The contents of the following story may contain depictions of adult situations, nudity, foul language, drugs/alcohol, and/or religious references.
Proceed at your own risk.
NOTES:
Incomplete Novelettes will remain Incomplete due to the material source getting lost and\or forgotten.
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Worth is Worth
by Geist von P.A., Mar 9, 2014, 3:14:39 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Short Stories
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Blurry, a soft focus as my eyes adjust.
I feel wasted, drained and confused.
“What a trip”, as I realize I'm laying on my antique florescent-orange, shag couch.
As I slowly sit up, unplugging the cord from the mood organ's neural jack, I realize the mess of Chinese carryout boxes strewn throughout my apartment.
Sitting, dazed, with my head in my hands and massaging my forehead.
- “What the hell happened last night?”
Feeling as if the MSG mixed with the mood organ's effects on my nervous system caused my body to go into a coma-like state, making my dreams seem more real than reality.
Flicking on the holographic projector, the coffee table beams today's news images.
Same old shit, wars, diseases, famines and poverty.
Nothing has changed in seventy-five years.
“Just another day in paradise.”
Click (Off)
“Saysha, will you please not do that?”
Pulling her head from one of the small white cartons, the Siamese cat pauses to give her blue, cross-eyed, questioning gaze from across the room.
Drip... Drip... Drip...
Echoes around until it pounds on the tiny doors that are my eardrums.
My brain pulses in rhythm as each drop of water falls and then breaks upon the stainless sink, like that of tiny bombs being dropped from unseen planes above.
Then without warning, a knock at the door that shakes the entire apartment.
The unsteady vibrations are like visible echoes as I cling to the couch and wait for it to stop.
“Come on, man! Open the door!”
“Goddamn it, Wilcoat, stop that pounding!”
Wilcoat and I go way back.
We fought in the riots.
Before that it was college, where our major studies were the girls.
Before that; Elementary school and playing commando fighters on the playground.
We were like brothers from different mothers.
“Well, I see someone is happy to see me this morning”,
says Wilcoat pushing past me as I close the door behind him.
Wilcoat pauses, as he takes in the state of the apartment. -
“You have a party here last night and I wasn't invited?”
“...can't re-mem-ber..” - I mutter through a yawn.
I scratch my testicles and realize I'm not wearing pants.
The stench of sex reaches my nostrils as I make my way to the refrigerator.
When did I have sex, with who, last night?
“So, what's so damn important that you had to come over and pound on my door like you are the Jeng looking for a hopper?”
The cold breeze from the refrigerator chills my body enough to make my willy limp and retreat like a scared turtle's head.
“You want a brew?” - I ask, as I clutch two for myself.
-------
I couldn't believe it.
9:45am and here I am taking the central Huv-A-Buz downtown with Wilcoat to meet up with some local napper.
This trip better be worth it.
Trying to catch a few winks seems frivolous, what with thirty-two HD holo-screens blasting everything from Jesus to jeopardy and wars to porn.
The view outside the H.A.B. isn't much better, a wasted scum-hole of a city littered with advertisements within advertisements.
The subliminal messaging campaign boomed after the 21st century, eventually such a high degree of citizens were so brainwashed into believing everything they said, that it became a way of life.
People don't think for themselves anymore, corporations think for them.
A great conditioning of the masses; what I like to call Sheeple.
Not me and Wilcoat here.
We kept our sanity and memories, the very essence of what makes us human.
Our dignity.
We may be a minority to the world, but it's our kind of minority that gives us an edge.
The pink neon sign above the entrance glowed an outline of a woman in a cat suite, complete with flickering waving tail as if beckoning us.
“*The Pink Lady Lounge. Seriously, Wilco?”
“Hey, I didn't pick the place. He said to meet him here at 10:00.”
My eye's roll so far back into my head that I see the blue neuron sparks firing, as they try to find logic in why our contact would pick such a place.
I knew something wasn't right when Wilco told me our contact was a napper, but I let it slide when he told me the payout.
As we entered the club, that gut feeling returned.
“He said he'd be in the private section, even gave us the slip card and password to get in”
"I sure hope you know what we're getting into, Wilco."
Not that I didn't trust him, Wilco was the only person I could trust, it's just that some details get overlooked sometimes.
The place inside was done in retro early 90's style of what strip clubs used to be like.
The only difference was it's people, not just the dancers, but its customers.
Ever since the interplanetary alliances of 2012 ,every creature from Earth to the great far-out reaches of the galaxies , started mingling in places like these.
As if we didn't have enough scum on Earth as it was, we welcomed Nibs, Tronts and Hiplouds.
The universe was an open range, free to travel to any planet in any galaxy.
“Hey, check that one out. Three tits!” - Wilco boomed over the trance music.
“Makes you wish you had three hands, doesn't it?!” Wilco continued as he made gestures as if cupping them.
“That's a prime example of why you need a girlfriend, Wilcs.”
“Maybe I'll ask her.” Wilco suggested through a hardy laugh.
“So where's the private section? I'm getting droned from all this stimulate,” I ask as the music and lights intensify towards a new dancer entering the stage.
Wilco pivoted his head, scanning for the room. “I don't know. Lets ask the Juicer”
“Excuse me! Where's the private section?,” Wilco asks as he leaned across the bar.
The Hiploud rotates slowly, glass in one hand rag in the other, and gives us an electronic stare through his implanted monocle.
I take notice of his name tag,“Sal.”
I've had this habit ever since I was a child and it never outgrew.
“What's that?” Sal's Voice Translation Box crackles out a deep monotone voice.
“The private section?” Wilco repeats.
“Don't have a private section.” announces Sal as he slowly turns back to what he was doing.
(Generally cautious creatures, with a tendency for thinking they own everything, add in a very big dash of asshole and you have yourself a Hiploud.)
I've never been into inter-galactic species culture and history, I mostly judge via character, personality, ethics, ect.
I do know, from being around the multi-verse of beings on this planet, how to read them fairly well.
So right away I could tell that Sal was hiding something.
“This is the Pink Lady Lounge and the address is...”
Wilco's voice trailed off as I took notice of the many different stages and dancers.
Interrupting Wilco, I shouted; “Excuse me, Sal. What time does the Pink Lady perform?”
“Every hour, on the hour, until close.” Sal responded.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to point me in the right direction, seeing how I'm color blind and do not see a single pink lady upon any of these stages.” Sometimes a little reverse psychology goes a long way.
“Are you shitting me, boy? You can't tell me you haven't gotten that problem fixed with optical-color-correction implants!” Sal boomed.
For a moment I didn't think my plan would work, and Wilco almost gave me away when he remarked by saying “Color Blind!?”.
“That's right. I'm all original...” It was very rare, but it wasn't unheard of “So would you be so kind?”
“You must be able to see well enough to see she isn't on any of the stages out there” Sal said as he thumped off to help another customer.
“I never knew you were color blind.” Wilco said with a surprised look upon his face.
“I'm not, you tard. Thankfully, the look on your face made it that much more convincing.”
“So what's the plan?” Wilco asked
“Same as usual.” I replied
There were many variations as to what “Usual” meant, somehow Wilco always knew which one I was talking about.
So when the Hiploud returned I continued my sleuthing.
“Excuse me, Sal”
“Look, *Natties. The real entertainment is out there. I only serve further enhancing stimulates here, and conversation isn't one of them.”
I reached into my pocket and pooled out a couple blips.
“Give my friend and I a martini, shaken, not stirred,” I always loved quoting old movies in situations like these.
“When will we be seeing the Pink Lady's performance?” I nonchalantly ask as I turn towards the dancers.
“She's performing right now and again at eleven.” Sal's **V.T.B murmurs over the shaking of our drinks being made.
“So if she's performing right now, and she isn't on any of these stages... Then where is she, Sal?”
my voice echoing around the electronic beats.
Sal pours our drink with a sour face as he realizes his mistake.
Switching off his V.T.B. Sal leans over the bar and in a whispered growl tells us to follow him.
*(Natural beings who refuse to augment themselves with synthetic implants)
**(Voice Translation Box)
Leaving our drinks we make our way down a beautifully red wallpapered hall with gold floral inlay design and matching trims.
Sal opens a big burgundy door with a symbol of a woman inside a little triangle frame and directs us inside.
That gut feeling returns as we stand in the woman's restroom, big Sal blocking the only exit.
Wilco and I looked at each other, “The Usual” I lipped.
A confirming nod from Wilco meant he understood, before turning towards Sal.
Before Wilco and I could get into a good stance, ready to fight.
Sal, had gone over to the mirror above the sink and gently removed it from it's location, revealing a small card reader with keypad.
Stomach pains and bullet sweat subsiding Wilco took out the pass-card and slid it through the reader.
The screen flashed a few non-descriptive symbols and then asked for the ten digit access code.
Wilco entered 7 6 7 5 7 4 2 6 5 7.
There was a few metallic clicking sounds from locks releasing as one of the entire stalls folded neatly in on itself and then was lifted to reveal an old iron spiral staircase.
I took a quick glance back at the Hipload, I wasn't completely sure but I think he smirked just before the last bit of the wall closed.
Wilco and I had to crouch as we made our way down the old staircase.
“Hey, Bex. Remember the time we broke into that old abandon missile silo when we were twelve?”
“Yea. What about it?”
“Don't you remember all the stairs and ladders we had to take just to get to the bottom?
And when we got there we found that dead body. I don't think anyone ever climbed out of a hole so fast as we did that day.” Wilco finished just as we reached the landing.
“So what are you getting at, Wilcs? It's a little late to be getting on edge about all this, especially since we just got locked in a cellar.”
“Chill out, Worth. I was simply connecting a memory to our current situation, you know. Remember how curious we were before we finally broke into that silo? All the old junk we found as we made our way deeper into the belly of that giant beast. It's always been our curiosity that drove us into exciting new things, and it was always our skills and wisdom that got us out of situations if they got sour.”
He already knew it, even though I didn't say a word, but Wilco was right.
Worth is Worth (Continuation II)
by geistvonpa, Aug 18, 2014, 3:42:41 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Short Stories
“Ahem! If you two are finished reminiscing I will show you to the private section.” The Hiploud's voice translation box interrupted as it made a crackling echo within the small space.
This hiploud was in a very nice black suit and tie, with shiny wingtip shoes.
The light caught his gold name plate; SAL.
Two Sals working in the same joint, or is it one Sal working two different jobs in the same joint?
Boggled as to how he could have changed clothes so fast, considering Hiplouds are vertical standing rhinoceros sized creatures and tend to be very slow moving.
“Ready gentlemen? Follow me, please” said; Sal, opening the door.
Sal seated us at a small table, it was draped with a red satin tablecloth with a oil burning candle in the center.
From our position we could see the entire layout of the cabaret.
“So where is this guy, Wilcs?”
“He said he'd be here, he'll be here. Maybe he's using the piss-hole or something.”
Wilco and Myself ordered a round of drinks.
Normally we don't discuss business while drinking, but we felt it eased tensions between clients if it seemed we were enjoying ourselves.
“There's the bugger now.” - Wilco motioning with a nod as he spotted the man approaching.
He was a much older man; dark complexion, thinning hairline, arms bent at the elbows with small hands just dangling by tendons, and a severe hunched back.
If I had to make an educated guess, given the tweed jacket and the way his skin hung from his body like a draped cloth, and that almost T-Rex-like appearance...
I would say his entire life was hovering over microscopes, beakers, petri-dishes and long nights finishing overdue paperwork.
Being a Napper didn't entitle you to one specific job, but many jobs working towards the same outcome.
We all knew what that outcome was, but the jobs within the corporation were of the utmost secretive, needing level thirty-three clearance.
They couldn't even breed sapient beings that smart.
The gentleman sat down at the table and gleaned at Wilco and I for a few moments, his lips silently moved up and down.
I could tell something was wrong but decided to press on with the matters at hand.
“So. My comrade says we might be interested in something you have to offer.”
The elder pulled open the jacket's left breast and reached slowly into a pocket, revealing a small cylindrical shape with a red button and held it firmly in his hand.
He then proceeded to lean across the table, which wasn't more then two more inches from his current position.
The Elder spoke in a raspy voice - “For Insurance. You understand.” before resting against the chair's padded-red-velvet backing.
“Of course Mr....” - “The Name's Dr. Trankle” - “Of course Dr. Trankle. We wouldn't expect it any other way.” - Wilco, said with a smile, as we both placed our hands flat upon the table.
“Good.” - Dr. Trankle, coughed out a laugh.
Wilco and I could see this might get interesting, but with about forty by-standards enjoying their dancing and drinking, it could get really messy too.
So we just played it cool, we've dealt with unprofessional wild-cards in the past.
The Elder fingered the left pocket of his tweet jacket and produced a photo I.D. holo-card, and a small hermetically sealed light-blue bag.
“You will need these.” Dr. Trankle paused, as if distracted by a sound, and turned ninety degrees in his seat to look behind him.
Wilco and I caught each others eyes, and shrugged slightly in wonderment as to how he could have heard anything within the droning of music and chatter.
As the man turned, facing us once again, I noticed a small bit of red explode upon the right breast of the man's tan jacket, no bigger than a teardrop.
“Everything you need to know is inside that blue bag. I must go now.” Dr. Trankle's words rasped through the surrounding commotion.
“What about the money?” Wilco blurted as Trankle departed the table and made his way through the crowd.
I had to admit that for a gentleman that looked to be upon death's door, he moved as fast as a little leaguer trying to catch that inevitable home run ball.
“Wait a goddamn minute!” Wilco yelled as he pushed his way past the table towards the elder.
I grabbed Wilco's shoulder just before reaching the crowd of dancers, he pulled a fist up but retracted the action once he saw my fist making a flicking motion with my thumb.
“Lets get the fuck out of here, before we get the Jeng on us.” I explained to Wilco.
Worth is Worth (Cont. III)
by geistvonpa, Aug 19, 2014, 1:42:38 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Short Stories
“You were causing a scene, Wilcs. I couldn't have all those people blown away or risk getting the Jeng called on us. We are lucky to have been leaving under our own will, rather than getting tossed out by that damn Hiploud.
Just calm down so we can think rationally about what happened. Ok?”
The apartment reeked of stale Cantonese cuisine.
Saysha didn't seem to mind, judging how she laid, purring, among the empty cartons.
I handed Wilco a brew and joined him on the couch and took a sip of my own, before setting the bottle on the table.
The Blue bag and the I.D. card was sitting, along with random food wrappers strewn across the coffee table.
A few moments in time passed, Wilco and I sat there waiting for our tempers to cool before speaking.
“So. what's the plan?” - Wilco asked, from the edge of his seat as he stared at the sweating brew in his hands.
“Well. As I see it. We have two options.” - Worth, started to explain.
“Option one; We open the bag and see what's inside. The old-man did say 'Everything we need to know was in that bag'.”
“Well I highly doubt our money is in there!” - said, Wilco, with irritation in his voice.
“That doesn't go without saying that the bag could contain information on how to obtain our money. Remember that jobs we did for that Tront Trap Boss? We never even discussed the money...”
“Because he threatened to cut our peckers off, and worse, if we didn't do the job.” - Chimed Wilco.
“Because... He let us keep the money from the raid as payment. Which. I still have stashed away for a rainy day.” - Worth said with a smile as he brought the brew to his lips.
“Ok. So you are saying that the Bag could contain instructions on where to pick-up the cash. What's the second option?” - Preceded Wilco.
“We find the nearest incendiary-disposal facility and forget this whole day ever happened.” - Replied Worth, after swallowing the amber liquid.
“And then we get Triped for not completing our job.” - Clamored Wilco.
“Who's to say this job is even legit, Wilco?”
Wilco stood, paced around the coffee-table, sporadically sipping his brew and side-eying the blue bag.
Worth relaxed in the crook of the couch with his arms spread along the back.
After an extended amount of silence, Wilco, spoke.
“I mean how do we know it's not a bomb?”
Worth leaned over, picked up the bag and weighed it in his hand.
“It's light.” - Worth said.
Turning over the bag and examining it under the sun, that was streaming through the window.
“I don't see anything special about it... I'll run it through the analyzer.”
Worth stood, taking one more sip from his brew before setting it on the coffee-table, and went through the burgundy-colored-curtain that divided rooms.
Emerging from the darkened room, Worth, went to the kitchen where he placed the small device on the counter.
It was a mat-black color, sleek design that had a disc sitting upon a square base.
A set of buttons and a small display lit up when Worth placed the bag on the disc.
Making his way towards the electric sounds of the analyzer, Wilco, Asked - “Where did you get that?”
“Noir De marché” - Replied Worth with a smug grin on his face.
Wilco's jaw dropped as he asked - “When the hell did you go there, and why wasn't I invited?”
The machine whirled and beeped, before displaying “H-(O-CH2-CH2)n-OH”
“Some piece of machinery. It only analyzed the bag.” - Boomed Wilco as he chortled.
“That can' be right.” - Said; Worth.
Reaching into the fridge, Worth, pulled out a yellow container and placed in on the analyzer.
Whirling and beeping the Analyzer finally displayed a list of compounds.
“See. It recognized everything in mustard, including the container.”
Worth replaced the bag for analysis, and the display read “H-(O-CH2-CH2)n-OH”
Wilco grabbed the bag and gently fingered it's contents, before saying - “It definitely has something inside.”
“Exactly. But this thing can't tell us what it is. What a waste of 120-Z” - Said; Worth, disappointed.
“Fuck it.” - said, Wilco as he gripped either side and pulled the edges apart.
Wilco, and I, had cleared the coffee table and had various equipment set up to find out what this little device was.
It was a small metallic, half centimeter thick in a rounded edge triangle shape with, what looked like a touch sensor button in the middle of one side, and some sort coupler on the other.
Sitting back within the orange shag, Wilco and Myself, Knocked back the rest of the beer. We had finished the six-pack, and an hour later still had no idea what this device was. We had ran it through various analyses tests and examined it under the microscope.
The only conclusion was that it was a stainless-steel shell encasing a gelatinous-nano core. As to what the nanites did or were used for, was entirely a guess. None of the machines could pick up the device, which means it could have some kind of a stealth drive installed, or elements that were not known by the analyzing machines.
“Let me see that thing a minutes, Worth.” - Wilco, said, with an out reached hand from the other side of the couch.
“Just a second. I’m trying to figure out how this port work, I’ve never seen one like this before.” - Worth explained as he ran his thumb over the port’s hole.
“That old man sure didn’t stick around to give us any clues as to what in the hell we are suppose to do with this thing, let alone what our objective actually is.” - Said, Worth, irritated as he handed the device over to Wilco.
“Saysha! Come here, girl.” - Said, Wilco, in a lovely sweet voice. Or at least as sweet and loving as he could manage.
“What are you doing, Wilcs?”
“Just let me indulge my curiosity.” - Said, Wilco, as he raised his index finger to the air, as if confirming he needed a minute to decide how his little experiment will turn out.
“Fine. Just don’t hurt my cat. By the way; I don’t think she’s going to come on command, unless you are opening a tuna can.”
With a bit of huff of discussed, Wilco, stood up from the couch and made his way to where Saysha was lounging on the windowsill.
He scooped her up gently, supporting her body with his arm under her as he held her close to his chest.
“You’re such a good Kitty. Lazy and a but obnoxious some of the time, but you’re a good kitty.” - Wilco said as he rubbed his cheek on Saysha’s head as he made his way back to the couch.
“Ever think of having kids, Wilco? You would make a great parent.” Worth said mockingly within a laugh.
“Shut up. Kids love me...Well, maybe it’s more the animal kingdom. But I would be great with a son, or daughter, of my own.” - Replied; Wilco.
“Oh. No doubt. You would just subject them to rigorous tests to make sure they live up to your standards of how Natties should act.” - Wilco bantered.
“In a society where Ninety-eight percent of the population has integrated with machines... You have to set your standards for Natty living a little higher.” - Wilco, shot back.
Worth chuckled until he started choking on his own saliva as it found its way down the wrong passage of his throat.
“So what are you going to do with my cat?” - Said; Worth through a wet cough.
Wilco had sat Saysha on the coffee table in front of him, stroking her head and scratched her ears a bit to calm her down, before introducing the unknown device to her.
Saysha sniffed around the small metallic device with curiosity as Wilco held it in his open palm.
It wasn’t until after she had licked it, that she pulled her head back, away, from the object, sneezed, hissed and then pissed all over the coffee table before bolting for the bedroom.
“Way to go, Wilco, you found out how to piss her off on command.” - Said worth Angrily, as he jumped up to get a towel from the closet.
“That wasn’t my intent. I didn’t know she was going to piss everywhere.” - Replied; Wilco, As he scattered to remove the electronic from the coffee table.
“It’s ok, she got most of it on the plastic bag the device came in.” - Wilco shouted.
“Worth!?” - said; Wilco, in surprise as he stood up and backed away from the coffee table a few feet.
“I’m right here, stop shout...” - Worth went silent without finishing his sentence.
Both men stood, in amazement, as they watched the transformation of the blue bag dissolve, revealing a diagram.
Worth is Worth
by Geist von P.A., Mar 9, 2014, 3:14:39 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Short Stories
---------------------------------------
Blurry, a soft focus as my eyes adjust.
I feel wasted, drained and confused.
“What a trip”, as I realize I'm laying on my antique florescent-orange, shag couch.
As I slowly sit up, unplugging the cord from the mood organ's neural jack, I realize the mess of Chinese carryout boxes strewn throughout my apartment.
Sitting, dazed, with my head in my hands and massaging my forehead.
- “What the hell happened last night?”
Feeling as if the MSG mixed with the mood organ's effects on my nervous system caused my body to go into a coma-like state, making my dreams seem more real than reality.
Flicking on the holographic projector, the coffee table beams today's news images.
Same old shit, wars, diseases, famines and poverty.
Nothing has changed in seventy-five years.
“Just another day in paradise.”
Click (Off)
“Saysha, will you please not do that?”
Pulling her head from one of the small white cartons, the Siamese cat pauses to give her blue, cross-eyed, questioning gaze from across the room.
Drip... Drip... Drip...
Echoes around until it pounds on the tiny doors that are my eardrums.
My brain pulses in rhythm as each drop of water falls and then breaks upon the stainless sink, like that of tiny bombs being dropped from unseen planes above.
Then without warning, a knock at the door that shakes the entire apartment.
The unsteady vibrations are like visible echoes as I cling to the couch and wait for it to stop.
“Come on, man! Open the door!”
“Goddamn it, Wilcoat, stop that pounding!”
Wilcoat and I go way back.
We fought in the riots.
Before that it was college, where our major studies were the girls.
Before that; Elementary school and playing commando fighters on the playground.
We were like brothers from different mothers.
“Well, I see someone is happy to see me this morning”,
says Wilcoat pushing past me as I close the door behind him.
Wilcoat pauses, as he takes in the state of the apartment. -
“You have a party here last night and I wasn't invited?”
“...can't re-mem-ber..” - I mutter through a yawn.
I scratch my testicles and realize I'm not wearing pants.
The stench of sex reaches my nostrils as I make my way to the refrigerator.
When did I have sex, with who, last night?
“So, what's so damn important that you had to come over and pound on my door like you are the Jeng looking for a hopper?”
The cold breeze from the refrigerator chills my body enough to make my willy limp and retreat like a scared turtle's head.
“You want a brew?” - I ask, as I clutch two for myself.
-------
I couldn't believe it.
9:45am and here I am taking the central Huv-A-Buz downtown with Wilcoat to meet up with some local napper.
This trip better be worth it.
Trying to catch a few winks seems frivolous, what with thirty-two HD holo-screens blasting everything from Jesus to jeopardy and wars to porn.
The view outside the H.A.B. isn't much better, a wasted scum-hole of a city littered with advertisements within advertisements.
The subliminal messaging campaign boomed after the 21st century, eventually such a high degree of citizens were so brainwashed into believing everything they said, that it became a way of life.
People don't think for themselves anymore, corporations think for them.
A great conditioning of the masses; what I like to call Sheeple.
Not me and Wilcoat here.
We kept our sanity and memories, the very essence of what makes us human.
Our dignity.
We may be a minority to the world, but it's our kind of minority that gives us an edge.
The pink neon sign above the entrance glowed an outline of a woman in a cat suite, complete with flickering waving tail as if beckoning us.
“*The Pink Lady Lounge. Seriously, Wilco?”
“Hey, I didn't pick the place. He said to meet him here at 10:00.”
My eye's roll so far back into my head that I see the blue neuron sparks firing, as they try to find logic in why our contact would pick such a place.
I knew something wasn't right when Wilco told me our contact was a napper, but I let it slide when he told me the payout.
As we entered the club, that gut feeling returned.
“He said he'd be in the private section, even gave us the slip card and password to get in”
"I sure hope you know what we're getting into, Wilco."
Not that I didn't trust him, Wilco was the only person I could trust, it's just that some details get overlooked sometimes.
The place inside was done in retro early 90's style of what strip clubs used to be like.
The only difference was it's people, not just the dancers, but its customers.
Ever since the interplanetary alliances of 2012 ,every creature from Earth to the great far-out reaches of the galaxies , started mingling in places like these.
As if we didn't have enough scum on Earth as it was, we welcomed Nibs, Tronts and Hiplouds.
The universe was an open range, free to travel to any planet in any galaxy.
“Hey, check that one out. Three tits!” - Wilco boomed over the trance music.
“Makes you wish you had three hands, doesn't it?!” Wilco continued as he made gestures as if cupping them.
“That's a prime example of why you need a girlfriend, Wilcs.”
“Maybe I'll ask her.” Wilco suggested through a hardy laugh.
“So where's the private section? I'm getting droned from all this stimulate,” I ask as the music and lights intensify towards a new dancer entering the stage.
Wilco pivoted his head, scanning for the room. “I don't know. Lets ask the Juicer”
“Excuse me! Where's the private section?,” Wilco asks as he leaned across the bar.
The Hiploud rotates slowly, glass in one hand rag in the other, and gives us an electronic stare through his implanted monocle.
I take notice of his name tag,“Sal.”
I've had this habit ever since I was a child and it never outgrew.
“What's that?” Sal's Voice Translation Box crackles out a deep monotone voice.
“The private section?” Wilco repeats.
“Don't have a private section.” announces Sal as he slowly turns back to what he was doing.
(Generally cautious creatures, with a tendency for thinking they own everything, add in a very big dash of asshole and you have yourself a Hiploud.)
I've never been into inter-galactic species culture and history, I mostly judge via character, personality, ethics, ect.
I do know, from being around the multi-verse of beings on this planet, how to read them fairly well.
So right away I could tell that Sal was hiding something.
“This is the Pink Lady Lounge and the address is...”
Wilco's voice trailed off as I took notice of the many different stages and dancers.
Interrupting Wilco, I shouted; “Excuse me, Sal. What time does the Pink Lady perform?”
“Every hour, on the hour, until close.” Sal responded.
“Perhaps you would be so kind as to point me in the right direction, seeing how I'm color blind and do not see a single pink lady upon any of these stages.” Sometimes a little reverse psychology goes a long way.
“Are you shitting me, boy? You can't tell me you haven't gotten that problem fixed with optical-color-correction implants!” Sal boomed.
For a moment I didn't think my plan would work, and Wilco almost gave me away when he remarked by saying “Color Blind!?”.
“That's right. I'm all original...” It was very rare, but it wasn't unheard of “So would you be so kind?”
“You must be able to see well enough to see she isn't on any of the stages out there” Sal said as he thumped off to help another customer.
“I never knew you were color blind.” Wilco said with a surprised look upon his face.
“I'm not, you tard. Thankfully, the look on your face made it that much more convincing.”
“So what's the plan?” Wilco asked
“Same as usual.” I replied
There were many variations as to what “Usual” meant, somehow Wilco always knew which one I was talking about.
So when the Hiploud returned I continued my sleuthing.
“Excuse me, Sal”
“Look, *Natties. The real entertainment is out there. I only serve further enhancing stimulates here, and conversation isn't one of them.”
I reached into my pocket and pooled out a couple blips.
“Give my friend and I a martini, shaken, not stirred,” I always loved quoting old movies in situations like these.
“When will we be seeing the Pink Lady's performance?” I nonchalantly ask as I turn towards the dancers.
“She's performing right now and again at eleven.” Sal's **V.T.B murmurs over the shaking of our drinks being made.
“So if she's performing right now, and she isn't on any of these stages... Then where is she, Sal?”
my voice echoing around the electronic beats.
Sal pours our drink with a sour face as he realizes his mistake.
Switching off his V.T.B. Sal leans over the bar and in a whispered growl tells us to follow him.
*(Natural beings who refuse to augment themselves with synthetic implants)
**(Voice Translation Box)
Leaving our drinks we make our way down a beautifully red wallpapered hall with gold floral inlay design and matching trims.
Sal opens a big burgundy door with a symbol of a woman inside a little triangle frame and directs us inside.
That gut feeling returns as we stand in the woman's restroom, big Sal blocking the only exit.
Wilco and I looked at each other, “The Usual” I lipped.
A confirming nod from Wilco meant he understood, before turning towards Sal.
Before Wilco and I could get into a good stance, ready to fight.
Sal, had gone over to the mirror above the sink and gently removed it from it's location, revealing a small card reader with keypad.
Stomach pains and bullet sweat subsiding Wilco took out the pass-card and slid it through the reader.
The screen flashed a few non-descriptive symbols and then asked for the ten digit access code.
Wilco entered 7 6 7 5 7 4 2 6 5 7.
There was a few metallic clicking sounds from locks releasing as one of the entire stalls folded neatly in on itself and then was lifted to reveal an old iron spiral staircase.
I took a quick glance back at the Hipload, I wasn't completely sure but I think he smirked just before the last bit of the wall closed.
Wilco and I had to crouch as we made our way down the old staircase.
“Hey, Bex. Remember the time we broke into that old abandon missile silo when we were twelve?”
“Yea. What about it?”
“Don't you remember all the stairs and ladders we had to take just to get to the bottom?
And when we got there we found that dead body. I don't think anyone ever climbed out of a hole so fast as we did that day.” Wilco finished just as we reached the landing.
“So what are you getting at, Wilcs? It's a little late to be getting on edge about all this, especially since we just got locked in a cellar.”
“Chill out, Worth. I was simply connecting a memory to our current situation, you know. Remember how curious we were before we finally broke into that silo? All the old junk we found as we made our way deeper into the belly of that giant beast. It's always been our curiosity that drove us into exciting new things, and it was always our skills and wisdom that got us out of situations if they got sour.”
He already knew it, even though I didn't say a word, but Wilco was right.
Worth is Worth (Continuation II)
by geistvonpa, Aug 18, 2014, 3:42:41 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Short Stories
“Ahem! If you two are finished reminiscing I will show you to the private section.” The Hiploud's voice translation box interrupted as it made a crackling echo within the small space.
This hiploud was in a very nice black suit and tie, with shiny wingtip shoes.
The light caught his gold name plate; SAL.
Two Sals working in the same joint, or is it one Sal working two different jobs in the same joint?
Boggled as to how he could have changed clothes so fast, considering Hiplouds are vertical standing rhinoceros sized creatures and tend to be very slow moving.
“Ready gentlemen? Follow me, please” said; Sal, opening the door.
Sal seated us at a small table, it was draped with a red satin tablecloth with a oil burning candle in the center.
From our position we could see the entire layout of the cabaret.
“So where is this guy, Wilcs?”
“He said he'd be here, he'll be here. Maybe he's using the piss-hole or something.”
Wilco and Myself ordered a round of drinks.
Normally we don't discuss business while drinking, but we felt it eased tensions between clients if it seemed we were enjoying ourselves.
“There's the bugger now.” - Wilco motioning with a nod as he spotted the man approaching.
He was a much older man; dark complexion, thinning hairline, arms bent at the elbows with small hands just dangling by tendons, and a severe hunched back.
If I had to make an educated guess, given the tweed jacket and the way his skin hung from his body like a draped cloth, and that almost T-Rex-like appearance...
I would say his entire life was hovering over microscopes, beakers, petri-dishes and long nights finishing overdue paperwork.
Being a Napper didn't entitle you to one specific job, but many jobs working towards the same outcome.
We all knew what that outcome was, but the jobs within the corporation were of the utmost secretive, needing level thirty-three clearance.
They couldn't even breed sapient beings that smart.
The gentleman sat down at the table and gleaned at Wilco and I for a few moments, his lips silently moved up and down.
I could tell something was wrong but decided to press on with the matters at hand.
“So. My comrade says we might be interested in something you have to offer.”
The elder pulled open the jacket's left breast and reached slowly into a pocket, revealing a small cylindrical shape with a red button and held it firmly in his hand.
He then proceeded to lean across the table, which wasn't more then two more inches from his current position.
The Elder spoke in a raspy voice - “For Insurance. You understand.” before resting against the chair's padded-red-velvet backing.
“Of course Mr....” - “The Name's Dr. Trankle” - “Of course Dr. Trankle. We wouldn't expect it any other way.” - Wilco, said with a smile, as we both placed our hands flat upon the table.
“Good.” - Dr. Trankle, coughed out a laugh.
Wilco and I could see this might get interesting, but with about forty by-standards enjoying their dancing and drinking, it could get really messy too.
So we just played it cool, we've dealt with unprofessional wild-cards in the past.
The Elder fingered the left pocket of his tweet jacket and produced a photo I.D. holo-card, and a small hermetically sealed light-blue bag.
“You will need these.” Dr. Trankle paused, as if distracted by a sound, and turned ninety degrees in his seat to look behind him.
Wilco and I caught each others eyes, and shrugged slightly in wonderment as to how he could have heard anything within the droning of music and chatter.
As the man turned, facing us once again, I noticed a small bit of red explode upon the right breast of the man's tan jacket, no bigger than a teardrop.
“Everything you need to know is inside that blue bag. I must go now.” Dr. Trankle's words rasped through the surrounding commotion.
“What about the money?” Wilco blurted as Trankle departed the table and made his way through the crowd.
I had to admit that for a gentleman that looked to be upon death's door, he moved as fast as a little leaguer trying to catch that inevitable home run ball.
“Wait a goddamn minute!” Wilco yelled as he pushed his way past the table towards the elder.
I grabbed Wilco's shoulder just before reaching the crowd of dancers, he pulled a fist up but retracted the action once he saw my fist making a flicking motion with my thumb.
“Lets get the fuck out of here, before we get the Jeng on us.” I explained to Wilco.
Worth is Worth (Cont. III)
by geistvonpa, Aug 19, 2014, 1:42:38 PM
Literature / Prose / Fiction / General Fiction / Short Stories
“You were causing a scene, Wilcs. I couldn't have all those people blown away or risk getting the Jeng called on us. We are lucky to have been leaving under our own will, rather than getting tossed out by that damn Hiploud.
Just calm down so we can think rationally about what happened. Ok?”
The apartment reeked of stale Cantonese cuisine.
Saysha didn't seem to mind, judging how she laid, purring, among the empty cartons.
I handed Wilco a brew and joined him on the couch and took a sip of my own, before setting the bottle on the table.
The Blue bag and the I.D. card was sitting, along with random food wrappers strewn across the coffee table.
A few moments in time passed, Wilco and I sat there waiting for our tempers to cool before speaking.
“So. what's the plan?” - Wilco asked, from the edge of his seat as he stared at the sweating brew in his hands.
“Well. As I see it. We have two options.” - Worth, started to explain.
“Option one; We open the bag and see what's inside. The old-man did say 'Everything we need to know was in that bag'.”
“Well I highly doubt our money is in there!” - said, Wilco, with irritation in his voice.
“That doesn't go without saying that the bag could contain information on how to obtain our money. Remember that jobs we did for that Tront Trap Boss? We never even discussed the money...”
“Because he threatened to cut our peckers off, and worse, if we didn't do the job.” - Chimed Wilco.
“Because... He let us keep the money from the raid as payment. Which. I still have stashed away for a rainy day.” - Worth said with a smile as he brought the brew to his lips.
“Ok. So you are saying that the Bag could contain instructions on where to pick-up the cash. What's the second option?” - Preceded Wilco.
“We find the nearest incendiary-disposal facility and forget this whole day ever happened.” - Replied Worth, after swallowing the amber liquid.
“And then we get Triped for not completing our job.” - Clamored Wilco.
“Who's to say this job is even legit, Wilco?”
Wilco stood, paced around the coffee-table, sporadically sipping his brew and side-eying the blue bag.
Worth relaxed in the crook of the couch with his arms spread along the back.
After an extended amount of silence, Wilco, spoke.
“I mean how do we know it's not a bomb?”
Worth leaned over, picked up the bag and weighed it in his hand.
“It's light.” - Worth said.
Turning over the bag and examining it under the sun, that was streaming through the window.
“I don't see anything special about it... I'll run it through the analyzer.”
Worth stood, taking one more sip from his brew before setting it on the coffee-table, and went through the burgundy-colored-curtain that divided rooms.
Emerging from the darkened room, Worth, went to the kitchen where he placed the small device on the counter.
It was a mat-black color, sleek design that had a disc sitting upon a square base.
A set of buttons and a small display lit up when Worth placed the bag on the disc.
Making his way towards the electric sounds of the analyzer, Wilco, Asked - “Where did you get that?”
“Noir De marché” - Replied Worth with a smug grin on his face.
Wilco's jaw dropped as he asked - “When the hell did you go there, and why wasn't I invited?”
The machine whirled and beeped, before displaying “H-(O-CH2-CH2)n-OH”
“Some piece of machinery. It only analyzed the bag.” - Boomed Wilco as he chortled.
“That can' be right.” - Said; Worth.
Reaching into the fridge, Worth, pulled out a yellow container and placed in on the analyzer.
Whirling and beeping the Analyzer finally displayed a list of compounds.
“See. It recognized everything in mustard, including the container.”
Worth replaced the bag for analysis, and the display read “H-(O-CH2-CH2)n-OH”
Wilco grabbed the bag and gently fingered it's contents, before saying - “It definitely has something inside.”
“Exactly. But this thing can't tell us what it is. What a waste of 120-Z” - Said; Worth, disappointed.
“Fuck it.” - said, Wilco as he gripped either side and pulled the edges apart.
Wilco, and I, had cleared the coffee table and had various equipment set up to find out what this little device was.
It was a small metallic, half centimeter thick in a rounded edge triangle shape with, what looked like a touch sensor button in the middle of one side, and some sort coupler on the other.
Sitting back within the orange shag, Wilco and Myself, Knocked back the rest of the beer. We had finished the six-pack, and an hour later still had no idea what this device was. We had ran it through various analyses tests and examined it under the microscope.
The only conclusion was that it was a stainless-steel shell encasing a gelatinous-nano core. As to what the nanites did or were used for, was entirely a guess. None of the machines could pick up the device, which means it could have some kind of a stealth drive installed, or elements that were not known by the analyzing machines.
“Let me see that thing a minutes, Worth.” - Wilco, said, with an out reached hand from the other side of the couch.
“Just a second. I’m trying to figure out how this port work, I’ve never seen one like this before.” - Worth explained as he ran his thumb over the port’s hole.
“That old man sure didn’t stick around to give us any clues as to what in the hell we are suppose to do with this thing, let alone what our objective actually is.” - Said, Worth, irritated as he handed the device over to Wilco.
“Saysha! Come here, girl.” - Said, Wilco, in a lovely sweet voice. Or at least as sweet and loving as he could manage.
“What are you doing, Wilcs?”
“Just let me indulge my curiosity.” - Said, Wilco, as he raised his index finger to the air, as if confirming he needed a minute to decide how his little experiment will turn out.
“Fine. Just don’t hurt my cat. By the way; I don’t think she’s going to come on command, unless you are opening a tuna can.”
With a bit of huff of discussed, Wilco, stood up from the couch and made his way to where Saysha was lounging on the windowsill.
He scooped her up gently, supporting her body with his arm under her as he held her close to his chest.
“You’re such a good Kitty. Lazy and a but obnoxious some of the time, but you’re a good kitty.” - Wilco said as he rubbed his cheek on Saysha’s head as he made his way back to the couch.
“Ever think of having kids, Wilco? You would make a great parent.” Worth said mockingly within a laugh.
“Shut up. Kids love me...Well, maybe it’s more the animal kingdom. But I would be great with a son, or daughter, of my own.” - Replied; Wilco.
“Oh. No doubt. You would just subject them to rigorous tests to make sure they live up to your standards of how Natties should act.” - Wilco bantered.
“In a society where Ninety-eight percent of the population has integrated with machines... You have to set your standards for Natty living a little higher.” - Wilco, shot back.
Worth chuckled until he started choking on his own saliva as it found its way down the wrong passage of his throat.
“So what are you going to do with my cat?” - Said; Worth through a wet cough.
Wilco had sat Saysha on the coffee table in front of him, stroking her head and scratched her ears a bit to calm her down, before introducing the unknown device to her.
Saysha sniffed around the small metallic device with curiosity as Wilco held it in his open palm.
It wasn’t until after she had licked it, that she pulled her head back, away, from the object, sneezed, hissed and then pissed all over the coffee table before bolting for the bedroom.
“Way to go, Wilco, you found out how to piss her off on command.” - Said worth Angrily, as he jumped up to get a towel from the closet.
“That wasn’t my intent. I didn’t know she was going to piss everywhere.” - Replied; Wilco, As he scattered to remove the electronic from the coffee table.
“It’s ok, she got most of it on the plastic bag the device came in.” - Wilco shouted.
“Worth!?” - said; Wilco, in surprise as he stood up and backed away from the coffee table a few feet.
“I’m right here, stop shout...” - Worth went silent without finishing his sentence.
Both men stood, in amazement, as they watched the transformation of the blue bag dissolve, revealing a diagram.
----------
ADENDUM:
Meant to be an in-depth story that would have the reader questioning what is reality, friendship and the ability to cope and adapt in circumstances that are beyond our control.
It would have had two twist endings that coincided.
-------------------------------
Disclaimer:
All rights are reserved to the creator (Geist Von PA).
This document (Entitled; Worth is Worth), partial or entirety, may not be reproduced or copied without the written and signed consent of the creator.
The depictions of characters, places and/or objects within this story are fictitious and are purely concoctions of the creator's mind and are not the subject of any person(s) living or dead.
It would have had two twist endings that coincided.
-------------------------------
Disclaimer:
All rights are reserved to the creator (Geist Von PA).
This document (Entitled; Worth is Worth), partial or entirety, may not be reproduced or copied without the written and signed consent of the creator.
The depictions of characters, places and/or objects within this story are fictitious and are purely concoctions of the creator's mind and are not the subject of any person(s) living or dead.
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