Message-ID: <44500asstr$1064812205@assm.asstr-mirror.org> X-Original-Message-ID: <20030929025147.93381.qmail@web20503.mail.yahoo.com> From: Lazlo Zalezac X-ASSTR-Original-Date: Sun, 28 Sep 2003 19:51:47 -0700 (PDT) Subject: {ASSM} John Carter I 15 (mf mmf ffm ff mm sci-fi) Date: Mon, 29 Sep 2003 01:10:05 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation X-Story-Submission: X-Moderator-ID: hecate, dennyw __________________________________ Do you Yahoo!? The New Yahoo! Shopping - with improved product search http://shopping.yahoo.com <1st attachment, "JC15.txt" begin> DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. If you are offended by sexually explicit material or are under the age of 18, stop reading now. This material cannot be reproduced for commercial purposes without the consent of the author. John Carter By Lazlo Zalezac Copyright (C) Lazlo Zalezak, 2003 Part 1: Shield, Staff, and Compass Chapter 15 John sat back and hit a carriage return on the computer saving the data from the current experiment. He smiled as he examined the experimental apparatus. He was satisfied that he had finally finished taking data. It was the last run of the experiment. There was more than enough data to explain the effects of light upon liquid droplets. He shutdown the laptop and closed it. Leaning back in his chair, he considered the next steps to take in becoming Dr. Carter. In a few days he would leave town and then begin writing his dissertation. He felt like it would only take him a couple of months to finish it. All of the data analysis had already been completed and the results were very interesting. His dissertation wouldn't be long, but it would constitute a valuable contribution. His professor and other committee members were already suitably impressed with his work. He would graduate within the next year and that fact actually represented a significant problem for him. He had a lifetime of funding. The question was where would he go to from here. He knew he couldn't stay in Austin and live any kind of private life. He was known to almost everyone in town and people reacted to his presence in one of two ways. Either they ran to him to thank him or they ran away in fear that something awful was going to happen to them if they stayed. If he left, what would he do about Betsy? She wasn't about to leave here and travel from place to place like a gypsy. He knew that he couldn't stay much longer in Austin and he didn't want to leave her behind. He guessed it was time to talk to Mrs. South again. She would give him good advice. He packed up his laptop computer and set it to the side. When he was ready to leave town, he'd come by and pick it up. For now, it would be safe in his office. All of the equipment in the lab was off. He could leave now, but he felt compelled to just stay where he was. Glancing at the desk, he noticed the cold fusion paper in the customary spot. He picked it up and read it again. Again, his mind turned to the problem of what geological process could create a cold fusion reaction. He decided that once he had become Dr. Carter, he would work on this problem. He wouldn't have to justify his time to anyone since he was fully funded. He felt the urge to leave and set the paper back in the customary spot. Four years of reading this paper and he was no closer to a solution. He left the room carrying his walking stick. He took his time locking the door. The hallway was empty, but he could hear the professors giving lectures in the classrooms. He smiled as he watched a professor explain the right-hand rule to a class of undergraduates. Anyone, except a physicist, would think the guy had lost his mind by the way he was moving his hands. He opened the door leading out of the building only to run into Officer Rickert. Office Rickert stopped, "Hello John, I was on my way to see you." "You were?" "Yes, I wanted to talk to you about something." John nodded, "Do you mind if we walk while we talk?" "No problem." The two men headed towards the center of the campus. John broke the silence by asking, "Have you noticed that things seem to be a lot more violent in town lately?" "That's what I wanted to talk to you about. We've been watching you for a while now and we've noticed that the violence seems to center around you." "What do you mean?" "I mean that you show up and bad things happen." John nodded as he listened. He replied, "Do you think I'm causing them?" "No. We know better than that. The reason we've been following you is that we know bad things will happen. We can see that you are not causing them, but you seem to go to where they occur." Officer Rickert walked along for a moment before adding, "We've been wondering if you are actually the target." "Me?" "Yes, you. It seems like amongst all of the normal activities, there are a few that seemed to be targeted at you specifically. Everyone else that is hurt is an innocent bystander that is being used as bait. They are hurt just to keep you in the area. In the last shootout that you were around, the majority of bullets were aimed at you." "You know that if I came to you with that proposition, you'd say that I was going paranoid," laughed John. He countered, "Probably the reason the majority of shots were in my direction was because I was exposed the most." "Hey, you were unarmed and not shooting at them. They should have been shooting at us, not you." John walked along for a minute without saying a word. Finally, he asked, "What do you recommend?" "You might want to get out of town for a while." "Are you asking me to leave?" "Only suggesting that you might want to leave before you get hurt. If there is some kind of evil force after you, then it might be wise to hide from it for a while." John was about to reply when a shot rang out. He looked around and saw a kid lying on the ground in an open area. He dropped his walking stick and charged out to the kid's location. As he approached, he could tell that the kid was wounded in the leg. More shots rang out and dirt kicked up around him. He grabbed the kid and pulled him behind a water fountain. The whole time more shots were fired. He ducked down behind the fountain and ripped his shirt. He quickly put a tourniquet around the kid's leg above the bullet wound. He looked up and saw another person fall to the ground. Officer Rickert ran out and pulled the woman to a safe location. No shots were fired. After a short quiet, another shot rang out and another person fell. It was a woman. John ran to her and pulled her to a safe location. More shots had been fired as he had run to her. He felt a sting in his leg, but ignored it while dealing with the woman. He examined her and saw she had been shot in the abdomen. She had lost consciousness. The only thing that would save her was pressure on the wound until an ambulance arrived. He pulled off her shirt and used it to press down on the wound. Although it might have embarrassed her in other circumstances, she wasn't in shape to notice. John noted to himself that it was good that she had been wearing a bra. He looked out around the post behind which they were hiding. Another shot rang out which was quickly followed by a barrage of pistol shots. He could tell by the sounds of the shots that it was the police taking out the shooter. He heard Officer Rickert call out, "All clear, get those ambulances in here." John shouted, "I've got a bad one here. A woman has been shot in the abdomen and there's lots of blood. The one by the fountain has a leg wound with a tourniquet on it. He can wait a minute, this one can't!" His surroundings darkened as a large shape cast a shadow over him. He looked up in time to hear, "Hero! Looks like you saved another one." "Hi Harry. Take care of her. I'll go over to the fountain until someone else shows up. The kid over there is probably very scared," he watched as Harry took over for him. He was always amazed at how confidently and calmly Harry was able to work. "Sure thing, Hero. You might want to get treated yourself. Looks like you took another one in the leg," replied Harry. "Oh shit, I didn't even notice." "I know, you never do." John went over to the fountain and found the kid sitting with his back against the wall. He checked the tourniquet and sat down next to the kid. He stated, "How are you doing?" "My leg hurts and I'm scared shitless. Other than that, I'm fine." "Good," replied John. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pocketknife. Opening it, he cut his pants to expose his own wound. It was a simple in and out wound in the fleshy part of his calf. It wasn't bleeding that bad, so he knew it hadn't hit anything vital. He glanced over at the kid, "You'll be alright now. Harry is over there with the ambulance. He'll take the woman there to the hospital. Before then, another ambulance will be here. They'll take care of you." The kid started shaking, "How can you be so calm?" "Easy, it's not my first time getting shot." Officer Rickert walked over to John and sat down next to him. He handed over the walking stick that John had dropped when he charged after the first victim. John looked like hell. Having lost his shirt, the scars on the upper half of his body stood out. One pant leg was missing where he had cut it off. More scars were visible. Officer Rickert looked over at the kid and asked, "Are you okay?" The kid nodded his head, but he looked very pale. John looked at him and stated, "Hey lie down and rest your feet up on my good leg. You're going into shock. Don't worry, it's a natural reaction to what you've been through." The kid did as John had told him. Officer Rickert shook his head at the care John showed the kid. He stated, "The press is here." "Damn." He didn't want to deal with the press. They had taken to following him around in hopes of catching a good news story. It looked like they had been lucky today. "Don't worry, we won't let them anywhere near you." "Thanks. I couldn't handle them right now." Officer Rickert sat there for a minute as he watched the emotions on John's face. He then asked, "Did you think about what we were discussing earlier?" "I haven't had much time to do any thinking, but I' believe you're right. Who ever it was, shot at me almost the entire time. Didn't even shoot in your direction when you went out and got that woman. He only shot someone else when I wasn't available," answered John. He thought about the advice Officer Rickert had given him. He continued, "I was planning on leaving town in a few days anyway. I think I'll leave town tomorrow." "That's good to hear. I'm glad you're leaving." Officer Rickert looked up and saw the ambulance coming. He nudged John, "Here comes George." "George is okay. He's very methodical." "Isn't that another way of saying slow?" laughed the policeman. George was often the butt of jokes within EMS circles. George recited the procedures for everything he did while he worked. The ambulance stopped and the driver got out. George walked around the front and exclaimed, "Hero! Nice to see you again." "Hi George. Take care of the kid first. He's going into shock and has a tourniquet on his leg." "No problem," replied George. He went to work on the kid while the driver got out the gurney. George worked slowly and carefully. He had a habit of talking to himself as he worked. Usually, his monologue was a recitation of the steps that were to be taken. John looked over at Officer Rickert and laughed at the look on his face. He joked, "You get to ride in the back with him!" "Did anyone ever tell you that you weren't a nice person?" John nodded, "Don't worry, I'll ride to the hospital with them. You've probably got a ton of paperwork to fill out." Officer Rickert stood and replied, "Don't remind me. You have it easy. You get to be hero and then leave. I have to stay and fill out reports." The driver came over to John and looked at the bandage over the wound. John had wrapped it with the part of the jeans he had cut off. He asked, "Is your first aid good enough to get you to the hospital?" "As always." "Well, I'll let you ride up front with me. I'll appreciate the company and the fact that I won't have to listen to him talk to himself." John laughed, "I know what you mean. I've dealt with him before." Officer Rickert started to walk away and then turned, "Give my regards to Betsy. I'm sure she'll be meeting you at the hospital." John frowned and called out to the back of the retreating policeman, "I doubt it. I probably won't see her for a day or two. She gets upset when I get injured." George and the driver finished loading the kid into the ambulance. John hobbled over to the passenger side and climbed in. His wounded leg had stiffened up. At least he had the walking stick on which to lean to keep the weight off his leg. The driver got in and buckled up. John smiled, "Onward James!" The ride to the hospital was uneventful. John watched as they unloaded the kid. Another ambulance pulled up with the final victim of the shooting, the shooter himself. John slowly eased out and walked into the hospital behind everyone else. A doctor was waiting for him, "Come on John. Time to stitch you up again." "Thanks doc. You guys take such good care of me. Everyone else getting treated?" "Yes. The woman is being rushed into surgery right now. She should do okay. You did a good job again." "Thanks, but most of the credit should go to Harry and George. They did all of the real work." "Right, you keep saying things like that and one of these years some one might believe you." Their discussion was interrupted by a load yell, "Where's that boyfriend of mine?" John recognized the voice. It was Betsy. John looked around searching for her. He waved her over happy that she had come down to see him. He called out, "I'm over here." She marched up and looked at him. John couldn't place the funny expression on her face. It was a confusing mixture of emotions that definitely looked more angry than caring. She asked, "Are you okay?" "Yes, it's just a flesh wound." "Good," she replied and then slapped him across the face. At that moment, she lost all control, "How dare you get shot again? One of these days you're going to get killed. What am I supposed to do then? If you ever do that again, I'll kill you myself." "Now Betsy, calm down," stuttered John. He rubbed the cheek that had been slapped. It stung more than the bullet wound. He wasn't sure if it was the slap that hurt or that Betsy was so mad at him. "Don't tell me to calm down! I know all about it already. It was on the news. I watched the whole damn thing on the news. Can you imagine how I felt as I watched you running around being shot at? Don't answer me because you can't fucking imagine it. You are never to do that again! Do you hear me, you fucker? Don't answer me! You'll just tell me that you can't help yourself! You bastard, you are killing me. Did you know that? No you didn't!" John watched in shock as Betsy proceeded to yell at him for a full five minutes. She was clearly hysterical. He was at a complete loss as to what he should do. She was suddenly rendered quiet when a friend of hers came up behind her and administered a shot that dropped her like a rock. Several hours later, John had been sewed up and Betsy had returned to consciousness. He had borrowed a hospital gown to wear in place of the shirt that he had used as a tourniquet. Once he had cleaned himself up, John tried to visit Betsy but he was turned away by one of her friends. He was told that she had left instructions that he wasn't to be allowed to see her. He waited outside for her, but she never showed up. He went back in and asked for her, but was informed that she had left already. He finally gave up and left. A taxi took him to the university where he picked up his car. He took off the hospital gown and replaced it with a spare shirt that he carried in his car. He now kept spare clothes because experience had taught him that he was likely to loose a shirt or pair of pants due to unforeseen circumstances. He kept the pants he was wearing despite one leg having been cut off. Ten minutes of driving through late evening traffic and he arrived at the house. He sat in the car for fifteen minutes. He was in a state that was close to grief at the implications of Betsy's behavior. He was losing her and he couldn't think of anything to do to stop it. Getting control of his emotions, he went into the house. He was greeted at the door by Mrs. South. She didn't look very happy. He looked at her and stated, "Bad day. I think Betsy is gone." "Probably." "Did you talk to her?" Mrs. South answered, "She was here when the news came on. The news showed you dragging that person to the water fountain. We were watching it when you were shot. She was furious when you continued to help other people rather than take care of yourself. She said that dumping you while you were alive was better than watching you die." John sank down onto the sofa in great despair. He had not wanted to hear that from Mrs. South. She confirmed his worst fears. Every time the subject of marriage came up, Betsy firmly resisted the idea. He knew she didn't want to become a young widow. He looked up at her and asked, "Is there anything that I can do to get her back?" "You can quit being a hero." "That's impossible." The flat tone of his voice brooked no argument. He stated it as though it were a fact as undeniable as gravity. Mrs. South looked at him as if she was studying some sort of new specimen. She had seen him perform some amazing rescues and could see that he wasn't doing anything other than being himself. She sat down in the chair across from him. She stated, "You're telling the truth. You can't stop doing it." "I had a Geas placed upon me." "What is that?" "It is a holy command from the Goddess. I must obey it or something really bad will happen," replied John. He rubbed his chest where the medallion weighed heavily and thought back to his experience in the woods. That was when it all started and it wasn't clear that it was ever going to end. He was sure that too much more violence would lead to his death eventually. "You really believe that?" She had never understood his talk about gods and goddesses. He never hid the fact that he was Pagan, but she never saw him do anything that looked sinful. In fact, he was one of the best men that she had ever encountered. If he were Catholic, she believed he would end up being a saint. She was a good Christian woman and as far as she was concerned, there was only one God. "I know it for a fact. I didn't always have a beard that was two thirds white. It went white the day the Geas was placed upon me." Mrs. South was quiet for several minutes as she thought about what he had said. She remembered the story of Moses on the Mount. His hair had turned white after interacting with God. Maybe there was a little truth to his story. She asked, "Have you talked about that with Betsy?" "I don't talk about the experience. I've just told you more than I've told anyone else." "You told me nothing." John sat there for a while staring at the floor. In a very quiet voice, he stated, "I'm leaving town tomorrow." Mrs. South looked surprised, "What? You aren't going to talk to Betsy?" "I have no time. It has become essential that I leave. The violence has been increasing and it looks like I'm the target. Being here places everyone in danger." Mrs. South's expression became troubled. If she understood correctly, he felt like he was the cause of the violence. She wondered if he was becoming paranoid. Perhaps all of the violence had taken a toll on his mind. She questioned him, "What makes you think that?" "Actually, it was Officer Rickert who pointed it out to me. He was there to ask me to leave town. He thought that something was hunting me. He thinks all of these shootouts have been designed to keep me out in the open where I can get killed." "What do you think?" John shook his head, "I don't know. For the first three and a half years that I've been here, I've treated heart attacks, traffic accidents, and other minor situations. Suddenly, in the last six months I've been in a dozen shootouts. I've been shot seven times. Something has changed. My body has become a mass of scars suddenly and I don't like it." When he had put it in those terms, she believed that he was right about leaving town. She voiced her agreement, "I think you're right. You do need to leave town." John took a deep breath and exhaled. He was tired. This kind of tired went beyond the physical. He was emotionally, spiritually, and mentally tired. He looked up at Mrs. South and studied her for a minute. He asked, "Could you talk to Betsy about this?" Mrs. South answered, "I wouldn't know what to say. She's very mad at you." "Yeah, I know. However, she isn't mad at you. At least you would get a chance to tell her a few things." "That is true." "So you will talk to her for me?" "Yes, I will. I'll let her know why you are leaving." John stood up. He headed towards the hallway, "I'm going to get some sleep. We'll talk more in the morning." Mrs. South watched him leave. He was limping slightly. Still, he carried himself well. She thought about what he had told her and his concerns. After hearing him express them, she couldn't help but agree with him. He was a danger to everyone around him. It was true that the violence had escalated dramatically recently. How much longer would it be before someone attacked this house directly? The sad thing was that he was a nice young man. He was always helpful in times of need, even when the person he was helping didn't know it. He never asked for thanks and never expected anything in return. He never boasted about what he had done. He had given her three of the greatest gifts that an elderly woman could imagine. He had changed her life from waiting to die, to looking forward to tomorrow. He had brought action to a life that had long been stagnant and now encompassed Friday dinners and young visitors. He had introduced her to her current boyfriend. She was more worried about Betsy. The poor girl had broken down crying as she watched the news report earlier. She oscillated between furious and scared. It looked like Betsy was getting ready to end the relationship. Nothing that John had said tonight could possibly help mend the break. The poor girl needed to know that John would be safe from harm. She needed the security of having a good man in her life, for the rest of her life. While it was true that no one was guaranteed a long life, it looked like John was doomed to a short one. She couldn't imagine being in Betsy's place. What does a woman do when she loves a man that is in danger on a daily basis? She didn't even have the support structure that the wife of a policeman or fireman would have. She faced the likelihood of his death alone. John closed the door to the bedroom and undressed. He stared at himself in the mirror and hardly recognized the person gazing back at him. He had lost weight over the past six months. His body was scarred and worn. He hadn't lost any of his muscle tone, but the skin looked older than his 30 years. He wondered how Betsy could continue to look fondly upon him. He had become ugly. Moving slowly, he turned off the lights and got onto his sleeping bag on the floor. He fell asleep, but his sleep was disturbed by horrible dreams. He dreamed of his trek across the chasm. Incidents that were forgotten returned. He could feel the bites from bugs as he waded through the swamp. He remembered the feeling of rot between his naked toes. <1st attachment end> ----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------ Notice: This post has been modified from its original format. 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