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From: Lazlo Zalezac <lzalezac@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} John Carter I 15 (mf mmf ffm ff mm sci-fi)
Date: Mon, 29 Sep 2003 01:10:05 -0400
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<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>


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