Attack

story continued from chapter 9 Chapter 10: Forbidden Fruit It was a foggy morning and the air felt cooler than it had the night before. Shivering outside of the building I previously knew to be the call center, I rubbed my arms in an attempt to stay warm. The sign hanging above the glass doors to the building now read “TRADING POST”. I recognized it as the same sign that used to hang over the ATM kiosks at the front of the park. It was surreal to consider how a simple Renaissance-themed sign intended to help guests find a place to withdraw cash could now imply something as perverse as slave trading. I glanced down at my phone to check the time. 7:57am. A sign taped to the inside of the glass door in front of me read “Business hours: 8am-6pm”. Inside, several women in burgundy uniforms could be seen working in their cubicles but nobody made eye contact with me or seemed to notice that I was there. While it wasn’t cold enough outside for me to see my breath, it certainly felt freezing. I’d regretfully neglected to buy a heavier jacket when I was clothing shopping earlier in the week. Tapping my foot impatiently, I sat atop the hard black suitcase that I’d discovered on my doorstep the day earlier. I still had no idea what was inside, given the fact that it was combination-locked. But at least it was something dry to me sit on. Next to me was a trash bag with all of my other belongings. As per Murphy’s request, I had packed everything from the suite in preparation to check out for the trade. I hadn’t slept much. I hated not having been able to speak with Katie the night prior before leaving the stadium. It made me sick not knowing if Murphy had explained things adequately to her. The thought of her wondering whether I’d abandoned her was upsetting, to say the least. I nervously glanced up and down the cobblestone street, eager to catch a glimpse of Murphy and Katie walking toward me. But the street was empty. At 8:00 on the money, a woman unlocked the glass doors and held one open for me. I could see that her wrists were handcuffed in front of her. “Welcome,” she said pleasantly. “Thank you for waiting so patiently,” I walked in, dragging my suitcase and trash bag behind me. I instantly relaxed as a gust of warm air met me. “Do you have an appointment with anyone in particular?” She asked. “No,” I said. “Wait- was I supposed to?” “Oh no,” she replied reassuringly. “We can see you right away. I just didn’t know if anyone had been helping you already.” “No… I just made a deal with someone last night and he told me to meet him here,” I explained. “Okay, great,” the woman replied. “Well, if you wouldn’t mind following me over to one of our notaries, she’ll get you taken care of.” I followed the woman past cubicles occupied with handcuffed women tapping away at their keyboards. Everything in the building looked pretty much the same as I’d left it when I closed the Ren Faire for the season. Everything except for the BDSM-themed artwork that now hung on throughout the office. Each cubicle sported at least one of these. ...

For a million or so years since man evolved from either fish in the sea or mere microbes from the earth or, indeed, from some faraway planet, the female has, even today, been the lesser/weaker of the human species; but came the time when that “weaker” and long-down-trodden species grew stronger, not so much physically but mentally, even in those countries that steadfastly kept their womenfolk under the thumb and foot. ...

Story continued from Part 8 Chapter 9: Sacred Places By AmyAmy, based on an idea by John Hynden Brian parked his car around the corner from Maeve’s flat. It wasn’t out of sight of the main road, not a good spot, the sort of place that car-thieves liked. If they didn’t take the whole car, they took the wheels, or simply smashed out your windows and urinated onto the seats. Why did people do that? ...

Story continued from Part 2 Chapter 3: Who You Are When I’m Not There By AmyAmy, based on an idea by John Hynden Maeve sat by herself in the empty meeting room. The others had cleared out, and her last slide was still illuminating the giant video screen integrated into the wall. It made no sense. How could the firearms guys be so vague about the ero-drug situation? It seemed like the news was full of little else. How could they ignore it? But perhaps there was not so much news, perhaps it was simply a case of search algorithms showing her what she wanted to see. ...

The cargo freighter DEMETER cruised through interstellar space, its hundred kilometer long masts draped with gossamer fabric. The myomeric sails stretched along the masts and yardarms extended into the walls of the filament streamer, forming a conductive path between the opposite polarities of energies that constituted the tunnel through space. Rivers of quantum energy poured across the DEMETER’s hull, and in response, she sailed through the empty gulfs between stars at just a fraction less than lightspeed. ...