by G R Fabacher
Horatio gave his signature lopsided grin, “Ah, yes, would you look at the time.” He pulled a crystal watch from his pocket. Appraised the flat side of watch and made a show of inspecting the glowing runes.
Chapter 17
Damon smiled as he sat across from Shaya. They had managed to corral one section of the long mess tables all to themselves. He put a fork in his beef casserole and let it there. “Can’t believe it’s been almost half a year since,” he stifled a laugh, “I got hit by that hauler, and it knocked me down the street. I felt like a trash can.”
“Yeah,” she smiled, “I thought you were dead there for a second. Your Hanging wasn’t so bad. You did prematurely trigger that feather bubble—“
“It’s usually not a problem for me…”
She snorted.
“What?” He laughed.
Damon picked at his casserole. “So what was yours like? Your Hanging?”
She stroked her hair, it wriggled around her fingers of its own volition.
“Wait,” he said, before you start. I got to know. How do half-elves and elves cut that stuff?”
She smiled and rolled her eyes, “We don’t; it would hurt like a bite from one of the nine hounds. It sheds, it naturally develops a thicker outer layer as we age, so it’s protected from touching and even the… roughest of pulling.” She smiled.
Damon, who had been drinking a cup of watered down juice tried desperately only to choke to death and not spray the liquid out of his nose. “Anyway, consider my curiosity sated, please continue with your story.”
“Well, my first lover was an elf punk by the name of—“
Damon rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue.
“Yeah, my Hanging was about three and half years ago. We were going to do this run, kidnapping some Union weapon alchemist. We came in a lot lower than yours. I… I hit a fruit stand…”
“What?” Damon choked.
“Shut up. I thought I was going to die.” She looked away and stroked her living hair. It was much thicker than human hair, but seemed to flow around her fingers as easy as water
“Yeah it was Urani’s idea, and that’s why I ended up breaking her nose.”
“In addition to her jaw for the top bunk?” He asked.
Shaya nodded, “That came later…”
Urani who had been sitting within earshot, but until had chosen to ignore the conversation with the best politeness that could be asked of a mess hall full of convicts, turned to Shaya and made an expressive kissy face at the half-elf. She leaned back, her tattooed arms and chest on display around her under-tunic.
Damon looked back to Shaya. “So it was a really low fly by?”
“Yep, well within our armor’s ability to take the fall into the ground without any damage.” Her tone was acidic. “Anyway,” she said with a shake of her head, “we were on New Bounty, it’s one of the little boundless mountains, next to the line for Duamatt’s livable side. This Union egghead was the inventor of that big honking super stealth grenade. The one that apparently has all the newest mute charms. I don’t know; I’ve never gotten to use one.
“This guy was giving someone in the intelligence community fits. So the Union put the guy with some of their colonials. You know those die-hard colonial do or die huli’lah.”
“Yeah, who indoctrinates a colonial effort?” Damon said, recalling the papers.
“The Union, apparently. Unlike our hegemonic bureaucratic nightmare, the Union encourages armed compounds and civilians with mounted guns… at least on Duamatt. Short tempers regarding anything with scales, horns, or ephemeral wings a must. Apply today.”
She took a drink of water and ate some of her food, “So here we were, dead of night, we’re flying in fast and low. They’re jumping out of the back all normal. The dropship was kitted with a fire lance. That missile that pierces runic metal. It hit the compound in front of our advance. But like you, they basically just pitched me out of the back like a bundle of trash. I didn’t even have time for a proper scream.
“I’m pulling myself out of some small hauler with fruit in the back, there was a cantaloupe on my boot. It took forever to shake off. I finally smashed it against a tree. So we walk into the place, and they start unleashing holy hell on us. We didn’t even get fancy gear like last time. Nope, we were fighting civilians with paramilitary training, so they said our standard gear was good enough.”
She shook her head, “It went bad pretty fast. The Union military wouldn’t give them military grade suits, but they had those civilian models that alchemists use to protect themselves while doing research in the wastes—heavily modified. It’s not the same thing, but whoo did things get hairy.”
Damon listened to her story, eating the casserole only because he needed the calories for the Lieutenant’s harsh physical regimens.
“So, I’m ducking behind some kind of toolshed, and then the local dragonkin come roaring in. It seems like they were just hopping at the chance to hit back the compound, who had been using them as slave labor. You ever see a dragonkin, Damon?” She asked.
He shook his head.
“They’re very clannish, so they don’t like to leave their homes, but there are a few here in the Republic, but they’re so awesomely huge when they get old. Like ten yards from tip to tail. All muscle and the walk on four legs. There aren’t a lot of those, but when they breathe that fire of theirs… it melts stone.”
Shaya got so full of laugh it took her a few moments to get back to her tale. “So our kidnapping mission turned into a rescue mission, because those dragons were headed for the main compound where our weapon alchemist was. So we’re running through the house, and the Unies don’t even give a shite as we pass by.
“We found him huddled in a bathroom, and when we pointed guns at him he was so happy to see us, he hugged me around the ankle. Those dragons were pissed and we sneaked out the back all quiet like. We weren’t sure the clan would let us keep him. We didn’t lose anyone either, and believe me that’s not as common as you’d think. I know we barely made it through that last one on the Indomitable. It’s what we’re for…” She grew morose, “we’re here to die…”
They sat in silence for a long while.
“So are you gonna tell me what really got you locked up yet?” She asked.
Damon thought for a moment about playing it off but her eyes told him that was going to over about as well as a faerie in an ironworks. “Look, I tried to play clubs. I tried to be legit. I’m damn good at it too, but I kept having trouble making ends meet so I started dealing. Just club stuff, but I was good at that too apparently.”
“Were you a kingpin?” She teased, but frowned when he didn’t take the bait.
“No, I only sold just enough to get by, it never sat right with me.”
“Petty dealing doesn’t get you put in the Lich Corps though, Damon…” Shay said softly.
He nodded, “No, that was that girl, I kind of liked her, but we were really there to use the party as cover to do some… well people trafficking—and before you say anything it was smuggling people out of Unie territory.”
Shaya stroked his hand, “Trying to good with bad things, no wonder you’re a perfect fit.”
“Thanks,” he said flatly, “anyway, the party gets busted. I get pinned as a traitor, priors for dealing. It didn’t matter someone made sure I got put in a coffin.”
They sat there for a long moment, looking at one another.
“So are you going to tell me what you had to steal to get thrown in here?” He asked.
Shaya sighed and her hair danced gently as she thought about it. “Maybe later…”
“That’s not exactly fair, Shaya—“
“Are you afraid to die, Damon?” Shaya asked.
Caught off guard Damon tentatively returned her gaze, “Yes…” he said softly.
“I don’t think I’m going to the Tree of Life or anything either, but I’d like to believe I go somewhere beautiful… if I’m good.”
&nbs
p; “Yeah, I’ve never put much stock in the churches of the world either. I think it’s okay to believe in something you can’t fully understand or study.” Damon said. “I’d like to believe that there is a place out there, after this whole thing is over though.”
“That’d be great…” She sighed.
Damon took her hand in his and she squeezed it back tightly.
Chapter 18
The new bodies for the Lich Corps was brought in in the morning after the news of Archeon’s destruction reached the papers and scrynet. The corps were hard at work at the Lieutenant’s recent artistic endeavor into physical exertion, pain, and sadism when the story first broke.
Damon hit the showers with the rest of the men in the block. Afterward they all gathered in the morning communique from the knight-captain. These things were the highlight of the Lich Corps’ day, because Lieutenant said they were. Damon sat at a reasonable facsimile of attention. Shaya a seat away from in and Urani sat between them.
“What’s wrong with you?” He asked the female orc.
“What?” She asked. “This is what you humans and half-humans do, right? You make the bedroom eyes, and you flirt around mating. That’s what I’m doing. I’m providing a healthy competition for Willow.”
“Say what to what now?” Damon asked.
“Competition, what is the right to mate without working for it?”
“Easy?” Damon said.
“Exactly, mating without competition is prostitution and my Willow is no prostitute, Bard.”
“Understood.” Damon said. He looked at Shaya and she shrugged in response. “And what about you? What if your competition is too compelling?” He asked.
“Well then we’ll mate like orcs mate.” She said, swelling out her chest, her full lips teased by her little fangs as she grinned. “I will have dominated Shaya in the endeavor and claimed mating rights for myself… for what they’re worth.”
“So have you and Jurza… you know?”
She started and crossed her arms then quick as lighting slapped him. “No, we haven’t. He’s probably a sexual predator. You’ve seen him, you know what he’s like. There’s a difference between respecting strength and the dominance of others and being crazy and abused by a krezshat psychopath.”
Damon sat up from the floor and rubbed his jaw popping it. “Sorry, Urani, I didn’t know.”
“I know,” she said smiling, “orc customs are not well known even in the Republic. That is why I did not kill you. Plus you broke Jurza’s nose and pounded the ever loving shite out of him. It makes you cute for one so small, like a kitty-cat or a ferret.” She made her attempt at eye batting once again, shooting Shaya a smug look afterward.
“I feel like I’m not supposed to understand what is going on here.”
The Lieutenant walked in and Damon slid back into his seat. “That makes two of us. If we’re done with the particularly cringe-worthy melodrama in Sacreon’s romancing of green-skinned criminals then can we move on to introducing the new blood the corps? I think you’ll all find this one really interesting.”
Damon did not like the warm feeling spreading through his face and sought a place at the back of the corpsmen when they stood up to leave.
The assembled convicts moved out into the yard where they could all see the landing pad on the roof of the prison. It was still far up, but the prison transport was easy to spot. The utilitarian gray paintjob, glinted off the late-morning sunlight. The engines warbled for a time after touching it down, cutting out when the back hatch lowered down to the stone.
At first Damon didn’t see what was so special about this particular batch. There was an elf, judging by the arms and height. There was another orc and the assortment of humans. It was what came out last. It was tall and wide, almost eight feet in height. Its dark brown body looked like it was made of clay, the sun glinted off what looked to be splotches of iron.
“Holy shite,” he breathed, “it’s a golem.”
How are they going to put him in armor?” Joyride said, pushing past the crowd to get a look, not enjoying the height boost of his armor.
“We’re not, Oslo.” The Lieutenant said.
“I didn’t think they broke the law.” Damon said.
“Apparently this one’s insane by golem standards.” The Lieutenant said.
“You going to make him do the physical training?” Someone else said.
“What’s the point?” The Lieutenant said before walking to the fore of the crowd. “Alright, boys, girls, and all you other miscreants. I want every weapon stripped cleaned and reassembled before luncheon.”
No one had the courage to groan. They all shuffled off into the armory. Runic batteries and ammunition were kept in a separate building under heavy guard of course. Proper Republic combat engineers would load and prime armor and weapons, but it was the Lich Corps’ responsibility to maintain any weapons and army they were given or stole from the battlefield.
Though he had been there before, Damon was surprised to learn that their armory was old enough to be from the Age of Metals when the prison had been an Azure Crown fort, but now it was just a brick building with modern doors and a cargo hatch installed on its roof. The ground floor was devoted to the storage of the armor suits. There were other more modern buildings that other squads used, but they were much more modern installations.
Damon found his. It stood out from the others because it had a newer arm from where his other had been burned out. It was still the old-style magically-imbued metal. It had a higher guard on the shoulder than the rounded pauldron. It gave his armor an asymmetrical profile, and he kind of liked it. The arm was also generally larger, coming from a design philosophy that bulkier was better.
Boudira smiled, “Hey, baby,” she said doting on her armor, “did you miss me?”
Damon watched as two guards from the prison brought forth several large crates with straw and smelling of herbs and moss, the telltale sign of the lightly enchanted oil used to maintain weapons and armor.
“Your allotment of military surplus. No,” the guard said turning to Boudira, “no ceramic composites.”
Boudira sighed and let down the hood of her shade suit. Her flaming red hair was mussed further when she shook her head. “Killjoys…” she grumbled.
The two men returned with a full box of armor on hovering hand truck. “This is for the witch, hope it was worth the extra missions.”
Sparky made a rude gesture with hands, which was difficult as she was the only one constantly shackled. The manacles going up her elbows. It made Damon really appreciate the kid’s artistic endeavors.
Damon helped her open the box and extricate the armor. It was in four sections. “All brand new old stock. Look at that.” He said.
“It smells like moss and mushrooms and cow shite.” Sparky said.
Damon moved to his own armor, checking the joints and magical conductivity of the runes. The Boudira was the only one anyone trusted to check the work, meaning the little dwarf was bustling around on her short legs all afternoon, but she couldn’t be happier.
There were always small fights over the surplus, but most of it was weapon mods and various extraneous pieces.
“I think this is where all those nuts and bolts that no one can find a place for end up.” Damon said taking the time to grab a few spray cans. His armor was in fairly good repair, he washed off some of the soot and made sure everything got a good dose of the magical grease that kept the armor moving. He did manage to snag a few plates of new armor to replace the expended and flechette-riddled ones. It wasn’t the most cutting-edge armor to ever be deployed on the battlefield, but it was his.
Damon, Sparky, Joyride, and a former hitman everyone called Cutter were the first to finish, so they headed downstairs to where the weapons were kept. It used to be a simple food storage cellar, now it had been converted into a small workshop. The weapons were arrayed on racks and several corpsmen shared a single rack. Damon shared his with Urani and Boudira. Sparky shared
hers with Oslo and Jurza. Damon had worried about Hellaina working with Jurza, but the massive orc never seemed to try anything.
Since the orc wasn’t here, Damon tapped her on the shoulder. She ran her shackled hands through her long ashen-blonde hair and turned around, fixing him with her silvery eyes, “Yeah, loverboy?”
Damon took a step back, “What did I do?”
“Nothing,” she said, “whatcha want?”
Damon knew enough women to know when one was lying, but he didn’t probe that nerve, letting that bait drop.
“I was wondering why Jurza never messes with you. He messes with everyone, and has tried to kill more than a few of us, but well…”
“Why do you think I’m wearing these shackles?” She asked.
“Because you’d break out if you had access to your magic?”
“Ha no! There are enough wards and guards at this place to turn me into a fine pink smudge if I tried to actually escape. They put me in these because I burned half of Jurza’s skin off. He’d have died if orcs weren’t such fast freaking healers. Hasn’t bothered me since.”
“You know, I’m beginning to regret asking you questions.” Damon said.
“You’re the one who asked.” She said picking up her new pistol and stripping it down.
“I know, I don’t seem to learn lessons.” He said, turning to his own weapons.
Damon started with the Republic battle rifle. The stubby nose and boxy design were growing on him. He learned though that it was more or less chambered for the same kinds of flechettes used in the standard issue pistol. It wasn’t as great down range as some of the Union Gremlins they’d managed to acquire. He thought about trading it out for one of the longer, sleeker rifles, but opted to put a stock on it instead.
It even collapsed and extended when he pushed a rune. The stock was designed to magilock with his armor so he could hold it steady at the shoulder or on the upper arm.
“Neat…” he said to himself.