Fight The Peace

by S T Branton

  I was getting the hang of chair-strapped-to-the-back fighting when the door crashed open. My heart sank, and I stood there frozen for a second.

  “No way,” I muttered.

  “Way,” Bentham replied. Thrash smiled a megawatt smile and cracked his knuckles as he advanced on me. “Sara Slick, I’m taking you in.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Before I could react, Thrash was on me, pushing me hard against the wall, and when I bounced back because of the legs, a fist the size of a Christmas ham came up in an uppercut to my jaw. I skidded back, trying to maintain my balance to no avail and went back, the chair hitting on its legs and sliding to a stop at the far wall. I saw stars in my vision and everything was cloudy when I heard Bentham’s voice over the fog.

  “Thrash, stop it! Cut it out. That’s not what we’re here for, and you know it,” she chastised.

  “Yeah, Thrash. Stop your infant punches and sit down like a good boy,” I snapped before I could think better of it.

  Blood sputtered from my lip as I spoke, and I was fairly sure most of that sounded like a mumble as my face swelled. I was sure I looked like I was someone allergic to seafood who won a shrimp-eating contest.

  “One more word. I dare you. One more, and nobody stops me from ripping your head off,” Thrash began, but Bentham was already between us and holding him back. He had a mad glee in his eyes that told me his favorite kind of fight was at hand—one where the other person was mostly incapable of fighting back.

  “Word,” I murmured, and Thrash lived up to his name, thrashing around Bentham, trying to get around her. It took everything she had to keep us separated, and she eventually threw Thrash back against the wall and held out both hands between us.

  “Everybody, shut up! Thrash, if you can’t calm down, you need to go take a walk. Slick, I am curious to hear what you have to say, but if you make this any more difficult, I won’t be anymore. Then Thrash and these two idiots can do whatever they want. Are we clear?” she asked.

  I hated myself for it, but I nodded. She turned back to Thrash, who refused to make eye contact with her. His eyes were locked on me. Eventually, he nodded and Bentham seemed to relax a little.

  “Fine. Good. All right, then. So, let’s start over. Why were you after Cabot?” she questioned.

  “I wasn’t after her. I was trying to help her,” I told her, conveniently leaving out the whole Far weapon I found under her pillow. The less Thrash and Bentham knew about my mission, the better.

  “Trying to help her by stabbing her with a giant knife?” She pulled out the rune knife in a plastic bag from her briefcase.

  I gaped at it but didn’t say anything. If they wanted to pin me for this, I would take it. For now.

  “Not mine.” I tried to put my hands up in innocence. The zip-ties kind of ruined the effect.

  There was silence for a moment as Bentham stared at me, assuming I was going to continue my defense. When I didn’t, she sighed and put the bag back down.

  “Thrash, get these two out of here. I want to talk to her. You can come back when they’re gone,” she said.

  Thrash looked at her like he was going to protest. Something about the way she looked back at him changed his mind, and he corralled the two men who were trying to get to their feet and figure out what had happened.

  He escorted them to the door and went out with them and Bentham turned back to me. “Slick, you know the Philosophers Guild routinely monitors human law enforcement. As soon as your description came up, we were notified. You had to know this was a bad idea, but what I can’t work out is, why did you do it?”

  “Look.” I stared directly into Bentham’s eyes. Something about her made me think for once there might be someone who might listen beyond my small crew. Something about her knew that things weren’t right, and if I could get through to her, it would make a difference. “I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. I came here to help Cabot.” At this point, Thrash walked back in and stood beside Bentham. Undeterred, I continued. “Bentham, listen to me. Cabot is in serious trouble. There are people out there who really do want to hurt her. I was only trying to help.”

  Before I finished the sentence, Thrash’s fist crashed into my eyebrow. Bentham jumped up as he stepped back, blood on his fist, having opened my eye enough that I was sure it now looked like I was crying blood down my cheek. He held his hands up as Bentham walked him back.

  “Liar,” he yelled over her at me. “You’re a liar and you know it. You weren’t here to help her, you were here to kill her. All for your sick game. You’re a monster, Slick.”

  “If you hit her again, Thrash, I swear I will let her out of those zip ties and tell her to hit you back, do you understand?” Bentham threatened, inches from his face.

  “What is wrong with you? This is Sara Slick. The Sara Slick. Why are you suddenly babying her?” he demanded.

  Thrash’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his partner, and there was a flicker of suspicion between them. I had to make some kind of play to get out of here before it got too serious, and Bentham was starting to look like my best hope. I figured it was worth a shot.

  “Bentham, you have to believe me. If I wanted to kill Cabot, she would be dead. You know that. You have to help me get out of here and protect her, or else something terrible will happen to her,” I appealed. “Hobbes is after her, which means she needs help.”

  “That’s not my call,” she told me, and I cocked my head to the side. On the one hand, it was an admission my case was being pled to someone who was listening. On the other, if she couldn’t make that decision, that implied there was someone above her who could.

  “Who can?” I asked.

  “My boss. Our boss,” she continued while looking at Thrash. As she said it, the door opened again, and a woman walked in.

  She was tall and impressive, her hair in a neat bun above her and thin-rimmed glasses on her nose. She wore an expensive skirt and jacket combination and she walked into the room as confidently as any person had done anything in their life as far as I had ever seen. She exuded confidence and control.

  “Bentham, Thrash.” She acknowledged them with a nod, then pulled another chair across from me and sat, a folder stuffed with various papers in her hands.

  She looked at me in silence for a moment, then slowly turned back to the other two. She cleared her throat, but nothing seemed to happen as they stared at her rather blankly.

  “You can go now,” she directed, with that executive smile people in power use when they’re dismissing someone far below them. She turned back to me before they moved, and Bentham half-dragged Thrash out of the door. When the door shut, there was another moments’ silence as we stared at each other. “Hello, Sara Slick, my name is Rand. I suppose you know about Philosophers?”

  “Aristotle, Socrates, Plato, a couple of other morons I can’t recall off the top of my head,” I rattled off.

  There was a curt smile, one without humor, and she seemed to reset and start again.

  “I see your legendary sarcasm is still intact,” she sneered.

  “Legendary? I knew I was good,” I began, but she cut me off.

  “Enough.” It was one word, but it carried so much weight. Unlike Bentham, when Rand said it, it really seemed like there was no argument to be made. It most certainly was enough.

  “Yeah, I know about your Guild,” I agreed. “A bunch of trumped-up fascists who claim to keep the peace but only succeed in keeping everyone afraid. Who do shit to protect anyone, except your asses.”

  “I know who you are as well, Sara Slickerman. You’re a fraud,” she said flatly.

  I was genuinely offended for a moment. This was not how I expected this conversation to go. I got the impression a lot of people had that problem with Rand.

  “A fraud?” I questioned.

  “Yes. You purport to be so tough, so special, but we both know you wouldn’t have lasted a single minute inside The Deep without the traitor Solon.” Her expression grew darker.

&n
bsp; My eyes opened wide, and I must have looked like a cartoon character. I was taken aback to hear Solon’s name mentioned at all, much less as a traitor. What did she know about him?

  “How do you know Solon?” I asked point-blank.

  “Solon betrayed everything the Guild believes in. He allied himself with Nearsiders. He put our entire existence at risk and betrayed his kind. He was sick, and my only regret is I wasn’t able to execute him myself. Unfortunately, the Pax Philosophia forbids that. At least that Nearside-loving traitor to his kind got lots of time to think about it while he rotted away in prison.”

  “You stop talking about him that way, or I will—” I began.

  “You will what, exactly?” she inquired.

  “Solon had some time in prison, that’s true. Enough time to train me. Let me out of these zip-ties, and I’ll show you how fucking well he did,” I threatened.

  Rand suddenly stood. For a moment, I thought I convinced her to untie me, but instead she drew a deep breath and looked at me coldly. Her eyes were like icicles and her voice came out like the breath of a dragon. It burned so hot, you could almost see smoke.

  “You know, I never believed you were guilty.” My heart dropped. I couldn’t believe I’d heard someone say that. A Philosopher, too. I wish I had recorded it, but what followed after made every joy of that moment shatter. “I never believed you were guilty at all, but I did send those Guild Agents to round up your father.” Everything in my body went numb. “Maybe I will do so again. But right now, I have a duty to uphold. The Pax Philosophia will not be broken. Tell me now where your friends are, or face the consequences.”

  I sighed. I knew the game was up, that a life of rot awaited me in The Deep. But I’d gladly spend eternity in a cell than turn on my friends.

  “Go to hell.”

  She smiled. “You first. You’ve been more than enough trouble since your escape to warrant it, regardless of your initial charges. Sara Slick, I hereby order your execution. Immediately. Bentham, Thrash! Come back in here,” she called.

  The door opened and the two agents came in hesitantly. Rand turned to them and handed Bentham a sheet of paper from her folder.

  “What’s this?” Bentham asked.

  “Your official order. Signed by me.” Her eyes cut back to me. “Take her out back and end her.”

  As Bentham held the note and Thrash started to laugh like a madman, Rand opened the door and slipped out, offering one last look back at me. She smiled, and I felt the evil radiate off her.

  “Come along now,” she said in a sing-song voice. “Time to end this stupid chapter in my life.”

  Then, she was gone.

  Chapter Twenty

  Thrash looked nothing short of gleeful at the prospect of killing me. That wasn’t good for my self-esteem. I mean, it wasn’t that I hadn't encountered my share of people who found great joy in thoughts of grinding me up and turning me into filling for the Christmas pastries, but that was different. Thrash and I never spent days sharing a cell the size of an American Girl doll postage stamp, or been dropped down a chute into a gladiator ring together.

  Bentham leaned close to Rand as her eyes flashed to me.

  "With all due respect, an execution in this manner is against the law,” she told her.

  Oh, thank goodness.

  "That law only applies to Farsiders," Rand snapped back. Well, shit. "Kill her now or lose your job."

  That was a little depressing. Of all the times in the last ten years I had my life threatened or people had tried to kill me, it was never with the threat of unemployment dangling over them. According to Ally, it was a serious concern in these uncertain economic times. I didn't want to stand in the way of anyone's financial security or achieving the American dream or anything, but I definitely didn't want to be a footnote on a progress report, either.

  Thrash didn't need any other encouragement. He pulled my switchblade from his pocket and severed the zip-ties securing me to the chair. The relief was momentary, since he quickly zipped my wrists together, then followed with my ankles.

  He scooped me up and threw me backward over his shoulder so I hung upside down. I tried to lift myself up enough to see Bentham, but Thrash was too big to let me see over his shoulders. Instead, I twisted as I tried to reason with Bentham.

  Thank the Universe for oblique muscles and the workouts I randomly decided to do in the back of the RV.

  Lift, twist, speak.

  "Look, Bentham. Let's be reasonable."

  Flat.

  Lift, twist, speak.

  "You don't have to do this."

  Flat.

  Lift, twist, speak.

  "You know as well as I do this isn't the way things are supposed to be."

  Flat.

  At this point, Thrash jiggled me a few times to try to silence me. When everything in my head settled back to almost normal, I lifted and twisted again.

  "You said it yourself in there. You aren't supposed to execute people like this."

  Flat.

  Lift, twist, speak. My muscles were getting tired, and there wasn't quite as much oomph in my twist anymore.

  "Do you really want this to be the precedent you set? After all this time of being a loyal and effective Agent of the Guild, do you really want an illegal execution on your head?"

  I could no longer do the lift and twist, so I resigned myself to dangling upside down and instead resorted to hand motions to underscore what I was saying. The zip-ties reduced their effectiveness, but it was better than spending my last moments doing an ab workout.

  "We live in a time of personal responsibility, Bentham. You are what your actions speak. What do you want to say with the choices you make today?"

  I threw my arms out to the sides for a dramatic finish. Well, I would have if they hadn’t been zip-tied together.

  "My duty is to the Guild," Bentham replied.

  I wanted some sort of uprising. For the woman I saw in capris dancing at a music festival to find that glimmer of humanity inside herself and do what was right. The answer sucked all the life out of me, and I let my arms drop back so they dangled limply over my head. I let out a breath.

  "Why were you really at that Festival?" I asked quietly.

  Bentham had to take enough of a step ahead of Thrash that I could see her face and her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She set her jaw and lifted her chin slightly.

  "I really like Lizzo, and she was performing."

  I already saw the flashes of truth inside Bentham. I knew she wasn't a bad person, not really. Underneath the robes and all the pomp and circumstance, there was a real person in there, and this only humanized her more.

  "Come on, Bentham. This doesn't have to go down like this," I implored. "Tell the goon to put me down, I'll run away, and you can tell Rand I overcame you with some unimaginable force and escaped. You don't even have to tell him to put me down. Kick him in the back of the knee and I'll wriggle free."

  "I'm sorry, Sara,” she whispered.

  Thrash walked me outside into the night air. Above me, the sky glittered with a thick sprinkling of stars, and the full moon looked impossibly big. Its light was so bright it washed out the stars immediately around it, so the sky looked empty and endlessly deep. Up until then, I'd been trying to hold myself up at least some to stop the bouncing and flailing as Thrash walked. Now I let myself go deadweight and sagged from his shoulder. If he was going to haul me to my death, he would have to work for it.

  We made our way to a secluded spot, and Thrash unceremoniously let go of me. For a second, I hovered over his shoulder, somehow perfectly balanced so I didn't go either way. He poked me in the foot and shoved me backward so I toppled to the ground. My shoulder ached where I made impact, but I figured there was a lot more I needed to worry about soon, so there was no point in stressing too much about some bumps and bruises.

  I quickly got to my feet. They might be preparing to execute me, but they weren't going to do it while I was curled up on the ground in fro
nt of them. I wasn't going out like a punk. Bentham reached into her robes and pulled out a large, shiny axe. The curved executioner's blade glinted in the moonlight and seemed to connect seamlessly with the handle.

  "Holy hell. Where did you get that thing? Have you been walking around with it in your pocket this entire time? That is a seriously utilitarian robe design.” It wasn’t the best time to talk, but I couldn’t help myself.

  Bentham adjusted her grip on the axe, but hesitated. Thrash reached out and grabbed it from her, then raised it gleefully over his head. The sparkle in his eyes said he was ready to enjoy this. His muscles flexed as his grip tightened and he drew a deep breath as he gathered strength. I closed my eyes and waited for the rush of cool air that I figured would run down my back and shoulders when my head was no longer connected to them.

  Ally’s face popped up in my mind, my subconscious tossing up one last image of something wonderful before I died. Then my father’s replaced it. It was from a rainy day when I was nine and he grabbed me and took me outside to dance in the puddles. The rain cascaded off his thick mustache and flattened his hair to his skull.

  Thrash let out a roar as he pulled the axe down, and time slowed. These were my last moments, and I watched, fascinated as he moved as if in slow motion, his arms extending as the axe moved from behind him to above him, and eventually would move to in front of him and down into me. Suddenly, an arrow sliced through the air in front of me and hit Bentham. The impact knocked her down, and she grunted.

  Thrash turned to look at her, and in the moment of confusion, the world returned to full speed. He stumbled as the momentum took him off-course and the axe buried into the ground beside me. Another arrow zipped through the air, and it sizzled as it struck the brick wall behind Thrash.

  They were electrified and looked rather nasty, and Bentham twitched on the ground as the arrow in her shoulder produced a growing pool of blood and occasional sparks. I shouldered forward, smashed into Thrash, and snatched the axe from his hand. Archie and Pip ran out from somewhere to one side. I looked at the impressive crossbow in his hands and nodded.