Let's Be Buddies A Jefferson Ball Adventure Book 2 by David Perlmutter Genre: YA SciFi Fantasy
Major Hamilton Pomeranian, once a highly decorated Star Soldier, has been discharged for a recently gained injury. Now forced into a non-military life, she is uncertain about what to do until reconnecting with Jefferson Ball, an old army buddy, and agreeing to assist her at her "job"- not realizing exactly what that will involve until it is too late...
An exciting story from the author of "Nothing About Us Without Us".
Her monologue was interrupted when another “boy” crossed her path. This was not a soldier, however, but a common criminal. Of the desperate nature that the majority of criminals were even in that futuristic time, though he took great pains to disguise it with the most aggressive of manners.
He indicated his social status most clearly when he stepped right in Hamilton’s path, whipped out a long knife, and directed it in the vicinity of her stomach. He was a figure much bigger than her, but she was used to that by now. So used to it, in fact, that she barely batted an eyelid when he jumped in front of her. She knew perfectly well how to deal with ruffians, from plenty of past experience, and she hoped that she could draw on the same well of experience to deal with him the same way.
“Well?” he prompted, in a typical, guttural criminal fashion.
It was an old routine for him, and he thought he’d get the proper answer for it. She, however, was unfamiliar with the demand, at least the way they did on Earth, due to her extended absence. She looked at him with bemusement, like someone willing to let somebody else act out a well-worn comedy routine that had lost much of its charm through repeated, dry and mechanical repetition.
Until she shocked him by delivering the punchline much better than he ever could.
“Well, what?” she answered, putting her burden down on the ground. “Explain yourself, please.”
“I think you know.”
“I think I don’t.”
He was nonplussed. Not used to having extended conversations with his victims, by any means, he tried another tactic.
“You’re not from here?” he asked.
“Well, I was born here, and grew up here, if that’s what you mean.” she said, without breaking a sweat. “I’ve been off-planet for a while. Work and all that. But I can tell, exactly, what it is you want. They make your kind all over the galaxy.”
“So you’re a Star Soldier, huh?”
“Yeah. Just got out. How’d you guess?”
“They come down this way, often. The space station’s not too far from here. They end up coming down this way when they’re in town.”
Remaking his original point, he put his knife perpendicular to her navel once again.
“And they’re the only kind of people in this here neighborhood that would have a remote chance of having anything valuable. On their bodies, in their wallets, or anywhere else they might want to try to hide whatever it is they got on them. Is that clear enough for you to understand?”
“Certainly. But, as you said, I’m a Star Soldier. So I know exactly how to deal with you.”
She reached into her pocket for her gun, the formidably locked and loaded weapon assigned to each Star Soldier on and off duty in cases like this. When other Soldiers- or, more likely, civilians, when they got drunk and thought they could get “lucky” owing to the “easy” reputation many Soldiers had- made life more difficult than it needed to be for them. The threat of being shot, with the expert marksmanship that each Soldier was required to have, was enough to scare most ruffians off without the Soldier even being required to fire the weapon at all. This was the effect Hamilton was hoping for: to drive the threat away. At least away from her.
But it was not to be.
It was only after that rash action that she remembered that, as one of the conditions of her discharge, she was forced to return her weapon to the quartermaster before she boarded the ship for her return voyage to Earth.
Therefore, she no longer had anything with which to defend herself!
Beneath her yellow fur, she turned pale. A fact not unnoticed by her potential assailant.
“Forgot something?” the robber asked. To which Hamilton could only nod in fear.
“Good,” he grinned. “That’ll make this a lot easier.”
She tried to evade him by moving fast, backwards, but he came closer to her with every step. Her doom seemed ever-evident with each advance.
The Singular Adventures of Jefferson Ball A Jefferson Ball Adventure Book 1
There never was a heroine like Jefferson Ball. And, thankfully, there may never be.
She is, simply, the most powerful humanized female dog in a universe full of them. Faster, stronger, more attractive to boys. Unbeatable as a lover. Unfortunately, her brains are not up to this quality, but don’t tell her that.
About the only one who can is Major Hamilton Pomeranian, the diminutive ex-soldier who is Jeff’s best friend and conscience. When she gets too big for her limited clothing, Hamilton tells her what for. And it’s usually only after that point that they are able to escape from whatever convoluted situation they find themselves in.
This potential collection will have readers both laughing and awestruck at the events that happen. And, hopefully, you will be one of them.
Jefferson Ball was drunk.
She was also, for good measure, scotched, tipsy, pickled, loaded, smashed, lit, hammered, jonesed, stoned, tippled, bashed, pixilated, looped, high as a Georgia pine, gassed, Harvey-wallbangered, flipped, up-set, just drinkin’, salted, hard-boiled, fried and [insert your own term for inebriation here. There are many to choose from.]
The most obvious evidence was that she, the most powerful human-shaped female dog in a universe chock full of them, was lying face down on the floor of the bar she was in- one of many ignominiously-styled establishments in her home town of Hugopolis. Clad only in her trademark monogrammed black bikini and black boots, she seemed much more like a typical skid row derelict barfly, someone who had long ago abandoned herself to the winds of fate, chance and alcohol, than the larger than life heroic- or, as her enemies saw her, anti-heroic figure she truly was.
Jefferson Ball possessed many virtues, chiefly of the physical variety, that she was wont to exploit in her favour, manipulative creature that she was. Fortunately for herself and the universe around her, she used most of them in the service of her kind. Centuries of breeding and body conditioning among her ancestors, coupled with some shady DNA and genetic manipulation at one point, had created, in Jefferson, a creature possessed of astonishing physical abilities, among them the ability to run a four minute mile in less than two, and powerful physical strength, enough to balance hundreds of thousands of pounds on her fingertip alone. Not surprisingly, these abilities, plus a deadly accuracy with the whip she always kept at hand, made her a very formidable opponent of the forces of evil, particularly all aliens, robots, and other supernatural beings who thought they could outfox her in the speed and muscle department, and especially those who employed those beings in a futile attempt to destroy her.
But, like most heroic types, she had an Achilles heel. Two, in fact- both of which she bore the scars of, though less than you might think given her remarkable resiliency.
The first of these was the more obvious and the more hurtful to her reputation. Boys of her race- and the males of any alien race she encountered- and plenty of them! In both the actual evidence known, and her own personal Munchausian exaggeration of her abilities, she was, indeed, a formidable lover. Mata Hari and Mae West had nothing on her! But, rather than experienced lovers, she preferred to initiate virgins- especially fine young things- into the ways of the world. It was common for her, during her adventures, to regularly slip out of a young male’s boudoir, having blown his genitals to smithereens (metaphorically) with her own, more powerful ones, and to leave him permanently longing for her touch- and/or cursing her to the heavens for tricking him into giving up his cherry for good.
As powerful and influential she was as a hero or lover, however, Jefferson had an equally colorful reputation as a drinker- or, more accurately, a lush. When boys were not available, she drank, and, even when they were, she drank. Socially and professionally, she drank as well, and this damaged her social status as much as her being a lover of renown. For this reason, most beings of her gender, despite her heroism, were reluctant to establish lasting friendships with her on two counts. She would, it was said, either steal your “man” from you with her charms, good looks, and muscular, pneumatic physique, or she would do so in a duplicitous way- by drinking you under the table!
It was at this point, almost on cue, that Jefferson’s sole female friend- indeed, the only friend of either gender she truly had in the whole universe- entered the bar-room, spotted Jefferson sprawled on the floor, put her paws on her hips, and exclaimed:
“So there you are!”
David Perlmutter is a freelance writer based in Winnipeg, Manitoba, Canada. He is the author of America Toons In: A History of Television Animation (McFarland and Co.), The Singular Adventures Of Jefferson Ball (Amazon Kindle), The Pups (Booklocker.com), Certain Private Conversations and Other Stories (Aurora Publishing), Honey and Salt (Scarlet Leaf Publishing), The Encyclopedia of American Animated Cartoon Series (Rowman and Littlefield, forthcoming) and Orthicon; or, the History of a Bad Idea (Linkville Press, forthcoming).