Last Call

by Lloyd Behm II

  “The weapon has ties to the one you believe to be the Chooser, correct?” Call of the Sun asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Then by all means, let us see this implement of destruction, that it not contaminate our spellcasting.”

  Padgett had brought Thumper upstairs in a hard-sided case. He undid the latches and, bowing low—a move he had to have copied from Danny Kaye in The Court Jester—presented the case to Call of the Sun.

  Call of the Sun opened the lid and…well, I would like to say he gazed in wonder upon the object that had killed a goddess, but his face broke into a smile.

  “Ah…” He turned to Henry. “Believe it or not, this is a sign.”

  “A sign?” Henry asked, confusion on his face.

  “Yes,” Call of the Sun answered. “I was told by a seeress in whom I place great trust that I would know my decision was correct when I saw the rabbit. I have now seen the rabbit.”

  Call of the Sun lifted Thumper above his head. Painted on both sides of the barrel in the Disney style was a rabbit—a last gift to Jesse by a now lost member of the team.

  It was probably pure coincidence that a ray of sunlight penetrated the thin clouds over Austin at just that moment, bathing both Call of the Sun and Thumper in light.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 17 – Jesse

  Gibbs came back down to let us know the next level was clear. We all dropped our armor and rucks. There was enough room in the escape tunnel; we could carry our weapons. Problem was, we were down to about two magazines each—not enough ammo for a serious firefight. We were down to the old joke about the Germans on the Eastern Front—save the last round for yourself.

  I had a choice. I could carry either the thump gun or my M16, not both.

  “Toss the mighty Mattel on the pile of armor, Salazar,” Lt. Commander Keith said.

  “Mighty Mattel, sir?”

  “Your rifle. I’ll sign off on it being lost in combat.”

  “Yes, sir,” I replied, dropping the rifle on the pile of body armor. There were two claymores hidden under that pile. Sabo was going to arm the mines before he climbed up the shaft, and when the ghouls broke through the door, the mines would go off, slowing them down.

  That was the plan, anyway.

  Ocasic and Plant followed, then two of the SEALs, then the next two Marines, and so on and so forth until five of us remained—Gunny, Sabo, Mueller, Keith, and me.

  “You know, I always wondered why fifty feet of rope is such a big deal in D&D,” Mueller said, adjusting the bowline tied under his arms. “Now I know.”

  “I feel like an explorer in a bad movie,” Gunny said. The other end of the rope was around his waist.

  “See you in the break area,” Keith said, starting up the tunnel. Once he was clear, Gunny followed, and then Mueller.

  Mueller had argued he should be last up the tunnel, climbing one-handed. Keith and Gunny had both said no—for one thing, it took two hands to set the tripwires on the claymores. The rope, hopefully, would keep Mueller from kicking me in the face.

  When you’re the second to last guy to exit, shit gets real. I kept walking to the escape tunnel, looking up, hoping Mueller was far enough up for me to start. It seemed like he was always just two rungs up.

  “It’s going to take a bit,” Sabo said. “Mueller isn’t the fastest climber in the bunch with two arms.”

  “So who are you guys? It’s pretty fucking obvious you aren’t SEALs.”

  “You caught that, huh?”

  “I’m not sure most of the guys did,” I replied. “I’ve worked around Naval Special Operations Command before. Those guys might dress like spastic, grabasstic bags of shit, but I’ve never seen a Petty Officer call a Lt. Commander by his first name.”

  “We work for a security company Uncle Sugar contracts to do things like this.”

  The ghouls chose that moment to start battering the door.

  “So Uncle Sugar doesn’t have their own supernatural spec ops?” I asked, looking across the room.

  Ghouls were reaching into the firing ports, their faces pressed against the armored glass windows. It was like being on the wrong side of the camera in a zombie flick.

  “So what’s the pay like?”

  “I make six figures a month, most of it tax free. However, I’m on a team that does most of its work outside CONUS.”

  * * *

  His name wasn’t Sabo… what was it?

  Sleep…I told you this wasn’t the way to do this…

  It has always worked in the past. We will get results, be patient brother…

  Who are you?

  Sleep…

  * * *

  Something cracked against the glass.

  “Mueller, move your ass,” Sabo shouted up the tunnel. He turned to me. “Go.”

  I crossed the room and started climbing. I was probably twenty feet up when the door into the main room slid closed. Sabo wasn’t following me. I started to climb back down when a pair of explosions shook my grip on the rungs.

  “Well, shit,” I said, climbing up.

  It took about fifteen minutes of steady climbing for me to reach the chamber where everyone else was waiting—the last five I was looking at the soles of Mueller’s boots—he’d reach above his head and grab a rung, then climb up until he had to reach up again. The higher we got, the more he leaned against the wall of the tunnel to brace himself while he was reaching.

  “Where’s Sabo?” Keith asked as I climbed out of the tunnel.

  “I think he blew himself up,” I said. “He shut the door, and the claymores went off.”

  “Never figured he’d go out that way,” Keith said. “He always talked about retiring to an island in the Pacific, where he could watch local women and drink Mai Tais all day.”

  “I think he stopped them,” I said.

  “If they got through the outer door, it’s only a matter of time before they get through the inner one. The queen will throw drones at the door until it breaks, if nothing else.”

  “What’s the queen?” I asked, helping him lever a large cover over the tunnel.

  Once it was in place, we slid four-inch thick bolts in place.

  “Ghouls are like ants—there’s a queen at the heart of most nests. Most of her offspring are neuter.”

  “Neuter like a mule, or a dog?” I asked.

  “Like a Ken doll,” Keith replied. “They lack the equipment to do anything.”

  “Okay…I didn’t really take a close look at them,” I replied.

  “Most people don’t the first time they fight them,” Henry admitted. “Survive that, and you start to wonder.”

  “Mr. Keith, all that’s fine and good, but…I think we should concentrate on getting the hell out of here.”

  “Pragmatic. I like that,” Keith said. “How long do you have on your contract?”

  “Mr. Keith, I’ve got a wife at home. I’ve got plans when my contract is up, and they don’t involve travelling the world killing monsters.”

  “Most of the people working for me never planned on it, either.”

  * * *

  Keith didn’t offer me the job then…he waited until we were clear and the Aval Naviators bombed the building into ruins, and then made the dust bounce.

  Even now, he resists. The changes are too great, and he has no greed I his heart. I will do it my way instead! Sleep…

  * * * * *

  Chapter 18 – Diindiisi

  Call of the Sun replaced Thumper in its case, and Padgett closed it.

  “I believe we have one last thing to discuss,” Call of the Sun said.

  “Yes, I have some items here for you, Revered One,” Sola said, placing several work surfaces on the table.

  Each rectangle of wood was seventeen inches by twelve inches on a side.

  “All of these are local woods?”

  “Yes,” Sola replied. “All except the third are cut from heartwood—the first is mesquite, the second is bois d’arc.”

  “
And the third?”

  “The third is a combination of both woods,” Sola replied. “I have found that combining the woods gives me the best working surface. It ties together the strength of the mesquite and the flexibility of the bois d’ arc.”

  “Then I will use that,” Call of the Sun said, lifting the working surface and placing it on a folding table we had set up for the casting.

  Call of the Sun waved a hand, and a matching planchette floated to the table, resting lightly on the working surface he had aligned carefully on the table.

  “Samples?”

  Sola handed him fifty small black plastic canisters.

  Call of the Sun raised an eyebrow in question.

  “I have found for blind casting like this, these work best. They are thirty-five-millimeter film canisters, made of plastic. As much as humans have come to dislike plastic, it is useful. Unlike natural materials, it will not pick up a magic charge. Admittedly they are becoming harder to find these days.” Sola shrugged. “When I can no longer use them, I will find an inferior replacement.”

  Call of the Sun arranged the canisters on the work surface, finally taking a bottle of spring water from Sola.

  I have seen magic before—the wards Jesse sets require some input from the caster, while my own spells require components harvested at the proper time, under the proper conditions. Call of the Sun simply gestured, and the planchette rose again from the table, circling the canisters before tapping one of them lightly on the top.

  “Sola, if you would remove the canister?”

  Sola did so, and the planchette sank gracefully to the table. Sola handed the canister to Call of the Sun, who opened it, shaking the contents into his hand.

  “Was the item a Saint Michael’s medal?”

  “Yes,” I said, taking the medal back from Call of the Sun.

  “Now,” Call of the Sun said, carefully putting away the casting equipment, “I believe we have one last thing to discuss.”

  “Yes, reaching the Chooser,” Goodhart replied. “We, along with the Church, have been researching Mother Shipton’s ‘Ye Grate Spelle.’”

  “Do you have the text of the spell?” Speaker asked.

  “Page one forty-eight,” Goodhart replied.

  “Ah, that one,” Speaker replied after looking over the spell. “I assume you are having problems with it?”

  “The followers of Abzu and Oeillet are having most of the issues with it. Our researchers have been studying their failures to learn what we can to avoid a similar fate.”

  “A wise choice,” Speaker said. “We have access to much easier spells for plane walking. Spells that won’t, for example, draw in things you cannot control.”

  “I have to admit, that was one of my favorites in the report,” Fred said. “Not so much that they called down something they couldn’t control, but the fact that the survivor said they tried to negotiate with a squid daemon that was busy drying out and failing to breathe.”

  “Humans. Always trying to negotiate with the things that are trying to eat their brains,” Speaker said with a shrug.

  “Will we be moving large numbers of people?” Call of the Sun asked.

  “We think a small team would be best,” Goodhart replied. “Sixteen to twenty personnel. Since they have a personal interest, Jesse’s team, augmented with Fred’s dwarfs, is our first choice.”

  “So, seven humans and eight dwarfs?” Speaker asked, taking notes.

  “Yes,” I said. “Along with one dragon. She insists.”

  “That leaves room for four elves,” Speaker said, turning to Call of the Sun.

  “Three. One more Master of Spells and, hmm…two Weapons Masters I think.”

  “I take it you are volunteering as one of the Masters of Spells, Call of the Sun?” I asked.

  “Yes. If you would like, I can supply you with my…curriculum vitae, I believe you humans call it.”

  “Your abilities are well known,” I replied. “No paperwork is necessary. We will need to train together in order that we better learn each other’s capabilities, however.”

  “You’re going to love the shoot house, Master of Spells,” Fred said. “If you and Diindiisi agree, I would be willing to put your weapons masters to the test.”

  “That would be acceptable, Mine Lord,” Call of the Sun said. “Speaker, call for volunteers for this task from my entourage.”

  “My lord, you will need but one weapons master,” Speaker replied, bowing low. “Mine Lord, I look forward to crossing blades with you.”

  “Well, that settles most of the early questions, I believe,” Goodhart said. “Call of the Sun, if you would like, we can adjourn for now.”

  “I believe it would be best if we were to call for volunteers and arrange for their testing,” Call of the Sun replied. “If your data and ours is correct, our time is limited.”

  I looked at my watch. It was early enough that we could move to the training ground and test the volunteers from Call of the Sun’s entourage. “Call of the Sun, do you have clothing to change into?”

  He smiled. “We have adopted one custom of yours—the go bag, I believe you call it?”

  Forty-five minutes later, we drove through the gates into the training compound. It was just another day there. We parked, and everyone grabbed his or her bags. Those of us who needed to change, changed from business wear into work clothes.

  “What would you like to do first?” Call of the Sun asked, joining me in the ready room. “Spellcasting or the weapons masters?”

  Three elves followed him—Speaker, the second weapons master, and a final elf who wore a balaclava covering the lower half of his face.

  “Weapons masters, I think,” I said, seeing Fred’s slight nod. “Fred, blades or…?”

  “Oh, blades, by all means,” Fred said, pulling an axe from his back. “Speaker, if you would follow me to the salle?”

  We crossed the compound to what we jokingly referred to as the “Salle d’Armes,” a converted show barn. QMG training did not run to close combat—there were practitioners of most of the martial arts working for the company, but most of the creatures we fought were not things you wanted to get up close and personal with. Singh was waiting in one of the close combat rooms in padded armor with a blunted sword. There was an assortment of training armor racked along the walls of the room. Speaker, and a second elf whose name translated as “Sharp Blade Bane of the Orcs,” found sets of armor that fit and put them on.

  “I thought Singh could spar with one opponent and I would take the other,” Fred said. His sole concession to “training” was a steel helmet and face guard. He also carried a shortened Halligan tool that he leaned against one wall.

  “Whenever you are ready, Speaker.”

  The elves flowed into position, swords held in a proper loose grip. Their blades licked out toward Fred and Singh, who moved to block. They crossed swords again, and then a third time. The fight moved across the training room, first favoring the elves, then favoring Fred and Singh. There was a period where the blades flickered too quickly for a human eye to follow.

  The fight ended as quickly as it had begun—Fred kicked Sharp Blade into Speaker just as Singh’s blade broke on Speaker’s.

  “Hold.” Fred took off his helmet, wiping sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand. “Good fight.”

  Speaker and Sharp Blade shook hands with Fred, then Singh.

  “We’ll have to see how well they shoot, Foreman, but based on that fight, I’d let them cover my back,” Fred said.

  “Short range or long range?” Dalma asked.

  “Most of what we’ll be doing will probably be in close, Dalma,” I said. “Let’s go see if the pop-up range is free.”

  I found the pop-up range fascinating. Targets would appear at varying ranges, and you not only had to determine if they were a threat, you had to eliminate the threats without eliminating the innocent.

  At the range, all of the elves drew UMPs from their go bags.

  “May
I?” Fred asked, holding out his hand. Call of the Sun handed Fred his UMP.

  “Nine-millimeter,” Fred said, handing me the weapon. “Balance is the same, but for what we do, God’s own caliber of forty-five is better.”

  “You know, John Moses Browning said the pinnacle of his design work was the Hi-Power, not the 1911,” Speaker said, swinging the strap of a magazine pouch over his head.

  “That’s great when you’re shooting nutsy Nazis,” Fred said, “but you can fill a werebear full of nine mike-mike and just piss it off.”

  “Let them run the course with weapons they’re familiar with, then we’ll draw new arms from the Armory,” I said.

  The elves ran the range. All of them scored perfectly.

  “To be expected,” was all Sharp Blade said.

  “We’ll run you through the shoot house tomorrow, and then see how good your shooting is,” I said when they were done. “What are your magic specialties?”

  “I am a generalist,” Call of the Sun said. “I can cast wards, detect enemies, and use the spells we will need to plane-walk.”

  I turned to the elf in the balaclava. “Yours?”

  “Golden Circle has taken a vow of silence,” Call of the Sun said.

  “Doesn’t that make spellcasting a bit hard?” Dalma asked.

  “If it were human or dwarf magic, yes,” Call of the Sun said. “Elvish magic is based on thought patterns. If you can visualize the concept, you can perform the spell. The only issue is if your concentration fails, the spell can have detrimental consequences for the caster and those around him.”

  “Detrimental consequences?” Padgett asked.

  “Jesus, John, even I get that one—death. Death by death. Really messy deaaaathhhhh!” Dalma said.

  “You have the gist of it, Dalma,” Call of the Sun said. “Golden Circle is very good at two things—visualization and combat magic, especially as it relates to fire.”

  “Oooh, Fireball? Holt would have loved to see that,” Dalma said sadly.

  “Fireball?”