Bad Moon E-Zine #2 - Blue Moon

by Tom Laimer-Read

  Where would an Agent Crane nest? In the tallest building in the city, perhaps? Nermal decided to head there, to see what he could find.

  - - -

  The Tower loomed threateningly against the dark sky.

  Nermal looked up. It was a long way to the top. The concrete stretched upwards horizontally for hundreds of stories. Nermal decided to take the lift. It was quicker than climbing, and safer. He was smart like that.

  Ascending in the lift, Nermal was bombarded by more vidiscreen advertisements for shaving products, shoes, confectionary, toys, automobiles, alcoholic beverages, sporting equipment, and other things that he didn’t need or care to own, each accompanied by their individual jingles that he didn’t care to hear, all automatically selected by choice-engineered marketing computers that he didn’t care existed.

  On reaching the top floor, Nermal got out and looked around. It was a small, exclusive club, known as The Apex. A doorman approached him.

  “Bonjour, Monsieur. Avez vous un reservation?”

  “Non, je ne reservez pas, j’ai une grand baguette.”

  “Monsieur! Do not wave that about! I trust you ‘ave not been followed?”

  Nermal shook his head to indicate otherwise.

  “Come ‘ere, quickly!”

  The Doorman ushered him towards a small cubbyhole.

  “Stay ‘ere. I take eet zat you are ‘ere to see Agent Crane?”

  “C’est vrai. Oui.”

  “Merci.”

  Nermal surveyed the room he was sitting in. It was a classy joint, lots of glass, shiny surfaces and plush, indulgent, undulating fixtures.

  After a while, a side door opened and a woman walked in. It must have been Agent Crane. She had honey-coloured skin and dark hair.

  “Hullo, Agent Sparrow,” she said, in what sounded like an Eastern European voice to Nermal, but he couldn’t quite be sure, his knowledge of geography being fairly basic. “It is a privilege to meet you.”

  “Erm, I don’t think you understand, I’m not…”

  “You do not need to explain, we do not have much time! Do you have the package?”

  “Yes, here it is,” said Nermal, fiddling fecklessly with his rucksack.

  There was a commotion outside. The Doorman poked his head round the entrance.

  “The Gendarme are ‘ere! ‘e must ‘ave been followed! Weren’t you checkeeng?”

  “I was, sort of!”

  “They must have caught him on their face-scanners.”

  “Quick, come with me!” said Agent Crane, huskily.

  “Errr, alright,” uttered Nermal.

  “Let us go!”

  Agent Crane took Nermal out of the back exit, down a fire escape on the outside of the building. It was an amazing view, but not at this speed. Footsteps clattered behind them, then there was the *ping* of a gunshot ricocheting off a barrier right beside where Nermal was rushing. He sped up.

  “Who are they?”

  “Surely you should know! They’re the people we’ve been working against for all these years!”

  “Um, yes, of course, but who are they, specifically?”

  “Part of the Consolidated Clearing Corporation clan, no doubt. RUN!”

  They crashed along the walkway, the Gendarme pursuing closely. Crane turned and threw a small wire-mesh device on to the path.

  “This ought to delay them slightly!” she whispered, then continued running.

  Nermal wasn’t familiar with the device, but didn’t wait to see what happened. All he heard was an electrical buzz and then a sickening scream, which didn’t last long. The running behind them stopped, but they didn’t.

  - - -

  Crane took Nermal to another bar, tucked away on a corner in the red light district where seedy clients came and went, in various ways. She led him down a secreted staircase, hidden behind a drinks dispenser, into a room full of flashing computers and unspecified technical equipment.

  “So, let us look at what the keycard holds.”

  “Ah, I was waiting to see that.”

  “Groovy. Well, let’s plug it in then.”

  She did so, and it came up with the request for the password.

  “So, what’s the password?”

  “I thought you’d know that.”

  “What? That was YOUR role!”

  “Erm, I suppose I had better come clean. I’m not actually Agent Sparrow.”

  Crane, in one swift movement, produced a knife from her sleeve and held it to Nermal’s throat.

  “Who the hell are you then?” she grunted, grimacing.

  “I’m an ornithologist! Well, I’m studying to be one, anyway. My name is Nermal!”

  “What?! How did you get the keycard?”

  “I was sitting by a pond, and another agent gave it to me, then he went off and got murdered, and then his pick up also got killed, and I got left with the goods. Can I just leave, please? I won’t tell anyone.”

  “Look, you can’t just go now. You know far too much, and you’re implicated in our activity now, in all of that back there.”

  “But, I’m not part of anything!”

  “Hmm, that may verk to our advantage…”

  “You think so?”

  “Vell, it is either zat, or ve vill heff to kill you.”

  “Err, I’ll take the first option, if that’s still available?”

  “I vould adwise it.”

  “So, what’s this all about?”

  “You mean you don’t know?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Ve are The Twitcher Sqvad. Ve heff been tracking ze magnetic paths designated by the North and South poles, and are worried zat shortly, zese vill be hijacked by a conglomerate of large corporations who intend to manipulate them to their own insidious ends!”

  “Those fellows who were following us?”

  “Ze wery same. You catch on quickly, for a trainee ornithologist.”

  “Vot, sorry, what are we going to do?”

  “Ve need to conwene with our agent in Cologne, to verify the readings ve heff been taking. Zat is vot is on zis keycard!”

  “Oh, cripes. How will we get the password?”

  “Zat I am not zo sure, but ve shall get our best peoples on it.”

  “Who is it that I’m meeting then?”

  “They know heem as, De Crimson Pimp, although zat is just vun off his personalities.”

  “Right. So how will I recognise him?”

  “You won’t.”

  “Ok, that seems a bit tricky.”

  “No, that is how you will recognise him.”

  “What?”

  “He will be unrecognisable. His main form of appearance is to appear as someone else. You’ll spot him immediately, or at least, he’ll make himself known to you.”

  The building upstairs shuddered, hit by a frag grenade blast.

  “Quick! We must exit through the sewers!”

  “Must we?”

  “Well, I suppose we could take the main road. I hadn’t thought of that, but it wouldn’t be as dramatic or anywhere near as atmospheric.”

  “Oh. We’d best be going then, I suppose?”

  “Yes! Let us away!”

  The door exploded inwards just as they ran from the building, with the crack troops just behind them, hot on their trail.

  - - -

  Part 3 of Fortress Europe continues next time in Bad Moon #3 at the next full moon in March 2016!

  - - -

  in-between days

  by tom laimer-read

  some days nothing happens. nobody really ever writes about those days. they are the days that take up most of our lives. they are the forgotten days. they are the days that superman washes his cape and pants, or is he an old-fashioned kind of guy and gets Lois to do that for him? I don't know about the state of female liberation on planet krypton, or elsewhere that superman might be living, so can’t really say. these are the days that people think about pointless things like this. the doodlepad days. the having time for a
n extra cup of tea days. these are not the days of a total eclipse or some kind of cataclysmic accident. these are the going to the shops to buy a couple of items that you'd forgotten earlier days. these are the days of our lives, as freddie mercury would have us, although the days of his life were probably a lot more exciting than ours will ever be, but perhaps not. perhaps freddie had jim jams days as well. I'm sure that there were some days when he just sat around in his pants. those possibly turned into some of the more exciting days too. freddie was spontaneous like that. that's the thing about days, you never quite know what's going to happen during them.

  these aren’t the days that the aliens will arrive with the unexpected reveal, “ah ha! we were cats all along!” these aren’t the days that the dead will rise from their graves and wander the streets, wreaking furious vengeance upon us all. these aren’t even the days that you find a five pound note in the streets and don’t know who it belongs to because there’s nobody else about, so you tell your conscience that you’ll put it in the next charity box that you see, but then you conveniently forget about this when you need a fiver and have to spend it.

  these aren’t those days.

  these are the boring days. the tedious days. the nothing on the telly days. the dust on the wardrobe that really needs cleaning but you aren’t in the mood so you’ll do it tomorrow days. the catching forty winks days. the collecting empty bottles for the bottle bank days. the dvd boxset marathon days. the walks in the park days. the visiting the dentist days. the crackpipe days. the drizzly days. the days that you thought you’d left your umbrella on the bus but then it turns out that you hung it on the hatstand when you took your coat off last time and just forgot days. the egg and cheese flan days. the serious accounting days. the lost in the post days. the unevenful nil-nil draw days. the smattering of mildly appreciative applause days. the pot’s bubbling on the stove days. the drifting downstream days. the dreaming by the lilypond days. the buttered bread days. the wonder when it will all end days. the cleaning out the drainpipe days. the waiting at the bus stop days. the casual cluster bombing days. the winds of change days. the biting into a sandwich and finding a caterpillar days. the plastic fork days. the simple pleasure days. the days you can just sit and read an interesting story days. those days.

  they’re not all that bad, really, when all’s said and done.

  * * *

  Berlintoxication - Excerpt

  by Tricia Cicatrix

  Around midnight Karoline came back after relieving herself in the bushes and found Walter sitting on a pile of shingle away from the others, radiating glumness. He started violently as she tapped him on the back.

  ‘Oh, sorry. What are you doing here? Anything the matter?’

  Walter shrugged.

  ‘Nothing new. Isn’t the old something enough?’

  ‘What do you mean? Your job? Your flat? Money?’

  ‘Well, everything. I did care about those things, you know. Don’t you ever miss your old life?’

  She laughed. ‘No. Never. I suppose it’s different for you. I’m simply glad we got away. Can’t you try to do the same? Just get used to it and have fun?’

  ‘I’ve tried to. I wish I could enjoy it or accept it, but I can’t. I was happy with the person I was a few weeks ago. I didn’t want to lose it all.’

  He had thought about this before but never put it into words. Now he couldn’t stop.

  ‘You all chose to go away and give up your old life. I’m sure it took a lot of courage and it wasn’t easy, but you made a choice. We didn’t. We had to leave because people hated us for something we didn’t even do. It isn’t fair. Wouldn’t you be angry?’

  Karoline nodded, looking at him thoughtfully. ‘You didn’t have to come here, did you?’

  ‘No – well – you know what I mean. We couldn’t think of anywhere else to go. I mean, we’re grateful for your help, but… it isn’t easy. And some of you don’t want us here either, do you?’

  ‘Do you mean me?’ Dora, who was walking past, stopped when she overheard the last sentence.

  ‘No… I meant…’ Walter was about to deny it. Then he decided to be honest. ‘Well, yes. I didn’t want you to hear it, but it’s true, isn’t it? You think that we shouldn’t be here. You made it clear from the start. You think we’re not poor enough to deserve help, don’t you?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t. Nobody says such things, they just think them!’

  ‘If I did think so, I would say so too. All I think is that Mark didn’t need to bring you here and tell you everything about us as soon as he met you. There was no need for it.’

  ‘Well, there’s a need for it now, so you could try not to treat us like intruders.’

  ‘And you could try not to have a go at us. We didn’t write any letters about you, did we? All right, you’re unhappy and you’ve got problems, but don’t take it out on us!’

  ‘I know, I’m sorry, but – I’ve lost my life! What used to make up my life! A month ago I was engaged to be married, I had a job and good prospects… I had Charlotte… Everything was going so well…’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘You’ve still got her, haven’t you?’ asked Dora.

  ‘Not really, I don’t think so.’

  Walter was silent for a moment as anger gave way to sadness again.

  ‘We’re so far apart. We have arguments… we can’t talk properly… we can’t make plans or have a real future…’

  ‘Do you still love her?’ asked Karoline.

  ‘Damn, of course I do!’

  ‘Why don’t you marry her now?’

  ‘Gnlpft?’

  ‘Marry her.’

  ‘Hnnnk.’

  ‘Well, why not?’

  Walter regained his ability to form words. ‘I can’t. I mean, I’m glad if we even manage to talk, everything’s so difficult. And anyway, I’m in disgrace, her family will never… and we can’t afford the wedding anyway, not anymore…’

  ‘You could do it here,’ said Karoline. ‘We got a priest ‘n’ all. Why not?’

  ‘We can’t get married here.’ He looked around. ‘I don’t want to be offensive, but we were going to have a real wedding. With a real priest who believes in God. And with flowers and all that… and we didn’t take our wedding clothes with us… Charlotte will never put up with – well, this.’

  ‘Who says I won’t?’

  Walter turned around. Charlotte was standing behind them grinning ecstatically, her eyes glistening in the moonlight.

  ‘I will if you want me to,’ she said.

  Of course she would.

  Because she had wanted to since they had met -

  And because it was what you did –

  And because the world was going crazy and tomorrow was going to be even crazier, and they might as well do it now.

  ‘There we are,’ said Karoline, far too happy for a tactful withdrawal. ‘So you’re goin’ to get married?’

  The commonly shared impression (it wasn’t long until the rest of the Marzipan Rebels had gathered around them and discussed the matter at length and in depth), was that they really should.

  All eyes turned on the couple. ‘Are you going to?’ Lucie asked.

  They looked at each other. After a moment, Charlotte smiled.

  ‘I’ll do it if you want,’ she said.

  ‘Me too.’

  Then they were in each other’s arms.

  ‘When should we…?’ Walter managed when the embrace ended.

  ‘Tomorrow?’ suggested Father Johann.

  ***

  Find the fantastic full e-book at Smashwords here: http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/429230

  - - -

  The Grimm Truth - The Mirror Reflects

  by The Magic Mirror

  So, what can I tell you, hmm? What do you want to know, apart from the old, "Who is the fairest of them all?" spiel? Please! I mean, really? I may be a magic mirror, mirror on a wall, no need to remind me! Why do people
just assume that all that I care about is looks? I'm a very reflective individual, actually! Face it! Why don't you look yourself in the mirror sometime! Oh, sorry, you were. That's right, me, mirror, here for you to peer into and make yourself look pretty, right, yes, fair enough. Pretty vain if you ask me! Haven't you got anything better to do than pouting at me or gawping gaudily while you comb your luscious locks, hey? I'll give you something to reflect on! Sorry, I was getting carried away again!

  Anyway, what was it that you wanted to know? Ah, yes, Snow White, Little Snowy the oh-so-innocent and pure little flower? Not quite as innocent as she likes to make out. Why call yourself that if you haven't got something to hide, hey? Know what I mean? Are you looking at me? Oh, right, me, mirror, yes, I keep forgetting!

  Soooo, anyway, this Snow White piece. Oh. My. God! She's always like, "La di da, I can sing to the animals!" Don't go too high, love, or I’ll crack! Anyway, she shacks up with these seven dwarf characters, for some reason. SEVEN! I know. I mean, seven guys and one gal shacked up together? You do the math! She must be gagging for it! No wonder they're Sleepy, Dopey and not so Bashful, or so I hear! I'm sure she doesn't just stay there to keep the place looking tidy while the lads go out to work - hi HOOOO! Dirty. Little. Minx. I bet that's not the only mineshaft they excavate with their axes, that's all I'm saying. Am I right? Well, am I? Uhuh, you know it makes sense, girlfriend! Miow!

  Anyway, her poor stepmother goes to find her, to help get her out of that squalid, tawdry life she's gotten herself into, and what does Lily White go and do? The ungrateful little tart goes and calls her a witch! Well, I mean! Undeterred, her stepmum gives her an apple, by way of something healthy to eat, instead of the readymeals and TV dinners that she makes, to which Snowy replies, "I'd rather choke on it!" which she promptly goes and does. Anyway, the dwarves, being practical types, see fit to put her in a glass coffin, no less. I mean, glass? Perlease! Have some class! It's just so transparent! Buy they're parading her through the woods when all of a sudden this hot, sassy, young prince rolls up on his top of the range thoroughbred stallion. Well, the dwarves don't see him coming til right the last moment, and have to swerve to avoid him. In the near collision they stumble over a hidden tree branch, yeah, right, likely story, dislodging the apple from Snowy's oh so delicate little throat, who then begins choking pathetically. Cough cough cough. I ask you! It was a big act all along, if you ask me. Well, she spots this charming prince and thinks to herself, "Hello! We've got ourselves a nice little insurance claim scam we can wangle here! He was clearly in the wrong lane, after all!" She sees that he offers a sizeable improvement to her current predicament, dumps the dwarves, who are all quite Grumpy by now, and wangles her way in with the prince instead in his big, grand, old castle. Then to top it all off, she invites her step mother to the wedding and kills her with red hot shoes! Death by fashion accesory – what a way to go! The vicious little princess! Well I never never. What a right royal palaver! She certainly doesn't sound like the "fairest of them all" to me, or very fair at all! Snowballs to her! I ask you! That's the way I reflect on it, anyway. You can wipe me with a filthy duster if it isn’t so!