by Tyler Vance
Sheikoh looked deeply into the man’s hard eyes for a moment.
“I love you.”
That hung there for a second. Then Sheikoh burst into giggles. He shoved a fist into his mouth, hugging his chest. The man’s face went bright red. Sheikoh couldn’t tell whether from anger or embarrassment. He snorted and then gasped with wild laughter, falling back against the brick wall.
From the corner of his eye, Sheikoh noticed a movement. An instant later, both electroblade and plasma pistol were pressed against the man’s chest. The echoes of Sheikoh’s laughter had already given way before the pounding of adrenaline-shocked heartbeats. He leaned forward, his nose brushing against the dude’s, and tightened his grip on the pistol’s hilt.
“Hands up. Slowly. Let’s see whatever’s in your pocket,” Sheikoh whispered coldly.
The man searched his face for any hint of joke. There was none. This time Sheikoh was completely serious. His hands lifted into the air. The dude held what looked like a silver credit card between two fingers. Sheikoh snatched it from him, quickly glancing over it.
The eagle sigil, symbol of the Skyrei region, the mark of the Intrasentient Empire as well, and… Sheikoh’s eyes widened. He looked over at the man, this helpless east sider, and back down at the plastic card. There had to be some mistake. This couldn't be for real. There was no way...
On the bottom right corner was the unmistakable imperial sigil of Skyrei region’s Arch Centaurai, Cylium Vest. There was no doubt; no sane person forged an Arch Centaurai’s personal sigil, and Dekla didn’t look crazy. Maybe a little by-the-books or pretentious, but his eyes didn’t have that insane gleam. And you had to be insane to forge an Arch Centaurai’s sigil. There were a few punishments worse than death. And if you got convicted of treason, you were facing them all.
Sheikoh had thus far evaded the long arm of the law, but only because he was too small-time for the empire to take any notice. Had that changed? Sheikoh scanned the name on the card: Dekla Tor. He glanced back up at Dekla, eyeing the Arch Centaurai’s ensign with some apprehension. He was practically face-to-face with law. Dekla’s expression had arranged itself into smugness and arrogance in equal measures.
Sheikoh’s face broke into an apologetic smile. Just like he always practiced.
“I’m sorry about the cheap shot,” Sheikoh told Dekla, widening his eyes with sincerity. “Maybe I could learn a few things about respect too.”
He smiled tentatively at Dekla, a television perfect gesture. But the messenger’s icy expression didn’t melt in the slightest. It didn’t look like friendliness was going to get Sheikoh very far. Sheikoh pushed his bangs out of his face and subtly moved the conversation towards reasons not to arrest him.
“Uh, okay. Three things about, “the silence,” mate,” Sheikoh said, slightly sarcastically. He lifted a finger. “Number one. He’s not going to call you master or sir or my lord or whatever. Maybe Tech Dek..?”
Sheikoh raised another finger.
“Silence isn’t an assassin... He’s more like… He’s a thief with an open mind when it comes to the ownership of life. Kinda like Robin Hood, feel?” Sheikoh explained, eyes turned inward. He screwed up his face, trying to find words for his thoughts.
Dekla watched him with narrowed eyes.
“What I’m saying is if this,” Sheikoh told Dekla. “If this thing is political, if you’re after your boss’s job or something, just walk away now. Silence is a hard-headed idiot. He won’t hit someone that he doesn’t think deserves it.”
Sheikoh raised his eyebrows meaningfully. Dekla didn’t walk away, so he shrugged and lifted finger number three.
“I’m waiting,” Dekla muttered sarcastically.
He made a quick motion, gesturing for Sheikoh to continue.
Sheikoh felt a flash of annoyance, but pushed it aside. He was sure that once Dekla knew who Silence was, the dude would make it up to him. He took a deep breath. He didn’t want his voice to crack for this. This was going to be good.
“Clients and customers usually call me Silence,” Sheikoh finished dramatically. He bowed, watching Dekla with an expectant smile.
“I know that you’re Silence,” Dekla told Sheikoh in a shaky, patronizing voice. “The Century have had you in their database for almost two years now. You know that, up until now, we’ve been surrounded by people? It seems that I was mistaken in believing that you preferred your identity remain discreet.”
Sheikoh’s smile slid off like raindrops down a window. That was nowhere near the fun reaction he had been hoping for. His fingers found the comforting hilt of his pistol. Hilarious to ominous, all in a single statement.
“The Century database..?” Sheikoh repeated softly. “You’re with the Century…”
“Between the knife you were tossing around and your unprovoked assault on me... I’m sure that you understand exactly how little threat I pose to you,” Dekla muttered back resentfully.
Sheikoh shook his hair guiltily. He could almost hear Dorothi berating him. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Dekla didn’t give him a chance to speak.
“I was sent to recruit your services for a paramount mission,” Dekla explained with distaste. “Interium is in peril, and the Century are unable to do anything about it. The empire needs your… assistance.”
Dekla reached into his jacket pocket again, and Sheikoh tensed up.
“You are not in any danger,” Dekla snapped impatiently, pulling out a manila envelope. He held it out. Sheikoh made no move to take it.
“For your up-front cooperation, you’ll receive four thousand glow,” Dekla sighed, letting his hand fall to his side. Sheikoh’s eyes widened; he’d never been offered any sort of deal like this. “And, as much as it pains me to reward criminals, I was informed that, should you succeed, you’ll spend the rest of your life rich.”
Rich. Sheikoh rolled the word around his head. He couldn’t say he’d mind crossing that off of his bucket list.
But he still didn’t like this. Something about it felt off. He didn’t trust Dekla or his big, bad Centaurai boyfriend.
“Your Centaurai happen to mention exactly how long he expects the rest of my life to last?” Sheikoh asked Dekla after a moment. “I’d put all of that ‘rich’ you just offered me on… up until I finished this thing.”
“I wasn’t sent by the Centaurai,” Dekla retorted. “You have no idea what sort of powers are in play.”
Dekla held out the envelope again.
“You don’t have to decide now,” Dekla told Sheikoh dismissively. “When you come to your senses, you will find your rendezvous point in-
“I don’t do rendezvous,” interrupted Sheikoh.
“You’ll do what the empire expects of you,” Dekla retorted firmly.
Sheikoh laughed in derision.
“You’re joking, right? You give me the details here and now and I’ll see what I decide to do, mate” Sheikoh told Dekla. “You came to me. Remember?”
He watched Dekla’s imperious, arrogant face, and realized that this dude wasn’t going to give in. Apparently this glorified message-boy was used to getting things his way.
“My master-
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Sheikoh vehemently cut Dekla off. “Oh yeah, I’m gonna play follow the leader, like a dutiful, good boy, no questions asked. Never mind the fact that the leader’s holding a gun to my head, and he can’t wait to pull the trigger.”
“I can see why most of the people that you know might want to put a gun to your head!” Dekla’s fists were balled at his sides.
“Yeah? Well it’s not like I can trust you; it’s obvious you’re a Century stooge, trying to lead me into a cell,” Sheikoh spat back. “Go on. Deny it.” Sheikoh crossed his arms.
“As far as I know, fully exonerated citizens aren’t usually placed in cells,” Dekla responded icily.
Sheikoh’s mouth was already opened with a retort. Then he understood what Dekla was implying. His face froze with shock.
“. . . W
hat are you saying?” Sheikoh asked quietly.
“Your record was prematurely cleared. As an added incentive,” Dekla told him sharply. “There’s a deputized Century badge in here that will guarantee that another Century won’t pick you up… on accident.” His lip curled.
“So… that’s what you’re saying…” Sheikoh murmured numbly. He shook his bangs from out of his face, and asked Dekla; “What kind of disaster did it take for an offer like this to pass through?”
Dekla cleared his throat uncomfortably.
“I am not at liberty to exchange the details-
Sheikoh’s irritation burned back through him at once.
“Prince of hell, why are we even talking?” Sheikoh exclaimed hotly. “You obviously aren’t telling me anything and I am obviously not to play the dumbass you think I am and walk into your ambush. Tell me what’s going on or I’m leaving, exoneration or no!”
“Fine. I don’t know what’s happening,” Dekla admitted coldly. “It’s above my clearance level. All I know is that innocent lives rest on your shoulders. What is that worth to you?”
Dorothi’s face beamed in his thoughts, and Sheikoh swallowed the lump in his throat. He mentally shook himself steady.
“Then why didn’t someone useful come?” Sheikoh asked, a little harshly, so he added, “Someone who knows what’s going on.”
“I couldn’t tell you,” Dekla assured him in a quiet voice. “but I’m sure there’s a reason.”
The messenger handed Sheikoh the envelope, and this time he took it. It was heavier than he’d expected. Sheikoh scored it open and turned it upside-down. A crystal-clear, octagon fell into his palm. The words ‘Intrasentient Deputized Agent; Codename- Silence,’ were carved into its surface. He looked up at Dekla, thrown.
Dekla coughed into a fist.
“The time and location of the meeting place where you’ll meet your… erm… contact is on the paper,” Dekla went on doggedly. “In the envelope.”
Sheikoh met his gaze silently.
“I guess I don’t need to tell you that whatever is happening is big,” Dekla muttered. “And, as much as I dislike rewarding killers, this… is important.” The middle-aged man held Sheikoh’s eyes with a cold, calculating stare. “So… Good luck… Silence.”
Dekla’s tone was sharp with accusation. Sheikoh translated the messenger’s last statement to mean something like, ‘you’d better not screw this up, filth, or I made a trip to the west side for nothing.’ If Sheikoh hadn’t been so irritated, he would have laughed. Dekla was the child, not him. Not Dorothi. The east sider had never had to look at the world through dying eyes. He’d never stepped around a Four addict rotting in the back of an alley. And yet, he thought he could try and judge the people who had.
“It’s funny how you east siders shove all your trash down here. Then when things go wrong you’re bringing criminals gift baskets,” observed Sheikoh, mockingly shaking the envelope. “Not that I’m complaining of course,” he added cuttingly. “Don’t worry, I personally promise you this job is in the best possible hands. In fact, even if you’d given it to least useful West Sider that’s still a step and a half above what any east sider could get off their ass and put together.”
Sheikoh winked at Dekla, wearing a cold smile. Dekla’s expression didn’t waver. He just nodded at Sheikoh and then at someone behind him, before walking away briskly.
Sheikoh turned around to look for the person the stuck-up, old messenger had nodded at. His met a pair of wide, terrified, white-blue eyes, and his heart caught mid-beat. An electric shiver traced its way down his spine. Sheikoh turned and looked full on. She stood there, looking uneasy. How much had she heard? Out of everyone in Interium, why did those eyes have to belong to Dorothi?
Sheikoh quickly pulled the sheet of paper out of the crumpled envelope. Its message was terse, like whoever wrote it hadn’t thought Sheikoh possessed the attention span to read more than a dozen words. It said; ‘Location: Myzeik square, statue of St. Burate. Time: 4:00 - Thursday.’ And then just beneath it; ‘Your contact will make himself known.’
Sheikoh pushed the hair out of his eyes and then rubbed his temples. He suddenly felt sick. His gut squirmed beneath a leaden chest. Half because of Dekla and half because he was going to take the job. He was disgusted at the idea of being paid to kill someone and even more so because he was going to do it anyway. This message had just managed to found its way into his priorities. He crumpled the paper into a wad and jammed it into his pocket.
Dorothi deserved better than a piece of scum brother like him.
Chapter 2
The Ganglord
The drone of conversation was just loud enough to compete with the factories’ clanging din. Countless masses of faceless individuals forced their way against each other in the name of the almighty alarm clocks. Around Sheikoh, the crowd fought against itself with driving chaos and a mad frenzy in their fight against time. Rush hour was one of the few times that citizens of the West Side didn’t bother to leave the usual pathway through the center of the road. Potential riders could never get through the nameless, expressionless sea of shouting and bloodshot eyes that pressed and pushed against each like the ocean's tide.
He patted his pocket, even though he could already feel the bulky octagonal Century badge pressed up against his right leg. As he walked he wondered what he was getting himself into. He’d had an eclectic multitude of jobs, but none of them nearly as aboveboard or as mysterious as this one. Then something managed to distract him from his reverie. The crowd behind him began to ripple with angry mutters.
Sheikoh turned and instantly identified its source. A triangular blacksteel cart drove itself through the crowd. Its blacksteel weight assertively pushed front-running pedestrians to the side. The cart carried bouncing, plastic containers of animals including dogs, purmynx, and a single aquarium underwater animals. The vehicle barreled through the crowd, knocking people left and right.
As the vehicle came his way, Sheikoh caught the eyes of a petrified, little Goldenfish. It was surrounded by a bunch of color-changing water lizards, Draiblai, which were tumbling around the tank in oceanic free fall. They slammed into the clear walls wearing little expressions of fish terror.
Sheikoh nodded at the frightened Goldenfish. ‘This is for you,’ he thought at it. He kissed a finger and subtly pointed it towards the cart. Then Sheikoh was on the move. He cut through the crowd, riding a slipstream of people towards the cart. When Sheikoh was level with it, he stopped. As its blacksteel grazed by, glaring, frustrated people tried pushing around him. Sheikoh ignored them.
He waited until the man forcing the cart through the crowd finally came into view and then eyed the man pushing it with distaste. Sweaty, wormlike veins wriggling across his skin. His face was arranged in mindless determination. Sheikoh spun beside the man, then tugged his belt (and attached purse) out with a dramatic swish.
A few of the surrounding people that’d been irritated before now laughed appreciatively, while the pet store dude struggled with his pants. One woman even applauded him. Not noticing that Sheikoh’d just scored a purse as well as a practical joke. The crowd forced the man and his cart forward, until his shouts of outrage were overwhelmed with the west side’s industrious murmur.
Sheikoh dodged diagonally across the traffic and ducked into an alley. He dusted off his torn, black pants, smiling to himself. Thieving rarely got a cheer for a job well done. Eyes sparkling with satisfaction, Sheikoh tossed the leather belt aside and flipped through the money. When he’d finished counting it, he shoved it into his pants pocket. Then he scanned the city’s corridor that he’d happened upon.
Down a ways, a large bearded man fumbled for something in his pocket while a red-haired man, dressed in studded leather, looked on with narrowed eyes. Sheikoh noted the silver-blue Legacy bandana wound around his waist with no change in expression. These days, the Legacy’s silver and blue were all too common a sight. The gangsters were like ants; kill a hundred of them and
a thousand more swarmed to take their place.
Sheikoh’s fixed smile slipped when he noticed the bearded man’s eyes. His pupils were jagged, and their woodsy hazel was streaked with yellow. Sheikoh’d seen enough Four addicts to know what sort of transaction was going down.
“Come on, what did your mommy tell you to do when someone brings Four to the party,” Sheikoh murmured under his breath. His tone held equal measures of disgust and pity.
Pity...
Pity?
Wait, what?
He was on the job. He wasn’t allowed the luxury of pity. Morals were everything that had ever screwed him over. Silence doesn’t feel pity, Silence is just there.
“And word around the street is... I'm Silence…” Sheikoh murmured to himself.
His chest panged in response. Sheikoh shook his head, furiously pushing his feelings back where they'd come. He told himself to get over it. That it was the dude’s own choice.
Emili’s face slashed into his thoughts, and the rationalization fell hollow. His cold-hearted self-deceptions didn’t change the truth.
They didn’t change the knowledge that Emili Wray had been lost somewhere within the world of Four. They didn’t change the fact that the brilliant, caring, loving girl who had saved his life had died a statistic, all because of Legacy and their disgusting Four-peddlers. They didn’t change the tiny hole in his chest or the gaping one in his and Dorothi’s life. They didn’t change the fact that he was lying to himself, every second of every minute of every day that he told himself that choice had any place in addiction.
Even now, four years later, Sheikoh could still see her face as clear as yesterday. He shuddered at the memory of her eyes dashed hungry yellow and sunken into her skull. Her formerly beautiful skin lined by Four’s brutal whip. Her quivering lips as white as death, trembling as she whispered her last words, the words that still blasted through Sheikoh’s liquid composure like a rock. How could those two words, words he heard every day, still sting him with fresh tears every time.