DIRE : TIME (The Dire Saga Book 3)

by Andrew Seiple

Clarity hit her like a bucket of cold water. She snapped der Schmetterling shut, tucked it back in its sheath, and ran for the rendezvous point.

  Nobody won against Crusader. Fifty long years he’d been in the skies all over the world. Fifty long years he’d stood. Occasionally he’d been taken out of play but he’d never been taken out of the game.

  There were names and there were names, and his was not one she could stand against. Not now, perhaps not ever. “Pulling out,” she choked, through a swollen throat. I was so close.

  She pushed her anger into her legs, pounded the broken and skewed pavement, feeling the heat simmer within her. Always second best. Never the champion. Later that night she’d spend hours going over the footage of the fight, reviewing her technique, looking for flaws. Then would come days, weeks of practice to grind out the weaknesses. Harsh exercise, strict diet, and practice over and over again until she was sure she wouldn’t fail again.

  Other people could get away with slacking off. Other people were not Vorpal. The day she stopped improving was the day she died.

  A clattering noise, rapid-fire behind her, and she tensed before her ears identified it. A second later Bunny, her dull gray hardsuit scored with shiny streaks and dents, fell in next to her. It was something less than power armor but more than a flack jacket, its motors augmented her mobility and its layers protected her thin frame from most conventional weapons. And a lot of unconventional ones too, if some of the scars on the metal were any indication.

  “You did well,” Bunny whispered over the comm. “Think we’ll celebrate when we get back. Break out the special lingerie.”

  Vorpal’s bad mood warred with her libido, and won. “This was a farce.”

  “Any farce you walk away from, huh?”

  “We’re running, not walking. Running away.”

  “From Crusader.” Bunny’s voice sounded troubled. “Jesus. Never thought I’d see the day where I’d be sad to see the guy.”

  “The money is not enough,” Vorpal said, feeling her anger cool, turn to cold bitterness. “With a little more time, I could have got her. Could have dropped her.”

  “You’ll get another chance.”

  “I am not sure I’ll be around long enough for that to happen.”

  Silence for a long minute, save for the mechanical thumping of Bunny’s armored feet as they ran. The silence stretched until they reached the last alleyway before Bolmer Street, the designated rendezvous. Vorpal slid in, knocked the code on the unmarked metal door midway down the alley’s length, and stepped inside as it beeped and opened. Inside it stretched an old cluttered storage room long unused, save for the metal platform in the middle of the floor. It shone, studded with winking colored lights around its edge, and obviously untouched by the grime that coated everything else in the place.

  Bunny filed in, her featureless mask scanning the alleyway before she shut the door. “Clear.” Her voice crackled over the comm... then she pulled the mask to the side, slid it back up into the rounded helmet that framed her features. Vapor huffed out with a ‘chuff’, and she spit the mouthpiece into her hand, smiled lazily at Vorpal. “You’re pouting.”

  “I am not,” Vorpal grimaced.

  “You may as well be. Come on. Let it go.” She stretched out an arm, and Vorpal shook her head, sighed, and embraced Bunny as best she could. The woman had about a foot on her, and the hardsuit was clunky, studded with bumps and unyielding metal. But there was nothing unyielding about Bunny’s lips, soft and warm as she curled a hand around Vorpal’s chin, and lifted her mouth into a deep kiss.

  The anger, the bitterness, they faded and fell. Vorpal felt herself shiver as she pulled in tighter, grasped at Bunny’s back to steady herself, and gave everything to the embrace. A heat of a different sort rose from low in her belly, and she growled into Bunny’s mouth.

  Their lips separated with a ‘pop’, and Bunny smirked down at her, rubbed Vorpal’s forehead with her nose. “Sure I can’t talk you into that lingerie tonight?”

  “No.” Vorpal whispered back. “But you might be able to talk me out of it.”

  Bunny opened her mouth, leaned in closer, eyes narrowing as her hand slipped down Vorpal’s back, caressing—

  The door slammed open, and the two women spun around, weapons singing free of sheaths and slings.

  Martin froze, put his hands up. “Whoa! Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa. Don’t go all cop on me now.”

  Vorpal rubbed her mouth with the back of one gloved hand, and shot him a glare.

  Bunny sighed. “Some warning over the comm, maybe?”

  “Didn’t think of it. Shit, you think she’ll be okay?”

  Vorpal laughed. “Crusader does not kill. She will be fine.”

  “Crusader don’t lose, either,” Martin pointed out. He reached into the clutter, hauled out a folding chair, and set it up. “You want?”

  Vorpal and Bunny eyed the patina of grime, rat droppings, and unknown stains, and shook their heads as one. Bunny winced as he plopped his ass down on the chair, and sighed.

  “I could have done more during that fight,” Martin said, slouching down, adjusting the strap of his rifle.

  “The point of overwatch is that you cover the folks on the front lines,” Bunny said. “You did that job. You did fine.”

  “Just saying, if I’d been part of those front lines, Kinetica wouldn’t have gotten away.”

  Vorpal felt a slow burn rise again, and not the good kind. “Are you insinuating something?” she said, struggling with the words.

  “What? No. Just... shit.” He peeled his balaclava off, mopped his brow with it. “Been training for months with that other hardsuit. I kind of expected to get to use it for this part, y’know?”

  “It’s not comfy,” Bunny said. “And you wouldn’t have enjoyed the catheter.”

  Martin winced, but kept on going. “Just saying, I’m willing to make sacrifices here. I wanna pull my weight.”

  “And what do you think you could have done?” Vorpal spat. “That Bunny did not? That I did not?”

  “Look, I’m not trying to start shit.”

  “Then stop saying dumb shit,” Vorpal snarled. Bunny stretched out an arm to her, but Vorpal pushed it away. “Your ego is bruised Martin, we get it. Fucking get over it.”

  “You’re one to be talkin’ bout bruised egos,” Martin said, giving her a sour glare. “Got a reason you’re butthurt, or is it that time of the month?”

  She was in motion before he finished the sentence, surging forward, putting her leg out just so, with her weight behind it, catching the leg of the folding chair and snapping the flimsy metal loose with a CRIK. Martin tumbled to the ground and before he could stand she knelt next to him, arms snapping out and around his head in a chokehold.

  Silence filled the room for a few seconds. She breathed hard, inhaling his sweaty, worn smell, her breath riffling the short hair on the back of his scalp.

  “That was a stupid thing to say,” she finally spoke.

  “That was a really fucking stupid thing to say,” Martin said. “Sorry.”

  “I have had a bad day.”

  “Yeah.” He tapped her arm. “It’s... old habits, you know? They die hard.”

  He sounded calm. That was the weirdest part of it.

  “Think you could get off of him?” Bunny asked. “Be hard to explain if the boss rolls through the door right now.”

  Vorpal glanced between them, nodded, and slid her arms free, slid cautiously back. Martin rose slowly, pushing up off the ground and examining his clothes. “Shit. Don’t wanna think about what’s all been on this floor. Probably got hepatitis out of this.”

  “That’ll be a fun one to explain to Freeway,” Bunny said, grinning.

  “Shut up. Can’t believe he’s still treating us.”

  “Beats the alternative. Thought you were a goner that one time Groundpounder got his hands on you.”

  Martin winced. “Don’t remind me. I’m just glad—”

  The room shook, and all
of them snapped their heads around, looking to the roof as the building groaned.

  “Earthquake?” Bunny asked.

  Vorpal shook her head. “No. Crusader.”

  Silence, then. Rumbles of what could be mistaken for thunder, as the Doctor and the Hero fought in the skies of Icon, and the ruins of the waterworks a few blocks distant.

  Vorpal found her hands clenching and unclenching. Could Dire do it? Could she be the irresistible force to the unmovable object?

  “I saw him fight once. Against Dark Harvest,” she blurted out.

  That got two sets of eyes on her, all of them wide. Dark Harvest was a name to fear, and with good reason.

  “No shit?” Martin asked.

  “No bullshit,” Vorpal confirmed. “It was a job gone bad. My team did not ask the right kind of questions. We were sent in to retrieve an item while the city was being evacuated. But we could not dismantle the protective measures around it in time before Dark Harvest started to gather his host.”

  “How did you survive?” Bunny asked. “This... shit, this must’ve been Minsk, yeah?”

  Vorpal nodded. “We were at the edge of his death effect. Half the team resisted, I was one of them. The ones that died, they killed everyone but me and the leader when they rose as undead. We fled. But our dead teammates pursued us.” One had been a powerhouse, too dangerous at close range to risk attacking him. He’d come very close to killing her, had killed the entire Spetsnaz squad she’d led him into during her escape. Then that had been trouble, once they rose, and she had an entire squad full of fully-armed special ops zombies to deal with.

  “Fuck,” Martin said. “You’re lucky.”

  “At the time I thought not. But then I got to a good vantage point. I saw them fight.” She’d holed up in one of the nearby grain silos, ready to touch the whole thing off with fire and send herself and as many zombies as she could take with her straight to hell. Better than becoming one of those things. “It was... it was like watching two gods battle. Nothing stopped him. Every power from Harvest’s costumed slaves washed off him like water. Every weapon and superdevice his normal slaves brought to bear failed. Crusader was invulnerable. And for his part, he was not holding back. If I had been just a few miles closer, I would have died.”

  The room shuddered again, and plaster rained down from a crack in the ceiling. Martin eyed it. “Like now? Think we should Gee Tee Eff Oh?”

  “No,” Vorpal said, watching the crack grow. “He is holding back. We would be dead by now if he was not.”

  “Wasn’t much of Minsk left, from what I remember,” Bunny said.

  “There wasn’t,” Vorpal confirmed. “But here there are people to worry about. Only some of the city is empty. So we are safe.”

  The conversation died after that. They waited in silence, as the building around them shook and shuddered... but ultimately held. The minutes crawled by, and eventually, the distant booms and shaking were replaced with sullen quiet, and the sound of distant sirens.

  “Where is she?” Martin muttered.

  “She’ll be here,” Bunny said, raising a hand to her comm. “Minna?”

  “Wait,” Minna replied.

  They waited. More minutes crawled by.

  And in her gut, she knew it. “Something’s wrong,” Vorpal muttered.

  “Fuck. I knew this was a bad idea.” Martin started toward the door.

  “Wait,” Minna insisted.

  “Talk to me, Minna. The fuck’s going on?” he asked.

  “She had pursuit. Had to teleport directly back,” Minna said. “Now you must return. Come back now, the entry is clear.”

  Tension eased, and Vorpal nodded. “Affirmative.” She took her spot on the metal disk, and the other two joined her. Vorpal opened her comm channel. “We are ready.”

  Shimmering, a wave of light, and then they were no longer inside of the dirty, disused room. The area around them was replaced with stainless steel walls, studded with tens of thousands of winking lights.

  “Right. Showertime,” Martin said, heading for the door. Vorpal started to follow, stiffened as a gloved hand caught at hers.

  “I wasn’t kidding about that lingerie,” Bunny murmured. “Get dirty before we get clean?”

  Vorpal considered. The anger was gone from her now, leaving her libido free to rise. She flushed, and felt a lazy smile spread across her face. “Ya, I think we have time...”

  Some time later, happy, naked, and warm, she woke from her nap and felt around her in the darkness. No Bunny. Well, maybe she was smoking. She often did that after sex.

  A few minutes more in the cool darkness, and she studied the dim outline of the ceiling. The money would be in her account by now, as per her agreement with Dire. This last job was more than enough to keep her traveling and living comfortably for a year, perhaps two if she didn’t get stupid. On to another country, or another part of this one. On to someplace where she wouldn’t have to risk getting within spitting distance of Crusader on a madwoman’s whims.

  A compelling madwoman, mind. A smart and competent madwoman, without a doubt. But a madwoman nonetheless. Sooner or later her rising star would fall, and take down anyone who was still trailing behind it. Vorpal intended to be well away from Doctor Dire and her insane crusade by the time that happened. But there were complications with that idea.

  One of those complications was out having a cigarette right now.

  It had started after last summer’s nonsense with Professor Vector and the kaiju. Purely physical back then, mutual attraction and loneliness. But it had grown, and words had been thrown around. Words like ‘love’.

  The rest of them she didn’t care so much about. Sure, she wished Minna and Anya well, and felt sorry for their circumstances. But hell, bad things happened to good people every day. Martin was an asshole at the best of times, and his blind faith in Doctor Dire was tiring. He took nothing seriously, which grated on her. How do you expect to improve, to perfect your technique if you don’t take challenges seriously? But Dire seemed to value his counsel nonetheless. But Bunny? She was pretty sure Bunny loved her.

  Did she love Bunny? That was the core of the question, when everything that didn’t matter was cut away. It lead to another question: would Bunny come with her if she left? Vorpal didn’t know the answer to that one. Didn’t know if she wanted to risk learning the answer. And then there was the other question, the one in the back of her mind: Did she love Bunny enough to risk staying?

  Minutes crawled by, and the ceiling didn’t change, no matter how hard she stared at it. Finally she rose and found her way to the shower, scrubbing sweat and grime and the results of some sloppy, enjoyable lovemaking from her wiry frame. The warm water helped, and she was relaxed by the time she returned to her bedroom.

  Still no Bunny.

  Now a little uneasy, she suited up, grabbed her saber and the standard array of gadgets that she’d wheedled from Dire over the months, and went in search of her significant other.

  She found Bunny in the control center, standing with Martin, glaring at Minna. The tall blonde woman crossed her arms and glared back. Anger simmered in the air, and Anya curled tightly in her mother’s arms, frightened.

  “Did I miss something?” Vorpal asked.

  Martin looked at her, and his eyes were wary, guarded white orbs in deep brown skin. “You want to tell her or should I?”

  Bunny sighed, and turned to Vorpal. She ran calloused fingers along her bald scalp, a gesture of hers that Vorpal knew well.

  “It’s bad news? Tell me now.”

  “Dire didn’t make it back,” Bunny said.

  “Minna lied to get us out of there,” Martin said, his voice choked with emotion, hands trembling.

  “Yes,” Minna said, simply. In her arms, Anya whimpered and burrowed her dandelion puff of hair deeper into the crook of Minna’s arm.

  Vorpal blinked. “How? Was she captured?”

  “No,” Minna said.

  “Yes,” Martin said, simultaneously.
They shared a look, then Martin sighed. “Timetripper.”

  “Scheiße.” Vorpal swore. That damned fool had been chasing Dire off and on all year. She still had nightmares of the time he’d mistaken her for Dire and grabbed her by mistake. Then came the near-death in an endless choking fog, and the salvation from an unlikely source. And then her, the madwoman’s final form, and her wicked works revealed in all their insane glory.

  She’d promised to help change the future by doing what she could in the past. No other option at the time, no other way to return.

  “Well.” Maybe it was time to cut her losses. If Dire was gone, sucked away into the depths of time, then there was no way to help her, right? Her obligation was fulfilled. “Now what?”

  “You’re taking this well.” Bunny said.

  Vorpal shrugged. “We have no way to help her without Timetripper or a time machine of our own. Since we have neither, there is nothing we can do. Perhaps in the future that will change, but for now we must worry about ourselves.”

  “Heh.” Martin rubbed his jaw. “I remember her sayin’ the same thing about you when ‘Trip grabbed you that first time around. Sucks, but I think you’re right.”

  Bunny tucked her hands into the pocket of her hoodie. “Especially on that part about worrying about ourselves. That little rampage we did? The whole city’s baying for her blood. Tomorrow Force is going to be after her, along with Crusader, Freeway, the Torchbearers, and every independent who has a scrap of spandex to their name.”

  “Not just them,” Dire’s modulated voice screeched from a nearby monitor, and Vorpal jumped, spun around.

  “This is your idea of a sick prank—”

  She froze.

  Dire’s mask filled the monitor, but it was different. Ridges creased its brow, in a familiar pattern. One she’d hoped never to see again.

  It was her mask.

  “You.” Vorpal’s words spilled from loose lips. “You are the one I saw in the future.”

  The mask shifted, and blue light flared from hollow black eyesockets. “Hello Vorpal. Good to see you’ve survived.”

  Vorpal felt cold run down her spine. The rest of her team glanced at her, and back to the monitor, confused.