Rogue Ragtime

by K Alexis

  However, the proposed "truth" Jetta offered was too harsh and brutal for Agra to accept on its face. He fought back: "You think you can learn everything about a relationship from a few messages? Our love goes deeper than you'll ever comprehend."

  Jetta gently took the apocrypha from him. "Fifty-three thousand, two hundred and ninety-five messages," she said. "You don't write as much as you used to."

  "So fucking what?" Agra was yelling now but he could not control himself. "She's made some mistakes. Are you perfect? Haven't you ever fucked up?"

  Jetta began to flip through the book. "Of course I have," she answered. "It cost me my sister."

  Agra was unable to determine if Jetta was lying, but her expression indicated otherwise. Her gaze stayed focused on the tome and her searching slowed down. She began to scan each page, not looking up even once.

  "I didn't …" Agra said, his voice returning to its normal softness.

  She snorted. "Why would you care? You don't know her." Jetta stopped at the section she apparently wanted and regarded Agra. Her eyes were no longer redwood, but a deep purple.

  "Well—" he attempted to explain.

  She cut him off, "Fuck your pity. I need your trust. Your father and mother were murdered for endeavoring to broker peace between the United Country and the Leviathan commune. You were supposed to have been eliminated with them, but no-one fancied butchering a teenager. So, they sent you to die in the most heavily guarded Grinner tract there was."

  "I … I … can't …" Agra stammered.

  "Give me another reason why your clan would send an inadequately trained and poorly equipped boy to Deroi," Jetta challenged.

  "You know I don't have an answer for that," he responded.

  "And you won't have one for why Junko writes, 'Sexual Favor,' as the payment rendered for a task she has asked you to do." A silver line circled Jetta's right eye. "I can show you that too, if you'd like."

  Agra felt his heart and mind go numb. He knew those parts of himself still existed, that he existed, but all the emotions that had made him believe he was a human and not a monster seemed to have flown away.

  Jetta appeared to notice his change in demeanor and shook her head. "It's time to grow up, Azra," she said.

  He no longer wished to listen to Jetta anymore about Junko, his parents, Mea or his Corsair life. "What did you want to show me about Navigators?" he asked, hoping to hurry the conversation along so he could return to how things had been before.

  Jetta held the apocrypha up so he could see the text while she quoted the Navigator section from memory. "Little is known about these spirits; however, they traditionally appear when a world-destroying threat has been created or summoned. According to numerous anecdotal reports (see Appendix 1,234A), their purpose is to remove these dangers from the universe in which they reside and then return to their homeworld [UNKNOWN].

  "Each Navigator may have a unique appearance; nonetheless, stories about them are often consistent on one physical attribute: their eyes change from green to yellow when they draw upon their magical resources." Without looking, Jetta pointed to a section on the next page. "They exhibit immense strength, relatively fast reflexes and can seemingly counter most magic spells." She turned the page. Pointing to another sentence, she continued, "Despite their immense powers, unverified reports indicate one weakness: they can be sent back to their dimension by saying their transversal name." She slammed the book closed. "Monsters and goblins, I hope the authors were paid by the word because they wrote five pages when four paragraphs would have been fine."

  "From green to …" Agra said, shrugging off his stupor. "That can't be correct. That's what mutants do, I'm sure of it."

  "And how many mutants do you know?" Jetta asked. "They have yellow eyes because they're always using their powers. It's why they don't usually live past forty. Surely, you noticed the difference between the mutant depicted in 'The Noble Experiment' and Mea."

  Agra tried to hand the book back. "I don't want to be part of this anymore."

  "We're beyond that now," Jetta said as her eyes flashed purple.

  "You want me to believe Mea attempted to murder Steh?" Agra asked. He chuckled, twice and would have liked to keep going. The whole situation was absurd. "She has saved him so many … countless times. You're grasping for sand in a forest."

  Jetta stepped closer to him and touched his chest. "I want you to believe Meagh Louise Allant Tristan did something to Steh on that lonely gangplank. I don't know what, but something happened. Something that made her act like more of a Navigator than a friend. Mea and Meagh are not the same person, they're fundamentally different."

  Catching on to what Jetta was implying, Agra said, "Like how Junko could be my lover or my enemy depending on the situation?" He rubbed his eyes. "This is an odd way to make me trust you." He gestured to the painting and the book. "You're asking I believe you over my eyes, ears and entire lived experience."

  "Yes, I am," Jetta said. "Because most people live in a mirage of their own making." Jetta banged the picture. "This is Danielle Heather Marcont Heralar, Danny. She loved a human man and his family. She healed them, cared for them, listened to them, and when her lover died, they burned her. She thought her in-laws' kind words and faint smiles would overcome their hatred of magic. She was wrong."

  "What a convenient analogy to have on hand," Agra retorted.

  "Everyone has a second side, Azra," Jetta snapped. "A deep abyss behind the veneer. Junko Frances pretends to be what you want so she can get what she needs. Haven't you done the same as a spy? Why is it possible for you to do that but not her?"

  Agra rubbed the back of his neck and searched for the exit. He wanted this encounter to be over. He wanted to be watching an imagination under the sheets in his bunk. "I should've stayed with Tath and Mea," he said, thinking about the warning the storekeeper had given him. Perhaps Jetta was telling the truth, but he no longer desired to learn it. He preferred his land of "mirages" and shifting realities than what was on offer.

  "To save others, we can't stay children," Jetta chided him. "We have to see all the evil and all the good in people—and not flinch."

  "Then make me believe it," Agra said. "I don't want to." He kicked Jetta's basket on the floor. "No-one would want to. You're supposed to be smarter than the rest of us. Convince me I'm wrong."

  "It'd be less painful if you accept it yourself," she replied, quietly.

  "I don't care. Rip my soul out if that will save Steh, but if your best argument doesn't persuade me, then … I'm going back to my land of fantasies, and we're never talking again."

  "I am here to serve," Jetta replied. "Then regale me, oh great and wise one, with how many times Junko has been imprisoned with you. How many times has she been tortured or hurt on one of your missions?"

  "I don't keep count," Agra replied. "Probably dozens, I guess."

  "How many precisely?" Jetta pressed.

  "Uh …" Agra had to think about the question. There had been so many joint operations. So many that had gone wrong as well. He had been traded to a sell-thief, fought off a pack of morphed Cheshires, imprisoned in countless jails, wedded to a prince for three days, and all other sorts of things he had hoped to forget. However, when he recalled them one by one, he could not recollect Junko ever having been caught, no matter the situation. "I'm sure there was at least once," he hedged.

  "I know the answer," Jetta said. "It's 'never.' She's never been there for you."

  Agra struggled with breathing; he felt the same as he had when Steh's death had first been announced. With a few sentences, Jetta had torn down his remaining defenses. All the times he had begged Junko to assist him, to save him, to be the person she had promised to be when they had stared into each other's eyes after a long walk—all of those moments flashed through his mind. He could no longer deny that a person who left their lover to die over and over and over and over and over was not to be trusted and did not truly care for their partner. Maybe he had already known this about
Junko. Maybe he had always known, but had hoped there was still enough of a spark between them that it would make her pause before the killing stroke.

  "Why do you hate my happiness so much?" he asked Jetta.

  "I don't. I simply have no time. I have fourteen hours to find Stehlan in a pocket dimension that could be anything … if he is alive. And if I am right about Elia saving him, it’s because she couldn't save her daughter from the Navigators. Their treaties will fuck you over without fail.

  "So, I can't worry about your feelings," she continued. "Not anymore. And I need you. I wish I didn't, but my plan requires you to be a man without romantic hang-ups. A man who is willing to risk everything for his friend."

  "Junko must have loved me at some point," Agra said, trying to salvage something from the relationship.

  "No, she didn't," Jetta advised. "The family didn't love Danielle Heather Marcont Heralar either. They loved Danny, wife of Xera. They loved her making him generous and encouraging him to waste money on their desires. And yet, the moment she was named sole-beneficiary in the will, they re-discovered their hate for magical beings and found their torches." Jetta stepped forward, her body pressing against his. Although she was about a foot and a half shorter, Agra felt as if their eyes were parallel. "Tath loves you. Steh as well. Even Mea might under the right circumstances." She prodded his chest. "They would give everything they have to save you. And they have. They've been cut open and almost died for you. Junko hasn't. Not once. She's fucked you and shown your dick an explosively good time. That's not love. That's an exchange and, the Cataclysm be Hell's fire, I know one when I see it. It's the devil-foundation of being a Corsair. So, you tell me, Mixter of Moral Virtue who looks down upon my self-centeredness, are you willing to bleed to save your friend? Or when you've got to sacrifice, do you crawl back to your films and beg others to be the hero you can't be?"

  Fri, 24 Oct 65 P.C.T., 7:23am: Junko [Channel 37A4R]

  Dating? ⊙_⊙ How much of a Grinner are you? I can't date my trainee, and you can't seem to get promoted. So, I don't know where you got that idea. ¯_(ツ)_/¯

  4:32pm: Azra [P. Watcher 18034568X]

  I guess we can talk about it when I see you.

  Anyway, Steh might be alive. So, could you send me the Corsair apocrypha entry on Starfires? I'm not asking for the whole book, just the Starfire entry.

  Twenty-two: The Distraction

  MEA RECLINED ON the top bunk as Tath sat between her thighs. Every time Tath adjusted herself, Mea could feel her lover's muscles go taut and her sculpted rear rub lightly against Mea's legs. Each wiggle sent sparks shooting through her body, and as the bolts did, she would breathe in and savor the coconut fragrance exuding from her girlfriend's bouncy hair. Mea's latest book, Regency of Inducement, paled in comparison to the warmth she derived from Tath's minutest movement.

  Tath huffed, "Did I really steal this?" She was talking about the novel in her hands.

  "It's award-winning," Mea said, glad to have something to do other than pretend to read. "A Gan Tucker recipient according to its cover."

  Tath flipped Puttering Boulevard closed and stared at it. "So it is," she said. She re-opened the novel and held it up so Mea could see the spread. One of the pages was completely empty. "This is the fourth section like this," she advised.

  "They must be trying to tell you something," Mea prompted.

  "Oh? So, you do know how symbolism works. I thought you weren't into the artsy-fartsy parts of writing, Missus Genre Lover."

  "I don't discriminate," Mea responded. "That's all."

  "You sound like Agra. Piece of shit that he is."

  Mea felt Tath tense up. She tried to change the topic. "What … um … do you think the white pages mean?"

  "Rich people have pain too," Tath answered.

  "Are you talking about the overall theme or the blank pages themselves?"

  Tath put her novel down and swiveled so her legs were on top of Mea's left thigh and hanging over the bunk. "Are you really interested?" she questioned. "The last time I tried to discuss a Gan Tucker novel with you, you fell asleep."

  "Well …" Mea knew she had to choose her words very carefully because she did not want to lie, but she did not wish to upset Tath either. "You read them. I'm curious why my warrior queen enjoys patriarchal love letters."

  Tath leaned over and pecked Mea on the cheek. Then she kissed her on the lips and worked down her neckline until her tongue was dancing around Mea's breasts. Mea inched along the bunk so she could comfortably rest her back against the wall. She groaned each time her girlfriend licked her nipples.

  Tath stopped and looked up; her tawny eyes and delicate lashes were in full view. "'Patriarchal love letters?' How many of my books have you read?"

  "At least one," Mea replied, hoping the answer would satisfy Tath so she would continue the foreplay. It did not. Her lover sat up.

  Tath laughed. "Here's a tip from someone with a lot of experience in the bedroom: don't lie to a person you're still fucking. This is one of the few golden rules. I'll be in you soon, bringing you to the height of ecstasy, and I might decide on a little revenge for your bullshit. I could stop, pull out and cool off for a few minutes. Or … I could lecture you on the asshats who think murdering a woman is an interesting inciting incident." She picked up Puttering Boulevard and smacked it. "It's not. Did some god take away the banality of suffering from this dickwit of a writer when he was young? Was starving or begging judged too mundane for affluent readers?"

  "Aren't you lecturing me now?" Mea grumbled. She absentmindedly started to rub the inside of her thigh.

  As if sensing the cue, Tath reached over and stroked Mea's knickers with her spare hand. She did it tenderly, causing a tingle to make its way up and down Mea's body. "I guess I am," she said. "But I haven't complained about Agra yet. Would that force you to be honest? Hell, I could make a flowchart and give you a visual presentation of why he's a dick with slide transitions."

  The sheer mention of Agra chilled Mea's passions. She slumped, conceding defeat. "Fine, I've read none of them. Why would I want to read books about regular people's lives? I see them every day."

  "Because people are interesting and complex," Tath answered. "At least, regular people. Rich fuckers on the other hand …" She opened up Puttering Boulevard and tapped the blank page. "Every time this happens, a person brutally dies. Ooh, so edgy. I can't wait till the shocking reveal it's the rich landowner because he's concerned his gay lover is laughing at him with a few women."

  "Genre fiction is better," Mea stated.

  Tath slid down, placing her mouth in front of Mea's crotch. "Genre fiction? More like power fantasies for juvenile boys made palatable with spaceships and swords. I'll never give those fuckers the joy of seeing me cry from cheap character manipulation. You should work for the reader's pain, not win it with a clichéd threesome and nostalgia."

  Mea ran her hand through Tath's hair, appreciating the way each strand had a unique feel and bounce to it. Despite all the hours they had already spent intertwined and consuming each other's desires, Mea could not help herself and nudged Tath closer to her body. "Would you mind?" she asked in a sigh, not even attempting to hide her cravings.

  "God, why didn't you say something earlier?" Tath delicately pulled Mea's knickers down. "You better have shut the door, or we're going to be really fucked when this is over."

  * * *

  JETTA SAT OPPOSITE Agra at their dinner table in Nucia's restaurant. She played with her ever-changing hair; a smile seemingly ready to break out at any moment. "I told you that you'd love it," she said. She leaned over the dishes they had ordered and cut a piece from his steak. She ate it in one bite. "It's the best food in the air."

  "It's delicious," Agra agreed, excited to be savoring cuisine that had always been out of his group's financial reach. The days of faking his enjoyment for Mea's cooking felt very far away. Yet, despite the flavor of the food, he wished he could have eaten under different circumstances … and wi
th different company. A part of him still refused to believe Junko had never loved him. Perhaps, like Jetta had claimed, his channel did not love him now, but he could not fathom how everything he had experienced was entirely artificial. Surely, when Junko and him had first had met, there had been a connection. He was certain of it.

  On the other hand, Jetta had been correct about everything else—even their current plan. Their gambit was a simple one: they would attract the diners' attention by flirting immodestly as they ordered more and more from the kitchen. Eventually, their actions would backchannel to the captain, and Elia would storm out to lecture them on what the proper decorum should be for two adults in mourning.

  His only doubts had been about the obviousness of the ploy: two strangers suddenly connecting over the loss of their friend-lover. Yet no-one in the dining lounge seemed suspicious of the timing of their freshly forged friendship. Whether it was a kid dressed in a suit and tie staring at their triple-layered ice-cream or a pair of beach-lovers wearing raggedy shorts and flip-flops glancing at their three bottles of wine, people were paying attention. It felt like everyone—families, couples and even the servers—appeared to be twittering about the impropriety of a three-day-old widow entertaining a man over dinner. Alternatively, Agra had to concede to himself, it could have been Jetta's skin-hugging, décolleté dress that had the other passengers in a frenzy of whispers.

  Jetta's crystalline laugh bought him back from his reverie. "Look at you," she said. "Even with friends, you're on edge. You remind me of Marl from The Endless Dream. He's cynical and world-worn, yet full of heart." She leaned over again, letting the neckline on her silk dress plunge as far as it could. As she held the position—helping herself to a serving of lamb chops—Agra found himself staring at Jetta's almost completely exposed form.

  "The plot's a bit confusing in that," he said, clutching at her reference to a pre-Cataclysm movie as if it was a life-raft that would allow him escape the ocean he was descending into by admiring her mildly swaying breasts.