by S E Zbasnik
"It is a 'bard technique.'" He placed the air-quotes with only his voice, his hands clasped behind his back lest someone get too close.
"Huh," she lapsed into noncommittal silence, deconstructing his words. It was a major fears of elves that their own thoughts could be used against them, and all the more disconcerting when surrounded by other species that honed internal thought into a verbal barrage.
He shifted on his boot's instep, the fresh leather pinching his toes. "How did your errand finish?" Taliesin often saw the dwarf ask his wife how her day was. Of course it tended to lead to a string of expletives from the engineer, but he ran out of short talk.
Variel sighed, "Not too bad until the grey futchar sent me to a parasite clinic. It's--"
"A small medical facility that removes the life spore," Taliesin said, watching the shoes of the people before them. Footwear told an assassin much. Anything distinctly out of place, far too expensive or too poor, could be a sign to watch.
"You know of that?" she glanced over at the bowed elf, but he didn't look up, off in his own elven world.
"There was a particularly venomous protestor. He killed three doctors and escaped prosecution each time."
"I didn't think the Assassin's Guild cared much for small time murderers. Aren't you all about Kings and Dukes and other royalty flopping about popping out heirs?"
Taliesin chuckled, "Some join for the glamor of altering the balance of power."
"But not you," her voice grew cold, as it always did whenever his profession came up. It was why Brena need never worry.
"Truth be shared, I am far too young to receive such assignments even if I wanted them." Taliesin didn't raise his head even as he felt her penetrating stare upon his face.
"I didn't think elves left their tree until they were into their 20th decade. How old are you?"
Taliesin barked a laugh, a garble from the extended elven trachea, and turned to look her in the eye. "I believe you have asked the most uncouth question of an elf short of 'how often do you require the loo?'"
She smirked momentarily and said, "So, I shouldn't follow up with your bathroom regiment, then?"
Despite himself he laughed, a hard sputter from fluttering lips as he tried to contain it. For elves being the peak of social manners and grace in the galaxy, he failed miserably every time he was around the cap...Variel. "I am old enough to leave, but too young to return," it felt strange to release that half secret into the world. "It is my part of the Pattern."
"Oh, yes," Variel lifted her head back high as she gazed into the ceiling, "the 'Elven Pattern.' That every action can and will be repeated ad infinity until someone or something breaks the cycle for good."
"You do not believe," he stated it as fact. It was rare for elves to share their philosophy outside the species, rarer still to find someone who supported it. Most elves were unsurprised; the quick ones did not have the time or patience to watch for the patterns. A few insisted that letting the galactic aliens onto the path would damage it.
"That every action, every choice I make has already been predetermined by some cosmological calculation to keep the universe spinning? And there are no exceptions to this Pattern?"
Taliesin squared his shoulders, about to break one of the not forbidden but still more guarded secrets of the path, "That is not strictly accurate. There are those who fail to conform to their determination. A pebble in the river."
"A pebble cannot do much." Variel was in an argumentative mood. Most times she waved off any religious discussion as 'something she didn't have time for.' But today had not been kind to her mood and she wanted to burn it off on something.
"Depends upon where the pebble is located," Taliesin whispered. She was inching closer to him now as his voice inadvertently dropped. If the others overheard his sharing of their...if Brena! "Because of this danger, any anomalies are encouraged back into place."
"Encouraged with a bullet to the brain?"
"No, nothing so fatal. They rely upon shunning techniques, removing one from the river entirely and hoping, in time, the anomaly will correct its defective behavior." He realized too late he used they instead of we, but she let it pass.
"Everything is destined to repeat itself, that's the gist?" she turned to watch him bob his head. "So, you believe at some point in your long life, you'll once again wind up on another ass end of the galaxy station talking to a nosy human?"
He brought his hands forward and clasped them together as if they were in cuffs, "I have, and more than likely shall return to this place many times, walk these very noisy halls, and watch the suffering life within; but...no, I do not suspect I shall speak thus with another 'nosy human.'"
She shook her head, not understanding what he admitted about her and looked around at their little alcove. They paused near the handful of tables, most empty, and beside a gutted machine that dispensed a noxious liquid that claimed to supply MGC straight to the energyless cells of the body. It tasted of bitter regret and a soapy tongue to elves.
Variel scanned the crowd and began to ask Taliesin a follow up question when her eyes landed on something parting the crowds. "Fucking hell!" Grabbing the surprised assassin, she flipped him around, pushing her back to the wall and pulling him dangerously close.
"What are you..." he began to ask as he tried to lightly break free of her warm grip. In response, she wrapped her arm around his upper back as if initiating a hug and the elf's brains dripped into his boots.
She didn't look into his eyes, but she did whisper near his ear, "Crest, pushing through the crowds, looks like Jaguar from the speckles across her uniform's top. They always were ones for show."
Taliesin tried gazing upward, hoping this awkwardness would pass quickly and he could return to a nerve calming meditation, but Variel's arm slipped lower down his back as she wiggled beneath him to get a better look at the Crest. Seeds, give me strength.
"Tall, female, dark hair, far too long for proper uniform regs," she rattled off the description as if her trapped prey could do anything but try to keep from melting onto the floor. "Jaguars." His gaze turned down to watch Variel's eye roll. Apparently her particular human branch did not approve of the jaguars, whatever that was. Human genealogy was like trying to catalog the peerage of mayflies.
"What is a Crest doing this deep in neutral territory?" he asked, trying to breathe through his mouth. Scents could be his undoing.
"Exactly. She's talking to someone, oh no, I mean she's threatening someone and crap, coming over here!" Variel looked into the assassin's eyes and dropped her grip upon him.
He breathed a deep sigh, grateful to be free, but she shrugged her shoulders and whispered, "Sorry," before grabbing onto the back of his head and yanking his lips down onto hers. Taliesin mostly missed, smashing closer to her chin as she screwed her eyes up tight, listening for the tell-tale clip of a Crest soldier's boots.
The dwarves spoke often of "out of body" experiences, moments when they watched themselves complete an action, or experience a loved one's crisis from miles away in person. Many chopped it up to mine fumes and a propensity of overheating under too much chainmail, but Taliesin thought there might be something to it as he watched his own body pressed up against a human, the panic competing with both ecstasy and terror.
Variel's arm dropped from his head as she listened to the Jaguar slide a chair next to a pair of gnomes enjoying a rare break.
"I'm looking for any information you have about a ship," the Jaguar's voice was commanding, well used to pushing around things three times her size. "A derelict cruise ship, no less. It's called..." The captain went rigid beneath his fingers as she strained every muscle into her ears. He did his damn best to not go rigid himself.
"The Constellation Cruise," the Jaguar finished.
Variel bit down on her lip, also partially nipping his own, as the gnome pair admitted to having no knowledge of such a ship. The Jaguar grumbled but moved on, her clipping heels growing dangerously close to the pair pretending to ex
press their passion next to a drink machine. He felt the brush of the Jaguar's green wake as she walked back into the fray of the station, not pausing to interrogate the "lovers."
The captain's head turned to follow, his own face falling into her hair, and she cursed like an ogre pirate, "By the many fucks of the tentacle goddess!" As the clip of the Jaguar faded into the distance, she pushed Taliesin away lightly, shuffling out from under him. He didn't fight, but he didn't help either, all of his muscles afraid to betray him.
"What? What happened?" he asked himself, uncertain how he could explain any of it away.
But Variel believed he was speaking to her, "I saw the sword dangling off her hip. She's not just a crest out in the middle of deep space. She's a fucking Knight," and without launching into any more explanations, the captain made a b-line back for the ship.
Taliesin shuddered as his mind tried to retake his limbs, ordering him to pursue her. Something was shattering the patterns. As he slipped into the crowds with the captain all that reverberated through his shaken mind was I am going to require a cold trip through decontamination, or four.
CHAPTER SIX
Variel half drug her pilot down the hall into his seat and ordered him to undock the ship. Orn began to protest that he just about had Segundo on the ropes but at her glare he shrunk back and put in the call for clamp release. Whoever worked the docks didn't respond, only slipped them a number to fall in line. They'd probably be back out into the inky depths in an hour at most.
As Orn switched off the comm and began the retracting procedure he glanced up to his boss, "Gonna tell me why we're suddenly running like a pair of gnome school girls?"
"The inertia injector will not arrive for a week or so. We can wait out the time in dark space," she answered curtly, her fingers digging deep into the headrest of his chair.
"Uh-huh, that was a whole lot of not answering my question," Orn responded, still dutifully flipping buttons even though the station's computers handled most of it.
"Contact me the moment we break," she said.
"This wouldn't have anything to do with..." Orn's thoughts trailed off as Variel's form vanished through the quickly closing bridge door, "Well, ne'er mind then."
Variel bounded out of the forward deck, her fingers curling and uncurling as she tried to look commanding and not about to suffer a panic attack. She walked into the quiet galley and spotted Ferra curled up with one of the ancient magazines Brena brought on board. The dulcen used them as part of her act and boarded nearly her weight in them. Occasionally, the engineer would "relieve" her of one out of boredom.
"Afternoon," Ferra said as her eyes lifted from the garish pink magazine to greet the captain. "I'm taking a 'What kind of species are you in bed?' quiz. When they say biting do they mean breaking skin?"
"Elation's undocking, but we won't drop beyond cruising speeds," Variel added quickly, before the engineer rose up in argument. "Avoiding any unnecessary attention in dark space would be best," she spoke as if reassuring herself, but Ferra shrugged.
"Sounds good, it'll give us a chance to shake off that Vargal stench," and she returned to her quiz. "Damn it, succubi again. Those aren't even real."
"Right, good," Variel wavered, as if hoping someone would press her for information but Ferra was busy scratching out her answers and trying for a third time. Breathing slowly, Variel made for the shuttle deck, typically deserted because it hovered a few degrees below comfort. Normally that was to adjust for the adherent heat of any shuttles. Since they didn't have any, the deck was freezing and no one bothered to alter the temperature controls.
The captain stepped around a few old boxes, still unpacked, from when she first moved onboard with Gene. Stuff she purchased thinking it necessary for lone space travel before she learned to scavenge. Waste; so much of her life was full of it. "WEST?" her fingers brushed against one of the old game consoles installed to keep the richer customers from bursting into bored tears while waiting for a personal shuttle to whisk them off on a sanitized adventure.
"What is it, Owner 23?"
"Connect to the ether, find me a list of recent Knights."
"We're not close enough to an information buoy," the computer chirped, its voice filling the frozen void. "I could create a list from my data banks if you'd prefer. Every Knight is now named Carl."
"Divert through the station's buoys," she ordered, not in the mood for her twitchy welcoming engine's brand of obstinance.
"Isn't that a bit rude?" WEST feigned prudishness as if she asked him to unlock all the bathrooms on the ship.
"Just do it," she shouted, causing the computer to bleep to silence. It flashed a rotating planet for the loading screen.
Her fingers drummed against the wall waiting for her miscreant computer while she tried to convince herself she was overreacting. Five years, nearly five years and not a soul came looking or even poked into the ether about her. The body they formed out of rocks was laid in state and never disturbed. First Dacre, and now this woman asking questions about her ship. She glanced back at the loading screen which now had an asteroid crashing into the planet. WEST was gonna take awhile.
"How do you know she is a fresh Knight?"
Variel jumped, her fists raising as the elf broke from the wall. He seemed calmer than she'd left him, not that either were in decent shape after a headlong dash through Vargal's distinctive night life.
"The sword, she wore it upon her hip," Variel said, lowering her fists.
"I believe all of the Crest Knights carry their swords with them," he said, his trained eyes noting her dropping fists.
"Not like that they don't. Strutted out, within easy unsheathing reach is what the books say, but after a week banging the damn thing into every shortened shuttle seat and wedging it into gaps in floor grates you shift it in closer."
"You are quite knowledgeable about such matters," Taliesin responded in that layered way of the elves. Peel back each word and you'd find another seven meanings hiding beneath. He wanted her to know that he knew enough to be dangerous, which would make him less dangerous. He even tried to provide an opening for her, but she couldn't take it.
"It's good to stay informed," she responded meekly, turning away from the dark assassin to the control panel. Damn it WEST, get your ancient silicon ass in gear.
Taliesin seemed to wither for a moment from her dismissal of his offer, but he didn't turn to leave, his own eyes watching the screen. In the silence of the processing computer she felt the growing pressure to say something.
"I should apologize, for earlier on the station. Grabbing you and all..." gods, why was her mouth growing dry?
"Ah," he responded noncommittally, failing to fill the gaping void.
"I know elves have this thing about humans and I did not wish to violate your personal shield." Her tongue tried to panel up the silence, maybe decorate it with a few more framed "uh's" and "um's."
Her words didn't seem to soothe the cultured beast, instead he shifted back on his heels away from her. "It was a tactical decision made in the heat of battle. It is already forgotten with nothing to forgive."
"Okay, good..."
The screen beeped and WEST's impertinent tone chimed over a string of data, "I had to break through a firewall, an ice shield, and agree to a date with a security camera, but here's your list."
Variel scrolled through the search limits, female, not much past forty at most, a four on skin shade, dark hair, Jaguar, and one result popped up. "Sovann Vargas, Knighted in the service of King Blah dite blah, on the Lord's fifth birthday party. Some war records, but less than I anticipated for a Knight. The Medal of Triton though, and a seal of the HPF. Oh boy."
"Does any of that translate for you?" Taliesin asked, lost in the crib notes of the human military.
"Yes, if she's pursuing...us, we're in big trouble," Variel said coldly. "WEST, what's with this block?"
"It is a block. It places classified data inside an impenetrable wall so no unauthorized patrons can a
ccess it."
"Can you open it?" she asked, poking at a red box marked "Sealed Under Orders of OPIC."
"Perhaps you do not understand what impenetrable means. The dictionary defines impenetrable as..."
"Yes, fine," she waved on the mute button, as the computer continued to blather as was its wont since discovering ancient files from a Doc Johnson. "The Crest wouldn't concern itself over an atmo break across an unincorporated planet. And a Knight sure as shit wouldn't."
"So the mystery remains, what does this woman hunt for?"
The full force of an elf accusation turned upon her, and she tried to not falter under it, but her fingers traced along the scar, the damn piece she could never escape. As she was about to explain or lie her way out, the shuttle bay rocked, unpacked crates tossing to the side.
"Great, now what? WEST!" Another quake shook the ship, stronger, and Taliesin reached out to steady her without thinking. She in turn held onto him until the rattling passed. "WEST, what the hell is...gods damn it," and she turned back on the volume.
The buzzing computer raged into hearing range, "...And if you're going to keep me activated, you might as well actually utilize..."
"WEST, shut up and tell me what's happening," Variel muttered, her hand still gripping Taliesin's forearm incase of another quake.
WEST calculated the chances of getting away with explaining how its shutting up and telling something were incompatible versus her downloading its personality onto a storage drive and launching it into a star, and decided to answer, "We are being fired upon."
"By what?"
"A ham sandwich." The sarcasm matrix was strong with this one.
Variel paid her addlepated computer no mind as she deleted the panel's history and chased off to the bridge, the assassin hot on her trail.
"Orn, report," the captain shouted as she burst onto the bridge as another volley shook the ship.