Note to readers: I am writing this fast to keep my mind occupied, so it’s rougher and error prone in a way i’m usually not. I had to write something or go crazy. I had a project in mind called Archpriest, set in the 14 th century but that time was so ugly and miserable I just couldn’t. Besides, idk enough about the fourteenth century history or Roman Catholocism to do it.
So instead of writing about an ugly, miserable time a I write about a terrifying time set in the future. IDK if that’s better, but at least they didn’t believe the earth was at the center of the universe.
The structure is getting complicated because with as romantic a title as this, I gotta give my readers a great romance. It wont be like Dana and Erik, but it’ll be just as good. I’m trying to write this so all the good guys win, for once but idk if it’ll work. If somebody doesn’t die in a story with any real romance to it, it seems,well ersatz and schmaltzy. I guess you need to remember that love and sex don’t exist for our pleasure and edification but to keep making babies so that our species survives. That’s the nature of evolution. It doesn’t care what we want or feel like. It feels as good as it does only to ensure species survival. But i’m giving away too much. I love your comments. They help me keep writing.
When I disintegrate it doesn’t really hurt but when I am reassembled it hurt like hell and I will have a headache for days. I have no subjective sense of the passing of time and am unconscious until I am completely reassembled. I wonder if when I was vaporized I was dead and came back to life. A good question to dog Hoggins with, since he’s such a red hot Catholic.
There’s a catch beside my knee that opens the canopy and I pull it and sit there for a few moments. It’s about the middle of the day, judging by where the sun is in the summer, which it is here. It’s mild and in the 80s. I’m by a tree at the bottom of the hollow and it looks like i’m close to Lombardi’s house but I know immediately something’s wrong, bad wrong. If I weren’t such an ignorant bastard I would have gone right back but I have a job to save the world and I cant get it done by being a pussy.
So I get out, enable the force field and cloaking device and make sure I have Hoggin’s remote switch. Some kind of module, whatever that is, Hoggins had called it. Something is horribly wrong. It’s because of how this place smells. It’s not like a stinking paper mill or anything associated with the post Industrial revolution. There’s lot of horse shit in the air but I could have mistakenly landed in somebody’s horse farm. But it’s like the reeking of dead, rotting flesh, a lot of it. But what really scares me is the unmistakable metallic smell of blood. Finally, there’s no petrochemical smell of exhaust and I don’t hear any cars. Just the singing of birds. It’s too damned quiet and it stinks.
I climb out of the hollow and what I see could be a Renaissance festival except for the blood. And the tumbrils, the carts of corpses like Dickens wrote about in A Tale of Two Cities. Oh, god, the blood everywhere. I almost soak my pants when I see this jag-off who looks like Errol Flynn playing Robin Hood walking toward me. I have no idea when I am but it’s a long way from Green Bay. My clothes would have been acceptable in 1965 but…
Then the jag-off says, Bonjour, Citizen. And that means the worst of all possible worlds. If he’d said, Bonjour, Monsieur, that wouldnt be as big a deal. But I know from him calling me Citizen that I have come to the worst part of the French Revolution after the radical Jacobins took over and started murdering everybody. For all I know i’m talking to Robespierre himself.
Bonjour, Citizen, he says louder and cocks an eyebrow at my attire.
Uh, uh…Bonjour, Citizen. Comment allez-vous?
Comme ci comme ca, he says with a shrug. I am almost at the limit of my knowledge of French, which is not my favorite language
Venez avec moi, he says and points to the mob behind him. He wants me to go with him, and there’s no way I can let that happen. I know better than to turn my back on these hyenas. I take a few slow, tentative steps backward, then pivot and haul ass. Someone knocks me down and is lifting his foot to stop me when I kick him in the balls with my New Balance Cross Trainer, do a shoulder roll and run like hell. I am going downhill and accelerating but I start giving out. They are gaining on me but at least they’re still behind me and I can only run this fast by putting in my head the picture of my hands around the neck of Willem Defoe Hoggins, Ph.D. in physics from the U of T.
The implant saves my life. I don’t see the ship but sense where it is. In no time I deactivate the shield and cloaking device and get in but the canopy wont close until I sing that song and I just don’t think I have time. A big rock hits my shoulder and I feel a swordblade cut my palm and it’ll probably go septic but the canopy finally closes when I am thru singing. The canopy severs the arm with the sword and it lands in my lap. I push the stick forward and disintegrate again.
The seething migraine i have is bad but i open the canopy and it looks like everybody in Brunswick is here, not just Hoggins and his people. Dillon helps me out and asks questions that i ignore while I get out and walk it off. My palm is still bleeding. When I see Hoggins I yell at him , HEY YOU. YES YOU HOGGINS YOU COCKSUCKER. COME HERE. I GOTTA TALK TO YOU. I stand there and he walks over looking puzzled. Then I wrap my hands around his throat and we go to the floor and five gorillas try to separate us. Then i feel the stick of a needle in my neck and that’s all.