Spanner 3.1: The Call

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Chaos Angel Spanner — Chapter 3: Rock Is Dead
Part 1: The Call (Final Revision)

When the music changes, the walls of the city will rock.
Confucius

We will rock you...
Queen NFL NHL DisneyPop ClubRock

28 august 2014.
shelley house. There are no more rock stars. The Conservative Revolution executed Rock ’N’ Roll. What’s left: Patriot Country, Patriot Metal, MobRap, JesusRock, DisneyPop, Pop della Moda: each with a channel. Leila listlessly flips through them.

Boredom and exhaustion shade into sleep, television turns to dream; she finds now that if she dreams long enough, the moment will come, the moment she dreads, when Shira appears to her and beckons. . .

dreamspace. “Shira! Help me!” cries her terrified twin, naked alone vulnerable lost.

“I’m coming, Kira!” Shira desperately runs to reclaim her.

Too late: phantom appears between them knocks them apart takes shape of Henry Becket—swallows Kira inside his hard cold ghost silencing her screams—Shira watches in horror—Becket shoots her a hard malevolent glare, vanishes into the darkness, leaving behind his superhero emblem, American Crusader—it spots Shira, screams at her, attacks—

shira’s apartment. —and she sits bolt upright screaming, waking up her mother, who sits up to comfort her. She collapses into her body with a sigh. Hope gently caresses Shira’s firm young breast. “You had that dream again.” Shira nods. Her face implores. At once they know exactly what to do.

Shira rises to her knees, Hope kisses and sucks her breasts—Shira on her back Hope atop her, hands knead soft buttocks and breasts, cunts locked clits in electric contact, strong fingers press their power spots, voices combine in wordless love duet, all reason all terror all pain wash away in pure ecstasy in oceans of pure love—

Hope lets her exhausted self collapse onto her daughter. Shira gasps, “Thank you.”

Hope Reston and Shira Thomas live together as single mother and daughter in a converted hospital overlooking downtown Bremerton alongside society’s throwaways. Being descendants of the twentieth-century hero Doc Wilder, they come under the Wilder Foundation’s protective shield. They have survived the Law’s wrath this long because their neighbours are worried enough about their own transgressions to let them be secret lovers.

On the way to the shower, passing the mirror, once again Shira’s breath catches at the sight of the gorgeous body that looks exactly like Kira’s. Once again she stands before her reflection with tears cascading down her face, onto her shoulders, down her ticklish breasts. Hope cuddles her from behind, caresses her smooth brown skin, firmly holds her breasts; they sway in slow dance to the music created by their hard-pulsing blood and Shira’s soft sighs. “Shira, you’ve grown so beautiful.”

“I saw Kira,” Shira gently replies. “I know she is too.”

“Are you sure she’s still alive?”

“Our love’s the only thing keeping her alive.”

Shira slowly turns in Hope’s arms as if to kiss her. But Hope half-closes the door so its mirror can reflect Shira a clear view of her own backside. Shira flashes a beautiful smile at her beautiful buttocks as if greeting a beloved face. She sways them gently, shakes them hard and giggles; Hope draws Shira into her embrace, caresses her soft buttocks, kneads them deeply with her strong hands, Shira letting out soft sweet moans—then suddenly—

Darth Vader’s theme. Ringtone. The videophone.

They stare at the computer monitor, then at each other. Hope, suspiciously: “Who is that?” Shira, shocked: “Oh, shit—” Shira escapes Hope’s embrace. “Shira, don’t—”

She slips away, shushes Hope, slides across the plush carpet deadly calm to the desk chair, assembling countermoves in her mind. “I own a cop now, and Angie’s got my back, but this time I gotta take care of it myself. So please be quiet and let me be his Kryptonite.” Hope glares back.

She seats herself without dressing, just so she can torment the old misogynist. She chooses the correct pose (elbow planted on desk, chin mounted on fist), then presses the “talk” button on her keyboard.

The grim stern face of Henry Becket, Secretary of Homeland Security, appears on screen. For a short time that seems an eternity, they stare at each other: he, shadowed by the hat that crowns him, the absolute sincerity of the fanatic stone-carved on the wrinkled brow above the gleam of his thick glasses; she, seemingly as innocent of ill intentions as of clothes, yet behind the poker face all guile. Most people would wilt under the extremity of cold rage in the hard gaze of a man powerful enough to command God; but this obscure young witch fears him not—but for her own special reasons. “Greetings, grim sire,” she sings, “what hath inspired your exalted lordship to condescend to call on me?”

“You are the terrorist. We can prove it.”

She answers with a skeptical smirk. “Show me your proof.”

“Mother looked into your soul and saw nothing but chaos.”

“Inadmissible in court.”

“You have the same reality distortion field as the terrorist. And Rebel Styles.”

“My lawyer is laughing at you.”

“I can have you preemptively detained.”

“And the Foundation will have me released without charge.”

“I can have you secretly eliminated.”

“And your nieces Pulse and Livewire will drop a bomber filled with burning red phosphorus on your head.” He hesitates. She can see him twitch. “The monkeywrench has gotten to you, hasn’t he.”

His face twitches into a rage. “That was a spiritual attack upon the very order of Nature by the forces of Chaos!”

“Now we’re getting into irrational conspiracy theory.”

He flinches as if slapped. “You are missing my point, foolish girl! Our Nation is in peril! A madman is trying to destroy the world, and you mock?”

“You gotta admit he’s got a killer spin. I bet Rat Bastard’s highly impressed.”

He growls through his teeth, “You have no fate, and therefore no future.”

“But the future’s rushing right at you like a runaway bullet train, yet you’re blind to it.”

“The future is already ours.”

“Entropy denialism.”

He jumps at the seeming non-sequitur. “What?”

“Things fall apart, the center cannot hold, yet your Conservative Revolution spends all the human energy in the world trying to put Humpty Dumpty back together again.” She sighs. Becket, clearly disturbed, struggles to hold his fury back. She slides the keyboard aside, then slides a miniature chessboard into view. “Hmmm. . .” She takes her queen and moves it across the board to capture his king. She picks up the little white piece from where the queen now stands, holds it in view of the camera, and smiles.

He punches his camera. The signal goes dead. Shira grins.

In the shower, Hope takes extra time to scrub Shira’s body as if to decontaminate her. “One of these days, there won’t be a screen between his fist and your face.”

“Only if he wants to kill himself and Jesus America too. Surely he’s smart enough not to fall into our trap.”

“Shira, he’s a superhero.”

“And I’m his kryptonite.”

“Remember, you can’t stop this madness by yourself.”

“I need you, you need me, we all need each other. So how’s the struggle with Guild management?”

“They’re still hellbent on going management, but we’ve got our case and the teachers on our side.”

“Kids are already rushing to the Student Union. And we haven’t even started organizing yet!”

Hope puts her hands on Shira’s shoulders. “We make a great team.”

Shira pulls her close. “We’re awesome!” They share a long wet kiss.

telesphere. The SRO send a message to the official news outlets. They decide to play it. ESPNBC News, like the other channels, adds color commentary.

Bram Rodchenko: (looking grimly heroic) The Conservative Revolutionary Party is the most dangerous terrorist organization in history, no different from the Cult of Al-Assass. We are soldiers who fought and sacrificed and gave our lives in selfless service to our country, only to have it stolen away from us. The people are being crucified on a cross of gold in the name of the survival of the fittest.

We are the Socialist Revolutionary Organization. We are America’s last true freedom fighters. And we will not cease our struggle until the terrorists of greed are fully vanquished and the people are free at last.

Amanda: (looking perky) We have Shepherd-Mayor Luke Everson of Seattle here with us. Shepherd Everson, do you believe the SRO is connected to Spanner?

Luke Everson: (looking holy) My daughter, people of America, all the enemies of Our Lord Jesus America are connected in common conspiracy led by Satan, united by a common hatred of Our Nation and its eternal holy mission of world dominion and the conquest of space. Our Conservative Revolution cannot let up on its terror until the universe is saved and the Evil One and his conspiracy have been vanquished and cast into the Lake of Fire for all time at the end of history. In the name of Our Nation under God, so mote it be.

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Copyright © 2012 Dennis Jernberg. Some rights reserved.

[Revision 3, 9/13/11: Added new introductory paragraph; corrected continuity errors.]
[Revision 4 Final, 7/5/12: Original 3.3 “Car Song” now merged with 3.4. This is an entirely new opening added to Revision 4. Chapter renamed from “The Whole Point of No Return”.]