Darkstar1-5

Darkstar Rising, Chapters one through five: Riding Zen; Morning; Run-on/Fragment; Sorry, try again; and Blood with Every Step.

Author's notes: Chapters one through five have been combined for reading ease. Oh, and this is my first fanfic. If you like it, you better review, or I'm going back to the more lucrative world of...well, studying. And writing my novel. Remember, I can handle negative reviews, so if you think this is crap, feel free...if my characterization is off, or you just don't like my distinctive style, let me know. That's what I'm here for: to get better as a writer, while you guys sit back and enjoy the fruits of my labor, even if those fruits are rants that are paced like a kid with ADD on Crack.

Using techniques I learned from the Hardy Boys' adventures by Franklin W. Dixon, I've mastered leaving all of you in suspense. I'm sorry. If my writing was better, I'd feel more comfortable just leaving off wherever. But, that not being the case, I'll stick to my Hardy Boys/Nancy Drew endings.

I think I messed up the tattoo numbers. The only research that I've done is that I have watched every episode. I haven't checked out the official website or anything. Forgive me if I get anything wrong, and let me know so I can fix it. It rankles me to screw something like this up.

This one's for Monica. (Thanks.)

Disclaimer (sponsored by 7up): Never owned em, never will. Except for when I come out with Wild 7up and Wild Cherry 7up. But that won't last long. Believe me. It's just a fad, like Crystal Pepsi.

Disclaimer two: If my stupid plots are somehow stealing money from your giant corporate machine (which I doubt--anyone who reads this will be watching every week, anyway) then go ahead and hire me. I'm serious. I'm not making money from this, that's for sure. I did it for the love, kids. Daddy's doin' it for the love.

Disclaimer three: Though I don't own these characters, neither does Fox, or any of their affiliates. (Okay, while legally, they do, in my mind, they don't). Check out Neuromancer and Virtual Light by William Gibson. Hey, while you're at it, check out the sequels to those: Count Zero & Mona Lisa Overdrive, and Idoru & All Tomorrow's Parties, respectively. You ought to notice some similarities between Max and the main female characters in those books, as well as in the relationship between Molly and Case (Max and Logan). 1983, and the man extrapolates Cyberspace--invents the word for cyberspace from watching kids play Galaga or Pac-man or something. That's intense. (BTW: my Galaga high score is over 200,000--beat that, you Gen-Y bastards!) Hell, while you're at it, you might as well check out Snow Crash by Neal Stephenson. He's a damn genius, he's funny, and Y.T. might seem a little familiar to all you Dark Angel fans too. So now that I've plugged my favorite books and now that the intro is officially longer than the story--check it out. Here it is. Chapters 1-5. Boy-eee!!

Darkstar Rising, chapter one: Riding Zen

Dogchild
Darkness
never cold
blisters skin burns body boils blood blackens bone
My molten shadow and I extinguish
our infernal demons
stomp them out
his tiger eyes
anticipate
blink yellow in hot darkness.
He
my vampire tumor
tears out
not of this freshly mown suburban
world
he is the moon--
silver luminescent wolf's eye that
conquers the horizon
a soulless feral camera lens (the eye that blinks not)
watching suburbia burn.
His blackened clawed hands rend and
throw me on the funeral pyre
and I dogchild
burn

11/23/99

God DAMN...what a rush. Max was racing again. The only time she felt alive. The only time she felt whole. As she was leaning into a turn, her Ninja hit a puddle of water. She brought the cycle upright, fighting its natural tendency to slide out from under her; her uncanny balance had won again.

Nice. If she couldn't have tryptophan, she'd take epinephrine any day: natural high. Get the heartbeat running loud enough in your ears, and anybody'd be a Zen freakin' monk. That was the best part: Zen out, and forget that you were both better and worse than everyone else--that you were stronger, faster, quite possibly smarter too, but you were still hunted like a dog. That life wasn't fair. That you weren't human.

Manticore: man's head with a lion's body and a spiked, poisonous tail. At least that's what she'd read from an old, tattered, pre-pulse book. She had a human's face, and her body was (metaphorically speaking) a cat's. The barbed tail, though, that was the challenge. Lydecker was smart. He hadn't named his charges that for no reason. Maybe it was a metaphor. Maybe it had to do with her training.

She'd smoked the poor loser she'd been racing with, now she was just driving, going. Where? She'd make it up as she went.

The rain started up again: a slow, constant drizzle. Max scaled back the speed to compensate. That's when she saw her for the first time.

Max was at the wrong end of a sniper rifle. Behind said rifle was a blond girl in city camo--all greys and blacks and whites. But no one could hit her doing 65 on a cycle, could they?

That's when she felt it: the world beginning to shift and undulate beneath her, beneath her cycle. Only then the pain. Only then the dart in the leg. Looks like they could hit her doing 65 on a cycle. Lucky thing it was a tranq. Otherwise...

Max slowed the cycle, stopped it. She stumbled off the side of it, as it fell heavily to the street. The rain coming more heavily, now, the girl coming back into her vision much closer.

Who are you? Max managed.



What do you want?

Sleepy time, Maxie. And then she was behind Max, then she was slipping an arm around her throat. Max was already sinking, grabbing the arm, sinking, then bucking her hips and judo-throwing the girl onto the hard street, even as the world shifted and swirled around her. Bang. That throw should have broken some bones. Stupid bitch. She should have been trained better than that.

The girl, better known to her handlers as number 8276531, was out. Unfortunately for Max, the girl was also in radio contact with her handlers. They were in a van, not too far away, and they were coming.

The rain was pouring now, or at least Max thought it was. She sunk to her knees, blackness at the edge of her vision. Logan. Goddamn it, Logan!

Where was that man when you needed him? Always having to get rescued like some damsel in distress. Blackness closing in. And she could hear the van coming...the only sound besides the rain and the night.

That's when Original Cindy grabbed her from behind, yanking her to her feet.

Girl, I've never seen you have too much to drink. What'd you have, a fifth of Jack?

That's when Max passed out.

Darkstar Rising, Chapter Two: Morning

untitled
in darkness:
your breathing
only one thing reamins
to wash your smell from my clothes
with my tears

6/27/00

Headache. Christ what a headache. Max woke up in what she took to be her apartment. Kendra was long gone.

Two things were paramount: one, a couple...or five, asprin; and two, some tryptophan. That might help things out, here.

But as she was walking to the kitchen for some morning relief, the thought hit her: my bike. My BIKE!

 She pivoted on one foot, swinging towards where she kept it...there. With a note on it.

Glad I could help. Nice Wheels. Luv, Original Cindy.

Nice. Now she could get back to the serious buisiness of curing this hangover. And remembering exactly what the fuck happened last night.

She palmed a handful of pills, both asprin and tryptophan, and dry-swallowed. That was nice. That was better. She'd need some water in a second.

She dialed Jam Pony first.

Phone ringing, Normal saying: Jam Pony, coming up at the end like a question.

Normal, Max said, I'm sorry, I can't ride today.

As unusual as it may seem, with you hooligans always off in your own worlds, Cindy's already called in for you. So you're covered. This time. But I'm watching you, Max. Don't give me an excuse...

Max had hung up on him and was already dialing Logan before Normal could even finish his sentence.

Logan's answering machine clicked on: No one's here. Leave a message.

Logan. Max. Look...I need info. Hit me back on my pager, and I'll drop by later.

She was getting water now, drinking down a liter in one long gulp. God. That should cure her dehydration. What in God's name was in that stuff they hit her with last night? Had she been followed? Ah, man. It was enough to make even an experienced runner like herself paranoid.

She went to the window, looking through the dirty glass to the street below.

That Girl. Again. This was getting exquisitely old. The girl hadn't seen Max yet, and she ducked back down inside.

This little escape was going to take some doing.

Darkstar Rising, Chapter Three: Run-on/Fragment

untitled
this is the part of the story where
highway stretches out in front of me
beats pump melody directly into my soul
tears stream from my eyes
I am the wind whipping by at 80 miles an hour
I am the stars above me

and she is out there somewhere,
hips slung in a gunfighter stance
a delicate, sure harmony

we are together in this moment
and
I am everything

10/22/00

Damn it, damn it, damn it. Curses like a mantra. A breathing pattern. A place to focus. So stupid: I let them find my place!

That's when the training kicked in, and she was already thinking tactically: what do fresh out of the box, unused, pristine manticore babies not know?

Max was already moving. She had a bag packed for this exact purpose. Max, looking out the window again as she threw the aspirin and the tryptophan into her bag. The girl on the street standing above the puddles from last night, head inclined upwards, scanning the windows of her apartment building. Puddles already throwing oily rainbows to the sky. Damn. The Ninja is gonna have to stay. It's fast, but too loud. If that girl's working on a team, they'll be on me in seconds...I'll have to just sneak my way out, and hopefully I can come back for it later.

Max was in the hall, walking to the fire escape on the opposite side of the building, opening the window, then sliding...down. She was on the street. No problem. Walking in the crowd, just a another face...nothing to see here. Now unlocking her bike from the bars shadowing a basement-level apartment. Good thing I was too lazy to bring this up with me. She'd used the old bike messenger trick: covering the bike with duct tape and making it look as useless as possible. And it was still intact. So far, so good. She tossed the Kryptonite lock in her pack. Time to bounce.

That's when Max could sense that girl behind her. Max forcing herself to move in slow motion, forcing the girl not to notice her, now sliding one foot onto the pedal, now the other. And she was riding...not bolting, just cruising.

Holy Shit...that was close, Max thought, almost missing the irony that the training that Lydecker had given her, when combined with a liberal dose of street-smarts, was the only thing that kept her a step ahead in this cat and mouse game. Another irony there: the genes of a cat playing the part of a mouse. Are we mice or are we men? she imagined Lydecker saying to his army of cat warriors--like a cartoon--not noticing that they were neither mice nor men. She almost laughed. She was thinking crazy thoughts now...irrelevant to the mission: live.

She turned the corner, and then bolted, her legs pumping as she downshifted. Her bike had three top gears: big, really big, and ridiculous. It was the fact that she could probably squat 400 lbs. all day that let her ride as fast as she did. Her lowest gear for RPMs was what most people had as a mid-gear. It was tight. It was also the reason that Normal hadn't fired her--she could make runs faster than anyone. Plus, it made it nearly impossible to steal her bike. You'd have to be a powerlifter to get the pure muscle needed, but almost no powerlifter had the endurance to pump out more than a few reps. They'd have to gear down and go slow--and little Max could catch them on foot.

For now, though, Max was easily doing 30 miles an hour, leaning into each turn. Logan had better be home. We have to get the hell out of dodge. We? She thought, don't I mean me? No. We. We need to get the hell out of dodge. Max smiled. Are we mice or are we men, Logan?

And she was there, locking her bike, running into the elevator, and into Logan's apartment.

Hi Max, Logan said, grimacing a little.

That's when she saw him...and her. That girl. Still in the Camo. Pointing a gun at Logan's head.

Okay...this is just weird. First I break her leg, then she's outside my apartment, and now she's here? What gives? Who is this bionic bitch?

Chapter Four: Sorry, try again

haiku
life is told sometimes
in empty mountain dew cans
sorry, try again


Girl looks hyped up--like this is her first real mission, Max thought. She doesn't smell like the other one, either. Something's wrong, here.

You hurt my sister, bitch! The gun now quivering in her hand. Logan looked up, going for eye contact with Max.

Ah, sister...but they look exactly alike. Are they twins? Triplets? Does that even happen in Manticore? Thoughts racing, now.

Max subtly nodded at Logan's eye contact. They had a plan. When he said something, and the girl's eyes shifted to him, Max would disarm her.

That's when Bling walked in.

he called out.

The girl's eyes looked like they'd jump right out of her head as her Glock 9mm swung to face Bling...the first shot going wild and ripping into Bling's well muscled shoulder instead of his chest. Bling yelled out in pain as Max closed the gap with a side kick, following it with a disarming motion that banged the tendons in the girl's arm, forcing her hand open, and flinging the pistol into the air.

I hate guns...I find them so...impersonal, Max said.

Max could practically see the girl's nervous energy flowing off of her. She'd never been in real combat before...her muscles were too tense. No way would she be able to fight with Max for any length of time: that tension would drain all of her energy.

Suddenly, Logan savagely slammed his elbow into the girl's solar plexus. The girl crumpled like a ragdoll. With a bellow of rage, looking like a madman, Bling brought both hands over his head, moving forward, yelling, and bringing them down on top of the girl's neck. The girl was immediately knocked to the carpet. Max hadn't even broken a sweat, and this girl was out.

Bling suddenly realized exactly how much he was bleeding, and he grabbed his bloody right shoulder with his left hand, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

Goddamn it, Bling bellowed.

Max, there's a med kit in the bathroom. Get it, Logan said.

Max, though she didn't exactly like being bossed around, didn't mind the command too much. After all, decisive action is the difference between failure and success, she thought, the familiar Manticore platitude strangely comforting.

Logan moved to get the gun. He cradled the Glock in his lap, facing towards the prone girl, ready to shoot if it became necessary.

You okay, Bling? Logan said.

I'll be okay, I think, once we can get to a hospital.

No can do. Lydecker knows we're here. Reinforcements are probably on the way as we speak. We have exactly one option. Go, said Logan.

said Max, returning with the med kit.

Anywhere but here, said Logan, The farther, the better.

Max sat down to look at the wound. In and out, she said, looks like a flesh wound. It'll hurt, but you'll have full use of your shoulder once it heals. No bone damage. Now, what did the guy who walked into a bar say?

Bling said, then, under his breath, let out a low hissing noise that sounded like as Max poured disinfectant all over his shoulder.

Very good, Max said, pulling out a bandage and some adhesive. Now this should hold you until we can get you to a real hospital.

Max finished the patch, and she and Bling tied their prisoner up. Bling threw the girl over his uninjured shoulder, and they took the elevator to the garage, one floor below the lobby of Logan's apartment building.

Where Lydecker's shock troops awaited them.

Darkstar Rising, Chapter Five: Blood with every step

strength
fire, earth
void.

Blood.

With every step:
diamond dreams and playtime approaching
fast

White knight, unshielded
falls.

(03/03/98--revised 02/11/01)

Inside the elevator, Max could smell blood. Truth be told, it was driving her kind of wild. She didn't think that she was this animalistic, but this was driving her crazy. She had to get out of this elevator before she started snacking on Bling. Underneath, the scent of the girl wafted up. Definitely Manticore. Definitely not the girl who had attacked her with the tranq last night. What the hell was going on here?

In the garage, Lydecker had her now, he could feel it. It was like a warm pulse in his icy veins. Another member of his family was coming home. His cronies swarmed around him, armored in full gear, prepping to assault the top floor. He had men in the lobby and garage, cutting off exits, and his main force who would ride the elevator up to that Cale man's apartment and smoke her out. It was perfect. There was no way that she'd escape his clutches this time. All he had to do was radio in the orders, and everything would be ready in five minutes. All that number 8276533 had to do was keep them busy for five minutes, and he'd have them.

That's when the elevator opened.

Max and Lydecker were face to face. For a split second. Then all hell broke loose.

Logan slapped the close door button. Max, already half wild from the smell of blood, was out of the elevator before the doors could close.

Logan yelled, The doors already closing.

But she was gone, dropping Lydecker to the ground in a takedown that Lydecker himself had taught her. It was go time.

Lydecker was stunned for a moment after his head struck the ground. The world undulated dizzily in front of him as Max drew back a closed fist to strike his face.

His troops, stunned by the sudden movement of this leather-clad vixen, were shocked back into reality by the sight of Max's fist, coiled back to strike. One of them brought his rifle to his shoulder, aiming for Max.

Don't shoot, man, you might hit Lydecker! a second one said.

Max brought her fist down on Lydecker's face, the soft cartilage of his nose crunching wetly--like breaking celery--under her knuckles. He tried to breathe out. The blood all over his face just bubbled up. Max's second fist came down over his eye. Later, he would have a shiner for weeks, his eye too swollen to see.

That's when one of his guards went for her, running up and swinging the butt of his rifle at her temple.

Max was already gone.

What the fu... he started.

She's superhuman, you jackass, Lydecker tried to say, though it came out more like Slees shouperhuuan, oo jakans, because of his broken nose.

At this point, Max had rolled off of Lydecker and was running for Logan's Pontiac Aztek.

Dammit, everything's going straight to hell. How'm I supposed to rescue Logan when I'm in the garage, and he's on some other floor?

Luckily, the Aztek wasn't locked. Max hopped in, grabbing the spare key from her keychain. Logan had finally realized a few days ago that it pays to have your personal bodyguard have the keys to your house and your car.
The engine started up with a roar. So far, so good. Logan's hand controls (attached by a metal bar to the gas and brake) were always getting in her way, but this was going to have to work anyway. Max slammed on the gas, laying tire all over the parking garage. She tapped the stereo button, and Rage Against the Machine popped on, full volume. Surprising, in some ways. She thought that JS Bach was more Logan's speed, not fifteen-year-old Rap/Rock fusion. Still. It rocked, and the Aztek's stereo blasted it out. Ahead of her, she watched Lydecker's shock troops scatter like scared antelope running from a lion.

That's right...get the hell out of the way. Maxie's comin' through.

Somewhere, everywhere, Zach de la Rocha was screaming:

Yeah, I'm rollin' down Rodeo with a shotgun/these people ain't seen a brown skinned man since their grandparents bought one.

She was out the garage and into the early afternoon traffic. Now all she had to do was figure out how to get Logan and Bling back.

In the elevator, Bling and Logan were going up to the top floor.

We need to figure out a way to rendezvous with Max, and we can't go through that garage. You saw how many of Lydecker's men were in there, Logan said.

I've already been shot once today, Logan. I have no desire to make it twice.

Well, what advantages do we have, here? We have control over the only elevator in the building. That means unless they have air support, or have been moving people upstairs without us noticing, we have control over the loft, still.

But how can we play that into getting Max back? It's not like you can just be acrobatically sliding down the fire escape or anything to the street below.

Maybe she can come to us. She's done it before.

Max, meanwhile, was outside, tearing ass around the building, working the very same problem around in her mind when it came to her: Lydecker was after her, not Logan. Following that to its logical conclusion meant that she might be able to draw Lydecker and his men away from Logan's apartment for long enough for them to escape. It was worth a try. She slowed the Aztek down enough so that she could make sure that Lydecker's vehicles were after her.

There. She counted two vans and four hummers. That should be the full entourage, but Max thought, unsure. God. I must be crazy...I'm taking all the heat for Logan, now.

Far above her, Logan and Bling were getting out of the elevator and into Logan's apartment. Logan rolled immediately to the phone and hit the number for Max's pager. Then he rolled to his computer, where he went to work, breaking into Lydecker's radio frequencies once again.

Max felt her beeper, set to vibrate, go off. She checked it with one hand, keeping the other hand on the top of the steering wheel, the smaller Aztek outmaneuvering the larger, slower, hummers and vans. What she wouldn't do for her Ninja right now. Logan. Christ. He'd gone back to the apartment. She replaced the pager and picked up the car phone, dialed Logan.

He picked up before the first ring had finished.

she said, I'm trying to draw them away from the building, so that you guys can get out.

Max, look. We still have that Manticore victim that tried to kill me. I'm going to try to arrange a trade. You for her.

Have you flipped it, Logan? You versus a small army of Lydecker's thugs. How are you going to keep Lydecker from just taking her back?

We stopped the elevator, and Bling's guarding the stairway with that pistol.

Max grimaced at the mention of that pistol.

So you nail one, maybe two of deck's thugs, but eventually, the bad men with the Automatic Rifles are going to beat the good guy with the pistol. That's not training, Logan, that's just common sense. It's not one of those old video games where the baddies will just keep walking in the door to be mowed down by your pistol. All they have to do is point around the corner and spray bullets--or maybe they'll just throw a flash-bang, and when you guys are all blind, they'll come in and kill you. No. The tactical situation isn't good yet. After I spread Lydecker's men out and you escape, we may be able to work out a trade, but until then, a trade is suicide. You already have their radio frequencies, don't you?

Logan said, unaccustomed to being commanded around.

Good. Wait until they're all out of the building, then get out. We can work out a trade when they don't know where you are, Logan.

Logan started to say something else, but Max had already hung up on him. She was right, though. His plan did leave a little something to be desired.

Logan patched into the radio system, and began recieving broadcasts:

All units: target is fleeing via a 2001 Aztek down Bellaire street. All units withdraw from the building and pursue the target.

Okay, Max. Ball's in your court now. I hope you know what you're doing, Logan thought.