Point of interest - Canon - Jumper: Griffin's Story, by Steven Gould. Extract from Chapter 13.
I snagged Kemp by the collar while he was reloading, and dropped him in the Hole. When he twisted and fired at me, I jumped to the other end of the cave where I'd left my own equipment.
My spikes and cable caught him across his chest and pinned him to the plywood wall. It was ironic. That was the sheet that still said "Sensitives" on it, though the sketches were in France now.
He was struggling out from under the cable and I wondered if the charge was gone. Or if he was just tough. I fired another, lower, across his thighs, and saw him spasm. I put another across his chest and arms, and then another, shoulder high.
He carried his knife in a sleeve sheath, a mechanical thing that popped into his hand. He had a shock stick in his back pocket and six cartridges for his gun in the loops of his belt. I took his cell phone and his wallet, too, and put them on the table.
There were three different IDs. None of them for Kemp. I guess I'd made it to hot for him under that name. I took a jump back to the surface, and then to the metal ladder leading down into the mine. It stank - the dead coyotes were still there - but I didn't mind somehow.
I returned to Kemp and jabbed him with the shock stick.
Oh, good. I'd been thinking he had some sort of immunity. The plywood, thick, three quarter inch stuff, flexed like cardboard.
While he spasmed, I got a chair and straddled it, arms resting across the back.
His twitching lessened and I said, "Paladin. Hmph. That's an odd name for someone who goes around killing children."
I had his full attention suddenly. He hadn't been looking particularly good but when I said that he went pasty white.
"Am I not supposed to know that?" I asked innocently. "Which part am I not supposed to know? That you guys are paladins? Or that you spend most of your time offing little kids?"
He was staring at me like he'd make a mistake, like he'd thought I was one thing, and he'd discovered I was another. "Listen, boy - "
I jabbed him in the stomach with the shock stick, jumping forward past the chair.
As he went into another set of convulsions, I walked back around to the chair. "We got off on the wrong foot, I think. Probably when you killed my parents. Maybe you thought I didn't like my parents but I gotta tell you, you were wrong about that. Then there was Sam and Consuelo ... now I'm confused. Why did you kill them? Wouldn't it have been better to leave them alive, to see if I'd make contact again? Would Roland have done it that way?"
He began thrashing again, but it wasn't the shock stick. He was trying to get out of the cables. Was it the mention of Roland's name? This time I kicked him in the bollocks.
"Christ, would you settle down!" I shouted. He was having trouble breathing and he was making little groaning noises. I pointed at his groin. "Oh, yeah. And then you had to go and mess with my love life. That was really the last straw."
I looked back over at my books, the schoolwork, the novels I loved.
"I used to be a nice kid. Probably the kind of kid you're used to, the kind of kid who dies nice and quiet when you show up with your knives and spiky guns and cables and shock sticks and all."
I jumped away, back to the other side of the cave, where it lead out to the vertical shaft. They'd broken open the grating and I could hear them coming down the ladder.
I returned to Kemp and began stacking the propane tanks on top of the table, two rows of three. When I was done, I went down to the other end of the room, to my little twelve-vote refrigerator, and took out a pack of dinner candles.
I'd bought them with E.V. in mind, for a romantic dinner.
I lit two of the candles, dripped wax atop the fridge, and anchored them there, burning brightly.
Romantic.
"So, do you have a secret headquarters, Kemp? I mean, someplace where you guys hang out, shoot darts, heft a few pints, eat paladin cakes, and practice killing little kids?"
He licked his lips. "Alejandra," he said.
I kicked him again. Same place. "Don't even say her name."
He was reaching. I hoped he was reaching, but no matter what, I wasn't going to play their games anymore.
"Why do you guys do it? Why are you after me? Why do you go around killing us?"
He looked at me and I saw hate, and I saw fear, but he didn't speak and I was sick of hitting on him.
- Steven Gould, Jumper: Griffin's Story.