Green Haven

By Paul Kater

The appearance of The Black Flyer, a television super hero, shakes up the city of Green Haven. A group of role playing gamers wonders why the police and the army are apparently helpless against this super hero who doesn't act like the TV original and decide to take him on themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Kater
• Release date: Mar 15, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301498307

Paul Kater

Paul Kater was born in the Netherlands in 1960. He quickly developed a feel for books and languages but ended up in the IT business despite that. Books and languages never ceased to fascinate him, so since 2003 he's been actively writing, encouraged by friends on the internet. The internet is the reason why most of his work is in English. A friend asking for writing help is why some of his writing is now also in Dutch. Paul currently lives in Cuijk, the Netherlands, with his books, possibly with cats, and the many characters he's developed in the past years, who claim he is a figment of their imagination.

Book preview

Chapter 1 - He's dead

Priscilla. Hey, Priscilla. You can stop now. He's dead.

Someone yanks my shoulder, hard too. Damn him. I open my eyes and seeing the white sheet I realise where I am. Why do I always have to zone out like that? The smell of the operating room fills my nose. I have no choice but to look at the man I am holding. Well, his hand. And that's no use any more as he's dead.

Are you okay? It's doctor Holden's voice.

I nod. Yeah, I'm fine. Thanks for not entirely dislocating my shoulder, I say as I rub my face with both hands. I need a coffee. Or something stronger. What went wrong? And since when is the scent off-limits?

The doc shakes his head. Same thing as so often, he was in too late. Bar fights are mean things and people with burst-guns and rip-knives are the worst ingredients. He was on the wrong end of too many.

With a simple movement one of the nurses covers the dead man's face. Get lost, Pris, you done four now. You guys are allowed three a day tops. Move or I kick y'out. Lorna's her name. You were in so deep, you didn't smell the bottle.

I get up, my knees and back aching and cracking, everything popping back into place. You guys need guys like us- I start to lecture her but Lorna grabs me by the arm and drags me to the door.

Scoot or I'm a go kick your ass!

Before I scoot I ask her why she's so obsessed with my butt, then I quickly leave. I know she will kick me and she kicks hard. Once outside the operating room I lean against the wall and rest my head against it. I should not have been so stupid to do four people again today. It's going to kill me but there are not many menaces. I shake my head at the stupid name but it's shorter than mental anaesthesiology assistants.

Hey, Prissa.

Tom comes walking up. Tom's alright, he's a safety guy. One of the few allowed near the operating rooms. You look like you need some cheering up.

I'm fine, Tom, I lie, did not overdo it today and only one died, so that's a good thing I guess, right? How are you and the wife and kids? No more problems with the neighbours?

He hooks his arm around mine and with a grin he pulls me away from the wall and towards the cantina while I keep talking. I always keep talking. Tom is one of the few who never tells me to shut up and just breathe, he's not much of a talker. He pushes me onto a chair and gets coffee.

Here. Drink. This is strong, he simply says as he puts the mug in front of me. While I try to sip the hot, black stuff he tells me about his family and that the problems with his neighbours are almost dealt with. Just hope Josh lays low, he ends his account.

Josh is Tom's son, a bright little hothead who is always on the barricades when there is something that smells like injustice. And Josh has a nose for that. Gets him in trouble a lot because there's plenty injustice going around everywhere.

Are you out gaming or stuff again tonight? he asks me while I burn my lip.

Ouch, damn. No, games are off tonight, it's Flyer night, remember? I remind him. I'm going over to Bashir's, the others are too but we're not sure if Dolores will make it. She has to work.

We're all looking forward to the new episode of the Black Flyer, a really kick-ass superhero show. Bashir has the biggest video-wall of us all so we usually horde his place.

Bashir? Is he off duty? I saw his name on the roster for night shift. Tom's eyes twinkle. That always gives him away but I decide to play.

What? Are you kidding me? We can't have Bashir on duty, we need his vid-wall! I slam the mug down too hard, a puddle of coffee jumps from it and hits the table. And my hand. Good thing it is not that hot any more but it still burns.

Careful, Tom warns, well meaning and too late.

Oh well, I'm in a hospital. I shrug and wipe my hand on my green tunic.

While he watches me Tom tells me that he is on dead man's shift and his wife will record the Flyer for him. I'll probably wake up on the couch in the morning, with a sore neck, he grins, I plan to watch it when I get home. We laugh and talk a bit more while people walk in and out of the cantina. Most greet us, some don't. They're the pricks.

Then Tom has to go back on his round so we get up. He tells me to take care while going home and warns me to eat something. I assure him that Bashir always has food around. Usually that's true. I make my way to the locker room, change, throw my green stuff in the bin for laundry and put on my coat. It's pissing down again outside, nearly always does. I can hear the rain against the windows. No need to look at it, I'll be having my share of that soon enough. Umbrella duty again, for sure. With my bag over my shoulder I make sure my knife and my stinger are in my pocket where I can get to them quickly. A girl has to be able to take care of herself, right?

It's busy in the hallway where I have to go through get out. Strange too, as it is not visiting hour - oh crap, wait, it is visiting hour. My bad. Usually I'm out of here already. And I should get my butt out now or I won't make it to Bashir's in time.

Chandra's on duty at the door this aftern- oh, it's near evening. How's it going, girl? You look like shit warmed up. Overdone it again? She's charming as ever.

I shrug. Sometimes you just go on, right? She's often doing more than her regular shifts as well, she should know. Although standing guard duty is a bit different from what I do.

Chandra nods and holds up the scanner. I show her my left wrist which has the hospital implant. She scans it so everyone knows I'm not there any more and the door opens. Chill, girl. Sleep some, the massive woman says as she winks.

Black Flyer tonight, I tell her with a grin.

Oh yuck, that crap again. Chandra does not like superhero shows. She's into romance and sugar coating. I grin at the thought that we have a big strong safety-guard who's all pink and fluffy inside.

I'll tell you all about it tomorrow, I promise her, which makes her fake a puke. I laugh as I step out and open my umbrella. Laughing relieves some of the tired tension inside me, I should do that more.

Fat raindrops pound on the plastic over my head. It's warm and muggy outside. As it is dark, the LEDs in the handle of the umbrella light up and I join the crowd that is making its way down the street.

On the centre part of the road the usual traffic jam is inching its way to where everyone wants to go. It'll take them a while, around this time it's madness out here, even worse than normal. I wonder how many people are driving on manual control. That usually is a good indicator for accidents, which in turn says something about the amount of work my colleagues in the General Clinic will have. This part of town is famous for its traffic.

While over my head the enormous billboards show their messages and video-ads, I walk along at a crawl. My first destination is the news stand, on the corner of the road. It only takes me a few minutes, miraculously, and I slip into the narrow booth.

Ah. Hello, Mrs. Farns.

The stupid automaton always says that, and it annoys me but still I come here for my news instead of getting it from a feed in the hospital. It's like the old-time news stands where people used to go for their papers and magazines. I reach inside my bag and find my tablet. I hold it up to the automaton. The usual news, I tell it.

The 'bot raises a hand while its camera-eye scans my tab. One of its fingers extends and plugs into my tablet and a few moments later there's a beep that the download is done.

Will that be cash or credit, Mrs. Farns?

Stupid question. It's always credit. I've never even seen cash. I roll up my sleeve and show it my bank-tattoo. The scanner-eye sweeps over it a few times. Yeah, the tat is kind of faded, I know, I say. It won't make a difference for the machine, it always gets it. Beep. See, there we go. No need to get that touched up.

Have a wonderful evening, Mrs. Farns! the automaton says with its weird smile. The person who designed the face of the thing should be punished.

Yeah, you too. Go stand in the rain or something, I tell it and stuff my tab back in the bag. Then I join the slow foot-commute again, towards the mono. That will be crowded too with this weather.

-=-=-

I'm almost through the news when the monorail stops. Sin Angeles. Final station, a voice says, this train will return to Ramblos Central, passing through Gypsee. Thank you for using Green Haven Public Transport.

Together with almost everyone else on board I leave the coach and open my umbrella again. Rain is less intense here but still bad enough. The crowd moves down the platform to the still broken auto-stairs. Once down these I'll get some room to move and breathe again.

The clump of lit-up umbrella-handles slowly drifts apart. As I pass the big sign welcoming people to Angeles (which this area was called before the angels left) I hear someone call my name. My hand slips in my pocket to the knife as I turn. Can't be too careful around these parts. Then I see Lois trying to push her way to me.

Hey you, I say as I hug her. How's life?

Dreary and wet, she complains as she tries to wipe her old-fashioned eye wear dry. It is highly illogical that Bashir has most space to put everyone up. Each time I come to Sin Angeles it makes me shiver. Lois tries to keep her large umbrella everywhere, so her rather expensive clothes don't get wet. I told her too often not to wear that stuff when she comes here, she'll attract unwanted attention.

Space here is cheap, I remind her while we start walking to Bashir's place. Ramblos has lots of apartments that are too small for two people - and you should know. And Ramblos is too expensive for most of us.

Good thing we have umbrellas. Most people try to stay close to the buildings to stay dry. We keep to the middle of the road, in the light of the vid-boards with their advertisements. As long as you're visible no one in their right mind will try to mug you. Of course, there are lots of folks in Sin Angeles who are not in their right mind. Always a gamble in a way. But we get to the building where Bashir has his digs. It's not that far from the mono station and one of the safer areas around here.

There's no front door in the building. Bashir always jokes that it is the last thing the angels took with them. We go inside and make our way to the stairs. It's only four flights up. Good thing, as the elevator was stolen long ago.

Lois complains all the way up, her high-heeled shoes are not made for climbing stairs. Stupid woman, I scold her silently. You know there are stairs here, at least wear sensible shoes when you come over.

We make it to the fourth and almost stumbled over Mags.

Chapter 2 - The Black Flyer

Careful careful careful! Magdanovitch holds out his arms so we don't trample the stuff that's spread out in front of him. He is sitting on a sheet and has all kinds of small things lying there.

Saints Mags, dumb shit, I yell, go sit somewhere else! We almost broke our necks because of you! Lois frowns at my words, she's not one to say things like that. Good I'm not her.

Magdanovitch quickly gathers some of his things and pulls the sheet to the side so we can move away from the stairs. Nice to see you too, menace. Somehow he always knows how to block passages with his tuff.

Mags is a MaMa, a Matter Manipulator. Some folks say that MaMas are related to magicians which is bullshit of course. He has some psychic abilities like I do, and he can make incredible gadgets because of that. I'm just someone who can put patients out while they're operated on and for that I actually need one of Mags's amplification things. It's in a pendant I wear around my neck. Not many people know that and that's how I'm going to keep that.

Bashir has not arrived yet? Lois sometimes asks the dumbest questions. You wouldn't believe she is a well-paid secretary with one of the biggest vid-ad companies in the area.

Of course he has, Magdanovitch snickers, I just prefer to sit here in the cold. He looks up at her with his gnome-ish face. Lois Lane, you ought to know better. He runs his hands through his short, white hair.

My name is Lois Linders, Mags, please do not call me Lois Lane. She starts twirling a strand of her long brown hair between her fingers.

Mags grins and grabs together the rest of his stuff. Bashir is coming. He tilts his head. And Marco is with him.

Lois's face shows that she thinks Mags a freak because he knows things. Only moments later there are footsteps on the stairs and voices coming up ahead of the people. Marco's rough voice outsounds Bashir's gentle one. By the time Mags has his stuff collected the two others step into the corridor with its bright white light.

Hi, is all Bashir says before he opens the door to his place. Marco says nothing. He often falls silent when he's around us. We follow Bashir inside.

Anthony comes soon, our host informs us as he gestures to the room where his vid-wall is. Food's where it should be, back in a moment. He disappears into one of the many rooms so we first raid his kitchen and then find our favourite spots in the view room. It pays to know our way around. Mags waves his arm over the room-control and the video wall lights up.

You can talk to it, Mags, Lois reminds him. As if he needs reminding. He simply shrugs. I know he prefers movements and a dash of 'magic'.

Bashir comes back in. He changed into something more comfortable. Bashir is an ambulance pilot for the General Clinic, one of the best. He's in charge of one of these new airlift ambulances, very nifty. He took me on a ride in it once, quite cool. Beats a monorail every day, trust me.

Caller at the door, the computer announces as the first moments of the show appear on the wall.

If it's Anthony, let him in.

The door clicks, so it is Anthony. He comes in silently, moving quickly. He's a big guy, a soldier like the rest of his family. My eyes follow him even if I don't want them to.

Welcome to the new adventures of the Black Flyer! the sound system announces as a man in a black suit and ditto cape flies through the room in almost perfect 3D. A new retro show brought to you by Skylerax, the company that can place you in any of the off-world colonies. We know that this will ramble on for a while so we talk a bit during the commercial.

Anthony and Marco dive into a discussion of all the super-powers that the Black Flyer at least should have, next to what we have seen of him so far.

Bashir looks at me and grins, nodding at Mags. The inventor is again fumbling with one of his little instruments, poking into a gadget. Then I peek at Lois, who has her small tablet in hand and flips through some pictures. They all show Dolores. Too bad your girl is not here, Lois, I tease her.

Quickly she presses the tab against her chest and her face goes red. She's not my girl.

God, Lois, why do you insist on keeping that a secret? I say. Half the fripping world knows you have the hots for her, and the rest will hear it on the news tomorrow!

There is no god, Mags mutters as he keeps prodding the device in his hand.

Come off it, Lois, we know how you feel about Dolores. I think everyone but Dolores knows. I feel sorry for Lois. Dolores is not into women; she is out to hook herself a wealthy guy so Lois's fantasy will never be more than that. Suddenly I feel sorry about my stupid remark. Big mouth does it again.

Cut it out, guys. Watch. Bashir is right. The show starts.

The Black Flyer is a really great show, we all agree on that. The Black Flyer is a fighter of injustice using all kinds of great powers. He can fly like Superman and is as strong as a lion (well, that's what they say). He also has this great black outfit, like old Batman. And a body to die for. Somehow Skylerax got him just right, thinking up this superhero with all kinds of traits that superheroes from the past also had. I can think of a thing or two he could do with me and he would not need any super powers for that. I am sure I'm not the only one who thinks like that, but hey, a girl can dream, right?

The episode we watch is a great one. The Flyer goes after thieves that hijacked a transport with gold bars; the daughter of a big company president is on the shuttle that the villains used also and they threaten to kill her unless they get a ransom. We all know the Flyer will save the day and the girl, but it is great to see him do it. After all, we plan to do a role play game around the Black Flyer so we have to watch everything closely. Might as well love it.

At the end of the show there is another long commercial of Skylerax (as there were lots of shorter ones during the show) but we ignore that. You can't shut off the ads, nor turn down the volume so we just move to another room and talk there.

Marco and Anthony resume their discussion on super powers. Mags loses himself in his toys again and Bashir treats Lois and me to a glass of wine. The others want beer. I am sure that Marco has to do with Bashir having wine and beer. At least this kind. The stuff we can get is hardly worth the names wine and beer but Marco has ways to get his hands on stuff. He's a trudger, so he always says, but never explains what he's dealing in. Most of the time we don't even want to know, simply because that's healthier.

I heard you lost one today, says Bashir. He sits down between Lois and me.

Yeah. I swallow hard. And saints, that sucks. But Doc Holden said the guy was stabbed and shot badly, so his options were low to start with.

Bashir hesitates. I know he wants to put his arm around me, to comfort me. Heck, I know he wants me. And even though I don't want him, his arm would be good now so I sort of lean into him. I hope I don't give him the wrong signal but I am sure as hell not going to lean into Lois. Talk about wrong signals.

Mags carefully lays his gadget down on the table and watches as Bashir puts an arm around my shoulders. Cute.

The table is too damn big, I can't kick him. He knows how I feel about Bashir and then he does that. To divert attention I bring up the subject of the role play we plan.

We'll need the costume for the Flyer, Lois nods. Perhaps Dolores can do something for that, she knows people who make strange clothes. She wears plenty of them. That is a fact. Dolores owns the most outrageous outfits. Even Mags pays attention while we work on the basic idea for the game we intend to do.

-=-=-

It's gotten far too late, most others have left already.

Are you sure you want to go home alone? Bashir is genuinely concerned. He knows how things are in Sin Angeles, he's lived here longer than I have. You're welcome to stay over.

I know, thanks Bashir, but I really should get home. Stuff to do tomorrow morning and all that, you know. I give him a hug. He's a nice guy. Too bad I can't love him. I babble about the things I have to do as he walks me to the door.

Hey, at least let me know that you got home safely, he interrupts me. I have to admit that interrupting me often is the only way to get a word in once I'm babbling.

Yeah, I'll do that. And if you're sleeping again when I call, I'll kick your butt so hard that you will fly that ambulance standing up for the next two weeks, I threaten him.

His guilty look makes me grin so I thank him for the great evening and head out, bolt down the stairs and go into the street again.

I'm lucky. It stopped raining. With the stinger in my hand, hidden in a pocket, I walk home. It's not very far but the neighbourhood demands such measures. Long ago there were more monorail stations in Sin Angeles but those have been torn down by people who needed material. And they sure did not use that to build houses. More like to reinforce stolen vehicles.

Along the way I see several shady figures, alone or in pairs. They don't scare me. Most people know I'm not dangerous and also not worth mugging so I get to where I live undisturbed. It's weird to call this place home, with the big ad-board over the entrance as the only sign of civilised life. Most floors in the twenty-one level building are covered with plastic foil. Most of it is even more or less intact. Only where people live holes have been cut into the stuff so we can see outside from the gallery if we want.

Most street lights are dead here and the ones that work blink more than that they actually give off light. I pass the three overturned flowerpots (there used to be four) and push open the door. Its familiar creak welcomes me back.

Lamps in the hall are dead again, so I take the flash light that I always have in my bag and search my way through the debris. We all stopped clearing it away because someone always put more mess there as if it's their private junk yard. Going around it is easier. Climbing up the stairs to the second floor is better than the four at Bashir's place, although the late hour still makes it hard. I'm tired.

Saints, what a stupid person, I tell myself, panting. Overdoing it at work, drinking too much and then this. Beneath the sleeve over my right arm is the tattoo with the pattern that usually opens my door. The problem is that my dark skin doesn't show the tattoo very clearly; wouldn't be the first time that I have to camp outside overnight. The tattoo man made it in white, but that did not stay light very long. Something inside the door hisses, and the metal hulk clicks open. I'm home.

Chapter 3 - Good night

The thick door slams shut behind me. It takes me a while to move all the safety slides in place while the electronic ones kick in as well. The joys of a cheap place in a shady neighbourhood. Marco and Anthony had put the metal bars up for me, it's just that some of them are a bit too heavy. I never mentioned it to them, they went through such pains to get the things mounted.

It is pitch black inside but I am used to that. I step forward and wait a few seconds. The motion sensors still work as does the heating. Well, the heating is always there; it's the heat from some steam exhaust that's used so it's always warm in here. Finally the lights wake up, so I put my coat and umbrella away, kick off my shoes and walk into the living room. The place is much smaller than Bashir's, but big enough for me alone. Actually it is big enough for two, but - I cut off the thought. Let's not go there, Prissa.

Where's the vid-wall remote, I ask myself. I look around in the battle field that is my living room. I know I need to clean that up. I've known that since weeks but somehow I keep finding other priorities. Finally I locate the thing under a pillow that I almost sit on. I flip on the wall and see if there are messages. As usual my incoming messages are abundant. There are two.

So, who is telling me what? I wonder to no one as I hit the buttons on the unit. The first one is from Skylerax. Figures. They always look for idiots who let themselves be shot into space towards an uncertain future. I've thought of it once, long ago, but that was before more and more rockets exploded. No way they're going to get me for that, even if they'd want me.

The second message is only marginally more interesting. It's Bashir, telling me that if I see this, I am probably too late for the show this evening. I should have kicked his butt anyway. Oh, right. I connect to his home and let him know I'm home and safe. He yawns a good-night and disappears.

Flipping through the channels on the wall I find that most of them are garbage but I don't feel like watching anyway. I switch it off and get a shower. Bed is important now. I did too much and will pay for that so best to get in early. The clock tells me it is fripping late already but I tell it to shut up and convince myself that it's still early.

-=-=-

Of course I don't sleep. That's the kickback of doing too many patients in one day; it drains me in a very strange way. It robs me of my sleep and I'll be a wet rag the next day. The big beams from the police floaters punch through the holes in the improvised blinds. They paint moving patterns on the walls and the blanket and distract me for a while. My mind drifts off to the talk about the game we're trying to set up. We all agreed that either Anthony or Marco should play the Black Flyer. Lois would never do, she's scared to get hurt. Dolores would never do it, which is too bad. She'd have the proper shape for it with some props. After all, she was a man once, but since the sex change she is so girly that she makes me want to puke pink at times, even though she's a great person.

They also tried to make me do the Flyer. Yeah, sure, as if I have the build for that. I mean, I'm not fat or so, anyone who says that will get their ass kicked, but I'm not... no. Not a Flyer type.

I stare at the patterns on the wall again as another police floater passes close to the window. I wonder who they're chasing as usually they don't go this low. Then the burglar alarm starts. Of course. The thing is far too sensitive, if these drones fly by they always set it off. I fall from my bed, tired while unable to sleep and slip. Of course. With a bruised and scratched knee I hobble into the living room and reset the alarm. I don't dare to leave it off.

Back in bed I feel drowsy. I wrapped something around my knee so the bed won't get all bloody and finally I sink into a doze...

In a startle I wake up. I dreamed and it was pretty ugly. My heart is pounding and I fight my way out of the blanket that I managed to wrap around my head. The rest of me is cold so I struggle the blanket back into place and lie back to catch my breath. Damn, why did that dream of my ex come back? I only helped people today. Or yesterday, as a glance at the clock tells me. Why do I get slapped over the head with him then?

While I try not to think of him I hear sirens and shooting outside. It's not in this block but there's a lot of it, and screaming too. The police probably got who they were after. Good thing. Just doesn't help me not to think of Donald. He went down with shooting and screaming as well. Dammit. I sit up and wrap the blanket around me. Then I get myself into the living room and after the light stops blinding me I call Mags. I always call Mags. He never sleeps.

Prissa. What's up? Really. Magdanovitch never sleeps. He looks as usual; dressed, awake, and like Mags.

I can't sleep. Floaters outside, shooting and sirens, and Donald in my head. And I don't dare drink more, I already had too much.

I see. Mags rubs his nose. No wonder it is always so red. I may be able to put you out for a while, using your pendant. Can you be in bed in five minutes?

Hey, I'm at home, not in the maze Bashir calls his own. I can be in bed in thirty seconds.

He shrugs. I need five minutes.

To get in my bed? I am careful. You never know with Mags, but he just gives me one of his looks. "Okay, okay, didn't mean no harm, Mags. I'll go back to