From the Kellerman Logs
Chris sat down and looked at Sally, “Do we leave them there or strip them and lock them in the back room?”
Sally gave that low evil chuckle that was her specialty, then leaned over and flipped a switch on the console. “If we leave them where they are at we can listen to them.”
Chris turned on the recorder, “I knew there was a reason I liked you. If your husband wasn’t so damn fast I might have to make a pass.”
“Yeah, he was a pleasant surprise after he came around. He’s probably the tenth fastest I have ever seen.”
Chris choked on his drink, “Tenth are you kidding me?”
“Nope and here comes number Seven. How’s it going Connor?”
In treatment the voices were going on tape. Voice One, “What the hell did we walk into?”
Voice Two, “It wasn’t the Valley nor the desert, but more than our Hoge en machtige Lords en de Meesters were ready for. That’s for Damn sure!”
Voice Three, “Damn it Ari you are gonna get us in trouble again.”
Voice Two, laughing, “Trouble? Trouble? With who? In case you missed it, Genie, our Adon-vervloekte Keepers and that verkakte tuchas lekker of a LT are history. Or are you referring to that wiry assed kerel. . ..” Voice one interjected “Dammit, Ari, speak English.” Voice One continued, over him, “with the Luitenant-Kolonel tabs on a fracking uniform that’s not supposed to exist anymore?”
Then two more of those impossible uniforms came in practically carrying a slightly Indian looking female.
Voice Two whistled softly, “Well I’ll be. Intel School may have bounced me like a bad Dinar, but if that doesn’t look like Sin Blackfeather, then slap me silly and stick me back in my Abba’s tents as an immature pup.”
The three turned and came into the room where the four where strapped and they got to see the Chest Patches all wore.
Voice One “Those are not supposed to be, it’s a crime to wear one of those dammed SF Patches.”
Voice Two “Clint, you always were a schlemiel, you know. I don’t think they give a shit what the Caliphs, Sultans, Presidents, or Governor-General of the UN calls a crime. The real question is do we, do I, want to know just how far this rabbit hole goes, or have we just jumped out of the fire into the frying pan? Only one way to find out.” A deep breath. “Hey! Hey, you eben ahbés! You just going to leave us tied up here? I may be crazy, but I’m not this kinky! If I’m getting reamed, at least kiss me!” A barely audible grunt. “Well, mijn lads, we’ll know now one way or the other.”
The big rangy female came over and smiled like a wolf. “You can call me Peepers, Asshole.
“If we should happen to get formal, it’s Major Davies, Strike Force Alchibah Rear Heavy. You don’t want to get formal because then you get to meet Scythe. The big guy in the corner and that’s damn near as bad as meeting Angel or the Reaper.”
Suddenly she grabbed his chin and locked his head in place and her eyes met his. Ari felt like his soul had just poured out through his eyes and she asked one question, “Do you want to live free?”
Locking on to her eyes, Ari felt things were finally getting somewhere. “Does a Camel shit in the Desert; because this one does. You’re damn right I want to live free.”
“Let him up Sally,” Peepers said. “He’s an asshole but, he’s our kind of asshole.”
Still looking into her eyes, Ari grunted a question. “What about these tipeshi? They may be schmendriks, but they’re harmless if smacked a few times. They’ve held my back fairly decently, so consider them.”
Peepers grunted, “They get to wait for Magic, I don’t have the time.”