Chapter six
"Jackie, why the hell do I have to go out tonight? It's fucking cold out. I'ma fucking freeze my tits off." The tall girl dragged on her cigarette and walked over to the blue velvet chaise. She flopped down and regarded the woman on he other side of the room.
"Because Hun, you're the one who wants the fur coats and the fancy jewellery, you have to pay for it." She moved away from the wall and sat behind the desk in the corner, observing the younger woman with a look of slyness spreading across her face
" Looking nice is good for business. My clients want a girl who they can pass off as a daughter or niece or something. They want class."
"I still ain't paying for your pretty things."
"Fuck you then. I'm going out." She swung her long legs from the chaise and moved gracefully across the room.
"Where you going?"
"To find some fun." She picked up the long leather coat from where it had been flung across the back of an armchair and pulled it on. She went to the mirror and took in her appearance. The sultry black eyeliner and full rose coloured lipstick added mysteriousness to a face that was otherwise girl- next-doorish. Her dark blue satin blouse was tight against a body in its peak. The short black skirt that wasn't too short added a touch of class and the two hundred-dollar shoes told everyone that this wasn't any ordinary street girl. She belonged to someone, someone you wouldn't ever even consider fucking with. Ronan was the Godfather of pimps, and his girls didn't ever get hurt. Well, one did, once, but the abuser hadn't walked or seen straight since. She fluffed her honey blonde hair, and adjusted the top before moving towards the door. She just had time before she left to hear her mother telling her that it had better be the kind of fun you get paid for.
"No sir, I was not interfering with anything sir!" the young soldier held himself straight, and stared straight forward, unconsciously avoiding the sergeants eyes.
"You better not have been. If I find even one thing out of order with this station, I'll have your balls on the chopping block before you can call for your mommy." With a superior nod he slinked out the room and left the soldier in the control centre by himself.
"Yes sir, go fuck yourself sir." the soldier snarled after him. He removed his pulled down cap and ran a hand through his dyed black hair. He was sick of the sergeant riding him day and night about his precious control centre. The guy was almost obsessive about it.
Of course, he hadn't exactly told him the truth, more a variant of the truth. Hell, why be coy? He had down right lied. He was messing with the controls; in fact, he was in the middle of re-routing all the central fender panels at this very moment. It was just, that as a double agent, you don't go telling the guy your supposed to be working for that you're in the process of blowing up the nervous system of his army base.
Well, that might not be exactly how the shit went down, but that was the plan. With things like this you were never exactly sure. They could go one way or another. However, he was the best computer and pyrotechnic technician that the Argyle Institute was currently in possession of. Wow, lucky him. But at least he was paid a packet.
The clock on the wall read 7:56 p.m. He put a screwdriver from the table into his mouth and ducked down till he could crawl through the door in the wrap-around control panel. He switched the small bulb on and the space inside was illuminated with weak yellow light. He closed the door and the light got a bit stronger. He twisted round till he was on his stomach and leopard crawled towards another space deeper into the control panel. It was here that he found what he was looking for. It was small; someone who wasn't trained wouldn't have seen it. 'It' was a round box positioned high and hidden in the corner of the turn in the tunnel tightly packed with wire. What 'it' would do was push everything in the station into overdrive. Like one of those old fashioned boilers from the twentieth century, the pressure would build and build unless it was dumped. And if it wasn't, it shorted or blew. This one probably shorted, which meant that he would have to help it out a bit with the blowing up part. 8:04 p.m. He took the screwdriver out of his mouth and twisted the bolts holding the round box to the wall so they clattered out onto the carpeted floor with a muted tinkle. He removed the black exterior and saw something that would have made him yell with delight if he was that kind of guy. He wasn't. He just smirked and removed something from his back pocket. This wasn't a short out dispensing-panel; it was a fourth-of-July-with-a-dash-of-guyfawks-and-a- whole-load-of-hand-grenade blowing up dispensing-panel. But that didn't mean he couldn't still add his extra strong custom-made pyro-dough. He was proud of his first invention, and had so far only tested it out on small things; vases, computers, dogs, cars, and the occasional cow that he stumbled across. To see it tested out on a whole army base would be beyond awesome. It would be his crowning achievement in his life so far. At sixteen he had an unusual amount of achievements, but this would be the best by far.
He attached the small grey blob of highly explosive dough to the gold valve on the wall, and twisted the valve till the needle read two fifty pounds per square inch of pressure. Still low, but he needed time to remove himself from the situation. By the time he had screwed the black round box back on the wall the gauge read 300 psi. Shit, it was climbing fast. He figured he had about an hour before the whole air base came to a rest on the moon.
He scrambled backwards and when he came back to the door didn't even bother to switch off the light, just closed the door and ran towards his quarters to pack his few possessions.
It was 8:28 p.m.
"Jackie, why the hell do I have to go out tonight? It's fucking cold out. I'ma fucking freeze my tits off." The tall girl dragged on her cigarette and walked over to the blue velvet chaise. She flopped down and regarded the woman on he other side of the room.
"Because Hun, you're the one who wants the fur coats and the fancy jewellery, you have to pay for it." She moved away from the wall and sat behind the desk in the corner, observing the younger woman with a look of slyness spreading across her face
" Looking nice is good for business. My clients want a girl who they can pass off as a daughter or niece or something. They want class."
"I still ain't paying for your pretty things."
"Fuck you then. I'm going out." She swung her long legs from the chaise and moved gracefully across the room.
"Where you going?"
"To find some fun." She picked up the long leather coat from where it had been flung across the back of an armchair and pulled it on. She went to the mirror and took in her appearance. The sultry black eyeliner and full rose coloured lipstick added mysteriousness to a face that was otherwise girl- next-doorish. Her dark blue satin blouse was tight against a body in its peak. The short black skirt that wasn't too short added a touch of class and the two hundred-dollar shoes told everyone that this wasn't any ordinary street girl. She belonged to someone, someone you wouldn't ever even consider fucking with. Ronan was the Godfather of pimps, and his girls didn't ever get hurt. Well, one did, once, but the abuser hadn't walked or seen straight since. She fluffed her honey blonde hair, and adjusted the top before moving towards the door. She just had time before she left to hear her mother telling her that it had better be the kind of fun you get paid for.
"No sir, I was not interfering with anything sir!" the young soldier held himself straight, and stared straight forward, unconsciously avoiding the sergeants eyes.
"You better not have been. If I find even one thing out of order with this station, I'll have your balls on the chopping block before you can call for your mommy." With a superior nod he slinked out the room and left the soldier in the control centre by himself.
"Yes sir, go fuck yourself sir." the soldier snarled after him. He removed his pulled down cap and ran a hand through his dyed black hair. He was sick of the sergeant riding him day and night about his precious control centre. The guy was almost obsessive about it.
Of course, he hadn't exactly told him the truth, more a variant of the truth. Hell, why be coy? He had down right lied. He was messing with the controls; in fact, he was in the middle of re-routing all the central fender panels at this very moment. It was just, that as a double agent, you don't go telling the guy your supposed to be working for that you're in the process of blowing up the nervous system of his army base.
Well, that might not be exactly how the shit went down, but that was the plan. With things like this you were never exactly sure. They could go one way or another. However, he was the best computer and pyrotechnic technician that the Argyle Institute was currently in possession of. Wow, lucky him. But at least he was paid a packet.
The clock on the wall read 7:56 p.m. He put a screwdriver from the table into his mouth and ducked down till he could crawl through the door in the wrap-around control panel. He switched the small bulb on and the space inside was illuminated with weak yellow light. He closed the door and the light got a bit stronger. He twisted round till he was on his stomach and leopard crawled towards another space deeper into the control panel. It was here that he found what he was looking for. It was small; someone who wasn't trained wouldn't have seen it. 'It' was a round box positioned high and hidden in the corner of the turn in the tunnel tightly packed with wire. What 'it' would do was push everything in the station into overdrive. Like one of those old fashioned boilers from the twentieth century, the pressure would build and build unless it was dumped. And if it wasn't, it shorted or blew. This one probably shorted, which meant that he would have to help it out a bit with the blowing up part. 8:04 p.m. He took the screwdriver out of his mouth and twisted the bolts holding the round box to the wall so they clattered out onto the carpeted floor with a muted tinkle. He removed the black exterior and saw something that would have made him yell with delight if he was that kind of guy. He wasn't. He just smirked and removed something from his back pocket. This wasn't a short out dispensing-panel; it was a fourth-of-July-with-a-dash-of-guyfawks-and-a- whole-load-of-hand-grenade blowing up dispensing-panel. But that didn't mean he couldn't still add his extra strong custom-made pyro-dough. He was proud of his first invention, and had so far only tested it out on small things; vases, computers, dogs, cars, and the occasional cow that he stumbled across. To see it tested out on a whole army base would be beyond awesome. It would be his crowning achievement in his life so far. At sixteen he had an unusual amount of achievements, but this would be the best by far.
He attached the small grey blob of highly explosive dough to the gold valve on the wall, and twisted the valve till the needle read two fifty pounds per square inch of pressure. Still low, but he needed time to remove himself from the situation. By the time he had screwed the black round box back on the wall the gauge read 300 psi. Shit, it was climbing fast. He figured he had about an hour before the whole air base came to a rest on the moon.
He scrambled backwards and when he came back to the door didn't even bother to switch off the light, just closed the door and ran towards his quarters to pack his few possessions.
It was 8:28 p.m.