Friendship 4 – Earth – Paris 1932

“We don’t talk about politics or current affairs.”

“Surely you joke,” said Marcel.

“No never.”

“Then what do you talk about?”

“Oh, his past, the Boer War and his times in India and the Sudan. Soldiering. We have mutual interests.”

“Really, such as?”

“History, painting, whisky.”

“Amazing, and you know him because?” 

“Well actually I have known him since I was a child. My benefactor Lord Alphonso Stiletto, was an old friend. He took me with him to visit him just after the turn of the century, at his home in London. It was part of my training. He was also good friends with Napoleon.”

“Zoot alors,” gasped the Frenchman, and you met him too?”

“Certainly.”

Marcel was staring at his friend in wonder, amazed by these revelations. 

“But what of the danger?”

“Of changing history?”

“Mais oui!”

In the future we call it the Butterfly Effect after a famous short story. A man goes back to the time of the dinosaurs. When he returns to his own time the politic has changed, and he has a dead butterfly on the sole of his shoe.”

“But this is more than treading on the insect.”

“Yes, there are dangers. There are multiple parallel existences. I always choose one almost exactly like my own, but separate. Even then I am very careful.

“But you are an assassin, no? That is more like treading on an elephant.”

“That is why my training was so difficult. My own Master performed a hit that took out the future leaders of the Corp, but she never discussed the full ramifications with me.”

“And your old weapon’s Master, the one with no eyes.”

“‘Schripp, yes, I believe you have cooked many fine dinners when he has been a guest.”

“Has he not spent many years in the old West in America? Is that not also an elephant?

“In ‘Schripp’s case he didn’t need a parallel world. Believe it or not, the Earth that ‘Schripp grew up on was blown up by a pan dimensional psychopath.”

“Enough, enough,” cried Marcel, “I cannot cope with this madness. He refilled his glass with Pernod and water, watching the swirls of white as the liquids mixed. With sudden panic he looked up at his friend and employer. “But, we travel always through the time, are my family my family?”

“Of course,” Billy said smoothly, “this is your true universe, it is I who am the interloper.”

“How do you manage to keep it all together?”

“Many years of training, but then it was always easy for me. It is what I am best at. In many ways it is what I was born for.”

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2019



The Adventures Of Miss Ann Thrope

The sound of the explosion was deafening. A head that reminded her of red jelly appeared for a brief second, then vanished into scarlet mist. Miss Ann Thrope gently squeezed her trigger and another Mercenary evaporated. She never really understood the technical function of the futuristic weapons her friend from the future provided, just that they worked.

Whipping around with a lightning speed that belied her appearance, she casually erased three more. That’s how she saw this space pistol, or ray gun as she told it to her grandchildren at their bedtime stories, like an erasure, rubbing out a smudge on her beautiful pencil drawings.

Racing ahead at breakneck speed she dived low under the incoming fire, and into a roll as her Eraser led before her, sending a volley of precision shots into the concealed hard-bitten Mercenaries trying to pin her down with their targeted bursts.

Silently Miss Thrope edged her way down the dimly lit metallic corridor. In this future age, in a distant galaxy, security was controlled by the Station, which was almost sentient. In this distant future every surface, space, temperature gradient, any physical parameter was controlled and monitored by the Station.

The only possible way to be covert was with the use of very special counter technology; physical hacking. She walked down the corridor with complete confidence of, in essence, being an invisible, undetectable, physical virus.

That was her first mistake.

The creature that sank its huge claws into her shoulder pulled her backwards. Also sentient, it paused just a little too long before sinking its scything jaws into its victim.

Having dropped her blaster, Miss Thrope was surviving purely on instinct. The long-bladed stiletto from her wrist sheath appeared in her hand, and she thrust it behind her, through the soft flesh below the monster’s jaw, aiming for its tongue. With a roar of pain, the great leviathan reared back, opening up her shoulder wound, and nearly tearing her other arm out of its socket.

The smell of rotting flesh from the creature’s open maw nearly overpowered her. Its teeth were as long as her arm, and its slitted yellow eyes radiated venom. Ignoring the terrible pain in both shoulders she took an incendiary grenade from her harness, then activated it with her neural net. Her friend’s grenades were very sophisticated. She picked `bang,’ on a scale from one to ten, of two. With the beast’s next roar, she casually threw it down its throat.

Should have picked one, she thought as she limped down the metal passageway, completely deafened, and covered in ribbons of stinking flesh.

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Copyright Jhedron Luckspar © 2016 2018
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To enjoy THE ADVENTURES OF MISS ANN THROPE you can buy it via my book page
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The Uppsala Contract

It was the most unusual contract she had taken. The girl in Uppsala, obsessed with a serial killer.

Miss Thrope waited in the London fog. The smell was disgusting. Menthol rub inside her nostrils, an old trick, didn’t seem to help at all. She heard the wheels on the cobbles long before the carriage arrived. She held back, in the shadows. Not long ago she had left Uppsala, wearing a beautiful Victorian dress, much admired by her twenty first century friends for its authenticity. She hadn’t admitted she had just bought it a few hours ago in nineteenth century Harvey Nichols & Co.

The gentleman in the top hat watched the carriage leave and turned towards his club, to be confronted by a beautiful lady with sparkling eyes. Usually an admirer of young women, he was taken by her flawless complexion, and yet, dancing lines at the corner of her eyes.

“Enchanting,” he said, as he bowed.

His heart suddenly started hammering. It was so loud, he thought, they’d hear it in the club.

The lady’s delicate manicured hand was holding a scalpel, that reason told him, was in his jacket pocket.

She stepped towards him, as if in embrace, and speaking in a strange accent, English but not of his experience, she murmured, “I hear they call you Jack,” and sighed inwardly as she ruined yet another wonderful dress.

Copyright Jhedron Luckspar ©2017 2018

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To enjoy THE ADVENTURES OF MISS ANN THROPE you can buy it via my book page
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