“Huh?” the man exclaimed, for D had grabbed his shoulder.
“I need you to stick with me for a while longer.”
At D’s words, Beatrice looked puzzled, but he quickly recovered, asking, “You want me to follow you and do a bombing run? That thing’s a clunker I pulled out of Bossage’s armory. The engine could crap out at any minute. I’ve only got a little more than twenty bombs left, and less than ten thousand rounds for the heavy machine gun. We shouldn’t use it unless we really need to.”
“Take me to the soldiers’ nearest encampment. I’ll get off nearby.”
“What for?”
“They captured a girl.”
A look of surprise was on Beatrice’s face as he stared at the handsome visage, but his cheeks quickly flushed and he diverted his gaze.
“You really don’t seem like the type to give a damn about that. So, how much is this ride worth to you?” the giant said, adding, “Come on, don’t look at me that way! When you ask for something, you’ve gotta expect to pay a price. That’s the way the world works.”
“I won’t have any complaint about you coming with us.”
“Hey, now!” Beatrice snapped, but then he got himself under control. No matter how you looked at it, there was no one you’d rather have owing you a favor than D.
“Deal. I’ll go fire up the engine.”
As the massive form returned to the darkness, D looked over his shoulder and asked, “Zenon, you coming?”
The figure leaning against the wall at one end of the room straightened up and said, “Yeah, I believe I will.”
Even before he spoke, Stanza called out, “So what are we, baggage?”
Of course, it was Strider that replied, “Drop it, Stanza. Our pretty little dhampir didn’t ask for us lowly humans. Besides, busting our humps for that spoiled little bitch isn’t worth the reward.”
Still gazing at D, Stanza lay down on the sofa and said, “You’ve got a point there. Well, I guess we’ll just take it easy, then.”
—
Twenty minutes later, the flying platform went straight up, maintaining an altitude of a hundred and fifty feet as it flew north.
“She sure laid into you,” Zenon said to Beatrice as the wry-looking giant rubbed his right cheek.
“Put a cork in it.”
“It’s all well and good to try and pick up a lady, but you should consider choosing your target a little more carefully.”
“Shut the hell up. One more peep out of you and I’m throwing you over the side!”
Beatrice’s cheek bore the discolored remnants of a slap. It was unclear quite what he was thinking when he’d followed Stanza to the bathroom and tried to make a pass at her, earning himself one of her best shots. Stanza had indignantly recounted the incident, earning Beatrice laughter and scornful looks from the rest of the group.
“It doesn’t make a sound,” D remarked.
“No. The muffler seems to be the only thing in perfect shape. Runs pretty well for a thirty-year-old piece of secondhand equipment. It was probably built for espionage.”
“Does it have a bombing system?”
“Unfortunately, that’s done manually. Just sight your target and chuck a bomb,” Beatrice said, tossing his chin at the iron box secured to the floor on his right. To his left, the heavy machine gun sat on its mount. Below it was a tin box full of ammo.
Eyeing both armaments, Zenon said, “I see you’ve got hand grenades, too.”
“That’s what they look like, but they’re bombs. The gunpowder charge isn’t the same. Stay within the kind of range you use with grenades, and you’ll blow yourself to hell too. Which reminds me, D,” he said to the Hunter, “you got some particular reason for asking only this guy along?”
Beatrice wasn’t a pilot, after all, but rather a warrior.
Still facing straight ahead, D replied, “Because he’s not alone.”
“Come again?”
“Allow me to explain,” Zenon said, positioning himself in the pair’s field of view. “Inside me, there’s more than one of me. The doctors say I have multiple personality disorder. Most of the time, I’m out in the world, but sometimes the other me takes my place. And that other me is a swordsman who’s every bit as good as the great D.”
“Come on, now!” Beatrice protested.
Looking at D, Zenon tilted his head to one side.
“He’s right,” the Hunter said.
Suddenly, their craft pitched to the right. It came as no surprise that none of them cried out, but the way they clung to the handrail was almost comical.
The flying platform quickly returned to normal, and Beatrice cursed, “Son of a bitch! Don’t startle me like that! You made me put a little too much power into my hand. What are we supposed to do if we crash?”
This remark left the other two dumbstruck.
After gripping the controls in silence for a while, Beatrice turned to Zenon and said, “You know, for someone with something inside him that can top D, you seem pretty normal.”
“I am, when I’m in control,” Zenon replied. “But he’s stronger than I am. He can push right by me if he wants. And when he does, there’s not a damned thing I can do about it.”
“So, do you remember what happens while he’s in charge?”
“If I did, I might not feel so bad.”
“You don’t say,” Beatrice remarked, a gleam of curiosity filling his eyes. He loved gossip.
“That fucker’s a homicidal maniac. He’s the cruelest, most evil creature I know of. They say people are born a blank canvas, and they can take whatever colors they like, but that’s bullshit. He’s rotten to the core, a kind of pure evil that shouldn’t exist in this world.”
Exasperated, Zenon struck his fist against his chest, continuing, “Right here. That’s where he is. I know how he works. He’s cut the head off a little kid who was walking by, for no reason at all. He’s busted in on some family he didn’t even know and murdered them all. When he’s out of money he knocks over a bank, and if he’s feeling horny he takes a woman. And on top of it all, he must be . . .”
Zenon’s voice rapidly dwindled. His free hand gripped the handrail, and his head hung low.
“Sorry, it’s just that sometimes . . .”
“Don’t sweat it,” Beatrice reassured him, without conviction. “Everybody’s got a thing or two bugging ’em. I suppose your troubles are just a little too big. Now, this might be a dumb question, but if it bothers you so much, why haven’t you just ended it all?” A second later, the bearded warrior gasped and said, “We’re there.”
Beneath them, countless lights flickered. Judging from the size of the area they covered, this was clearly an army encampment.
“I’ll set you down as close as I can,” Beatrice said, pushing the yoke forward.
The wind generated by the craft’s descent battered D’s face. But his ears caught a sound.
“You asked why I hadn’t chosen to die?”
The voice was Zenon’s. However, it wasn’t the Zenon he knew.
“I’ll tell you why. Because no place could possibly be more fun than this world!”
At the outlaw’s hip, a blade raced from its sheath with a gleam that was blinding in the darkness of the night. D drew, as well. Both swords caught the moonlight.
“Hey, remember where we are!” Beatrice reprimanded them. “Save it till you get off. You wanna die in a crash or something?”
“You stood up to one of my blows—and you don’t even have a scar from it. I’ve been waiting for a man like you.”
The corners of Zenon’s lips rose in a smile. Not a word of what Beatrice said had gotten through to him.
“I’m overjoyed, D! Now we’ll finish this.”
Naturally, D wasn’t someone to back down, either. Shifting his freshly drawn sword in front of his chest, he held it perfectly horizontal.
Zenon grinned, saying, “I broke your sword. So now you’ll try to break mine?”
The outlaw held his
sword pointed directly at the Hunter, and then gradually brought it over to the right and raised it high—he wasn’t about to decline D’s invitation.
The flying platform continued to sink, with the howling wind reigning over the craft. Amidst that whistling, a low, strong voice said, “You’re not alive, are you?”
A second later, the sword was swung down from its high position without a single word. Locking together with the horizontal blade rising from below, it sent harsh sparks shooting into the darkness.
A powerful impact sent the three men and their vehicle flying to the right. Only Beatrice, clinging to the controls, remained on board. Not making a sound, the other two figures sailed through the darkness and out of sight. The outcome of their deadly encounter was unknown.
—
II
—
Irene awoke in darkness. It was on account of this that she had to wonder at first if she was dreaming. Up until now she’d never experienced complete and utter darkness, devoid of even a speck of light. So long as one was in the human world, there was always some light, even under the harshest natural conditions. Or something like light, to be more accurate. Maybe it was the spirit of humans and beasts that lived in the dark, or perhaps it was hope.
But now Irene couldn’t see anything. Nor was there a breeze. In other words, she was in a completely enclosed space. All she could tell was that the floor was made of stone.
Anxiety had an iron grip on Irene’s chest. As a girl who lived on the Frontier, she had a good deal of nerve, but she was powerless against memories carved into her DNA—the fear of being in the pitch blackness, with none of your own kind, abducted by something that wasn’t human. Knowing that it was your turn next.
The hairs on my arms are standing on end, Irene thought. I’m scared. But now that I recognize that, isn’t there some way I can master my fear?
She quickly recalled what’d happened at the farmhouse. She’d left the barn and was running back to the main house when she felt a sharp pain in the nape of her neck. Unfortunately, everything after that had faded into black.
It finally occurred to her to wonder whether anything had been done to her, but after some checking she discovered nothing out of the ordinary. Not only was her body unharmed, but even her clothes were just as they’d been. And both her hands and her feet were unfettered.
As her hands felt along her body, they touched something hard by her right hip. It felt like wood and iron—a pistol. The enemy hadn’t taken away the weapon she’d been given back at the subterranean bunker.
A boundless relief spread through every inch of the girl. Wrapping her hand around the wooden grip, she pulled the gun out of her belt and felt the serious weight of the iron.
“Well, this should be good for something,” Irene murmured.
“I wonder about that,” said an antiquated, masculine voice right in front of her. It couldn’t have been more than a foot away.
Pure terror froze the girl as she realized there was someone standing in front of her. She had no idea how long the man had been there. Though she couldn’t hear him breathing or sense
his presence, he was right there, and he probably wasn’t friendly. She knew this the second she heard the voice. It’d sounded
cruel, scornful, overbearing, and more than anything else, famished.
“Who—who are you?” she asked, backing away a step and pointing the revolver in her left hand straight ahead of her. The thumb of her right hand cocked the hammer. Though she realized all she had to do to fire it was to pull the trigger, by cocking the hammer she decreased the distance she’d need to squeeze, and that would help keep her on target.
As expected, there was no reply.
“Who’s there? If you don’t answer, I’ll shoot!”
One shot, she thought. There’s no way he’s on my side. So there’s no harm in trying to hit him. Even if I miss, the flash from the gun will tell me something about where I am.
Irene pulled the trigger. She’d fired similar handguns several times in the past. It was pretty much a requirement for living on the Frontier. However, this one had a particularly nasty kick. The rounds were different. Both her arms flew up over her head as if she were surrendering, and her left hand came free of the gun.
There was no one in front of her. Only the muzzle flash was as Irene had expected. For an instant, it’d illuminated the stone floor and the darkness surrounding her. There was nothing there. In a space that seemed to go on forever, there was only Irene and the source of the voice she’d just heard.
“Where the hell are you?” she turned and cried. At least she knew he wasn’t in front of her. “Where are you? Where?”
Irene turned in a circle. She no longer knew which way she was facing.
“So nice of you to come,” the voice said. It was right in front of her.
Irene didn’t hesitate. The gun’s kick sent her back a step. Though she indeed saw a color that wasn’t that of the darkness in the spot where the voice was coming from, it was quickly lacquered over with pitch blackness.
“I have a fondness for strong women,” the voice said. It came from right in front of her.
Before the girl could fire a third shot, something cold and soft pressed against her forehead.
Don’t tell me that was a kiss! she thought.
The girl tried to simultaneously leap away and get off a shot. But she couldn’t move. All sensation was leaving her body. She still had all her limbs, yet she couldn’t so much as blink an eye.
“The strong ones have the hottest blood,” said the voice.
Irene tried to scream.
“This is my bedroom. I suppose it’s a bit too spacious for a human being. But it’s simply perfect for playing hide-and-seek!”
Their lips overlapped.
Irene strained her eyes, but she couldn’t see anything.
And the third kiss—that one, of course, came on the nape of her neck.
—
“I think we took some antiaircraft fire. That’s what we should expect from an army,” the hoarse voice remarked with amusement. “You know our location?”
All D did was nod.
The presumed enemy encampment was roughly a thousand yards to the south-southwest. The flying platform really hadn’t been far off the mark. Fortunately, they’d been at an altitude of only about sixty feet when they fell, and D hadn’t suffered a single scrape or broken bone. That’s where a dhampir’s body differed from a human’s. Especially now that it was night—his time.
“I wonder what’s happened to the others?”
Disregarding the musing of the hoarse voice, D started walking. He wouldn’t intervene in the lives or deaths of other people, just as he wouldn’t celebrate or mourn them.
“By the way,” the hoarse voice continued, “that blow you blocked before we got blasted—what happened there?”
As expected, there was no reply, and D’s sword remained in its sheath.
“Looks to me like those lousy mercenaries don’t really come into their own until after it gets dark. Be real careful now.” Dripping with sarcasm, the voice suddenly grew grave. “Try as I might, I just can’t figure out why these clowns would come back to life now. Or why they’d be armed just like in the old days, for that matter.”
While the Nobility possessed a kind of superscience some would describe as magic, they simply couldn’t escape their predilection for nostalgia. Though some had the power to turn themselves into wind and fly through the air, and despite the fact that they’d developed a special field that allowed transport nearly at the speed of light, most of them preferred to travel down gaslit roads of cobblestone in old-fashioned horse-drawn carriages. It was also for this reason that their homes were, without a single exception, reproductions of the castles of medieval Europe.
The battle that’d taken place on this highway had likewise eschewed such superadvanced developments as antiproton cannons, dimensional vortices, and fleets of tapered rockets in favor of swords, sp
ears, and the occasional firearm—but those alone were enough to deliver vivid scenes of horror. It was said gigantic steam-driven robots, flying machines, and air cars had also been brought into the conflict.
“Maybe it’s just that the Nobility love battle itself.”
“You think they did this on purpose?” D said in a rare departure from character. “So they could see soldiers battling each other?”
“Could be. You’d know best. After all, half of the blood running through your veins is like theirs.”
For a moment, there was a slight welling of tension in the vicinity of the Hunter’s left hand, but this time D did nothing and merely kept walking. Needless to say, he was in the middle of the forest. The heavy grass absorbed the sound of his steps, but then D never had a problem walking silently, which left only the risk of losing his footing.
After the Hunter had gone about two hundred yards, there was an echo of intense gunfire up ahead.
“Oh, that’d be ol’ Beatrice, I guess,” said the hoarse voice. “Just had to jump in. Don’t let it bother you. While he’s got the enemy’s attention, it gives you the perfect opportunity!”
Of course, D didn’t seem at all worried about the man as he pressed forward.
—
The next thing the warrior knew, he was surrounded. He could sense them. Frantically pulling out a portable spray can, he sprayed himself from head to toe. Releasing the safety on the heavy machine gun, he then slid back the bolt.
The moment he was ready to fire, tiny things assailed him from all sides—blow darts. They all pierced Beatrice, and then dropped off him with dumbfounding ease. While it allowed air to pass, the transparent membrane the spray had created around him could deflect even bullets. However, a single application would last only thirty minutes.
“Take that! I’ll show you lousy mercs not to screw with a professional warrior.”
The giant had wanted to move on before they spotted him, but since it looked like the flying platform might still be pressed into action, he’d gotten it into his head to repair the machine. The force of an artillery shell had warped one of the stabilizing fins. He’d been in the middle of welding the fin when he’d sensed someone coming.
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