by S E Zbasnik
"Yes, I believe so," she shifted up in her seat, fighting the rush of blood in her head. "And the come down's not too bad. Dry mouth, a buzzing in my ears, and my stomach's inverting itself. I've certainly had worse."
"Good, good..." he let the thought trail off and Variel sat up.
"Why good? What? Oh no. What'd I do? I didn't say anything," her voice fell to a whisper, "of a personal nature, did I?"
Taliesin shook his head, the smallest of grins drifting across those tiny elven lips, "No, no. You kept your secrets to yourself. As you always do."
"Good."
"You did pat Orn's face and call him 'Mr. Fuzzy Stick Pants.'"
"What?"
"And then stood on top of the ticket counter and declared yourself Empress of the Kingdom of Gumdrops."
"I, I don't remember any of that," Variel said, her eyes dancing around to see if anyone was glaring at the Empress of Gumdrop Land.
"You broke free of your husband's grasp after you tickled him, then dumped the soil from a potted plant on his head."
"I...wait a minute. You're just shitting with me, aren't you?"
"Perhaps," the small smile broke wide and she grinned back. "Though you did pet Orn's face for a disturbingly long time."
"Gods, I'll be lucky to have a dime left after all the candy I buy to shut him up." She rubbed her face and got the familiar scent of her pilot -- cinnamon and sugar -- from her hands. "That stuff was worse than sodium pentathol."
"I am unfamiliar with that chemical."
"Truth serum. Well, more like 'truth serum.' It makes you loopy so you're more susceptible to blurting things out, or molesting dwarves apparently. We had some training to combat it, not much though. Anyone who uses the stuff watched too many spy flicks as a child."
"Either way, you remain a constant professional at keeping your secrets locked inside your heart," the words dribbled like bitter lemon drops from his mouth. Variel shook her head at the metaphor, she couldn't get candy off the brain. Did she absorb some of Orn's essence on accident? Pursing her lips tight, Variel didn't respond to the elf's prodding. He got the hint she wasn't in a talking mood and removed the inflight safety instruction manual and catalog from the seat pocket. The projected pictures vibrated as pressurized air wooshed through the stuffy cabin.
"Here is your water, Sir," the attendant said, lowering Taliesin's tray, then placing the glass down so her hand would naturally graze a little close to his thigh. Smooth. Taliesin didn't pay much attention, his eyes upon a personal hover pack that could also reheat a cold lunch.
"Thank you," he said, casting his yellow eyes to her quickly with his pleasantries before returning back to the magazine.
"If there's anything else you require..."
"I shall be certain to press the button," he said, his assassin senses prickling as the human's face invaded more of his personal space than he was used to.
Her face reset, a touch of something foreign crossing it, then the plastered smile reappeared. The assistant barked a "right!" before moving back to her duties of shuffling the poor chattel around in the rest of the shuttle. Taliesin returned to his magazine, rechecking the exit locations and estimating how long it would take someone to crack one open.
"She likes you," Variel said leaning back into her chair, her face stonier than a troll.
"Oh?"
"Didn't you see? She touched up her lipstick and eyeshadow before getting you the drink."
Taliesin played back the last few minutes in his mental eye and it seemed there was an excess of pigment upon the human's face that had not been there before. "Does that bother you?" he asked, curious why she'd bring up the topic.
"Should it?" Variel responded, her hand back across her eyes.
A quiet "Oh" escaped from Taliesin's lips and he folded back up the magazine, storing it for the next poor sod trapped on this shuttle. "Is it my self control you question, or..."
"What? Gods no," Variel dropped her arm and turned towards the hurt elf. She'd never thought for a moment he wasn't trustworthy. The assassin's guild had the kind of moral code you could hew stone with. It was a bit strange, but if you needed help, an assassin was the best choice in this galaxy. Unless, of course, you had a bounty on your head.
She rubbed her thumbnail, the bed an icy blue from the cold air seeping into the cabin as it prepped for a climb through the atmosphere. "It's not as if I laid any claims to you..." Variel started.
"No, that you did not." The words couldn't get any stiffer if you jammed cardboard in them and coated it all in starch. Smooth Variel, real smooth.
"I didn't mean that... Sweet Orville's left nut, am I doing this now?"
"Doing what?"
"Having the 'do you want to go steady or not' talk on a shuttle while my insides are held together with glue and spit, as my husband sits a few feet behind us after stealing Unicorn from a drug lord to buy him off. I'm a pro at this 'ship shit." The sex was easy, relatively easy to figure out. Despite the elven moratorium on human interaction there were more than a few instruction manuals on the ether to help over that first embarrassing hurdle. They could be a bit overambitious at times, especially the one that appeared to believe humans could disjoint all their bones and invert the knees, but that's what trial and error were for. It's the relationship part, the next step from mindless lust, that she fell flat on her face with every time. It was easier for her to cut and run than spend five minutes with a flushed face waiting to see if someone liked her back.
Taliesin was quiet. He had an entire culture's worth of baggage to unpack before he could give a reasonable answer. She waved her hands, "Forget I said anything. Just the mad ramblings of a woman coming off pain meds. Gods, I'm too old for this."
"Ladies, Gentlemen, and Mernion," the attractive attendant stood before the high class passengers, her voice quieting down all the business not going on. "We will be taking off soon. We ask you disconnect from any buoys, and if you suffer from heart conditions, slip on your constricting suits. They are located..."
Variel tuned it out, tapping through the complimentary tunes loaded onto the shared console. It was mostly dwarven rock and slate music, the ancient stuff from when the elders were young. Orn forced her to listen to it every time he had the bridge. "I keep thinking I'm forgetting something. You're still armed, I'm sure."
It wasn't a question but Taliesin nodded. Getting through customs was quite simple. The guards admired his side arm, made notes of how much ammo he spent in his time there, asked if he'd gotten his man, and ushered him through. Even talking Variel through as his assistant had been easy, everyone was still on their first sips of morning brew and not in the mood to argue. Orn and Marek were left to fend for themselves, a fact Variel assured him would work out fine. They hated each other, and any two people that hated each other would keep both on the straight and narrow if only to show up the other bastard.
"Maybe it's that case we left behind. Another fallen comrade," she said, holding her fist to her heart.
"You are becoming quite the briefcase serial killer."
"Ha," Variel laughed, settling down into the chair. Whatever it was that nibbled on her cortex for attention could be solved after she got her boots back on her ship. Ground was something left for people who couldn't afford to walk among the stars.
The shuttle lights dimmed, preparing for the relatively quick fifteen minute rise to the station. It was all the seating people, checking them for weapons or smuggled goods, and going through safety regulations that made traveling planet-side a pain in the ass. With a plume of smoke, the transport lifted for the stars.
"Gah," she folded to her side, a stitch forming where the heavily bandaged wound poked up from under her shirt.
"Are you all right?"
"Yeah, it's just..." she touched the bandage that'd been replaced twice by an overprotective elf and her fingers came away covered in the vibrant crimson of blood.
"Shit," she cursed. The early shuttles weren't fully inertia dampened, which w
asn't a big deal to the healthy and vibrant morning wage slaves blasting back to jobs. But, for a woman with only spit keeping her stomach closed, it meant disaster. Her hand clamped down on her side as the blood oozed out, the pressure squeezing though her body and easily popping the false stitches.
"Sin," she held up her bloodied hand, "I remember what I forgot." As the blood gushed onto the high class seat, blackness washed over her.
Monde's tailored arm shoved aside three days worth of inventorying, scattering no longer sterile medical equipment across the floor as the body collapsed onto the surgical table. The elf stepped back but didn't drop the captain's hand. Blood ran all down his jacket and pants; her blood.
He was talking, telling Monde what happened, but all the orc saw was a wound that needed closing, bleeding that needed stopping. Snapping one glove on, Monde picked up gauze and held it onto the wound. Then he picked up the elf's limp hand and pushed it onto the gauze. "Like this, don't let up."
Taliesin nodded as a pair of curious noses jumped up and down from outside the med bay. He hadn't said a word to Orn or Marek as he scooped up the limp body of the captain and ran with her through the docking arms of the station, shouting orders to Monde through his PALM. The gauze grew warm below his fingers as it filled with the sticky liquid still seeping from her lapsed cells.
Monde uncorked an IV and, wrapping one of his ties around Variel's arm, inserted it in one go. Thank the Maker the woman had huge veins. The sound of the door opening drew the orc's attention to the hulking mass of rock spitting steam stepping inside. "Grab some blood replacement from the fridge," he shouted to the djinn. Gene hissed through his suit gaps, the red eyes flaring, but it dodged away from the woman bleeding out on the table and reached his clubbed fist into the cooler under the cabinets.
"Her lips are blue," Taliesin reported as if describing the options on a menu. The lack of emotion was so jaunting it tripped up the triage trained doctor.
"Then push harder!" Monde ordered while yanking up his last option from a drawer stuffed with a bucket of tongue depressors Orn ordered on accident. "This is going to hurt," Monde said. He jammed the thick probe through her pants and into the captain's thigh muscle. Electricity kicked through her body, momentarily slowing the beat of her heart to give the platelets a chance to catch up. It was dangerous as hell, but he didn't have a lot of options.
Taliesin's hair stood on end as the shock traveled through her and into his body, but he didn't release his pressure against her weeping wound. Boy was dedicated, Monde had to give him that. But he needed to look at that wound, now. Gene dangled the blood plasma before him -- a bubble gum pink concoction that worked for humans, dwarves, and most elves. It shimmered as if glitter floated inside. "Into her arm, you can do it," Monde said to the djinn who'd played nurse far more times than he was comfortable with.
A small shot of steam cracked through the bit where an ear would be, and he inserted the IV, refilling the gaping holes in her deflated bloodstream. There wasn't much time now, the heart would pick back up soon and they'd be back at square one. Monde tried to nudge Taliesin out of the way, but the elf didn't move, his eyes fixed on the woman dying under his arms.
"Gene!" the doctor cried. Stepping around the table, the djinn lifted Taliesin clean up up by his collar allowing Monde to get to work.
The elf kicked a bit, trying to swing as the djinn ejected him one handed from out of the surgical ward. As Taliesin bowled over the dwarf and human waiting outside, the doors clicked and locked shut. The last thing Monde needed were interruptions. He ripped off the gauze and tossed it into the sink. "Sugar!" he'd never been the best curser. "Internal bleeding and already signs of infection. Did she dice herself up with a rusty bottle?"
The djinn grumbled like the sound of a rockslide tumbling across its guts, but Monde only waved his hand up, "Hand me the purifier and don't bellow, this is delicate work..."
Gene placed a tiny instrument, little bigger than an antacid tablet into the orc's hands, when a beep snapped his head up. The beep turned into a whine and Monde shouted, "Shit! She's stopped breathing." He pulled back from the wound and reached for a mask to try resuscitation, but the djinn calmly walked behind her. The orc paused, curious where this was going as Gene pressed three fingers into the forearm on his suit. A crack formed and a hand sized flap popped open. Steam rose from the suit and straight into the deathly still nostrils of the Captain.
"What are you...?" Monde started when Variel's body twitched, then her mouth fell open and a deep gulp of oxygen rushed in.
"You're giving her oxygen?" the doctor asked. The djinn hovered above the not yet dead woman, his form -- that wasn't up her nose -- mostly still in the suit .
Monde blinked his inner eyelids rapidly, afraid he imagined what he was seeing. Slowly, Gene's head turned up and the endless stare of the fire demon burned into the orc. "Right, get back to work. Got it," he said, and dropped to his knees. I just don't know how to explain that a djinn climbed inside her if she wakes up. When she wakes up.
The orc began the first microstitch as the purifier chowed down on any invading bacteria. Above him, the djinn rested his forehead upon the captain's, warming her body as best he could.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Her fingers brushed down stray hairs on the tight, vibrant blue wool and she lifted one to her eyes. Blonde. Huh? When did she last see a blonde? Oh right, Terrwyn smiled to herself, that blonde.
"Sit up straight," the other voice in the small salon commanded while attaching the scarlet half cape across the dress uniform's shoulders.
Terrwyn didn't fight it, but a small snort left her nose as she followed her mother's orders. Resistance was useless. Her mother'd been grinning ear to ear every moment since she first landed on Arda, a heaving bag under one arm and her own old dress uniform tossed across the other. She shouldered aside any of the older compatriots Terrwyn wanted for the job, placing herself greedily in position as Mother.
"Smile dear, this is the happiest day of your life," Sian patted her daughter on the back, her face wrong. The lines of the smile didn't match with her frowning wrinkles and it bothered her daughter, as if someone folded a map improperly a few times.
"Right, happy, very happy..." Terrwyn said while eyeing the smudges of eyeliner across her lids in the mirror. She could fix it, she was probably supposed to fix it, but she didn't give a shit if she walked out into that room with elf eyes. She kept waiting for the happiness to settle into her marrow, a spark of joy, even a small grin, but only the gaping void answered back. So this was it, what every little girl was supposed to dream of from the day she learned to walk.
A bottle clinked as Terrwyn shifted her foot. If she couldn't find happiness she could at least fake it with some liquid assistance and call it an early celebration. Her mother's map face folded properly as she glowered at the set of bottles rumbling on the floor, but kept her sharp retorts to herself for once. This was as much if not more her day than her daughter's. "Where are they?" Sian asked, and Terrwyn gestured to the bag overladen with any emergency supplies.
Sian tsked while pulling out a black box the size of her hand, "You need to keep this in a secure spot. What if one got damaged?"
"Then I'd be the only recipient of the broken star of valor," Terrwyn said.
"Don't take that tone with me, young lady," Sian snipped, unclasping the first of a row of glinting medals in varying shapes. Terrwyn couldn't remember what the tetrahedron was for; maybe it was from learning her shapes.
"Is...did Mum make it?" she asked as Sian closed off the Blue Warp Star.
"I'm afraid not," her mother tried to play it off as something other than utter elation at not having to see her ex-wife again. To say the divorce was bitter would be like calling a typhoon a bit of moisture. Typhoons also caused less collateral damage.
"Not surprising," Terrwyn muttered, closing her eyes. Her Mum hated the entire idea of the day, even pulled her aside once and asking if this was really what she wanted, to make a li
fe long commitment under dubious reasons. But Terrwyn didn't flinch, affirming with a heavy nod that she was happy about it.
"She was going to try to attend but her shuttle was delayed -- something about a gnome outage," Sian lied. Terrwyn knew it was so, but she didn't call her on it. Sometimes it was better to play the part of happy broken family.
The door of the tiny room burst open and her oldest friend came tumbling in, her ice white cheeks flushed from half of what Terrwyn kicked earlier. "The crowd's getting restless out there," Trae said. "You better not make 'em wait much more."
"You didn't need to wear a dress, you know," Terrwyn said as Trae flourished in a circle, the cobalt blue sparkling with her movement. "Fancy uniform's standard protocol."
"I know," Trae said, digging through the discarded makeup stockpiles to find a color that didn't wash her porcelain complexion out. "But I like dresses."
There was no doubting who'd make a prettier picture on recruitment ads and it wasn't the girl being pinned into place with enough metal to set off every detector in the building. It was her curse to look exactly like her mother -- with a cleft chin, sunken eyes, square jaw, and flat cheekbones -- only in a darker shade. Sian used to deny it, claiming some parts of her ex appeared in that little girl she was blackmailed into creating, look at those cinnamon eyes! But as age and wear wore upon Terrwyn it became obvious whose face glared back at her in the mirror after a bad night and worse morning. At least, if she were an actual clone of her mother she could claim a few "New Ident" benefits instead of getting stuck with nothing more than the claim of daughter.
"Are you nervous?" Trae asked, easily swiping on her lipstick and popping her lips for fun. It was one glide, perfect every swipe, but she enjoyed the feel of acting like a fish until Variel snorted from her goofy face at the crowded mirror.
"No," Terrwyn said, nodding her head at the stern woman glaring at her.