Pro Se Presents: November 2011

By Pro Se Press

Thrill to the Variety that is Pulp in the latest monthly offering from Pro Se Press! PRO SE PRESENTS #4 features a tale of vengeance from Andrew Salmon, a horror tale of invasion by Kevin Rodgers, a story of fantasy and virtue penned by Nancy Hansen, and a battle between good and evil Japan style by C .W. Russette! Action, Angst, Adventure, All brought to you in PRO SE PRESENTS #4! With Fantastic Art provided by Sean Ali! Pro Se Press-PUTTIN' THE MONTHLY BACK IN PULP!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pro Se Press
• Release date: Feb 28, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476331218

Pro Se Press

Based in Batesville, Arkansas, Pro Se Productions has become a leader on the cutting edge of New Pulp Fiction in a very short time.Pulp Fiction, known by many names and identified as being action/adventure, fast paced, hero versus villain, over the top characters and tight, yet extravagant plots, is experiencing a resurgence like never before. And Pro Se Press is a major part of the revival, one of the reasons that New Pulp is growing by leaps and bounds.

Book preview

PRO SE PRESENTS

NEW AUTHORS - NEW VISIONS - NEW PULP FICTION FOR A NEW GENERATION

NOVEMBER 2011

Copyright © 2011, Pro Se Productions

Published by Pro Se Press at Smashwords

The stories in this publication are fictional. All of the characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the permission in writing of the publisher.

Edited by- Lee Houston, Jr., Nancy Hansen, and Frank Schildiner

Editor in Chief, Pro Se Productions-Tommy Hancock

Submissions Editor-Barry Reese

Publisher & Pro Se Productions, LLC-Chief Executive Officer-Fuller Bumpers

Pro Se Productions, LLC

133 1/2 Broad Street

Batesville, AR, 72501

870-834-4022

[e-mail]

www.prosepulp.com

The Cell copyright © 2011 Andrew Salmon

Stargazers copyright © 2011 Kevin Rodgers

Seven Knightly Virtues copyright © 2011 Nancy A. Hansen

The Ronin and the Flayer copyright © 2011 C. William Russette

Cover and Interior Art, Book Design, Layout, and additional graphics by Sean E. Ali

E-book design and layout by Russ Anderson

TABLE OF CONTENTS

THE CELL

by Andrew Salmon

STARGAZERS

by Kevin Rodgers

SEVEN KNIGHTLY VIRTUES

by Nancy A. Hansen

THE RONIN AND THE FLAYER

by C. William Russette

THE CELL

By Andrew Salmon

The overhead lights flickered like sheet lightning, briefly illuminating the cell and its occupant. The lights winked again, and then the cell was bathed in harsh, shadowless tones. The prisoner lay face down, one leg bent, one arm tucked awkwardly under his waist, the other above his head.

At the guard station down the corridor, MacReddy watched the prone figure on the monitor intently while his shift partner, Mary Constable, chewed ration biscuits with noisy vigor. MacReddy was perched on one corner of the desk and, although his position appeared relaxed, he was anything but calm. Adrenalin pulled tight his wide shoulders, His broad, ebony face – normally an impassive mask beneath his close-cropped, kinky black hair – betrayed tension in the proud jaw and around the cold, calculating brown eyes.

Who we got tonight? Constable asked, looking up from her terminal.

Callahan.

The transfer from Bellknap II?

Yeah.

Is it true he got one of us before jumping off-world?

Jim Wallace. MacReddy’s voice was toneless. Security-Commander Jim Wallace had been a fixture at Alvarez for more than a decade. He and MacReddy had ridden herd on inmates since graduating from the Academy together and had grown close as brothers. Wallace had accepted promotion to Security Chief unaware that an administrative shuffle was in the offing. When the dust settled Wallace learned too late that the step up came with a two parsec jump to Bellknap II – the minimum-security facility Callahan had escaped from. An escape which had resulted in Wallace’s death three weeks ago. Since hearing the news, MacReddy had been zombie-like in carrying out his duties, numb, shut off. Until four days ago, when he saw Callahan’s name on the passenger list of an incoming transport. Four days to plan his revenge. And he’d made the most of them. He’d been working Swann’s shift the last few days so he could be on duty when the transport arrived. Now here lay Wallace’s murderer, unconscious on the floor of an Alvarez cell.

Constable shot an eager glance at the med panel behind her. En route, Callahan had been put to sleep so that tiny sensors could be surgically implanted without his knowledge. Their readings appeared on the med panel along with a grid pinpointing his location in the cell. The grid represented the sensa-tile floor.

Sensa-tile was a thermoplastic compound embedded with nano-sensors. Along with an electronic eye, it was an excellent way to keep tabs on the prisoners twenty-four hours a day. The med panel contained a monitor for each of the thirty inmates in the cellblock. Callahan’s heart rate, respiration and brain activity had all increased in the last few seconds, which had drawn Constable’s attention.

He’s starting to come around, she announced. Should I return to SECURE?

MacReddy leaned forward to glare at the monitor Not yet.

Yes, sir. Constable paused to consider her words. Sir, I’m new here and I’ve never... I mean, could I? I’d like to do the indoctrination on this one.

MacReddy pried his eyes off the monitor and stared at Constable thoughtfully. She was no more than twenty-two, blond hair, blue eyes – all dedication and discipline. Her purity reminded him of Wallace. In thirteen years of service MacReddy had encountered guards willing to violate their oaths for personal gain. Not Wallace, though. He’d always been beyond their slimy reach. That is, until the slow, agonizing death at the hands of scum like Callahan.

Seeing Wallace’s spirit in Constable forced MacReddy to question his motives. Was he any different than those willing to throw away a lifetime of training for a payoff? Was he not disregarding his oath for Wallace’s sake? He’d grappled with these questions while planning his revenge. Although unsettled in his mind, he was committed to his course of action no matter the consequences. He felt sorry for Constable though, but, if all went well, she might only draw a reprimand.

I’ll handle this one, he replied. Constable’s face fell. Listen, MacReddy went on, they’re double shifting you, aren’t they?

Constable nodded. It was a rite of passage with rookies.

It’s 0100, why don’t you go to your quarters and get some shuteye. Nothing ever happens here and I won’t say a word. You look like you could use some sleep.

She hesitated, unsure if MacReddy was testing her.

Go on, I’ll hold the fort, he urged, trying to sound casual, his heart racing, his mouth bone-dry.

Constable wavered but the offer of a few hours of sleep was worth the chewing out if it was a test. All right, she said.

MacReddy accepted her thanks and watched her head up the corridor. She looked back once and he gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile but felt like a grimace. She disappeared around the bend.

He waited a full five minutes before taking the next step. He’d put so much planning into this, he couldn’t risk discovery now. Satisfied, he dropped into the chair vacated by Constable and tied into the surveillance monitors. He switched from block to block, making sure the other guards were at their stations. They couldn’t leave their posts and would only call if they needed him. MacReddy had contemplated disabling the comm system after the ‘accident’ he’d arranged yesterday involving two rookies, a piece of conduit and the digital relay for this station. Due to the accident, the comm was the only link with the other guards for the time being. If it suddenly went down, a maintenance team would come to check it out. MacReddy needed privacy for the next little while.

He keyed the holocomm. This system projected a hologram of a guard into a cell and animated the image to the guard’s voice over a conventional intercom. In this way, the guards could communicate with an inmate without the potential danger of entering the cell.

MacReddy had the system download his image. The holocomm still had a few bugs in it and a pained expression passed over his face when it pulled a picture of him from his first year at Alvarez. He stared disconsolately at the optimistic, dedicated kid fresh from GSS Academy. This image would not do for Callahan. No, MacReddy wanted Wallace’s killer to see him as he now appeared. The problem was easily remedied. GSS files were updated annually so he pulled the most recent picture. He hit the transmit key and watched as his image firmed up in Callahan’s cell. It towered over the prisoner, a stony expression on its lifeless face.

MacReddy opened the intercom to the cell. He paused for a moment to consider his next action. The memory of a life pledged to GSS regulation battled with his own recently redefined concept of justice. He bent over the microphone.

Wake up, Callahan.

On the monitor, muscles rippled along the prisoner’s back. His head came up, mouth slack, eyes closed, then flopped down, missing the soft flesh of his arm and smacking against the cold floor of the cell. His left leg jerked, straightened, then, along with the right, inched in towards his stomach, raising his midsection off the floor.

Rise and shine, MacReddy urged. Today is the first day of the rest of your sentence.

Callahan slid both hands under his chest and pushed himself to his knees. He rocked back onto his heels. The bright light glanced off his short, brown hair, giving it a sheen. His deep-set, gray eyes were cast in shadows as the light made its way down the jagged bridge of his nose to his hard, cleft chin.

Wha... he gasped. His head lolled back and he slowly rotated his lower jaw. His tongue stumbled over parched lips. His throat slid up and down in a long, dry swallow. Whattid you guys do to me?

They dosed you with Sunill Derivative.

The prisoner got to his feet. He moved like