What the nationalist perverts didn’t know, and what would probably lead to their downfall, was that the Kid was privy to being shocked.  Damn it, that was Aloha’s word.  Anyway, Aloha had shocked the Kid enough times for him to develop a resistance to it.  Like, spsshh, it still hurt, of course, but it hadn’t knocked him out.  One of the pervs had taken over the speech.  That gave the Kid some time to work on the ropes.

Like, the Kid was privy to being tied up, too.  Pretty much, after sharing an apartment with Aloha, the Kid was privy to any kind of attack.  More often than not, when he came home Aloha would attack him.  It was funny at best and annoying at worst; Aloha had never hurt him.  But, Aloha had taught the Kid to be ready for anything.  One night, the Kid had opened the apartment door and been kicked in the face by the Big Boot.  The apartment had spun around him as Aloha had tied him to the sofa and fired up a circular saw.  The Kid had escaped with little problem, working his way out of the ropes out of necessity, so he thought he was ready.

When Apocalypse Dowell was hungry, it made him crazy.  It happened a lot, especially on airplanes and at weddings.  He wondered how people who were poor and had little to eat managed to remain sane.  A headache was starting to grow in the back of his head; being around Aloha was making it worse.

James returned to the futon.  “There’s a robot at the door.  Says it wants Mick Aloha.”

Aloha shook his head.  “I’m privy to robots knocking at my door, dude.  As soon as I answer it, that thing will attack me.  I’m privy to robot attacks, too, so it won’t be a problem, but I’m kind of tired, it’s getting late, and I wouldn’t mind getting me some sleep.  Is there anything to eat around here?”

“Yeah, we might have some crackers, but we’ll have to share.  I’m starving.”

“You can have the crackers, Dowell.  That’s hippy food.”

The doorbell rang again.

Dowell walked around the junkpile and to the door, where the viewscreen showed a messenger robot hovering on the other side of the door.  Dowell opened the door.

The messenger robot hovered in the doorway.  Dowell motioned for it to follow him.

When Aloha saw the robot behind Dowell, he jumped to his feet and took a karate pose.  “It all makes sense now, Dowell.  You’re the one behind all of this.  Yes, this makes total sense.  The hero—that’s me—living with the villain—that’s you—in the same apartment.”

On a dark street in Kyoto, Aloha checked under the van. There were five dead cyborgs; that had to be a new record. There were no dead ninjas, though. That was good. He was still hoping to make it with at least one of them, if not both, and killing them would hurt his odds.

“Where’d you go, ladies?”

A voice came from the distance. “Ne, you tried to kill us.” 

Aloha laughed. “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead. That’s how I do things. I knew the two of you would be…wait, is the other one okay?”  

“Okay desu!”  

“Glad to hear that, Ninja K. I knew you’d both be fine, since you’re both ninjas. I knew you’d jump out of the way.”  

“Ne, you almost killed us.”  

“Almost, but not quite. Anyway, how can you say I almost killed you? Almost for most people is like not even close for ninjas. Now, come on out and check out the signal in the sky.”  

There were swooshing sounds, and then Aloha could see the girls approaching him on the street. They sure were ninjas.  

Aloha pointed at the beam of light and the shape in the clouds.  

“Ne, what’s that shape? A worm?”  

“No, madam, it’s not a worm. It’s a snake. It’s a king cobra.”

This was easily the best run of the Kid’s life.  Like, no one would believe how fast he was running.  He was running from the cyborg, which made him run faster than usual.  Maybe that was the trick.  Maybe every time he ran, he should try to get a cyborg to chase him.  Then, he’d be in great shape.  Like, he totally couldn’t wait to tell Tony and Rick about his run.  They’d be stoked and amped to hear about it.  They might even throw him a party.

The Kid thought about just running to the airport.  He’d had enough of Japan and fighting robots.  He knew the planes were no longer flying, though, and he knew he’d have to identify himself at the airport.  Folks weren’t taking too kindly to foreigners around here, so the Kid would have to bide his time.  He’d have to let himself stew.  Wait, that was Aloha’s word.  When you started picking up vocabulary from Aloha, then you knew you were in trouble.

WARNING!  This episode contains innuendo and a few words that are not work/kid-safe.

Apologies to Lord Kaosu.

Apocalypse Dowell was sick of Japanese TV.  It was all the same.  They ran variety shows where pseudo-celebrities talked about boring crap.  Almost every show had some mention of food.  It was so boring, Dowell had found himself just staring at the wall instead of watching.  In a time of robot invasions, they were still running the same TV shows. Maybe they thought a change in programming would bring on panic.

James and the Kid sat beside him on the futon.  He was sick of them, too.  The Kid just talked about Tony, Rick, surfing, and his Visa bill.  James talked about his Camaro and chicks.  Dowell was starting to understand the meaning of cabin fever.  He thought it might be best to just go out and get killed; at least it would give him some relief.

The apartment door opened.  Eri, the nerd, and the taxi driver stepped inside.  The taxi driver had a deep gash on his right arm; Dowell thought it needed stitches, but then again, he could never tell when cuts needed stitches, so maybe it didn’t.

Eri had a small cut on her face.

The nerd had two black eyes.

They came in, pushed aside some junk, and sat on the floor.

Dowell turned off the TV.  “Well, how’d it go?”

The taxi driver held out his right arm.  “Cut.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”

The taxi driver nodded.  “Maybe finished.  Early in day, saw many cyborg.  Last few hours, no cyborg.  Maybe all are dead.”

The nerd nodded, although Dowell doubted the nerd had understood any of the taxi driver’s English.

James slapped the nerd on the shoulder.  “What happened to your eyes, man?  You look like a raccoon.”

Google doc of the text so far.

Mick Aloha had been a messiah for only a week, but already he felt he was an expert at it.  All you had to do was say things, and everyone interpreted them and thought they were really important.  Already his followers, the former kappa followers, were writing a Gospel of Mick Aloha.  Some of the zingers found in it so far were Do as you do and I can’t promise that it will get better, but it will get better.  They were writing it both in the original English and in Japanese.  Aloha hoped his brilliance would come through in the translation.

All hell had broken loose since Aloha had become a messiah; that was when messiahs were most useful.  It had started with robots that looked like ghosts.  Those were easy enough to deal with:  just kick their heads off.  It had taken less than a day to clear the country of those robots, at least that was what his followers had told him the news had reported.  The same thing had happened all over the world.

The next wave, though, was tougher.  They were cyborgs.  Aloha, maybe more than any other human, was privy to cyborgs.  He’d seen that Jean-Claude Van Damme movie at least eight times, maybe more, and in the seventh grade, instead of doing his boring school work, he’d drawn cyborgs.  He had no art skills—maybe the only area in which he was lacking—but the drawings had been accurate.  He’d spent hours going over the logistics of having human and mechanical parts mixed together.  Messiahs came along at the right time with the right knowledge, and Aloha knew this was his time.

The cyborgs looked like someone Aloha had once met, but he was still trying to remember who that was.  They all looked exactly the same.  They all fought exactly the same, too; like maniacs.

Google doc of the text so far.

The Kid was totally stoked.  He and James had taken out at least a dozen robots, if not more.  The situation was more serious than the Kid had guessed, though; on the streets, as James had pushed the Camaro through the early morning traffic, they’d spotted several corpses.  The Kid had never seen a corpse before, so it kind of freaked him out, but when the Kid did something for the first time, he liked to pretty much master it, so now he considered himself a master of seeing corpses.  Nothing could gross him out now.

Dowell and the other guy were approaching.  The Kid thought he probably looked pretty tough, leaning against the Camaro with his tattoos exposed.  The Kid was more of a Volkswagen man than a Camaro man, but he had to admit that the Camaro had handled well, and they’d taken out more robots than they could have in a VW.  The Kid was stoked.

Google doc of the text so far.

For a group with such a high-tech headquarters, Dowell had trouble understanding why they were low-tech when it came to transportation.  He’d expected a rocket to shoot them out of the river and into northern Osaka, where the Kuchi Sakeh Onna was on the move.  Instead, they had just come back up through the river and run back to the taxi.  The same woman was driving them.  Their clothes were soaked with river water.  Dowell thought they might want to focus less on computers and monitors and more on a way to get into and out of the facility without swimming.

Dowell turned to the taxi driver, whose face alternated between dark shadows and the bright colors of the neon signs they were passing on the street outside.  “What’s the plan?”

“Catch her.”

“But, doesn’t she kill people?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“So, isn’t it dangerous?”

The taxi driver smiled.  “Anything worth doing is dangerous.”

Google doc of the text so far.

For years, Mick Aloha had been talking about writing a messiah story.  Aloha was better at talking about ideas than he was at actually following through on them, so his messiah story, solid as it was, remained in the back of his mind.  As he sat on the bottom of the river, unable to breathe as he had yet to develop the ability to breathe water, he wondered if this was his messiah story.  Was he going to die?  Was he going to come back to life?  Was he going to save the world?

Aloha thought, for a moment, that it was true, that he should just give up, take in a big breath of water, and drown on the river bottom.  Coming back to life and saving the world was better than just swimming out of the river.  There was some logic in him, something he’d never before felt, that told him he had to move, he had to breathe air.  That sounded like Dowell-talk, but there was not time for Aloha to contemplate how much he hated his arch enemy.  There was only time for him to save the life of his favorite person.  Himself.

Aloha tried again to free his hands, but they were tied too tightly.  He kicked with his feet and came to the surface, where he took in a gulp of air.  The air went down smooth.  He sank again to the bottom.

Pain shot from the center of his belly to the right side.  He gritted his teeth against the pain.

Google doc of the text so far.

The Kid was just, like, totally standing there, staring at the guy in Eri’s doorway.  The guy’s hair was long and blonde, but more of a tough, dirty blonde, not a Hanson blonde.  He was wearing a wife-beater and both of his arms were sleeved out with tattoos.  It was good work—some of the best the Kid had ever seen—and the way the tattoos related, the way they almost told a story, was cool.  The Kid was totally into the guy’s tattoos, in a big way.

“You just going to stare at me, man?”

“Spssshh, like, I might.  Where’d you get your work done?”

The guy scratched his nose.  “Work?”

“Like, your tattoos.”

Google doc of the text so far.

The sirens grew fainter.  The taxi driver dropped from a run to a fast walk.  Apocalypse Dowell followed close behind.

Dowell thought about just running away.  The taxi driver seemed like a good guy, and he’d taken out all of those robots, but Dowell needed to move on.  He needed to find Aloha and the Kid and then find the Witch Doctor.  Following the taxi driver would just delay him.

“Where are we going?”

“Too many question.”

“That was my first question.”

Google doc of the text so far.

Mick Aloha’s head hurt.  Ninja K was doing a terrible job leading him through the bamboo forest; several times, he had run right into a tree.  Aloha was privy to walking through woods when he couldn’t see.  His father had once taught him how to feel the woods as you walked at night, how to know when there was something in your way without seeing it.  At the time, Aloha had believed him, but now that he was a devout atheist, he knew running through the woods at night without hitting something was just luck.   

Aloha was unprivy to being led by a girl through the woods.  There was nothing wrong with girls—Aloha had stopped being sexist years earlier—but he was just unprivy to the situation.  Ninja K, fine looking woman though she was, had run him into several trees.  The bamboo trees were thin, so it was nothing like running full speed into an oak, which he had done several times, but it still hurt.

His vision had almost fully returned.  He could see that they had cleared the forest and that they were on open ground.  The sounds of the kappa cult were growing louder behind them.

They fell. 

Google doc of the text so far.

The Kid had once heard someone say that just a handful of decisions determined the paths of people’s lives.  It was probably either Tony or Rick who had said it—they were both, like, totally intellectual like that and totally people who would make those kinds of philosophical statements—so it had to be true.  In his lifetime, the Kid had already faced some of these decisions.  The first was when he’d decided to move to San Francisco.  Another had been when he’d decided to ride long boards instead of short boards.  Yet another had been when he’d gotten his tattoos.  And now, sitting in the apartment of a hot Japanese girl who collected junk because of instructions she received from ghosts on her laptop, the Kid was at another of those decision points.   

The voice—the one that had said to get naked—had spoken English.  That meant that it was talking to the Kid.  He, like, had no interest in getting naked, at least not because a ghost told him to.  The Kid was pretty much not into being told what to do by anyone.  Living his own way and doing whatever the hell he wanted was what got him stoked.

Google doc of the text so far.

Apocalypse Dowell had never been much of a driver.  He’d sold his car back in Kentucky, and in San Francisco he’d only taken the bus.  The bus was usually late and full of crazy people, but it was cheap and when he got off the bus he didn’t have to worry about where to park it.

Horns were blaring behind him.  He knew they wanted him to drive faster, but he couldn’t.  Under normal circumstances, on a sunny day out in the country in Kentucky, he drove slowly.  There was no way he would speed up at night in a foreign country where people drove on the wrong side of the road and where he didn’t even have a license.

He had no license to drive in Japan.  He was driving illegally.  That thought made him want to pull over, but the word swarm kept repeating in his head.  The driver had said it.  When he’d first met him, the driver’s English had been understandable but poor.  Then, he’d used the word swarm.  Did they teach that in Japanese schools?  How are you?  Fine thanks, and you?  Please watch out for the swarm.

Google doc of the text so far.

Mick Aloha had a terrible thought as he threw down the Famicom’s controller.  He’d completed the game—using the warp zones and some pretty smooth cheats—to finish in less than fifteen minutes.  That left him five minutes to spare.  The thought, though, kept him from enjoying his victory.  What if—and this was a big what if, but a possible what if just the same—Ninja Aki next asked him to finish part two in 20 minutes.  Aloha was privy to the two versions of Super Mario Brothers 2, the Japanese and American.  The Japanese version was so difficult they didn’t even bother releasing it in the U.S.; instead, they took a different game, changed the characters, and turned it into a Mario game.  Aloha knew there was no chance he could finish the Japanese version in 20 minutes, maybe not even in 20 days, and this took into consideration Aloha’s expert video game skills.

Ninja Aki turned off the TV and Famicom.

“Ne, good job.  Now, for your next test.”

“When can I get something to eat?”

“When the testing has finished.”

“I’m starving, dude.  Myself, I prefer a big breakfast and a big dinner.  I like to start big and end big.  Pretty much, that’s how I live my whole life.”

Google doc of the text so far.

The Kid thought about running, even though he was comfortable on the futon.  Eri—like the Kid had totally remembered her named, because it sounded like airy, and that’s what the Kid was thinking about the space between her ears—was completely nuts.  Anyone who claimed to talk to ghosts, gods, or Santa Claus was nuts.  She didn’t seem too nuts, though.  Not crazy enough to hurt him; at least he didn’t think so.  That’s why he stayed on the futon.

“Like, you talk to ghosts?”

Eri nodded.

“Like, to ghosts.  Not, like, just some guy whose nickname is Ghost?  We’re talking spirits here?  Ghosts?”

Eri nodded again.  “I talk to ghosts.”

The robot’s mangled legs left Dowell with little to grip.  He was reminded of a kid named Jason that he’d gone to elementary school with; Jason liked to grab kids’ hands and then use them to punch them in their own faces.  He’d then ask why they were hitting themselves.  It was already an old joke, even when Dowell was in school, but to Jason it was fresh; to Jason, based on his laughter, it was the funniest thing in the world.

They were hovering now.  Flashes of light came from below; Dowell assumed they were the flashes from cameras.  There was a train passing right underneath them; it was hard to make out in the faint light, but it looked orange.

The robot took another swing, and once again it punched its own leg.  The thing was looking pretty bad; soon, it would start to malfunction, and that would be the end for Dowell.  The worst part of dying was that it would make Aloha happy.  He’d probably rub his chin after he got the news and say something about only the tough survive or that the world’s a better place without him.

In the distance, coasting just above the buildings, Dowell saw a dark figure approaching.  It looked like another robot.

Google doc of the text so far.

Mick Aloha was privy to waking up in strange places.  It had been happening to him a lot recently.  What had once seemed to be a negative had turned into a positive, though, as his priviness had prepared him for the current situation.

Aloha pressed against the soft ground to lift himself to a sitting position.  He judged, from the sunlight, that it was just after dawn.  He’d slept all night.

A bamboo forest surrounded him.  Morning mist hung above the ground, hiding the bottoms of the bamboo trees.  Birds called in the distance; Aloha had no interest in birds, other than chicken for eating, so the calls meant nothing to him.

Google doc of the text so far.

Sato’s bunker was totally, like, not a bunker at all.  Bunkers were bunkers, man, with ramparts and other defenses; this was just a studio apartment.  As the Kid surveyed the place and his eyes drifted over the piles of clothes, electronics, and empty beer cans, he thought studio was the wrong word.  Studio made it sound cool, like Sato was giving up his comfort for his art.  There was no art here, though, and there was definitely no organization; Sato was a slob.

The Kid took off his shoes.  He’d heard you were supposed to do that type of thing in Japan, but, like, come on.  The Kid was into wearing his shoes, especially in dumps like this.  There was no telling what the Kid might step on.  This guy had, kind of, saved the Kid’s life, though, and when, after the Kid’s non-verbal cues that he wanted to keep his shoes on, Sato had just kept motioning for him to take his shoes off, the Kid had complied.  The Kid liked that word.  Comply.  Yes sir, I comply.  The Kid was into it.  The Kid was into his own vocabulary.

Google doc of the text so far.

In the summer between the 6th and 7th grade, Dowell had visited New York City on a school trip.  Looking down on the city from the Empire State Building’s observation deck, with his face pressed against the metal crossbars, he’d heard his classmates discuss the fatal consequences of dropping coins from the deck.

As they talked about it, a girl Dowell had been going to school with since kindergarten tossed a penny over the side.   A worker yelled at her, but it was too late to do anything about it.  Later that day, there were no reports of death on the sidewalks below the building, no FBI agents at their hotel, no reporters following their chartered bus.

Google doc of the text so far.

As the robot clung to Mick Aloha and flew him through the air, he thought about all of the things that were wrong with this situation.  He hated robots, so catching a ride with a robot was like a cat catching a ride with a mouse; it was unnatural.  Even worse, the robot had kind of saved him.  Aloha used the term kind of because even though the robot had been his means of escape, Aloha knew he could have escaped, anyway.  He was unsure about the others, though, which was why he’d agreed to this plan.  Another problem with this situation was that there was no upgrade.  When Aloha flew, he always tried to get the upgrade.  He went for upgrades at hotels, restaurants, and even the San Francisco MUNI buses.  There were no upgrades available on the buses, but he tried.  He tried a lot.

The worst part of this situation was the lack of escape routes.  Hanging from a robot, with no separate propulsion system of his own, left him in a dangerous position.

Google doc of the text so far.

The Kid was, like, totally not amped about being choked.  The Kid couldn’t breathe.  He was into breathing, in a big way, so this robot was totally, like, killing his good time.  The robot had a good grip.  Its hands had better dexterity than the Kid had expected.  Whoever made this robot had done a pretty good job, expect for the part where the robot came in and started choking him.

The Kid grabbed the robot’s arms.  It was tough for his hands to find purchase on the smooth metal; it felt like the thing had been coated in Teflon.  Like, who puts Teflon on their robots?

Google doc of the text so far.

Apocalypse Dowell wanted to pretend that he didn’t know Mick Aloha, but it was too late.  Several passengers had seen Aloha, the Kid, and Dowell arguing about their seats, arguing like a group of kids.  The police would find out soon enough that they knew each other; lying would only make the situation worse.

Although it had gotten him through security back in San Francisco, he didn’t trust his new passport.  Dowell had been given the name Charles Chaplin, a name sure to raise suspicions everywhere, except perhaps Japan.  He needed a quiet flight so that they could slip through customs and immigration without raising suspicions.  What he got was Mick Aloha, madman and troublemaker, who was now choking a small Asian man in the back of the plane.  Between gasps for breath, the man was swearing in Japanese.

Google doc of the text so far.

Mick Aloha stood in the aisle with his shoulders back and his chest out, a man who deserved recognition for his accomplishment, a man who should be praised and honored.  He wondered if they’d make him an honorary captain; maybe they would let him fly the plane for a while.  Hell, they might even let him land the thing after what he had done.

The passengers ignored him.

Google doc of the text so far. Thanks for listening!

Like, the Kid totally didn’t recognize the voice.  That was a total bummer.  He’d hoped that the message might have been from Tony or Rick; they were totally the kinds of guys who would send messages by robot, maybe just to invite the Kid surfing.  That was how they rolled, man.  Those guys sure were cool.

Google Doc of the text so far.

Mick Aloha thought the guy with the wok would be easy to take down; a kick to the knee would send him down soon enough, leaving Aloha free to take care of the group of men who looked like they’d fallen out of a yakuza movie, even though they had to be Chinese. They would be tougher to take down; individually, they would be no problem, but together they might fight dirty, like the midget cowboys in Oklahoma, and with nothing more than a hospital gown in his possession, Aloha thought he would be better off not taking his chances.

I’m down with Gaijin Cedar Allergy.  I’ll put up chapter 5 as soon as I’m feeling better.  Thanks.

Google doc of the text so far.

The Kid awoke lying on a tree branch.  Sunlight bounced off the soft mist hovering above the ground below, leaving little visibility.

He thought about his Visa bill.  He could, like, totally pay it off this year if he set his mind to it and looked for ways to cut costs.  Once he paid off Visa, it would be so sweet.  He’d be able to use the money that he would have used to pay Visa to pay off his car.  Once his car was paid off, it was be totally sweet.  The Kid would be both stoked and amped to be out of debt.  Rick would be so jealous.  So would Tony.  They’d probably, like, sit around the surf shop all day and talk about how debt-free the Kid was.  Then, they’d all go surf together and everything would be great.  The Kid was stoked.  The Kid was amped.

Google doc of the text so far.

Apocalypse Dowell’s stomach felt strange; he eyed the IV attached to his arm and wondered if the fluids they were pumping into his body contained meat.  If so, it wouldn’t make his stomach feel strange, just his veins and arteries, so he decided it must be something else.  Something else was turning his stomach.

Mick Aloha.

Dowell had been awake for less than five minutes, and already he had the urge to strangle Aloha, like a constant whispering in his ear, the same whispering serial killers blamed for their misdeeds, the same whispering that drew people to…

The voice.  Before he’d been knocked out—not fallen asleep as Aloha had said—he’d heard a voice.  The voice had been familiar, but Dowell still couldn’t place it.  Who would send a messenger robot to them?  Who used messenger robots anymore?  It had to have been someone in trouble, but who did they know who was in trouble?

Google doc of the text so far.  Thanks for listening.

Mick Aloha awoke in a hospital room.  He was privy to waking up in hospital rooms; several times, after running from the police, he’d woken up in some strange hospital room, handcuffed to the bed with a headache and cotton mouth.  He checked his arms; they weren’t handcuffed.  Good.  He then looked around the room, checking for escape routes.

Google doc of the text so far.

Feed: http://feeds.feedburner.com/koeam

Here’s the introduction for the podcast novel King of Earth and Moon. The text for the novel will be updated here as the chapters are released.  Thanks!

Update: Here’s the Feedburner feed just for King of Earth and Moon.  http://feeds.feedburner.com/koeam

Well, it’s a new year, so it’s time to get busy.  First off, you can download the text for Puddle Driver as an RTF by clicking here.  This is a rough draft of the book version that will follow later this year.  If you find any typos or other errors, please let me know.  I’d really appreciate it.

Also, the new podcast novel will start on Tuesday, February 3rd.  It’s called King of Earth and Moon and follows the further adventures of Mick Aloha, the Kid, and myself.  I’m going to try to throw together a promo before the end of the month.

Thanks!

Written and read by ApocD.  This is the last chapter of Puddle Driver.

Rachel Carter was shaking her head.  “But, what does that mean for us?”

Streis was staring out one of the transport’s portholes as they cruised north out of Osaka.  The land below was dark, but Streis couldn’t stop staring. 

“It means they’ll kill you if they can get to you.”

“But not you, Streis?”

“That’s what it said.”

Reed cleared his throat.  “Look, if that’s what it said, that’s what it said.  From what you’ve said, Mister Streis, it sounds like those things are pretty honest.”

Rachel Carter turned completely around in her seat beside Ito, so that she was facing Streis and Reed.  “It means Streis is protected and we aren’t, which means we’re in a lot of danger.  They may already be in our compound.”

Ito shook his head.  “No, I would’ve heard if they were.”

Rachel Carter glanced at Ito and then looked back at Streis.  “You should have said yes, Streis.  That might have given us more time.”

Written and read by ApocD.  One chapter remains.

With the network down, it was difficult to get accurate information, but from what the communications people at Pana-Wave could get, the killing had stopped.

More of the delegate’s data had been decrypted. The pre-phants, while the delegate had been in charge of the program, had not only developed low-level sentience, but something else had happened as well. The details were still few, but it seemed that some communications, although mostly garbled, had come through the pre-phants, that they’d been used as transmitters. After his experience speaking with the alien baby, Streis had little doubt where those transmissions had come from. He just wondered why they had failed with the pre-phants, why the new aliens were even necessary.

The transport shook as it dropped to rest on the street in front of Kitty O’Shea’s. There were landing pads scattered throughout the Umeda area, but they were all on the tops of buildings, and with the power out it made more sense to just put down on the street, where it had been days since any cars had passed.

Streis, Reed, and Rachel Carter stepped out of the transport. Their pilot, Ito, stayed behind, ready to take them back at the first sign of trouble. When asked, he’d told them only that he’d been busy, with no other explanation of where he had been. There were abandoned cars on the street, but not many, and there were some cars that had been in accidents. The tall buildings blocked most of the remaining sunlight; a cool breeze moved up the street.

As they stepped onto the sidewalk, Streis stepped over a puddle of blood. The body was gone, though, and when he looked around, he saw that the street and sidewalks were clear of bodies. He wondered if the bodies had been taken away for his comfort.

Written and read by ApocD.  After this, two chapters remain.  Thanks!

The armed guards at the door nodded as Streis, Reed, Rachel Carter, and the messenger passed through the open metal door.  It slammed shut behind them, and Streis resisted the urge to turn around to check that the door was unlocked, that he could get out if he needed to.

Only one other Pana-wave member stood in the room.  The fluorescents overheard flickered, a sign that they needed to be replaced and a further sign that this room was little used.  The baby sat in a cage in the middle of the room.  The cage looked like it had been taken from a circus sideshow; there were spots of rust on some of the bars.  In one corner of the cage sat a large metal bowl, which was full of fruits and vegetables.  There was a water dish in the opposite  corner.

As they approached the cage, the baby stood and walked to the side of the cage facing them.  It had grown, which Streis knew should have been impossible, but it was definitely larger than it had been.  Discarded fruit peels were scattered on the cage’s floor.  The baby smiled.

Its lips moved, and Streis heard a soft hiss come from the thing’s mouth, but there were no words.  Its face showed frustration, a very human trait, Streis thought, and then it tried again.  It was still just a hiss.

Streis turned his head to look at the messenger.  “How did it ask for me?”

The messenger smiled.  “Just wait a moment, Mister Streis.  It takes him a couple of minutes to warm up.”

The baby tried again, and this time the hisses melded into something resembling a word, although Streis couldn’t understand it.  The baby smiled, and it’s face seemed to be locked in concentration, as it tried again.

“Streis.”  The last consonant hung in the air, as if I snake had spoken it rather than the baby.  Streis stepped back from the cage.

Written and read by ApocD.

The man’s name was Nakai; he was the only surviving member of either of the science teams.  The area where his left arm had been was bleeding badly.  In his right hand he gripped the gun that he had used to take out the aliens.

As Rachel Carter pressed the jacket she had been wearing against the open wound, Nakai mumbled to himself.  “Impossible.  Impossible.”

Streis wondered if Nakai was talking about the aliens or his own ability to take down all  of them after losing an arm just minutes earlier.

The arm didn’t make sense.  If the aliens were trying to sneak up on him, why throw the arm into the middle of the path to warn Streis of the danger?  Streis didn’t know, but it gave him encouragement.  Maybe it meant they weren’t as under-control as he’d thought.  They were brutal, and with brutality came irrationality, and with irrationality came mistakes.  With mistakes  came Streis’ chance to survive.

Written and read by ApocD.

Rachel Carter was smiling, and Streis didn’t like it.  She was giving him the same look that Ito had given him, a look that said she was talking to a child.

Streis remembered why he’d once hated her.  “What?”

“Our network implants.”  She paused, looked around the room, and then back at Streis.  “We took them out, of course, but we had special implants, anyway.  We don’t think they would have been affected.”

“Special implants?”

“Unregulated.”

“Oh.”  Now Streis understood at least part of the reason that Imaoka had been so good on the network; he’d had an unregulated implant.  “I see.  Well, are we ready to get started on the plan?”

Reed held up a hand.  “Just a second.  Something about all this doesn’t seem right.  These alien things were on our networks.  I just don’t see how alien technology and our technology could be compatible.”

Written and read by ApocD

Rachel Carter led the way through the underground tunnels. Ito was gone; Streis assumed he was being debriefed. Behind them walked a group of at least twenty Pana-wave; they remained silent as they walked; Streis took quick glances back as they walked to make sure they were still there.

Soft fluorescents hung from the sides of the tunnels. There were no steps, only a long, slight grade.

When Streis could take Rachel Carter’s silence no longer, he spoke. “You going to tell me why you’re here? Are you really Pana-wave?”

Rachel Carter kept her eyes forward. “Yes, Streis, I’m Pana-wave. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I was on the lunar surface.”

“And that’s why Imaoka just happened to find you?”

“No. That was a coincidence. We knew there was little hope of me surviving my mission. Imaoka didn’t know I was Pana-wave; he just happened to be there. I should have died up there, Streis.”

“What was your mission?”

“Sorry, Streis, but that’s classified.”

“Classified? Is that why you killed Imaoka?”

There were several gasps from the group behind them.

“Yes, Streis, that’s why I killed Imaoka. He was a liability.”

“Liability?” Streis let the word hang in the air. “He was completely loyal to Pana-wave.”

“He could have been corrupted, Streis. We couldn’t risk that.”

“Why’d he try to kill you?”

“Let’s just say Pana-wave isn’t one big, happy group. I was supposed to die on the lunar surface. By surviving, I threw off the plans, what little plans there were. No one was ready to deal with that; it was easier to get rid of me.”

“Well, this is quite a group you’ve gotten yourself involved in.”

Written and read by ApocD.

Streis awoke.

Ito was speaking, but Streis couldn’t hear the person on the other end of the conversation.

Streis looked to Reed, who shrugged, and then back to Ito. When his conversation had ended, Ito turned around.

“They want us to do some recon before we come in. I hope you two don’t mind.”

Streis took a deep breath; he still felt half asleep. “What kind of recon?”

“They want me to fly over Osaka and take some pictures for them. They want to see what the damage is like, maybe even see if these aliens are organizing.”

“If they’re organizing, don’t you think they might be able to shoot us down?”

Ito smiled. “I wouldn’t worry about that, Mister Streis. I’d suspect they’re focusing on their ground war now.”

“You suspect?”

Ito nodded. “If I see any danger, I’ll take us out of there.”

Written and read by ApocD.

Market Street was a warzone. Broken bodies covered the street and sidewalks. Most bodies had eyes missing. Streis wondered if he’d ever known any of them; with the condition of the bodies, there would be no way for him to ever know. They saw no one else alive as they ran toward the Embarcadero.

The makeshift clinic was gone; all that remained were scattered strips of the canvas that had served as the clinic’s walls and roof. Streis wondered what had happened to the homeless man. He had seen the phantoms, which meant he had a network implant. He was probably dead.

They stepped over bodies and found an open area beside the water. Reed doubled over, gasped for air, and was sick. Streis turned; he was afraid seeing Reed would make him sick as well. Ito, who seemed comfortable with the carnage around them, looked to the sky. Streis looked up and saw sunlight dancing off a distant object. The object grew until Streis could see that it was a transport.

Reed joined them. “Sorry about that. I’ve never seen anything like this.”

Ito kept looking up. “Not many people have ever seen anything like this. Probably just the people in the great wars. No one in our generation.”

Written and read by ApocD. I’ve finished writing the story, so now I just need to record it. There will be 36 chapters total. Thanks for listening.

The phantom was gone.

Streis looked to Reed. “Do you know when it disappeared?”

“No. I got so used to it, that I didn’t even notice when it was gone. You have any idea?”

Streis shook his head. “It was on the sidewalk outside, at least for a while. I don’t remember seeing it in here, though.”

“It has to be the network implants, then. Those phantoms must only be visible to people with implants. When we took ours out, it disappeared.”

“But, I could see it even when my implant was turned off.”

Reed clicked his tongue. “I don’t know what to tell you, Mister Streis. I’m just telling you what I think.”

Streis knew Reed had to be right. “But, if they’re just put into our minds through out implants, then how do they kill people?”

“You saw those people out there, Mister Streis. They were going at each other, and when there was no one else around they hurt themselves. I’m guessing they had implants and they thought they were fighting with phantoms, when they were really doing it to themselves.”

“Then if everyone still with network implants is dead, that means there are no more phantoms.”

“That’s what I think, Mister Streis.”

“Then do you think we’re safe?”

“No, Mister Streis, I don’t. If we’re right, then half of the people in the world are either dead or almost dead. They must have a plan for the other half.”

“What if one of those half with implants had access to some weapons?”

“Like that fighter jet outside?”

“No, bigger. Like nukes. It would just take one of them to take everyone out.”

Reed shook his head. “I don’t think that will happen. If they wanted to just destroy the planet, they could have gone about it some other way. If they’re just taking out the people, then that’ll leave the planet intact for them. Anyway, the people with implants didn’t have any control over themselves; there’s no way they could work the controls to launch a missile.”

There was a metallic sound from the front of the store. Reed went to the office door and cracked it open.

He turned to Streis. “I can’t see anything, but it sounds like someone’s coming in.”

Streis stood. Reed kept his face pressed against the crack in the door. There was a crash; it sounded like a metal clothes rack had fallen over.

Reed closed the door, locked it, and turned to Streis. “I heard a growl.”

Written and read by ApocD. Sorry about the delay.

The street smelled like gasoline. The heat pressed against Streis’ face as he stood and watched the burning military jet. He scanned the street to see if the pilot had ejected, but saw only random people either tearing at themselves or each other.

Reed grabbed Streis’ shoulder and turned him around. His nose was bleeding from the kick that Streis had given him, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Mister Streis, we need to make a decision. We can get inside and hide out, but if we do I don’t know when it’ll be safe to come out. If these people on the street see us, they’ll come after us. You ever killed a man?”

Streis shook his head and stepped closer to the clothing store’s door. The sign in the door read Closed.

“Me neither, Mister Streis, but we have to understand that these people are lost. If they have network implants and those implants have been compromised, then there’s no saving them.”

“You saved me.”

“You were looped in all the way, Mister Streis. None of these people walking down the street are looped in.”

“We should get inside and hide.”

Reed nodded. “Yeah, that seems like the best idea, but we don’t know when we’ll be able to go out again.”

“Look, Reed, it’s not going to do any good for us to run somewhere and kill people along the way or get killed. If these people are really lost, then we should let them take care of themselves, just hide out in this store for a while and wait for things to calm down, maybe come up with a plan.”

A woman on the opposite sidewalk spotted them. With her left hand she was scratching wildly at her face. Bright red stains covered her white blouse. Her right hand hung limp at her side. She seemed to consider them for a moment before she started crossing the road.

Sorry, but I’m going to need to take a break for a while.  I’ve got some real-life things that I need to do.  I should be back in a couple of weeks.  Thanks.

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Written and read by ApocD.

A shadow glided up Market Street, dancing off the abandoned cars as it moved toward Streis. Debris flew around on the street as the giant wings flapped up and down. People stared up into the sky with wide eyes.

Blue scales covered the dragon’s skin. Fire seeped from its nostrils as it drew breath and then blew rivers of fire onto the streets. People ran and screamed as the fire devoured their bodies.

Streis looked to Reed and then down the street, where he saw two people fighting just meters away. A man with facial piercings and a woman in a red Stanford sweatshirt were rolling on the sidewalk, tearing at each others’ eyes. He turned to Reed again and saw that Reed’s eyes were closed, saw that he was focusing on something. The dragon continued toward them.

Written and read by ApocD.

The man was Asian, probably Japanese, but Streis wasn’t sure. There were bruises on his face. His eyes were gone; they had been ripped out. Blood covered his hands and most of the top of his white jumpsuit. It looked like a suicide.

Streis felt sick to his stomach. He turned away and knelt. He took deep breaths, stared down the empty hallway, and felt better.

He stood and without looking at the man’s injuries, he pulled the body out into the hallway. He stepped over it and entered his apartment. He closed the door behind him and turned on the lights. There were blood stains on the carpet near the door; he went into the bathroom, picked up a towel off the sink, and used it to cover the blood. Streis looked up at the phantom, which was floating near the door.

“Did you kill him?”

Written and read by ApocD

The only moving vehicles they saw were motorcycles and bicycles; the streets were too cluttered for anything else. Streis knew that neither would be an option with the homeless man, so they walked.

Written and read by ApocD.

The first pre-phant, the one that had saved Streis’ life, looked down at the hole in its chest and then fell to the road. It curled into a fetal position; the colors moved rapidly across its skin. There was shock on its face.

Streis heard the footsteps of someone running up behind him and turned to see a large man with a long, thick beard. The man held a handgun in his right hand; it was pointed at the ground. Streis didn’t know anything about guns, but the gun the man held was big. The man smiled at Streis.

“Got me two of ‘em.”

Streis nodded. He knew explaining that the first pre-phant had tried to help him was useless, and arguing with a guy with a gun was never a good idea.

Written and read by ApocD.

The words were garbage, just rolls of vowels that made no sense.  Streis could see the frustration in the pre-phant’s eyes, a frustration Streis had seen many times in Japan as he’d tried to communicate with the locals.  Although he was the foreigner there, it was always the natives who got nervous.

The thing’s mouth, although almost human on the outside, wasn’t human at all on the inside.  The teeth were missing and the tongue had been replaced with a thin flap of gray skin.  The vowels continued to roll out of its mouth.

The homeless man moved his gaze from the pre-phant to Streis.  “You understanding any of this?”

Written and read by ApocD.

The bus driver mumbled to himself as he opened the door, pushed past Streis, and hit the pavement. He disappeared behind the bus as the old woman stood and then followed him. The open door allowed the homeless man’s screams to fill the bus. The pre-phant stood in the same position.

A young woman in a dark business suit left three shopping bags at her feet on the sidewalk and ran. A man with long hippie hair stepped out of his late model electric car, took one last look at the pre-phant, and ran. Two young boys who looked like they were heading home from high school ran. The whole crowd ran. People poured out of the shops and apartment buildings. People poured out of the cars and trucks. Everyone capable of running ran, and everyone else moved as fast as they could.

Written and read by ApocD.

Streis, the homeless man, the bus driver, and the old woman all stood near the front of the bus, watching the pre-phant through the bus’ dirty windshield. Colors rolled across the thing’s skin, but in a much calmer manner than they had when Streis had watched the pre-phant die in the freighter’s cargo hold hours earlier. Streis couldn’t be sure, but it appeared that the pre-phant was completely naked. It walked upright, and its yellow eyes scanned its surroundings as it wandered, seemingly without purpose, in the middle of the intersection of McAllister and Fillmore.

Life at McAllister and Fillmore had stopped. Cars and buses sat motionless along the streets. Horns blared from the distance, a clear sign that the people in those vehicles couldn’t see what was happening. Customers and clerks stood inside the local shops with their faces pressed against the pane-glass windows. A stray dog, Streis thought it was a collie mix but he wasn’t sure, sniffed at a trash can just meters from the pre-phant. People on the sidewalks just stood and watched. Streis assumed they all wanted to run away, but running would draw attention. Anyway, anyone who wanted to run had probably already done so.

Written and read by ApocD.

Streis hit the hard ground and sent one last command to his mother’s AI; he told her to erase herself once she had landed the freighter at Ocean Beach. The freighter’s system would have to erase her, since it was impossible for a program to erase itself, but she would be able to give the instructions to the system when the time came.

Written and read by ApocD

One of Streis’ tracers returned with the news that there was a phantom on the network and it was closing in fast. Streis disconnected from the Net without saying goodbye to Dr. Anders; Streis knew he would understand. He hoped the phantom didn’t find Dr. Anders, but there was nothing he could do about it.

Written and read by ApocD.

Streis buckled in as they hit the atmosphere. Through the porthole, he saw bright light engulf the ship. Rachel Carter sat beside him, silently watching the ship’s vitals on the control screen.

It had been a long time since Streis had reentered like this; on his last return from the moon, he had used the African Elevator. Although it had been much more efficient than pushing ships through the atmosphere, the construction of a replacement elevator was still under debate. Besides the obvious costs of constructing such a monster, the various African governments involved had to consider the safety concerns as well. After at first being considered an act of terrorism, it was now known that the collapse of the African Elevator had been caused by a design flaw. After apologizing to the public for the immense loss of life and property, the entire engineering team had taken their own lives. Streis had seen the video on the Net; countless nights he had sat alone in back booths in dirty bars around the world and watched that video, watched the life slip from their faces.

Despite all of these difficulties involved with replacing the elevator, Streis couldn’t help feeling that society had taken a step back. Pushing ships through atmosphere was a very 20th Century thing to do. He still couldn’t understand why neither the Americans nor the Europeans had built an elevator; maybe they’d just lost interest in progress. Streis had once heard a historian say that human history was a progression of two steps forward and one back. He agreed.

“Is it Pana-wave, Streis?”

“Of course it’s Pana-wave. Didn’t you disable the jumpship’s communications?”

Rachel Carter sat back in her chair and smiled. “Of course, I did. They can’t know he’s dead, yet. What’s the message? Can you play it on the ship’s system?”

“Just a second.” Streis listened to the message through his implant. It didn’t contain anything he wanted to keep from Rachel Carter, so he ran it, unedited, through the ship’s system.

Torture.  The word ignited an explosion of memories in Streis, memories that Streis had spent years trying to forget.  The therapy had taught him to face his memories, to deal with them one at a time with complete honesty, but he had fulfilled his therapy requirements in six months and had never looked back, until now.

It seemed to be working; if not, Streis would have noticed a drop in pressure in the main cabin.  As a headhunter, Streis knew that all options were on the table when it came to survival.  Torture, though, hadn’t crossed his mind; he’d nearly forgotten that torture even existed.

The airlock kept the sounds from the cargo hold from passing into the main cabin, so Streis could only guess at what Imaoka’s screams must sound like.  What was she doing to him?  Streis hated to admit to himself that he wanted to know.  Even though he had been tortured more than once–headhunters had to get used to such things–the idea of others being tortured wasn’t so repulsive that he didn’t want to know the details.  He wanted to know.

The main control screen showed the ship’s vitals in vertical columns of green light.  Air temperature and pressure were holding steady.  Their trajectory had remained the same since Rachel Carter and Imaoka had disappeared into the cargo hold.  Everything appeared normal.

Most headhunters with any ambition at all had been banned from the lunar colony. The information in the colony’s networks–the private data that business people, government agencies, and criminals thought to be safe so far from the earth–proved too great a temptation for even the most rational headhunters to ignore. Now that the colony was gone, it left Streis with one less worry, one less reason to look over his shoulder, and as a headhunter, Streis already had enough reasons to be careful. He had enjoyed his time in the colony, though. The people were friendly. Ideas flowed freely along the sterile hallways and through the well-lighted tunnels. Although it had been originally created as a science station and evolved into an information center, the politics of the place, the idea that a new government could be started fresh with the knowledge of civilization’s previous 10,000 years, had been exciting. It had changed politics on the earth. It had changed people’s ideas about how they should be governed. It had been destroyed.

In his earlier years, Streis might have pointed the blame for the day’s events, especially the destruction of the lunar colony, on some holdover from previous governments, some white male in a dark suit who couldn’t let go of the idea that he was supposed to be in charge, that his people were supposed to be in charge. Yet, with his years of experience, Streis knew things were never that simple. The infiltration of the feed, although nearly impossible, could be done with the right people and some luck. The replacement of the AIs, though, as far as Streis knew, was impossible for a human or humans.

“You picking anything up on the mics in the cargo hold?”

Imaoka shook his head. “Still nothing, Mister Streis. My guess is she’s dead and they’re just waiting for us to open the airlock.”

“Or she’s struggling with them right now and needs our help.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Mister Streis, I’m going in there. We have to go in just in case she’s still alive, but I don’t think we’ll make it out.”

“Then we need weapons.”

“I already told you, Mister Streis, there aren’t any weapons on the ship.”

“Just give me something I can use…”

The freigher’s engines engaged and they started the slow descent to the lunar surface.

“You want to talk to her, Mister Streis?”

Streis continued to stare at the screen, which showed the lunar surface moving closer to them. “No, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

“Well, now, we need to let her know we’re here to help and maybe find out what happened so we know if we’ll be in danger down there. I tell you what, Mister Streis, it’s a lucky thing you’re here. If you didn’t happen to know her, she might now trust us.”

Streis turned from the screen and looked at Imaoka. “She still might not.”

Imaoka cocked his head, twisted his mouth, and looked up at the ceiling before focusing on Streis. “Either way, Mister Streis, she’s more likely to trust you than she is me.”

“You’re going to have to talk to her, Imaoka. With an accent like that, I doubt you have much trouble gaining people’s trust.” He smiled at Imaoka, who returned the smile.

“Fair enough, Mister Streis. But, if it sounds like I’m about to lose her, I want you to jump in, okay?”

“Fair enough.”

The woman’s voice filled the cabin again. “two four seven dash beta gamma alpha. I see no other survivors. Please send help…”

“S.O.S. acknowledged.”

Silence. Then: “Oh, I can’t believe it. My name is Rachel Carter. Colonist…”

As Imaoka worked the camera’s controls, they saw that some of the pieces of machinery were from the other freighters.

“All three of them crashed, Mister Streis. All three.”

“Then, we need to get out of here.”

“Not, yet, Mister Streis. If I’m the only person from my group to see this, I need to record more so I can show my people back on earth what happened. Maybe they can make some sense of it.”

“There’s no sense here, Imaoka. Whatever’s taken down the feed has taken down the freighters and…”  Streis stopped speaking when he saw a domed structure on the screen.

Brace for Impact is now available as a book. Click the link below to check it out.

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Streis saw the hesitation on Imaoka’s face and knew he had little time to act. “Look, Imaoka, I understand why you don’t want to tell me anything. I’m familiar enough with Pana-Wave to know the whole group is built on secrecy. I can also understand why you wouldn’t trust me; I make my living off of revealing secrets. So, here’s what I’ll do. I’ll tell you everything that’s happened to me and everything I know about what’s happening, and if you still don’t trust me, I’ll get in the jumpship and take off. Afterward, though, if you want to talk, I’d really like to know what you know. How’s that sound?”

Imaoka nodded.

Written and read by ApocD

Streis’ conditioning told him to go for the jumpship. Will Gibbs’ headhunters didn’t survive by helping people and doing the right thing; they survived by removing themselves from danger no matter the consequences. The jumpship had only room for one person, but breathing alone in the jumpship would beat dying in the vacuum of space with a man he’d just met.

Streis held his breath. He had tried controlling his breathing, but the silent cargo hold revealed even the slightest sounds and he needed more time; he had to decide what to do. The other person in the cargo hold?Streis had decided the footsteps were those of a human after hearing the feet shuffle near the dead creature?had stopped moving. He could hear faint breaths but couldn’t tell if he was dealing with a male or female.

In this chapter, something is revealed. How’s that for disclosure? Thanks for listening!

The soft light from the jumpship revealed only a faint outline of the thing on the floor. Streis didn’t like what he saw; it had a shape that Streis had never before seen. It was impossible to tell in the dark, but he didn’t think it was human.

I’ve finished the Brace for Impact edit and am waiting for my proof copy to approve before it’s available for sale. So, I should have more time for Puddle Driver and I plan to post new chapters regularly from now on until the story ends. Thanks for your patience.

Streis pressed his faced against one of the jumpship’s portholes and watched the stars disappear as the large ship swallowed his tiny craft.  He knew he couldn’t have gotten away; evasive maneuvers were unrealistic in a ship with just enough fuel to put him into lunar orbit.  When the jumpship shook, Streis assumed metallic locks had gripped his craft.  Through the portholes, he saw only darkness.

The voice was unnatural but the language was real. The message was in Akkadian. No one spoke Akkadian anymore; according to Streis’ implant database, it had been spoken in Sumer thousands of years earlier. He knew the significance of the language as it related to space exploration, though, and his implants quickly translated the message.

The guy hadn’t even been Australian. How could Streis have missed that? He’d lived in Australia for two years while letting the heat cool down after his little incident on the moon. The guy was probably English. Maybe Scottish. How could he have missed that?

It only took the smallest flicker of recognition in the Australian’s eyes before the video feed lost cohesion for Streis to learn volumes. Up until then he had been operating under the assumption that he was dealing with a major player in his unexpected disappearance for the argon-lit data-Mecca of Earth. He begins to ponder the implications of that and checks GMT.

The Australian.  Why had he even talked to the Australian?  Everyone knew what the Australians were like, never mind the under-educated island of criminals stereotypes:  they were ruthless.  Streis had seen reports on the net that over 90% of the inmates in English prisons were Australians; they just couldn’t stay out of places they didn’t belong, real or virtual.

It takes some getting used to moving about in zero-G. Limbs do not move the way they do under positive Gs, and the results are often unexpected. When Streis awoke, he was in a fetal position in a slow counterclockwise spin. His head throbbed unbearably, and had he known an earlier forced dosage of Tryptaline was to blame, he would have been more concerned. The last thing he could remember was drinking with an Australian ex-pat data dealer in Osaka. There had been gravity in the bar, Streis was pretty sure of that, and judging by the fact that he could crane his head up to look through a transparent Plasteel porthole at Asia far above him, he had come a long way since he could last recall.

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