Two Western tales from me. July 13

#saturdayscene July 13  

Last week I didn’t post a SaturdayScene for I was busy again with the new house. But this week I can do one. This one is a bit different for it has two short Western stories. One is part of a story set I will be Indie publishing whenever I can get the cover done. Set titled Deputy Marshal Gray Dobson. I finally found one that isn’t bad even not quite what I wanted. But I have spent hours on it and decided to take this one. Anyway, I will also be doing a second Western set once I find them all. I thought I had a file with they all in it but so fat nothing. So Here are two Western tales. One with Marshall Dobson showing he uses his brains not just his sixgun. The other is the first Western I wrote many years ago. Revised half a dozen times as I learned more about how to write. 

       Deputy Marshall Dobson finds a Burnt out building.

      Gray Dobson looked the burnt building over. Small tendrils of smoke still drifted toward from two placed. It sat by itself a number of yards from the end of the town. From what he could see of the unburnt wood, no one had painted it which meant some of it looked while a good percentage had a blacken charcoal color.

        He liked the angle better from higher than ground level, so he stayed on his horse to study it. His legs though were tired from the long ride to this town.

       It looked like the building had two storefronts. This half of the roof of this section had collapsed. The air still had a strong scent of burning wood, so he wouldn’t be surprised if something still smoldered in there. 

        A wagon rolled by behind him. He heard the horse hoofs, and wheels turn. The townspeople would be up by now with their daily routines. Someone walked on the wooden walkway. That would make it twenty feet away from the burnt building in front of him.

     Another breath and he almost coughed, ash still drifted in the air. Water would be good. 

     After the drink from his canteen, he looked at the building again. The town’s people had done a good job in saving the part in the back that was a different store. He figured that some of them must have had some training. At least a couple of lectures. This section would have to be completely rebuilt though, possibly the whole thing, but he thought they could save the rear store. The rest of the town hadn’t been touched by the fire since this building sat so far away from the others. 

      Dobson looked to his left. The main part of Freshwell consisted of eleven stores on one side of the street with ten on the other. Each block appeared to be one long building but he could make out newer wood on the end store. They must have added to this one to the original construction when the population grew. Now they had two general stores, one much smaller than the other. It could be new, he thought. A fairly large saloon took up space in the middle of one side. He could make out three other buildings that sat by themselves not connected to either side. From their spacing the town planners might have wanted a street there to go east eventually.

     The blacksmith had been built far down the road in the other direction. He could still see it and hear the pounding of the blacksmith, smell the hot metal when he rode by it. But this building may have been the border of the town in this end. 

      Gray looked down at the dirt. One bad thing was that the town’s people had cluttered up the dirt of the street with their wagons, horses and feet: covering and marking out any tracks left by those who had done this. But it couldn’t be helped, the fire had to have been put out. He rode around the building and studied the dirt back of it then came back around from the opposite end.  

      The building didn’t look like a smithy or a saloon, which left a store of some type, a church or even a school house. The town looked large enough for one. He had ridden through Freshwell three times the last year but knew nothing about it even though he had met with the Sheriff as a common curtasy. He was a Marshal passing though his area after all. They had a nice size jail, larger than he thought they needed, but he may make use of it this trip.

      He looked around again. The Inn was actually larger than the saloon. It had rooms on a second story and a kitchen plus storage, he assumed, in the back, and four rooms on the street level. They were bigger and more expensive or so he had been told when he stopped for lunch one of those three times. 

     As he recalled from when he rode by, there had been nothing in this building to start a fire except for a wood burning stove. He didn’t recall ever seeing the pipe that exhausted it sticking out of the roof. Now, however, one lay bent, twisted and black with soot, on top of a pile of smoldering wood. Part of the pipe looked darker than another part. In fact this whole section of the building looked in worse shape than the other sections.

     He shook his head and wondered if someone had really started the blaze. With that thought, he looked closer. Why would anyone burn this building especially if it had been a school? Than again maybe he was just buying trouble. He shrugged, that was his job. He wouldn’t be a US Marshal if he didn’t like trouble: creating and finishing it for those who started it. Now though he he hadn’t smelled any kerosene or alcohol when he rode around the building. 

     Fires could be caused by accidents, acts of carelessness, or drunks, as well as on purpose. However it started this one was a shame especially with the loose of books and supplies inside, if this was a school. It could take months to get new supplies and the cost for shipping them out here would make it much harder to get them. 

      He swung his horse around and headed for the Sheriff’s office. This fire pricked his curiosity. 

      It didn’t take him long to pass the other end of the block and to approach the jail. It sat by itself about ten feet from the end of the walkway, which supported his idea of this being a street corner. He looked round him to see if anyone carried a gun near him. The three people he saw with any weapon of any type, looked like upstanding citizens which probably meant that the town was fairly safe, but he would stay on his toes. All it took was one person who didn’t like US Marshals, or was drunk. 

     The street had its share of road apples, some of which smelled and looked fresh, which meant it about average horses here. It looked like Freshwell needed someone to clean the street once a day though. He shrugged that really wasn’t his concern though. Once he got to the jail he tied his horse to the railing and stepped up to the wood sidewalk it also had. 

     He glanced in the other direction and noticed that the larger general store rested at this end of the line of stores. That could be to help farmers and ranchers with wagons load better.   

    Dobson nodded to the  two men who stood outside of the Sheriff's. They didn’t look like trouble, just as if they waited for someone. He opened the door and closed it fast for a wind followed him in. Inside, he saw a wide room with two desks each with a new looking, comfortable, padded chair behind it and two half way comfortable chairs on the other side. A portrait hung on the wall of the President of the United States and one of an older lady. She was dressed in a very nice, blue dress. A local person he thought. Maybe she had been a rich widow who had paid for the building of the office. 

    Two doorways led to the back. He thought he could see bars through one doorway. The other might lead to the outhouse and/or to a kitchen near by. Or to another cell for certain types  of prisoners. 

    The sheriff, Tony, a tall skinny, older, weather beaten fellow with shoulder length brown hair, stood talking to a nicely dressed man. The man smelled of cigar smoke, an expensive brand the Marshal thought. He must have paid a pretty penny to have some shipped here. He knew from experience not to get too close to the man when he blew smoke out, it could be strong enough to taste.

    The Sheriff said, “We will catch the person who set the fire.”

     The man said, “Why would anyone set fire to a school house?”

    “I don’t know maybe they didn’t like that their children have to go—we have a couple of those type people in this town—or maybe they had an argument about what should be taught. Could even that they got the wrong end of that building and it was meant for that new bookstore.  It’s hard to see the burr under a man’s blanket at times. But I want to speak to the new teacher and see what she has to say. Miss Sanderson has been upset over certain details and ”

     The man said, “I know that there are citizens that disagree with store just to sell books half of which would be penny dreadfuls, I am not all that excited about it myself but to burn it? That is crazy.”

    The Marshal thought, good I was right. 

    Sheriff Tony said, “Some people are that crazy. Isn’t that right Marshal?”

      The two turned to him and even as his eyes widen. He thought he would had wait until they were done with their business, but this opened the door.

     The Sheriff said, “This is Marshall Dobson. He has been in these parts for a few years. Marshall this is John Whitmore.”

     Dobson nodded to John and said, “Yes, there are crazy people out there. I wouldn’t have as much of a job if there weren’t. I was sent here to go after a train robber. However, sometimes it isn’t a person that causes the problem. It is also my job to make sure we know the difference.”

     Whitmore raised his eyebrows and the Sheriff looked puzzled and a touch irritated. 

    “I looked at the remains of the school. I believe it was just an accident.”

    “What?” The sheriff said.

    The man said, “We looked it over ourselves.”

   “I thought you had. But was it before sunrise?” 

    “Just after the sun started up.”

   “After a night of fighting the fire?”

   Whitmore nodded. He still had bits of ash on his pants, so he may have really helped.

     The Sheriff said, “Where are you going with this?”

    “I saw that part of the chimney for the stove looked blocked. I think that is where the fire started.”

     The man spoke before the Sheriff could even he open his mouth, “Someone could have blocked that on purpose hoping that would happen.”

    Dobson nodded, “Yes, someone could have, but by the looks I still go with my theory that some animal, or other built a nest in there. I know of a few times when that has happened. It has been warm the last few months and the weather just started to turn. I suspect that it was just carelessness. No one thought to inspect the stovepipe.” 

     The man nodded with a thoughtful look on his face. The Sheriff didn’t look convinced though.

    “I can explain what took my thoughts down that road. The stovepipe has a deeper burn in one section about halfway. You might even find some cooked little ones; rats or squirrels in the pipe.”

    The Sheriff and the man had a disgusted look on their faces but the other Lawman said, “Come to think of it I thought I smelled meat cooking. Maybe you are right after all.”

     They went outside to the burned building and the Marshal showed them where  he thought the fire started and the pipe. They both looked convinced when he finished.

     The man said, “I believe you’re right. You are one smart Marshal. No wonder you have a good repetition in these parts.”

    “Thank you. As I said it is my job to figure out when it was a person and when it wasn’t and to protect people that are innocent.”

     Whitmore said, “That is a good way to see your job, Marshall.”

    Sheriff Tony said, “I’m glad we will not be bothering someone who is innocent. And I will declare that every business inspect their stovepipes to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”

     Dobson nodded and after some more talking he said, “I will take my leave now. I need to get a room for the night so I can get an early start to go after one who is bad.” He thought, even if the rooms are costly it should be worth it for one night.

    They each nodded and shook his hand and he left. He got his horse and on the way to the town’s corral past the blacksmith shop he gave himself a small smile. It felt good to think through something like that and to know that an innocent person would not be questioned for something they did not do. 

  

The end

              

Now for Not All Good Deeds Are Punished.

     Bill strode over to his horse, with long, quick steps. He looked in his late thirties, and wore a light yellow long sleeved shirt and gray trousers. No gun weighed down his hip, he didn’t need one here-most days. 

    He stopped near the railing in front of the town’s hardware store, his eyes narrowed. Voices from a commotion had attracted his attention. It looked just like the same situation as in the last town he had lived in. He breathed in, snorted. The air was filled with, dust, road apples, spilt grain and the flowers that grew near each store front. A cold beer would be good right now to wash the dust out of his mouth, and the horse dropping smell out of his nose. A quick glance showed him the town, he liked Wardsville. However it looked like he may have to move on. 

     With a sigh, Bill pulled a rifle out of its holster, which rested on the side of his horse, and turned. He hoped he wouldn’t get into trouble again, but he knew it wouldn’t stop him. He cocked the weapon while still in the turn.   

     After two long steps with the rifle aimed from his hip, he said, “Back off.”

     A young man, dressed in an undershirt and denim pants, with his hands on a woman, looked up. That man’s brown hair was very short and his eyes were bloodshot. Even though her yellow dress looked very proper he still pawed her like he thought she wore a low cut barmaid’s outfit. Bill knew her husband was out of town for a couple of months. 

     Everyone froze for a moment. He felt a breeze on his face and could smell the man from here. He must smell like a wagon load of broken whisky bottles to her. 

     The young man said, “You must not know who I am.”

     The first man rolled his eyes, “That is my comment. I’ve been here a week, but obviously you don’t know who I am. I don’t care who you are. I know what you are. A snake in the grass. Now act like a gentleman, a true man, and get your hands off of her. Her husband won’t be back for another month and he won’t be happy if you mess with his wife.”

     “I am a man, you horse droppings, more than you.”

     “Not the way you are acting now. You’re acting like a spoiled snake. Now remove your hands!”

      He pressed his finger on the trigger. The other man let go of the woman.

     Bill said, “Now miss, give him what he deserves-slap him.”

     She looked surprised, but at the same time like she wanted to carry out the order. The younger man looked shocked. When the woman moved he stepped back from her-out of arm’s length.

      The brown haired man looked at the man with the rifle again, swallowed and said, “Hey, I didn’t mean anything. Just being friendly. I just thought she might be missing her man.”

     The man with the gun cocked his head to the side, for the other man mumbled and slurred his words. It took him a second to figure out what he had said.

     Bill said, “She probably is, but she sure ain’t missing you, now leave!”

     The drunk glared at Bill, but after a moment walked away. Bill watched him until he went around a building. Three moments later he came back out on a horse. After another glare at Bill, he rode away. 

     The woman half-ran to the man with the gun, but stopped a few feet away.

     “Thank you... I don’t know you but I’ve seen you around the past week but Dan, my husband, will want to shake your hand and have you over for dinner when he gets back.”

     Bill tipped his hat and said, “I am called Bill-no, not Wild, that’s another Bill. I could always use a home cooked meal, fresh cornbread is mighty tasty, but I didn’t do this for thanks.”

     The store owner came up, wiped his hands on the white apron he wore. Bill tensed and waited for an angry tone like the last time he chased a rich man’s son away from a woman. The man, however, reached out his hand.

     “I want to shake your hand, Bill and add my thanks. She’s a good costumer and a good citizen of the town. Toby shouldn’t have done that to her.”

     He paused for a moment than said, “If you need anything come on in to my store, I will give you half off for the next couple of days. We don’t want that type of thing happening in our town, or to be known for being a town afraid of wealthy citizens.”

     Other townspeople came by to say how much they appreciated his actions. Even Jim, the sheriff came by, probably when he saw the citizens hanging around. It turned out he had been getting a shave during the incident.

     After his explanation he said, “Thanks, Bill for taking care of young Toby. He isn’t usually that bad. If I had seen he was drunk earlier, I would have put him in a cell to sleep it off. He’s dad will deal with him. He doesn’t like his sons behaving that way in public. He may make him apologize to Mrs.  Tanner.”

     Bill felt his mouth drop and his eyes go wide surprise, but he said, “Is that all?”

     The expression on the sheriffs face changed to businesslike; oh oh, here it comes, thought Bill.

     Jim said, “Yeah, there is one more thing. I could use a deputy, this town is growing like a weed. I’ve watched you around town. I saw how you act around other people and after today I believe you would make a good deputy. I think I can convince the town council to spring for the pay for one. Probably only half of what I get, but your bullets will be free. On top of that if the townspeople like you they might just give you a free meal, or a cut rate on hardware, just don’t expect it all the time.”

      Bill nodded, even as awe filled his heart. He stood there

to let his heart adjust to what he had just heard, then with an effort he nodded, smiled, and said, “Yeah, that sounds good.”

      They shook hands and the sheriff said, “Good, I’ll make the rounds and talk to everyone. Come by tomorrow morning and I will give you a badge.”

      Bill nodded again still in a good shock. As the sheriff walked away Bill felt the breeze again, smelled the street-even the fresh road apples didn’t smell so bad-and smiled. He thought, yeah, this is a good town.

                         The end

#westerns #freestory #indie #funread #freestuff #fires #shortstories #action #drunks 

SaturdayScene for June 29 two cyberpunk mini tales

     #saturdayscene    June 29th. After my birthday and two days before the end of my E-book sale-which is Sunday the 30th. Great adventures with a twist-fun reads. Urban Fantasy and Steampunk action adventures. 

       Someone one a writers’ group on FaceBook wanted to see my cyberpunk story about two “sisters”. Here are two very short tales about them. The first one is more an introduction than a story and I may have a third tale someone but I have to find it. Both were inspired from a picture.

      For quite a few months I wrote short stories from pictures. One set was a weekly challenge: writing a story less than 600 words based on a pic of the week. Another set were inspired by Charlie Hoover’s Geekscape daily picture. I seem to have lost touch with the web site so I have not done any for a while. Others did the same but my tales ended up being the longest usually. A couple did some very good 125 to 250 word mini stories. Mine usually began with 250 to 400 words but than later I expanded on them to make stories 500 words to 3,500 words or so. 

So these two I believe came from the Geekscapes pics. I describe the scene in the pic in every story which is one reason, but not the only one, they were so long. 

Both of these two together have  908 words. I might expand on the second one later. Or if I find that third one. 

I am a pryotech and my metal friend can make holograms appear, some are very solid and can hurt if they hit you. Sometimes they explode with the same energy that makes the hologram. 

      She is from a Western City-perhaps on another earth-while I grew up, as a half breed, in an Eastern city. The poor section of that city. 

      I do not have almond eyes but I still have an Asian cast to my skin and face. My hair would be good for a lion's mane even though I am fully female. My braids go down past my bosom almost to my hips. I have the forehead cut high to look alien. 

      My companion has no hair, even though her measurements might be the same as mine. She even likes to show off her belly and her bare arms as I do. They are blue, though, and show the metal panels and joints her limbs are made of. She likes to tie a sweater around her waist though while I like a belt with pouches. Powders, food and weapons fill the pouches. She doesn't need those. She does have a couple of hidden panels with weapons-two of the same type I carry.  

     We met by accident. Some type of rift opened between our two cities. They happen at times and no one knows if they are natural, the result of an accident, or if someone does them on purpose. When this one opened we stood there and stared at each other. Ready for a fight but somehow we each knew we would not need to. We talked and later reveled to the other our childhoods, struggles and powers. Now we get together to go on missions; sometimes to help someone, sometimes to smuggle or do a two story job. Of course that last is more like a ten to fifty story jobs, but everyone still calls that type or work a two story job.  

     We take turns in the other person's home-if you can call them that. Mine has many buildings two to ten stories high, even though few past five, and those in the richer areas. There are staircases and tents plus awnings on each level for most of the levels are open or have very large and long balconies. Hers buildings are taller, even though they have short ones too, with holographic and 3D signs that show what you can get on any level. Hers city has laser cars and holographic neon signs everywhere. It does have a few markets like mine does but most are on the street level with a couple on second and third level what was once parks. 

     My city gets much of its water from a small lake they built it next to.  Hers does to even though they have other sources too for it is a larger city. We are both wanted, and unwanted, we have each other's backs though. We could be sisters.

Second mini story

We were in town together again, we like to visit other cities even other earths to do our work. My sister from another city and me, who has a power not like mine. She has no hair though, even though she can use illusions to make it look like she does. 

     This time we had gone to a big city in my Eastern World. The market in this city was lighted with glow sticks, energy bubbles, battery torches, and whatever light floats down here from the tall buildings that surround this area. It smelled strongly of herbs and spices with apothecary added on. Strangely an odor of Rosemary was strong here. There is an added scent of the pollution of the city here but that wasn't what I smelled. That could be why the one booth owner we saw had an air mask on. I burnt the air in front of me to make sure. I tasted when I breathed in. My sister could stop her breathing when needed.

     Maybe the odor came from the man in the white robe who stood there as if he waited for us.

     A warlord who lived here had something we wanted. A very small, basketball size, fusion reactor. He uses it for emergency energy. We know someone who seems to have their own continual emergency, and so would pay for it a lot for it

     Evidently one of his guards found out that we take what we need, especially from the likes of him. I think this guard does not know us that well, which isn’t surprising. This will be tricky but we can outclass him. Once he is out, or worse, we will head directly for the Warlord's place, high in the building ahead of us. That building has a bridge high up to another highrise. We can use the bridge to escape but not the usual way. 

    My sister looks at me, I nod she produces the ball of blue light between her hands I prepare a concussion out of my powders, and filings. I wait to activate my heat power until he is distracted. 

   At my nod we come out of the shadows and head his way as if we were just out here to buy something. He may suspect us but his stance shows arrogance therefore overconfidence. He has won too many battles but that is good for us.

     We near him ready for whatever unfolds for we make a good team.    

#indie #freestories #shortstories #fun #reading #cyberpunk #femaleleads 

Two space opera stories: one is steampunk

I have not put up any stories here for a while. I do have some on Google+ for free as well as my blog. I don't think I have any stories that would be good for Father's Day so these two will have to do. :)

June 17-very close to my birthday and BTW soon, a day or three, you can find my E-books on sale on various E-book sites. A very good price for a good, fun read. These novels have been revised and double checked. 

I wrote a space opera tale kinda of quick; 1820 words long. It’s the first story of two. It might need a bit more revising but I don’t think a lot. I tend to do some revising as I write. They call that slinky style of writing. I was trying to decide on what other story to include when it hit me. I can add an unusual one, that combines two genres. You might like the interplay of two different story ideals. 

Steampunk and Space Opera. “His Not So Peaceful Trip” 2,768 words. 

Now I can’t find it-yes, Google failed me-but the idea for this steam powered spaceship came from a real event. It kept coming up with newer discussions and designs even when I put in different questions and years. A group of men-including a Master SF writer-designed one somewhere around 1950. Many SF writers from that time period are called the Master.

My poor memory, though, can not come up with any of the names of the team or the exact year. It might be closer to 1945. I did however find some discussions on really using steam powered engines in real spaceships, evidently this is a real possibility. 

So here is story one:

“Pivot the ship!”
Helm said, “Eye sir,”
I had seen another round of incoming rockets headed in. Good thing there were not missiles. Rockets were much smaller, dump and could only go so far. They could turn to reach their target but they had no avoidance thrusters and only a tiny bit of electronic warfare routines.
My command, The Swift Kick, was a designated as a frigate even though it had more to it than just that. We could maneuver quicker, which served as well at the moment.
“Fire the EPs,” and had four larger guns than a frigate. The newest of the energy plasma weapons series. We also had lasers and blasters, even though the last were more from tradition and a last minute defense. Their range was half of what the EPs were and three-fourths of most lasers. Our two small diameter Beta Charged lasers could hit a target at the same distance as the EPs-prehaps a bit further with better accuracy.
The lights flickered a bit as all four EP used most of the power-their one drawback. It would get cold for a second soon too. My command chair sat right in the middle of a prefect circle, with each of the control seats against the wall. So my position would feel the cold more than the others. Crewmen of three stations stood while each of the others had seats. There were two spare stations used for training at times but usually ready to go as a replacement for any controls that got knocked out. That included the science bay which was a tiny alcove where the science officer stood.
Toni at Tac said, “Four scores, two are solid hits.”
I nodded good, but we would need more than that.
A moment later she said, “Fifteen rockets and four missiles.”
I almost gave an order but she knew what to do so I held my tongue and hoped our point defense was up to this. They had been a little jinzy on that. At the same time I wondered why only four missiles.
A moment later I answered myself. To soften us up. Twenty missiles showed up on sensors. A second later a bit of whiplash revealed that we moved backwards with a suddenness that wasn’t totally compensated for. Helm had backed us up without warning. The sudden change of direction though caused five EPs to miss us.
My eyebrows went up on that I wondered if we were fighting a new enemy craft. Something like the Star Knights. Whatever it was had a partial stealth field for our sensors couldn’t get a true reading. Good enough for our weapons to hit them but not enough to get a good look at them.
Blaster fire could be heard. Two EPs also fired. A few seconds later the smaller chain guns went off-they always made a stuttering electronic sound you can hear throughout the ship. The point 2 laser also fired as did the min blasters. None of the first round of incoming hit our shields but that second punch would now know what we had in the way of point defense.
“Hit them again with the EPs and lasers”
The EPs fired first and less than a second later the Beta Charged lasers fired and two-seconds after them so did the lesser lasers. I had not clarify that I wanted just the Beta Charged laser so Toni fired all of them. Three hit incoming missiles. Another five were taken out by Anti-missile rockets. I hadn’t heard them launch. Another five minutes to wait before the survivors reached us.
Sweat dripped down the back of my uniform. If we faced a newer type of warship their missiles could be significantly advanced too.
We exchanged energy weapons fire once more before the missiles reached us. This was quick, I have been in battles were took over forty minutes for missiles to reach their target. The blasters fired, then the chain guns. Another six incoming missiles gone.
I saw a buzz on my sensor screens for a moment. The phantoms with clone projectors had gone out. Small devices the size of five tablets that produced images of this ship good enough to fool the brains on attacking missiles-played havoc with full ship sensors too. 
Three of the incoming missile hit our shields with no harm to use even though one area of shields lost some power. Three was a lot from that small attack. They were probably reading a larger launch pattern. Of course it was also possible that given that they were a new ship, they may not have that many tubes. But I thought I better go with my first idea.
Lets get this over with, I thought, before we lose crew members.
“Launch a fifteen missile spread, solid strike.”
“Yes, sir.”
A few second later I heard the whoosh of come of the missiles launching. The sound carried through some of the hull, so that the ones closest to the bridge could be heard.
I watched their progress on one of my screens even though Tac commanded them. She fired a couple of Eps and lasers to soften up their shields.
Their anti missile gear wasn’t bad only five of our missiles reached close enough to strike. But they all lost contact with the enemy ship. I couldn’t believe it when they wondered off or zoomed in at a strong area of their shields. It was as if their brains just said to go in even if they couldn’t see the target anymore.
Tac spoke in an almost shout, a thirty missile spread came our way and we didn’t pick them up until they were completely clear of the enemy ship. The computer IDed ten of them as the new double warhead missile we had heard about. Ten more were bomb pumped laser missiles. Even a near shot could do damage.
I knew Toni was on it even before I could say anything but I had to voice my emotions.
The first rounds only hit one missile. The way it flew off I think its drive unit must have taken a hit. Sweat tickled my underarms and forehead. The cool air on the bridge made the skin on my head go clammy, that could be a distraction if I let it.
Toni fired more rounds at the incoming. One chain gun chugged chugged near the bridge. One screen showed me that Helm had moved the Kick sideways to give us more time to hit the incoming. Two more went down but that still left 28. Five grouped together, probably after one certain target.
The main point defense came on, but they only hit five. Make that six but that one seemed unharmed. The clone projectors went out. Earlier than last time. Either she had fired them too soon, or the computer had suggested a different defense routine.
Three incoming missile hit the shields doing no harm, but neither had been the surviving double warheads or lasers. Toni seemed to be aiming for them even though the computer did the actual aiming.
A moment later though a clump of five that had held back, came in faster. Three, which included a laser missile hit the same spot on the shields. The Kick rocked hard, I bounced in my chair, other crew members stumbled. One may have fallen, but they were behind me. An alarm sounded as a louder clang reverberator throughout the ship followed by an explosion.
Damn, the last two missile must have made it through the damaged shields and hit the ship. Damage reports start scrolling across the one screen for that purpose. One EP was gone, two crew dead and four injured but those two numbers would probably grow.
I heard the whoosh of more point defense weapons. Good, Toni and the computers were still dealing with the remaining missiles, ignoring the hits. A moment later the all clear signal sounded. No more missiles.
More dead and injured. I frowned, ordered the two surviving EPs to fire we needed to strike back but that new stealth core made that harder.
An idea hit me.
“Okay, the name of this ship is the Swift Kick, now is the time to live up to that name. We move closer and launch ten missiles, four of which will be the new phantoms. When they hit we will move in fast and quick,” Yes I said both and meant both, “to spitting range, fire what we have—including point defense—at their engineering section than we get the hell out of there launching some clone generators as we go.”
Less than thirty-seconds Toni said she was ready, a moment later Helm said he was ready.
“Watch the readings, they might change as we get close.”
An “Aye Sir” sounded and I said, “Go!”
A heart beat later we moved. We felt nothing of course but when I saw our speed, I swore that my head went back because of the increased speed. What seemed like minutes later we slowed, I heard the swoosh and strutting noises I have mentioned, then we were headed back outward. We must have looked like a person on a bungie cord.
Billy, at sensors said, “You were right Captain, the images shifted off as you predicted.”� Once we were a save distance away, save being subjective, I glanced at my screens and saw heavy damage to their engineering. A small inner blast just finished an explosion. They had three hull leaks, damage done to drives and sensors. We were fortunate for we escaped with no new damage—no more deaths. 
One of our missiles hit very close to the bridge. An internal explosion blew out a chunk of the ship. I could see evidence of fires on board, not for long but still any damage is good.
“Okay, we hit the again that hard and than we ask if they want to surrender.”
But a long moment later and they started to move. They pivoted and headed away from us. We got off two more laser hits and a missile shot before they entered FTL speed.
“Helm head back to base, we have dead to take care of, repairs to be made, wounded to have taken care of, and I have a nice long report to write. In fifteen minutes, if there no other surprises, we trade off with the beta team so we can clean up and rest.”
And to myself I added, and so I can start on that report. I may not have handled that quite right but we chased off a larger ship with new weapons so that should count for a couple of good marks.
I didn’t smile as I read the names of the daed but the crew did good and I will state that before I take my break.

The end. 

Story two:

His Not So Peaceful Trip.

“Turn the wheel...to Port.”
I watched as the helmsman fought to spin the large rudder wheel. He stood at the front and to the left much like an airship’s helmsman. I paced a few feet behind him and watched the streak come our way.
The wheel seemed to fight back, but Mosha manhandled it in the correct direction. The wheel, of course, did not control any rudders for we were in space. It operated an ingenious movement of gears and chains I didn’t fully understand. The Endeavor, like every space ship nows was full of them. The gears connected to the steering wheel opened the release hatches for the steam steering jets. Pipes led from two boilers to the jets. So that when opened the steam would rush out. The steam pushed the bonny little craft in the direction I wanted it to go. We had solid fuel rocket motors, but they were for emergencies and only directed the ship forward. Of course that object headed our way constituted an emergency, but they still wouldn’t do us any good, we wanted out of the way not meet the object even faster.
The Endeavor, one of the ships built by the United States government. There had been five ships in the US fleet, the latest US version of the ships dreamt up by Arthur C. Clarke and his BIS fifty years ago. Now there were three. The Challenger blew on the way up, right after being shot out of the cannon. My brother, Captain of the Atlantis, died when it came apart during reentry. They had been on a survey and science mission, which is what the spaceships were for, not combat. The US government, however changed points in the original design. They added devices over the years, like weapons. I still snarled when I thought of the weapons.
Right now though none of that mattered as we watched something head our way. I assumed the same question filled the thoughts of everyone on the bridge: could the Endeavor turn fast enough? We watched through the front viewport-which made the Endeavor look like a famous sub surface craft. The window could withstand the pressure of 20,000 leagues under water and had survived being shot out of a giant cannon. Yet we had two air leaks, we had a procedure to fix them though. With all that said I knew a direct hit by this object would crack it. That would allow the air to leak out which would be the end if us. The crew of the H.M.S. Clarke Five had died that way. I saw the bodies, it had been very bad.
The whole crew heard the steam hiss out, and we all prayed
to our God, that it would be enough. The Endeavor moved, the view out the window changed, but was it enough? The air felt warmer which meant those in charge of the boilers fed the fires to create more steam. 
The streak closed even faster if possible. I know I grimaced as my ship turned too slowly. It would be close--I refused to believe it wouldn’t be enough.
I---everyone---watched. I could feel the Endeavor move...it seemed too slow. I heard someone begin The Lord’s Prayer.
Fear brought bile up, it looked like it wouldn’t be...enough.
By force of will I kept my eyes open and watched the streak. It closed, I could see it looked manmade. Someone let out a gasp of a scream. I didn’t blame them.
It grew larger, filled the window...then...my body turned into an empty hose. I heard a number of breaths, mine included, being released. The object flashed by one side of the window. No crack, no thud. We would live, even if only for a few more moments...if we didn’t act.
“Turn the wheel back to the original course...raise the blast shield.”
Another crew member pulled levers which operated yet another series of gears. A piece of strong steel--thicker than a steam-dozer’s blade--angled to deflect asteroids and other space debris, rose in the front of the ship. I hated doing that last because it cut our view of the front. However the ship had other means to see.
I could hear the massive gears shift and rotate as they raised the shield. Again it felt hotter on the bridge. Both boilers must be working at full. They sat in their own compartments, under the bridge and the cabins, but the heat they produced circulated throughout the Endeavor.
Before the shield blocked the front view window I saw that we were on the right course.
“Up periscopes.”
There were five such devices, with a separate crew man at each. Each man’s job was to watch and report what he saw.
“Fire the drive rockets.”
“Aye sir.”
My first mate was only one of three who responded like that,
the others just carried out the orders. All had served in the ocean navy and had been transferred to us. I wondered if someone thought we needed military men just in case.
I felt the impact as five of the rocket engines fired. They burned a solid fuel. We carried only a limited amount so we had to be very careful in its use. I figured this was an emergency though.
The Endeavor increased its forward speed. We were still too far away to see details of the other ship, but they had fired on us with no provocation. All we did was try to communicate with flashing Morse code and wireless telegraph. As much as I hated it we would return the favor. 
First, however, “Cease the rocket engines...Fire three rockets.”
That last order hurt me, I had argued against arming these new ships. I wanted it to be a trip of peaceful exploration and discovery, but these, whoever they were, didn’t seem to care for that.
The cannoneer mumbled something and a moment later I heard three clangs as one. The rockets were new and were exactly the same type used as those used in combat. With one modification. It had been decided that firing them from a ship might interfere with that ship’s course. Instead they were catapulted away. The action ignited a fuse inside the rocket that would light the chemical fuel. Five-seconds later--right on the button according to my pocket watch--one watcher said, “The rockets are on a good course, sir.”
We waited again, I hoped he also kept an eye out for any rockets or objects sent our way.
“All three hit, sir. I think they exploded near a weapon of some type...They produced minimal damage, however. I saw some pieces of metal go flying, but no hole in the attacker.”
“A streak is headed our way.”
We received more warning this time, “To Port, helmsman.”
Again he manhandled the wheel, again I heard the hiss of steam as it escaped. It could have been me, but I thought the air started to feel cooler.
A new voice, one of the side watcher’s said, “The streak past us by a mile.”
“Back to course.”
At that moment I heard something that sounded like pings from the metal shield.
That same Watcher said, “They are firing at us with some type of gun.”
Without a warning a scream echoed through the ship. By
reflex I looked down, because it had originated from below. Before I could give an order we all fell toward the side when the Endeavor titled.
Mosha said, “They must have damaged a gear, the controls are sluggish.”
More pings on the shield, fear leapt in my heart when I heard a crack. It was followed by a groan. One from inside the bridge. The ship tilted forward and sunk-it got hotter, very hot. I knew something was wrong with a broiler. Ted, first mate, ran for the speaker tube. Air rushed by me. I looked and found a small hole in the window near where it joined the metal body of the ship. So one bullet managed to slip around the shield somehow. I also noticed that no one stood near it. I was the closest. A Watched shouted, “Two streaks headed our way.”
No time to deal with that, I ran, slipped when the Endeavor tilted again, caught my balance, and made it to the emergency bucket. The bridge had two of them. As I said we had a procedure for small leaks. I grabbed the ladle. Pain seared though my hand, yet I held on-I had to. The fire under the bucket was still going. My teeth ground together as I spun around, headed for that hole. A tiny tornado rushed toward it, along with papers and pencils. With little grace I dumped the thick liquid onto the hole. A maple smell filled the bridge, I couldn’t understand why, but my mouth watered, waffles and this syrup would taste good. Yes, we used good old Vermont maple syrup. It flowed through the hole, froze when it touched space. Instant plug, the air stopped, the papers and pencils fell. Two pieces stuck out of the hole intermixed with the syrup.
Ted said, “One engineer is badly hurt sir, he was shot then fell on the broiler. He received some bad burns.”
The Endeavor slipped again, we fell toward the window then to one side.
“That broiler is out of control, it’s releasing too much stream--they are opening ad closing emergency stream release tubes”� Those tubes led to outside the ship and acted like the steering jets which explained the wild ride.
Ted continued, “If they can’t lower the temperature, it will blow.”
Another problem, how can I use one against the other? As I had been taught.
“Use the emergency cooler.”
That was a pipe that let water from the broiler drop into the fire pan of the broiler instantly putting out the fire.
“The Chief engineer says that will make that broiler useless until it dries out.”
“If it blows it will be useless, as will as the whole ship.”
A sudden thought came to mind, “Is there an emergency pipe through the belly?”
“Yes,...”
I didn’t let him come up with an excuse why we shouldn’t use it, “Let out as much stream as possible through that pipe.”
“Aye sir.”
I waited, I looked around, saw that the wounded crew member was receiving treatment. It didn’t look bad.”
When I felt the ship move upward I directed the helmsman. He fought the wheel harder than usual, but the ship turned. The forward watcher said, “The enemy ship is up and ahead of us. I can clearly see it’s belly.
“Fire one of the XJs.”
Along with a dozen of the smaller rockets and two other
weapons, we carried two large experimental rockets. They carried an explosive charge ten times the weight of the smaller ones.
More levers were pulled which resulted in a larger clang. A few seconds later the watcher said, “I see the ignition, the rocket is headed out.”
We waited again.
Watcher One?”
“The XJ is still flying, sir. It-it exploded-but no direct hit the enemy.”
I thought, what, did they have some type of weapon to shot down our rockets?� His voice continued, “It was close enough to damage the enemy, sir. Whatever it hit must have been very close...maybe a wireless antennae I couldn’t see.”
“What damage to that ship?”
“I see a hole plus debris and what might be bodies. We scored big. They’re firing on us again?”
More pings.
I said, “We shall return the favor. Fire the gats.”
The cannoneer mumbled some more, but pulled different levers. Two new clangs meant to new hatches opened. More gear sounds and two Watchers-these weapons were on each side of the ship-said, “The Gatling guns are deployed.”
One Watcher ended his comment with a “Sir”.
I said, “Fire if you please, Lieutenant.”
The first mate pulled a lever and I heard the gats fire. We only had so many bullets for them though.
“Hold your fire until we see what damage the other ship took.”
Watcher one said, “I can see impacts on the other ship, but we are too far away to. I can’t see damage.”
A moment later though, “There is some damage. A tiny piece spun away...I see steam escaping from one side.”
I raised my eyebrows could it be battle damage or were they...
“They must have had enough, sir. They are turning and fleeing like a dog with its tail between its legs.”
My First Officer said, “We need to chase them, sir. Find out where they are from.”
“Slow our speed. How much air do we have left?”
The First Mate said, “Four hours sir, that is enough time to see where they head. We need to know if they’re from Russia, those short, slanted eyed people from the East or someone form Mars.”
I thought about it, “Yes, we do but it could be a trap or it might take too long to find their port of call. On top of that we have injured. Head back to over Washington, DC.”
There was another reason to get out of the way. Discovery was about to be shot into space. I wanted to be somewhere safely out of the way. If we had a chance to communicate with them, we could tell them of the attacker. They had full weapons and full air supply so they could search for them.
We made it back to the spot where I wanted to be just in time to see a giant poof from the surface. An intermitted cloud cover made it hard to tell but I thought it came from somewhere in Florida. The same cannon that shot us into space.
I decided to say something, “Crew, you all did well. We survived being shot into space, we survived the attack and beat off the attacker,” there was a cheer here, “we will stay up here for another two and a half hours-we still have a survey to do...then head down.”
There were groans at that last. I didn’t blame them. The shot up here had been rough but the reentry would be rougher. We would aim for the right position and angle, then fire the drive rockets to send us into the atmosphere and to use up the fuel. The trip down would get very hot. That was how the Atlantis had been lost, unused fuel exploded on the way down. My brother and the rest of the men lost on that ship and the Discovery had been a bonny crew: strong, intelligent and brave, served their country and science-heroes all. I miss him badly but he died doing what he wanted.
If everything went as planned half way to the surface three helium balloons would pop out. I was glad we had the support of the US government which meant we had a large supply of helium. It was better for our use than the hydrogen The Hindenburg and other large airships used. The drag the balloons produced would slow us down enough so we could land in one of the Great Lakes. There would be more bruises but experience told us we would survive.
While we waited, I had things to think about. I really hadn’t wanted the weapons on board but this attack from a strange ship had been unprovoked. We had tried to communicate peacefully...they tried to destroy us, to kill my crew and did injury two. I had hoped if they were follow humans we could join forces to explore space. If they were from Mars, or even Venus, we could have shared sciences. What they could tell us of their world would further our knowledge and what we know of the planets. In either case, it looked like they wanted space for themselves. They could be responsible for the disappearance of the Germain space dirigible, the Uber Bismarck. Or since our attacker was three times our size it could have been the Bismarck. Whatever the case we needed to be armed to defend ourselves.
I sighed, I hated to come to that conclusion but with dangerous people, Martians, or Venusians, or even Germans, in space we had to be careful. Which meant we needed to be armed if they attacked us again. We should try to communicate with them, but we shouldn’t be sitting ducks either.

The End

Except from my new novel The Courier

Since I am almost finished with the final corrections on my novel The Courier I decided to post some excerpts from it. This is 3,880 words of the first chapter. It ends with a cliffhanger.

I am not sure when I will be publishing the full novel but the way it is going now it will be in April. I have said this before but the corrections are going slow because they are tedious and I keep losing my place and have to spend time finding it. But since I am somewhat past half way I am starting to feel like I want to get it done so am spending more time on it and less on other writing and social media. I may end up doing four excerpts but three for sure. I will be publishing it on E-book and paper formats. And at the usual sites: Amazon, Barnes and Noble, iTunes, Kobo, Smashwords etc. I am still looking into setting up my own site for the paper versions at least.

And I remind people that I have three novels already published. Two are in a Urban Fantasy series and one is a steampunk-special ops fusion. They are under L. E. Doggett and are at the usual sites, in paper and e-versions.

The novel is steampunk but set in our time. It is about a young woman who is a member of the Couriers. An organization of men and woman—even though there are mostly women couriers in this tale, it just worked out that way—who carry and deliver messages and hand held objects. That could be contracts, love letters, blueprints, gold, gems, parts, pictures, books and anything else that will fit in the special pouch they use. They have a reputation of delivering what they carry on time, if not early, no matter how far they have to go, or what obstacles they have to overcome-including gang members, robbers, ocean storms, dogs, and time. Kara Stronggear is one of them. And she will deliver what is entrusted to her no matter what, for she has a rep to build. She will become one of the better known couriers if she lives long enough to grow up.



Kara Stronggear ran around the corner of the high-rise office building. Steam cars and trucks rolled down the city street and the sidewalk up ahead looked half filled with people. A white steam bus with wide blue stripes went by, but she wouldn’t be able to catch it. The few people out and about got out of her way. The brown, denim-and-leather bag she carried gave away her occupation. Her short stature made it easier to whip around the slower ones.
A cool wind blew at her after she made the turn and made the few strands of her red hair outside of her cap flip around. A BMW steam bike roared by.
She had just passed a newspaper stand closed for the day and the smell of its fresh paint—for the first time in ten years—followed her. It mixed disagreeably with the odors from boilers: wood, oil, and coal fires and something else that a huge old steam truck burned that stunk and produced black smoke. She wouldn’t be surprised if the EPA went after that company soon.
Along the way she glanced at the theater and political posters stuck to the side of the building, as usual for New York they looked dark with grime. The many doors she passed invited her in but they might be locked and she didn’t want to take the chance that an office would turn into a trap. She had a rep to uphold, a bonus to earn and a baseball game to see after this delivery. The noise of the street vehicles echoed from the brick and steel buildings, but her hearing had adopted to it. She could pick out individual voices near her and still heard the footsteps of the person who chased her.
Maybe she should head for the new 911 memorial building. So many people there she could lose herself with ease. But no, too far away. That Baptist church nearby, had afternoon meetings for drug addicts and Celebrate Recovery, but she didn’t want to place those people in danger.
A white minivan with clear smoke that smelled of french fries almost jumped the curb when it hurried around another slower car. She glanced at it but it continued on. She spat, a very unladylike action, but the mixture of the paint and smoke produced a bad taste in her mouth. Her brown, with autumn red pockets, dungarees and leather shirt, with light read shoulders and pockets, would show people she wasn’t a lady anyway. Her shorter auburn hair lay mostly under a baseball cap snugged down tight. That made her scalp warm in this weather, but her whole body had to endure that. The cap's front panel showed her logo: a lightning bolt zipping down a city street. The bolt carried the same bag she did.
This time she had no idea what she carried in her reinforced bag. The pouch could carry more than ten red bricks. She knew that for once she had carried that many for a client. That job had taken a lot of her physically. She didn’t know who would want what she carried in it this time. If it contained cash or gems she could understand why, even if those contents were usually kept secret, which meant no one should know about it. But that knowledge could have gotten out. No one usually cared for contracts unless it involved industrial espionage or gangsters. The same went for plans and blueprints, or just plain letters. Unless it was some form of communication someone thought they could use for blackmail, no one cared. In her eighteen months of experience, and from advice from other couriers, she had learned that those who go after couriers hardly ever resorted to violence. The Mob might, but she had never had gangsters after her before. She might also be carrying evidence for a criminal case or secret government or military plans. The Mob could be after the first, but as far as she knew she hadn’t carried any secret papers or devices. That might be almost fun if she ever did.
The person who chased her now might be just interested in her. There were rapists around this city, after all. She thought of herself as attractive yet on the lower end of the pretty scale, with a pixie face to go with her light red hair. All of her walking, running and carrying, not to mention workouts, gave her figure a nice shape but that included muscles that most women didn’t carry. This guy might learn the same as two men, and a few assailants had. And experienced the unpleasant surprise of finding out how strong she was.
That brought up the memories of when she had been attacked on two of her recent jobs. By men who had wanted what she carried not her. That didn’t make any difference to her though, she had a good rep for getting what her clients wanted delivered on time and in one piece. She always made sure she kept that rep. One of the men had woken up in a steam ambulance while the other two had been run off even though they had knives. They had found out the hard way that she was armed in more ways than one.
That included her outfit which hid a steal underlay-a new type made stronger than ever. Chest, stomach and back armor covered her and her hat hid padded segments that would protect her head from most blows. She also carried a small three-shot pistol, two knives—one for throwing, which she hadn’t had to use so far—and two other weapons no one but her knew about. Not that her other weapons were common knowledge. Lastly three ball bearings of various sizes that were good to throw, marbles to drop on the ground in front of someone running, and a pocket full of long tacks for the same purpose but for anything with air tires.
She turned another corner and zipped through a space between buildings. Her steps echoed between the two buildings and the shade cooled her a little. A leap over some empty boxes got her on the far side fast. But the stinks here were so bad her body thought she could taste the mixture of rotten food, poo, decay and old paint.
The man hadn’t even slowed but by his footsteps she knew he still chased her. Kara wondered if she would have to resort to weapons. The father she barely knew had taught her the uses of a knife along with the marble and tack tricks. She picked up moves from two different boxers in training and she had taken courses from a teacher of eastern martial arts. An old Indian friend of her dad’s had showed her how to run long distances and how to hunt. The lessons had started when she reached ten years of age and had been living with relatives. Kara used lessons from the last to detect anyone hunting her. It had safeguarded her life once at least—before she had gotten the idea of this job—and saved the bag she carried twice. The padding and armor were her own ideas as had been her second knife. One long and thick enough to serve as a very short sword. On top of that a professional had shown her how to drive many types of land vehicles which included the multi-gear older trucks, and she knew the controls of some boats. She had picked up the basics for airship control. The large cargo and passenger ships needed more than one operator however but she thought she could pilot one if she ever needed to.
Kara dodged in and out of the walkers on the sidewalk—she hoped to lose her tail in the mix of clothing on this block. Workmen in blue denim, men and women in business suits and casual outfits, some women dressed in skimpy outfits that worked in a certain other type of business. The last were supposedly illegal in this city but the police usually left them alone unless they gathered together in a brothel or near a prominent building, church or school.
She aimed for a group of the last as she hoped their clothes would distract any man who followed her. She began to breath hard but a block later though she knew that last gambit hadn’t worked. He must be a pro or perhaps he was gay. It didn’t matter though. She weaved between a small mass of teens, through a group of nuns, turned right to cross the street, but as she passed around one very tall couple she made a sudden turn to the left into an alley. The darkness in it might throw off her tail if they had seen her flit down there. It smelled of urine, vomit, alcohol, decay and maybe old blood, but she heard no scuffles beyond rats. No breathing or snores either. The air cooled down, probably because the buildings on either side blocked the sun.
The rotten-food odors reminded her of the time she had had to eat some moldy bread and cheese to live, only a couple of years ago before her current career. Even now Kara appreciated she had left the meat alone. She had barely held down what she did eat, even though the old cheese hadn’t been too bad in its flavor. With a shake of her head she pushed those memories back where they belonged.
Kara studied her surroundings—shadows covered almost everything. Some light came from both alley mouths and from some widows two and three floors up. She didn’t know if those were tenants or offices. Offices might be easier to open up and climb into if needed. Some windows would be unlocked. Her dad and uncle taught her that. But she hadn’t wanted to make a living being a second-story man or cat burglar to work her way up to a top level all around crook like her dad.
Damn
That came so sudden she almost let it out. A scoff at the mouth of the alley she had come through warned her. She caught a slight movement there when she pivoted so quick she almost received an air burn on her cheeks. This guy knew his stuff. If he came from the Mob he was no ordinary gangster or hit man. From the government maybe—a special forces operative. If so, she would be dead.
Maybe she should give him the bag this time. She would more than likely be alive then even if she had to rebuild her rep. With slow steps Kara moved backward to the wall. The end of the alley proved to be a wall made of large, rough, cement blocks instead of the side of a building. The wall might lead to another alley or a parking lot. Either would be good.
Kara stood still, not only to make herself a harder target to find but also to listen. He would more than likely make a noise in an unfamiliar, dark space full of unseen objects just waiting to be bumped or stepped on. A nice cat’s tail would be good, or a trash can’s lid. They used bins now, but some habits die hard.
Damn, no sounds!
No deeper shadows, no breathing, no tiny movement of air caused by someone moving either. Either he was waiting for her to make a sound of her own or of that movement had been her imagination. That had happened once before, not long ago.
She breathed in as soft as possible through her nose: no extra odors. Not sweat, aftershave, hairspray, or other bodily smells. That last had let her know the position of one attacker a year ago and twice since. She had been out for a day of nature bonding when she had almost mistaken BO for animal droppings.
Now nothing. She hoped her body wouldn’t betray her, her own sweat at least might be tracked to her. And maybe she should start being careful what she ate the day before a run like this one.
How long could she stay in this position?
I am going to have to move one way or another soon.
A touch made further internal debate stopped, for it wasn’t needed anymore.
Minute vibrations through her bag alerted her. Something touched it. Her mind went through a series of possibilities: cat or rat? A huge spider? But she dismissed them almost as quick as they formed. It got to the only real answer in a heartbeat.
Damn, he’s even better than I thought.
He had moved without the slightest noise, or shadow and had found her. How? Kara asked herself as she pivoted, elbowed the guy with her left arm, and as she finished the turn, rammed the heel of her hand into the man’s chest—or that had been her plan. Her elbow hit something soft and hard but the heel of her hand just grazed a part of his torso. She pivoted outward and away but even as she settled two hands gripped her and a second later a knife edge found her throat. It just rested there, but her skin knew how sharp it was. Her sudden breath inward brought a whiff of her own fear-infused sweat. What felt like a hand moved along her bag; she knew the choice he had just given her. Her life for the bag. She breathed in again, and this time she tasted blood in the air. Her own? From her throat? Or maybe she had bit her lip again. It didn’t matter now. The choice did. It wouldn’t be a fair trade, for only one side would be permanent. Her rep would be gone, but as she had thought earlier she could remake it. Her life was another deal. Her eyes narrowed as did her lips. She willed her muscles to relax. She sighed even though she couldn’t say sure how much of it got out between her lips.
He seemed to be giving her time to think on it. She couldn’t stomp on his foot as much as she wanted to, as the motion might force her throat onto the blade and he would know that trick. His hand moved up the strap, stopped at the level of her chest. It moved over slightly. She couldn’t help it— she grunted, jerked, and smothered a snarl, before she realized he wasn’t copping a feel. The buckle for the strap lay against her body there. He probably didn’t mind his hand being there though.
Now her anger was up, even if he wasn’t manhandling her breast, she thought. He couldn’t see her face so wouldn’t know what the expression on her face meant. When her upper cheeks hardened, her nostrils flared and her mouth set in a certain way she knew. A tinkle suggested he had hold of the buckle and would be able to undo it even one handed.
A slow deep breath—she no longer could smell her own fear—and she waited.
The knife slipped very slightly but before she could react a memory of what her dad and Twoskunks each had said. In this situation it boiled down to wait more—it could be a fake. A second move of the knife hand—this could be a fake too but he almost had the buckle undone. Grabbing the hand would not do, as he had more strength than her. Kara could tell that by his hold. Being this close she could feel his strength and a few muscles. His warmth and build wormed its way into her thinking. She wanted to roll her eyes, but it did something for her feminine side. Now wasn’t the time to even feel that much less think about it and it went against her personal morals anyway. But his body felt like a good type of warmth, her face burned as if she were blushing, when she responded to his strength. Part of her feelings might be caused by the way his wrist rubbed her breast—not hard enough to bruise but still it created some friction.
Her mind back on her danger. Bite his wrist? Ready or not that would distract him. Might cause him to back hand her too through. She would have to take the chance. All she needed was a few seconds to get her other weapon into her hand. She tried a move for his eyes, but her fingers encountered something hard, smooth and glass-like.
A steam bike roared by outside the alley, it sounded like the rider rode on the sidewalk, headed in here, she thought perplexed and a tiny bit hopeful. They always made more noise than a steam car even with smaller boilers. The toot toot of a back-up steam horn sounded for seconds. She pulled in a slow breath through her nose. Got some of his scent along with her sweat. She rolled her eyes. No more distractions.
Kara let out a moan of pleasure that wasn’t all faked, and he paused as if thinking about what he just heard. She reacted by sliding away from the knife through the crook of his arm on that side. From the way his arm had rested she knew where that space would be. Her smaller size came in handy here. She brushed against his side and arm as she squeezed through that space. A smile crossed her face when she made it through before he could close his arm to trap her.
Once free she took a step to one side and spun around in a circle. In a second, even faster circle to gather speed, she lifted her right leg as far as possible as she came around the second time. She figured, hoped, that he would be facing her at this point. Her ankle connected with something hard with a flap. It moved. The sound of a body as it impacted the cement floor showed her that she had been correct in her aim—mostly. Her foot not her ankle should have hit his head. That joint now hurt, but she wouldn’t let it slow her. The pain reminded her of practice sessions. None of her teachers allowed her to stop because of pain.
To give her ankle time to recover and to do something unexpected, she drew her newest weapon. Slid a small knob on one side of it with her thumb. A very slight buzz sounded, she backed up, aimed to where the sound of the impact had come from, waited two heartbeats and then press a stud under it. A bright electrical bolt shot out. In the darkness the bright light dazzled her eyes, even through her closed lids. The hiss and very small electrical thump it made when it hit the cement revealed that she had missed. She backed up more, not caring about any noise she made for he knew where her location. Kara drew a breath in, breathed hard even as she moved. The air brought with it a tang of ozone. As she knew there would be.
Another three heartbeats and she moved to avoid whatever motions he made for her. A touch of air movement caused her to slide sideways, a darker man height mass in the darkness caused her to duck instinctively. She duckwalked three steps and stood. She knew he came for her. It hadn’t been quite long enough but Kara aimed the device in front of her and pressed the stud again even as she moved her arm. A less bright bolt shot out. She thought it moved slower—but that had to be her imagination. By the flash, she saw her bolt hit his side. He had to have slid that way when she aimed it. Too slow this time though. Again her vision clouded with stars and bright flashes, yet that didn’t interfere with the sound of a body impacting the cement a second time. The charge hadn’t been powerful enough to knock him out, but this time he should stay down at least long enough for her to climb that back wall.
A look around OH OH.
If I can find it again.
The darkness surrounded her, probably because her eyes had adjusted to the two bright strobes. A quick mental replay of their fight and she headed in one direction. The image of the area created by the electrical shock she supported her choice. There were no sounds except for those outside the alley. That included a siren. No way to know if someone had seen their fight and called the police. She didn’t want to talk to them anyway. Not only would that make her late but the electric stunner was illegal.
With her ears tuned to any sounds of the man getting up she hurried toward the wall. A solid bump on her nose that stopped her progress, revealed she had been closer than she thought. A short rub on the nose and a grunt was all the response she would give to the pain. React to it later; more lessons from her teachers but she had learned that one that hard way, too. The stink here also revealed where she as. An old, odor of urine strong enough for this to be a latrine for an army of homeless bums, she hoped—she hadn’t stepped in anything worse, but it hadn’t felt like it or smelled like it.
From around her waist Kara pulled out a small multi-pronged hook with a rough, very tough rope tied to it. She spun it then threw it upward. A clink followed. A heartbeat later by a second one on the alley floor. Another throw. She knew the height of the wall so she should be able to get this hook over it. The third try worked, she pulled on it to test how strong it stuck. It held so without further thought she started up. The wall was rough against the back of her hands and it tore her skin. The substance scraped her nose and one cheek when her body swayed, but she had known it that could happen. Sweat dripped into her mouth but she ignored the salty flavor it brought, as she couldn’t wipe her eyes or mouth.
Darkness showed above her and below. Some light behind her, but she climbed in shadows. It felt like she had been stuck there forever. Muscle strain began. She had to get up there before he caught her.
Just Darkness. Where am I? How much longer before I get to the top? If he gets me he will no doubt kill me and steal get my bag. I will have failed in this job, too. I can’t let that happen. Pain doesn’t matter, scraped skin isn’t important. My dad will know I failed for the rest of his time here, in the seconds I have to live I will know I failed. I want this life and this job-I need to do it!
She snarled and mouthed, “No! I have to get up there.”


end excerpt