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Where's my ride at?
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Showing posts with label Evinrud. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Evinrud. Show all posts
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Evinrud - 18
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The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie
Part 5 of 5
They come at me together. I catch a glint of the metal in Duey’s hand before my kick lands him flat on his face. Huey gets a punch to the throat and backs away in a choke.
‘You shouldn’t play with knives’ I say to Duey, who has nicked himself on the cheek with his own blade. ‘But I won’t hold my breath waiting,’ I say to Huey as he begins turning blue
Gabriel is always criticizing my smart mouth in these situations but I can’t seem to help myself. Call it adrenalin wit, but it’s about the only time I’m capable of joking.
Now the old lady has magiced up a broomstick and is swatting me with it. I try to think of what to say to her, instead I find myself grabbing the broom off her and breaking it over my knee. I give her a stare and she retreats to her doorway. What is the old bird’s problem.
The Triad suits are up now and come at me together again, knives out. Their signature move, didn’t work the first time.
‘Guess it’s time to clean up’ I say discarding the brush end of the broom.
Huey gets the broom handle to the face and Duey gets a reverse sweep taking out his legs. They are both down, but it’s got to be finished, so I take Duey out with the handle to the side of the head. He’s stone cold out of it. He’s the smaller one so I figure Huey can drag him out of here if need be.
The latter is trying to pull himself up holding his face still mute from the throat punch. I pick up his discarded blade and place my boot down on his chest with some force.
The old lady is complicating things again, she’s screaming something at me and this time she’s waving an umbrella.
I ignore her and hold the knife up to Huey’s throat. Leaning in with my most sinister expression I whisper, ‘There needn’t have been any trouble. You’ve got a half a minute to pick up your friend and get the hell out of here.’ Heuy’s lips are moving like he’s praying.
I’ve barely finishing speaking when the building’s front door swings open and the most beautiful creature I have ever seen steps through. She’s fiddling around in her purse but when she looks down and stares at me it feels like eternity. Eventually she breaks eye contact and I hear Huey gasping for air under me.
She looks at Huey and Duey, recognition and confusion crossing her face and then at the old woman.
The old woman is frantic now, screaming at the girl to go inside but she is frozen in place.
I snap out it and focus my attention on Huey again ‘Do you understand?’ He nods so I loosen the pressure on his chest slightly. I pat him down for weapons. Nothing, obviously didn’t think they would need much against one old lady.
‘That was foreplay, one more wrong move and you’re f*#$ed, okay,’
Huey nods again so I release him and step away, standing close to the girl.
It takes Huey a while to get Duey to his feet. He keeps losing his grip on him, bringing them both down. It’s like watching one of those olden day comedy sketches, the three stooges reduced to two.
The girl is standing still beside me, the old lady sobbing at her front door.
Eventually they reach the buildings front door, it’s shutting behind them when Huey finally gets his breath and balls back calling out ‘You’re f*#$ed motherf*#$er, f*#$ed, you hear me’.
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-‘You shouldn’t play with knives’ I say to Duey, who has nicked himself on the cheek with his own blade. ‘But I won’t hold my breath waiting,’ I say to Huey as he begins turning blue
Gabriel is always criticizing my smart mouth in these situations but I can’t seem to help myself. Call it adrenalin wit, but it’s about the only time I’m capable of joking.
Now the old lady has magiced up a broomstick and is swatting me with it. I try to think of what to say to her, instead I find myself grabbing the broom off her and breaking it over my knee. I give her a stare and she retreats to her doorway. What is the old bird’s problem.
The Triad suits are up now and come at me together again, knives out. Their signature move, didn’t work the first time.
‘Guess it’s time to clean up’ I say discarding the brush end of the broom.
Huey gets the broom handle to the face and Duey gets a reverse sweep taking out his legs. They are both down, but it’s got to be finished, so I take Duey out with the handle to the side of the head. He’s stone cold out of it. He’s the smaller one so I figure Huey can drag him out of here if need be.
The latter is trying to pull himself up holding his face still mute from the throat punch. I pick up his discarded blade and place my boot down on his chest with some force.
The old lady is complicating things again, she’s screaming something at me and this time she’s waving an umbrella.
I ignore her and hold the knife up to Huey’s throat. Leaning in with my most sinister expression I whisper, ‘There needn’t have been any trouble. You’ve got a half a minute to pick up your friend and get the hell out of here.’ Heuy’s lips are moving like he’s praying.
I’ve barely finishing speaking when the building’s front door swings open and the most beautiful creature I have ever seen steps through. She’s fiddling around in her purse but when she looks down and stares at me it feels like eternity. Eventually she breaks eye contact and I hear Huey gasping for air under me.
She looks at Huey and Duey, recognition and confusion crossing her face and then at the old woman.
The old woman is frantic now, screaming at the girl to go inside but she is frozen in place.
I snap out it and focus my attention on Huey again ‘Do you understand?’ He nods so I loosen the pressure on his chest slightly. I pat him down for weapons. Nothing, obviously didn’t think they would need much against one old lady.
‘That was foreplay, one more wrong move and you’re f*#$ed, okay,’
Huey nods again so I release him and step away, standing close to the girl.
It takes Huey a while to get Duey to his feet. He keeps losing his grip on him, bringing them both down. It’s like watching one of those olden day comedy sketches, the three stooges reduced to two.
The girl is standing still beside me, the old lady sobbing at her front door.
Eventually they reach the buildings front door, it’s shutting behind them when Huey finally gets his breath and balls back calling out ‘You’re f*#$ed motherf*#$er, f*#$ed, you hear me’.
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Wednesday, October 7, 2009
Evinrud - 17
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This alley is so narrow I can touch the sides. Fire escape landings and street signs bunt overhead so I can barely see the night’s sky. I’m out of the crowd, but now the buildings are making me claustrophobic.
And... I’m being followed.
Two men trailed me into the alley, less than a minute behind. Their voices are low but there’s an echo, every now and then I pick up on a bit of their conversation. What I’m hearing isn’t good. They sound like they’re Triad on the job. They’re discussing ammunition. But why me? Maybe the sauce man was connected, someone who didn’t like to be f&*%ed with. It’s not as if I knocked him over intentionally!
I guess I’m not all that concerned. I can take care of myself. It’s just the complication I don’t need. I’ll play it cool for a while, pick up the pace for a bit and duck into a foyer the first chance I get.
These must be Beijing’s poorest residential buildings. They’re not slums but they’re a world apart from the uber skyscrapers that house the cities new rich.
All of the doors I pass are dead-locked and some are even chained. I’m not ready to stop for a locked door and let Huey and Duey catch up with me yet . A middle-aged couple appears out of nowhere and I step aside and bow politely. Behind them an entrance door is swinging shut. I grab it before the lock clicks. Bingo.
Inside there’s a single elevator, a stair well and three apartment doors. They must be absolute shoeboxes if they’ve fit three of them into the ground floor of this building.
The door locks behind me and I duck into the stair well to wait it out. It’s definitely not going to be my night though. It can’t have been two minutes when I hear the door buzz and click open. I take a peak, it’s Huey and Duey, somebody has bloody let them in!
I breathe in and breathe out but neither of them looks my way. Instead they approach one of the ground floor apartment doors. It’s opened by a scared old lady.
They’re not after me. They’re asking her about someone, but she keeps shaking her head. She is offering them cash. Whatever it is, its not enough. One of them knocks it out of her hand, the other pulls a knife.
F*#%, I can’t just stand here and watch a couple of thugs cut up an old lady.
‘Leave the lady, no trouble.’ I say, stepping out of the shadow of the stairwell.
The one with the knife is so surprised he drops it on the ground. The other one yells at him to pick it up. Then they all start screaming indiscriminately at me, Huey, Duey and the old lady.
My Mandarin is too basic to have any real idea what they are all saying now, but when Duey’s right hand slips under his left lapel I know exactly what’s going to happen next.
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And... I’m being followed.
Two men trailed me into the alley, less than a minute behind. Their voices are low but there’s an echo, every now and then I pick up on a bit of their conversation. What I’m hearing isn’t good. They sound like they’re Triad on the job. They’re discussing ammunition. But why me? Maybe the sauce man was connected, someone who didn’t like to be f&*%ed with. It’s not as if I knocked him over intentionally!
I guess I’m not all that concerned. I can take care of myself. It’s just the complication I don’t need. I’ll play it cool for a while, pick up the pace for a bit and duck into a foyer the first chance I get.
These must be Beijing’s poorest residential buildings. They’re not slums but they’re a world apart from the uber skyscrapers that house the cities new rich.
All of the doors I pass are dead-locked and some are even chained. I’m not ready to stop for a locked door and let Huey and Duey catch up with me yet . A middle-aged couple appears out of nowhere and I step aside and bow politely. Behind them an entrance door is swinging shut. I grab it before the lock clicks. Bingo.
Inside there’s a single elevator, a stair well and three apartment doors. They must be absolute shoeboxes if they’ve fit three of them into the ground floor of this building.
The door locks behind me and I duck into the stair well to wait it out. It’s definitely not going to be my night though. It can’t have been two minutes when I hear the door buzz and click open. I take a peak, it’s Huey and Duey, somebody has bloody let them in!
I breathe in and breathe out but neither of them looks my way. Instead they approach one of the ground floor apartment doors. It’s opened by a scared old lady.
They’re not after me. They’re asking her about someone, but she keeps shaking her head. She is offering them cash. Whatever it is, its not enough. One of them knocks it out of her hand, the other pulls a knife.
F*#%, I can’t just stand here and watch a couple of thugs cut up an old lady.
‘Leave the lady, no trouble.’ I say, stepping out of the shadow of the stairwell.
The one with the knife is so surprised he drops it on the ground. The other one yells at him to pick it up. Then they all start screaming indiscriminately at me, Huey, Duey and the old lady.
My Mandarin is too basic to have any real idea what they are all saying now, but when Duey’s right hand slips under his left lapel I know exactly what’s going to happen next.
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Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Evinrud - 16
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The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie
Part 3 of 5
Making my way to a club in the San Li Tun. Four MRT stops south and two blocks on foot. It’s called Bada Hutong, after Beijing’s 18th century red light district. Last year one of the owners wanted to rebrand it The Silicon Suite. Something to do with the electronics industry and money and all that fake tit, but Bada Hutong is an institution , the name stuck.
‘The funny thing is neither name is meant to be ironic,’ Gabriel had laughed when he told me the story.
It’s a pretty exclusive men’s club, probably the most exclusive open smorgasbord of pussy in Beijing, but I’m not really experienced enough to know for sure.
I’ve been there twice with G and once on my own. Hopefully they recognize me. I doubt they get many patrons rocking up to the front door on foot but there’s a company ID and plenty of money in my pocket.
It’s probably not what G meant when he said ‘find a girl’ but what am I supposed to do?
I’ve always been a loner…. never had much to say. In bootcamp I was everyone’s favourite s%&t taker, for a while at least.
‘Your looks are wasted on you man, do you even like skirt?’
‘Reece is too busy making love to the mirror to make love to a girl.’
‘What do you really like doing with that boot polish pretty boy.’
They called me ‘Priss’… and that was to my face. Eventually I cracked it and beat the cr*p out of one of them in the mess hall. They left me alone after that. And it was that incident that drew Gabriel’s attention.
Right now I can see my face reflected in the window of the MRT. Two seats back there’s a hot girl with red lips and pale skin and one of those new-age blunt hair cuts. Our eyes meet in the glass for a second before I turn away.
I suppose I could smile. Wring my lips into an encouraging upturned curve…but what good would that do? The minute she started talking to me I would freeze… fall on my face like a got shot bunny.
At least when you pay for it you don’t need to make conversation.
It’s my stop. The girl with the hair cut watches me as I step out onto the platform and into the crowd. Another date I’ll never have.
Street level is a swarming mass of bodies. The night markets are packed and my supposed fifteen minute walk is becoming more of a thirty minute shove. Crowd maneuvering is clearly another skill in which I’m lacking. On an air motor, the only thing you need to dodge is the architecture.
I’m pushed onto a side street and into a man carrying a box of sauce bottles. The sound of breaking glass and high pitched Mandarin follows. And there’s a friggen dark glob of wet stinking sauce soaking into my left book.
‘F*#k,’ I scream, which puts an end to the high pitched Mandarin. The man I knocked in to is now picking up the handful of bottles that survived the accident. He is avoiding looking at me.
I don’t know where it comes from, this sudden anger that scares the hell out of it’s witnesses.
I pull a couple of large bank notes out of my pocket and place them in front of the surprised fellow. I can see a south facing alley a little further up the side street. It’s a far more appealing option than heading back to the main drag.
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Friday, September 4, 2009
Evinrud - 15
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The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie
Part 2 of 5
So I’m sans air-motor and stalking the streets. It’s been my home for the past three years but it’s a new city to me. A different Beijing from the one I knew riding the airmotor or gazing out the window of a stretch or company vehicle.
The intensity surprises me. The smells, the sounds, the people, there’s an energy you can’t ignore, it’s right in your face.
‘Pretty boy walking’ the sheboys on Eighty-Eighth Street have started to call out whenever I get too close. They’re less than a block from my building and I didn’t even know they existed before this week.
Tomorrow it will be six weeks exactly from the date of the crash. Forty-two days since we rained hell on the outskirts of town.
They tell me that physically I’m pretty much healed. I’m training three hours a day with the physio, two hours with the kendo master. There’s a couple of nasty looking scars on my torso, which the company doc says I can have cosmetically faded in time. I think I’ll keep them as a reminder.
This extended ‘holiday’ is a result of my weakened mental state. The Doc says my thought processes have become too reliant on the Cy and that I need my mind to heal from the trauma of the crash alone.
First time in four years they’ve worried about that. Something stinks.
Last week they gave me two days in the pulse with Evinrud. The Doc and a couple of scientists poked around the whole time, testing us. But it was so routine it was suspicious.
We were fine. If anything we were better than fine…..stronger. The air-motor was pretty messed up in the crash. They completely replaced the panel work and both auxiliary engines, of course. But something else had changed. The white coats had altered the Cy, upgraded more than just his body.
Bin the crafty bugger started sprouting about hybrid genetic tissue adaptation and improved bioengineering. He knows I’m a dumb cluck, he likes to put me in my place by confusing me. The white coats said nothing.
Evinrud is the only one who could express it to me and he was holding back aswell. He was definitely faster than pre-crash and the connection felt tight almost immediately. It used to take us days training in the pulse to reach that level of physical harmony.
Then they took him away.
Now instead of Evinrud I’ve got a bloody colostomy bag thing connected to my intravenous legrope. Thank f*$% I only need to wear it when I sleep.
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The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie
Part 2 of 5
So I’m sans air-motor and stalking the streets. It’s been my home for the past three years but it’s a new city to me. A different Beijing from the one I knew riding the airmotor or gazing out the window of a stretch or company vehicle.
The intensity surprises me. The smells, the sounds, the people, there’s an energy you can’t ignore, it’s right in your face.
‘Pretty boy walking’ the sheboys on Eighty-Eighth Street have started to call out whenever I get too close. They’re less than a block from my building and I didn’t even know they existed before this week.
Tomorrow it will be six weeks exactly from the date of the crash. Forty-two days since we rained hell on the outskirts of town.
They tell me that physically I’m pretty much healed. I’m training three hours a day with the physio, two hours with the kendo master. There’s a couple of nasty looking scars on my torso, which the company doc says I can have cosmetically faded in time. I think I’ll keep them as a reminder.
This extended ‘holiday’ is a result of my weakened mental state. The Doc says my thought processes have become too reliant on the Cy and that I need my mind to heal from the trauma of the crash alone.
First time in four years they’ve worried about that. Something stinks.
Last week they gave me two days in the pulse with Evinrud. The Doc and a couple of scientists poked around the whole time, testing us. But it was so routine it was suspicious.
We were fine. If anything we were better than fine…..stronger. The air-motor was pretty messed up in the crash. They completely replaced the panel work and both auxiliary engines, of course. But something else had changed. The white coats had altered the Cy, upgraded more than just his body.
Bin the crafty bugger started sprouting about hybrid genetic tissue adaptation and improved bioengineering. He knows I’m a dumb cluck, he likes to put me in my place by confusing me. The white coats said nothing.
Evinrud is the only one who could express it to me and he was holding back aswell. He was definitely faster than pre-crash and the connection felt tight almost immediately. It used to take us days training in the pulse to reach that level of physical harmony.
Then they took him away.
Now instead of Evinrud I’ve got a bloody colostomy bag thing connected to my intravenous legrope. Thank f*$% I only need to wear it when I sleep.
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Monday, August 17, 2009
Evinrud - 14
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The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie
The Difference Between a Secret and a Lie
Part1 of 5
Conversation # G (Gabriel) R (Reece)
G: That’s all I can tell you.
R: Can or will?
G: Makes no difference kid. That’s the way it’s going to be.
R: It makes a difference to me.
G: I can’t afford to be sentimental here Reece, neither can you.
R: Sentimental? What about f*9%ing honourable.
G: Honourable to what? To you? To me? What do you think it is we do here?
You’ve got eight, maybe twelve weeks leave full pay plus bonus. Quit your BS and enjoy it.
R: Don’t bonus me, I f*9%en earned that money, almost gave my life for it.
G: And don’t forget who saved it.
R: I suppose I should be eternally grateful.
G: Right now I’d be grateful if you would get out of my face. Have some time off, find a girl, do something normal.
R: While I watch my back for some old bastard I don’t know squat about to ride up on his black dual for a bit of pay back! What’ll l I do when I see him, get out my joggers and run for it?
G: Don't be paranoid. You’ve got nothing to worry about. We have your back.
R: I’m supposed to trust you on that.
G: Don’t trust me. Trust that you’re an investment. We protect our investments.
R: What about you Gabriel, are you an investment or some sort of f*9%ing mignon?
G: You’re too old for tantrums Reece. And you need to smarten the f*9% up. Know who your enemy is before you start the accusations. Don’t open doors you’re not ready to enter.
R: So that’s the way it is then.
G: Like I said before, that’s the way it’s going to be.
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G: That’s all I can tell you.
R: Can or will?
G: Makes no difference kid. That’s the way it’s going to be.
R: It makes a difference to me.
G: I can’t afford to be sentimental here Reece, neither can you.
R: Sentimental? What about f*9%ing honourable.
G: Honourable to what? To you? To me? What do you think it is we do here?
You’ve got eight, maybe twelve weeks leave full pay plus bonus. Quit your BS and enjoy it.
R: Don’t bonus me, I f*9%en earned that money, almost gave my life for it.
G: And don’t forget who saved it.
R: I suppose I should be eternally grateful.
G: Right now I’d be grateful if you would get out of my face. Have some time off, find a girl, do something normal.
R: While I watch my back for some old bastard I don’t know squat about to ride up on his black dual for a bit of pay back! What’ll l I do when I see him, get out my joggers and run for it?
G: Don't be paranoid. You’ve got nothing to worry about. We have your back.
R: I’m supposed to trust you on that.
G: Don’t trust me. Trust that you’re an investment. We protect our investments.
R: What about you Gabriel, are you an investment or some sort of f*9%ing mignon?
G: You’re too old for tantrums Reece. And you need to smarten the f*9% up. Know who your enemy is before you start the accusations. Don’t open doors you’re not ready to enter.
R: So that’s the way it is then.
G: Like I said before, that’s the way it’s going to be.
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Sunday, May 31, 2009
EVINRUD - 13
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Feel pretty crap. Try not to show it. Still not fully conscious. Shitload of drugs pumping through my veins. According to the Monitor I’m supposed to be grateful I’m alive. Whatever. All I know is my ribs hurt like a bastard and my legs ache from all the strain.
I was brought out of coma yesterday into this white room. Out for over a month. Touch and go for the first two days but once I was out of danger my body apparently recovered quickly. The automated physio getting more intense as my broken bones healed. And now I’m in some kind of muscle suit that’s supposed to get me back in synch. This information is fed to me by a straight faced medico on the Monitor, he described himself as a trauma surgeon.
It was definitely traumatic. I can’t remember the crash…. just the missiles and him… the other Rider. But where the hell did He come from? Doc on the Monitor says not to force the memories, let everything come back in its own time. Fuck that. I need to know what happened, who he was…. who he is. I need Evinrud.
Gabriel came last night. He passed me the Katana and a new pair of black loafers via hermetic seal. Then he sat in the room outside and spoke to me through the door. Nice touch. Says they don’t want to risk infection, my lungs still weak. Same excuse for this unit strapped to my leg, feeding nanotechs into my blood like I’m still connected. They reckon I need it while I recover. I smell bullshit, they’re avoiding telling me something.
G didn’t say much, ‘too soon, you need to get well, not the right environment’. Half dead I could pick he was hedging. My mentor, my fucking friend. Apparently it was him that pulled us out of the wreckage. Can I trust him?
The Monitor says Evinrud is fully repaired. Good old Bin, crafty bugger but he knows what he’s doing with the cy-engine. Forty storey drop and our connection never severed. Probably all that saved me from dying of blood loss.
It says they’re reconnecting us tomorrow. Testing nerve conditions and sensitivity and if I get the green light I can ditch the bag on the leg and get the real thing. Evinrud. Two weeks in the pulse have gotta be better than the robotic limb pummeling I’m getting now.
I need to think, try to figure this shit out. Never been any good at it though, always better at running than cerebral processing. But something tells me that I can’t run from this. And who the fuck can I trust?
Maybe I just I need to let off some steam. G said they would offer me leave once I was well. This time around I’ll take it. Boot shopping and a few beers, back to life presents to myself.
I was brought out of coma yesterday into this white room. Out for over a month. Touch and go for the first two days but once I was out of danger my body apparently recovered quickly. The automated physio getting more intense as my broken bones healed. And now I’m in some kind of muscle suit that’s supposed to get me back in synch. This information is fed to me by a straight faced medico on the Monitor, he described himself as a trauma surgeon.
It was definitely traumatic. I can’t remember the crash…. just the missiles and him… the other Rider. But where the hell did He come from? Doc on the Monitor says not to force the memories, let everything come back in its own time. Fuck that. I need to know what happened, who he was…. who he is. I need Evinrud.
Gabriel came last night. He passed me the Katana and a new pair of black loafers via hermetic seal. Then he sat in the room outside and spoke to me through the door. Nice touch. Says they don’t want to risk infection, my lungs still weak. Same excuse for this unit strapped to my leg, feeding nanotechs into my blood like I’m still connected. They reckon I need it while I recover. I smell bullshit, they’re avoiding telling me something.
G didn’t say much, ‘too soon, you need to get well, not the right environment’. Half dead I could pick he was hedging. My mentor, my fucking friend. Apparently it was him that pulled us out of the wreckage. Can I trust him?
The Monitor says Evinrud is fully repaired. Good old Bin, crafty bugger but he knows what he’s doing with the cy-engine. Forty storey drop and our connection never severed. Probably all that saved me from dying of blood loss.
It says they’re reconnecting us tomorrow. Testing nerve conditions and sensitivity and if I get the green light I can ditch the bag on the leg and get the real thing. Evinrud. Two weeks in the pulse have gotta be better than the robotic limb pummeling I’m getting now.
I need to think, try to figure this shit out. Never been any good at it though, always better at running than cerebral processing. But something tells me that I can’t run from this. And who the fuck can I trust?
Maybe I just I need to let off some steam. G said they would offer me leave once I was well. This time around I’ll take it. Boot shopping and a few beers, back to life presents to myself.
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Saturday, May 16, 2009
EVINRUD - 12
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‘Gabriel, we have satellite confirmation, it was definitely the target.’
‘fine’
‘We expect full diagnostics and…’
I pull out the ear piece and flick off the DAT. ‘I know exactly what you expect.’
I can’t be more than a minute behind the crash. The Jag tears up the freeway shoulder. I’m doing 200 and not slowing for anyone.
‘Exit, 15 metres’. GPS states the obvious, hard to miss the explosion site. It’s diverting the attention off Reece for the moment, not every day a forty storey industrial furnace explodes.
He’s less than 900 metres from the explosion site. We’ve been tracing since the first missile lock on them. I pull the Jag away from the barrier, sling shot us down the industrial off ramp and we fish tail out onto the trucking service road still doing 150.
Sirens are wailing, there is a blazing industrial hell on my right and a cloud of black forming in the sky. Quick scan of the road, it’s almost deserted. GPS, 800m… 400m.
I see the impacted truck, rip past two light trucks stopped in the middle of the road, cover another 200m and brake. The Jag won’t cut it. The boy is not going to be walking out of that, even if the unit is operational. Reverse 200m, brake and leave the Jag where it stands, disposable. I’m not exactly traceable, even if they manage to find a stray hair.
The two truck drivers are gawking at the pretty orange and black explosions. First truck nothing, second truck, Bingo…a hydraulic Pal Lifter and the motors running. I shoot the tyres out of the first truck and climb into the cab of the second one. The driver’s faces registering shock as I pull away.
We were so close… Mercury… my first scent of him in years. And their fears confirmed, he’s completed the bio-connection without them. He’s got new sponsors. He’s got twenty years of hate on us. And if the boy survives it will only have been by dumb luck. Was it worth it?
There’s another disbelieving truck driver standing beside the impacted Semi. This one’s angry.
‘Did you see it? Something fucking hit my truck. World War three or wha…. Who are you?’
‘I’m with the anti-terrorism department.’ I show him a badge and while he is trying to decide what to make of it, I get a syringe in his neck and he’s down.
Reece is unconscious and the unit is a dismembered mess.
It’s their fault, they made a deal with the devil and then they lost.
When you play with the devil you always get burned. Hah…. I suppose I should take a bit of my own advice. It’s too late for me though, probably too late for the boy as well...
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‘Gabriel, we have satellite confirmation, it was definitely the target.’
‘fine’
‘We expect full diagnostics and…’
I pull out the ear piece and flick off the DAT. ‘I know exactly what you expect.’
I can’t be more than a minute behind the crash. The Jag tears up the freeway shoulder. I’m doing 200 and not slowing for anyone.
‘Exit, 15 metres’. GPS states the obvious, hard to miss the explosion site. It’s diverting the attention off Reece for the moment, not every day a forty storey industrial furnace explodes.
He’s less than 900 metres from the explosion site. We’ve been tracing since the first missile lock on them. I pull the Jag away from the barrier, sling shot us down the industrial off ramp and we fish tail out onto the trucking service road still doing 150.
Sirens are wailing, there is a blazing industrial hell on my right and a cloud of black forming in the sky. Quick scan of the road, it’s almost deserted. GPS, 800m… 400m.
I see the impacted truck, rip past two light trucks stopped in the middle of the road, cover another 200m and brake. The Jag won’t cut it. The boy is not going to be walking out of that, even if the unit is operational. Reverse 200m, brake and leave the Jag where it stands, disposable. I’m not exactly traceable, even if they manage to find a stray hair.
The two truck drivers are gawking at the pretty orange and black explosions. First truck nothing, second truck, Bingo…a hydraulic Pal Lifter and the motors running. I shoot the tyres out of the first truck and climb into the cab of the second one. The driver’s faces registering shock as I pull away.
We were so close… Mercury… my first scent of him in years. And their fears confirmed, he’s completed the bio-connection without them. He’s got new sponsors. He’s got twenty years of hate on us. And if the boy survives it will only have been by dumb luck. Was it worth it?
There’s another disbelieving truck driver standing beside the impacted Semi. This one’s angry.
‘Did you see it? Something fucking hit my truck. World War three or wha…. Who are you?’
‘I’m with the anti-terrorism department.’ I show him a badge and while he is trying to decide what to make of it, I get a syringe in his neck and he’s down.
Reece is unconscious and the unit is a dismembered mess.
It’s their fault, they made a deal with the devil and then they lost.
When you play with the devil you always get burned. Hah…. I suppose I should take a bit of my own advice. It’s too late for me though, probably too late for the boy as well...
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Tuesday, April 14, 2009
EVINRUD - 11
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Shaking that single missile lock was routine, but now there’s three, a shut down and flare is only good for one. One… three… I’m bleeding like a stuck pig… we are ripping through the sky… whole cloud banks pass in fractions of a second… my knuckles are white like ivory. I feel the panic building in us. Calm it. Compartmentalize it. Tourniquet the leg with your tie… we’ve got approximately 12 seconds to decoy the first one.
There’s nothing for it, we have to disengage a stabilizer engine. Evinrud knows it, even though it must be like hacking off an arm, it’s done. The starboard engine rockets and pirouettes off into the sky beside us. The missile breaks away and we dive, good boy. Bat out of hell, all black and smoking we peel out of the explosion. Only right turns now, it’s a wobbly decent, A-grade turbulence, but that worked.
Timing... timing... if we drop the portside then there is no steering at this speed. Lose the second missile lock and what about the third? 10 seconds…
God we are plummeting… there’s the earth. Beijing’s industrial outer rim. Smoke stacks. Furnace flares. 5 seconds. Be cool honey-bunny.
We have the idea. Set the course. Evinrud knows it. The portside engine spirals off and the second missile detonates on it. I’m instantly sun-burnt everything goes black. We tear through it on a 30 degree pitch. 8 seconds…
It’s drop and pray time. We rocket for the top of a 40 storey industrial fuel chimney. No turning, no dodging, our calculations predetermined, just straight at it. 3 seconds…
We tear over the heat blasting out the chimneys mouth. Evinrud’s paint peels. My suit contracts like fried bacon. Our keel clips the brickwork and we are sent spiraling over the edge. The missile sucks the heat like its mother and Voomph! The whole industrial shit house goes up in flames. It explodes so many times I forget about it.
Evinrud deploys the chute, because I can’t even think. We rip and jerk and careen through the paneling on the back of a moving semi trailer and come to rest with its cargo.
I raise my head. 'Fuck that was close'. And I pass out.
There’s nothing for it, we have to disengage a stabilizer engine. Evinrud knows it, even though it must be like hacking off an arm, it’s done. The starboard engine rockets and pirouettes off into the sky beside us. The missile breaks away and we dive, good boy. Bat out of hell, all black and smoking we peel out of the explosion. Only right turns now, it’s a wobbly decent, A-grade turbulence, but that worked.
Timing... timing... if we drop the portside then there is no steering at this speed. Lose the second missile lock and what about the third? 10 seconds…
God we are plummeting… there’s the earth. Beijing’s industrial outer rim. Smoke stacks. Furnace flares. 5 seconds. Be cool honey-bunny.
We have the idea. Set the course. Evinrud knows it. The portside engine spirals off and the second missile detonates on it. I’m instantly sun-burnt everything goes black. We tear through it on a 30 degree pitch. 8 seconds…
It’s drop and pray time. We rocket for the top of a 40 storey industrial fuel chimney. No turning, no dodging, our calculations predetermined, just straight at it. 3 seconds…
We tear over the heat blasting out the chimneys mouth. Evinrud’s paint peels. My suit contracts like fried bacon. Our keel clips the brickwork and we are sent spiraling over the edge. The missile sucks the heat like its mother and Voomph! The whole industrial shit house goes up in flames. It explodes so many times I forget about it.
Evinrud deploys the chute, because I can’t even think. We rip and jerk and careen through the paneling on the back of a moving semi trailer and come to rest with its cargo.
I raise my head. 'Fuck that was close'. And I pass out.
Monday, March 30, 2009
EVINRUD - 10
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They’re there. They’re right there. Turning, and fast. We counter arc through the sky. Katana is in my hand. Almost get the cut, almost touch them, so close I can still see his smile. He likes it, wants to fucking dance.
Old bastard on a black, twin motor. Never seen anything like it. I’m armed with steel and it’s got a mini gun and missiles hanging off it. Ahh, tits! It’s back around. No time to even think. Pace it, pace it, pace it… and drop hard. That’s a sword too and I’m missing a patch of hair. Damn he pre-empted that within a degree.
Alright more speed really tilt it, sky fly, cloud hug. Think. Think. If we can make it to the city, even the outskirts, we might be able to shake them. But getting that far isn’t... Bullets slice the air then disappear around us. I skim one off the blade. I’m using the sword for deflection? Shit, I’ve never done that outside of the pulse.
We fly random, ligament twisting, tendon snapping random. Old man can’t do that. It will take longer to reach Beijing and I might need intense physio but fly any straighter and we’re going to lose and we don’t lose. We take a hard corner and I really feel it in my Achilles which gives me another idea.
Evinrud responds immediately, we swerve right, drop and slow. The dual tries to match us and soon he’s right above. We’re in almost vertical free fall, like two dead birds chasing their graves.
Let him think he’s got us, let him get closer…. my sword goes out, the flat catches the air, let it seem like a mistake… his blade is there but the old man isn’t my mark. The tip catches his leg rope and blood and umbilical fluid splatter in the sky before me. There is a scream like tortured whale song, I’ve severed their connection. Gotta move now. We’re quick but not quick enough. I feel the bullet pass through my leg.
Urgghhhhh… Forced to sit I can feel the blood wet on my suit pant, can feel Evinrud’s anguish. But he won’t stop.
Without the bio-connection the dual and its rider can’t keep up, even with me on my ass. They don’t even try. But maybe he knows that last spray of bullets hit their mark. And shit there’s the missile lock, count ‘em, one, two, three.
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They’re there. They’re right there. Turning, and fast. We counter arc through the sky. Katana is in my hand. Almost get the cut, almost touch them, so close I can still see his smile. He likes it, wants to fucking dance.
Old bastard on a black, twin motor. Never seen anything like it. I’m armed with steel and it’s got a mini gun and missiles hanging off it. Ahh, tits! It’s back around. No time to even think. Pace it, pace it, pace it… and drop hard. That’s a sword too and I’m missing a patch of hair. Damn he pre-empted that within a degree.
Alright more speed really tilt it, sky fly, cloud hug. Think. Think. If we can make it to the city, even the outskirts, we might be able to shake them. But getting that far isn’t... Bullets slice the air then disappear around us. I skim one off the blade. I’m using the sword for deflection? Shit, I’ve never done that outside of the pulse.
We fly random, ligament twisting, tendon snapping random. Old man can’t do that. It will take longer to reach Beijing and I might need intense physio but fly any straighter and we’re going to lose and we don’t lose. We take a hard corner and I really feel it in my Achilles which gives me another idea.
Evinrud responds immediately, we swerve right, drop and slow. The dual tries to match us and soon he’s right above. We’re in almost vertical free fall, like two dead birds chasing their graves.
Let him think he’s got us, let him get closer…. my sword goes out, the flat catches the air, let it seem like a mistake… his blade is there but the old man isn’t my mark. The tip catches his leg rope and blood and umbilical fluid splatter in the sky before me. There is a scream like tortured whale song, I’ve severed their connection. Gotta move now. We’re quick but not quick enough. I feel the bullet pass through my leg.
Urgghhhhh… Forced to sit I can feel the blood wet on my suit pant, can feel Evinrud’s anguish. But he won’t stop.
Without the bio-connection the dual and its rider can’t keep up, even with me on my ass. They don’t even try. But maybe he knows that last spray of bullets hit their mark. And shit there’s the missile lock, count ‘em, one, two, three.
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Friday, March 27, 2009
EVINRUD - 9
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‘What the…’
Five hundred metres from clearing the valley Evinrud senses a movement that’s not ours. It’s low, too low for standard military but it’s definitely machine.
‘Keep your eye on it Rud.’
I always revert to thought speak when I’m nervous, as if Evinrud needs to be told.
It’s disappeared. We clear the Valley and shoot sudden altitude… so fast it stings. It’s good to be out of there, on the homeward stretch so to speak, but we’re both wary. What the hell was that and where did it come from? More importantly, where did it go? We can out race anything but we’re sitting ducks against the right weapons.
Evinrud is processing, spitting meaningless data until an image forms… an air-motor. The thing in the valley with us was an air-motor. But how….. no military chuck with a shelf model could have followed us that far. Not that low and not without us seeing it.
I’ve barely had time to absorb this when Evinrud picks up a missile, its target us. We dodge, shut down Evinrud’s main engine, free fall, freeze the exhausts, scramble co-ordinates, and flare. Boom... it’s the only way to shrug a pre-set at this close range. Fuck…I’ve gotta get a proper visual on this thing.
Sometimes you wish you could take it all back. Everything. Everything that brought you up to this point. This was one of those fucking moments, as if everything I had needed to believe was shattered before my eyes.
Another bio… it had to be, the riders stance, the graceful movement of machine and man at top speed. And dual engine no less. Something fucking reeks and it will be a miracle if we can escape it.
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‘What the…’
Five hundred metres from clearing the valley Evinrud senses a movement that’s not ours. It’s low, too low for standard military but it’s definitely machine.
‘Keep your eye on it Rud.’
I always revert to thought speak when I’m nervous, as if Evinrud needs to be told.
It’s disappeared. We clear the Valley and shoot sudden altitude… so fast it stings. It’s good to be out of there, on the homeward stretch so to speak, but we’re both wary. What the hell was that and where did it come from? More importantly, where did it go? We can out race anything but we’re sitting ducks against the right weapons.
Evinrud is processing, spitting meaningless data until an image forms… an air-motor. The thing in the valley with us was an air-motor. But how….. no military chuck with a shelf model could have followed us that far. Not that low and not without us seeing it.
I’ve barely had time to absorb this when Evinrud picks up a missile, its target us. We dodge, shut down Evinrud’s main engine, free fall, freeze the exhausts, scramble co-ordinates, and flare. Boom... it’s the only way to shrug a pre-set at this close range. Fuck…I’ve gotta get a proper visual on this thing.
Sometimes you wish you could take it all back. Everything. Everything that brought you up to this point. This was one of those fucking moments, as if everything I had needed to believe was shattered before my eyes.
Another bio… it had to be, the riders stance, the graceful movement of machine and man at top speed. And dual engine no less. Something fucking reeks and it will be a miracle if we can escape it.
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