Posts Tagged ‘Calliope Cervantes’

Coquetry Will Cost You

Friday, February 12th, 2010

“So,” the man said, flashing Calliope a charming smile, “what’s a nice girl like you…” He trailed off as he noticed her belt with its dangerous-looking attachments and her large hover boots.

“Oh, you know,” she replied to his unfinished question. “Sometimes a girl needs to unwind.” She leaned forward, giving him an eyeful of cleavage above the half-open zipper of her flight suit. “Care to buy me a drink?”

Back on familiar ground, his smile broadened. “What’ll you have?”

“Something girly,” she said with a giggle. “Synthfruit, little umbrella…”

He motioned for the bartender. “Tequila sunrise for the lady, please.”

“That sounds absolutely decadent,” Calliope murmured. “Can I ask what you do for a living?”

He coughed. “Commodities broker, nothing exciting.”

“Really?” she said. “I thought you were indentured.”

“Why would you think—”

Before he could blink, he found himself fitted with a pair of restraining cuffs.

“Because I’m with the IRS,” she said, grinning. “Bartender, can I get that drink to go?”

Quotidian

Friday, January 8th, 2010

Calliope Cervantes slammed the man’s face against the ground, twice. His nose bled profusely, but she didn’t feel sorry for him; he HAD tried to slice her arm off with a nanofilament sword.

“A sword,” she muttered. “I mean, come on.”

She slipped restraining cuffs over his hands, activating the antigrav so that he was pulled up to hang in mid-air like some ancient religious icon. Normally she would have used a belt, but this was more uncomfortable.

She left him, grumbling about his rights, with the indenture agent at the nearest IRS office.

“Have fun terraforming Titan, you miserable twat,” she cooed, wiggling her fingers at him in a mocking wave.

“You don’t have to be a bitch, Cal,” a voice said behind her.

“That’s like saying you don’t have to be a robot, Mack,” she replied, turning to face him. “We can’t help what we are.”

“Doing this job every day has made you a hard woman.”

“I was already the hardest, that’s why they gave me the job.” She yawned. “Now who do I have to shoot to get some coffee?”

Dinosaurs Are a Girl’s Best Friend

Wednesday, September 30th, 2009

Calliope Cervantes eyed the cute guard sitting next to her at the bar. She had a soft spot for a man in uniform; it was roughly located between her navel and her knees.

“Tough day?” she asked coyly.

“I swear,” he said, staring into his drink, “I swear that if I have to deal with one more smogging dinosaur, I am going to turn in my tasegun.”

“Poor baby,” she murmured.

“You know what the worst part is?” he said. “Their breath. Hot, sticky, rotting corpse breath.”

“Sounds awful.”

“And the shits they take! Absolutely unbelievable.”

“I’ll bet.”

He knocked back his drink and slammed the empty glass on the counter. “If I could get my hands on the guy that figured out how to clone the damn things, I would just…” His hands formed a circle as if he was imagining a neck inside them.

“Just what?” Calliope had edged closer and was batting her eyelashes at him.

The guard finally noticed her. “I would,” he said hesitantly, “show him who’s boss.”

“Why don’t you show me?” she purred.

A few drinks later, he did.

Robot and Pony Show

Monday, September 21st, 2009

You can train a horse to handle a lot of things, except robots, I thought sadly, my head bouncing off another rock. What had possessed me to try to ride one?

“Get back here, you coward!”

Oh, right. The guys with the arm cannons and the sunny dispositions. Of course, my brilliant escape plan hadn’t accounted for the horse bolting and flipping the saddle, leaving me hanging upside-down and eroding to death. Worse, it was a male horse.

I heard the whine of a pulse rifle and then a shout. This happened a few more times until suddenly I felt someone grab the horse’s reins and pull it to a halt.

A large pair of hover boots stomped into view, attached to a pair of muscular thighs, which in turn were connected to the rest of the shapely Calliope Cervantes.

“Callie,” I said. “Long time no see.”

“Edison,” she said, leaning on her rifle. “Hard-headed as always.”

Then the horse tranquilizer kicked in, and I discovered that the only thing worse than being under a runaway horse is being under a sleeping one.

At Least Death Only Comes Once

Monday, September 21st, 2009

“Damn burglar-proof doors,” Calliope Cervantes muttered as she kicked at the metal slab and, instead of flying into the apartment, it acquired a hoverboot-shaped dent and scorch marks.

Maybe he didn’t hear that, she thought. Inside, the sound of a tasegun powering up told her otherwise.

So, plan B. Calliope pulled a SCID off her belt and slapped it on the dent, then ran for the end of the hallway. As the explosive blew the door off, she dove out the window and powered up her boots, flying around the corner toward the man’s apartment.

He was hiding behind an overturned table, firing wildly into the smoke. Calliope grinned. At that rate, his weapon would jam in a few—

The shots stopped and the man frantically shook the gun as if that would help. Show time, she thought.

Calliope flew at the window, powering off her boots and twisting feet-first before impact, letting the momentum carry her inside. The man never knew what hit him. It was her fist.

“IRS, bitch,” she crooned. “Your indenture starts now.”