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A Serial Story

During a lengthy period several people on the forums created a lengthy serial story. A story that had the following rules:

   - Each snippet should be short ... one to two paragraphs.
   - There should be SOME flow to the story.
   - No theme - except what the story generates
   - Each author will have 3 days to post the next installment.
   - No sigs
   - Each snippet should leave the protagonist in a tight spot

The initial roster had Pinnen, Lintra , Roach, Badger, Corwin, vatacide and CM.
The story has some hiccups and bumps in it, but we felt that we should keep the story in it's original format; warts and all.

Corwin:

Is that it? Is that all there is? Is this how everything ends?

Grant gazed speculatively around him one more time, a lump forming deep within his throat. Was that a tear forming in the corner of his eye; surely not? Why, he hadn't cried in years; not since his mother died. Funny, he hadn't thought about her for a long time, why now?

There in front of him, the mist-shrouded planet grew in his windscreen. Soon the pull of gravity and the heat of re-entry would destroy his crippled ship. No power, no control, no hope!!

Lintra:

As Grant was wallowing in his misery he felt the familiar tingle that means a transporter beam has been active somewhere near by. Feeling a sudden surge of hope he springs from his seat in the cockpit, wheels around and sees an odd looking chap standing in the cockpit doorway holding out an Interstellar Bureau of Investigation ID card.

"Ah Grant! Great to see you. And I'll bet you are pretty happy to see me too" Grant experiences a roller coaster of emotions as his hope and joy get smashed to ribbons.

"I see you recognize me Grant. I suppose you'd like some help here? Well, lets just take that as a given why don't we?" He then speaks to a COM unit attached to his lapel, "Lets go guys, I've got him"

Grant rematerializes to be greeted by two gun toting suits. "Grant, allow me to introduce my two friends. You can call them Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. Follow me please".

Grant follows the IBI agent down a few corridors, with the two suits following. The agent stops by a door and motions for Grant to enter, as he does so, the two suits take up guard positions outside the door. The room is done in black and stainless and one wall is an observation bubble. The stranger motions Grant into a chair.

"If you look out this port you can watch your ship burn up as it enters the atmosphere" the IBI agents comments. "Did you know that you are wanted for crimes against humanity in seventeen different systems."

"Guess they haven't figured out Stella 7 yet" Grant thinks to himself.

"The worst offence being the rigging of the stock market on Hexalon 4." Continued the IBI agent, "Good scam there, we haven't seen that one in over 200 of your years. We couldn't just let you burn up - we have to take you back and make an example of you. But it's a good thing for you we found you first. If the Galactic Intelligence Agency had found you, they'd've just let you burn. Those GIA boys play rough."

Grant wonders if maybe the GIA boys had caught up with him first. He then shudders at the thought of what the future held at the hands of the IBI, and almost wishes he'd stayed on his ship ...

CM:

Grant knows he has no chance of getting help from his "contacts" in IBI as long as they hold him here. He must get them to move him off planet.

As his current captor enters, Grant stares out at the ships streaking in and out of view.
"We don't need much from you Grant. You've pretty well dug your hole. I was hoping you would drop a few names for some special considerations down the road. We'd like to clean up a few loose ends on this case."

"I might for a price. I do have something you have been looking for."

Grant smiles as he turns, pointing to the neurochip decoder now glowing under the skin on his wrist. "This little baby will get you 30 million containers of beta-454. And you know how much that stuff can mess up a star system if it gets too old. I think I need to get back to it pretty soon so that doesn't happen. I never did have a good sense of time.
"
Grant didn't miss a beat, and didn't plan to let this guy waste time ranting.
"You take me back to Hexalon 4 to stand trial. I take you to the storage unit. I figure my chances of actually dying there are next to nil. They haven't carried out an execution there in the last 40 sarags. Those do-gooders are worth their weight in energy cells. I don't plan to sit here waiting for GIA to show up and do their thing."

Grant knew his "friends" would be able to handle the rest. All he had to do was get back on a ship. Unfortunately GIA was docking as he spoke. Time was more of a threat now than it had been a few hours ago.

Badger:

"Damn you Grant! Your heart is so black that it should come posted with a shipping navigation warning. Nothing escapes, not even light!"

The IBI agent poured hatred across the room with his eyes and Grant smiled as he imagined that he could actually see the man physically smoking with anger.

"If that's your poetic way of telling me that I'm off your Christmas list," he quipped, "I can live with it just fine." The two men sat in silence for a moment before Grant continued. "It's dog eat dog out there Bozwick old pal. Only the biggest or meanest hounds survive and these teeth aren't just for show." He flashed the seething IBI man his toothiest smile for emphasis.

Boz Bannerman gritted his teeth and clenched his fists until the nails dug painfully into the palms of his hands. "I'm glad you find this all so damned funny Grant. I personally fail to see the humor in endangering an entire system to save your own worthless hide."

Grant leaned forward wearing his best mask of mock sincerity. "My heart bleeds Bozwick it surely does. Now why don't you do what you do best, get the ink on the paperwork and let's be going, because GIA won't be far away and if I have an "accident" before I get a chance to lead you to the B-454? Well, things could get more than a little ugly"
Flexing his arms he cracked his knuckles loudly then spread his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Why so glum agent man? You get to be quite the hero out of this; you get to save the day. They'll give you a damned medal to go with that fat pension!"

Standing abruptly Boz turned on his heel and without another word stalked out of the room slamming the door behind him. A moment later it reopened and Tweedle's Dee and Dum appeared from the corridor and took up positions either side of the doorway inside the room.

With a look of feigned concentration Grant studied the pair intently "So," he ventured. "Which one of you is Dum, because from where I'm sitting it could be either of you."

The agency muscle glanced at each other with raised eyebrows, but neither said a word and a moment later they resumed their emotionless stare. Their blank faces betraying nothing and yet Grant knew that their eyes were trained on his every breath.

"So you're saying that we've no choice but to play his game?"

Commander Debbon Killick's eyes bored into his subordinates from across the polished marble desktop. "Is that really what you're telling me Agent Bannerman?"

Boz squirmed uncomfortably in his seat opposite. There was no such thing as a "good time" to be sitting with this man, but this was worst than most. Despite his years of service he had never mastered the way his stomach clenched when faced with a session in this room.

Not that the room itself was designed to instill an air of comfort in its visitors. Dominated by the big marble desk behind which the commander sat, looking much like a cat about to pounce, the room was otherwise Spartan. The desk itself was placed in the position farthest from the door, requiring any entrant to walk the cold floor between the two under Killick's hard gaze, awaited by a visitors chair set subtly lower than the commanders, forcing a seated man to look up at him.

"I don't see that we have a choice as it stands sir. We can't let the B-454........" Boz let the sentence taper off and sat back defeated.

"You really think that this Beta-454 exists Bannerman?" The commander shook his head. "I don't believe it for one moment. The man is spinning a line to save his neck."

Boz steepled his hands to his chin and spoke through pursed lips. "But we can't take the chance can we? I mean, for now.... He has us."

"For now perhaps." Muttered Killick with barely suppressed fury. "But only for now." Boz let the unanswered question hang between them for a moment and waited for the commander to continue. "Take him out there." Killick growled. "Take him to Hexalon 4, confirm the existence of the supposed storage unit and if it exists, deal with it. But then........"
"Sir?"
"Then you bring him back to me you understand? I want him here for his trial, I want to be there when they pass sentence and I want to look into his eyes as he dies! Do you comprehend agent Bannerman?"

Boz smiled and realized that in this office, this was a first. "Yes sir, I understand completely."

Walking briskly up the uniform corridors of IBI HQ, at the head of a grim faced section of heavily armed agents with Grant sandwiched between them, Boz smiled happily to himself. Grant was a lowlife, who cared for no one but himself. But worse than that, he was dangerous. He represented everything that Boz hated, the opposite of everything he stood for, fighting his kind was the reason Boz had joined the agency to begin with. But as the grouped neared the corridor leading to the docking ring, one thought burned at the fore of his mind. Only his mother called him Bozwick! No one else...... no one!

Suddenly his attention snapped forward as long before his group were close enough to trip the sensors the twin metal doors of the docking ring hissed apart and Boz's path was blocked by five burly men standing two abreast and filling the corridor. Their black uniforms zipped up to their chins seemed to absorb the light from the overhead illumitubes and Boz was unable to see their faces past the ebony full faced helmets they wore.

At once the lead man stepped forward and clicking the heels of his highly polished black Jack Boots he raised his tinted visor and briskly saluted the IBI agent.

"I believe you have a prisoner of ours?" He announced with clipped polite tones oozing menace. "Thank you for your co-operation, we will take him now!"

Boz stared at the dark barricade of men baring his way and mentally swore. The GIA were here and now as Grant had prophesized, things were likely to get very ugly indeed.