by Trisha Telep
So why am I doing it? Because I have to (the oldest reason in the world). What am I trying to prove? Only that I can.
A sleek, silver hover detatched itself from the traffic-holding pattern overhead and dived gracefully, gyros making a faint whining as its underside swelled with frictionless reactive paint. The whine of antigrav rattled Liana’s back teeth, crawled inside her skull and stayed there. I wonder if he got my message. I wonder if he’s even in town. I wonder if he’ll show up. He could always find me, he said. Her heart decided to complete the fun and games by hammering up into her throat, bringing the taste of sour copper with it. I wonder if now’s the time we’re going to test that statement.
The hover was combat – and mag – shielded. It nosed up to the dock as Tiens stepped back a single pace, his shoulders slumping. Liana didn’t scan it – whoever was in there would be able to feel her attention, and that would go badly all the way around.
The hover’s main passenger hatch dilated, antigrav reaching a whining peak and receding as systems shut down. Liana’s fingers touched the plasgun’s hilt again. If she squeezed off a shot . . . but Tiens was right there, too.
Do I care?
She drew the projectile gun, smoothly, slowly. There would be no glint off the barrel, this catwalk was too deep in industrial gloom. Four escape routes, one of them straight down and onto another slim grating hanging out over space.
This isn’t good. She watched Tiens, his shoulders bowing under an invisible force, as two small lights gleamed, down low, in the shadowed hatch. What the hell?
It couldn’t be a Nichtvren. If it was, it was a joke and not a good one. It was the kind of joke immortal beings play on humans without thinking of horrific consequences just because they can.
The little girl wore a blue gingham frock and shiny red patent-leather shoes. Her hair hung in carefully coiffed ringlets and her feral little face caught a random reflection of light, filling with the stray gleam like a dish with milk. She had a sharp little nose, plump cheeks, dark eyes like coals with the dust of centuries over them. Her aura swirled once, counter-clockwise, and ate the deep bruising that was Tiens on the landscape of power whole, enfolding him.
You didn’t tell me she was a goddam nine-year-old, Tiens. Her mouth was dry and as slick as glass. Liana sighted as the blond Nichtvren went to his knees. There was no way even such a creature as old and powerful as him could fight whatever was in that little-girl body. Isis save me. She’s got to be ancient. At least a Master, maybe as strong as the Prime – though I just saw the Prime that once. Scary fucker he was, too.
Her hand tightened, the hammer clicking up as the trigger eased down. Their voices drifted up to her, some archaic language – maybe Old Franje, mellifluous and accented. Tiens, with a ragged, breathless edge to these words Liana had never heard before; the other Nichtvren in a sweet bell-like tone over a sucking whirlpool of something candy-sweet and rotten.
The little girl stepped forwards, her shoes glittering like polished rubies in the backwash of landing lights. Tiens crumpled and a low sound of agony scarred the night. He sounded like something red-hot had just been rammed into his belly, his body curving over to protect violated flesh.
Let him suffer. God knows I suffered enough.
And yet, she’d taken the job. This is your honour, Lia. It must never touch the ground.
The thing was, the ground kept moving. Liana squeezed the trigger.
The bullet flew true, and half of the little girl’s head evaporated. She toppled backwards, and Liana was already moving, her hand slapping the guard rail as she vaulted, a moment of weightlessness before her boots thudded onto the catwalk below. Move, move, move!
The world exploded turning over, metal screeching as it tore under a lash of razor-toothed Power. She fell, cart-wheeling through space, the catwalk peeled back like so much spun sugar, and she landed hard, the gun skittered from her grasp as something snapped like greenwood and a wave of sick agony spilled down her left ribs.
A molasses-slow eternity of rolling to bleed momentum left Liana, hyperventilating, on the cold metal of the dock, her arms and legs twisted oddly and something wet and sticky dripping in her eyes. Firefly points of light streamed through the dark sky, the traffic patterns of both the freight and passenger hovers trembling on the edge of coherence for a moment before darkening as something bent over her. Left arm useless, a bar of lead, right arm still working, fingers against a leather-wrapped hilt and the sword rising as every muscle in Liana’s body screamed. It was an arc of silver, a solid sweep of metal, and it sank into the side of the little-girl Nichtvren’s scrawny neck with a sound like an axe hitting hardwood.
Isis save me, this is going to hurt in a moment. The pain turned red and rolled over her as blood sprayed, impossibly red, a tide of stinking copper death.
And the little-girl Nichtvren screamed something no doubt filthy in her mother tongue, claws springing free of her delicate childish fingers, half her dress soaked with bright claret from the swiftly rebuilding ruin of her skull. Other noises intruded under her screeching – a tide of roars and screams, the sound of a projectile rifle stuttering on automatic, howls of pain and at least one spiralling death scream.
Then it happened, the way it always did.
Time stopped.
Liana’s bloody hand gleamed, slick and wet, the ring’s shine lost under liquid. A pinprick of green flared in the gem’s depths, opened like a hover’s fisheye hatch, spat a single spark that turned black as it imploded. Emerald light crawled through the widening aperture, sending vein-like traceries through the coating of blood, and flared to cover Liana’s right hand in a supple, metallic glove of green light.
Strength like wine jolted up her arm, spilled down into her chest, burned fiercely in her broken left humerus, pulled Liana to her feet as if she were a puppet, the strings tied to flexible fingers that bent in ways no human’s should. Green flame crawled like liquid oil down her fingers, mixing uneasily with the blue glow of runes in the depths of blessed steel, and threaded through the small female body that was even now screeching, thrashing with flesh and Power both, metal crumpled and thin trickles of hot blood tracing down from Liana’s ears.
I knew this was going to happen, she thought, and felt only a drowsy sense of panic.
The repeating projectile rifle spoke again. The rest of the little-girl Nichtvren’s head exploded, gobbets of steaming preternatural flesh smoking and splatting against shredded metal and cracked concrete. The rifle went back to speaking in stutters. Liana tore her sword free and raised her head as the body thumped to the ground, runnels of self-cannibilizing tissue fuelled by an extra-human metabolism turning into rot.
Damn they go quickly.
Her legs folded again as the green light spilled away, back into the depths of the ring. A low, keening hum drilled through her head and receded; Liana found herself sprawled on the dock as the noise drained down through whimpers and yelps into silence. There was one last spatter of projectile fire, then the whine of antigrav that might as well be silence swept over the dock.
Liana decided to stay right where she was. She blinked, and another shadow fell over her.
“Cherie?” Tiens, his angelic face twisted with worry, came into view. His hair was full of blood, and it striped and spattered his shredded suit. He looked like he’d gone a few rounds with a vegaprocessor. “Liana?”
Go away. Her mouth wouldn’t work to frame the words.
Then, wonder of wonders, the best thing in the world happened. Another shadow mated with Tiens’ over her and a pair of yellow eyes under strings of lank dark hair met hers.
“You look like shit, chica,” Lucas Villalobos said hoarsely, in his throat-cut voice.
But Liana had already passed out.
Lucas set the bonescrubber, his fingers deft and as painless as possible. A sharp jab of heat, the numbing of analgesic, and the silvery cuff around her left upper arm began to fill with red light. When it faded to green the break would be m
ostly healed and she would just have to be careful for a few days while the fresh tissue settled. Two hot tears trickled down Liana’s cheek and she couldn’t wipe them away because her right hand was locked around the scabbard.
Tiens stood, his hands in his pockets and his head down. “I did not know,” he repeated, and Liana felt only weary amazement that he would repeat the obvious.
“Of course you didn’t know.” The analgesic made her tongue feel too thick for the words. “Isis save me, Tiens, you think I’d come back here for you? You tore my heart out, threw it on the floor and stamped on it a few times.”
“Why didn’t you use the rifle?” Villalobos said for the third time – a sure sign of his irritation. The thick-ridged scar running down the side of his face twitched, its seams and puckers moving independently to his mood. They called him the Deathless, and even Jaf respected his ability.
Of course, any demon might be wary of an assassin who couldn’t die.
“Decapitation’s surest.” Liana squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could rest. And I had to prove I could do it. “I presume the money’s safe?”
“You bet.” Lucas shrugged, then peeled the latex gloves off with small snapping sounds.
“Money?” Tiens sagged even further.
“You weren’t the only one wanting the bitch dead.” Liana let out a small, painful hitching laugh. “Come off it, Tiens. A Master of that calibre wouldn’t be coming back just for you. She’d made a lot of enemies with the games she liked to play; you were just an afterthought. Our client paid double for her to be killed in transit to Bangkok. Just be glad I’m not charging you for the dust-up too.”
“For money?” Tiens was having a hard time with this. “You were raised better, petite.”
This is your honour. It stung just for a moment through the painkillers. Liana opened her eyes and stared at him. “You can go away now.” Now that I’ve proved to myself that I can stay away from you. Like mother, like daughter, huh?
“Lia –”
“I’d take that offer if I was you suckhead.” Lucas’ whisper was as soft as ever. The shiver that usually traced down Liana’s spine at that tone was muted, but still there through the chemical numbness.
The bonescrubber cuff clicked and hummed to itself. A sharp twinge of pain buried itself under the analgesic, shooting through her arm, and Liana sucked in a breath.
“Liana –”
“Get the hell out of here,” she said tonelessly. “Hold your breath until I call.”
It wasn’t as good as it could have been, because he’d be able to hold his breath anyway, at least until he wanted to seduce someone new. But he left, thank the gods, walking heavily one step at a time like a mortal human to the door of the room Lucas had rented deep in the Tank’s seething mess of crowded tenements. The hinges squeaked, the door opened and closed, and Liana waited until the disturbance of his aura vanished into the psychic noise of so many poor people crowded all together.
“You OK?” Did Lucas actually sound, of all things, tentative? Wonders never cease. “Just fine,” Liana murmured. She glanced down at her right hand. The gem was dead-dark and quiescent, and she suppressed a shiver at what she might have to do on the next job. “Where are we headed next?”
“Fuck, girl, don’t you want to take a rest?” But there was no heat to it. He, of all people, understood how she felt about this city, this place, the obligations and duties lying just under the streets to trip her up, rising like invisible wires. A net that would catch her if she stayed here much longer.
“Goddammit, Lucas,” she said wearily, “just tell me what the next job is. I’ve got to get out of here.”
“What about . . .” The question failed on his lips, and Liana looked up at him. The Deathless looked tired, grey riding under the sallow of his skin.
“Tiens and I were over a long time ago, Lucas. I told you, I’m with you now. I’ll let you know if that changes.”
He nodded, but he didn’t look relieved. “Did you see your madre?”
She almost shrugged before she remembered the bonescrubber, forced herself to hold still. “I got that out of the way. She won’t expect me for another couple of years now. Wish I’d gotten to see Jaf though.”
“I dunno.” Lucas settled on the bed. “Thought you were a goner, chica. You got some balls.”
And a broken heart. And a serious need to get out of this town before it eats me alive. “That’s one way of putting it,” she agreed, and dropped her gaze to the bonescrubber sleeve, waiting for it to turn green so she could peel it off.
And get the hell out of Saint City.
On to the next job.
To Ease the Rage
C. T. Adams and Cathy Clamp
Even cops get scared sometimes. Oh, we’re taught to ignore it – to fight even when our instincts scream for flight. But the fact is that, occasionally, underneath all that adrenaline and razor-sharp training is a thread of fear. This was one of those times.
“My God, Sylvia. I can’t believe you’re just telling me about this now. How long’s it been going on?” Linda Montez was one of my best friends on the force. She shook her head incredulously before pouring herself another glass of beer from the half-full pitcher on the table. Normally, I’d be chugging one down with her – but I couldn’t afford to be at less than my best right now.
“About two weeks, although it might be longer. But it was a week ago Wednesday when the first call came.” The vinyl covering of the booth squeaked in protest as I leaned back and reached down to shift one of the springs that was trying to come out of a hole in the fabric. I scanned the crowd of the bar, looking for anything out of place. But I knew every person I saw – other cops, neighbours, people I’d grown up with. If any stalker was among them, it was that much more frightening.
“So, just ‘I remember’ and then hangs up? But . . . I mean, you’ve turned this in, right?” Her tongue flicked out to wipe off the moustache of foam on her upper lip. But her eyes were concerned.
I nodded. “Of course. The department’s being great about it, what with those cops over in Martinville having gone missing. They traced the calls . . . but they’re being made from those throwaway prepaid cell phones. So, it’s someone smart. No decent fingerprints or footprints around my place, even though I swear I saw someone running into the shadows away from the window. Nothing on the security cams or even the traffic cams. Nobody I’ve busted has gotten out recently, and older parolees have alibis. They’re taking it seriously. They just don’t have any leads.”
“Could you change your number? Move? Request drive-bys for a while?”
I knew Linda was trying to be helpful, but she didn’t raise any ideas I hadn’t already thought of.
“I’ve changed my number twice now, and it’s unlisted. I don’t want to move. I just barely signed the contract with my landlord to buy the place . . . and I refuse to be chased into hiding. And yeah, Jenkins and Arellano already offered to add my street to their beat. It’s just so damn frustrating.”
Linda didn’t have anything more to add other than a kind offer to let me stay at her place until they caught the guy. But staying out of harm’s way wasn’t an option. I wasn’t willing to run or hide . . . probably a failing on my part. “Can’t. No, I just want to catch the guy.”
Linda paused and then looked around before lowering her voice and leaning forwards. “You don’t suppose . . . it could be one of us, do you? I mean, the timing . . .”
I let out a deep, slow breath. I didn’t want to think about that either, but the fact was that nobody in the department had expected me to get this last grade promotion. I beat out several guys who’d been on the force longer. “I hope not. I’m trying not to believe one of them is capable of it. And I don’t know what it would solve for one of the guys to have done it. It wouldn’t change the promotion and I can’t imagine a couple more bucks a month is worth killing me over. It’s just not logical.”
Linda patted my hand and lifted her purse strap
to her shoulder. “Not everything in life is logical, Sylvia. You know that. Emotions are at the root of more than half the crimes in the city.”
I snorted derisively. “Try closer to 90 per cent. So, yeah, I know. I need to keep my options open . . . look at everyone with a critical eye.” I lowered my brows and gave her my best. ‘hard cop’ look. “It’s not you, is it?”
She laughed, a bright happy sound that at least eliminated one suspect. “Yeah, right. Like I’d take you on. I might have failed my academy finals, but even I’m not that stupid.” With a shake of her head and a chuckle she slid out of the booth. “Look, I’ve got to get home. The kids are probably home from choir practice by now and I have to put dinner on the table.” She reached out and touched my arm. “If you won’t stay on our couch, will you at least be really careful? Don’t go chasing people into dark alleys without calling for back-up. OK?”
She knew me far too well. That tendency of mine was probably responsible for my promotion, but had cost me several partners. Only Tim had really understood the need to act, and it had cost him his life when he chased a fugitive down a dark alley.
I shrugged and nodded. It made her roll her eyes and sigh, but she knew it was the best she was going to get. She left me to be swallowed by the thick haze of fragrant anise and tobacco. The bar was a smoky island refuge in a city of clean air, a throwback enclave township that wouldn’t bow to pressure.
My soda was flat and watery by the time I heard last call being announced. The loud, old-fashioned bulb horn the bartender used cut through the cacophony of televisions, music and conversation and pulled me out of my musing. It was no good. I just couldn’t add up the pieces in my head. At least I was off shift tomorrow, so I could sleep in.
The scattering of coins I left on the table wasn’t much of a tip, but she hadn’t been much of a waitress. Then it was out into the sultry night air. By the time I’d walked three blocks, silence had settled around me. Only the thumping of timed sprinklers and an occasional dog bark interrupted the soft padding of my sneakers on the concrete. The quiet, tidy neighbourhood of retirees was the reason I moved here. Like the bar, it was a haven – a place to escape the madness of sirens and screaming.