contemporary – Page 6 – Gillian's Notebook

Scientist of Death Issue #3

Issue #1 here and Issue #2 here in case you’ve forgotten how we got here.

The Doctor of Death smirked at me, “I knew you weren’t out of the game.”

“I’m just asking. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Sure, sure.” He reached into a box box behind his desk and pulled out a device I was familiar with.

“Is that a Gurrola Sonic Cannon?”

“Mark two,” he added.

“Bullshit. No one has a mark two.”

“I have a source who found a small cache of them. The only problem is they don’t work and I don’t know how to fix them.”

“May I?” I asked reaching for the sonic cannon. He handed it over to me. GSC Mk 2’s were considered bleeding edge of non-lethal weaponry at their time. Even by modern standards they were incredibly advanced. I extended the projection chamber from over the main housing and locked it in place. What it should have uncovered was a smooth machined aluminum housing for the sound generator and amplifier unit. Instead a section had been cut out and a small circuit board had been installed. “What’s this?”

“After market modification.”

“After market modification? Hmm.” The board had a printed circuit, dozens of resistors, transistors, and diodes, a row of ten switches, and a rheostat. Several wires trailed off the edge of the board and snaked into the housing. “What does it do?”

“I dunno.”

“All of them have the same circuit board installed?”

“Yes.”

I lifted the cannon to my face and sniffed the open housing. No burnt smell, maybe the original hardware hadn’t been fried. Without a careful analysis of the circuit I couldn’t know what it did. The board was held in place by a few spots of solder. A forceful tug snapped it free of the housing leaving it attached only by the wires.

“Ahh-” the Doctor of Death began.

I held up a finger and glared at him, “I’m working.” I tilted the cannon hoping to see where the wires were attached. I thought back to the circuit diagrams of the GSC Mk 3 I had seen over twenty years ago. Nope, still no idea what the circuit did. Taking a firm grip on the wires, I yanked them out with a hard tug.

The Doctor of Death made a strangled gasping sound.

On the other side of the housing I flipped the main power switch and heard the distinctive hum of a Gurrola Sonic Cannon but with an undertone I had never heard before.

The Doctor of Death raised an eyebrow, “Really just like that it’s fixed?”

“You dare question The Scientist of Death. I’ll show you what happens to someone who questions me,” I said slipping back into the hyperbolic personal far easier than I thought possible. I adjusted the cannon for low power and fired at second chair I hadn’t been sitting in. A sharp clap filled my ears. I shouldn’t have heard anything; the joker who had tried modifying the gun must have damaged the damping shield. The chair slammed against the wall which shook from the sound pulse. I turned back to the Doctor of Death with my own eyebrow raised.

“I guess I should know better than to –” He was cut short by the door being kicked in by his receptionist, Susie. She aimed at me and I instinctively fired the sonic cannon at her. The sonic discharge again clapped in my ears and sent Susie flying back through the door into the hallway.

“What was that about?” I asked my heart pounding.

The Doctor of Death hurried around his desk and out the room to check on Susie. “You did fire a sonic cannon with out warning.”

“I guess I did.” I took a deep slow breath. “Still charging into a meeting with a…,” I squinted at the gun laying on the floor, “What is that?”

“Hmm, Morris Maser Gun.”

“Not very non-lethal,” I commented.

“In house security is allowed lethal weapons.”

“I guess times have changed.” As I powered off the sonic cannon and retracted the projection chamber, I noticed my ring finger twitch. “Well, now that you know how to fix them, you really don’t need me anymore.”

“The job offer is still on the table. I could use your tech skills.”

“I’m retired and I should stay that way.” I set the sonic cannon on the desk and picked up my purse.

“If you ever change your mind, just give me a call,” the Doctor of Death said as I walked out through the open door to the empty reception area.

***

Later that night I sat in the dark thinking. I had had fun today. Shooting Susie had been unfortunate but the rest was good. Holding a sonic cannon after years, examining the circuits and making the quick fix had felt like the old days.

Could I work for The Doctor of Death? I had thought my career as a supervillain was over. My plan had been to leave all that in the past after I transitioned. I didn’t need to return to being a face in the League of Evil. All I really wanted was resources and equipment for tinkering and improvement of tech. The heists and warehouse raids had just been a means to an end. But if The Doctor could provide me with all that…

A lamp snapped on. “Why are you in the dark?” Julie asked.

“I was thinking.” She walked around the room turning on lamps until the illumination of the room was at normal levels.

“Thinking about what?” she asked.

“I went to see that guy who recognized me yesterday.”

“Your friend?” she asked sitting down next to me.

“Ex-coworker,” I corrected. “He’s got his own business now and offered me a job.”

“That’s great. Why don’t you take it? It sounds like he’s cool with you and it’s got to pay better than retail.”

“It would pay better. I’m just not sure I want to get back into that … environment.”

“What’s so bad about it?”

“Nothing on the surface. It’s hard to explain. Some of the guys in the industry can get real confrontational.” Laser duel confrontational.

“Well it’s up to you if you take the job. I’ll support you either way.” Julie snaked an arm around me and pulled me into a hug. I brought my own arms up around her as well. How long could I lie about I was really doing? I wondered if our relationship would survive if she knew the truth about me.

Author note: The story doesn’t end here. The Scientist of Death hasn’t even really begun her new villainous adventures. Sorry it’s taken so long for me to get back to this story but more will be coming.

Super Hearing Loss

“Hey, do you have that report ready?” I jolted upright in my seat. My hands clenched the edge of my desk and I let out a short shout. As I steadied my breathing, I turned in my chair to face the office manager.

“Yes, I was just putting the final touches on it and then I was going to email it to you.” I clicked over to the report on my computer.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you all right? You seem a lot jumpier lately.”

I smiled. “I’m fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be looking for the report soon.” She walked off to check in with another employee. I turned back to my desk and resumed work on the report she wanted.

There had been a time not too long ago when no one could surprise me. A time when I could hear their footsteps, the rustling of their clothes, the beating of their hearts. Sitting at my desk I could pinpoint everyone’s location within three floors. I could hear everything.

That was before the new DNA screenings that could detect the gene sequence that gave people powers. I’m not sure how they got my DNA. After my powers developed, I was careful about who took my blood or anything that might have DNA. Despite my precautions, one day two men from the “government” came knocking on my door with test results. They talked to me for a couple of hours but in the end, they gave me three choices: work for them, be imprisoned as a threat to national security, or take a designer drug to suppress my power.

There was nothing at my job, in the entire building, that could be a national security risk. I had never used my power for anything more than harmless eavesdropping. If I went to work for them I knew that they would use me for something that would mean I could never be free of them. In the end, I chose my freedom over my power.

I don’t have it so bad. Some people can’t, or won’t, take the drugs because without their power they lose bodily functions. Some become too weak to stand. Some can’t see or hear at all. Some can’t breathe. I still have normal human hearing or at least that’s what the tests said. It’s still too quiet for me.

Five Minute Delivery – Black Bag

“Hello thank you for calling Five Minute Delivery. Your delivery is guaranteed to arrive in five minutes or it’s free. Boxes must weigh no more than seventy pounds. No live animals. Cash only. How can I help you?”

“I have a delivery. I’m sending the video.” The called ended and a message notification popped up The voice had been curt, not someone I had talked to before but they apparently knew how I worked. I watched the video. Gray walls, a clock, and nothing else. I closed my eyes, pictured the room and couldn’t go. Not enough detail for me home in on. I watched the video again paying attention to the size of the room and the exact shade of gray on the walls. I tried again and felt myself go this time.

I was looking at the clock when the lights went out. I had started to turn, when I heard a pop, something hit me in the back, and everything went white. When I could think again, I was on the floor. My head hurt, I felt hot, and my back ached. I focused on someplace else and teleported.

The sun was bright over head and the sidewalk warm under me. I started to get up and felt a stabbing pain in my back. I reached back gritting against the pain and felt wires leading from my back. Fuck, they tasered me.

The Spider Non-Aggression Pact

SMACK!!!

I rushed into the kitchen hoping I wasn’t too late. When I got there Ben my new roommate was wiping a dark smudge off the wall.

“What have you done?!” I wailed.

“Killed a spider. Do you have anything to clean the wall with?”

I looked up, maybe we could clean this mess up and no one would be the wiser. A small shape scurried along the ceiling and disappeared into a crack. It was too late or him now.

“Ben, I’m so sorry,” I said while backing away to the door, “I was going to tell you as soon as you got settled in. I didn’t think any would come out so soon after you moved in.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked.

“The spiders. We, that is whoever lives here, have a non-aggression pact with the spiders. You just broke the pact. They’re going to come for you.”

“Are you joking? Come on it’s just a spider. There’s probably a dozen or more in the apartment.”

“Many more.” I glanced up at the ceiling. Ben looked up as well and saw the tribunal enter. Thousands of spiders crawled out of holes and cracks to cover the ceiling.

“Oh my god,” he whispered.

“Please, spare him,” I pleaded with them, “He didn’t know we have an arrangement. I needed more time before I could tell him.”

A faint clicking tapping sound began. Thousands of spiders making the same noise at the same time in a rhythm that could be understood to those who had joined the pact.

a life for a life a life for a life a life for a life a life for a life a life for a life

“No! He didn’t understand!” I cried.

“What the hell is going on?” Ben asked.

I turned my head back down to look him in the eye. “The spiders have decided that your life is forfeit for the one you took.”

“My life for one spider? That’s not … I’m getting out of here.” He started to walk toward me. Spiders began to fall from the ceiling suspended by nearly invisible threads by the hundreds. He batted them away from his face only for them to grab onto his arm and begin crawling around it trailing a strand of spider’s silk behind. More found purchase on his legs and body. He brushed them off while others swung onto his back. Spiders continued to fall on him wrapping him in their threads.

A hazy outline began to form around Ben but even thousands of spiders could not spin enough to immobilize a full grown man. He began tearing tearing and sloughing off the webbing. Then through an unheard signal every spider bit into the colossal they were attacking. Ben grunted, his arms jerking up and down, his legs buckling under him. He took a final step toward me, face frozen in pain. His eyes pleaded with me for help but I could not break the pact.

He fell to the floor gasped one more time and was still. I waited as the spiders swarmed over him and then dispersed. From the ceiling I heard the clicking tapping of the spiders.

the pact is sealed the pact is sealed the pact is sealed the pact is sealed

Then it was quiet and I was alone in the kitchen. I sighed. Ben had seemed like an actual nice guy. We would have made good roommates I thought. Well no sense leaving his body laying about. I pulled a tarp out of the closet and rolled him up in it. Later after it was dark I would take him down to his car and ditch both in the lake. No wait, I used the lake last time. Maybe the landfill or … I’d find a place. But first I had to clean up all the spider webs and repost my roommate wanted ad.

Next time I wouldn’t wait to tell them about the pact.

Five Minute Delivery – The Interview

The continuing adventures of the teleporter from the last story.

“Hi, I have a letter I need delivered,” a man’s voice said.

“Just a letter? Our rates are not discounted for letters.”

“Yes.”

“Ok, have you used our service before?”

“No, but I heard you need a video of the room right?”

A referral, that could make this a little easier. “Yes that is correct. Send it to the number you called and I’ll be right with you.” My phone buzzed letting me know it had received a message. I opened the attached video and watched it. A conference room with a long table, about a dozen chairs around the table, a fake plant in the corner, and a sailboat painting. I pictured the conference room and went there. I arrived looking at the painting. Behind me I head a gasp.

“Oh my god, you’re real,” the voice who called me said. I turned around to see a white guy in a polo shirt. On the table next to him was a laptop and connected to it was a camera on a small tripod. The red light on the camera was on.

“Are you recording me?” I asked.

The continuing adventures of the teleporter from the last story.

“Hi, I have a letter I need delivered,” a man’s voice said.

“Just a letter? Our rates are not discounted for letters.”

“Yes.”

“Ok, have you used our service before?”

“No, but I heard you need a video of the room right?”

“Are you recording me?” I asked. Continue reading “Five Minute Delivery – The Interview”

Five Minute Delivery

“Yes, I have a parcel I need delivered,” a woman’s voice said.

“Have you used our service before?” I asked.

“No, but I really need this out today.”

“Ok, I need you to take a short video of the room you are in. Try to keep it as stead as possible and pan around a little.”

“Excuse me did you say a video?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Why?” She sounded very unsure.

“If you would rather use a different service, I can let you go, so you can call them,” I said.

“No that’s … Ok, do I need to be in the video?”

“No, we prefer that no people be in the video. Send it to the number you called and I will be with you shortly.”

“Ok.”

The call disconnected and a couple of minutes later a video appeared as a message. The video panned across a small office. Two desks, lots of wood paneling, a few plants in pots on the desks and hanging, a window looking out at a city at night, the glow of street lights seeping up from below. That was enough. I closed my eyes, pictured the room and went there.

“Fuck!” a woman’s voice said from behind me. The same voice that I had been talking to on the phone. “How did you get in here?”

“I teleported,” I said and dropped my phone in a pocket. Continue reading “Five Minute Delivery”

White Feather – A Francine Non-Adventure

This story is a continuation of The Non-Adventures of Francine but isn’t a direct sequel.

Warm fall day. Gentle cool breezes. Puffy white clouds rolling across the sky. A perfect day to sit in the park and read a book. So I did.

I wandered into the park next to my apartment and found a bench under a tree. After a while, I had a sudden feeling of being watched. I looked around and saw a single feather floating high in the sky. The small, white, half fluff feather twirled and twisted, rocking back and forth through the air. Slowly it descended, coming closer and closer. I reached out my hand to catch it. For a second it seemed like it would fly past me. A slight change in the wind and the feather swooped straight at my hand, almost within my grasp.

Wait, what was I doing? I snatched my hand back like the feather might bite it. The feather stopped and began to drop. I ducked and rolled off the bench. By the time I regained my feet, the feather had found an updraft and drifted once more down toward me. I bobbed and weaved under it to pick my book up off the bench and walk away. I turned back to see it floating over the bench and flying up on a gust of wind into the sky.

What would have happened if I had grabbed the feather? Would I end up involved with historically important events in the future? Would events in my past suddenly become historically significant? I didn’t know but I knew that was a story I didn’t want to get involved. That is if it was a story hook. I might have just been dancing around a regular feather.

I hoped no one had seen me.

Back-up Team – Introductions

I paced nervously in the main room of the hotel suite I had rented for the interview. I heard a beep as the door unlocked. It opened and closed so fast I never saw the hallway. From the door, a blur crossed the room in a second and popped into focus as the green and yellow clad speedster ironically called The Speedster. The door opened a second time at normal speed and a young man in a black suit walked in.
“You could have left the door open for me,” he said to the speedster. I recognized him as a local “psychic” who had helped the police with a few cases.

“It’s called making an entrance,” her voice was modulated and filtered by her helmet to be unrecognizable. She turned back toward me, “Are you, George Gregory? The reporter?” I nodded. She turned back to the suit clad psychic, “You got a lock on his brainwaves?”

The psychic rolled his eyes at her, “I’m filtering his perceptions and editing out any identifying info.”

“Great,” she said and took off her helmet. A halo of black ringlets sprung out from The Speedster’s head. The face of a young black woman smiled at me. “It gets a little stuffy in there.”

“Aren’t you worried about me identifying you? Spoiling your secret identity?” I asked.

“Not as long as Mind Reader is here,” she said loading a few chunks of cantaloupe from one of the food trays requested for the interview onto a plate. “Close your eyes and try to remember what I look like.” I did so and only the most general descriptors came to mind. Her face was like an out of focus picture. I opened my eyes and her face was back in focus.

“I’m editing your memories as they’re being formed. You get the experience but not the memory,” Mind Reader told me. He walked across to room and took up station in the corner. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

A gentle knock sounded from the glass door leading to the balcony. “That’s Brick. I’ll get it.” Again she disappeared in a blur of green and yellow and reappeared at the glass sliding door. She unlocked and opened the door. A large man wearing a gray t-shirt and blue jeans walked in. He stopped just inside the door and surveyed the room.

“Is the room secure?” he asked. His voice was quiet almost a whisper.

“Um, let me check,” Speedster said disappearing and reappearing briefly at the bedroom doors and the main door to the suite. “All doors secure.” The man’s shoulders dropped slightly and his hands fell loosely to his sides. “Grab some grub. We’re still waiting on the rest.”

“Bedrooms are clear,” a voice said behind me. I turned just in time to see a young woman finish walking through the door to one of the bedrooms. She was dressed in black yoga pants and a black band shirt I couldn’t quite place.

“You walk through walls?” I asked.

“Yeah. Hi. I’m Ghost. It’s kind of my thing,” she said walking through a chair to get to the buffet.

“Are you actually a ghost?”

“No, I’m not a ghost,” she looked to Speedster, “I thought we picked this guy cause he was smart.”

“I am smart but I don’t have any info about you. You aren’t mentioned in any of the after-action reports about the mother-ship assault.”

“None of the reports were written by anyone who was there. That’s why we want to talk to you. To set the record straight.”

The hallway door beeped and opened at a normal pace this time. A third woman entered with a young man following behind her. I recognized her as The Baton a vigilant from a nearby city. The young man was a complete unknown like Ghost. He walked around the perimeter of the room with a handheld device waving it at the corners.

“Room is clear,” he said.

“Good,” The Baton said, “Mr. Gregory, it’s nice to meet you. I’m The Baton. The young man who walked in with me is called The Kid –”

“Only until I come up with something better,” The Kid interjected.

“Has everyone else introduced themselves?” she asked looking around at her fellow superheroes. Speedster nodded, Ghost shrugged, and Mind Read gave a small two finger salute.

“I’m … uh The Flying Brick,” the large man said, “They usually just call me Brick.”

“Well, now that introductions are out of the way; let’s get down to business,” Baton said, “We want to tell our stories and his story.”

“Whose story?” I asked.

“None of us knew his name. I called him the spook,” Ghost said

“I called him the man in black,” Mind Reader said.

“Mostly we called him That Guy. As in who was that guy?” Speedster said.

“He was the one who brought us together as a team. He had another team, too. First Strike Team. The strongest powered people he could find and organize into a team,” Baton said.

“I wasn’t aware there was another superhero team,” I said.

“They died assaulting the alien mother-ship,” Brick said, “We were the backup team.”

“We’ll get to that but first we should tell our stories. Who wants to go first?” Baton asked.

The others looked back and forth among themselves. After a minute Speedster stepped forward, “I’ll go first.”

To be continued in “Backup Team – The Speedster”

Retail Robots

They asked for robots in the retail stores
And only realized their mistake,
When they asked for a discount.

For every missing button,
For every tear,
For every stain,
The robot brain calculated, to the cent,
The cost to replace, repair, or clean.

No longer could they bully an employee into giving them a larger discount.
No longer could they appeal to the manager for a larger discount.
No longer could they hide behind “The customer is always right.”

Too late they realized
You can’t threaten a robot’s job.

The company saved millions.
The customers saved nothing.
The former employees lost everything.

The Non-Adventures of Francine

I start my day by loading my purse. Of course, I always carry my notebook with the various notes I’ve made about the local story hooks.

Avoid the Third Street Coffee shop on the second Tuesday of odd months – spys use it as a drop location – High chance of being given top seceret documents – shred reciepts as well.

Avoid getting into elevators on the sixth and eighteenth floors of all buildings North of Franklin Street – high probability of encountering a ghost – take the stairs if more than three high school to college age young adults are also present.

The first aid kit is good to toss at good Samaritans. Keeps me from getting involved while not looking completely heartless to injured people.

My wallet of course is always in my purse. I check it’s pockets and find a business card I’ve never seen before. I crumple it without reading it, carry it into the bathroom and flush it.

Do I need the pepper spray? Its misuse could lead into a comedy or meet-cute. I check my notebook. Based on past trends, I’m due a physical attack (mugging, kidnapping attempt, random angry man). The pepper spray goes in my purse.

The electrical tape, paper clips, and rubber bands go in a side pocket.

***

When I was a teenager, Margaret, my best friend, and I had “adventures”. We debunked some hauntings, found lost items, discovered hidden Last Will and Testaments, even broke up a moonshine smuggling ring once. For five year years, we had an adventure roughly once a month. Some times they were three weeks apart, some times six, but in the end it averaged out.

Then something changed. For most of our senior year in high school we just went to school. We applied to colleges. We went to Prom. We didn’t have any “adventures”. Continue reading “The Non-Adventures of Francine”