TimeSplash
Authors: Graham Storrs
TimeSplash
by
Graham Storrs
TimeSplash
by Graham Storrs
2
nd
eBook Edition, Copyright © 2011, Graham Storrs
ISBN: 978-0-9871867-0-6
First edition edited by Suzanne Schilit.
Book design by Graham Storrs
Cover art by Graham Storrs
Published by Graham Storrs
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorised, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Three brilliant and beautiful women are at the heart of everything I do: my mother, Audrey; my wife, Christine; and my daughter, Katherine. I dedicate this book to them.
I would like to thank my editor, Suzanne Schilit, without whom this book would have been full of embarrassing mistakes. Of course, any embarrassing mistakes that remain, despite Suzanne’s efforts to rein me in, are all my own work. I'd also like to thank Rod Rivers and Terry Hornby for their invaluable comments on earlier drafts of this book. I owe a debt of gratitude to Lyrical Press, Inc., New York, who published the first edition of this book. I am also immensely grateful to Emma Newman, whose belief in this book was instrumental in bringing it to a wider audience. As well as being a great writer, Emma also read
TimeSplash
for the audiobook edition, now available from Iambik Audiobooks, Montreal, Canada.
The music thundered. So loud it was hard to breathe. The way the dancing crowd heaved in time to the beat made Patty feel nauseous.
Or was that just fear?
There had been lots of splashparties. Since she became Sniper’s bitch that’s all they’d done, going from one to another, right across Europe. But she’d never seen a party from up here before. Not from inside the cage.
“Hey, honey.” Sniper took hold of her jaw and turned her to face him. His gloved fingers were hard. “Relax,” he told her, his smile broad and glamorous. In the maroon leather jumpgear he wore—his trademark colour—he looked like a superhero from a Hollywood vid. Tall, broad shouldered and beautiful, in a youthful, Aryan way. He looked almost heroic, for a dangerous, psychotic killer.
He spoke unaccented English, with just a hint of a German lilt to betray his origins. “You should smile for the cameras.” His grey-blue eyes flicked toward the gigantic screens behind them, some of which were showing Patty’s frightened face, ten metres high, haloed in bright distortions, pulsing to the driving rhythms of the splashmusik.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she told him, trying to shake her head. “I shouldn’t have—”
But his grip tightened, squeezing her cheeks, forcing her lips into a pout. His smile broadened. “Too late, sweetheart.” To emphasise just how late it was, he grabbed the tether that ran between his harness and hers. It was as thick as a finger and as strong as modern technology could make it . His eyes bored into hers, and the anger she saw there made her forget her fear of splashing. For that moment all she feared was that Sniper might despise her, might hate her, might dump her. Desperately, she tried to force a smile onto the lips he was squeezing. With a sneer of laughter, he let her go. The cameras tracked onto him, sensing his movement. He raised his arms in a triumphant gesture, turning to the dancing crowd, fists clenched and eyes blazing.
“We’re gonna tear the fucking world apart!” he bellowed. An astute teknik fed Sniper’s suit mike into the mix so everyone heard his declaration. The crowd erupted in an answering roar of approval. “We’re gonna rip the fabric of the universe!” he promised them. “We’re gonna shake the foundations of reality!” The crowd went wild, most of them raising their own arms as they screamed and yelled back at him, never once losing the beat as they rose and fell like a mat of weed on an oleaginous sea.
“Two minutes to lob,” the even voice of a teknik announced. The crowd shrieked in response. A chant started up in time to the music, “Sniper! Sniper! Sniper! Sniper! Sniper!” Patty could barely hear it over the constant thunder of the sound system. Had they turned up the volume? Was that even possible? A choking panic rose up inside her. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t. Two other bricks swaggered around the cage with her and Sniper. She looked at them, seeking support. Hal and T-800 were excited and eager. Hal raised a gloved hand and gave her a thumbs-up, grinning wildly. They were both seasoned splashers. Big name bricks. Not big like Sniper, of course, but well-known. She looked into their faces, hoping for some hint that they would help her get out of there, stop the countdown ticking away on the big screens behind them.
“I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to lob.” She shouted straight into her suit mike, looking over at the control booth, a small rectangular island in the Sargasso of dancers. “Get me out. Stop the countdown.”
* * * *
Over in the relative quiet of the booth, the tekniks considered Patty’s distress. “She’s freaking,” one of them said. “Do we pull her?”
“Too late,” said Klaatu in a firm voice. Although he was the youngest of them, only seventeen, he knew his was the voice of authority. Klaatu was the uberteknik and a close personal friend of Sniper himself. In the booth, his word was law, and they all knew it. Nevertheless, it was clear the girl was panicking. She was hyperventilating and twisting about as if looking for somewhere to run. Klaatu watched her with still brown eyes. She was a beauty. Drop-dead gorgeous, as all Sniper’s bitches were. This one was younger than most, just fifteen, Sniper had said, and despite her height and her curves, Klaatu believed him. In her close-fitting jumpgear, she looked magnificent. And she’d acted it too when she first went up into the cage, strutting about and showing off for the guys. But her nerve had crumbled. The wet dream supermodel she’d been playing at had given way to the frightened little girl she really was. He could see how pissed off Sniper was getting, trying to ignore her, doing his thing for the crowd. Sniper knew the importance of pleasing the crowds. He knew how much a lob cost and how everything depended on the money they made from these events—tickets, dealer concessions, merchandising, all of that. It must be driving him nuts that his bitch was being such a prat. Maybe after this, the big guy would dump her and Klaatu could pick her up, make her his own bitch. It wouldn’t be the first time.
“One minute to lob,” Klaatu said into the PA mike. Meanwhile, he was buggered if he was going to pull the plug for the sake of one hysterical chick—no matter how gorgeous. Once the lob was over, Sniper could sort her out at the upstream end.
* * * *
In the cage, the others were putting on their helmets. Patty watched their calm, sure movements with horror. This couldn’t be happening. The countdown said fifty seconds. Just fifty seconds! She should never have agreed. It had all been bluster, the usual fuck-you bravado that had got her through so many foster homes and care centres. She wanted Sniper to think she was cool, wanted him to see her as more than just another bimbo who needed to be with him. But it was all show. She wasn’t the hard-as-nails tough guy she made herself out to be. All that sassy talk and teasing the guys was someone else. Not her. Even her tag, Patty—after Patty Hearst, some badass terrorist chick from the past—was a lie. Her real name was Sandra. Sandra Malone.
“Thirty seconds to lob,” said the PA.
Someone tapped her on the shoulder. She jumped and swivelled round. It was Hal holding up her helmet, urging her to put it on. She couldn’t see his face through his black visor. Hal had been looking at her all week with eyes both hungry and anxious. He fancied her like hell but he daren’t make a move while she was Sniper’s girl. It was always the same with men. They all wanted her, but only the ones like Sniper were arrogant enough to think she’d want them in return. Hal would be no help.
She turned to Sniper, shouting to be heard. “I’ve got to get out of here!” But her voice was lost in the crashing, howling music, his metalglass-covered features impervious to her pleading. She began pulling at her harness. She had to get this thing off and get out of the cage. She was past caring what Sniper thought. She just had to get free before…