((First of all, sorry for my mistakes in use of language. Im not british, so got some problems with use of it.))
Staring: Megan Styles
Liberty Funk
A man with black hair dense and round like a huge bush sat in loose trousers and shiny yellow jacket near the console in his small cottage just outside main city on Manhatan. He was listening to the music, picking up phones from radio listeners as he shuffled the discs. Black sunglasses on his nose covering almost half a face, and thick black mustache 70s style. He was sitting in front of microphone ready to pick up next call.
Liberty Funk, Jules Funky Johnson, ere, sup? He said, crossing his boots on the main console.
Hey dog! Screamed someone in the speakers.
Yo, brotha talk to me. A wide smile appeared on his face, underneath magnificent afro.
Origh. Listen to this ****. Me n my bro are takin our mom from Leeds from hospital
Ohhh! Sumthin bad happen to old lady, eh? Hope shes fine.
Yeah, bro, she like took three bullets in a gun fight, but luckily she send two of those Bretonian flaccid-*******s down and they call themselves gangsters.
Three bullets? Damn, brother! Thats one tough momma! She allright?
Oh! Hell! She wasnt in hospital to cure, na ahh! She was to identify corpses of those two guys But anyway, we are taking her from Leeds, n in California, all ov a sudden, those brito-vanillas come chacing us! And Im like: Whuuut?! In the sphere of Liberty? And you know, brotha what that means In order to jail up mah mom, they had to ask Liberty governors for privilege. And I remember that Liberty gives such power to foreign police very rarely! Even top-shelf crips can avoid getting security department on their asses, and here? I remember Jonzey Cormag, this white guy, who like robbed millions of credits, killed sum bitch in Newcastles hohouse and he just escaped! But when black woman packs couple grams of led in sumones behind, they try to stop her like a terrorist?! Sure the gun was illegal, but that be detail! Is that it?! A black man travels to the other, god damn part of a galaxy, just for next five hundred years of oppression?! You know what Im sayin?!
Afro-guy clearly enjoyed that he could throw in his opinion too. He nodded and readied up next tune.
Damn, right, brotha! It aint like we munch on their asses when those corrupted fat whites defraud whole corporations or brake dozens of trade laws! Now tell me how ya solved that problem?
Jules! My man! We did what all good brotha would! We called the Hood!
Aha! I smell something cooking there.
Yeah! Like all of a sudden, three bounty hunters, couple of traders and like a dozen of freelancers appeared, surrounded those two poor brits. I thought they even **** their bricks! All the Hood black, decent men! Silence, damn, they havent said a word, we were just all around those police-guys They had to move. A laughter of joy he heard, flowing from the speakers. And guess what, my man. We were all your fans, listening to your station at the moment! And guess what there was in the air?
I dont know brotha. Theres so much good **** in funk.
Pusherman!
Oh! That is one fine piece of music.
Thats my request, Jules. Can ya remind me that moment and give me this cool note on your radio.
Fine brother! Here it comes than, to all who listen to Liberty Funk, Pusherman, by Curtis Mayfield. Best wishes to old lady and godspeed.
Jules rushed his finger all along keyboard and soon in speakers, old, classic funk sounded. He had a chance to grab a cigy and relax on the comfy chair, smoking and listening to fine tunes. Pusherman
Awesome music, for long trade voyages throughout whole Sirius System.
***
Couple minutes later, just before the song was finished, Jules received next call. He leaned back, pushed correct button on intercom.
Liberty Funk, Funky man ere, whats up?
Hey there, Superfly. Said a woman with a voice he knew well for almost whole his life.
Megie, babe! You wish to tell us something?
Well cough. I think I need your assistance.
Meg should have called my cell, not hop on the radio.
I tried, but you dont pick up guess you forget to charge it Anyway
***
She was sitting in a narrow cockpit with only 20% of power in systems, supporting whole ship. It was drifting trough space, somewhere between Fort Bush and Pitsburg. Half of right wing was shattered. Little, old, borrowed Patriot fighter was a mess. But Megan was fine. She was simply sitting on her place, with legs crossed on main navigation monitor. She was in her black-leather jacket, miniskirt, and leather corset, whole covered with steel buckles. Eight feet tall woman, swearing quietly, cursed whole universe for letting someone design such a tight vessel. She was painting her toenails, of course, with golden polish, while smoking and talking with her friend.
Anyways, some funny-guy decided to distrupt trade lane, and so I hit some old mine drifting around. And this ship you gave me you said it has shields!
Well, Megie It has but I never said they work fine.
Dandy sighed Megan, breathing out huge cloud of smoke. It was almost white in here due to cigarettes she had. If youd be so kind and appear here, Ill be most grateful or else Im gonna die or worse Im gonna find a way to return to your little sandbox and so good Lord be my witness, some **** will hit the vent. Of course she joked. Jules was one of those people she trusted one of two in whole universe. First was, of course, Meg.
Sure do, babe. Just wait a bit. By the way shouldnt you notify Liberty Police or something?
Hearing those words Meg almost spit out cigarette she held with her lips only.
Right What next? Inviting Outcast for anti-drug convention?
She heard only chuckle of Jules, before he lunched some random music automatic shuffler and left his little cottage.
She finished painting her toe-nails Damn it was hot in here Her hand started to search trough piles of garbage inside cockpit. Some old music-discs boxes, chips bags, beer cans. Maybe there is one left?
She light up another cigarette, previous one she shoved in this thing on the right control panel, that is very important, fragile and Jules said never to touch it. She had no idea what this device was used for, but for her it was a perfect ash-tray.
There it is! A full can of Rheinlanden Weissberg Bier. Way better than this local piss. Bretonians had good ale too, so she had sometimes a reason to visit them but worst were Kusari. They have no idea how to make good food, good alcohol Beside everything there is so tiny. Food goes in small portions, they give sake in tiny cups, every single Kusari man have microscopic manhood She shrugged Nothing worth seeing there. Not to mention their little people hate smokers. Damn No smoking in a bar, no smoking on a station, no smoking in club, no smoking on the arena, no smoking in your own damn room, no smoking in park, no smoking on a friggin sidewalk and those people have most obscene sexual culture in the universe at the same time. Yup, Meg knew the answer. Ya dont smoke = ya go nutz.
She opened a can and took a long sip.
Mmmm bitter, strong beer.
She relaxed, listening to good friends Radio station, Meg nodded her head and waited for some help. Closed eyes, opened soul, her ears drunk this melody.
All of a sudden, her sensors readings shown that two unidentified ships approached her from behind. When they cut her track and aimed their guns, all she could do was to sigh with resignation.
Hooray, idiots arrived. Said to herself recognizing Liberty Rogues ships.
There we got you, civilian. Said some rude-sounding man. Trap worked just fine.
Pay up and drop all the goods! Other bandit laughed maniacaly. And maybe we let you live a little longer Ha!
She, still smoking and drinking calmly, adjusted to their communication channel.
Look, you tits Deal is I got to get to Pitsburg for a match, so switch me to someone competent, will ya? Got some boss of yours around here somewhere? Or are you all alone?
First one of bandit pilots wished to threat her but he cut his try. Not much people speak to thugs like they the way this woman did, but what is more they both saw her face on comm channel. Golden hair, gold glasses, dark skin, leather jacket.
Oh my god! One of Rogues screamed, excited like a little girl. Guys in base will never believe me!
Damn! Julio? Second one aimed his ship front at his comrade, like he wished to speak with him, eye in eye. Is is she ?
Miss Styles! We are your biggest fans! Julio added quickly. Me and my two brothers were on the Rumble-Galaxy-Mania in Colorado, when you claimed Heavy Weight Wrestling belt! Damn, that was a night! You fought Codebraker, One Man Manace and Jungle-Doc in one evening! Man that was a fight, people were chanting, and
Look She cut in sentence of excited man. Its not like Im not sentimental, but if you havent noticed, my ship has partly entered a sphere of existance, that can be only summed up by the word: theoretical.
Oh, yes, of course, Miss Styles. We will tow you to nearest base.
Hope you got good booze there She could only hope.
Oh, of course but, before we go can we ask for something?
Shoot
Can you sign an autograph for each of us please?
Megan sighed heavily, pulling her palm, slowly over her face.
Yeah
And so they towed Meg somewhere into depths of rogue space. She was sitting, smoking, drinking and listening to those two wrestling-fans who reminded her of every match she took part in. Rogues? More like schoolgirls, who found your diary and are so impressed they will torment you with awesome quotes for ever and ever till the end of time.
But there was more to come She ignored them, giving them only slight Mhmms, to keep them convinced shes listening.
At least good old Funk fixed her mood.
<to be continued.>
"Are you dead yet?" Meg asks a person who she just kicked in face. "Ohh... may I finish your whisky than? Guess you got nothing against, eh?"
Meg was sitting in the middle of canteen, on comfy couch, surrounded by Rogue thugs pilots that were listening to her stories. Due to the fact she had to put her boots before nail-polish dried, one of those bandits was now compelled to fix the thing.
She had her legs crossed on the table, and one rogue, so afraid he can loose a face on her fist if he does not a job right, with surgeons precision, painted her toe-nails. Meg was half-sitting, half-lying on the couch, drinking beer and smoking. Most of those guys here were pro-wrestling fans and they all knew Meg. Not just for this censored-softened politicly correct wrestling, but also Out-lawed one. Meg often traveled to border worlds where she fought in cages where people, wrestlers, or fighters of other interesting styles, died while trying to win champions belt. And those matches Rogues, Outcasts, Hackers, Xenos or other Pirates watched with great interest.
Was it hard to win this first match with Graveyard-Sid? Asked one Rogue pilot looking like a little kid, whos well mommy just came back from front line, ending long service in army, with whole lots of war stories.
Sid was a champ, tough one and by that I mean I had to brake his both legs before he eventually gave up normally its enough if I brake one She chuckled warmly, running fingers of her hand trough golden hair.
Megan took a sip of beer and continued.
Ummm Miss Styles? Asked some guy sitting on the floor.
Yeah? She said, rising one eyebrow above the line of glasses frame.
Why were you flying with Liberty Police vessel?
She punched him in face. It wasnt a big shot for her, but for him it was enough to land on ground, unconscious.
Its mine friends ship. I dont like flying those packed narrow junks. Meg proudly announced. What was true of course. She always favored her physique and ability to open steel-doors with bare hands Once miss Styles had opportunity to fight some Kurita martial arts master and no matter how well he was trained and how fancy gimmicks of judo-kai-****su-fu-kung-honda-civic (or however they call those silly dances) he performed Meg proved one most prime rule of universe. Nothing oposes true toughness and crude, brutal strength.
That night, in Cortez system, on annual Hell in a Cell smackdown match, about three years ago, she had a chance to fight with Kusari champion. When this little poor guy just stepped on a ring, first thing Meg thought about him, looking down on little Kusari fella, was Is he a dildo? Surely has the correct size
But than he started to fight! He attacked Meg!... Well He swung his fists at her in some very fancy way, hitting her abdomen but that was it. He was about her hip-high and it was all he could do. Megan seemed not even notice his tries, standing and waiting till real fighter comes, yawning and shrugging but soon referee ensured her this little jumping chink IS in fact her opponent and not some kid that passed security and entered the arena. Anyway she simply got enough of the little man, picked him up and tossed somewhere. She never heard again of Kurita champions making their way in illegal fighters league. Good. Stick to your paper-made dojos, drink your tasteless tea, eat uncooked fishes and leave arenas to true warriors.
I have finished Said young, black-haired bandit who just finished painting her toe-nails with gold polish.
Good. Now blow, I want them dry.
Like a good servant, Rogue pilot named Julio puckered his lips and begun to blow some air on her feet.
In this very moment a cell-phone rang. She picked it up observed by her fans like she was some kind of wonder send them by almighty god.
Meg She said sharply. Ohh its you Jules?... Well, Yeah Im here with my new friends Mhmm Yes, they gave me alcohol and cigarettes, ergo, they are my friends... Mhmm Sure She took small phone away from her ear and looked at one of Rogues sitting on the floor next to her. Hey, you what is your name?
Its Ste
It doesnt matter what your name is. She quickly cut his wings before he had chance to answer. Just tell me what is this stations location. Got a friend of mine taking me up.
Poor thug gave her answer she needed, and she passed them to Jules.
Rogue hesitated for brief moment. Is it wise to uncover location of their secret base? But is it wise to oppose Meg? He run quick calculations and decided keeping face in same consistence for rest of life is more important that trying to figure out which tooth goes in which place.
Andre she said after she finished her conversation with Jules. Fetch me another cigarette Meg snapped her fingers, relaxing on comfy couch.
Ummm Miss Styles? You knocked him out few minutes ago Answered some guy, who just aimed his finger at unconscious bandit.
Megan looked at numb body bit surprised.
Oh Pity She said and pulled out a pack of smokes out of her black-leather biker jacket. After taking one white tube of tobacco, she simply light it up and inhaled huge portion of smoke.
By the way any of you guys listen to Liberty Funk here? This lame music you got running on this station is killing my ears more than a silence, sure its not as bad as Kurita emo-boy reading his haiku, but nonetheless bad as hell. Put on some good tunes here, will ya?
In this moment some black guy appeared in entrance doors, near the bar. He was cleaning some glass cups and tankards.
Yeah! I know this one I even know the guy who runs this radio! Fat black bartender run his fingers along some switches and in couple seconds, true good music filled the canteen.
Really? Meg asked.
To be honest many people knew Jules, those who loved Funk music heard about him and Meg of course, but than to really KNOW Jules? Same way it works for her. Many people heard about them, they knew who they were, but no one really knew them as people and yet this guy, this bartender sounded so lighthearted, he either really knew Jules, bluffed, or simply was high.
Sure! I worked with him as a trader when he resigned from wrestling and decided to earn sum cash for the radio. Damn, this dog was horrible, talking all the time how many people would listen to him and how many chicks hes gonna have. He even tolled me about Project Monkey Juice That was suppose to be a disco club. But heck!!! Nobody listens to disco for like couple hundred years already? If not cultural-databanks on sleeper ships he would have not known any of this good music.
Megan smirked. Yup, he knows Jules. Project Monkey Juice was a big plan of his never succeeded, but this damn afro-freak wont resign. Its more than sure. Maybe he even buys a huge liner-ship to make it whole 70s style one day silly dreamer.
So whats your name?
Tyron Me and my brother, Faze2, stick with Rogues here for like a year now.
Any reason?
Yeah Said Tyron. You can get normal prized crack here, way cheaper than on Manhatan, so that means times of blowing for rock are done.
Yo!Said some guy walking in the canteen. He had eyes half closed, red and sleepy, his moves were slow. Colorful bandana on his bald head and a lot of jewelry on neck. Ty this bitch again tried to set me on fire!
Ye wife?
Whats wrong with her? All day yacking with her sis and she goes like Damn!
Faze maybe she wouldnt try to burn you, if you havent screwed her sister in a first place. I know this may sound weird for ya, but women get offended by such things.
Totally smoked pilot coughed out some long forgotten cloud of pot-smoke and stared at his brother for a minute.
Bull****
***
Hour passed and Megan enjoyed attention she received. Sure those guys were just simple thugs, most of their lives will pass while they sit on their asses here in this rusty old rogue-station, slowly turning into junkies, addicts of cheep booze, imported smokes, cheep women... but they are fans... still, even such poor audience was an audience and Meg just loved to be bathed in compliments.
But even a wrestling star gets enaugh of her fans and seeks some other entertainment. She went to check the dock and her half-ruined ship. In cargo hold her bike was fine and in one piece, so she sighed with relief.
Huge, black motorcycle - a retro softail land-cruiser with chromed bars and pipes, shiny and classy. Not a scratch...
She threw out some garbage piled up in back of ship and puled out long black guitar, still holding a cigarette in her mouth. Classic electric guitar, whole black - like her jacket and miniskirt. Long and heavy piece of equipment.
She of course returned to canteen, sitting on red couch she spent time with those thugs, jacked guitar in music set, crossed her legs, rested guitar on her thigh... fingers touched strings adjusting the right note.
Meg gave them some tasty riffs... on the very start, slowly, with tribute to blues bands she heard once.
***
"Where are you heading, citizen?!" Asked police pilot.
Jules just left trade lane in place he was suppose to and that immedietly alerted the police. They tought he might be some kind of criminal who leaves lane in order to sneak in junk-field betwean Fort Bush and Pitsburg and land on some lawbraker's station. And they were right, beside the fact Jules was no criminal... well... at least he didn't remembered eye of justice ever landed on any of his 'deeds'.
His small patriot fighter was completly modified. Some yellow and orange stripes here and there... brocate and music discs glued on the inside of cockpit... it looked like a disco-ball with little colorful wings.
"What is yo busines?!" Jules sounded offended. "I'm here to collect junk... is that what you wanna hear?"
"Speak truth, citizen!"
"The truth is mister-allmighty-monkey-ass-authority, I got wife, three kids to feed and collecting junk Is all I got left! You white asses don't let me get a decent job, I got fired for some white bitch decided black brother not to be efficient enaugh, cuz I was gettin late for job, well Hell! I got like four pie-holls to stuff, ya know what I'm sayin'?! Yes! That is only way a decen't black man can survive you racist bastards! By collecting junk you guys left. Happy now, vanila-face?! Are you happy that a nigga collects junk your fathers left in this field?! You want me to be grateful?! You want me to lick your boots, mistah-PO-lisss, for allowing me to live on your leftovers?!"
"Alright, citizen, calm down..." Police officer inside Deffender-fighter vessel responded bit confused with his answer.
"Don't tell me to calm down! Tell it to my wife! She wil be all over my ass If I don't collect something worthy gettng bread for, ad I tell ya, she is one mad momma! Than I gotta fly little rodney to school and beg for cash for his kneeoperation in social security office, ya know why?! Cause I don't have a job, mutha'****a, that's why!"
He heared how both police officers feel bad about him and sigh heavily.
"Fine, sir. Move along. We are sorry we stopped you."
"You damn be sorry!" Said Jules and turned off comm channel when they both left.
He simply laughed them out and with happy smile returned to slow fly towards rogues-station. It works all the time. Jules checked the hour on his pure-gold watch, a piece of jewelry no white-boy in police can ever afford and laughed once again.
"Are you dead yet?" Meg asks a person who she just kicked in face. "Ohh... may I finish your whisky than? Guess you got nothing against, eh?"
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