Wasted Youth 2
Title: Wasted Youth 2: Devil's Dance Floor
Fandom: Xiaolin Showdown
Pairing: One Sided Chack, RJ13xNPCs, Nana SpicerxMale Escort
Rating: Mature for sexual situations and naughty words
Disclaimer: All characters are property of Christi Hui, I make no money off of this, it just quiets the voices in my head to a contented whisper.
I finished this up last night in a desperate attempt not to think of other things.
Do you know how much it sucks to drive past a bay horse in a field and start crying?
Anyway . . . .
Jack Spicer stared hard at Chase, who stepped closer to the albino in an effort to be easily heard in the loud club.
Jack considered the phone in his hand.
“Your handiwork?!” he yelled, brandishing the object.
Chase arched an eyebrow as he took in the brief news clip.
“How did you leap to that conclusion?” He asked.
Even though the dragon lord only spoke instead of yelling like everyone else had to, Jack could hear him easily. It was probably some kind of magic, Jack mused. Trust Chase to circumvent the very laws of physics just to make himself look cool.
Fucking cheater.
“Well, considering the fact that you’re here; that means you’ve been watching me, so you probably knew about the quick fumble I had with Sir Gerald and I know you can throw a world-class tantrum. It’s not a huge leap,” Jack yelled.
Gold eyes widened.
Jack looked away and took a drink of his water. Subtly, as though he were only wiping a sweaty palm along his pants, Spicer stroked a few fingers along his belt and activated the personal force field that just might keep him from getting murdered horribly.
Chase sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly, then forcibly relaxed. The warlord shifted his weight to one foot and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops in a deliberate attempt to look casual.
Jack looked around as the action bared a tiny sliver of Chase’s stomach. The goth started as he realized Chase Young wasn’t wearing his normal archaic armor, but trendy club wear.
A black tank top followed every bunch and curve of muscle in Chase’s torso, but left his arms bare. Dark green cargo pants were belted around the warrior’s trim waist with a black belt. The buckle was a shining metal version of the eye emblem on Chase’s sash.
Chase saw Jack eyeballing his clothes and smirked.
“Do you like my attire, Spicer?” he purred.
“Looks a little bare,” Jack said a tad hoarsely. “Could use some bling.”
Chase looked down at his clothing. When he looked back up, the dragon lord had a black leather cord around his neck that was adorned with a charm in the shape of the kanji for ‘dragon’. Black leather wristlets adorned both forearms.
“Better?” Chase asked with a grin.
‘Fucking cheater,’ Jack thought.
“What is it you want from me?” the goth inquired carefully.
Chase grinned and held out one hand.
“A dance?”
Jack Spicer considered the invitation for a long moment, and then switched off his force field.
“Just a dance,” he stated, taking Chase’s hand.
~*~*~*~*~
“Hey . . . . what’s wrong with your hand?”
RJ 13 looked over at one of his drinking companions. The blond girl, whose name was Cheyenne, was poking gingerly at his forearm.
“It’s all hard . . . and there are these weird seams on your fingers,” she observed.
“Oh, that’s just because I’m a robot,” RoboJack 13 said casually.
The black girl, whose name was Maria, grinned.
“A robot? Why would a robot drink rum?” she asked.
“I can burn the alcohol in my versatile belly and give my batteries a break,” RJ 13 told her.
“Uh huh,” Maria said, still grinning. “What’s the cigar for?”
“It makes me look cool.”
Cheyenne was still gently manipulating the android’s left hand, testing the range of motion with an intensity only found in a certain stage of drunk.
“Cool prosthetic!” She declared. “How’d you lose your hand?”
“I didn’t lose it,” RJ 13 chuckled. “It’s right there.”
“No, I mean your real hand!”
“His other hand’s like that too . . .” Maria observed.
There was silence as the two women slid their hands over RJ 13’s body, testing it for normal human resilience. They could feel a chest cavity, but no ribs, soft flesh, but no veins or tendons, and a rock hard physique, but no muscles.
“You’re really a robot?” Maria asked.
“Like . . . like . . like . . . that thing!” Cheyenne pointed to the TV at the end of the bar, which was showing the latest trend in robotic toy dogs. In this case, robotic toy dogs that had been programmed to play soccer.
RJ 13 considered the simplistic machines in silence as the two girls on either side of him continued to poke at his seams.
“When I consider things like that, I start to think that I don’t like the word ‘robot’,” he announced quietly.
“You just said you were a robot,” Maria observed.
“Ye-ah. But it would be like you saying you’re a mammal. It’s true, but it doesn’t really tell the whole story, does it?” RJ 13 asked. “You’re a young, upper-middle class Colombian woman of Afro-Caribe decent. The word robot means ‘a machine that does human-like tasks on demand’. I do way more than that. I can think on my own. I can make decisions; I can reprogram myself, I can even rearrange my physical composition to a limited amount, thanks to Master Jack’s prototype nano bots. I can feel. I can fuck. I can feel like I need a fuck. Do you think that ASIMO retard can do that?”
“So, if she’s a ‘young, upper-middle class Colombian woman of Afro-Caribe decent’, what would you be?” Cheyenne asked.
RoboJack Unit 13 considered this carefully.
“I’m a ‘semi-autonomous, artificially intelligent, limited-nanofunction, human form mecha construct’,” he declared.
“Kind of a mouthful,” Maria opined, leaning against his shoulder. “What do we call you for short?”
“’Bad ass mecha’” RJ 13 told her.
Both girls giggled and snorted.
“So . . . . you said you can fuck . . . . are you anatomically correct?” Cheyenne asked, snaking a hand down to the front of his trousers. “Oh!”
“Answered your own question, did you?” the mechanoid asked with a filthy grin.
“We need to take this party back to my place,” Maria stated. “You can even bring Daddy’s Girl if you want. I have got to get me a piece of the world’s first sex machine.”
“Bad. Ass. Mecha,” RJ 13 announced to no one in particular.
~*~*~*~*~*~
‘I’m dancing with Chase Young,’ Jack thought dreamily.
The albino youth didn’t know how long they had been dancing; an hour? Maybe two? Jack was actually starting to tire. He had taken enough breaks with other dance partners to keep himself refreshed, but with Chase he was afraid to stop.
If he stopped, Chase might actually stop and talk to him.
The music pounded, the lights flashed and Chase Young, looking incredibly delectable in casual clothing, faded in and out of view like a sensual phantom. Some part of Jack’s psyche squealed in delight and ran off on a fantasy.
‘He’s here; he’s dancing with me . . . he wants ME. Finally! I’ll be like his right hand man and favorite toy and-‘
‘He only wants you because you’ve moved on,’ said another, very blunt part of Jack’s mind. ‘You threw yourself at his feet for four years straight, served him, protected him and he treated you like garbage and ignored you. He only wants you now because your attention has been drawn elsewhere.’
The fanboy part of Jack’s mind wanted to deny it. He wanted to scream that it wasn’t true; Chase was here! Chase was with him!
But why was Chase with him? Because Jack had dared to get fed up with the dragon lord’s abuse and derision. Because Jack had tasted sexual pleasure with someone else. Because Jack was starting to respect himself.
Nothing says ‘violent psycho’ like the sweet sentiment of ‘I don’t want you, but no one else can have you either.’
‘Wow,’ Jack thought. ‘Chase is seriously screwed up in the head.’
“I think I just got over something,” the young genius muttered to himself.
Chase leaned in and nuzzled Jack’s ear.
Jack suddenly felt very sad.
Just when he was maturing, growing up, and getting strong in his own right, Chase had to come along and tempt him.
Jack could go running back to the warlord. He could throw away all that he had achieved so far. He could give up his chance to be independently wealthy for a chance to sit at Chase’s feet until the warlord grew bored with him and tossed him aside for the newest flavor of the month.
He could.
But fuck that.
Chase nuzzled his ear again, snaking out a very hot tongue to lap gently at Jack’s lobe.
Jack Spicer drove his elbow into the warlord’s chest.
It couldn’t have truly hurt the ancient warrior; even with Jack’s newfound fitness it should have done nothing more than illustrate the fact that the young albino did not appreciate Chase getting fresh.
The rush of breath that the dragon lord spluttered out had to be more from shock than pain, but he staggered back a step; golden eyes wide.
“I said a dance, not a fondle!” Jack admonished. “Behave yourself!”
Chase Young gaped at his dance partner. Though he would never admit it in a million years, some tiny remnant of Little Chase felt like scuffing his shoes and mumbling an apology. A much larger part of Chase’s psyche demanded that he rip Jack Spicer limb from limb for daring to strike him.
He settled on glowering at the youth with such anger that the whimpering youth should have wet his pants out of sheer terror.
Jack glanced away for a second, wiping his arm across his chin. The redhead’s other arm went to his belt and Chase detected a subtle change in pressure.
Jack had activated a weapon?
Jack was prepared to fight him?
“You insect,” the dragon growled. “You dare refuse me?! You should be honored I give so much as a bored glance to you, much less an hour-long dance and attempt a sweet seduction!! You are considered a freak by normal human society! You think you’ll find better than ME?! You worthless-“
“Do you have any idea how much of an abusive husband you sound like?” Jack asked coldly.
Chase’s jaw sagged open, and then shut with a snap.
“’You’re so ugly, no other man in the world will want you; that’s why you should stay here and put up with my shit!’ Fuck, Chase, you sound like my dad.”
Part of Jack was pleased to see Chase flinch in distaste at the mention of Mr. Spicer.
“Don’t deny yourself, Spicer! You want me, I kn-“
“I want you,” Jack admitted freely. “I’m man enough to admit it; I do want you, Chase. But I NEED you like I need a hole in the fucking head. You’re so fucking hazardous for my health you oughta come with a Surgeon General’s warning.”
Chase look of utter shock was almost comical. Jack truly wished he had brought a camera.
“I’m not some little Goth boy that still runs to your beck and call and idolizes you, Chase Young. You’ve taught me more than a few things about being evil. I’ll know never to trust you again, that’s for damn sure. But I’m taking my talent for destruction and mayhem on the road. Fighting for magical toys is what little boys do; young men use their genius to grab them some fat cash! So thanks for the passing attention, call me when you get some therapy. I’m gonna dance with this Lenny Kravitz look-like now.”
Jack backed towards a handsome young black man, but was extremely leery of turning his back on Chase Young.
After all; what had happened to the last person to dump the Heylin Dragon Lord?
“Very well.”
Spicer stopped, turning back towards the ancient warrior.
“W-what?”
“I said ‘Very well’,” Chase announced smoothly. “You have made your point, young Master Spicer; you are a grown man and not a child I can bully into fulfilling my wishes. You don’t need me. And you certainly don’t need my help in any way, shape or form.”
Jack started to get a creeping feeling up his spine; a feeling that said, in the most eloquent language available: ‘UH-OH.’
“Yeeee-eeeees,” he agreed after a long pause.
“I can respect that; you want your autonomy and I am more than happy to give it to you. I shall not press my unwanted attention or assistance on you again,” Chase said pleasantly.
Jack did a quick check for the telltale red dots of a laser scope on his chest. Something was up, that was for damn sure.
“Thank you . . .” he said, obviously waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“That being said, enjoy your new playmates.”
“Playma-“
“THAT’S HIM!”
Jack jerked around to see the crowd in the club parting. The music stopped. The lights went up. Standing at the other end of the dance floor was none other than Sir Gerald.
The British playboy looked a little worse for wear; bruises and contusions marred his handsome face and he was sunburned ferociously, as if he’d been out on the water with no protection for a long while.
Jack brightened.
“Gerald! You’re ali-“
“That’s the man that sabotaged my yacht! Arrest him!” Gerald roared.
For the first time Jack noticed the whole squad of Colombian police officers arrayed behind the battered lord.
“S-sabotage? Me?!” Jack squeaked.
“Since you’re such a big, strong man now, Mr. Spicer, I’ll leave you to it,” Chase said with a nasty grin.
“You sonofabitch!!!”
~*~*~*~*~*~
When Officers Alondra Ramirez and Citali Xochitl first responded to a noise complaint, they were expecting a party that had the music up too loud. By the time they had actually reached the residence, additional calls had come in reporting domestic violence, screaming, and the possible rape of more than one woman.
The two female officers made their way to the front door leery of what might be going on inside. Thanks to the open windows, they had a bird’s ear view of the conversation taking place inside.
“No, no more! I can’t take it! I can’t take any more!” Gasped a woman’s voice, sounding desperate and even a little frightened.
“Oh, okay,” came a male voice that was almost apologetic. “That’s fine; you need a rest. Do you want something to drink? You’re probably a little dehydrated now . . .”
“No . . no, no, I gotta go . . .” the woman whimpered.
“Are you sure, Cheyenne?” the man asked. “You look a little worse for wear. I’m sure Maria won’t mind if you crash here . . .”
“No . . .” Cheyenne moaned. “Gotta go . . .”
“Look, I’ll wake her up and ask her. Maria?”
“Nnnoooooo,” a second woman’s voice groaned. “No more!”
Officers Alondra and Citali exchanged a look.
“Well at least let me give you a ride,” the man said. “I’d feel bad if you didn’t get home safe because of me.”
“No, no, I’m leaving!” Cheyenne wailed, bursting through the front door and fleeing down the sidewalk.
“I could call you a cab!” the man offered, coming out onto the front step.
The two female officers were treated to the sight of a very young man with startling white skin, red hair and a tattoo on his face and chest. He was rather handsome in a lean, youthful way.
RJ 13 sighed, staring down the sidewalk after his fleeing sex partner.
“Geez, it’s not like I forced her,” he mumbled to himself.
The android seemed to notice the two officers for the first time. He gave first one, then the other female a long, head to toe look.
“Hi,” he said with a big smile.
Alondra was forced to hide her smile under a head-duck and tug of her cap.
“We’ve had complaints of noise,” Citali said sternly.
“I know,” RJ 13 said guilelessly. “I told Maria she had to quit screaming or she was going to lose her voice, but she didn’t listen to me.”
“That one was Cheyenne, right? How many women do you have in there?” Alondra asked.
“Well if I can coax you two beautiful ladies inside, it’ll be two more,” he said with a grin, backing up into the apartment once more.
Alondra and Citali exchanged a look and went in after the albino Lethario, fully planning to make this lustful youth show a bit more respect.
As the young man went from the dark of the stoop to the lighted apartment, Alondra couldn’t help noticing there was something odd about his joints . . .
~*~*~*~*~*~
“Fuckity fuck fuck, fuckity fuck fuck, look at Frosty go!" Jack howled nonsensically as he charged headlong through the crowd
Dancers yelped and ducked out of the way of what they perceived to be a very dangerous man.
"Careful of the crowd! Don't fire!" the police chief bellowed. "Just take him down!"
"Careful!" Sir Gerald cried. "He knows kung fu!"
A handful of officers already starting after Jack hesitated, and then charged forward, hoping to take the albino youth in a blind rush.
"I can't believe I sucked that guy's dick!" Jack growled to himself in disgust as he darted in between upright sections of chain link fence that supported the sound system.
Three cops followed him into the narrow passageway and Jack could see five more starting in at the other end, ready to catch him in a pincher movement. It seemed a bit overkill, really. This passage was so narrow it was all Jack could do to run through it. You could practically . . . .
Without really thinking about what he was doing, Jack lifted his foot for the next stride, but instead of planting it on the floor, he jammed the treads of his bondage boots into the chain link and kicked up. The next step he was able to jam the other foot into the opposite panel of chain link and kick himself higher. As the cop gawked, their quarry ran up the chain link panels, grasped the bottom of the access catwalk a full story above the dance floor and flip himself over it as neatly as if the whole stunt had been choreographed.
A few people on the dance floor burst into applause.
Tucked into a recessed corner, nearly invisible in the darkness, a sculpted eyebrow rose. Chase had assumed Jack had been exercising because of the new muscles he had seen in the Eye Spy Orb. The dragonlord hadn't been aware that the youth had been training.
It was blatantly obvious to his expert eyes; the way Jack held himself and the poses his lithe form twisted into. It practically screamed 'Monkey Style Kung Fu'. Jack was trying to turn himself into a warrior.
Jack ran easily along the access catwalk. It was actually a little wider than the rigging up to the main mast on The Spice of Lifeand it wasn't heaving and swaying like a horse at full gallop while gale force winds tried to tear him off.
It was kind of . . . . easy.
Before Spicer could get cocky about the whole thing, he hopped the rail onto the actual balcony that looked down onto the dance floor and darted for the back stairs. At least six police officers were charging up it. Again, Jack didn't think about what he was doing. He only thought about what he'd done when RJ 13 had surprised him when he was running to the stairs to go below.
So he did the same thing.
The sergeant in the front of the throng choked on a shout as one hundred and thirty-five pounds of albino charged to the head of the stairs and leaped off, launching himself towards his would-be captors knees first. Jack landed full force on some poor bastard's chest, knocking him back and probably breaking something by the strangled scream the man gave out. The rest of the officers were knocked aside like bowling pins. While they lay sprawled and groaning, Jack clambered over them and ran down the stairs again.
In the shadows, Chase seethed.
Jack was supposed to have grown just enough to pique the dragon-lord's interest, but not without losing that desperate neediness that made Chase so superior. Jack was simply supposed to be not embarrassing, not . . . not . . . not hot.
Jack doubled back, leapt over a few more railings, darted up and down catwalks like a lithe, sexy warrior. A monkey-warrior, maybe, but seeing Spicer launch himself at his opponents and take down six of them in one beautifully executed move was making Chase's loins tingle.
A shot rang out.
One of the policemen had decided to gamble with shooting Spicer while he was above the crowd. The albino youth was a glowing target up in the rafters at this point, heading towards a hatch leading to the roof. The officer's aim was true.
However.
The bullet richoted off of something on Spicer's person -- his metallic belt perhaps, or the myriad of chains on his pants -- and hit one of the club goers on the dance floor below. Screams started up from the crowd and the men heaved and pushed against the police officers trying to catch Spicer.
Only Chase, with his supernatural sense, had seen what truly happened.
The bullet turned aside before it hit Spicer.
There had been a green flash just as it turned, as though it had hit something. Was this the weapon Jack had activated when anticipating an attack from Chase? A -- Oh what was the modern word? -- a force field?
As the throng below descended into a teeming riot, Jack reached the access hatch and shimmied through it into the night.
~*~*~*~*~
"RJ 13!! We've got trouble!" the albino youth cried. He was taking the opportunity of the ensuing chaos in the club to slip away among the tourists. For the moment it was working, because the police were apparently more concerned about the riot spilling out into the streets than one little albino that was accused of sabotage.
Fucking Chase Young!
Creepy stalker prick! Being impossibly hot did not excuse him from fucking around with Jack's life! If it hadn't been for the dragon lord's little tantrum, Jack could have been pleasantly drunk and getting his dick sucked even now! Not running for his life!
Although . . . Jack had run for his life plenty of times. This time felt different. Instead of equal parts fear and adrenaline moving him forward, it was almost all adrenaline, a tiny drop of fear, and a skirl of . . . . . thrill. He had just outsmarted the COPS! He was hardcore!
But . . . he should probably get safely back into international waters before he celebrated.
"RJ 13? I know you're there; the phone is built into your head!"
"Y-Yes, Master Jack?" The robot panted.
"We need to get back to the boat! Sir Gerald survived and he thinks I sabotaged his damn ship! The cops are after me and - why are you breathing heavy?"
"My central core is very hot," RJ 13 answered. "Smug mode engaged."
Jack paused.
"I don't want to hear it," the albino decided. "Maybe later. And stop watching Red Dwarf reruns."
"Awwwww, Kryten's the bomb!" RJ 13 whined.
"Later! Get back to the boat and avoid being seen by the cops!"
"Whoops."
"What now?!" Jack sighed, ducking behind a vendor's cart as a police car tore past, siren wailing.
"I'm in bed with two of them."
There was a long pause.
"I think Alondra's asleep now, though. I could probably sneak out without her noticing."
"I - I don't - whatever, just get back to the ship," Jack growled.
"Yes, Master"
Jack growled wordlessly and hung up, more than a little irritated that his robot had gotten laid while he hadn't.
Fucking Young!
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
As it turned out, Alondra was sleep, so RJ 13 carefully picked up his clothing and tiptoed out of the bedroom, picking his way over Maria and . . . . the other police officer whose name he had totally forgotten. Crap; he needed to replace some fuses.
The android made his way into the front room and dressed quietly, leaving his shirt unbuttoned so he could open up his chest cavity. A wave of heat rolled out into the room when the robot's pectorals swung outwards.
"Phew; my core is hot," RJ 13 murmured to himself. "I'll have to tone it down next time."
Humming to himself, RoboJack Unit 13 pulled a box of spare fuses out of his pants pocket and started to replace the ones he had burned out sexing four women into the ground.
"Smug mode," he muttered with a filthy grin, heedless of Master Jack's order. "He can bitch when I start carrying spare heads around."
Wallowing in his own twisted sense of accomplishment, the robot never noticed the police radio in the next room crackle to life. Despite her utter exhaustion, Alondra picked it up.
Phew, his core was hot. RJ 13 headed back into the kitchen and opened up the refrigerator, letting the cold air hit his bare circuits. Mmmmmm, that felt good. He'd stay here for a minute before heading back to the docks.
"Freeze."
RJ 13 paused, bent over behind the fridge door with his inner workings bared to the breeze.
"I'm just trying to cool down a little," he corrected.
"Ha ha," Alondra growled. "Straighten up, turn around and put your hands on your head."
RJ 13 peered over the fridge door. The female police officer had her pants and undershirt on and was holding her sidearm on him. She held a pair of handcuffs in her other hand.
"Is this because I didn't stay to cuddle?" RJ 13 asked.
Alondra's mouth tightened.
Word just came across the radio that a red-haired albino is wanted in conjunction with the attempted assassination of a member of British gentry. So turn around, lover boy."
"I think this is a good time to mention my twin brother," RJ 13 said, still hunkered down behind fridge door.
"That was on the APB, too. You're both going to be held for questioning. Stand! Up!"
Reluctantly, RJ 13 did so, pectoral doors still swinging in the breeze. The woman's dark eyes widened. In the moment she was distracted, the android darted forward, seized her wrist and forced her arm up. Alondra fired three shots into the ceiling in the time it took for RJ 13 to pluck the handcuffs from her wrist, disarm her, eject the gun's clip, and handcuff her arms behind her back.
Some days it was good to be a kung fu master.
Alondra screeched profanities in Spanish as RJ 13 laid her carefully onto the small couch in the front room.
"Sorry, but I really have to go now. You were great, though," the robot said, though she weren't trying to kick him in the balls.
RJ 13 pushed his chest cabinet closed and buttoned up his shirt. He went to the door and stepped outside.
Into a circle of police officers.
"Well, hell," the robot sighed.
~*~*~*~
Jack peered around a corner. There were cops stationed at the entrance to the docks. They were checking IDs, but Jack noticed they didn't seem all that keen on the activity; it looked as though they just had their eyes open for any red-haired albinos that might happen by.
Fuck.
Jack might have some burgeoning mad ninja skillz, but he wasn't so keen to take on four armed cops all by his lonesome. Hmmm. Maybe he could call Nana and have her lob a hand grenade onto a neighboring yacht. That would probably distract them. Of course, he had already tried to call Nana and received no answer. Somehow, he really couldn't see Frederrika 'Hatpin' Spicer going quietly into police custody, even at the tender age of eighty-two.
If they had taken Nana, there would be more blood and explosions.
So, Master of the Leapt-To Conclusions Sir Gerald probably hadn't remembered the name of the sloop that had aided him. The cops hadn't been able to go to The Spice of Life and arrest Nana because they didn't know where she was. Goddamn, Jack could see his ship from here; he just had to find a way to get to it. Damn it, if only there were some way he could get past them without being seen.
Slumping back against the wall, he heard a dull thunk followed by a ragged scraping sound. Looking down, he saw it was his personal force field projector that had made the sound when coming in contact with the wall.
As he looked at it, his brain began running computations for him. Mathematical computations. He'd have to adjust the electromagnetic density to keep himself from slipping under, but if he fine-tuned it just right...
He'd be pulling a Jesus in no time; walking away over the water to his own personal miracle: a bloodless escape.
Just a few minutes later, Jack was charging across the road, heading in the general direction of his ship. It seemed to be working; the force field was spinning around him like a giant hamster ball and it looked like -
“You! Stop!”
Great; the cops were onto him. He just had to keep going and hope like hell this actually worked! The force field hit the curb in the road and bounced. Jack crashed forward against the wall of energy and flipped over the sea wall willy-nilly before flopping into the water with a terrific splash. For a moment he bobbed, disoriented. Jack lay flat on his back, staring up at the evening sky.
Shouts brought him back to awareness. Jack flipped forward onto his feet, then faceplanted as the force field encountered almost no resistance in the water and spun crazily.
The albino youth tried to run again, but ended up doing something more like very silly scrambling on all fours until the force bubble began to move. It went slowly at first, then began to gain momentum.
He could hear more shouts; from above and from far ahead. A motor revved nearby and a small boat bearing three officers careened towards Jack.
“Awwwww, shit! This is going to end one of two ways . . .”
The bow of the boat hit the force bubble and sent the field bouncing far up above the water.
“I was afraid it would be this oooooooooooooone!” Jack howled.
Arms and legs flailing, Spicer caromed through the air, crashed full force into the boards of the dock (no padding inside of a force field) and spun end over end as the force bubble continued its forward hurtle.
It only stopped when a familiar black clad figure opened his arms and grabbed the bubble with a force no human could muster.
“Hi Master!” RJ 13 chirped. “The cops are shooting at me.”
Jack slammed against the front of the force field.
“I know,” he groaned. “They’re shooting at me, too.”
“What should we do about it, Master?”
“We gotta get back to the ship and get out of here. I don’t have the time or patience to deal with these Third World wannabes,” Jack growled.
“All right, Master!” Before Jack could protest, the robot hefted the force field - Jack included - over his head and hurled it in the general direction of The Spice of Life.
A long, high-pitched scream followed the albino’s course over the other docked watercraft. The android’s aim was true and Jack’s force bubble crashed through the door to the cabin of The Spice of Life.
Rather - it crashed half-way through.
The bubble stuck firmly in the middle of the doorway, slamming Jack against the shield one last time before he slumped into a bruised pile of albino.
“That’s it . . . . once I get another JackBot handy, I’m turning him into a juicer . . .” he wheezed.
Jack fumbled for the controls of his force field and deactivated it, sending himself crashing to the stairs leading down into the cabin.
RJ 13 was at the bow of the sloop, throwing off mooring lines as police officers converged on the slip.
“Nana?!” Jack called, staggering upright. “Nana, we’re leaving!”
The youth paused by the door to his grandmother’s cabin and yanked it open.
“Nana, we gotta - OH GAWWWWD!”
Jack reeled away from the door clutching his stomach and dry-heaving.
“Our Jackie! Learn to knock!” Nana Spicer ordered.
Jack gagged loudly from his spot on the floor.
“Th-the Nazi hunters are here, Nana!” he yelled. “We’re leaving!”
Not really wanting to discuss or even think about what he had just seen, the tech genius scuttled for the helm.
“RJ 13! Get your mainframe down here! We need to get this ship ready to fly!”
Jack leapt into the captain’s chair, started the engines and threw them into reverse. The Spice of Life lurched away from the dock, scraping roughly against the side as Jack turned the ship prematurely. Throwing the engines into forward gear, the young albino headed for open water just as fast as possible. Police boats were heading towards them even now.
RJ 13 loped up from the rear of the ship, nearly colliding with a mostly-naked young man that was forcibly ejected from Nana Spicer’s cabin.
The young man was babbling excitedly in rapid-fire Spanish. RJ 13 listened to him for a moment.
“Master? This man says someone owes him $1,000 for fucking your grandmother,” RJ 13 relayed.
Jack visibly shuddered.
“Throw him out the goddamn window!”
“You heard Master Jack,” the robot said.
RJ 13 grabbed the unfortunate hooker and heaved him out of the nearest window. The naked man overshot the deck entirely and splashed into the cool water of the Caribbean Sea. Unnoticed by anyone, the ‘glass’ of the window slowly knit itself back together, thanks to Master Jack’s prototype nano bots.
“Get up here and get jacked in!” Jack ordered. “We need your processing power to get airborne!”
RJ 13 leapt into the navigator’s chair. Two specially designed sockets plugged into the base of the robot’s skull and the android simply went limp.
“Airborne?” Nana had emerged from her cabin, (thankfully) swaddled in a silk robe. “You don’t mean really airborne, do you, Our Jackie?”
“Yes, we shouldn’t travel that way for long; it puts too much stress on the mast.”
Jack flipped open a panel and turned a switch. Hidden engines roared to life. The occupants of The Spice of Life couldn’t see the changes, but the police approaching on speedboats were astounded to see the masts extend, branch off and grow, extra sails that shone silver in the sunlight rippling open and filling with the strong breeze.
In the failing light, The Spice of Life blossomed like an origami flower.
Standing on a high building, Chase Young watched as jet engines emerged from the side of the vessel. The hidden engines cranked again and the mast tilted forward to lift the ship instead of pull it along the water.
“A flying ship. Hmmmm; you grow more interesting by the moment, Spicer.” The dragon lord’s eyes widened. “Though you will have to beg most prettily to get back into my good graces!” He snarled.
The engines roared to life and the sleek ship took off into the skies.
Chase Young snarled at his own frustrations and disappeared.