Last segment below the ********************************.
All copyrights acknowledged.
Steve
Chapter Seventeen: Unwise Words
Daht shifted uncomfortably in his seat and smoothed the sea of medals flooding his chest. Catching himself in the indecisive looking gesture he focused on what he wanted to say, shutting out the bustle of the flight bay the Teladi News Network insisted was the correct backdrop for the interview. Behind him, a Falcon fighter prepared to launch as Fly-Cams jerked and darted around, seeking the best framing shots.
Finally, as his patience reached threadbare, Umyquos Cafomos Alelais III arrived, trailing a comet tail of appearance technicians. Of course, she looked magnificent, as always, even more so in the flesh. Daht licked his lips, wishing away the years, as she took the seat opposite. The Fly-Cams darted to cover her as she flicked through the notes on her padd.
Satisfied she looked up and said.
“Ready General?”
Daht nodded, the voice in his earpiece already counting backwards from five.
“Seera, do the translation honours if you will. Standard Argon, no sibilance.”
Artur glided across to the dispenser, deftly manoeuvring his chair around the sparse furnishings of his office. With half an ear on the translated programme announcement he removed the sandwich. Two cardboard bites later he dropped it into the recycler and turned to the screen, where the Teladi female was extolling at length on the details of the General’s military career, culminating in that famous victory at Ianamus Zura. Daht himself appeared to visibly swell with pride.
“General, it is no secret that you and Director Morn have fundamental disagreements on the course the Teladi Trading Company should plot. Would you care to elaborate?”
“No you would not.” Artur muttered impotently.
“Of course.” Daht replied, leaning forward.
“The continuing rise in profits is fundamental to our civilisation. Of that there can be no dispute. What is good for the Teladi Trading Company is good for the Teladi.”
He leaned back and looked at Umyquos for a moment, weighing his words carefully.
“However, I believe the fluctuating stock values of recent months are indicative of serious structural problems. To begin with, far too much of the gross profits end up in the hands of illegal entities.”
“Illegal entities?” Umyquos interjected, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. “What do you mean by that?”
“The Clans.” Daht snapped back angrily. “As you well know. Parasites that pay bribes not taxes. Scum that monopolise the most profitable industries, robbing the honest investor of their gains, whilst lining the accounts of those with blind eyes. Do you have any idea how much of our industrial production is siphoned off to provide them with the means to wage their wars?”
Umyquos indicated a negative with a clawed gesture.
“Neither have I, with all my resources, neither have I. But I know that when the Xenon attacked Scale Plate Green the glorious Teladi fleet had to be rescued by the Argon. Why must I scrape and beg for fighters when, even as we speak, a Clan Carrier orbits our home-world loading up our latest fighters and who knows what else?”
“You are referring to the Stoertebeker Clan Transporter?” she asked. “As Director Morn has said, it is a civilian vessel, not a warship. The sale of a few of her own obsolete fighters is a mutually profitable exchange. Perhaps it is a bit more blatant than anything we have seen but we all know it goes on and we all know there are unwritten rules.”
She checked her data-padd.
“And Director Morn states it is a vital counter-balance to the growing threat represented by the Argon, Max Force, who many see as little better than a pirate himself, regardless of the Decree of Incorporation you championed.”
“Commander Force breaks no laws.” Daht responded angrily. “And trades on the open market and so helps bolster Teladi stock values. To compare a legally constituted corporation to the festering sore that is the Stoertebeker Clan is an insult and indicative of the corruption of the Teladi spirit that comes from permitting illegal trade for the private profits of a few.”
“Moving on.” Umyquos said quickly. “You said ‘problems’. What are these and how would you correct them? We are running out of time.” She added in response to the voice in her earpiece.
“We are constrained.” Daht stated.
Artur willed time to expire. It did not and Daht continued.
“Despite the heroic role played by our armed forces in expelling the Xenon from their long-held sectors we did not get our just rewards.”
“We have eight new sectors I believe.” Umyquos interjected. “More than the Argon. How is that unjust?”
“The Teladi need expansion room.” Daht answered with enthusiasm. “Yet we are hemmed in by the Argon at the edge of the New Frontier and still have the Xenon astride the key Scale Plate Green – Eighteen Billion trade route. Furthermore, we have no bridgehead from which to expand further into the Xenon sectors beyond Menelaus Frontier. None of those markets or sources of raw materials will boost our share prices.”
He leaned forward for emphasis.
“The future appears to be Boron.”
“What do you suggest?” The interviewer asked eagerly, ignoring the gasps in her earpiece.
“A renegotiation of the colonial settlement. Our own legends clearly state what is now known as Great Trench was a Teladi colony sector, before the Xenon drove us from our first empire. And we should demand a share of the spoils beyond Black Hole Sun. The Teladi must have room to expand.”
“Anything else?” Umyquos gulped.
“The unclaimed sectors.” Daht replied. “Those festering reservoirs serve only to swell the coffers of the Clans and their associates. If other races dare not seize them, under my leadership we shall. For the good of the Greater Teladi Empire.”
Artur attempted to bury his head in his hands. He was only partially successful as his mechanical arm slapped his face.
“Seera.” He winced. “Show me the Teladi Trading Company stock market.”
He watched the numbers fall in silence.
“Wake up Max.”
The voice was low, indistinct through the buzz in his temples and merging with the dream. The same dream.
Struggling to remember where he was Max rolled over and stretched a lazy arm across the warm body next to him and pulled it close. The hug was returned, unconscious, instinctual.
“Wake up Max.”
His head hurt, a dull, familiar throb in time with his heart. Dimly he realised the voice was above him and someone was prodding his shoulder urgently.
Cautiously, he opened one eye.
“By the cringe!”
“Holy shit!”
Jackson hit the floor micro-seconds after Max lurched from the bed, stumbling into Tyre, sending himself and the girl falling to the carpet.
“Take me now, Universe.” Max managed to mumble through the several extra tongues that appeared to have taken up residence in his mouth. The sound of his own voice intensified the pounding and Tyre’s scream lanced like an ice-pick through his skull.
“Well, I hope I got a movie and a decent meal first.” Jackson joked half-heartedly. “And I can still sit down.”
Tyre helped Max to his feet.
“You stink Max,” she snapped. “In more ways than one.” She added, propelling him into the shower.
“Uh … we didn’t..?” Jackson indicated the shower as he fumbled for his clothes. “I mean..”
“Is it that cold in here?” Tyre asked archly and threw his jeans across the room. “Perhaps I should turn up the heating. And the air conditioning. You still alive in there Max?”
“That depends on the answer to Jack’s question.” Max groaned. “Can you pass me my blaster please?”
“No, it’s in the top drawer for safety. Yours too Jack. Given the state you were both in I guess not. Disappointed?”
The denials came in stereo.
Grinning she added. “But I had to sleep on the floor so who knows. Thanks for that kiddies and let yourselves out real soon, I’ve got a late shift to catch.”
She paused in the open doorway.
“And boys, you were both magnificent!”
She shut the door on the groans of dismay.
“She was kidding right Max?” Jack called as she left. “You know her, she was kidding right?”
“Know her?” Max answered, stumbling from the shower. “I can’t even remember her surname. And did she say, late shift?”
He checked the chronometer and groaned. “What the **** were we drinking?”
Max began climbing into his own clothes, with painstaking concentration.
Jackson sniffed his stained tunic gingerly, before putting it on.
“Just about everything it seems. Does the electric chick take in laundry?”
“You could ask.” Max replied leadenly. “So long as you aren’t standing near an airlock. We should eat. Should we eat? I’m not hungry.”
“Or making sense, here take this.”
Max took the stim and triggered it against his carotid. Jackson followed suit.
“Hey, that’s better.” He pulled a pipe from his jacket and stuffed the bowl with space-weed from a cracked leather pouch.
“Appetite stimulant?” Jackson sucked the pipe to life, holding a long lungful. “And that’s much better! You sure?” He proffered the pipe.
Max took a big hit, letting the world brighten to colour as the alkaloids reached his brain.
“The New Frontier. Breakfast, or whatever damn meal it is now.”
Jackson clapped him on the shoulder.
“You’re the big boss Max, it’s whatever you say it is. What’s the use of power unless you can abuse it for your own convenience?”
“Words to found a civilisation on Jack.” Max replied laconically. “You ready?”
“Almost. Guns, we need guns, big, big guns.” Jackson rummaged in the dressing table drawer, holding something in translucent black chiffon against his torso.
“What do you think?”
“That you need professional help Jack, put it down.”
He adroitly caught a tossed holster and strapped it to his thigh.
“You joining me?”
“Nah, I’d better see how the box is coming along. See you there in an hour?”
“Give or take.” Max agreed.
------------------
The New Frontier was almost full but Ray led him through the crowd to his table and served a fried breakfast, keeping the sarcastic comments to a minimum in deference to his condition. Max left an extra large tip and made his way to the cargo bay where Xela was converting the re-sequencer for the Data Hub penetration.
-------------
He didn’t recognise either of the armed Argon men guarding the docking bay but there were a lot of new recruits these days, to the Raiders security teams. They snapped to attention with an enthusiasm that suggested they recognised whom was paying their wages.
The small bay was almost deserted, just Corrin and a faintly green Jackson, in deep conversation with an Argon female in the shadow of a Lifter whose garish yellow and black livery screamed freelancer.
Jackson nodded as Max joined them but made no effort to introduce the stranger. Taking the cue Max asked.
“The package ready for delivery?”
“Locked down and loaded up.” Jackson returned with a grin. “Just covering a few last minute details.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the size of my fee.” The woman cut in. “Fifty five thousand credits. And another thirty thousand for expenses.”
“Thirty K for bribes!” Jackson exclaimed. “You’re really milking it and you’re not the only smuggler in the universe, old woman.”
“But I’m the only one here aren’t I?” She observed pedantically. “I’ve been doing this since before you were born. Possibly even you.” She glared up at Corrin. “And my record is spotless.”
She folded her arms defiantly.
“Pay her.” Max ordered Corrin. “When can you deliver?”
“It will be through Customs and at the specified address in under eight hours. Good enough for you Force?”
“More than.” Max confirmed. “I’m impressed.”
“You get what you pay for young man.” She snapped. “At least you have the brains to recognise a good deal.”
“Then don’t let us detain you.” Jackson interjected. “The credits will be in your usual account before you reach the Treasure Chest Trading Station.”
The old pilot smiled.
“A pleasure as always young Jackson. You know how to reach me.”
She turned abruptly and boarded the Lifter without a backward glance. They stood well back from the thruster wash as it departed.
“Where’s Zee?” Max asked as the noise died away.
“I’m right here Max,” came the muffled reply.
Corrin fished the data-padd from a hip pocket and tossed it to him. He caught it awkwardly, at the second attempt.
“Reflexes a little off there, Max. You two have a good night?”
“Probably.” Max answered, smoothly changing the subject. “How’s the construction coming?”
“Power will be online in under two days.” Corrin answered. “And that Stoertebeker beast is pulling a low orbit of the primary. We think she’s been taking on ships and supplies. We could do with those credits Max, to upgrade our fighters.”
“We have a production run of 10 Mamba’s ready to roll.” Xela interjected. “With a pretty fine discount. Get the Raiders in those and we’ll smash Law from the skies.”
“Then we’d better get going.” Jackson said. “Ready there, buddy?”
“We? Who’s this “we” Jack? I’m not sure that turning up planet-side with a known Clan leader is going to help.” Max answered.
Jackson clapped him on the shoulder.
“I don’t think our alliance is really that much of a secret Max, do you? Besides I know all the best night-spots and you need me to contact my people!”
Max shrugged.
“Okay, fair enough.”
He turned to Corrin.
“Do we have a ship free for a run to Treasure Chest?”
“We’ve fighters but I’d prefer not to waste them. Any freighters due though lass?”
“Nothing soon.” Xela replied. “But there is a commercial flight back to Black Hole Sun in an hour. It calls in at all the Trading Stations en-route.”
“Suitably discreet.” Max agreed. “Book two seats. Main bay?”
“Main bay and two seats.” Xela confirmed. “And boys, try and avoid trouble, okay?”
“Yes mother.” Max replied meekly. “Anything else?”
“Yes.” Xela answered. “Catch up on the news. Our friend Daht has all but declared war on the Boron and anyone else occupying part of the putative Greater Teladi Empire. We may be hitched to a falling star.”
-------------------
“In the case of an emergency, kindly plummet to a fiery death!”
The shuttle steward fixed Jackson with a dagger stare, which he returned with a wink.
“Hey Max.” He continued in a stage whisper as she continued the safety drill. “I think I’m in there!”
Max said nothing and concentrated on relaxing his white-knuckle grip on the seat arms as the orbital shuttle pitched it’s nose up to re-entry angle.
“Is it my imagination or is the floor getting really warm?”
“Shut the **** up Jack.” Max snapped as nervous faces turned towards their seats. “I hate planet-fall okay. Damn, I thought ablative heat shields went obsolete decades ago.”
“Hey, relax buddy.” Jack sipped the complementary whisky. “I can’t remember the last time one of these things failed.”
“I can, Jack.” Max muttered grimly. “I can.”
The shuttle began to judder as it entered the upper atmosphere. Max tried to swallow but his mouth was too dry.
“We’re on the cheap and cheerful Frontier, Max. What did you expect out here, a Space Elevator? Anyway, these things hardly ever plummet from the sky in a burning mass of tortured metal and screaming souls! If it helps, just remember, everything around you was built by the lowest bidder. Probably Teladi.”
“It doesn’t help Jack, it doesn’t help at all.” Max answered through gritted teeth.
Jackson shrugged and finished his drink with one mouthful.
Thirty minutes later the shuttle taxied to a halt at the single terminal of the somewhat grandiose titled, Garleth Prime Interstellar Space-Port.
Max stumbled unsteady down the ramp, fumbling for his shades, protection against the still fierce glare of the primary, low on the horizon. The gravity felt wrong, just being under a starless sky felt wrong. Even the air, redolent with alien scents blown on the breeze was wrong. Hell, just having a breeze was wrong!
Disoriented, not even knowing if it was sunrise or sunset, he worked to keep up with the brisk pace Jackson set. Xela came on-line and began complaining about missing the flight down. He tried hard not to listen.
“Hey look Max.” Jackson nudged, pointing across open expanse to the shuttle’s sister ship. “A Mag-lev catapult, how quaint!”
Max just groaned.
Customs turned out to be a cursory wave of a scanning wand by a bored functionary. They retrieved their baggage, headed out of the terminal and rode the bus to Capital City.
Max half expected it to have wheels.
The spaceport was over 50 kilometres from the city, fifty klicks of rolling landscape, fractured by millennia of earth tremors caused by the stressful interactions of the two proximate planets, orbiting around a common centre of gravity.
Alien flora, some gigantic, some tiny, some flexible as whips, the evolutionary success stories of the harsh environment as far as the eye could see, punctuated only occasionally by the hulking bulks of strip miners, slashing through the landscape with imperial distain. And vast ranches where genetically adjusted Chelt and other strange variants of commercial fauna, struggled to thrive in the alien environment.
“You’ve been here before Jack.” It was a statement born of his complete disinterest in the passing view.
“Dammit, Max. I’d almost beat my highest score!”
Jack slipped the Game-Padd into his jacket.
“Yea, I come here often. Just need to see a big sky and no stars occasionally, feel the breeze, know what I mean?”
“And,” Max said. “They have a relaxed frontier attitude to petty legalisms!”
“Amen to that Brother.” Jack answered with a smile.
“You got anything to drink?” Jackson shook his head but magicked a pre-rolled stick from thin air, which he sucked to life before passing to Max.
“Amen to that Brother?” Max breathed out the tension with the lung-full of space-weed. “That’s remarkably Gonerish of you Jack.”
Jackson took the stick back and took a big hit.
“Life ain’t all about getting high and getting laid, buddy. Well, the best bits are, but there’s all that stuff that makes you think, that broaden your mind. Chicks love that.”
Max tuned out Xela’s response.
“Yea, you know, all that Goner stuff about Earth and all. It’s our history too, man. Art, literature, weird mythologies, the Goner have all sorts of that crap, salvaged from the colonial data-banks and hidden away from the Great Forgetting.”
“That’s when the Argon tried to purge all memory of their origins, Max.” Xela interjected. “And they have a whole lot of information from Xenon data-stores. Earth colonies took their culture and history with them.”
“You should check some of it out.” Jackson continued. “In fact where we going you might. Probably will.”
“You taking me somewhere classless and tacky?”
“Natch. Classless, tacky and entertaining. With strippers, we’re meeting my contact there.”
“Who is a stripper?”
“Nah, I hope not. Singer. Real old stuff, real powerful, like this shit of yours.”
He handed Max the stub. He sucked it down to his scorching fingertips, feeling his mood mellow.
“You’re a man of hidden depths Jack.” Max was genuinely surprised. “Ain’t that right Zee?”
“Or a fad-chaser.” Xela snorted. Max didn’t relay that comment.
They arrived on the fringes of the capital just as the primary sun was setting and the first stars beginning to show.
A few minutes later the second sun dawned, casting a pale yellow light over the town’s ramshackle mix of pre-fab low-rise colonial domes and second-wave structures fabricated from local organics, mostly the huge mushroom-esque growths that forested much of the continent.
The bus, at Jackson’s request, stopped near the centre. Jack led them down one of the walkways connecting the radial arms of the main streets and stopped outside a two storey rococo structure. The sound of drunken shouting competed with the crunch of breaking furniture to drown out the music drifting into the street.
Jackson carefully picked his way through a minefield of vomit overlain with the occasional comatose colonist, to the double door entrance.
“Dawn of the Little Day Max.” Jack commented. “The best time to party.”
The giant at the door greeted Jack like an old friend and ushered them in.
*******************************************
“Welcome to The Big Easy Saloon, Max!” Jackson said. “Try taking off the shades. Mommy wouldn’t approve anyway.”
Max obeyed and the stygian darkness lifted, slightly. The heavy reek of raw-brewed alcohol remained, leaving him to wonder if naked flames were permitted.
“Why so dark?”
“You spend any time here and you’ll be grateful. Two suns remember?”
Max allowed his eyes to adjust to the dusk lighting level in the crowded, cavernous saloon, illumined mostly from the stage area at the far end, where an improbably proportioned woman was getting beyond first name basis with a pole running up to the ceiling.
“More ancient Earth culture, Jack?” Max asked dryly as they threaded their way though the dozens of crowded tables to the bar that ran the entire length of one wall.
“What?” asked Jackson.
Max raised his voice to compensate for the inchoate background roar from the crowd, mostly colonials, dressed in rough-spun local fabrics cut in styles deliberately reminiscent of the old Argon colonial expansion.
“I said, never mind, the moment’s shot past.”
Jackson shrugged and elbowed his way through the heaving throng crushed against the length of the bar, cutting off drunken protests with a don’t-****-with-me look that brooked absolutely no dissent. He returned with two steins of some dark brew clutched in one fist. A refill jug filled the other. Max followed him through the crowd to a front and centre table where a single, huge, moon-faced man warned off all-comers with a snarl that brightened to a beaming, incongruously child-like smile when he spied Jackson.
“Great table, Baby-Face.” Jack greeted, taking a seat facing the stage. “This here’s my friend Max. Friend, Max okay?” He repeated slowly.
“Max, friend.” The giant repeated. “Hello Max.” He extended his left hand uncertainly, before switching to the right. Max took it gingerly, folding his thumb under, against the anticipated crush that never came.
“Hi there.” Max replied uncertainly, taking a seat next to Jack.
“You got the packages BF?” Jack asked. Baby-Face nodded and fumbled in the voluminous pockets of his food stained jacket for a bag he handed to Jackson.
“Good work, BF, good work.” He slipped a small package into the left pocket of Max’s leather coat, pocketing a similar one for himself.
“You watch our backs now, right? Don’t go far.” Jackson patted his cheek and held his eyes for a long moment. “You did real good, BF.”
Baby-Face grinned happily and stood up.
“Boss relax, enjoy the pretty ladies. No trouble.”
Max waited until the big man cut through the throng to lean against a nearby support pillar, watching every person who came near their table, before raising a quizzical eyebrow.
“Best pilot I ever saw Max, better than you even, maybe. Got wasted in Xenon space and had to go EVA through a gate. Gotta look after your own, Max, gotta look after your own.”
Jackson took a long pull on his beer as Max felt the outline of the package in his pocket.
“It’s a gun, of sorts, gas powered, recombinant chemical pellets, two-tone. Harmless on their own but on impact, boom! Nothing to go to war with but nothing will show up on scanners, the local law and order types can be a bit fussy. There’s also a local comm. link, fully encrypted.”
He slipped his own weapon into a boot. Max ripped through the package without removing it from his pocket and followed suit.
“That’s better eh?” Jackson lifted his glass. “To lost friends.”
Max acknowledged the toast and took an experimental sip of the soupy dark liquid, carefully filtering it through clenched teeth. It tasted as raw as the impatient brews that circulate below-decks, but with an after-taste that was both earth and spice.
He took a full gulp, ignoring the unsettled sediment, then another as his olfactory senses adjusted. An unexpected rush, not unlike a spaceweed toke, flushed through him, colours brightened and the pounding rhythm driving the floor show suddenly seemed a fraction more urgent.
Jackson caught the moment and smiled.
“Yea, hits that spot don’t it? Brewed from a local fungus, brimming with alkaloidal goodness! The imported stuff’s beyond the pocket of most of the dirt grubbers.”
“Yet there are people here who can afford colonial antiques.” Max observed cynically. “Let’s hear it for the trickle-up theory of wealth.”
They toasted again.
“Shit, Jack, don’t you get enough of this back at my station? And what about all that culture you promised?”
“Pole-dancing IS a fundamental aspect of ancient Earth culture.” He answered deadpan. “You should read more. Can the electric chick pluck us a schedule, there should be something even better on later?”
“Involving animals no doubt.” Xela sneered as she accessed the interior data-cloud.
Max showed Jack the stage list.
“Yep, here it is, The Jake Vance Band, right after the Deleaney Sisters, which are apparently these chicks here. Do you think they party?”
Max took Xela back and put her in his pocket before she could pass comment.
“Well I’m pretty certain they’re not librarians Jack, but isn’t the key word for our little trip, discretion?”
“It’s your little trip buddy.” Jackson answered. “I’m not going anywhere near the data-hub. While you’re busy I’m going to be so indiscreet you wouldn’t believe.”
He chugged the remainder of his stein, not spilling a drop and slammed it down.
“Starting with the Deleaney Sisters there.”
He grinned.
“The best things come in pairs, or multiples thereof!”
Max shook his head ruefully.
“And,” Jack continued. “Vance has the info you need. Bill of sale, pick-up point, second teleport, we’ll talk after his set.”
He refilled his glass and topped up Max. They both followed the floor-show with burning eyes.
When it finished, to a physical wall of whistles and cat-calls, the ambient lighting raised slightly, the signal for a storming of the bar. Jackson muttered, “no way” and gestured BF over. A few minutes later their drinks arrived, along with two huge bowls of a steaming stew Jackson insisted was fish.
“Practically.”
Max didn’t enquire further but wolfed it down, masking the game flavour with the rough, black bread. By the time they finished the stage layout had been transformed, the poles and other props replaced by a surprisingly high tech sound system for the setting, all flat panels and remote pick-ups, made more incongruous by the antique instruments laid out ready for the musicians. Guitars he recognised, although he had never seen one with strings before and he could guess that the bank of cylinders and thin-stalked metal mushrooms were some type of percussion instrument. The rest just piqued his curiosity.
Unannounced the band walked on stage, led by a tall thin man with a long, Old Frontier hair-style. Vance’s cracked, weather-beaten face made it difficult to estimate his age. As they adjusted their instruments Max slipped on his shades so Xela could watch the performance. She intensified the image display to compensate, guided by Max’s feedback until he was satisfied.
By the time the first number started Jackson was staring, wrapt at the stage, oblivious to the subtle change in the atmosphere as a sullen core of drunk, over-stimulated punters muttered their disappointment.
After five numbers Max felt like joining in as tales of ancient mining disasters merged into stories of sunken ferries and lost loves returning from forgotten wars. Standard, pre-industrial Argon Folk fare, the kind of stuff he believed, in an opinion he voiced only to Xela, music lovers would pay to avoid.
The mood of the crowd grew more sullen, leavened only by the vocal enthusiasm of a small band of devotees who had crowded to the front.
“When do we get to all that good new cultural stuff Jack?” Max asked between numbers. Jackson shrugged and then, as Vance said “Jerusalem,” a name almost purged from Argon memory, he whispered the word, “Now.”
A ragged cheer rippled through the crowd, provoking a counter demand for the percussionist to unveil her breasts for the young males.
“Philistines.” Vance stated as he waited for silence.
“What’s a philistine?” Max asked Jackson.
“You are, Max.” Xela answered for him as Vance croaked the opening words in a hoarse whisper.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
A-a-Ashes to ashes dust to dust.”
A solemn bass chord echoed the long discontinued ritual phrase and was joined by the guitar and drums in a solemn processional lead in. A slow smile spread over Jackson’s face.
‘A long time ago before the ice and snow
There were giants that walked this land
And with each step they took the mighty mountains shook
And the trees took a knee and the sea rolled in.’
Words made resonant by the world-weary delivery and unwavering, funereal beat.
‘Then one day they say the sky gave way
And death rained down it made a terrible sound.
Then there was fire everywhere and nothin’ was spared
That walked on the land or flew through the air.’
Words more ancient than the song itself, Max knew but didn’t know how. The key shifted and the beat quickened, hooking him in.
‘And when it all was over
The slate wiped clean with a touch
There God stood and saw it was good
And he said “ashes to ashes and dust to dust.’
The opening chorus again rolled over the stilled audience.
‘Then the sea gave birth and it crawled up on the dirt
And stood up and took a look around
Said “I’m the next big thing and the gift that I bring
Comes directly from God so there ain’t no holding me down.”’
Irony dripped in Vance’s drawled, tired tone.
‘So he crowned himself king now no-one remembers his name
But the seed that he sowed took the show on the road.
There was blood on their hands and a plague on the land
They drew a line in the sand and made the last stand.’
The same key shift, the same quickened beat, matched by the pounding in his chest as the bass line resonated in his diaphram.
‘They said “God made us in his image
And it’s in this and God that we trust”
When asked about the men that had died by their hand
They said “ashes to ashes and dust to dust.”’
‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.’
Vance put something to his lips, wrapped and obscured by his hands.
It keened and wailed, a wounded beast loping through a shattered landscape, angry and in pain. The hairs stood up on the back of his neck as the harmonica incorporated the main refrain, pushing it to a new level of urgency.
‘Nobody lives forever
Nothin’ stands the test of time
You heard ‘em say “never say never”
But it’s always best to keep it in mind.’
The dark heart of the song, transcending whatever the long-forgotten specific that had inspired the creator. Max forgot to even breathe.
‘That every tower ever built tumbles
No matter how strong, no matter how tall
Someday even great walls crumble
And every idol ever raised falls.’
Jack turned briefly and raised a brow.
‘And someday even man’s best laid plans
Will lie twisted and covered in rust
When we’ve done all that we can but it slipped through our hands
And it’s ashes to ashes and dust to dust.’
Max barely heard the closing chorus over the hammering of his heart. A moment of stunned silence and a massive cheer.
He joined Jack on his feet, whistling as the house-lights came up.
“You see what I mean, Max?” Jackson asked. Max nodded, almost speechless.
Vance stepped down from the stage and came straight over to their table, Jackson warning off BF with a casual wave.
“Awesome Jake, simply awesome!” Jack’s smile was beatific. Vance accepted the praise with a thin smile as he folded his long frame into a seat.
“Ain’t my song Jack, some guy called Steve Earle. Who knows when, where or why, but one hell of a creation myth. Is this our man?” He nodded at Max.
“Yep. Jake Vance, meet Max Force. The guy who’s just about to buy that antique you bought yesterday.”
“Pleasure.” Vance drawled as they shook hands. Vance produced a data-chip.
“Bill of sale, pick-up point and credit authorisation.”
Max inserted the chip into Xela’s interface. She confirmed the details and transferred the credits.
“A pleasure doing business with you Max.” He pulled a bottle of spirits from his jacket and took a couple of gulps. “I saw you do that run past Black Hole Sun. Guts, man!” He raised his bottle in toast and took two more swallows.
“Thanks, Jake. I’m in no hurry to repeat the experience, but thanks. Hey, if you fancy some time off planet I’ve a stage with your name on it.”
“Max’s Place, yea, why not? It’s gotta pay better than this place.”
“Great, call my man Corrin, he’ll fix everything.”
Vance and Jackson talked music until the second set was due as Max relaxed with more beer.
The set passed without again reaching a transcendent height and the next act, a young, nervous stripper, was greeted with raucous delight.
Max quickly removed his shades.
Rogues Resurgence Ch 17 completed 19/2/03
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SteveMill
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Rogues Resurgence Ch 17 completed 19/2/03
Last edited by SteveMill on Wed, 19. Feb 03, 15:21, edited 1 time in total.
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Excellent read Steve,strange tho that I made no comment on the first section, I know I read it, musta got called away and forgot, oops, I enjoyed the primitive re-entry far more than Max did I think, very descriptive, thought Max was going to crack a few of his teeth for ahwile there 
getting to like Jackson a bit more now, but still get the feeling that I wouldn't trust him too much, we'll see tho eh?
getting to like Jackson a bit more now, but still get the feeling that I wouldn't trust him too much, we'll see tho eh?
Last edited by Moss on Thu, 13. Feb 03, 02:07, edited 1 time in total.
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KiwiNZ
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You did, but Steve re-posted the whole thing so all comments have gone.Moss wrote:Excellent read Steve, strange tho that I made no comment on the first section, I know I read it, musta got called away and forgot, oops, anyway I enjoyed the primitive re-entry far more than Max did I think, very descriptive, thought Max was going to crack a few of his teeth for ahwile there
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when I did I was going to edit it out, but you caught me 
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