Hobo reVisited

Gladness and Fair Tidings in the Land of Hobo

.. .and down did i plummet , for a time, down down , in a hazardous spin , adjusting my ocular sights >with not much success i'll add< on the encroaching earth . Amid the scattered strands >the spackle of infamous infinity< i dropped , wrapped in its cohesion , piqued in tumult , construing ablutions of the spackle-kind , crossing myself though i couldn't say why , and catching finally a thermal then soaring up into the flapping tubes and wires and detritus of the vandalized , derelict Pickler .


Acumentor in its berserker rage unwound , tossing copper and gems to the walls , pinballing falling sprawling , and gave a hey Willie chase , barking SOS commands to preoccupied cubby cops who grabbed hoards of implements and floundered , abandoned posts for the wind , and parachuted on their bed sheets to the swell of a round ground . Somewhere in the code , the Manic Torpedo Annihilate screeched in binary , egad , to no avail .

A Pickler Panic , Gears o'Plenty go down with the Ship , and i with my Posse see the Light !

Onto all the spackle rained , and it spread from one lofty Pickler to the next , until i nixed the count and lost site over the horizon , and i merely flew in the hodge-podge pod , fiddling in its whirs and clicks for optimum ability , and dodged a live wire .
If they all fell from the sky , i do not know >i sailed on . Below on a step >a hill >hands in the air >grabbing the sky >waving me on , those flesh creatures with doodads and accoutrements galore , cheered huzzah and ole and other such tidings .

Dirty Dirt perturbs and boils up in Mischievous Ways

Aside me , in the dust and spackle , debris came to swirl and conform into lumps and bumps and spinning wheels and rotors until bits and pieces trilled and twirled and followed my lead, joining in the gala fest of glory days . We danced on the ocher skies and made patterns in the soot .

Change is slow to come , spring never comes in the winter . But i sped my counter forward and maybe saw the what could be was what could come was what would be , and pinks and blues and greens . It was all right >it was good .

Good as good could be, I smiled.

HoboLand revisited

these are doodles from the past, from a land called Hobo...

soon, for my own amusement Hobo will find a permanent home in a Blurb book

...more to come!

not because it is any great and wonderful achievement, but for prosperity sake

capitol

to bury a mountain

continued from part 8

A month later, Willoby was in the custody of Central, locked in a cell in some remote location, who knew where, waiting in isolation for what he didn't know. He ate whatever they pushed in front of him, and stared at water stained cement walls. Willoby swore he wouldn't talk, but he did when they dragged him out into the courtyard and put the hounds on him. He squealed and bled, but he didn't have much to say, and after a few days of dogs and fists they locked him up for good.

His recollection of events was a bit foggy, first thing. “I did find her, Jasmin Bathelte. I remember her and the astronaut at the park. I saw them from a distance and it looked like he went a little crazy.”

“We have the voice transcripts.” The mouthpiece offered no additional information. He wanted detailed visuals from their man on the ground, Willoby. Why else had they let things go that far? “What happened to the pilot after he went... crazy?”

Willoby was sweating. His left arm was a bleeding mass of shredded flesh. “There was a scuffle. And bright lights. Some sort of fire. I don't know if she threw a bomb or the pilot exploded. There are things I don't remember, or understand.”

“Was there another man there? Did someone intervene on her behalf? Did you intervene?”

“God no! I was on the roof. Something happened. Something terrible.” They didn't get much beyond that something terrible happened. Hypnosis nor further torture revealed anything.

“You stole a flying machine and deserted your station. You were to monitor the woman, and then bring her in after contact with the pilot! Instead you left and we had to put a contract on you. Well?”

“I'm an independent contractor, that was my flying machine, I stole nothing!” Willoby protested, but he knew he could have no complaints against Central.

“You'd have nothing without Central Authority, and you know it. You can't just abandon a contract. You are now forfeit to the state.” Central Authority may as well be the state. They owned everything and everybody.

“Why do they let you treat people the way you do? They circle the earth and keep us under their fishy little flippers, but then let tyrants rule the world? Someday you'll all get what's coming to you – those Europans will come down and give it all back to the people someday, you'll see.”

Central had heard it all before, but they knew the earth was of no consequence to their overlords. The Europans didn't care what happened on the planet, as long as bombs weren't flying and missiles weren't exploding, they would do nothing. In their fortress under the mountain, the talking heads sat in their circle and they played their little, global games. They would always win. “Put this vermin back in the hole. Patch him up and drug him – who knows what use we'll have for him, later.”

There was more, much more, but Willoby was telling the truth. He didn't remember the things that he purposefully chose to forget. The man who returned from the sun did that, and he promised to make it all right. Willoby would remember everything when the time came, and he would be healed – perhaps he would be reborn.


They knew something was up, but Central seemed to be quelling uprisings everywhere these last few months. Several agents convened in Florida, at Cape Canaveral. This was NASA's old stomping grounds, that twenty-first century defunct space agency. Now it was a rocket hobbyist's playground, and Central cared not at all if they wanted to shoot metal cans into the sky. Only CASA was authorized to send missions into space, and only ones that the Europans allowed. Anything else was immediately destroyed in orbit. The hobbyists didn't seem to care, and this coming launch was to be their second of the year.

The new vehicle was a replica Saturn V. It was a beautiful long cylinder with tapered fins and F-1 rocket engines. It was rumored the engines were genuine. They would be propelled by actual fuel. All hype and hogwash, thought Central. They dismissed the rumors but were looking more closely at the talk of a crew. Sitting atop the Saturn V were two additional stages that would release as the booster fell back to earth. In the former flight, the upper stages were ceremonial, but these current stages seemed to be fully functioning. There was even an immense lattice encircling the rocket with a simple elevator to transport people to the top capsule. All was observed, and some suited people were seen entering and exiting the upper stage. Their suits were bulky and identification was impossible.

If Central was overly concerned with the launch, they didn't show it. Certainly they could have stopped it. Inquiries were made to the Europans, but no answers were made, so Central assumed nothing had changed. This stupid space mission by stupid so-called rocket scientists would be insignificant and a colossal failure like all had been before.

On a clear day in December, the rockets fired and sparks flew. It was obvious to all, the rocket and its engines were genuine. Astronauts in their suits had boarded the capsule that straddled the flying bomb below. The onlookers gasped when the capsule door swung shut and bolts were fastened. My god, but they were sending actual men to their deaths! It blasted off, climbing slowly it seemed, but soon the rocket was only a speck in the sky, then gone wholly from sight after it arced perilously in the sky. On earth the spectators waited for the boom, and for debris to fall to the ocean, but the explosion never came.

Central Authority watched from their own posts and from flying machines and from seagoing vessels, and they never saw or heard the boom, and they never saw stage one reenter the atmosphere and fall to the ocean. On shore, after a collective sigh of relief, after the tension slowly faded, the people realized what happened... what may have happened, and they cheered long and loudly.

In space, the Europans let them pass.

Willoby was their middle man. Willoby had returned to France and met with Alex and Jasmin. Willoby had traveled to North America and contacted the old NASA hobbyists. Willoby kept everyone in the loop and arrangements were made, and when the time came, Willoby allowed himself to be captured. Alex let him keep the memories that would do no harm, and hid others so deeply that only he could restore them. In his cell, crippled, Willoby smiled, but he didn't have a clue why. He gibbered like an ape and the guards shook their heads.

The stages separated, but the booster remained in earth orbit. It had additional rockets, smaller ones, that fired occasionally, keeping it stable, until the time came for the stages to reunite. In their capsule, the two astronauts looked out from a tiny porthole at the moment of separation. Small satellites also observed, swarming around the event. The Europans left them be.

“Take off your helmet,” he said, and Jasmin pulled a strap and lifted the clumsy helmet off. She let it go and it drifted freely through the cabin space. She laughed.

“Can I get out of the chair?” Jasmin asked.

“Certainly.” The man removed his helmet as well, and his head was on fire. He laughed along with his wife. Their flight from here on out would not be pleasant, and Jasmin knew it. This was the time to lighten and up and celebrate. The first part of their journey was a success.

In the capsule her hair floated above her head, and her grin was lovely. Alex smiled too, not immune even in his elevated state to the female form. “You can take off your suit now, it won't be needed from here on out. I'll keep mine on though. I wouldn't want to scorch the furniture,” he joked, and Jasmin smiled politely. She unsuited and Alex stowed it in a corner. Jasmin was clothed in a simple zippered jumpsuit. She felt like a kid in a Halloween costume.

“What now,” Jasmin asked. She was enjoying the sensation of free fall and hovered magically in the air. She knew it couldn't last.

Alex stopped smiling. “Well, there's nearly a hundred million miles left to go, and we need to slow down to achieve an even orbit before hand.”

“I'll be dead long before that happens.” She said it without emotion.

“The flesh of Jasmin will be long dead. I can make it easy for you. I can kill you painlessly, your journey will seem much faster that way.” They had had the discussion many times before. In this simple contraption there was no place to store five years of supplies, not even for one living person. Jasmin would die of thirst long before she would starve to death. A year in the capsule would almost be torture. Two years, or three would be living torture. Even if her body could struggle through to the end, surely she would go insane being inside the cramped capsule for so long.

Below the capsule, in the second stage, the burners kicked in and Alex pulled Jasmin quickly down into her chair. Gravity pushed her into the cushions and she felt heavy again. So very heavy. They were headed to the sun, to Father Sol and rebirth.

“I want to live yet, for awhile. I want to feel this flesh wither and die, so I can remember what it's like to be human, how a human lives and how a soul leaves its body, takes its last breath. I deserve that, damn it Alex!” Jasmin cursed angrily.

“And when we return, when you are born from the sun and set your fiery foot back upon the soil, then you can have empathy for the lowly creatures of the earth. You can be their queen, not just another tyrant to walk among the peasants.”

She started crying, feeling the weight of gravity push painfully, relentlessly down upon her body. Already she thirsted. “I don't want to die,” she blubbered and her nose ran with the tears as her body was racked in fear. Alex put a gloved hand on her bare arm until the crying subsided and her face took on a hardness he had not seen before. “Do not kill me too soon,” she commanded. “Even if I beg you, I will remember, and I will be furious. And do not kill me so quickly – I want you to do it slowly while you look into my eyes, while I fight you. This will be my cross, and I will not be denied.”

He understood, but still thought she was a little crazy. “I promise,” he said. “Now have some fluid, and how about some nice re-hydrated steak? If you like, I'll even slice it for you?”

There was never a follow up mission to the sun. The work Alex had done in his last days was filed and never completely investigated. His penultimate discoveries had never been documented, so CASA had little to show for the mission. Life went on and other than flights to Mars and the asteroid belt for minerals, nothing new in the area of spaceflight occurred. Europa would never allow it. The universe was safe from the humans. They would never leave this system, not in their present form.

The years passed in tyranny, as Central assumed control worldwide, and borders meant almost nothing. People were free to travel as they wanted, but few had the resources. They had food and meager wages, but little else. The earth slowly stagnated under the watchful eyes of the Europans. Little was known of their activities in orbit, or on their own world, or for that matter in the oceans of earth, where they now lived prosperously in cities miles below the waves. They took nothing from the humans but by healing the oceans, they gave plenty back. The time had come to do more – more above the cold ocean floors.

And the work began high above the planet in orbit.

The Saturn V was reequipped in space by busy mechanical hands and refueled for a hasty return to earth. It had been many years, but the Europans didn't keep time in years. The sun people were returning. All was made ready. The home bound capsule looped around the moon and slowed to a crawl, then slingshotted to earth where it assumed an orbit and braked some more. Slowly it rendezvoused with the long lost booster stage and reattached. From here it would be a short, hair raising trip to the surface of the earth. Alex and Jasmine in their suits bumped fists and smiled as the connection took place and they let the Europans aim the missile they would guide in.

“I think you should hit the gas, my dear,” said Jasmin. “This is your idea after all.” Her flowing hair was on fire.

“Affirmative. But you can eject us before impact.” Central was enshrined deep in the heart of the Rocky Mountains, but a well aimed rocket thrusting from outer earth orbit, heavily fueled, and laden with extra otherworldly devices just might make a dent in their fortifications. Still, it would be a mess even for emissaries of the sun to climb out from.

“Before?”

“Jasmin....” He punched it.

...........................................................The End

ghastly truths

continued from part 7

“Willoby, what are you doing?”

He didn't answer, but flew away in his machine down the coast of France, along the Mediterranean Sea. The water was a heavenly blue and the whitecaps sparkled like myriad facets of diamonds in the late morning sun. Willoby didn't think he would be going back to Central authority with Jasmin Bathelte, he might not go back at all. The thinkers in the room, that circular room with shadows at every turn.... Willoby doubted he could face them again. Them, or their nondescript faces, their monotone voices. Their haunting words and crippling voices. He flew on seeing the endless waves and mountains off the coast. It was beautiful; it was lovely. He flew.

Jasmin sat on a bench in the garden. They took refuge in a shady corner of the conservatory. Here there was a deep arbor overgrown in wisteria and none would see them. Even the wending path made the area inconspicuous, and Jasmin doubted anyone would stumble across two quiet people whispering in the shadows. She was shaken, but the flaming man, her late husband, led her there and waited for Jasmin to catch up, to breath again.

“Alex,” she said, barely a thought that escape her trembling lips. “You can't be him. It's impossible.”

Alex had put the coat back on, but not his hat or glasses. His face was barely recognizable, but the way he stood and the way he shuffled, and stooped – these things proved his earthly existence. These things were Alex. The man's eyes were missing, replaced by windows of white flame. When he turned his head, wisps of fire burned in the vacated space and smoke encircled his brow. “It's me. But I'm not the same. I can't be Alex any more. Alex the flesh died, and he was incinerated. But the part of me that fell into the sun, into Sol, that part was remade and our Father sent me back, to you.”

Jasmin locked her arms tight against her sides, and pushed taut against the bench. She leaned forward. “Tell me. I want to understand.” A tiny wall lizard smacked its lips on a wood post, eying a fly that lit close by.

Alex had no urgency and saw all the events as they transpired in the garden. A snail displaced the rotting vegetation off the berm of gravel. The heat of the exchange was enveloped by Alex's smoldering foot. The sun had taught him the patience that came with timelessness. Alex would have sat on the bench, next to Jasmin, but he was still hot, too hot. “It wasn't your fault, my death. It was no one's, merely an accident. Foolishness on my part, really. So Alex, I, was to blame. The research I was doing, the discovery I was making, was too engrossing to turn from. Jasmin, you would not believe the things I was seeing. The instruments, the probes that survived immersion in the sun. The field held out, but only for a time, but long enough to measure the waves, and see inside....”

“Slower,” she cautioned. “Start at the beginning.”

“The probes were measuring waves at the sun's core that we could never imagine from the outside. They were arranged in ways that seemed so familiar. I consulted physiologists and brain surgeons planet side. I looked at maps and x-rays and every kind of imaging data I could find. It was unbelievable. Sol is a living being, a giant brain construct, or at least a mind. The waves were almost identical to brain waves. Once I knew what to look for I could see that undeniably. I believed they were attempting to communicate. I was rapt, unable to break away from the results. I did not call for assistance, in effect I neglected you, and my human body as well.”

He paced, unable to control his inability to stay still. Jasmin said nothing, mesmerized.

“A micrometeorite hit the lab, I assume. The hull is self healing, but for some reason I overrode the alarm system immediately and remained in the lab examining the findings, delving deeper into the secrets of the sun. I wasn't concerned with being the first to see these things, these thoughts, I didn't care for accolades. I was on the verge of communicating with a celestial being. The sun, Sol, is nothing less than a god! The universe is inexhaustible with flaming deities. Don't you see?”

“It's amazing.”

“I have been inside now, amid the thoughts. The suns talk to one another, lofty talk. Nothing I can understand. And one star is no more important than the other. They exist in a network, a crisscross and bent, curving pattern that is all inclusive. Even the planets exist in the conversation, in some minor form. It is wondrous, like a poem.”

“It sounds beautiful,” said Jasmin. “But how did you survive. How did you come back – why did you come back?”

"It was Sol, and Jupiter of course. The Europans suggested my return. Jasmin, they want me to be with you. The beings from Europa, you see, they fear humans. They fear the havoc and war people can heap on the universe, starting with our solar system. That is why they enslave us on earth, and watch everything from their fishbowls, and from every drop of rain and every puddle.”

“Are they gods too? These invertebrates?” she asked. The Europans had always disgusted her. They were tiny prying eyes. They were insects to her.

“No, they are flesh. Merely creatures of Jupiter, but they have evolved in peace and rule their frozen planet from within. Their only concern is life itself, on their own world. They know, the Europans, that life is finite and when their world ends, they are destined to die with it. They aren't obsessed with making themselves known to the universe, or in expanding to every corner of the enveloping all. Even the universe, this universe, will one day cease to exist. Our sun will pass and it will disperse and be a part of something, or everything. My one wish is to ask what will happen to the universe when it collapses in upon itself in some unimaginable future. I doubt it knows, it may know no more of the afterlife than we do.”

Jasmin couldn't begin to understand all Alex said. The truth burned her heart and soul. But they were to be together, she and him. She looked closely at Alex, at his fiery aura. “How can we be together?” Jasmin asked. “What can we possibly accomplish?”

“You can be reborn, we can together build a nation. I can be the father, Jasmin, you can be the mother to the children of the sun.”


Somewhere Willoby slowed the velocity of his flying machine. He turned from the waves and flew back to the land, over the mountains and toward the west. He was needed still, and this was bigger than any thinking heads. It was bigger than Central Authority and bigger than an earthly collective of bigotry and waste.

continued in the conclusion, part 9

light me up, it's Sunday!

controlled burn

continued from part 6

His nerves were shattered, Bill Green couldn't take the pressure anymore. He felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, along with an insatiable lust he simply could not shake. If only he could get to Jasmin and explain himself, or warm her. Or just to say he loved her, and he couldn't live without her. So many feelings swirled in Green's gut that he felt the constant urge to vomit. Only strong whiskey kept it down, but it also fed his appetite to hurl empty bottles at the stone fireplace in his backwoods cottage.

Finally he called a taxi and staggered into Central Authority. Secretly, he thought, Green slid into an old cohort's office. Jackson Overtop was a retired pilot in the space program. He spent his mornings with the flixon and a cup of joe in the office, and his afternoons on the golf course.

When Bill stumbled through his door and sat down heavily, Overtop kneed a button under his desktop and pushed the untouched cup of caffeine over to his old friend. “What's the news, Booze?” he asked wryly.

“I just don't know what to do, Jack.” Bill explained his problem a little too thoroughly, more than a little sloppily, and slumped in the seat. “You don't think there's any way you can help me locate her? Do you have anything stronger than... this... mud?”

Jackson stood. “I think Peter has a bottle next door. He's not in; never'l notice a bit missing, eh?” He shimmied around Green and left the office. In the next room he punched the desk receiver. “Did you get all that?” he asked the other party.

“Yea. We'll drop a line on him. In the lobby. Set him up with a finder device tuned into the woman, and we'll follow him from here. Also, we have a man in place, in France. Let's see what happens when they get together.”

“Got it.” Jackson opened the bottom drawer and fished out a bottle of bourbon, then grabbed the coffee cup on the desk as well.

Green was almost drooling in Overtop's office. “Got the good stuff, Green. Snap to.” He poured two cups, just a splash for himself, and sat down, pushing a small device over the desk to Green. “Peter was in after all. He gave me the bottle. And this. It's pretty simple, a finder. It homes in on your subject. Jasmin. Just hover it over your timepiece and this will lead you right to her.”

Green squinted at the device and waved his watch wrist over the top of it, shakily. “She's in France.”

“Go home, Bill. Get some sleep.” He helped Bill to his feet and led him to the door, where a tall lady in a green dress put her arm around Bill and led him through the lobby to the entrance. “I called you a cab, Bill. Goodbye.”

Jasmin had had to move again. After her dinner, after the threat had gone, she snuck back into her apartment and grabbed a bag and fled into the night. Just a dozen streets away there was a little inn she had checked out earlier, and Jasmin made her way there. She checked in with no questions and climbed the steps to the fourth floor where the last room available waited. She let herself in with an old iron key and locked the door behind her.

Either she would be safe here, for a night, or she wouldn't. Jasmin was tired and really didn't care. She threw the bag down and crawled into the soft bed. The room was warm, but the sheets felt cool, and she quickly fell asleep. Night passed, and when she woke the sun was shining through the window onto her face. Jasmin blinked and rolled over onto her side away from the bright light. She could feel it burning into the back of her head though, and she burrowed under the sheets.

“Damn.” she muttered.

After she washed her face and passed a cool washcloth over her sweaty body, Jasmin dressed and threw the bag over her shoulder. She dropped the key at the desk without comment and strolled into the street, not looking either way, just setting off down the street. I don't know where I'm going, she thought, and whistled.

It was mid morning, still early in Montpellier where most of the residents or guests were rising late and just having their coffee and beignets. Jasmin found herself at the botanical conservatory – the Jardin des plantes de Montpellier – and went alone through the open gate. If there was anybody else in the gardens, she didn't see. Just as well, it would be lovely to walk the grounds in silence. The paths were crushed stone and the green plants were lush in the sparse, bricked lined beds. The arboretum loomed ahead, an old building of stone that seemed to sag under the harsh morning sun. The structure looked old, very old.

She looked up to the sun, holding a hand over her face to protect her eyes, and thought of Alex. Alex, who loved the sun. Alex, the first man to ever fall into the sun. She wondered what it would be like, to fall into the sun. A silly thought.

Atop the arboretum, a small flying craft sat camouflaged against the white stone walls and tall green poplars. Willoby watched from the roof as Jasmin strolled over the crunching pathway. His viewer spectacles were picking up two signals. One was Jasmin who had a token buried under her skin that she never knew about, and the other was Bill Green. Green was lurking around a corner, behind some tall desert scrub. Willoby saw him.

“Jasmin,” he heard Bill Green call out, and Green stepped up to Jasmin, frightening her. She skipped back a step and let out a small, startled scream.

“Oh my God, Bill. You scared me. Damn it. What the fuck are you doing here?” Willoby heard only muffled syllables, but he got the gist. Green moved forward, he put his hands on Jasmin's arms and held her at arms length.

“I was so worried about you,” he said. “How did you find me?” she questioned, angrily. “I had to see you, I had to. I'm afraid for you, what they might do to you.” He was shaking, incoherent and tried to pull her close. He was scaring her. “Bill, did you lead them to me? Are you in on this?” she accused him. “What!” he was angry, Green stepped closer and raved at her, throwing curses and spit in her face. Green grabbed her, and pulled her face to his, mashing their mouths together, but Jasmine ground her teeth into his mouth and he pulled back, throwing a fist at her.

Willoby leaned over the parapet, enthralled, when a shape flew into the scene and tossed Bill Green off of the woman. It was a man in a long overcoat who loomed tall over the fallen man and threw his arms out, sheltering Jasmin from the enraged maniac. Green jumped up, frothing, and jumped at the man, wailing at him with punches that landed solidly, but seemed to do no harm. The mysterious man threw off his coat, and where there should have been a suit, or even just a naked body, there were only red and yellow burning cinders that flamed out against the violence. Jasmine fell backward, throwing an arm up over her face, and the sun cloaked man stepped forward, engulfing Green with his flaming arms.

Willoby heard screams, then silence. He shuddered, shaking violently with fear, and fled from the roof in his flying machine.

continued in part 8

a meal of her loins

continued from part 5

Nord-Pas-de-Calais was a memory, Jasmin had sent Amando packing, back to Zaragoza where his landkeeper kinship was organizing the capital city's centennial celebration of the 2008 World Fair. The event was years off, but planning and construction was all consuming for the archaic city on the Ebro. According to Amando, his wealthy family was pouring millions into a reconstruction of the Aljaferia Palace, bombed by revisionist Swordsmen, from Bergerac, France. To this day there was an annual festival held on the banks of the Garonne at Port-Sainte-Marie, where the Spanish and French reenactors fought with bare hands and bare chests, then drank themselves silly for three nights. Good times. Already, the Mayor of the city of Bergerac was vowing to wage war on the castle's new walls, and was caching barrels of the regions finest wine for the event.

Jasmin promised to attend the festivities, though secretly she doubted the possibility, given her circumstances. Now she was staying in a one room apartment, overlooking a narrow street in Montpellier. For breakfast she usually dined on fresh coffee and beignets in a tiny French pastry shop. Jasmin kept her passport, but thought it best to stay in Europe where it would be difficult to track her movements. In the late afternoons she walked by the sea, and sometimes took a dip, floating in the warm waves of the Mediterranean Sea.

She had just woken from a short nap in her balcony chair when a clatter of dishes startled her fully awake. The stack she left leaning precariously by the lower entrance toppled, either by the mysterious cat she sometimes saw prowling the whereabouts, or an intruder she didn't know. Jasmine hurriedly slipped on her shoes and lowered herself from the balcony on a rope she had tied just for that purpose. Her escape was on the opposite side from the door, and as she assuredly turned a corner from the building, Jasmin didn't look back. After half a dozen cuts through the tight streets and alleyways, Jasmin turned into cafe and sat down in a back corner, facing the picture window. The waiter brought her water, and she ordered a small dish of sorbet and coffee. She had doubled back, and the cafe looked toward her apartment.

The door was closed, but Jasmin thought she caught a glimpse of movement through a window. Moments later, the door opened, and a man stood at the entrance. He held the short length of a coiled rope in his left hand, and before he pulled the door shut, he turned and kicked an unbroken teacup. The man slowly looked up and down the avenue, then crossed the street and mounted a cycle in front of the cafe. The lid rolled up and through the acclimating frost cover Jasmin thought she saw the man staring into the cafe. He may have scanned the interior, but from the corner sipping her water she doubted he would recognize her behind sunglasses and a tatty ball cap. The man motored off, kicking dust up from the curb.

Jasmin finished her dessert, and set the spoon on her napkin after she wiped some frozen sugar from her lips. She was just about to get up and sneak back into her apartment, when a new man, in an overcoat, stepped in front of the window. He was wearing a conspicuous stetson that shaded his face and dark glasses. The man had a familiar gait and stoop to his shoulders, she almost thought it was her husband, Alex, but shook off the thought. The glass of water, untouched on her small table, clouded then cleared, and the man turned his head to the cafe, then strode off. Jasmin thought she saw a smirk on his lips. “How strange,” she muttered, then picked up a menu.

The waiter hovered over her table, filling her cup. “What's good from the kitchen?” she asked.

“Ah. The chef, Mademoiselle Buechard, has a Enchaud Perigordine, with potatoes. It's pork.”

“I know what it is. I'll have a small portion, and the house wine.” She handed him the menu and sat back, sipping her coffee. Where to now, she pondered, wishing Amando was still in the country, dining with her, on her, instead of the opposite predicament.

continued in part 7 

stakes and lies

continued from part 4

“This morning at the capitol The Fifth session voted 'for' and law 237A-13b for now stands. Despite pleas from several individuals, including many loners, Admin Zarto and his committee unanimously renewed the controversial subset and...”

In a square room with no windows, Bill Green sat in an uncomfortable chair watching a whole wall digipost. The government channel was playing, but Bill stared off into a corner, where a tall cactus stood, askew. More Central second degree. He was talked out, and they had gone over the data readings and logs a dozen times. No, he had seen nor heard any unusual alarms at or before the time of the accident. He hadn't even known there was an accident, but Dr. Alex Bethelte had been seriously radiated at some point. No one else on board had. No, he had not logged any alarms. No, the doctor had not logged any alarms or said he was compromised at any point. No, Jasmin Bathelte had not reported any system failures. Would she even know how to set up a scenario to 'murder' her husband, let alone make it look like an accident? Bill didn't think so. He didn't want to reveal their affair, but things like that were hard to keep a secret on a small research ship monitored from most every angle. Their tiny suites weren't recorded, but comings and goings had to be seen. Surely people on ground would have suspected, so he didn't bother lying. And Bill told Jasmin the same before they touched down.

For Green the stakes were high, this entire situation could cost him not only his job, but his license. Being caught in a compromising affair wasn't the end of the world, but a lie was bad news. Murder or negligence was worse. Bill really wasn't concerned with that though. He simply had nothing to do with the doctor's passing. He had been honest and forthright, but to hedge his bets would it hurt to throw Jasmin under the bus? Just a little?

“Other than a prelaunch inspection, I never even went into the research lab,” Green had earlier told the inquisitors. “You have the tapes and data to prove that. Besides, I had nothing to do with the research and I'm sure I wasn't welcome there.” Just as the doctor wasn't welcome in the cockpit, even if he was designated First Captain. That was only an honorary title, stupid really, since Green was his military superior, and the autopilot, or ground control, would fly the ship in dire need. Bill didn't utter a word of his thoughts, only the observable facts.

Except this: “Jasmin spent a lot of time in there.” Central ground had discovered a leak in the outer wall where the research laboratory was. It could have taken the ship minutes or hours to auto repair, and in that time the doctor could have sustained enough radiation to shorten his life considerably. An alarm should have sounded, and that would have given Alex time to clear the room and decontaminate if appropriate. Green was goddamned if he knew what had gone wrong. “She knows the basics of the alarm system and turning it on and off, I suppose.” The inquisitors were looking for something, anything. “I don't believe she would have done anything like that, though,” he added, looking down at his folded hands. I won't directly accuse her, he had thought. Damn, but she was pretty and a welcome diversion in the boredom of the silent vacuum of space. Green liked to play Gershwin over the speakers, and the sultry piano was a smooth backdrop to their gentle zero-g lovemaking. Thinking of her aroused him slightly, and the sensors hovering over his skin jerked the stoic monitor. Green raised his eyes and smirked. “Even so,” he said apologizing, “who among us would suspect her, in any circumstance?”

They neither agreed or disagreed. Second Captain Bill Green was dismissed, for the time.

“Nothing places her at the scene, but it was a crucial point in experimentation – in data gathering.”

“Yes, probably she should have been there. Things would have gone sour without the doctor's full attention....”

“A good time for foul play.”

“Where was she?”

“No data to validate that information, but she wasn't trained to go outside the ship, and certainly not windward to compromise the hull. That would be instant death inside of Mercury's orbit.”

“Could have been alee, when the ship was maneuvering, in advance. She may have disabled the alarms in that section, but only temporarily. It is self correcting?”

“Of course. Besides, all of that is highly unlikely. And she wasn't rated. We can rule it all out.”

“Noted.”

“Other than being the doctor's wife, what qualifications had the woman?”

“Much more than a glorified secretary. She is a trained engineer. Electronics, programming. Even if she wasn't in on the design, it is possible she could discern the ship's electronic systems. As a precursor she would have been given moderate training in the use of emergency protocol, and instruments.”

“Of course. What of Captain Green's assessment?”

“He gave none, and we have concluded he bears none of the blame. Certainly this warrants an obligatory grounding of say, five missions?”

“Two, at the most. It is my conclusion that the wife is the prime suspect.”

The fishbowl in the center of the hexagonal table stirred slightly, but none took notice.

“I second.”

“I too.”

“Concur.”

“Aye. Sentence passed. Inform the ranking lieutenant. Adjourned.”

In the platinum hall, Central Authority's number one conjured his field officer and sent the message, then entered the square room with no windows.

“Captain Green?”

Green stood, quickly alert, and hoped the sweat stinging his eyes didn't show.

“Full exoneration, Green, congratulations. However you're grounded. Two missions – You understand.”

“Absolutely, oh sure.” He scratched his eyebrow. “The doctor's wife?”

“That's none of your concern Green, but you've mucked it enough, don't you think? Let's call it one month leave? Okay, dismissed, stay out of trouble soldier.”

Green collected his beret and marched out, relieved and sickened all at once. From all corners the collected moisture saw all.

continued in part 6

virginal voophilia

continued from part 3

Liane River flowed into the English Channel, but today it was a languid tree lined thoroughfare for lovers. Jasmin had brought a man, a much younger one with little practice in the art of lovemaking, and they hired a floating raft of sorts complete with canopy and hidden motors and contraptions. The river had been severely terraformed in the middle of the century, and with its added loops and canals it moved slowly now, at a relaxed pace and was the perfect attraction for a licentious liaison.

 Amando was all hands, but she enjoyed his attention, just so long as he was careful to avoid her newly bandaged neck. In a side trip to Spain Jasmin had looked up a back street surgeon, adept at removing the tags that Central Authority buried in its employees and contractors. She also dumped her mobile timepiece and converted all credits into several untraceable point-cards, which she had hidden in a wealth of locations. Living off the grid could be a hassle, but it was also joyful in its simplicity. Jasmin decided to get back to nature, where a slow existence was easy, and cheap.

 She jumped up, shifting the raft but its float dampers refused to let the boat tip. "Rise, Aman. Enough amore, I want to fight."

 Amando laughed, his accent was thick, but only because the ladies seemed to prefer it. "Alright, senorita. Give me a hand." Jasmin pulled him up and assumed a fighting stance. The raft was too small for an all out melee, but the water was soft, and clean if they should fall off. "Begin," Amando said, and began by feinting  with a right and throwing his left at her midriff. Jasmin took a slight blow as she maneuvered out of the way and twirled on one leg, planting a foot into the side of Amando's face. He was an accomplished brawler so the move didn't faze him. He simply took her ankle and twisted it, then threw her into the Liane.

 Little bubbles surfaced at the spot she had landed, and Amando leaned over the side to peer into the dark water. A large brown bear on the river bank guffawed loudly at the raft, and Amando looked up, surprised, when Jasmin reappeared behind him, dripping wet, and kicked him into the drink. The bear was not amused and slunk into the thickets. Jasmin knelt on the raft and smiled at the wet gent, who sneered and shook his long wet hair out of his eyes. "Pull me up," he said.

 "No tricks," and Jasmin reeled him in. She beckoned to a faux ermine throw, and lay him down on the blanket. They peered into each others eyes, and Jasmine stroked the soft fur under their bodies, feeling the texture tickle her fingers. She sighed and nuzzled his neck, then fell into his arms, into rapture.

 Above, in a sky colored wing, eyes looked on. Willoby circled in the currents, content to monitor the situation, for now.

continued in part 5

the way of the north

continued from Part 2

At Cape Canaveral they were prepping for a history lesson. An old tube-looking thing had been refurbished by 20th century Obsessionists, fitted with rocket boosters, and was propped upright to fire into orbit. Willoby suspected it would blow sky high. He was observing primarily for the chance to see that very thing, but he would be impressed if it made it. Of course, the Europans would then incinerate it in orbit. Too bad, Willoby thought, but near Earth orbit was pretty crowded these days and an unauthorized hunk of metal was more than just a nuisance. He had heard they were putting a monkey named Corn Wallace into the cockpit, but was sure that was only a joke. No one in their right mind would put a sentient creature into a death machine.

A green light pulsed mildly in his left eye, then the speaker clipped to his ear chirped.

"Willoby. Willoby, you're on the move."

"Which case?" He asked. Sparks were swirling around the rocket's carapace. Where had they gotten the tons of fuel required to launch this beast? Then the tell tale spark machine shorted out and the reverse magnetic ion system kicked on, lasers flew from the ass end, and the rocket fluidly boosted eighty thousand feet into near space and vanished beyond the cloud cover. "Ohhh," he said. No fuel.

There was a lot of clapping. Willoby felt a bit cheated, though. "Willoby, are you there?"

"Did you see the rocket launched?"

"They blew it up, didn't waste any time. I hope the lot of those idiot Obsessionists were all aboard."

"Rude. So, what's up?" asked Willoby.

The voice on the line hesitated. "The sun mission. Central has found the woman involved mostly guilty, and they want her back at the field office. You're to retrieve, reading show her stationary in Paris. Got that? We'll transmit her beacon with the packet; now."

"Got it," said Willoby as he scanned the data scrolling before his eyes. He disconnected and turned against the crowd back to the shuttle. He figured this retrieval would be little more than hum drum. A mere chore. The widow would be sunning by a pool, sipping a frou-frou drink and maybe taking in the local fauna, she wouldn't expect a visitor from Central Authorities Crime Division. Frankly, if she was 'mostly guilty', then he doubted she was guilty at all. It wasn't Willoby's job to decide that, just to collect the body. Alive and undamaged preferably.

As the shuttle reached the cycle lot, his data beeped. Jasmin Bathelte was on the move, to Nord-Pas-de-Calais, that is, North France. He palmed the cycle handle and once the bubble clicked shut, Willoby rocketed down the highway, watching as meteoric flaming debris fell into the Atlantic Ocean behind him.

continued in part 4

sunday is for the whats?

the forensics of spume

part 1 here

Sipping coffee at a Paris café wasn't earning her any points with CASA, but she didn't care. In the weeks after touchdown and mandatory cell regeneration, Jasmin had sold her and Alex's two thousand square foot condo in Manhattan, then rented a flat here in Paris for an open ended amount of time. She explained: I've lost my husband of fifteen years to overexposure, due to negligence (none admitted) of your administration, and I can damn well take as much time off as I need. And want.

The investigation was still on, and CASA was implicating everybody aboard - certainly not itself. Still, it would look bad to formerly charge the widow unless direct evidence suggested otherwise. Central Authority let her go, Jasmin was hardly beyond their authority, no place on the planet was.

Jasmin drained the small cup and a twinkle in the dimming sky caught her eye. One of thousands of satellites, Europan owned, that spied on and punished human extremes. Jasmin threw a hand up and a passing waiter filled her cup. To be honest, the Europans cared little for your common, individual transgression. Those were still worked up by the local authority. The Europans, creepy little space sea monkeys, had made the world by large a fair and organized society. Everything was easier, better, but nobody liked to be controlled. Jasmin tapped the round water bowl in the center of her small table. The water sparkled with dust as it caught the rays from a falling sun. The swimming dust swirled and one mote pressed its eye against the glass and winked. Jasmin wrinkled up her nose, and the Europans - or were they just the tools of Europa?- formed into an eddy and coalesced to the top of the bowl in a frothy swirl, like a galaxy seen from afar.

She absently fingered her mobile time piece, wondering if there was a message from Bill. But no, there wouldn't be. Second captain Bill Green was a premiere CASA pilot, always walking a tight line and a company man. She was sure he had been grounded, for the time being, but that was only a formality because of Alex's premature death. Jasmin suspected she would get tagged for some sort of gross negligence in the accident, whether it was her fault or not. The only question in her mind was, would they sell it as an honest mistake, or foul play? Did Central know she and the pilot were playing patty fingers on the side? Had Alex known? He was always so absorbed with his work and data. The sun, Sol, was his obsession.

Jasmin noticed the time now. Seven o'clock. Certainly it wasn't too early for something stronger. She pushed the coffee cup away and ordered wine.

part 3 here

seventh goddess

She buried her husband on Boris Yeltsin's birthday, in the year of his lord, 2100. Every day was somebodies birthday, and while Jasmin hadn't an iota who Yeltsin was, she could appreciate his powerful, sustaining moniker. So, along with a crew of one, second captain Bill Green, Jasmin wrapped Alex in a space sheet, tied loosely but tied all the same, and jettisoned him gently toward the sun. They watched from the cramped cafeteria on a standard digipost wall board. The camera zoomed in and as the sun grew larger, the shrouded body dimmed in resolution, finally disappearing from view altogether. Jasmin and Bill sat close on the couch watching, their thighs touching, separated only by thermaline morning wraps, wondering how close Alex would get to the flaming ball at the center of Earth's system. But if, or when, it happened, they could never know. She only knew that as Earth's premiere big-burning-orb scientist, Alex would be happy knowing he was vaporized by father Sol's long reach.

This had been Alex's seventh tour in close orbit to the sun, all previous tours with an odd assortment of personnel. Alex had been classified as Captain always, though the duties of piloting and controlling the ship always fell to second captain. Bill Green was on his third tour with Alex, and there had always been a female scientist along too. Alex finally brought his wife along, Jasmin, though she had little knowledge in the workings of Sol. She was touched he wanted her close, Alex called her his goddess. Green had called her the seventh goddess, and he winked.

 The sun burned hugely on the screen, orange and yellow. Alex was a memory. Jasmine shed a single tear. Bill Green brooded over the loss of a precious heat absorbing thermaline sheet and the synthetic binding they used to tie it. Everything else they kept - Alex was naked as the day he was born under the sheet, which Jasmine insisted on because she thought the images of his arms and legs flopping around in the vacuum of space might be thoroughly undignified. They filmed the entire episode.

Green leaned forward and flipped off the camera and monitor. Then he squeezed Jasmin's arm and let his fingers trail down the side of her stiff wrap, against the curve of her breast and lay it on her thigh.
Jasmin sighed and shot a look of disdain at the second captain. "Really Bill?"

"Too soon? Okay, I really should get started on the paperwork anyway. And you might want to edit that footage and contact CASA." Bill stood stiffly and yawned. "I'm taking work into the slerve. Gotta loosen up some, what a downer."

She stretched out along the unoccupied portion of the couch and close her eyes. "You realize that we'll have to rendezvous now sooner than we thought. Of course without Alex I don't know what kind of mission we can sustain."

Jasmine listened to his voice trail off as Bill rounded a tube corridor. His words faded out, "They'll probably send up another sun guy," something unintelligible, "...have some time until.." something, "...get back to work for now...."

part 2

advertising, aliens, and coffee. Rah!

 did you remember to bring the tickets?

just in time for the Super Bowl

 enjoying a pot of coffee and a favorite novel, The Mote in God's Eye