12/27/12 - Straffer - One Look Up I Can See Down - pt. 4.3

On a windswept plain, before a great mountain, lies a small, squat cairn made of black and tan rocks.

It's only about two feet tall, just under four feet wide. It has no writing upon it, nor any identifying marks.  And yet it radiates a sense of importance -- perhaps because it's the only man-made structure for miles around. 

The only one visible, at any rate.

There's a strange noise, like markers on a whiteboard, and then two pairs of men simultaneously teleport within ten feet of the cairn. One of the pairs is a pair of white men: a taciturn fellow in a blue costume, who immediately lights up a terrible French cigarette, and a pretty blonde in a sharp-as-knives suit who takes the landscape in with a single, subtle glance. 

The other pair are Indian: a scarred, well-dressed fellow with a subtle sneer playing about his features, and a large man in a black coat whose face is mostly hidden under bandages. 

The two well-dressed men nod to each other and, walking forward, shake hands before the cairn.

"Dosha Josh," the blonde says: "Good to finally meet you."

"We've met before, Director Straffer," the other man says.

"We have?" Straffer raises an eyebrow: "I don't remember that. I usually don't forget a face."

"It was a long time ago. I wasn't nearly this handsome, and I wasn't quite so high in things."

"And I was," Straffer says, winking, and they both have a laugh about that.

"So?" Straffer says, looking around: "Your government had something to contribute to our efforts?"

"We do, yes," Dosha says, gesturing to the cairn: "If you'll follow me through here, I'll show you."

Straffer looks at the rocks, again, and -- cocking his head to the side -- smiles: "A shift door. How elegant."

"I thought you might appreciate it," the Indian man says: "But just so you understand? This is to be a weapon of last resort only. This is why we didn't bring it out against the Imago."

"I thought it was because you didn't know how the Sudarshana Chakram worked?"

"Oh we do," Dosha says, trying not to show how disconcerted he is that this man even knows its name: "It's just that we don't know how to control the thing."

"That could be a problem..." Straffer says, and Dosha shrugs:

"Well, hopefully we won't need it. But...?" and -- gesturing to his man that he's not needed -- walks right into the cairn, and vanishes. 

Straffer follows not long thereafter, and does the same.

"Ever get the feeling you get left out of the good stuff?" Anil asks Disparaître, trying to make conversation. But the Frenchman shrugs, and goes back to smoking his cigarette and looking bored.

"Gaandu," Anil mutters, wondering how long his boss will be, this time. 

* * *

For a moment, Straffer thinks that the prisoner hasn't understood what he's been told, or at least hasn't comprehended the full scope of it. The lack of shock or fear on his face is almost reassuring.

"And you are certain of this?" Faraj says, putting his hands out before him: "This is not a guess? This Preternatural is coming here?"

"I wish we were wrong," Straffer says, handing the man a folded-up piece of paper. The prisoner snaps it open with a languid gesture, glances over the data it holds, and then looks back at his liberator.

"When was this made?"

"Ten days ago."

"How many know of this development?"

"Not many. And they won't talk."

"That is good," he says, snapping it shut again and handing it back: "And you say that the people know that this beast is on the way?"

"They do, but I don't think it's sunk in, yet. The Imago told them it was on its way and that they were going to protect us from it. It turns out they were using us to help them escape the planet before it got here. I think most people have associated it with the rest of their broken promises."

"Or perhaps they are so broken that they cannot believe that fate would give them one more hardship on top of what they have already suffered," Faraj says, rising from the cot and walking to the far wall, his hands knitted behind him: "We must reach them as soon as possible. Otherwise when the end comes, they will panic. And panic is a deadly foe."

"I thought you might see it that way," Straffer says, getting up and following after: "That's why I need you with me. You know how to rally a people, Faraj. You've done it countless times before-"

"So you believe me, then?" Faraj says, looking down at Straffer and waving his hand before his extensive murals: "The Viridian Sea? The Islands of Time? The Endless Empire that claimed dominion over all? The Emperor and his Unknowing Armies?"

"I more than believe it," Straffer says, tapping a few of the things the prisoner drew: "I was up above the Earth around the time you came back. I had proof that what you were saying was the truth. It was practically raining on my front doorstep for a few years there, while the dimensional conduit was open."

The prisoner blinks, and Straffer thinks that's the first time he's seen this man be surprised (other than the cyborg thing): "And yet, here I have remained..."

"The Space Service was afraid of global panic," Straffer admits: "And after the civil authorities got tired of you, well, we couldn't get you out without admitting what we knew. We might be able to keep our strategic partners quiet, of course, but Morocco isn't known for its ability to keep its mouth shut."

Faraj is silent for a moment, and unreadable. But then he nods: "A sensible precaution. In retrospect, I was clearly wrong to try and rally the common people. I should have started at the top."

"I agree," Straffer says, extending a hand: "I've come to take you there. Will you join us?"

The man looks at the hand for a moment, and then takes it: "We will. But I will need some guarantees. And I have to tell you -- when Earth is safe once more, and I get the chance to go back to the Viridian Sea? I'm leaving without saying goodbye, and this time I think I will stay gone."

"I wouldn't blame you," Straffer says, feeling as though the man's grip could crush his steel bones with minimal effort, and admiring his restraint.

"Also? I need clothes."

Straffer tries not to smile at that -- he was rather enjoying watching this well-maintained, hirsuite man walk around completely naked.

* * *

Across the heavens races a red and silver streak, going from pole to pole like she had no time to spare.

She laughs as she goes, this shiny shooting star. Red hair flying behind her in the cosmic wind. Metal feet planted on her glowing, ruby board. Riding the unseen waves of the universe, cresting and crashing on the invisible powers that that work in secret to keep all things as they are.

And some things as they must be.

Her names is Brightstarsurfergirl. It is not a name she chose for herself, but something the board whispered in her ear, when she first took it up. The board whispers many things to her, as they ride across the night. Amazing things, terrible things.

Things that only those who are chosen may know.

Today, she races to make a meeting on which many things depend. She must speak with the man she brought down to Earth, not too long ago. The man she found, right where the board said he would be. The man she saved, who will in turn save so much, and so many.

The spaceman, awaiting his next journey to the stars.

She could tell him of things to come. She could tell him of the triumph, the tragedy. She could tell him of the things that he will have to do for the future, the great and terrible choices that must be made to keep this world alive and safe.

But he would not understand them now. He may not ever understand them, to be honest. All that is certain is that he will make those choices, because he is the man to make them.

And she will be there to be sure that he does, because that is what she does.

She can almost see him, now, waiting for her on the beach. One day he may understand that she was waiting for him. 

But not today. 

* * *

"So," Faraj al-Ǧazāʼir says over the roaring flames, finding it strange to be in clothes for the first time in three decades: "I see fashion has not changed much?"

"Not really, no," Straffer says, trying not to jump at the explosion behind him: "There was a hideous pastel phase in the 80's, but that went away before long."

"I remember. Thank the Maker for that."

"Won't they be upset about...?" Disparaître asks, turning around to look at the burning prison.

"The official story is that the Pit of Hell caught fire and burned," Straffer explains, watching as a gaggle of suddenly-unemployed guards shout and howl abuse at the fire that's taken their jobs: "All prisoners died in the flames."

"Not entirely true, of course," Faraj says, watching as a group of bewildered men stagger away into waiting police trucks: "Some will be incarcerated elsewhere, quietly of course."

"Of course," Straffer says, marveling at how quickly the man catches on: "And others, like yourself, are going back into the world."

"And perhaps it's ready for me at last," the man says, standing still and taking a moment to breathe in clear and smokeless air: "Perhaps this time I am ready for it."

"Where to now?" the Frenchman asks, tossing his cigarette away.

"Whitehaven Beach, in Australia," Straffer responds: "We've got a girl to meet. I think you might find her interesting, Faraj."

"I'm sure I will," the man says, turning to look one last time at his prison, burning down: "Adieu, Fosse de L'enfer." 

And then they're gone -- to bigger and better things.

(SPYGOD is listening to Pandora (Rapha) and having a Tooheys)

12/27/12 - Straffer - One Look Up I Can See Down - pt. 4.2

There's a prison, outside of Marrakesh, where anyone can go in but hardly anyone comes back out again.

It used to be a Berber fortification, once upon a time. People spent a lot of time trying to break into it, with no success. But centuries later, it's become a jail, and now people are unable to break out of it -- an irony that's not lost on anyone incarcerated there.

It has an official name, as one expects from such a thing. It also has a number of other names in several languages, which is also to be expected in a country with so many. But the one name that tends to stand out is La Fosse de L'enfer.

The Pit of Hell.

So when Director Straffer comes to visit, he makes sure to have his transport bring them back to Earth right in the front courtyard -- right between the massive, closed gates and the entrance to the administration. This is partially because he doesn't care to be held up at the gate by surly prison guards, and partially because he just loves the idea of having his own personal teleporter for the day.

If his ride realizes this, he makes no sign of it. He's content to stand and impassively light a terrible-smelling cigarette as the stunned, well-armed interior guards stumble all over one another to threaten and harangue the man he's been assigned to, this day. But he can't help but smile a little as that man calmly stares down the sweaty, angry guards and -- ever so slowly -- pulls out the letter of introduction that the newly-installed Minister of Justice just wrote for him.

After that, everything changes, and they're allowed inside after all. 

* * *

There's a man in a bar in Tokyo who shouldn't be there, but is. 

The beefy, short-haired fellow's clearly not dressed for the establishment. He has a Hawaiian print shirt on, rather than the "casual" everyone's supposed to be affecting, here. He's also wearing heavy sunglasses, and has been nursing the same large drink all night, rather than obeying the two-drink minimum.

He doesn't look like he gives a !@#$, though. And none of the severs, bouncers, or patrons seen inclined to give him any. They're just letting him sit at the bar -- with plenty of space -- and drink in silence.

They even turned the music down just a little, just for him, just because he winced a little when some jarring "chill out" number came on.

And maybe that's because he's missing some finger joints. And maybe it's because there's something about him that says he could either buy or kill everyone there a dozen times over.

And maybe it's because they know who he really is.

So when Straffer walks over to him, and sits down right next to him without so much as a "Konichiwa", everyone nearby freezes in horrendous fear, thinking there's about to be some blood on the floor. And maybe there would have been, too, if the large man had been able to speak first.

But he doesn't get that chance. Before he can even open his mouth, the well-dressed interloper has pushed a photograph in his direction. It's of a smiling, young woman, dressed in a well-pressed business suit.

"I can get her back to you, Mister Ten," Straffer says (in Japanese, of course): "She may not be the same as she was, after what happened. But I can bring her around, in time."

"And what do you want, Spaceman?" Ju San, head of the Organization, asks, looking at this impudent gaijin over his shades.

"The world needs you back in the game," Straffer answers, returning his stare: "No more sitting at the bar drinking your day away. No more twenty hooker anime rampages in Shinjuku. You get back on your horse and you ride it, because you know what's coming, and we're going to need everything on the table, again."

"Talk to the government. I have no say in these things-"

"I did. They wasted my time trying to make deals. I don't have time for deals, Mister Ten. I need action. And I know for a fact you can provide it."

The man sighs and looks away. He says nothing for quite some time. 

And then, at last, he nods: "You'll want The Dignitary," he assumes.

"To start with? Yes," Straffer says. 

And then, in a flurry of photographs, he confidently proceeds to tell the most powerful man in Japan what else the world requires of him, for the future.

* * *

There's a wait in a stuffy room full of photographs and maps. The chairs are uncomfortable and the windows are small. The ceiling is high and dusty, and the sad, creaky fan is too slow to move the air. 

Eventually a small boy brings in tea from a cart out in the hall. It's strong and grainy, and desperate for sugar. Straffer takes it with two lumps, and Disparaître with only one. More cigarettes and silence, as per the Frenchman's desires. 

Eventually, a sweaty, fat man in a uniform a size too small appears, mopping his forehead as he enters the room. He apologizes in broken English, and -- delighted to find that his guest speaks French -- launches into a lengthy discussion about the subject of their visit. Nothing he has to say is anything new to Straffer, but he nods along politely and pretends to be interested and uninformed. 

Eventually, they get to the important part: why they're actually here.

"Do you mean to say that you are taking him out of here?" the Prison Director asks, clearly shocked by this. 

"We are, yes," Straffer says, accepting the young boy's offer of more tea: "The Terre Unifee has need of him. I'm sure you understand."

"But you do understand the reasons he was put here?"

"We do, yes," Straffer smiles, sipping at his tea ever-so-politely: "There were some concerns about his demeanor?"

"The man was a !@#$ing lunatic," the Director stammers: "And a fruit! The things he said... the things he claimed. It was just as well they put him in here. They'd have ripped him apart on the streets of Marrakesh if we hadn't arrested him."

"That was thirty years ago," Straffer reminds him: "Times have changed."

The Director sighs and leans back in his chair: "What does the TU want with this man?"

"That's kind of a need-to-know matter, Msr. Director. I'm sorry I can't be more specific than that."

"I need more than that."

"You have a letter from the Minister of Justice. Isn't that enough?"

"Pfah! Minister of Justice? I could tell you things about that man and how he came to power..."

"I'm sure you could," Straffer says, leaning forward a little: "In the interests of transparency, I should tell you that he told us quite a few things about how and why you were installed here, in this prison. They made for an interesting discussion."

The Director blinks. Then he goes blank-faced, and then finally smiles, somewhat weakly.

"Very well," the man says: "But I should warn you, this man is a danger to society. The things he claims he saw and the ideas he has... they could be very disruptive. I think we're better off with him locked up so he can't pervert anyone with his insane talk."

"You could have just taken him to Tangier," Disparaître intones, almost absent-mindedly: "There's hardly a straight man in town."

The Director almost has a heart attack. The tea boy tries not to giggle. Disparaître goes back to looking disinterested.

And Straffer sips his tea, trying not to smile now that he knows they've finally won through.  

* * *

"Have to be kidding me," the Major says, looking down at his desk.

"No, I'm not," Straffer says, putting both hands on that desk and trying to look his former superior officer -- and current Doctor, after a fashion -- in the eyes: "You know when I'm joking, Harvey. This is not my joking face."

"Isn't, is it?" the barrel-chested man says, sighing and looking up.

"Don't you want to know why?"

"Think I do," the man says, getting up and walking across his small office to get a bottle out of its hiding place: "Security."

"There is that. If something happened to me-"

"Nothing's going to happen to you," he says, getting two glasses out: "Body'll outlast your brain. Maybe already has."

"Okay then, but I'll still need a good Number One. And that's you."

"Not selling me on it," Harvey says, pouring them both a glass of the Scotch: "Gave it up. No more rush. Why would I go back?"

"Because you can't stand being in charge of it all," Straffer says, taking a glass and raising it up: "You wanted a challenge, so you jumped at everything they gave you. Eventually, they made you the one in charge of saying who got what, but you couldn't go out and do things yourself, anymore. It was too much of an unacceptable risk."

"Paid attention," the man says -- sitting down, lifting his own glass and following through on a drink: "So why-"

"Because this time, you're not going to be behind a !@#$ desk," Straffer says, wincing at the drink's bite and putting the glass down: "This time, you'll be in the field. You'll be my eyes and ears. My hand on the world. You will be the one jumping through the hoops, and doing everything possible to make sure my !@#$ stays in one piece."

"I won't be in charge of the whole thing ever again..." Harvey says, mulling that over.

"Exactly," Straffer says, tapping his empty glass: "I'm tired of being !@#$ed by people I can't trust, Harvey. I'm tired of having to watch my back and worry about rogue androids or people who are too good to be true. 

"I know you. I trust you. And you put me back together, for God's sake."

"Don't want you breaking, do I?" the man says, filling both their glasses: "Sir."

Straffer smiles and salutes with his glass. Harvey does the same.

The deal is done.

* * *

"Do you want me in there with you?" the Frenchman asks as they walk down yet another long, cramped hallway -- guards on either side.

"No, I think I'll be okay," Straffer says, adjusting his cufflinks: "This man's not nearly as dangerous as they make him out to be."

"That's not what I heard."

"Well, he is dangerous," Straffer clarifies as they turn the corner, only to find yet another long, cramped, stone hallway awaiting them: "The man's taken on entire armies. Destroyed whole armadas. Repelled invasions, for God's sake, and sometimes single-handedly."

Disparaître whistles, not sure he's hearing this right: "How can he do such things?"

"Well, sometimes he had an army on his side, which never hurts. And sometimes he made those armies himself, out of people who were fighting each other just days before. But sometimes he only needed a sword in one hand and a blaster in the other to do it. 

"And sometimes...?" Straffer says as they near the cell, which has two very nervous guards standing outside of it: "Sometimes all he needed was for his enemies to know he was there, and they'd turn around and run out of fear."

"And yet, here he is," Disparaître says, gesturing to the cell.

"That's right," Straffer nods: "Because there's one thing more terrible and powerful than alien invaders, evil emperors, and warring kingdoms from another galaxy."

"And what is that?"

"Your own government at home, convinced you're insane," the man says, winking. 

And then he's heading for the doors, which the guards throw open rather hurriedly, and shut twice as fast.

Inside the darkened cell is a cot and a toilet. There is no window, and no light.

All the walls are covered in massive murals, all drawn by scratching onto the rude stone. Friezes of armies and battles, entire kingdoms new and old, people and places and wonders beyond imagining. 

"Are you here to bring me a copy of the Noble Koran?" a man says, suddenly right behind Straffer. His voice is firm and supple, and he speaks Arabic with a cultured, shoreline accent. 

"No, I am not," Straffer says: "May I turn around?"

"Not just yet," the man says, putting a single finger on the back of his neck and holding him there: "If you're not here to make me recant my heresy, then why are you here?"

"I am here to inform you that you are a free man, again," Straffer replies: "But there are some conditions."

"I could snap your neck with this finger," the man hisses: "Do not speak to me of...."

And then he falls silent. The finger is joined by another, and then a hand.

"Not... you are not human?"

"Yes and no," Straffer answers: "I am a cyborg. And I've been one for a long time, now."

"I did not think there were any that were this... convincing."

"Not outside of the Space Service, no. But we've always been ahead of the curve. You know that."

"Dear God," the man says, quickly walking around and showing himself at last. He is tall and well-muscled, with long, silver hair down to his waist, and a well-trimmed beard and mustache. His eyes shine in the dark, and his body, though old, appears to have been worn down very little by the decades he's spent in this cell.

"Faraj," Straffer says: "I know you have suffered greatly. I know you have been treated unfairly. I wish there had been a way, before now, to get you out of here. But the world needs you."

"Is the Empire invading?" Faraj al-Ǧazāʼir says: "Has that dog of an Emperor finally deigned to come here?"

"No," Straffer says, gesturing to the cot, so that they both might sit: "Something a billion times worse, Faraj. Something that makes that Emperor look like a little boy throwing rocks at fish in a pond. We are looking at the end of all life on Earth, and only someone with your skills could save us."

And that's all he needs to say to go from annoyance to center of attention. 

(SPYGOD is listening to Sense the Adventure (The FIXX) and having a Special Flag)