The Pill and the Patsy – Part 8
This weekend was an interesting affair. I had a lot of things that I needed to successfully juggle in order for the weekend to be considered a success, and I’m proud to say that my skills with juggling are quite awful. The house is a wreck, the D&D campaign felt like an uneventful failure, and we still need to re-arrange all the furniture upstairs. So in essence, everything that needed to be accomplished for the weekend was done, but done completely sub-standard. So blargh. That’s all I have to say on that front.
The second, large, and eventful item which needs to be addressed is the election. I know this statement is me preaching to the choir, but I will say it anyway: Vote. I don’t care for whom you vote. I don’t care if it’s for “Deez Nuts”. Seriously, it does not matter. Vote.
The third, and rather poignant moment, is that Pill and the Patsy is over. This is the final installment for the series. It’s a bit of a shame that it has to be over, but the rule of thumb for appropriate Kindle readership for short stories is 8k words. That’s the average amount that most adults can read in a fifteen minute sessions, which is the average time for public transportation commutes, break times, etc. It’s just the sweet spot according to all the research that I’ve done. So even if it becomes something I fire on, it’s at the appropriate length to be edited.
On that subject, Temple in the Stars is at 7.1K words in the rewrite / heavy edit. It’s nearing the finish line, which has been done one 400 – 800 word chunk at a time, squeezed in around my other writing obligations. I haven’t had a huge sense of urgency with the project, mostly because my editor is in the midst of National Novel Writing Month, 2016. #nanowrimo2016 for those interested in joining the twitter group for this particular project. It’s not something I’m going to do (every month sees 30K plus words from me) so I’m not too concerned about joining them. In the spirit of the project, I am keeping track of my word counts over the course of the month. So far, after today, I will be at something like 10k. Given we are a week in… you get the idea. I’m an author: writing daily is my business, and business is good.
I’m not quite sure where to go next. This was my first true entry into dark and gritty action. I enjoyed it, very much. The science, once again, was slightly questionable. More fiction than science. It’s regrettable, but at this stage I don’t really have the time to correct my own ignorance. As I advance in my career, I will definitely cure that lack. For now, at this moment, the current ‘Science’ in my books will be as good as I can make it using very rudimentary methods of investigation and the most basic understanding of the discipline. I’m not proud of where I’m at with it, but I’m not going to sit here and try to make out that I know more than I do. I’m willing to accept my writing and my understandings where they are, not where I wish they were. I have the feeling that will make me a far better writer in the not too distant future.
With further scientific mis-representations,
The Pill and the Patsy – Part 8
As if her thoughts had summoned the beast, a smoke roughened voice oozed out of the darkness, surrounding her with clammy hands of dread “Hello precious, how are we feeling?”
Patsy lay on the couch in the gloomy office, every single part of her body aching in protest of the beating and drugging it had endured very recently, and her soul ached just as hard when Monty’s voice engulfed her. “Don’t call me me that you overgrown slimeball” she spat into the darkness at the hated figure. A laugh, deep, protracted, and full of casual malice was the only response. It seemed to go on and on. Finally, Monty stopped, and an empty pack landed rather gently onto Patsy’s prone stomach. “Thank you for the delivery precious, no one else could’ve gotten that for me. The Adjunct General still hasn’t admitted this is missing. He even went so far as to ship his direct staff who’ve noticed that what’s in there is a fake to the front lines. I expect they are already dead.” Monty didn’t sound like men and women had just died because of his desire to have the small cylinder. He sounded like he was commenting on the weather. “Still, it’s even better for us that he doesn’t think to look in the next building over for his missing goods, isn’t it precious?” His leer, sickly white in the darkness like some grotesque parody of a cheshire cat, was the punctuation to his statement. Patsy turned her head, sure that in her current state if she kept looking she wouldn’t be able to keep herself from shouting. Monty always communicated in a way that left her feeling smaller, ignored, and abused. It had always been like this, ever since she had volunteered for the project. She wanted to feel that it had been a terrible idea to volunteer, but her choices hadn’t been the best. Slow, painful death by the cancer eating away at her brain and spine, or the experimental program which could cure her illnesses forever. Not much choice really Patsy mused.
Monty swiftly brought her back to the present: “Do you know what you’ve obtained for me, Duchess?” Patsy hadn’t thought to ask: she considered it far better for her mental well being if she didn’t ask too many questions. “You know I don’t ask questions Monty. I don’t want to know what sick schemes you have in mind. The only reason I listen to you at all is so I can get my doses of salvation.” Patsy clipped all of this off, as if it wasn’t the hundredth time she had recanted that exact statement. Usually, Monty made some horribly demeaning joke about her, about women in general, or about weaklings. This time, the cheshire smile disappeared from the receding darkness of the area of his desk. “Well Patsy, the time where I humor your ignorance is gone, I’m afraid.” Every fiber of Patsy’s body which was not in open revolt at their recent abuse went taut as he used her name. Her actual name. Not Duchess or Precious or Pet or… the list went on. He had called her Patsy. “Didn’t you wonder why a full squad of Wickers were after you? A full six person squad of Andros, equipped with enough replo to take down half the governmental forces?” Patsy felt so very cold inside. She had wondered that very thing, but hadn’t had time to put together a solid reason why she had been hunted so vociferously. “Monty, what did I steal for you?” Patsy asked, dreading the answer. “Patsy, what you’ve done is tantamount to declaring war on the Imperial Government herself. As soon as the Adjunct Idiot across the street reported that it had gone missing, the team was dispatched within the hour.” Patsy had gone from nervous to completely terrified in the space of two sentences. If the IG had been willing to deploy a whole Wicker squad within an hour of finding out, what were they going to do now that the team had failed?? There wouldn’t be a hole deep enough for her to hide in, and Monty knew it. He wasn’t gloating though. There was no mockery in his face or his tone. He was deadly serious, his wide, expressive face muted on top of the squat pillar of muscle he called a neck. “Monty” Patsy gasped as she forced herself to sit up, causing nauseating waves of pain “Monty, what is going on. I’ve stolen lots of things from various government agencies for you. That’s why you use me, because I’m the only one who can do it and get away with it. What did I steal for you?” Patsy had nearly shouted the last part at him, her voice getting colder as she went along.
Monty did let a chuckle slip out at her tone, but it had none of it’s usual bite. This one seemed almost bitter, somehow. As though Patsy had struck a rather personal note with her statement. “What you just stole for me Patsy was the entire IG Wicker list of bribed agents. What you just stole, my incomparable friend, is the very heart of the Imperial Government.” Suddenly, Patsy had trouble breathing. Her neural center screamed in protest as her lungs refused to obey the simple command of in, out, in, out. Finally, she wheezed in a breath, and gasped out “Monty, that can’t be. There is no such list. It’s a rumor, a myth.” Everyone knew about the myth when they worked in the military as she had. The big bad IG, with it’s army of Wickers, had a secret list of everyone they had bribed. This supposed list was the most valuable article in the entirety of the IG government, worth more money than had ever been printed. With it, you could bring the entire structure to it’s knees, and make it your slave. Rubbish. There’s no way Monty had the thing. Yes, he was smart. Smarter than basically anyone that had ever been tested by a huge margin, but he couldn’t have gotten something that doesn’t exist. “Bullshit” Patsy barked at his unmoving face “There’s no way that you’ve got something like that. It can’t exist, and even if it did, why the hell would they ship it to New Amsterdam of all places?” Monty didn’t threaten her, didn’t demean her, didn’t even try to intimidate her for having the nerve to talk back to him. He simply unscrewed the canister, and unrolled a long piece of parchment. Honest to god paper. He proceeded to read, and as his words continued, Patsy doubted her own assertion less and less. “Prime Minister of Eurasia, Godfrey Winnescotte, Age 43, four counts of pedophilia, all within the space of two years in the Indo-China branch of the IG. Boy 3, age 11, deceased via strangulation by Minister Winnescotte. Name: Phillipe Urnagte. Buried at 15.1 N, 122.7E, body exhumed, DNA evidence in tact, and retained by Wicker 4213 in 13 May, 2103. Contained in IG Evidence Vault 8, New Amsterdam.” Monty looked at her as he finished the entry. All Patsy could do was stare at him, mouth ajar, in utter terror. “Are… are you insane Monty?! Are you trying to declare war on the entire government?!? You’ll get us all killed!” Panic, like molten lava, began flowing through her. This was worse than any battle nerves. Dear god, the list is real, and it’s in the hands of a lunatic who is smarter than any other man ever born. “Yes Patsy, declaring war on the Imperial Government is exactly what I intend to do.” In a dark office on a faded leather couch, Patsy Dunbar sat and stared open-mouthed at the madman who wanted to be King.
Fin
Kingfully,
Justin
