Add a Chapter

[ozbonius_2000]

I believe it has been attempted in this forum before, but I would like to try again. I invite any and all to add a piece to the short work of fiction I started. Feel free to change the point of view, or add characters. Most of all - Have fun. Let's see if we can write a group story.

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Jaren Stromberg walked out of the casino in disbelief. He had just lost a weeks pay at the Dhe tables. The dice were rolling almost unbelievably in his favor until an hour ago. In the last dozen rolls he lost all his winnings and this weeks pay. Nothing to do now but head back to his stateroom aboard the Shady Lady and wait for her departure for Regina in 4 days.

The outer door of the casino latched shut behind him with a harsh ‘click’ that almost seemed to say “Don’t come back ‘til you have more money.” A chilly breeze crept down the neckline of his jacket as he stood for a moment letting his eyes adjust. The dimly lit city street was quite a change from the bright neon interior of the casino. The street was also very quiet, although it was also late. He started walking down the street towards the starport, wishing he had kept enough money for cab fare.

As he turned left down a side street, a man staggered out of a doorway carrying a brief case and crashed into him. There was blood flowing from a hole in the man’s suit jacket and he looked desperately at Jaren. “Whatever you do, don’t let them get a hold of this.” He whispered as he handed Jaren a key ring with two keys on it. He then collapsed to the ground in a heap. Jaren stood in shock for a moment before he heard loud voices yelling right on the other side of the same door the man had come through. It was the back door of a business with a small label that read “1203 Lars, Suite A”. Without thinking, he stuck the key in his pocket, grabbed the man’s briefcase, and ran back out onto the main street he had just come from. As he rounded the corner, he heard the door open again, and the voices grew louder. He didn’t stick around to find out what they were saying.

After zigzagging through the streets for 10 minutes, Jaren stopped at a small, plain looking tavern, “The Red Rum Inn”. He walked through the door, and went straight back to the rest room. The bar was empty with the exception of the bartender, and two customers engrossed in their ale and a Grav-ball game being replayed from earlier in the day. Once in the rest room, Jaren sat down in one of the two stalls, and placed the briefcase on his lap. It was an expensive looking black leather case with gold trim. He clicked the latch to open it, but it was locked. Damn, he cursed to himself, I just can’t win at anything tonight.

Seconds later, he remembered the key ring the man had handed him. He pulled it from the pocket of his jacket where he had stuffed it while running through the streets. Two keys were attached to the ring. One had a small brass tag with “C-476” engraved on it, and the other looked like a key that would fit a suitcase – or perhaps a briefcase. He tried it, and luck was on his side this time. The key fit and made a satisfying ‘thud-pop’ as it turned in the tumblers. He clicked the latch again and it swung upwards. Lifting the top of the briefcase, Jaren looked inside.

The briefcase contained 6 stacks of Cr100 notes, a very fancy blue and gold laser pistol, a large manila envelope containing several papers, and a small metal box with a hinged lid. Inside the box, were 7 rubber stopped glass vials of a blue colored liquid, encased in foam padding. There were no markings on the vials, or the box. As he closed it, Jaren noticed 3 syringes embedded in the foam padding of the lid.

At this point, Jaren realized two things. First, that he couldn’t spend too much time in the bathroom without arousing curiosity or suspicion from the bartender. Second, He needed to get rid of the briefcase. It was the only thing visible that linked him to whoever was chasing the man who had died in front of him. He stuffed the money and the box into the pockets of his pants, and jacket. He folded the envelope in half lengthwise, and slid it into his left boot. He checked the laser pistol and saw that the charge was at the halfway point and put it in the waist of his pants, at the small of his back. He then stuffed the briefcase in the cleaning supply cabinet under the sink, not even noticing his further luck – the cabinet had been left unlocked. He walked back out of the tavern, looking over his shoulder. Not a soul in sight…

 

[far-trader]

Originally posted by GreyHawk:
I believe it has been attempted in this forum before, but I would like to try again. I invite any and all to add a piece to the short work of fiction I started. Feel free to change the point of view, or add characters. Most of all - Have fun. Let's see if we can write a group story.

Cool, and happy to see it attempted again, I have a very brief bit to add before Jaren's hot and cold running luck turns cold again

It may be a bit b-movie cliche but hey its what hit me as the next logical bit, enjoy...


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He walked back out of the tavern, looking over his shoulder. Not a soul in sight, things are looking up he's thinking to himself when an explosion blows out the windows of the tavern which belch a brief spout of fire followed by a steady stream of smoke. The tavern owner and two customers stumble out through the door coughing, and bleeding from several small cuts.

Jaren stares at the unreal scene trying to understand what's going on when the owner of what used to be the Red Rum Inn suddenly stares right at him and screams "There he is, he's the bastard that did this!" The two customers look up the street where the owner is pointing and with a look of death that sends chills right down to Jaren's toes start running towards him. The owner pulls out a locomm and starts talking as the sound of alarms from the street are joined by the closing sound of sirens of emergency vehicles, and no doubt the local law enforcement. Jaren manages to overcome his shock and turns to run, wondering how far it is to the Starport extrality line.

 

[far-trader]

...alrighty then, I'll advance the scene a little further...


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Jaren sprints across the intersection glancing back to see the angry bar patrons gaining on him, a glance that saves him seeing the speeding police hovercar bearing down on him. The hovercar swerves and narrowly misses Jaren, taking down a light standard and his pursuers. Shaking his head Jaren rushes on nearly out of breath and still at least a kilometer from the port. At the next intersection the flashing lights of another approaching police hovercar give Jaren just enough time to jump into a doorway, which turns out to be open to a flight of darkened stairs leading down. Jaren's last conscious thought is who turned off the gravity before his head confirms it is in fact still in effect by hitting the hard cold plascrete at the bottom.

<fade to black>

 

[Ganidirsii O'Flynn]

<cut scene>
Uekharregz started himself awake....
It was a moment before the scent of the building reminded him that he was on-world, at the bottom of the gravity well, at the bottom of his fortunes.

This was not the best of Startown, nor even the best of the backalleys, but he called this space home for the better part of two weeks, and defended it. His fur still showed patches where the pinkie female had pulled hair like a pup. He had given the last of his cash to the woman's whelps when she fled, crying.

This new pinkie had fallen forward into his closet-space's door, opening it to the smells of the night. The iron-scent of fresh blood tinged the air slightly, but the human obviously still lived, from the sound of his breathing.

The vargr had no love for the local guerraghzzueg, as many times as they had rousted him for being a "pirate", but he was also wary of them. Their shock batons made no distinction between flesh and fur. Still, he grabbed the human and drug him into the small space, the door closing fully ten seconds before the lights of the police illuminated the stairwell.

"Check upstairs!" said a voice full of middling charisma.... Steps pounded on the plascrete above.

Betwixt clenched fangs, Uekarreghz whispered,
"Wake up, human! They'll only be fooled for a moment!"

 

[kaladorn]

Ernst leaned back in the pilot's acceleration couch aboard the Shady Lady. He'd had the 'good fortune' to draw bridge watch while they were in port. The Captain wasn't too sure about the local port's security arrangements and so he wanted someone manning the boards. Ernst, being old enough to know what it was like to be younger, let the younger folks head into town on liberty.

Besides, he needed some time to tune his prosthetic. The elbow joint had been giving him problems and the shoulder stump had been fitting a little rough in the socket lately. Time for a new fitting... probably a new left arm.... but that all cost money and the Shady Lady crew weren't exactly TerraCreditaires.

He worked at the elbow servo with a sonic cleaner, working the grit out of the mechanism. The whine meant he had to have the comm channel monitoring the local feed turned up. Of course, he'd usually had it turned up high during his days in the Corps so you could hear it over the creaking of the Battle Dress... that stuff was noisy. Not exactly engineered for creature comforts.

FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH

Local Police called to scene of explosion!
Emergency Services also summoned. Several
persons believed injured and a fire is raging.
More details as they become available.

"Damn. Guess it might not be such a quiet night
after all."

Ernst put away the cleaning tool and pulled himself upright to fetch down some more info about the explosion from the local net, just to keep up to speed on developing events.... and just as a precaution he checked the security monitors too.

"I hope none of our crew were involved. Why do I have the feeling that's a vain hope?"


We always seem to attract trouble.....

 

[Shadowdancer]

The third-level apartment is dark. The only light comes from a red neon sign flashing outside, striping the walls through the partially closed blinds, and the bluish glow of Kiirran's laptop computer screen. The laptop sits on a cheap plastiwood desk in the room's far corner, as far from the window as possible so the light from the screen won't be visable from the street.

The room is quiet. The only noise comes from outside its badly faded walls; the forlorn wail of a baby crying somewhere down the hall, and the rhythmic squeaking of an old bedspring in the room overhead as its occupants work diligently at bringing some satisfaction into their dreary lives.

Frell, that's their third time tonight, she thinks as she continues to moniter the laptop's screen. They're worse than frellin' rabbits. Give it a rest, people. Some of us are trying to do a job.

The room also stinks, Kiirran thinks, trying to refocus on the computer screen. The smell of cheap perfume, old cigarettes, stale beer and Vargr urine make her eyes water. I'll never get used to that smell, she thinks. After all those years dancing in the startown strip clubs and belter bars, you'd think I would be used to it.

Just then, a small red light begins to blink on the screen. It shows up in high contrast to the black lines on the screen, a map of the street below and the surrounding neighborhood. Without taking her eyes off the screen, Kiirran says aloud, "He's taken the bait."

Across the room, a figure detaches itself from the shadows and walks nearer the window. The figure is a large, muscular black man with a shaved-bald head. He stops behind the chair of the other man already watching out the window. This man, the one seated, is smaller, but no less muscled. His hair is black, straight and long, pulled back into a ponytail reaching halfway down his back. Both are dressed in surplus military fatigues.

The black man raises a pair of night-vision binoculars to his eyes and begins scanning the street below. The other man picks up a .50 cal Instellarms sniper rifle with electronic sights and gentle places it into the cradle of some pre-positioned sandbags resting on a small table set back from the window. When the man lays his cheek against the padded stock of the rifle and squints through the scope with his right eye, the barrel of the rifle rests less than a meter from the sill of the half-open window.

"You should be able to see him . . . now," Kiirran says from her corner, the light from the laptop washing out her skin as she hunches over, giving her a ghostly appearance as she stares intently at the screen.

"I see him," the black man says, watching the street as Jaren goes running past their perch, a briefcase clutched in his hand.

"So do I," says the ponytailed man, peering through the rifle's scope. "He's stopped. Now he's going into . . . is that the Red Rum Inn?"

"Yeah, that's the Red Rum," the black man says, watching.

"He's opened the case, and the box," Kiirran says a few moments later. "I'm activating the bomb." She continues watching her screen as a blinking pinprick of yellow light joins the red one on her screen, overlapping slightly. Soon the two lights seperate, and the red one begins to move away from the stationary yellow. "Smart boy. He left the case behind. OK, he's coming out."

"The Walrus is going to be pissed," says the black man, chuckling softly.

"T minus 10 to explosion," Kiirran says as she triggers the detonation sequence. Both men look away from the window and shield their eyes, to preserve their limited night vision.

An explosion rips through the night, briefly turning the darkness as bright as day. The sound stuns the rest of the neighborhood into silence.

"He's moving again," Kiirran says. The two men resume their observation of the street.

"Hunting Owl, do you see those two men, the ones who came out of the Red Rum with The Walrus?" the black man asks.

"I see them," the sniper replies.

"They're probably going to chase our boy. If they get too close, take them down."

"Right, Lieutenant" Hunting Owl says as the black man's prediction comes true. "I've got the fastest one framed."

"How many times I have to tell you: we're not in the Marines any more, no more ranks, Master Sergeant," the black man chuckles again. "You roger that?"

Hunting Owl laughs softly. "Roger, Mr. Johnson."

"It looks like he's rabbiting straight for the starport," Kiirran says as the blinking red light moves across her screen. She clicks the keyboard a few times, causing the map to scroll down so she can keep up with Jaren.

As the police hovercar takes out Jaren's pursuit, Johnson chuckles softly again. How long will his luck hold? he thinks.

Hunting Owl and Johnson watch in silence as Jaren disappears into a dark doorway. As police vehicles converge on the spot, they both turn from the window. "Time to go," Johnson says as he walks over to the room's unused bed and throws his binoculars into a black duffle bag. Next to the window he hears Hunting Owl breaking down the sniper rifle and placing the components into a large, black padded case. He looks toward the corner to see that Kiirran has already slipped her laptop into a black padded backpack which is now slung across her right shoulder. In her left hand is a silenced body pistol.

Johnson picks up the duffle bag, then the silenced submachinegun with the collapsed stock which was also lying on the bed. He looks at Hunting Owl, who is carrying his rifle case as well as a silenced autopistol.

"Let's move out," Johnson says.

Kiirran opens the door to the room just a hair and checks the hallway outside. She nods to the two men, indicating the way is clear. She then opens the door and walks briskly out into the hall, followed closely by Hunting Owl. Johnson brings up the rear. They walk to the end of the hall, through a previously deactivated emergency door, down three flights of stairs, out a side door and disappear into the night.

 

[ozbonius_2000]

The Grav-car pulled up outside a plain, dull colored 4-story building that spanned the length of the block and lowered down to the pavement. There were three men inside, one was middle aged and sat in the back. The two in the front seats were younger.

“You sure this is the place?” The older man, in the back asked the driver. He was staring at the nondescript building, alternating his glance between the two doors. It was an old building that appeared brown in the soft light from the dual moons, Glastius and Herot, hanging low in the night sky.

“Yes Sir, Mr. Graughan, Lacent is the door on the left.” The driver answered, pointing. He then glanced at the onboard nav-screen, which displayed a map of the area. Above the map was a small text field which read “1203 Lars, Suite A”.

The three men got out of the vehicle and walked up to the front door. Mr. Graughan walked behind the other two. He wore a mustache and goatee. He was dressed in a quite expensive looking suit, and shoes buffed to a high gloss, visible even in the dim light cast by the streetlights and the moons. The two younger men were both very stocky. One had brown hair in a crew cut, and the other had very dark colored skin and shoulder length black hair streaked with a bit of gray. These two both wore suits that looked somewhat cheap and ill-fitting on their muscular forms. The only indication that they were at the right place was a small sign on the metal door, which read “Lacent Labs, Inc.”.

The man with the crew cut reached into his jacket and produced first an automatic pistol and then a set of keys. He was reaching to fit the key in the lock on the door, when a flash of light from somewhere behind the men briefly lit up the night. A loud blast followed within a couple seconds.

“What the hell was that, Jon?” Crew cut asked the man next to him, as he instinctively raised his automatic.

“I don’t know, Oz, but it’s nowhere near here.” Answered the other, drawing his own weapon, a short revolver. Both looked at Mr. Graughan who said nothing as he glanced down at his gold wrist-chronometer. He did not seem the least bit surprised or worried as he told Oz to hurry and open the door. Just before the three men stepped through the door, sirens could be heard wailing in the distance.

The door opened onto a small office. The interior was dark and quiet. The only illumination came from the light mounted outside the building and above the door. There was a large wooden desk set against one wall. Shards of glass and plastic from what used to be the computer monitor littered the otherwise empty desktop. Next to the desk was a large file cabinet, every drawer of which was hanging open. There were folders and papers scattered all over the floor around it. There was a door on the wall opposite the street entrance. Mr. Graughan snapped his fingers and pointed at it.

“Quickly, Oz.” He whispered pointing at the keys in the other’s hand, and then again at the interior door. Oz complied, and opened the second door, after he and Jon positioned themselves on either side of it. They peered into another dark room, and then Jon flipped the switch for the lights in the office. Both rooms were immediately bathed in cold white light from the overheads.

The second room was long and rectangular. There was a large workbench along the left wall covered with electronic test equipment, several glass beakers and test tubes in racks, and a few bottles of chemicals. At the far end of the bench was a heat plate built into the surface. There was a stack of papers on the plate, which glowed amber with heat. Sitting on the papers was a liter size bottle of clear fluid. There was a small pool of blood on the floor in the center of the room, and spatters leading to the door at the far end.

“Gentlemen, get back to the car quickly.” Mr. Graughan said, a moment before the papers on the heat plate ignited. “And get me a news feed on the vid. I want to know where that explosion was.” As he stepped out onto the street again, with his henchmen following, he pulled a locomm out of his breast pocket and began speaking into it quietly…

 

[kaladorn]

Uekharregz shook the human again. The human moaned, but didn't awaken. Apparently the tumble had damaged the human more seriously than Uekharregz first thought.

How do I always land in hot water?

Uekharregz knew he had to get the human to a doctor, some kind of human-doctor that could take a look at the nasty looking red and purple lump on his pale, insufficiently-furred head.

What am I getting myself into? It isn't like I don't already have enough trouble with the gzevuzh-damned authorities!

In quickly examining the human, Uekharregz noted something else - the human was wearing a comm-dot. The dot was inactive (turned off, mostly likely). But you it surely marked this human as unusual. The blaster he was carrying certainly didn't do anything to dispel that first notion.

His keen ears picked up the sounds of someone approaching his door.

The best thing to do is probably give them the pink-skin. Then again, if they are trying to clean up, maybe they will figure nobody would miss a hard-luck Vargr.... so maybe giving up the pinkie wasn't such a good idea.

If I don't give him up, I'd better hide his tail and my own.

Uekharregz made sure the bolt on his cheap door was thrown and dragged the human out of sight, into the small fresher. He too hid there, for fear that the men outside would be giving the main cell of the small appartment a thorough looking over.

As he hid in the fresher, door pulled nearly to, only open a small crack, he clutched the human's blaster slightly awkwardly.

Not a comfortable grip, but I am sure it will work well enough if things turn ugly.

 

[far-trader]

In the dark the two uniformed patrol nearly miss the stairs cut down into the end of the block apartment, no doubt once only a route to the service level in the basement for repairmen, but the hiss of something in the darkness below draws first the light from one and then the curiosity of the other...

"Wha thin?"

"Mayb."

"Got ya num."

"Fad."

The first cop moves quietly down the steps with his light on the Tark, holding it frozen in the light. At the bottom he squashes the 20cm insect with his boot, grinding it to a paste that he scraps off on the bottom step. His partner joins him and they take up entry stances on each side of the door.

The first uniform slaps a Speak on the old steel door and raps with his Equalizer. The Speak amplifies his voice through the door and booms in the small apartment "POLICER, OPEN UP!"

The two cops study the acoustic feedback scan from the Speak, the room looks empty but the audio is picking up faint breathing.

"Wha thin?"

"You point."

"Fad."

The second uniform peels and places a Melter where the scan shows a primitive but solid deadbolt and in a second the intense local heat melts it before the rest of the door can even glow red or the wood frame char. She pushes the door open easy and enters aiming where the breathing was located while her partner covers from the door.

Jaren moans again and opens his eyes, blinking the stars away, trying to figure out what he's looking up at. Kinda hairy, longish, a big wet pinkish thing sticking out one side that quickly disappears inside it and BIG SHARP TEETH!!?

With a start he tries to jump up and hits the Vargr's muzzle with his head causing them both to curse in their respective languages. Uekharregz fumbles with the blaster nearly dropping it and accidentally firing it into the floor of the fresher, causing even more cursing from the Vargr, joined by some from the police outside who start firing darts into the fresher at an alarming rate.

Fortunately the blaster shot hit a structural member in the floor. Weakened and rusted with time and the sloppily installed fresher, it collapses, taking the floor, with Uekharregz and Jaren sprawled on it, down into the sub-basement.

Above the cops reload the now empty clips of their Equalizers and train them on the many pin-holed door to the fresher. Ominous creaks and snaps are heard and suddenly the ceiling starts to fall in, begining in the corner over the fresher and quickly spreading, the cops run for the street as the apartment above the basement suddenly becomes the new basement room, with a double high ceiling.

Meanwhile down below in the flooded sub-basement a very wet and cold Vargr is fuming and contemplating murder on the human beside him in the filth, if only he hadn't dropped that blaster in the fall, good luck finding it now he thinks. Uekharregz begins to look and listen for a way out of this mess.

Jaren, confused and dazed, fumbles around in the mucky water, "Don't shoot! Where am I? What's going on! You want money, I have some money, here, its yours." He scrabbles in his pocket and pulls out one of the cash bundles. Holding it out to the Vargr he goes on, "Here, its all I've got, just don't hurt me."

 

[kaladorn]

Uekharregz regarded the pinkie.... the pinkie was holding out a packet which he claimed was a packet of money. About the right size, but hard to see in the poor lighting of the half flooded basement.

Stupid Pinkie thinks I want his money.

Uekharregz tried his Galanglic, despite his halting command of the language and the difficulties his canine facial structure had in forming some of the sounds.

"Rrr.... Keep... Money.... Pinkie..."

The human was clearly confused. He halfway retracted the offered packet, but he seemed to be feeling around in the darkness for something.

Uekharregz wondered if the Pinkie thought he'd find the blaster in the wreckage. And what he'd manage to do with it was anydog's guess.

Uekharregz reached out a paw and grabbed the human by the scruff of the jacket, hauling him upright.

"Rrr...Move...Away...Rrr..."

I hate the pinkie-speak. Too tight... too slow and uncomfortable.

Uekharregz pointed to the ceiling, where the creaking sounds had not subsided, then to the back of the basement, where there appeared to be some form of exit. The human seemed to figure out that it was worth a dog's life and perhaps a human's too, to stick around until the whole thing collapsed on their heads.

Uekharregz pushed the human towards the exit, and they both staggered through the remnants in the partially flooded basement with no small amount of haste....

 

[ozbonius_2000]

The Grav-car lifted and sped away. From his position in the back seat, Mr. Graughan watched as the building, which sat at 1203 Lars, quickly became engulfed in flames. The door the 3 men had exited was bowed and warped from the heat, hanging open. Fire curled up and out the opening and licked the side of the building above it. The light above the door exploded in the intense heat.

“Boss, I got it.” Jon said excitedly, while working at the in-dash computer. “The explosion was at a pub called the Red Rum Inn. I’m plotting it now.”

“Let’s get there quickly but discreetly, Oz.” Mr. Graughan said to his driver. “I don’t want to draw any attention to us.”

“Right, Sir.” Oz replied while looking at the nav-screen, which displayed the new destination, called up by Jon.

The vehicle made it’s way to the Red Rum, It’s occupants listening to the wail of sirens increasing in volume as they approached. As they came around an office building at the end of the block, the night was replaced by a bright orange glare. The Red Rum was going to be a complete loss. There was but a fiery skeleton of the building left, surrounded by emergency vehicles.

“Oz, I want to circle around the entire block.” Mr. Graughan ordered. “And both of you keep your eyes out for anything out of the ordinary.”

Oz continued past the remnants of the Red Rum to the end of the block. He was just preparing to turn left, when across the street a run down apartment building began to collapse on itself. Two policemen with weapons drawn came barreling out of a door at the end of the building, both looking very surprised and shaken. Mr. Graughan snapped his fingers and pointed in their direction, as he ordered Oz to circle the crumbling building.

As they came around to the other end of the building, which was coming down quickly, Jon noticed and reported two figures exiting a stairwell that opened up to the street from below. Both were moving way too quickly to have been just awakened by their apartment collapsing on them. One had a loping gait that unmistakably identified him has Vargr. This one seemed to be dragging the other with him. It was hard to see more than that, as this end of the building was far enough from the flames of the Red Rum, and shadowed from the moons by a much taller building. Mr. Graughan quietly told Oz to follow these two curious figures. He then pulled out the locomm, and again spoke into it.

“I think we have acquired our target.” He stated, giving their coordinates as he leaned forward to read them off the nav-screen.

“Excellent, I want that serum if it hasn’t been destroyed.” Replied the voice on the other end. “Follow, but do not alert them. There has been more than enough carnage already. This whole frigging city is going to come down if we’re not careful.”

 

[ozbonius_2000]

I really can't wait to find out what type of Serum is in those vials, If they weren't blown up in the earlier explosion... Someone please tell me where the stuff came from please, oh pretty please...