by S E Zbasnik
It could have fooled any cut rate minion or poorly educated villain, but Umai was no fool -- of that he was certain. The human would pay for questioning that certainty. The door slid silently, as if it were prepared for the slaughter about to happen.
Light lapped against the grungy windows from a fire burning in the middle of the room, but sensitive eyes hunted through the shadows. She would never be so bold as to frame herself by the flame. No, this prey was tricky. He liked tricky, it made killing it so much more rewarding.
A pistol dropped into the Kistune's hand, yanked from the trapped fingers of the troll he'd exhume in the morning. He steadied his breathing when a crack scattered across the room. Umai spun the red light of the gun's scope towards the sound, landing upon a tossed bolt.
"You are here, as am I," he cooed into the darkness. "Why waste time with such cat and dog games when we can end it quickly?"
Another thunk reverberated through the room, but Umai didn't focus on where it landed. His ears pricked from where it dropped and he watched as a shadow, darker than the ones cast by the dead building, scattered to the right. Kitsunes wore terrifying smiles. Not because the pull of their lips naturally exposed their canines, or that it narrowed their already almond eyes to slits. No, they were known for the blood curdling smile because one only did it when they were about to destroy someone.
"Come now, the games are fun but surely you grow tired, yes? Your legs are leaden? Your blood is slow? Or does it yet dribble down your hip?" His voice echoed through the building, scattering from one position to another as the kitsune remained perfectly still. One of many skills he acquired at this job.
Another bolt zipped through the air, landing near where he would have been standing by the trajectory fraudulently voice's echo. He curled around behind it hunting for the thrower, but when he came to the spot only a lone scrap of metal shook upon the floor.
"Marek, now!" her voice cut through the air, and Umai looked up just as a set of levitating machinery began its descent to the earth. In the low gravity, the kitsune had plenty of time to roll out of the way, tucking his tails beneath him and rising as the machine tore through the floor crashing towards the basement without an Umai crushed below.
"Oh shit, oh shit, it missed!" she screamed in the darkness, revealing her position. Umai grinned, turning slowly towards the firelight where the human stood outlined as she limped towards the shadows.
"I am coming for you human."
"Marek!" she cried beyond reproach, "Help me!"
The sound of running footsteps reverberated across the empty factory floor as her only salvation did what cowards did best. "He has left you, human. Only you and I remain." The kitsune aimed his pistol slowly, he wasn't the best shot, but the prey stopped moving. She had nowhere to go.
Umai pulled the trigger in rapid succession, but the air shimmered around her failing to tear apart her insides and splatter the walls in her blood. Each energy blast evaporated back into the air it was drawn from. "A shield. Clever girl," the kitsune said, tossing the gun aside as he unsheathed a mace. The ball was coated in trident spikes to inflict the most damage. "You had your chance to make this easy," Umai taunted as he easily closed the space between them.
The prey looked around for something, anything to prolong her life, as she backed up more, stumbling through some passageway in between the cylindrical scraps of mechanoid remnants. "I will not lie," the Kitsune gloated, "I am planning on enjoying this."
He stood just before the machine entrance, the mace raised in his palm as she struggled to limp away, the pain of his wound limiting her movement. Well, it shouldn't be much of a problem soon. "Child," he called condescendingly to the girl as she stopped and turned to face him, "embrace your end with a modicum of grace."
The human stopped, and for the first time he saw the power of the Crests fall upon her face. She stood up to her full height, did not bow or break, didn't even flinch as his claws grasped onto her collar pulling her face towards him.
Umai raised the mace high and laughed, a high titter as if he'd worked out some joke hours in the telling. "Do you want to know a secret?" The knight didn't shake her head one way or the other, her eyes were focused upon the imminent cause of her destruction. "I had four of my tails surgically removed."
Then the human's fist launched forward and grabbed onto Kitsune's morph suit, dragging him closer to her own face. She eyeballed him up and down then cocked her head to one side. "I know, I counted the scars."
His eyes zipped away from her snarling face, and Umai noticed a knot of rope inside her hand. He pulled his mace back preparing for a swing, but she yanked down on the knot, pulling upon a hidden wench that lifted her body up. The kitsune moved to pursue, but the human pushed a box hidden inside her other hand. Where was she keeping these things?! A shield snapped in place instantaneously to trap Umai inside the mechanical device and whatever trap she'd lured him into. He pushed his nose up to the invisible glass and watched her legs rising slowly into the rafters where the silver human joined her, a few bolts scattering from his fingers as he did.
"This is not the last you've heard of me," Umai shouted to the pair hovering above him. Then a grinding noise reverberated from below his feet, screaming in anger at having to awake after a century slumber. Perhaps a bit too late, the kitsune wondered just what this warehouse was used for.
The gravity mixer took a good minute to heat up, coughing and sputtering at the indignity of coming out of retirement, but it built first to 1 atmos, then 2, 5, 200...at 5,000 Variel pushed the second button releasing the full force of gravity upon the trapped kitsune. The crackle of shattered noodles and pops of balloons filled with were all that remained of Mr Umai.
Taliesin slid the door shut, a sack of purchased medicine hanging off his neck inside a borrowed bag. The two hired hands of their kitsune boss hadn't proved much of a challenge -- it was adjusting for the tax on this planet as he kept a boot pressed into one's bleeding face that proved trickier. Was an oral antibiotic food or a health care supply?
A shining orb of meat held his arms open as Variel descended from the rafters. Marek caught her and she tapped him on the shoulder to let go. Breath the elf didn't realize he held returned while she unknotted the rope around her midsection and stared up into the ceiling. The male human tossed a few bolts towards the barrier of the gravity machine and ducked when they shot back.
Variel glared at him and passed over the control box. "Hold this," she said. "My PALM won't stop playing the 'running footsteps' audio on repeat. I have to reboot the whole thing." She punched her right fist into her left hand, the system crashing from the force.
Taliesin walked into the firelight, his nervous fingers yanking off the bag of goodies. "Did the plan work?"
She glanced up from her malfunctioning hand implant and smiled so warmly Taliesin's toes curled inside his cold shoes. "Take a look for yourself," she said gesturing to the gravity well.
It appeared as if someone attempted to create a life sized replica of a humanoid in a gelatin mold, then removed it from the fridge too early sending all the chunky, red globules crashing to the floor. Bits even jiggled as the internal gravity wavered from the aging machine. "I am impressed," Taliesin said.
"I am impressive," Variel responded smugly placing her hand on her hip and then remembering why that was an ill advised move. Taliesin rushed forward to try and catch her, but she regained her balance before she crashed to the ground. The fight must not have been as taxing as she feared but remaining vertical for so long took its toll.
With a secure arm holding onto her, Taliesin opened his part of the plan. "I have something that can help."
"You have any trouble?" she asked blinking back the tears of pain, or possibly whatever smell emanated from her husband.
With his head still bent into the medicine stash, the assassin looked over at her with his eyes and she waved her hands, "Right. Sorry. Impressiveness all around today. What'd you get?"
"Bandages. Ointme
nts for burns, rashes, and 'rock chafe.' Some Witches Hazelnut, Oil of Newt, St. John's Wurst, a set of dental picks, three arm braces, six bottles of isopropyl alcohol, one bottle of methanol, and...ah, apparently some latex balloons for children fell into the bag."
Variel only lifted her eyebrow as he dropped the condom back into the stash, "Planning on something much worse later?"
"With you, anything is possible."
She laughed and asked, "Get anything to shut down an infection?"
"Naturally," Taliesin extracted three syringes locked behind a not very sturdy safe. She raised her shirt and he injected the first into her side. Then he pulled out another marked with bright red labels and dosed her body with something cool, "And that is for the pain."
"What's a little more pain?"
"To remove it," he said, shaking his head. "You may find yourself a twinge light headed and...free spirited. Humans react unpredictably to ogre medicine, but it will take a few moments to fully absorb."
Variel smiled at her stomach, then patted Taliesin on the shoulder, "That's why you taste like rye bread."
"Or perhaps not."
"Hey!" Marek called, wanting to break up the indecent mating dance before it got to nature documentary levels. "Are we done here?"
Taliesin looked to his captain. She shrugged, then her head fell backwards as if her neck turned to gelatin and she mumbled, "Ceilings are like floors for your head."
"I believe that is a yes. We can recline and prepare at the shuttle depot," the assassin said gripping onto Variel's hand as she raised then dropped it, fascinated by the play of her own limbs.
"Good," Marek answered. Patting his bulging pockets, his eyes hungered over the glittering allure of an unpushed button. "So we won't need this machine on anymore." His voice was wistful enough at first Taliesin discounted it, but then he spied the finger heading for the "Off" button.
"No!"
Alas, it was too late. As the gravity machine shuddered back to its slumber, the barrier dropped and two hundred pounds of kitsune tartar washed across the floor towards their shoes. Taliesin leapt back, dragging the captain with him, but Marek found himself ankle deep in the gore. He was never getting that out of his shoes.
Given the never ending saga of the past twelve hours, the walk down the streets of Virginand was rather dull. The darkest of the night gave way to a bright dawn, the reds of the sun lighting up the sands whispering across the waking town. A few of the locals nodded towards the three people traipsing down their sidewalks trying to offer up a spot of tea, or crumpet, or whatever it was they guessed elves had for breakfast. Taliesin waved to them, politely refusing, as he led onward towards the depot. The male human scrunched his head down into his collar, a dark cloud above his head and a squish in his shoe.
It was only the female human who seemed ecstatic to greet the new day. "Morning is the best time for the sun to wake up. If it did it at night, no one would see it. Oh look! Gnomes!" She shouted as if she were pointing out some wildlife camouflaged inside a nature preserve instead of a quartet of gnomes in blue jumpsuits heading to work.
Taliesin caught her arm before she pointed and he apologized, "She celebrated a bit too exuberantly last night, I am afraid." The gnomes watched with a cautious eye as the human followed their movements, but didn't respond.
They scampered quickly away as she waved, "Say high to Grumpy for me!"
"That's dwarves," Marek said. "How long will she be like this?"
"I do not know," Taliesin said, releasing her arm as it dangled back to her limping side, "I skipped Human Metabolism and the Affects of Ogre Products Upon the System in school."
"You seemed to catch human anatomy just fine," Marek mumbled, earning his ear a death glower.
"Do you have something you wish to accuse me of?"
"A big, strapping assassin like you? No, not at all. I prefer my kidneys where I found them."
"I am not the one you need concern yourself with," Taliesin mumbled to himself fully aware that despite her being about five hundred miles high and dropping fast, Variel would gain those sharp senses back. Hopefully sooner rather than later.
"Hey!" a blot from far down the street waved madly at the three of them before picking up speed. Taliesin paused, and Marek followed suit afraid of being left in front. The blot gained a few legs, some arms and a very frazzled dark head with partially braided hair frizzing on the edges from a long night of someone yanking furiously on it.
"Am I glad I found you guys again," Orn wheezed. "They had me in the tank for nearly the full night before the shouting corps with bad breath thought to check his damn warrant system." With that update out of his system, the dwarf crammed the other half of a jellied pastry into his mouth. Through the crumbs he pointed to the elf and asked, "What's he doing here?"
"He is assisting on this investigation," Variel answered, her hand drifting near the masticating dwarf's jaws.
"She suspected there would be foul play," Taliesin said, praying Vari had enough command of her senses to keep from blurting out anything she'd regret.
"I didn't see no chickens about," Orn deadpanned, then he shrugged. He may have missed all the excitement, but judging by the smell wafting off Marek and the heavy lines below the elf's bulging eyes it seemed a better choice to sit on a folding chair and let two bored corps argue with each other. Only the Cap came out no worse for the wear, a smile wide enough on her face to terrify most clowns.
"Have you secured tickets for the return trip?" Taliesin asked pulling Variel back into an amble down the sidewalk. The others followed.
"Course, she's open and ready for another day of smugglers returning to their ship. I assume you have the stuff." The elf nodded imperceptibly. Cold as the vacuum of space as always. "I'm surprised you lent your services, Elf boy."
"I know why!" Variel shouted, her voice rattling a few charming old shoppe signs.
"Is that so?" Orn asked, leaning away from the captain's powerful bellow.
"Yup! But it's a secret. Shhh...." She tried to hold her hand up to her lips but poked herself in the cheek instead. Taliesin grabbed at her arm and didn't look at the dwarf sniffing around the possible hidden gem of eternal embarrassment.
"And what secret would that be?" Orn prodded.
Variel leaned down like a half stuffed scarecrow, her head drifting towards Orn's and she inched him closer. As he got his ear near her mouth, she shouted, "HE'S FREELANCE!" then she giggled manically.
Orn shook his head, trying to dislodge the ringing from her voice trampling his ear drums. With a finger in his ear, he asked loudly, "What's her problem?"
"Pain medication, adverse affects on humans sometimes," Taliesin stuttered as he buried the sigh of relief. Killing and disposing of Orn would raise far too many questions, and then he'd have to kill everyone on the ship to maintain the secret which was unthinkable -- there'd be no one left to play Chatters with.
The dwarf nodded slowly, "Yeah, might want to lower the dosage next time."
"There's an entire man in Marek's shoes," Variel said to the world.
"Lower it a lot," Orn responded, even as the human shook his shoe in disgust. "Come on, they probably have some tape in the depot. If not, there's got to be a misplaced sock to jam in her mouth."
Plaid leather slapped into the arm rest as a troll tried to scoot through the always shrinking aisles, his business skirt almost slapping Taliesin's face. The assassin dodged out of the way, his shoulders invading his neighbor's space. She only opened one eye and said, "If you wanted to sit in my lap, you only had to ask."
He glanced to the captain resting beside him. She'd been almost catatonic through the less stringent customs and seemed to fall asleep while the others slowly boarded. One of the shuttle service's travel assistants wandered down the aisle, checking the restraints of every high class passenger and thanking them for flying the only option available. Her hair was a curious mix of reds, oranges, and yellows probably meant to mimic flame but reminded Taliesin more of w
hen waxed colors would be forgotten in his pockets as a child. And once when he was no longer a young one. Brena almost tore a door off herself that day.
She dropped down to one knee and smiled, "Is there anything I can get you?" It was strange seeing a human attendant this deep into undisputed space but her smile appeared genuine and she did not shimmer in the glaring lights of a shuttle. Probably not a morph suit.
"A cup of sparkling water, please," Taliesin asked, wishing he could order something stronger but uncertain what returning to the ship would bring. Keeping himself sharp and un-inebriated seemed the prudent course.
The attendant glanced over to the woman softly groaning beside him. She had her arm overtop her eyes to block out the light, "And would your...assistant require anything?"
Taliesin turned to her prepared to answer, but Variel piped up, "Nope, the assistant is quite content at the moment."
"Okay," the attendant said, rising to her feet and moving on to the pair of trolls bickering over how retro the 'Dwarven Prince' scam was.
Variel let her hand drop from her face, watching the flight attendant from the corner of her eye. The pause as the woman waited for the attractive elf to fill in her relation to him did not pass her by. Though it did seem the elf.
It felt strange to be in high class with enough room to reach her toes out and not invade the private space of the person in front of, to the side, or below. It'd been over five years since she'd last ridden with the movers and shakers of the galaxy. Shuttle services were very accommodating to any Knights on board. They provided an air of class and discouraged any would be hijackers from trying anything stupid. It wasn't so surprising that assassins would be treated the same.
"Are you feeling more yourself?" Taliesin whispered to her, still leaning into her shoulder despite the lack of oversized passengers boarding.