Andrew Mackay: Pink Symphony

A spent, battered dumb bomb sat on the service counter. “Ah, good. Let’s see if you’re working.”

Jaycee placed the opened hole of the disc around the bomb and clamped it shut. The bomb’s fifteen-inch width held the contraption in place. Jaycee tilted his head and blinked a couple of times. The disc surrounding the bomb sort of resembled Saturn, “Huh. Ironic.”

He lifted his glove and hit a button on the wrist strap. “Calibrate one-one-eight, Decapidisc .”

A light flashed on his glove. A corresponding white light sprang to life on the Decapidisc, followed be a second and third light, indicating that it had been armed.

The metal device began to vibrate, along with a repetitive set of beeps.

“Five… four…” Jaycee whispered, keeping an eye on the disc. The beeps grew quicker and quicker, threatening to form one, prolonged flat line effect.

“Three… two… and…”

Beep-beep-beep… beeeeeeeeep.

“One.”

SCHWIPP !

The grenade toppled around. The top half slid from the bottom and crashed to the counter, releasing the Decapidisc. It clanged onto the surface of the desk.

The blades whirred around within the central hole and slowed down, eventually fanning out and back inside the metal.

“Good ol’ Decapidisc, ” Jaycee picked it up and planted a kiss on the shiny surface. “Now if that doesn’t get them to comply, nothing will.”

“Wakey-wakey, numb nuts,” Tripp entered the cell and swung the keys in his hand.

Tor Klyce and Baldron Landaker lay across the bench, shackled together by an ankle chain. The chunky iron bolts streaked along the floor, clamped to the wall.

Wool could barely stand to look at the men – Tor in particular. She held her jaw and thought of the time Tor knocked her out.

“Kick them like the mules they are,” she said. “Kick them real hard between the legs so they can’t procreate. No grandchildren for them to tell how painful it was.”

“No, Wool. We’re better than that. We’re not Neanderthals, unlike them,” Tripp clapped his hands, “Hey, cretins. I said wake up.”

Jelly snaked through Wool’s legs and approached the sleeping men. She sniffed around Baldron’s battered chest. He’d taken quite the kicking from Bonnie during the fight before the dumb bomb went off in Botanix.

“Jelly, no. Stay away from him. He’s a bad, bad man,” Wool crouched to her knees and patted her legs. “Come here, girl.”

Jelly wouldn’t follow her instructions. She turned to the men and let out a nasty, loud hiss.

Tor opened his eyes and instinctively kicked his chain.

“Hello, Tor,” Tripp said with a venomous grin, “Glad you could join us.”

“Hissss…” Jelly roared in Tor’s face.

“Gah!” Tor climbed back along the bench and grabbed at his shackled ankle. His eyes followed the chain over to the sleeping Baldron. “What the hell? What’s going on?”

“You don’t remember?”

“No, no,” Tor rubbed his face and grabbed the bench, frightened for his life. “No, I don’t remember anything.”

Wool placed her hands on her hips in anger. “Liar. Stand up.”

Tripp laughed at Tor’s anxiety. “Oh dear. You’ve upset her, now.”

“What?”

“I said stand up,” Wool stomped her foot to the ground and demanded satisfaction. “Do it.”

“Okay, okay, I’m standing. Jeez,” Tor stood up, eye level with the extremely furious woman.

“You don’t remember a thing ?” Wool stared him dead in the eyes.

“No, no, I don’t. What’s happened? Where are we—”

SMACK .

Wool punched Tor across the face, sending him crashing ass-first back to the bench. “Maybe that will jog your memory.”

“Oww, she hit me,” Tor held his jaw in his hand.

“Like I said. You upset her, comrade .”

A clunking of heavy footsteps rumbled down the corridor from behind the N-Carcerate door.

“God damn Yanks,” Tor kicked his heels along the floor with frustration, “I should have put a bullet in you when I had the chance.”

“So you do remember?” Tripp left a deliberate pause for drama, “Of course you remember. You jeopardized my crew’s safety. You sabotaged Opera Beta’s mission. I ought to put a bullet in the back of your—”

“—Screw you, American ,” Tor spat a lump of phlegm at Tripp and snorted.

Jaycee pushed through the cell door, deliberately slamming it against the tough wall. The impact made Tor jump from the bench in utter horror.

“Hey, Jaycee,” Tripp winked at Wool. “Glad you could join us. We were just talking about you.”

Jaycee held up the two metal discs on his hands. “Really?”

“Wh-what are those ?” Tor asked, fearing for his life.

“Oh, these?” Jaycee grunted and clanged to the two Decapidiscs together, “I’m glad you asked. Some people call them compliance units.”

He lifted one of the discs and unlatched the housing. An imprint displayed the company logo on the side in black writing: Priestly Enterprises .

“I prefer their actual name. Decapidisc. Sounds more frightening, don’t you think?”

“What… what are you doing?” Tor backed up a few inches as Jaycee approached him. He shoved the half crescent mid-section around Tor’s neck and clamped the disc shut, nicking the skin over his Adam’s Apple.

“Aww, doesn’t he look cute wearing it?” Jaycee bumped fists with Tripp.

“Yeah, it suits him.”

“Looks a bit like one of those things the Victorians used to wear. What were they called?”

“A ruff, I think?” Tripp thoroughly enjoyed the ceremonious torment with his colleague.

Tor fumbled around the disc and pulled the flap of skin on his neck free, “Oww.” A futile effort to a man. Locked into place and humming with life, the Decapidisc would render even the most hardened madman perpetrator beg for their mommy – and Tor was no exception.

“Wh-what is this? What are you d-doing?”

“It’s called a Decapidisc , Tor,” Jaycee lifted his right hand and showed him the white button on his glove. “We need to know you’re going to play ball. If I press this button, those three lights on your new collar light up and your head comes clean off.”

“Oh, sh-shi—”

“—Hey!” Tripp snapped, showing Tor that he wasn’t playing games. “Don’t curse on my ship, you pathetic excuse for a human being.”

Jelly moved back and hissed at Tor once again.

No matter where the man looked, he was surrounded by people wanting his blood.

“Here, Wool,” Jaycee tossed the second Decapidisc to her. “Sort Baldron out with this special necklace, yeah?”

“My pleasure.”

Wool moved over to the unconscious Baldron and clamped the disc around his neck.

Tripp stepped forward and folded his arms. “Now, listen very carefully to me, Tor. Are you listening?”

“Y-Yes, I’m listening.”

“Jaycee, here, wants to press the button and mount your severed head on his souvenir desk. Do you know why?”

Tor looked at Jaycee playfully teasing the white button on his glove.

“Yes,” Tor whispered as a tear of pink effluence dribbled away from his eye duct. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s too late for any of that, now,” Jaycee said.

“He’s right, what’s done is done,” Tripp added. “You and Baldron are responsible for the death of Opera Beta’s captain and my friend, Daryl Katz. You’re also responsible for Haloo. In fact, I hold you responsible for absolutely everything that has happened to us. Do you understand what I’ve said?”