by Peter Heaton
“You didn’t see it, Verzatz?” Izaac called. “It’s right there.” Izaac motioned toward the door.
“What’s it doing there?” A hint of panic in the voice.
Izaac leaned his head as he walked toward the autolifter, trying to peer around the edge of the machine. Stepping out wider, he could just see Verzatz’s body, concealed by shadows thrown out from the beams and machinery. Izaac thought he saw the hint of a white smile.
“This is fun,” he heard Verzatz growl.
Izaac approached, gun out. “Say goodbye, Verzatz.”
Verzatz rose, frozen in his sights. His finger twitched against the gun’s trigger. He fired, taking a risk. Two shots, one to either side.
Verzatz had moved as the trigger was pulled, darting to his right. Izaac heard a short cry: the second bullet had found its mark.
“That wasn’t nice,” Verzatz remarked, hiding behind a support beam.
“I’m sorry,” Izaac responded. “If you’d just walk out here, I could shoot you cleanly. You don’t need to suffer.”
“N-o-o-o-o-t th-a-a-a-a-t, Izaac. Saying goodbye. It’s not nice to say goodbye when your guest isn’t ready to leave.”
“No,” Izaac asserted with a smile. “It is time for you to leave.” His left hand pressed the button. The striker sparked; the yazzat caught on fire. Not the slow-burning flame used when it was lit for enjoyment, but a real, searing fire. He’d taken steps to ensure a strong blaze.
The smoke drifted into the air. It was thick, much stronger than it was presented in the yazzat dens on Bozren. The earthy tones swirled harshly around the salty scent of sweat and the sweet taste of cloves.
He remembered a moment, a brief memory where he had actually enjoyed that scent. In the present, Izaac felt a strange sexual pull come over him.
I hate that smell! Izaac yelled at himself. The stench grew. He felt the familiar repulsion come back to him.
Already he could feel his mind begin to buzz from the smoke.
Verzatz peered his head around a steel beam and let out a cry of anguish.
“What are you doing? Do you know how much that is worth?”
“Considering that’s probably more yazzat than the combined amount smuggled off of Bozren in the past decade? A lot. Do you know how much it’s worth to me?”
“Nothing. Because you’re RUINING IT.”
“No, Verzatz. To me it’s worth so much more than that. I’d guess you’d not be able to pull off smuggling all that yazzat again.” By the door the leaves continued to crackle, white-colored smoke drifting into the air.
Almost, Izaac thought. Just a little push.
“Enjoy this moment, Verzatz! It’s your last smoke for a long time.”
“I can get more. I-CAN-GET-MORE!” Verzatz roared. He wasn’t bothering to hide his head any more. He was staring at the flaring pile.
“I didn’t say that, Verzatz. But what do you think? It’ll take you a year, maybe two, to get all the way to Bozren. It’s on the other side of Imperial space! Now, I doubt you’ll get caught getting there, but you’ll be awfully twitchy.”
“Why did you do that? You’re not making this fun anymore.”
The words sounded odd to Izaac. When he’d said “anymore,” it had seemed almost amusing. It’s the yazzat high starting to set in. It’ll settle him and unsettle you. Quick now, Izaac!
With his gun aimed steady at the exposed head Izaac started forward again. He’d hoped to draw Verzatz out, to get him into the open before he took his last shots, uncertain if the young man had a surprise waiting for him. But Verzatz’s willpower was stronger than Izaac had expected. Now it was he who needed to act, before the yazzat fumes made him forget what he was even doing.
Izaac let out a sudden laugh. How can I forget what I’m doing?
“Uh-oh, Zackie boy. Is someone getting high? There’s a reason why yazzat is burned slowly. It’s strong SHIT. I was wrong, Izaac! I was so wrong about you again! This is better than I could have imagined.”
Izaac strode towards Verzatz’s hiding spot, his pistol still aimed at the head that was now staring at him with a wicked grin.
“Do it, Izaac!”
Push the button, Izaac thought. They twirled around the steel beam, Verzatz continuing to hug tightly to it.
All you have to do is push the button.
No, Izaac thought. Not yet.
Verzatz took one look at the smoldering pile. A quarter had already burned to ash.
Izaac continued to mirror Verzatz. He tried catching him unbalanced, reversing directions. Forward again. Quick steps. Slow steps. Quick and slow, and slow and quick. Switch directions, not daring to get too close in case he still had the chain blade.
But Verzatz would not be fooled.
Seeing an opening for the briefest of moments, Izaac fired, grinning as he squeezed the trigger. Verzatz disappeared behind the beam as the bullet buried itself into the bay wall behind him. Don’t waste your bullets, Izaac screamed at himself. His adrenaline, fighting with the yazzat in his system, was trying to keep him focused.
“Tell me how it feels, Izaac. It’s been so long since my first time.”
He felt a pressure in his forehead, not the pain of a headache but something comforting and warm, a heated towel draping itself across his brain.
Verzatz’s vulpine face stared back at him.
“Have you been counting, Izaac? How many shots left? Can you risk one now?” Verzatz taunted, sticking his neck out farther for a brief moment. “Too slow!” And he ducked his head back behind the beam.
Steady, Izaac. Stay steady. Stay here. In the present.
The warming feeling spread down his body, and he could feel it reaching out towards the tips of his fingers. The weight of the gun felt different, better than before. Like it was meant to be in his hand and nowhere else. He glanced at the readout—two shots left.
Verzatz saw the quick glance at the gun. “What if it’s not right? Those digital things can malfunction sometimes. Nothing beats a little, simple arithmetic. Have you been counting?”
Panic washed over him. How many shots had he taken? There was the one that hit the barrel. Then another . . . his brain didn’t feel like reaching back in time to remember. It has to be two, Izaac thought.
But the paranoia had taken root. He fought the impulse to fire the gun just to be sure there was still a bullet in it.
“It’s almost gone, Verzatz. Look, it’s all almost gone.” But even as he said the words, he had forgotten what he was talking about.
They continued to do a peculiar dance around the beam, Izaac careful not to get too close. He was following Vertzatz passively now, circling in one direction at one steady pace and not even realizing it.
Izaac noticed the shifting shadows as the two of them moved in rhythm. They were dancing too—the shadows—drawing his eyes toward them. In the alternating spaces of light and dark, he saw a thousand shapes he had never seen before. Izaac traced the tableau, trying to unlock its secrets.
His mind struggled to send up the alarm. Verzatz leapt from the shadow.
Izaac fired once, saw the bullet pass clean through Verzatz’s shoulder, inches from the heart. Then Verzatz was on top of him, the chain blade descending; his own chain blade was in his left hand to meet the attack. They crossed perpendicularly, the action keeping Verzatz’s—Hawk’s—chain blade from starting to cut into his chest. The spinning blades sang out a repelling cacophony, sparks flying, biting at Izaac’s face.
The last bullet fired.
It hadn’t possibly missed, but Izaac didn’t know where it had hit.
Verzatz grunted but grinned, pressing his blade forward. The shower of sparks was raining down on Izaac. His eyes blinked furiously to keep from being seared. The edge of his own blade began to chew into his coat as Verzatz pressed it down towards Izaac’s chest. His back was screaming, his muscles trembling with the effort. Verzatz was impossibly strong. Izaac switched off his own blade, so it wouldn’t cut him.
&nbs
p; Wide-eyed and joyful, Verzatz forced his blade down even harder. The edge of it began to cut through Izaac’s.
“What has a heart of black and blue?” Verzatz whispered. “Come on, Zackie boy. You know the answer to this one.” Izaac, watching Verzatz’s blade—Hawk’s blade—eating through his own, carefully counted the seconds he had left.
Kelli, Izaac thought.
Verzatz’s blade was almost halfway through. In a few more seconds it would be tearing up his flesh.
Then, Izaac twisted his hand, praying that his blade wouldn’t snap. Verzatz, caught off guard by the unexpected point of leverage, lost control for a moment, his body opening up.
Izaac’s right hand, already having dropped his gun, was reaching up for Verzatz’s face, pushing it away. Verzatz let out a wail, trying to bite Izaac’s fingers as they crawled over his face.
His fingers found purchase in Verzatz’s nostrils. He pushed harder and harder, Verzatz struggling with his knife hand, but giving up, dropping the blade, both his hands reaching for Izaac’s, his head now under complete control of Izaac’s fingers.
They were sitting up now, so Izaac forced Verzatz down on his back, the creature’s hands finding the sore part of Izaac’s right arm and threatening to break it all over again.
It all happened—was happening—in a split second—the next part happened even faster.
Izaac made a swift motion of his hand, but his mind had shut down. Suddenly he was standing up, his hand covered in blood. Beneath him lay Verzatz’s twitching body.
Blood spread out from where Izaac had smashed the head against the metal floor.
He could still feel his hands inside Verzatz’s nose, the ease with which he had been able to control the man’s positioning. Thoughts ran through his mind as he stared down at the body. It convulsed again.
Still twitching, Izaac thought, sitting down and laughing away the rest of his sanity—laughing even harder as he realized that Verzatz would have been left twitching one way or another.
Chapter Seven: At a Higher Frequency
What Izaac thought had been the peak had only been the beginning. Not long after Verzatz’s heart had finally stilled did the yazzat really kick in. By that point he had forgotten the burning bushes, the bulk of which had combusted into ash, so he gave no thought to extinguishing the remains of the fire. The smoke was thick but soft. Like a cloud, he thought.
Sure the scent was harsh, but he had gotten used to it, to the point where part of him enjoyed the taste. The smoke was everywhere, all around him. Hugging him. He reached out to hug it back.
Indeed,
it
was
just
like
sitting
in
a
cloud.
Drifting.
Careless.
The high lasted long enough that he slept inside of the star runner because he hadn’t been able to get the door into Memory Hold open.
***
Izaac woke, startled—reaching for his gun, but the holster was empty. His head was fuzzy, as murky as a midnight swamp. Reaching up to wipe his nose, which insisted on running, he saw his right hand was covered in dried, dark blood.
He remembered the crunch. The joy that he had felt in the moment that had passed too quickly. His fingers deep inside the man’s nose, pushing it as hard as he could. The rest of it before that was still a blur.
Verzatz was dead.
It didn’t seem real.
Izaac had really thought he would never get home. A year ago, right when the doors to the slaver’s transport ship had opened to reveal that first body lying against the wall, he’d had that thought.
It hadn’t been the stench, his mind had refused to place that at first, but the way the body had been propped: the legs stretched out but the upper body hanging to the side, straight but crooked—unnatural.
Hawk had looked at him, his friend’s face threatening to go pale. And that had been Hawk’s reaction.
Another moment: they were chasing Nabaldian, Verzatz, and two of his hired guards through the ceiling struts of the lower hold on a massive deep space charter. Hawk was up ahead, leaping from strut to strut, urging Izaac on. They’d stopped firing long ago. It was either chase them down or try to get a good shot off, and by the time they’d realized that, the latter had no longer been a viable option.
Izaac had gotten a good rhythm down, but he was afraid to push it any faster; there was a long drop down to the hold’s floor. Then he heard it, pausing to look up, and saw Hawk hanging from a strut, his chain blade buried in the metal. The blade, pulled down by his weight, was cutting through the steel before the hunter managed to disengage the rotation.
Hawk’s hands took turns clinging to the blade. The hilt was angled downward making it more difficult for him to grip it. Izaac had called out and then forgotten the height and just jumped and jumped and jumped.
Verzatz, having seen Hawk dangling, was also making his way back towards him. He moved along the steel supports faster than any of the others. Izaac was still a few leaps away, but Verzatz had already made it to the pylon Hawk was on. Fifteen meters, maybe twenty. He knew Hawk could hold on. He had to.
Verzatz was standing above Hawk, smiling. Hawk was no longer trying to switch hands, his right hand squeezing as tightly as it could.
Izaac aimed and fired. Verzatz, having noticed him the moment before he shot, managed to dive roll along the strut, which couldn’t have been more than a meter wide, without losing his balance.
Izaac took aim again, but his ears were telling him something. And his eyes confirmed it.
The blade was dangling there. Alone.
Hawk’s final scream was brief.
Izaac didn’t look down.
Verzatz was laughing as he bent down to wrench Hawk’s blade from the metal. The laughter rang and rang and rang.
Izaac’s gun was aimed, but his vision had slipped elsewhere. He hadn’t wanted to, but his eyes gazed downward. Izaac sat down on the strut, ignoring his own fear of falling, and just stared at his friend’s broken body.
By the time his brain had worked it all out and told him to extinguish the bastard, Verzatz had already danced out of range. Izaac had watched as he, Nabaldian, and the others had slipped into their hidden flyer and exited out the trash port.
***
Verzatz is dead, Izaac thought again.
It was the first time too that Izaac realized he wished Verzatz had killed Hawk, instead of Hawk simply falling. Maybe he’d be able to enjoy Verzatz’s death that much more. The killing had been joyful—there was no doubt about that. The other two, even Nabaldian’s, had been horrible. And afterwards, he’d felt confused—a dense feeling of shame.
But now, even with Verzatz, Izaac felt it too.
He was empty.
Broken.
His seeker was dead.
Maybe Kelli had already given up on him.
Ibor Nabaldian was dead.
The chase had ended.
He’d hoped it would be easy when this happened. That he’d kill the slaver called Greentooth and then go home. But he’d known when he saw those inky, glassy eyes, the minute he walked into the lounge: this whole thing had become part of him.
And now—it was gone.
Enough, Izaac told himself. He got up, sniffed a container of water, found it satisfactory, and gulped it down. He drained the whole thing and then tossed it to the ground.
Time to go. Izaac sat in the cockpit, checking over the operations. Standard stuff he thought. Verzatz had been kind enough to leave the override rig that he’d used to take over the Starkisser’s ship intact. It was ready to fly. Izaac gave in to a violent fit of coughing, each one reminding him of the hole that had been bored into his back.
The coughing subsided, and Izaac sat in the seat, staring at the bay’s wall, at the door back into Memory Hold. Unable to go.
It didn’t feel right.
How could he go home to her now�
�like this? It would be a long time before he’d forget the faces he’d seen: their deaths had carved those images into the flesh of his brain. The Starkisser—shock frozen on her face as red fluid trickled from her wounds; Nabaldian—smiling, at peace; Verzatz—all crunched and wrong.
He thought about what was beyond the kaleidoscoped door. It was still close, still within his reach.
Reflexively he reached into the part of his mind that had once been inhabited by the seeker. It had always been there to help him break through his moments of hesitation. He knew what it would have said; even more than him, it had wanted to go home.
But that part of him was empty now. A void that could never be filled.
He and Kelli had been managing to keep it together before he had left. That was when he had been whole—sane. But now there were three faces that he couldn’t un-see; they would make sure he was never whole again.
He had to try though. Didn’t he?
It would be more comfortable to stay, deep inside, he knew. And he knew too, it wouldn’t be a real life.
Words drifted through his mind; eyes of black glass stared at him: I’m a part of something now, something that always feels right.
If it felt real, wouldn’t that mean it was real? If it felt right, wouldn’t it be right?
Something that I could never be without.
Something that could fill the void? Something that could make him forget the faces?
“No. Stop. NO!” Izaac tried to push the thought out of his mind. He rebelled against the comfort of the idea. And in that moment, he knew he wanted to go back to her.
Izaac screamed. But there was no sound. He felt something in his throat, gagged on it hard. And then it was gone. But he’d felt it on his face, the pressure against his eyes.
You can’t go, Izaac. We can’t let you leave now. You took the one who had been pledged to us. Then you took his replacement. Now we have taken you. Don’t be afraid, it is better than anything you can imagine . . .
***
Mountains peaked over clouds. An orange lake lay at their feet. They were together. But they were not alone.
“Even when I’m far away, I’ll be here with you,” they whispered as their lips and tongues met again. They grabbed her head gently and pulled her face from his. “Forever, Kelli.”