by Mark Eller
Reaching out, Aaron grasped the women in his mind like he grasped supplies when he transported with them.
"Why, Storeman," Beech said calmly. "You do have a Talent Stone, and you never told me. Now that is hardly friendly. In fact, it makes me so angry that I will have to rend your soul before you die. After you are dead your stone will crumble to dust, and I will eat it. I've always wanted to eat a Talent Stone. There are different theories as to what that will do to a man. I like the one that says it makes people more powerful."
Miss Hawks' face was bruised. Her shredded breast bled over Eric's hand, and her face was twisted with pain. Sarah groaned in impotent fury as Gregory carved on Miss Hawks' inside thighs.
"Stop that," the Master hissed to the brothers. "This is important. Just kill the bitch so I can get her spleen. I have a soul to destroy." He smiled at Aaron. The freshly filed points of his teeth matched the ones in Melissa's mouth. "Your soul, Mister Turner. I am going to destroy your soul unless you give me exactly what I want."
"Fine!" Sounding petulant, Gregory pulled his bloody face from Miss Hawks' wounds. Straightening to his knees, he raised his knife, ready to plunge it into Miss Hawks' belly. "I get the other woman though. You promised me one of them."
With a grimace, Eric finished ripping the skin away. He looked at his work, and his grimace turned into a maniacal grin. Satisfaction gleamed from his eyes.
"One left," he said. "I want it when she's dead. I want to make a tobacco pouch out of it."
Almost have it, Aaron thought. He reached-reached-and then something suddenly boosted his efforts. Energy. Clean. Clear, more vibrant than when he had connected with it before, tore through him, demanding to be used, seeking to burst from him, to tear through his body.
Not yet, Aaron yelled silently to Gregory. Give me a few more seconds. Come on, all I need are a few more seconds.
The knife blade struck down, and Aaron screamed as he desperately reached--
A gun fired.
Gregory staggered back. The knife was suddenly raised above his head again as he twisted and fell and then--
The gun fired again.
Light flared off a shield suddenly erected around Beech. He staggered back a step, sword rising while the gun continued firing again and again.
Beech staggered once more, and then Eric's falling brother threw his knife. The blade flashed through the doorway.
"ARRRGH!"
Staggering, a gray haired, broad shouldered black man came into view, blood staining his dark skin, gun dropping from his fingers. Beech straightened from the last shot that had flashed against his shield. He raised the sword and pointed--
Aaron's mental being suddenly grasped the power straining inside him. He molded it, shaped it to his will. Stretching his grip, he captured the women and then reached out and grabbed their savior. His power swept in a circle, gripping everything in it, crashing against Beech's shield, rejecting it and him as Aaron defined the circle of his influence.
Not the compound, he remembered at the last moment. He could not go back to the compound.
Something formed in the air at the tip of Sarah's sword. Beech laughed. The something flashed free--
Fli--fli--fli--fli--FLICKER
Chapter 20
Perk was disgusted by the sight of a ten year-old cranberry red Husky in her driveway. As a driver, she had nothing but contempt for any vehicle that handled like a cardboard box on wheels. Besides, the maintenance record on those things was appalling. Only an idiot would buy one in the first place, and no one short of an imbecile would even contemplate driving a Husky that was ten years old. Between the cost of maintenance and frequent towing, a person would be better off buying a new vehicle and making payments. Perk chuckled to herself and wondered if the unknown owner qualified for frequent towing miles yet.
Now the big question really revolved around which of Derrick's many friends was the idiot who had driven that thing here. Too many qualified for the title, but she did not have much of an idea what most of them drove since she mostly only met them when she went to the strip bars with Derrick. George Evens was a possibility. He was a large lump of nothing waiting to happen who did not have a license to drive. Of course that did not stop him from driving, but not being insurable was probably some sort of deterrent to his actually buying a car because he would have to pay cash. Paul Harbor liked to ride on two wheels, and that Sprocket fellow had more money, if not as much sense, than the Husky required. Ah well. These little mysteries made life worth living.
She had her key ready for the lock when she reached the front door, but there was no need for it. The door was not only unlocked, it was ajar. Pushing it further open, she entered her home and went looking for unwanted company. Derrick and his buddy were not in the living room or the kitchen. The bathroom door was open, and she had no basement, so that sort of narrowed down the possibilities of where they were and what kind of friend Derrick was entertaining.
Sure enough, an ear pressed gently to the bedroom door gave her all the sounds needed to prove her theory. She heard a few moans intermixed with the faint slosh of water because Derrick had not bled the air out of her waterbed like he had promised several weeks earlier.
Straightening, she gently turned the knob and silently swung the door open. Taking a step forward, Perk leaned her shoulder against the doorframe and watched the action with a jaundiced eye.
The girl might or might not have qualified as being good in bed. Perk was more than willing to let Derrick make that judgment call since she did not have and never wanted to have any experience in the same sex department. Good or not, the girl was certainly enthusiastic and athletic about the entire endeavor. Perk saw her assume more positions in the next five minutes than a ballerina took during an entire performance. Poor Derrick was up against more than he could handle. He sweated up a storm, and his breath sounded like a leaky steam engine.
A shame, really. His respiratory system had not been nearly that out of shape when he moved in with her. Just goes to show how quickly a life of leisure could ruin a person's conditioning. It also showed the difference between thirty-five and--Perk gave the girl a calculating look--maybe seventeen if a gal was generous. Truthfully, the young thing was probably a year younger than that.
Derrick finished up with a jungle yell. The little miss yelled along with him, but her face told of her deceit, and her body could not hold up her lie. Derrick knew instantly that he had been remiss in his duties. Perk had to smile at his stricken look. Strangely, Derrick's one truly redeeming feature was the pride he took in pleasing his partner. In this case he had somewhat--fallen down on the job.
"I'll give it a nine point seven for enthusiasm but only a six for technique," Perk said calmly. This was a scene she had lived through too many times for it to upset her again.
Derrick instantly schooled his expression and lazily rolled his head to get a look at Perk while the girl let out a small surprised scream and dove for the covers. Despite the promise shown by her earlier performance, she proved to not be very good at the diving under the covers part of the home wrecker routine. It took her two attempts to get the blankets completely over her head.
"You're home early," Derrick said nonchalantly. He acted as if he were totally oblivious to the fact that an under-aged naked girl hid under the covers of his girlfriend's bed. If the facts had not been so obvious, Perk would not have been able to tell from his attitude whether he had been screwing around on her or had just finished reading a good novel--not that Derrick could read all that well.
"You've been complaining because I work late," Perk told him calmly. She wondered what it would be like to sleep by herself once more. Peaceful, she decided. It would be decidedly peaceful. "I thought I'd surprise you. Thought we might play a little bumpy bump tonight."
She walked over to the bed and gave him a once over. He still looked damned good. Despite his newly acquired sedentary lifestyle there was only about five pounds of unneeded fat on his body. He had rug
of hair on his chest, a day's growth on his face, and his eyes still had that confident, commanding look she found attractive in men. On top of that he was half a foot taller than her and had muscles in all the right places. All in all, he was a good-looking piece of eye candy. It was just his integrity and most of the hair on his head that were lacking.
Derrick smiled and pointed toward his groin. "You're too late. I won't be ready for another hour."
Ignoring him, Perk pulled back the covers. Green eyes stared up at her. The poor dear was shaking. Her eyes were wet, and the look she gave Perk held abject fear. The little darling must be quite new at this, but then she did not have the appearance of a practiced home wrecker. She looked like she was somebody's darling girl trying to go bad.
"Hon," Perk told the girl, "you had best go and get yourself cleaned up 'cause you're leaking all over my clean sheets. I won't have it girl. I don't mind you screwing my guy all that much, but I will not have you messing up my sheets."
The frightened girl pulled herself out of the bed and scurried for the bathroom. Appreciative, Perk watched her run. Say what you will, Derrick did have good taste. The gal was good looking flesh. She had the tight skin of youth, a nice firm butt, and her boobs had no droop at all. They were so firm that they hardly bounced when she ran. Then again, Derrick tended to go for young and fresh. He liked brainless and no self-esteem, too--but that was only because brainless, no esteem girls made for an easier conquest.
The girl did not stay in the bathroom long. Within moments she sidled out, and then she rushed to gather up her clothes before running toward the door without bothering to put all her clothing on. Perk stopped her to hand over a dropped bra before the girl bolted out the door. It was the decent thing to do. Bras cost good money, and this one was not Perk's size.
Once the door closed Perk went back to the bedroom. Wearing a snidely victorious smirk, Derrick sat up and pulled on his pants.
Perk shook her head. "Derrick, you know I don't say anything about your other lays. Truth is, I never cared enough about you for it to bother me. I do have a problem with this one though. You brought her into my home."
Derrick shrugged. "So? What does it matter where I do them? Here. There. It's all the same in the end." He chuckled and picked up his discarded tee shirt, gingerly sniffing it before holding it out to her. "Do you think this stinks too much for a third wearing?"
Perk sighed and ignored the offering. "The difference is a matter of respect. I knew you had very little respect for me. This shows you don't have any respect at all. It's time you left."
Eyes narrowing, Derrick's face changed from amused to mean. "You ain't kicking me out of my home. You don't have the balls for it."
"I don't have any balls at all, but you're still leaving."
He raised a fist. "Make me."
* * *
Feeling sad, Perk watched while Derrick staggered down the walkway. The sight of one more loser walking out of her life made her want to take therapy. There was something inside her, some insecurity that made her go after the users and the abusers. Obviously, her lovers were not the only ones who were sick. They were just the ones who were afraid to openly admit to the sickness in their minds. Perk knew she was sick, but she could see no way out of it except through an endless array of weightlifting, and swimming, and martial arts classes.
Shaking her head in self-disgust, Perk went around the house, changing the combinations on her locks and the codes on her alarm system. Of course, she would now have to set up the cameras again because Derrick was violent and had a vindictive streak as wide as her driveway running through him. Being Derrick, he would try to damage her home. Well good luck, boyo. If you do that you'll do your time behind bars just like those other two smarmy bastards.
It took her over an hour to reconnect the cameras, and then it took her another two hours to get them adjusted the way she wanted. During that time she took a look at her life and did not particularly like what she saw. She looked at her job and her men, and she wished desperately that she did not live here. She wished she lived in a time and a place where honor had some meaning. She wanted to live where integrity was more than just another word in the dictionary; where it was not a constant struggle for her to get through the day without wanting to punch some asshole of a fare who thought all female drivers sold themselves on the side. Most of all, she wished she could land a decent job and a decent man, but those goals were only dreams because she was a person of limited potential. All she could do was drive and fight. Despite encouragement from her teachers, Perk knew she was not qualified to teach martial arts. She was not good enough for that. She was not nearly as good as those who taught her, and she had too much pride to be a third rate teacher like so many others.
Well, she did have more than a little money set aside, money that Derrick had never known about. The twisted man had seen to that. She smiled. Aaron Turner was a lonely and a weird man. She liked him despite or because of that. Maybe it was the weird in him. She seemed to be attracted to weird.
Maybe she should quit driving and start taking a few classes. She could probably arrange to get her GED in a year or two, and then she could go after something more ambitious than driving a cab.
Or maybe she should just pack her bags and head off for some foreign port. Maybe she should ditch Jefferson entirely and head for one of those little tropical islands where tourists drank out of glasses with little umbrellas stuck in them. A place where native men and women took off their daytime business suits to don the traditional skimpy attire of their forebears so they could dance and prance for those umbrella-twiddling tourists.
Hell, maybe she should just take a nap.
Nah, she couldn't even do that. She had to wash her sheets first. She only had the one set, and they were soiled.
Chapter 21
The Gaines bus station lost its tranquility in a heartbeat.
People, and boards, and furniture along with a partial wall exploded into being, smashed into two people waiting for a bus and decapitated the ticket agent. Several station chairs splintered and an abandoned whiskey bottle shattered.
Eric and the Gargoyle immediately staggered erect. Throwing panicked looks at each other they shot for the open door. A policeman, escorting a prisoner, stepped out of the bathroom and raised his gun.
"HALT!"
Eric spun and pointed. The policeman blew open like an overripe melon slammed into hard cement. The prisoner stood still, horrified as a dripping sheet of blood and gore covered him. Eric's face fell into shock, and then a smile of pure joy spread across it. Quickly spinning back to Melissa, he grabbed her arm and jerked her out the door.
Samuel Aybarra, undercover agent for Jefferson Central Intelligence, watched them as he struggled to pull himself erect. He looked down at his body to see a knife stuck in him.
"Intelligence," he shouted to the former prisoner, the only other conscious and free person left in the station. "Don't call the police. Call Intelligence." Blood flowed down his bare arm, staining his dark skin, and dripped off his fingers. Suddenly feeling weary, he sat down on a broken chair and looked at his fellow transportees. The naked and sorely abused redhead was not moving, either dead or still unconscious. The other woman struggled to free herself from the broken chair she was tied to, and Turner was apparently not all there. His eyes were rolled up into his head. Blood glistened on his bare skin, and his body twisted to take on the same convoluted contortion he had held when Aybarra had first seen him at Field's Militia while posing as a captain under General Mays, so that, at least, had not been a ruse.
Not far away lay half the upper body of the third man. Not all of him had transported over since his legs seemed to be missing. Two men lay near him, twisted bodies broken by the fallen section of wall. Debris piled on top of them, but that did not matter. Neither of them breathed.
"What a hell of a job," Aybarra muttered to himself. This was not the life he had planned for himself when the recruiter had knocked on his dorm r
oom door more than twenty years earlier and invited him to join Intelligence. He had pictured himself sitting in a nice clean office while he studied satellite photos and drank bad coffee.
"Tell them we need medical," he shouted to the prisoner as the man grabbed up the phone. "Major medical, but they have to keep it quiet, so tell them no sirens."
The gore-covered man jerked his head up from the phone, gave Aybarra the finger, and went back to talking.
Lucky guy, Aybarra thought. They would probably relocate him to one of the high security villages. Those were little more than prisons with privileges, but hell, the fellow had apparently been going to jail anyway. Now he was going to be in a prison where he got to play golf with former agents and two fallen governors. Aybarra felt happy for the man. It was good to know something positive would come out of this fiasco. He looked down to study the blood draining from his body.
"A lot of ambulances!" he shouted.
Appearing exasperated, the caller pulled the phone away from his ear. "Would you shut up and let me get on with this?"
Samuel Aybarra shut up and let a convicted felon handle matters.
* * *
Aybarra looked at his older superior, noting that he seemed to have gained another ten pounds and lost even more hair during the last several months while Aybarra had been living under cover. Hair loss and extra pounds was just one of the dangers of owning a desk job, he assumed. Unfortunately, the way things were going, he would never have the opportunity of personally finding that out. Apparently, Mrs. Aybarra's little son Samuel was just too damn good in the field for his superiors to even consider promoting him to a desk job.
After settling himself into the plush oversized visitor's chair set on the other side of his boss's cherry wood desk, feeling himself sink too far in so that, with time, his back was guaranteed to ache, Samuel tried to ignore pictures on the wall of David shaking hands with presidents because, when push came to shove, that was another reason he would remain forever in the lower ranks. He had no connections, no pull, because he was the wrong race. Prejudice because of race might officially be a thing of the past, but for some reason, those who were of Asian or Hispanic descent tended to get all the best jobs.