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keskiviikko 25. joulukuuta 2019

Chapter 1.2

Door was knocked so hard that Arthur thought cops were doing a raid.

- Arthur! Goddammit, open the door! 

- What the fuck, Mike?! Do ya know what time it is? 

- Have grown old? Mike said and laughed. - Take your stuff! Hurry! I have booked us flight to New York. 

-New York... What the fuck you are talkin', man? 

- I called them. They take us both. So start packing, you idiot. 

- I have to tell my boss... 

- You can email him from port. You have a new boss now. So, are you coming or not? 

- Yeah, of course... I email my sister. She can take care of my stuff here. Wait a sec. 

---

Arthur raised M16 and gave a double-tap. 

- Good! Now, Mozambique Drill! 

He turned at the same time with the target. Two to chest, one to head. 

- Next post! 

Arthur ran. He had been lazying after the army. In everyday life, he hadn't noticed. But here, doing stuff again, he felt extra pounds and extra years under his belt. The instructor was former British paratrooper, in his 40s but still made of steel. He hadn't taken his days off boozing around and eating cheap pizzas, like Arthur. 

At the end of the course, instructor, Jake, laughed. 

- Very well for a Yankee. Bit more morning jogs and you will do fine. 

- Thanks. Too much civilian stuff. Beers and shit. 

- I know. But don't worry. You should see what kind of horizontally challenged personnel we time by time get here. They sweat already when getting off the bench. 

Arthur enjoyed informal atmosphere. Something else compared to army. No saluting and standing in attention when drill sergeant crushes your toes. No pretty boys balling around like peacocks thinking they were end all, be all. They all were doing important things as they should, but all that cockniness he had hated was away. They were professionals, not babysitters. 

- Have you any idea where we are gonna deploy? Arthur asked from Jake. 

- Hah, I'm not dealing with that shit. I just use whip here, he said and plinked eye. - But I heard in the news that there are increasing international pressure to calm the pirates in Somalia. Too bloody many ship nappings and ransoms per year. 

- You reckon we're gonna go there? 

- I've my itch. There's a good business opportunity, and I think our bosses are pretty good at that stuff. Smelling the whale carcass. 

They laughed. 

- I haven't been in Somalia before, Arthur continued. - I met some guys who'd served with those who were there but... It was too long time ago. 

- Were you even born then? 

- Around that time. 

- We attended in one cooperation training with some guys... who had been there. Tough guys, and even then... it ended to shitstorm. 

- How about now? 

- Hah. Don't think too much. We are not a superpower. We can't afford losing guys like flies. It's not gonna happen again.

Arthur regretted he had mentioned it. 

- Yeah, you're right. I just have to get this blubber off my guts. 

- That's the talking! Jake cheered. 


*












Vendetta

He wakes up. His instincts are sharpened. Someone is coming up the stairs. Too quietly. He crouches and graps a stiletto. Steps are coming closer. 

He hides next to door. Revolver barrel sticks from doorstep. Figure is crouched a bit. 

He jumps forward and graps the arm. Revolver goes off. Both are blinded from flash and ears are rinning. He holds gunman's arm and pumps stabs with the knife. Figure cries out and folds. Last strike he aims at the throat. 

He hears how men yell downstairs. He runs before his bed and takes trousers and twin barrel lupara under it. 

He steps carefully in dark house. When he is at the lowest step, two figures move in the kitchen. One of them fires but misses. He empties both barrels at the figures. Outside men yell yet again. How many goddamn crooks are there? 

He reloads and after catching breath he yanks the front door open. One figure fires a shot, he feels sudden pain in his right arm. Lupara drops. Cursing he crouches at the balkony. Bullets rip the blanks. He draws Johnson pocket revolver from his pocket with left hand and stands up. He empties the cylinder. He crouches again and gasping reloads the revolver. Pain in the arms is daunting. But as no further shots are fired, he draws his belt off and wraps it around his bicep. There's only one thought in his head:

He has to warn others. 


--- 

Matteo! Mi padre, he's injured!

Hassling fills the balkony as Matteo is helped inside. He is plain and tired, but alive. 

- Mi figlio, mi caro figlio, what's happened? 

-They... came... at my house, Matteo gasps.

-How many, his godfather asks. 

- Five. Three in and two outside. All of them are now dealt with. I... reckon they were Martelli guys. 

- Martelli... Porgo! He is gonna suffer for this! godfather yells and shakes his fist. 

- Nicolosi! Come out! I'm here to make an offering! 

They look at each other. Men draw weapons and rush for windows. There are three cars and twenty armed men in their headlights at the front. Luparas, rifles, pistols. 

- What you want, you son of a bitch? 

Young man, with a big scar on his face, laughs heartily. 

- Watch your mouth, old man. I'm here to make you an offering, in the name of Giorgio Martelli. 

- Spit it out! 

- Very well. You give us half the share of your moonshining business. We've  heard you make good bucks with it. Then, you give us quarter of the doorman business you've got. 

- And what we get in return? 

Man laughs again. 

- So that we don't destroy you! Think, for once, you old hubby. The pigs are after us all! They want to see us hanged. We must unite, to fight them. 

- You have got a big mouth, young man. Is this how you mother taught you to talk to elders? She was a whore like the rest of the Martelli! Hear your own words. You want all but give nothing in return. I may be old but I have my mind still! You are gonna have even bigger mouth now! 

Godfather raises his pistol. Matteo's cousin empties his lupara at the man's head, blowing it off. Guns blaze. Matteo shoots through a window. Left hand and blood loss, accompanied by darkness, make aiming hard, but he empties his revolver at the Martellis. Couple of them leap from behind the cars and throw firebottles at the house. They are cut down but bottles shatter and fire starts to spread. Rest of the Martellis run into darkness. 

-Quick, we have to get everyone out! 

Later, they all stand on the street, watching their home burning down. 

- This. Is. War, godfather gasps. Flames reflect from his dark eyes. 

- We'll revenge this. All, Matteo says and clasp godfather's shoulder. 

- You will. You will, godfather says. A lone tear runs down his grooved cheek. 

Nicolocies wouldn't die without a fight. 

*







torstai 19. joulukuuta 2019

Chapter 1.1


Mike's Ford Raptor stopped at saloon. Black Mercedes SUV stood outside. 

- Fine carriage, Arthur said.

- Yeah, he has some money. Lots of money. Hopefully we can get our share.

- Let's hear him out, then.

They walked in. They knew the bartender. He looked at them and a worry shade glimpsed on his face. 

- I don't want any trouble, partner. 

- Don't worry, mate. We are here doing some business, and it seems there's no dickheads this time, Mike said and gave a telling look. 

- Ah, mister. Partner, these gentlemen are with me. Here, take what you want. Please, be my guests. 

Bald, Roman nosed man talked with British accent. He had a black suit and a striped tie. Arthur's hand touched instinctively boulge on his back. Personal guard was there, ready to shed some lead if necessary. 

- Sir, we are simple men. Even simpletons, kinda. So, we talk straight. You had some job opportunities for us? 

- Ah, yes, yes, I certainly have. Have you heard of security counselling? 

 - You mean private security? 

- Yes, some people call it like that, especially here in America, but we prefer security counselling. Less... Bad press, I suppose. 

- We don't care about bad press. Someone has to do the job. Even if it's dirty. 

Man smiled. 

- You sound just like men I need. More? 

- No thanks. We do business only sober. 

Man laughed heartily. 

- Of course, of course! Now, sir, if you don't mind, I suggest we move to my car. I have some... Calm place to discuss about business. 

Arthur and Mike looked at each other. 

- Fine, let's go. 

They started walking. Before front door Arthur grapped Mike's arm. 

- Listen. You think this is a good idea? 

- What other choices do we have? And you have that Austrian on your belt. Don't worry, mate. 

They continued and got inside car. When man was about to start the car, Arthur touched man's shoulder. 

- Lest go anywhere. Talk your business here. 

Man looked Arthur into eyes through backmirror. 

- Alright, sir. However you wish. 

Man leaned back and turned.

- You both were in the army? 

- Yes, in the same unit. We've been in Iraq and Astan. 

- For how long? 

- Three rotations. Both of us. 

- Why did you left the army? 

- I left because I got a good offer from my brother to join his construction company, Mike said. 

- And why are you here? 

- My brother's an idiot. He did some bad business... And angried wrong blokes. 

- Is there a price for your head? 

- For my head? No, not at all. My brother was in charge. He was forced to sell his company and I was fired. 

- How about your silent partner? 

Arthur coughed. 

- I was discharged because I didn't get the promotion in time. 

- Honorable or dishonorable? 

- Honorable. I wasn't just intrested to babysit idiots. 

Man laughed. 

- I like your partner. Honest chap. Although one has to wonder why he's carrying vest and gun. 

- He is a good soldier, Mike assured.

- I bet he's. But we are not doing just soldiering. We are operating in the shadows. Under radar. If you get into trouble, there will be no cavalry to save the day. You have to fend on your own. 

- We can do that, Mike smirked and laughed. - We have been in bad places. We aint some greenhorns. 

- Well, we shall see that. If you are still interested, contact this number after couple of days, man said and gave a plain card with only a phonenumber. - If you're answered, you've passed. Now, gentlemen, I wish you farewell. 

Mike and Arthur looked at each other. 

- Okay... we'll make a call. Thanks. I suppose. 

They hopped from the car. Man started the engine and drove away. 

- Quite a feller, Mike said. 

- Dandy little bastard, Arthur grumpled.  - Seemed a bit too fancy, if I'm honest. 

- Don't worry. We'll make it. Surely. 

They headed back to saloon to have some pints. 


*

















lauantai 23. marraskuuta 2019

Chapter I

- Hi, how's it going? Mike said and leaped inside. 

Arthur shrugged. 

- Well. At least I think so...

Mike took a chair and leaned on his elbows. Arthur's appartment was small, tidy but crude. Something that a bachelor could come by, but nothing too fancy. 

- Look, I have been thinking... Have you found a job?

- I? Yeah, I work at grocery store, packing stuff.

- You? At a grocery? I wouldn't imagine that.

- Me either. But, well... What else could I do? Like, a drop off from college, no other professional skills than killing people. There really aren't many business opportunities for that kind of guys, if I don't fancy robbing banks.

- Look, I might have some... Leads. 

- For robbing banks?

- Hah, no, not that kinda stuff. But close. Kinda.

- I'm not sure if I really want to hear. 

- Oh, you will. Look, I got acquittance with one fellow... He offers pretty good money. 

- How much?

- What do ya think if I say two-hundred grand per year? If you survive that long, of course.

- Fiuu. And you're really sure it's not about robbing banks?

- No, nothing like that. The same thing you did in the army. Only, now being paid like it should be.

- Private security? 

- Yeah, you nailed it.

- Arrr...do you know if this guy is... like, legimate?

- So that he's not cop or something?

- Yeah, along those lines... Or some conman.

- Well, there's only one way to find out... He hangs around at the bar near the park. Ya coming?

Arthur stood still and thought. When he got out, he had thought "Never again". But this "civilian life"... It felt so empty and meaningless. People so high flying and bragging on some pointless shit. He missed those boys, even though sometimes he had been ready to blow their heads off. 

- Yeah, I'm coming. Wait a sec.

Arthur opened a closet and took a bullet vest and a Glock 19 from the drawer. 

- Wait, you take a vest and gun? 

- Of course. What d'ya thougth, man? I never go outside without them.

- Ya know, this ain't a fucking Iraq or something. 

- Well, sometimes it pretty much feels like one. You should hear the gunshots at night. Like Baghdad in its prime. 

- Look, don't take offense... But have you got over things?

- None taken. Over what?

- Like...what happened in Helmand?

Arthur was silent. 

- Yeah, of course, dude. What kinda question was that?

- Well, I just wanted to check. You were a good soldier, mate. You know that, doncha? 

- Sometimes... There was so much shit going on. I got sick of it. 

- Yeah, I know... This dude, Nick's his name, he said they look for enlisted. They got officers, but lack boots on the ground.

- Someone has to get the shit done. Pretty boys aren't gonna cut it. 

- Yeah, exactly. That's why we're going, to get shit done. And earn some buck, righteously so. 

- I just hope there ain't too many pretty boys fuzzing around. I'm tired of them.

- Have you thought you'd be one of them? Like, you got to college. You'd have done them to end in 'form. If ya had taken that corporal exam, they'd have send ya to cadet school. 

- Nah. It's not for me. I'm not interested in babysitting some nerds that barely came off from their mothers' titties and jerk off for some fucking 'tube star. I wanna do business, not fricking herding. 

- Ya know, you were once one of them. I remember. 

- Nah, that's so long time ago... Like, a lifetime. Really, a lifetime. If some dude came at that day with his gf when I got to boot camp, that baby could serve in the Army by now. 

- Not really. We don't do child soldiers. Although you always couldn't believe so.

- Yeah. Now, Are we going or just sitting and chewing bullshit?

- Alright, let's go. Now, let me do the talking. And keep that Austrian on your belt. Ya know what happened last time.

*















lauantai 13. heinäkuuta 2019

Black rose

Wind blew hard outside. Its noise made the ones inside the ale house to touch up their coats and blankets. It was warm, but ruthlesness of the steppe was only a couple of feet away from them.

Then, the door opened. Or crashed open, would be better term, nearly tearing it off its hinges. Snow and freezing air stormed inside, like skeletons dancing around the room. All the eyes looked angrily at the one shameless enough to take the warmth away.

A small statured man strode to the table. Tall, black fur hat looked amusingly big for the man, being nearly as tall as he was. He had worn army overcoat, black trousers and boots needing some care. On his belt hang a cavalry saber, as worn as any other gear. His dark hair was wild, and boyish smirk glowed from those hollowed cheeks.

- What you'd have? asked the ale house keeper.

- A pint wouldn't make harm.

Keeper opened a valve and poured beer to the wooden pint. Guest took a long sip and smiled even more.

- Where are you coming from, keeper asked.

- I'm coming from Kyiv.

- Oh, I've heard there are those...those communists, bolsheviks and whatever. Bandits they are! Awful people, truly awful!

Guest just nodded keenly, mumbling something acceptable and sipped more of his beer.

Keeper and others started to relax. Guest seemed not to be one of them, dreaded communists, despite of his wild looks. Discussion started again, room began to be warm.

- Hey, you, go to feed the horses! You lazy little bastard! keeper suddenly shouted. A young, thin as leaf stableboy jumped into air and ran past the keeper, who slapped him to cheek.

- Oh my... These times, these times... World is being crazy, people rise against their kings and rulers... End of the world is near, hear me saying. I work my ass off so that those kind of lazy bastards can drink and whore around! keeper said behind his walrus moustache. Anger made his whole thick body to shake.

Time flew by, and the guest sipped last drops of his pint.

- Would you like more? keeper asked.

- No, thanks, this is enough, guest said.

- One kopek, keeper said. His voice was firm and his palm was demanding.

The guest smiled cheerfully and put his hand into the chest of his overcoat. He pulled it back, but instead of wallet he pointed a Nagant to the keeper's head and pulled the trigger.

The keepers corpse dropped like a sack of potatoes.

People jumped up horrified and looked at the guest.

- Comrads! This is the beginning of the new era! Mother-Anarchy has taken you to her warm comfort. This all, this all belongs to you now! It belongs to the people! Hail the revolution! Hail the workers and peasants! Dead to the kings, bourgeois and communists!

He was Nestor Makhno.

perjantai 3. elokuuta 2018

As they stood

They stood in rows, five to six men thick. Damp, misty air was sullen. Breeze of autum made men shiver, coldness crawled through lorica segmentata. Weird noises and howls had ecchoed at woods whole night. Men from North Africa, men from Sicily, men from Hispania had never experienced scenery like this. Woods were so dark and thick that they'd swallow armies without a hiccup. Tired and hungry they waited commands from their officers.

- Any signs of scouts?

- No. They left at morning. They should have been back by now.

Around centurias crews of Scorpios made their weapons ready. Auxiliaries stringed their bows. Legionaries made final checks on their gear.

- Horse! watchman shouted.

Lonely horse rambled through field of stumps, left after cutting trees for fortress. It had a rider.

Closer could be seen that rider had no head. His torso was strapped on the back of the horse.

- Movement!

A lonely man walked from same direction as the horse had come. He carried something in his hand. The man stopped just out of range of bows. He threw the thing on ground. Scout's bloody, liveless head rolled.

The man started shouting, sounding angry and arrogant at same time. He had a maille and colourful tunic. A sword hung on his waist.

Suddenly he stopped. Legionaries became. Silence continued couple heartbeats. Then, in shadow of the woods started howls, high pitch yells and deep growls. They came closer. Centurias shouted orders. Archers ran in front of ranks. Their hearts beated like they would like to tear from the chest. Fear and excitement flowed through veins.

Tree line started to crowd with warriors. Different clans separated from the rest, bearing colours and marks of kin. Some had shields. Most had spears. Some had big axes. With many hung smaller axes by belts. Leaders and best of hirds carried swords and helmets with nacelles.

Fortress was surrounded. Outer ring was made of barbarians, inner ring out of legionaries. The center was the fortress. Scorpios were winded up. Long steel arrows could pierce through a horse. Crews' muscles were warmed up. Their brothers in arms standing down below had had no change yet to warm themselves in cold. It seemed likely it was going to change.

- Can you hit the guy? NCO asked his Scorpio launcher.

- Perhaps. That bastard is nearly too far away.

The old man grapped his shield and draw out his sword. Barbarians leaped forward launching shivering howl.

- Archers! Pull! Launch!

- Scorpios! Launch!

Dozens of arrows flew through air. Archers launched them as rapidly as they could get strings pulled all the way back.

- Archers! Back!

After command archers started back pedaling and running. Scorpios continued to rain death above tribesmen. Heavy arrows could do serious harm even against shields.

- Prepare Pilums!

Legionaries grabbed their javelins and waited.

- Launch!

Enemy's archers stood at tree line and launched wild shots towards Romans. At that distance they couldn't do much harm through lamellar armor and shields, but there were always those lucky hits.

Tribesmen threw their own javelins and others started to poke with their spears. Roman shield wall stood unbreachable. Without form and order barbarians tried to find a way to bust war machine's defences.

As shafts broke and despair rose, they pulled their axes and swords and begun hacking. Sharp gladii stroke like vipers behind the scutums. Wild swings of savages met cool, calm thrusts. Most of tribesmen had little armor, so they fell fast. Hirdsmen were much touher for their maille protected them against swords. Still, slowly but surely hirdsmen after another begun fall, when wounds to arms and legs made them weak. Bodies of fallen hindered movement.

Tribesmen started to fall back. They were followed by accurate shots from Scorpios. Eventually there were only legionaries and wounded and dead barbarians. Field was full of gear, dropped or thrown away. When everything seemed clear, centurias ordered to check enemy bodies. Those still alive were killed, unless they seemed valuable hostages.

The battle was over, but war would continue to the death or victory.

* (Opening scene from Gladiator, made a little bit more realistic. No fire arrows, no armor cleaving swords, no odd leather armor, no dark furs.)






















tiistai 15. toukokuuta 2018

Tomorrow

A man opened the door. He stepped outside. He started walking. Sun shined hot and unforgiving above his head. It was January.

He gasped his lungs full of air. Birches and other trees smelled. For a second he was back in memories of past, memories of his youth. But then it was gone. When the man was young, spring was long. Now, there was no spring. There was just summer.

Everything has changed, the man thought. And at the same time, nothing has.

He walked past couple of communal park bots. They slowed down until he was far enough. Then they continued their eternal labour.

Morning was silent. Only few people bothered to stick their heads outside at this time of day. Sweat glittered at man's forehead. I'm not young, the man sighed.

At the office athmosphere was convenient. The man walked to his work room through green corridors. Sound of running water echoed at the background.

- Good morning, Sir.

- Good morning, James, the man greeted his humanoid servant awkwardly. He had never been very keen about humanoid servants. They looked too much of human but they still had something that creeped him. Tell me being old fashioned, the man thought.

James - yes, his or its name was jokingly selected to be James - stood still for a moment.

- What do you want to do, Sir?

- How's it been going, James? In the production, I mean.

- Very well indeed, Sir. According to SUPROMA*, they have exceeded the goal by 13,5 percent. Machines run hot, if you may, Sir.

(*Supervision of PROduction MAnagement)

The man nodded.

- How about design? Have the drawings for a new solar panel factory been checked?

- Of course, Sir. AIDEMA* reports they have done all the drawings and calculations for the materials. They are waiting for your approval of bill of materials to order them.

(*Artificial Intelligence for Design and Manufacturing).

- Let's do that out of the way, shall we, James?

- Naturally, Sir.

The man approved further actions. Basically his work for this day was done. All the procedures runned automatically and pretty smoothly. The man remembered times when he was an young engineer and all the drawings and calculations had to be made manually. Nowadays... AI optimized far better than any man could, it was able to handle thousands of different criterias at the same time.

- What do you want to do next, Sir?

- If you don't mind to bring me a energy drink, James. As cold as you can.

James nodded. - But of course, Sir.

The man sinked into his chair. He had asked James to bring the drink just to be left alone. James was polite...but it wasn't a human being. It was just a collection of steel, wires and batteries. It was very good at pretending to be a man, but still it just...wasn't.

There was couple of ways of achieving intelligent behaviour. Some, like communal park bots, utilized older technology in form of hive mind. They were designed at the time when batteries lacked behind the evolution of computational power. So in order to save batteries in a single machines, designers created 'cloud mind' where all the computation was divided between all the machines. It made them pretty smart and was enough for the simple tasks those machines had to do.

James was a different kind of bot. It utilized leaps in  quantum technology. First time in history designers were able to incorporated such a computational power in so small package. James was able to learn much faster than any bot before it. In part it was thanks to AI that designers created to build a language. Machine created a language for machines. Nobody knew exactly why it worked, but it did.

This had created new problems for the mankind. In a way it was ironical. First time in history you could do so much with so little effort. First time in history there was so little famine, so few diseases and wars. But at the same time humankind swelled in its own existential crisis.

It had nothing to do.

You could think new scale of freedom would have been a bless, but for many it was a curse. Some ripped themselves of the society and moved to live in the wilds. Sort of.

We don't know what to do with all the wealth, the man wondered. Creational work was very demanding for human psyche. Compared to AI humans looked like childish chimpanzees. Full of emotions and irrationalities.

One example the man remembered was couple a years ago when there was a war between Brazil and United States. Former utilized a secret weapon: AI management system for middle operational level. In simple terms, soldiers were led by a bot. Brazil won the war but they took more casualties than Americans.

That was the problem, the man thought. AI just didn't care. It won the war, all that matters. It was so focused, so task oriented that no man could compete with it.

- There's your drink, Sir. It is at the temperature of 7 degrees Celsius.

- Thank you, James. That's enough.

The man looked at his servant. James was a slave. But can a machine be slave, if it doesn't understand being a slave?

- James, what's meaning of life?

- Building, Sir. If you mean why to exist, Sir.

The man was astonished.

- Building? Just... like that?

- Did you expect something else, Sir?

- I... I don't know, the man gagged. - Should I?

- That may be too a broad question to answer, Sir. Do you feel anxiety?

- What..? Sometimes, yes.

- How about emptiness?

- Yes... but why..?

- It seems that you are suffering from existential crisis, Sir, combined with a depression. May I book you a appointment with a psychiatrist?

- Do you think I'm insane?!

- No, Sir. Insanity is a different kind of condition. Your symptoms don't match the descriptions.

- Fine, if it makes you happy.

- Thank you, Sir. I'm now happy, James said with broad smile and happy tone. The man felt a shiver.

- I'll go now, the man said.

- Have a good day, Sir. The psychiatrist will see your tomorrow at 8 o'clock, James greeted, still smiling.

Over my dead body, the man thought.

- You cannot meet her if you are dead, James yelled down the stairs.

**