented from corroded pipes jutting at odd angles from its back, as it brought its red spattered axe to bear. Its blackened joints screamed as the axe hit her and sent her back into the wood. Her last sight was of her mangled chest reflected in the steam powered beast’s dull surface and it holding her still beating heart aloft in triumph.

The trial had ended.