by Adam Thielen
Through the image projected in front of Daria came a new sound. It was quiet but sounded almost like a cacophony of voices. There was a commotion going on somewhere close to the seer.
“I am still just a mage,” said Desre. “But I couldn’t resist trying to become more than that to you because I needed you, and I still do.”
* * *
For hours, days, and possibly weeks, a nonstop buzz had filled Taq Jones’s head while a supercomputer poked and prodded and mapped his neurons. His body ached from the involuntary jerking caused by the insistent intrusion of electricity applied to his brain. If being required thinking, then Taq had ceased to exist for a period of time which no longer held meaning.
Then the buzzing stopped, and slowly his thoughts began to form and connect to each other, his consciousness waking. In the dark, dank cell, Taq re-emerged and started contemplating his new life. He moved his legs as much as the chains would allow, expressing an irrational fear that he might no longer have the ability, then realized that paralysis would not be the main cause for never again taking a stroll.
The door behind him clanked open and shut, and a man appeared in front of him. He began prodding Jones, lifting up his eyelids to shine a small light, then forcing his mouth open to examine the inside. The man left without a word and familiar footsteps approached.
“Taq? You still in there?” asked Courtemanche. “The scan went well. You did well.”
She waited for a response, but Jones was too tired to indulge her.
“Our work is done,” she continued. “I just wanted to say goodbye. We have to… let you go. I know it’s not fair. I know you think I’m a horrible person, but your sacrifice will make the world a better place.”
“Well on your way,” Jones choked out, followed by spitting built-up phlegm onto the floor.
“Yes,” she said, believing he had finished.
“To hell, on your road of… intentions,” he added.
Anne brought her hand up and chewed at her thumbnail while looking the mage over. “I asked you. I was ready to leave them and be with you. All you had to do was say ‘yes’.”
“You are… what is rotten, not everyone…” Taq said, unable to finish his thought.
“I’m sorry it has to be this way,” she continued. “A final meal will be up soon. Real food this time. Goodbye, Taq.”
* * *
Daria cruised leisurely through downtown Mumbai on her longbike. Can’t do this, she thought, recalling the seer’s words.
“Tsenka came here with the most powerful mage the world has ever known,” she had said.
“Tricia Stamp?” Cretu asked.
“Okay,” said Desre, trying again. “Second most powerful.”
“Rennie Prostor?”
“No,” sighed Somer. “He’s at least top five, though.”
“Taq Jones!” Daria exclaimed.
“Yes, and now he’s being held at the university against his will. I need you to rescue him.”
“No. No, no no,” protested Cretu. “I don’t go anywhere near those places.”
The chorus of overlapping voices coming from Desre’s transmission became audible enough to make out a man’s voice barking orders at others. Daria stared as Desre turned her head to look at the door behind her, then back to the vampire slayer.
“We are out of time, dammit,” Somer hissed. “You have to save him, and if you don’t, Tsenka will never forgive you.”
Daria flinched and shook her head, then stared at the road and the traffic in front of her. “Ew, why you gotta be such a betch all the sudz.”
“You know it’s true. Hurry,” Desre implored.
“Yite, yite, I’m goin’.” Cretu put the destination into the bike’s navigation and moved her wheels to the center line before gunning the throttle. “Can you send me a map of the place, at least?” The goddess did not respond. “Ello...? Shit.”
* * *
An attendant slowly scooped beans, rice, and sauce into a spoon, then brought it to Taq’s mouth. He considered spitting it out, but as he was half-starved, he could not control his instinct to eat, even as his general will to survive had been defeated. The soup was tasty. He ate it slowly, knowing not the method of his doom, but only its certainty once he had finished.
Taq studied the man feeding him. He was thin and balding, and as he lifted the spoon, he avoided eye contact.
“You can let me go,” Jones said between slurps.
The man did not reply.
“Are you under orders to ignore me? Or does that simply make murder easier?”
The man’s head twitched. “Your kind is unnatural. I ignore you because it shames me to even feed you.”
“Unnatural?” scoffed Taq. “Is that your best hatred rationalization?”
The man stopped his spoon in mid-motion. “Please stop talking and just eat.”
“I’ve done nothing to you,” said Jones. “It doesn’t matter what you believe. You know that killing mages is wrong. You all know it. Do the right thing this time.”
The man put the soup down and stood. He faced Taq and stared him in the eyes. In that moment, Jones understood. The hatred ran too deep, overriding all logic and morality. He thought the man might have stood so as to beat or even kill him but instead, he turned and left the cell.
A moment later, a thicker man entered wearing the same type of orderly garb. He took up the mantle of last-meal-feeder, spooning soup into Taq’s mouth.
“You can let me go,” said Taq.
* * *
Daria’s fingertips pressed into the gaps between stone blocks stacked two stories high. To her back was the ocean, and two meters above her was a small window. So small, in fact, that even with her petite build, squeezing through would be an iffy proposition. But she knew small windows like those tended to belong to shower rooms where security would be light.
Should’ve brought the gang, she thought. Dammit, no, they couldn’t have followed me up this wall. Stupid vampires. Stupid mages. Ugh, the things we do for love.
Cretu indulged no illusions that she could remain undetected for long as she reached the edge of the diminutive portal and pulled her head up to get a look at the glass. As expected, it was thick and translucent, its color contaminated with a silver sheen indicative of infused steel.
Daria pulled a small cylinder from her belt and sprayed a line of pyro gel along the edge of the glass. Her favorite tool; she gave the bottle a kiss before pocketing it then climbed beside the window. She pulled out a thin yellow wand and struck it against the stone. The tip exploded into a bright flare, random sparks streaking through the air. The slayer pressed the fire to the gel, igniting it.
As the fire spread around the square line of gel, sharp flames shot outward, sending bits of burning glass and stone down to the water below. The pane fell into the room and shattered on the floor. A high-pitched alarm shrieked in response to the intrusion.
“Fab,” said Cretu. “Got about fifteen minutes tops before more corpsec get here.” She watched the molten glass drip and solidify as air moving in through the window quickly cooled it. Daria gripped the block above the portal and slipped through, her hips scraping against the edges.
And then she fell. The window had been near the ceiling of the washroom. But through training-instilled instinct, she waved her arms and moved legs into position. Her feet hit the ground and crushed bits of broken glass. Her knees bent then straightened. She froze in place and listened. Footsteps hurried toward her.
The door to the showers swung open with the force of a guard’s kick. A second guard, clad in light, flexible body armor, peeked inside. Spotting nothing, he pulled back. Daria heard the distinctive sound of spoon detachment, and the expected clank of a grenade hitting the floor. She took cover inside a tile-covered cement-divided shower stall.
BOOM!
Shrapnel collided with ceramic, concrete, and metal panels, creating a localized dust storm. Beams of light danced around the room, piercing through the clou
d.
“No visual!” one of the men shouted. “Moving in.”
The man took his snub-nose AH-440 rifle and swung it inside each shower as he circled the central hub of stall dividers. Daria heard a second set of footfalls amid the settling of the debris alongside a low growl of distant voices. The first security officer darted in front of Cretu’s stall. Seeing nothing, he started to turn away, then stopped.
The slayer released her grip from the top of the divider where she had been hanging and leapt at the man. Her hands grabbed his gun as she fell on top of him. He squeezed the trigger, firing three bullets using magnetic and air propulsion into the wall. The gun was quiet but the snap of breaking concrete was loud.
Daria held the rifle to the man’s chest, slipped a dagger from her belt, and stabbed him in the stomach. She twisted the blade and the man screamed. He released his gun to grab the knife, and Daria punched him while yanking away the gun. His head hit the tile floor and his eyes crossed. She punched him again and pulled out her blade.
The man’s cries had masked the noise of the second guard, but as the first lost consciousness, Cretu heard the hurried footsteps rushing to her side of the divider. She rose and charged at the second officer. He whipped around the corner in time to see her airborne. She wrapped her legs around his waist, hanging on to his neck with one arm while stabbing furiously with the other into his chest and then neck. He fell onto his back, blood spurting from the laceration to his carotid artery.
Adrenaline coursed through her body, and Daria Cretu roared, “Fecked with the wrong mage, muthafuckaz!”
* * *
“Where’s Courtemanche?” demanded the man of stone. He pointed at the screen inside the checkpoint.
The woman in heavy riot gear looked to the secretary.
“She… she just left a few minutes ago,” she answered.
“We are locking this place down, Neiltz,” said the riot guard.
“Get Anne on com and tell her,” Neiltz ordered. “And tell Terra to meet me in the kitchen. If she’s after Jones, she’ll have to go that way. Do not underestimate this attack.”
The warlock stalked out of the room and ran down the hall toward the interrogation wing.
* * *
Daria didn’t wait for more men to assault the washroom. She drew her short-barrel SMGs and side-rolled into the corridor, opening fire as she moved, sending a barrage of lead at two more men with large ballistic shields waiting at the end of the hall. Her bullets pinged their shields, but the men braced them with their shoulders.
One of the officers brought his sidearm up and returned fire. Daria tossed one of her guns in the air, then ducked and darted side to side while reaching into one of her belt pouches. She spun with her arm outstretched. Her fist unclenched and chromed marbles flew outward. They bounced against the walls and skidded along the floor. Small high-current magnets activated, sensing the metals in the officers’ guns.
One after another the marbles exploded with a concussive flash, blinding the guards and sending steel fragments into their armor. The man closest to the bulk of the blasts groaned as several bits of shrapnel tore through his skin in between armored pads.
Cretu snatched her airborne SMG, then rushed at them, both guns blazing. Halfway there, they clicked empty. She flicked the grips outward, ejecting the magazines, then swung her arms down and back. The rectangular ends of the large blades strapped to her back in an ‘X’ formation slid inside the butts of the SMGs and locked into place. She swung her arms forward, now holding a combination of guns and reverse-grip swords, and resumed firing. The blades acted as high-capacity magazines, feeding a long stream of rounds to her automatic weapons.
When she reached the men, both brought up their handguns, but with their sight still impaired from the flash marbles, Cretu appeared as a blur. She kicked one of the shields to the side and followed with a downward slash across that guard’s face. Continuing to spin, she spotted movement coming from the other side of the hall. She used one sword to slice through the second guard’s shield and then followed with her second blade, ducking and slicing his gut open.
As she cut into him, she took aim with the first submachine gun and shot at the guards running to aid their colleagues. Without shields and with the first two guards in the line of fire, they were forced to stop and seek cover inside a nearby room. Cretu took the opportunity to disengage and turned down another hall. She pulled down the security fencing dividing those sections of the corridor and shot at the latch, jamming it in place.
A pain shot through her abdomen. She looked down to see blood seeping through her steelweave shirt. The hole punctured through the metal mesh was too small to have allowed the bullet to enter her, but as she lifted it to look, it was clear the cut was deep. Daria pulled a skin patch from her pocket and wiped at the blood. She slapped the patch in place, hoping it would hold.
At the end of the next corridor, she saw what looked like stainless steel appliances and knew she was on the right track.
* * *
The bowl was nearly empty, and the new orderly still refused to speak. He even seemed to enjoy Taq’s attempts at stalling, mocking him with a smile as he threatened to take away the soup.
“Do I get dessert?” Taq asked.
The man smiled again and shook his head. He again raised the spoon to Taq’s lips when a loud thud filled the room and rocked the floor under their feet.
Taq opened his mouth impatiently. “I’m sure it’s nothing,” he said.
The attendant put his finger to his ear, listening for a report. His eyes widened, and he set the bowl down with no more than two spoonfuls left. He stood and walked out of view. Jones stared at the food as he heard the door open and shut behind him.
His strength returning, he began to fidget and move his head about. The metal helmet followed him, suspended by cables and strapped under his chin. Taq bent his head down and began to rub the strap against his chest, slowly working it forward. He stopped, looked at the bowl, then continued his wriggling and writhing.
* * *
The kitchen was lined with shiny cabinets, a mixture of cooking appliances, and a smattering of wheeled carts. Everything was gray. Reflective gray, dull gray, and dusty gray. A walk-in freezer protruded from the wall to Daria’s left, while a disused salad bar or buffet rested on the right. Dividing the room lengthwise were tall coolers with glass doors. Between the dust and stale air, it was clear little of this room was currently used for food preparation.
Gunblades in hand, Cretu strutted to the coolers. She stopped and looked at her hands as she felt an energy travel up her fingers and toes. Neiltz emerged from behind the end of the line of coolers and charged at Daria. In response, she raised her guns and unleashed a barrage from both barrels.
The man of stone brought his arms up in front of his face, then swung them to the side as he lifted his knee and flew at Cretu. She darted back, but her movement only softened the blow, which still landed on her solar plexus. Though she tumbled backward, she maintained an iron grip on her guns, and as she slid onto her back, aimed again and resumed firing, coupling the sound of gunfire with an angry scream.
This time he turned away, his skin continuing to deflect the onslaught of lead. The warlock darted in the slim space between two coolers, out of sight. Daria’s bullets shattered glass from one of their doors as she tracked him. She stayed prone, finding it difficult to breathe out of fear, adrenaline, and the knee to her chest. Her aim and eyes moved about, while her ears listened intently.
But before she could recover, the cooler next to and above her began to fall over. She rolled backward onto her feet. The tower of metal slammed to the ground. Daria heard a noise behind her, but turned too late, suffering a right cross to the face. To her surprise, it didn’t hurt as much as she expected. She stumbled back but quickly regained her balance as the warlock followed.
Daria ducked another punch, moved back, and fired a quick burst onto Neiltz’s skin. He winced but continued attacki
ng. He kicked at her chest, and Daria blocked with her forearms, converting the force into a backward somersault, then swung with both her blades in tandem at the man. He turned and raised his wrists to block with his hardened skin, then kicked to his side, hitting Cretu in the stomach and pushing her away. As he lowered his arms, a thin line of red streamed from one of them onto the pale gray floor.
Daria fell to her side from the kick. Her body throbbed with pain and excitement at the same time. Again Neiltz moved behind a cooler and Cretu stood. She hopped onto the toppled fridge to chase when a blazing shard of fire erupted below her. Cretu leapt away as it scorched her pant leg. She spun in the air to see a woman in a long black cloak standing behind her with arms moving to control the fire.
The mage Terra continued casting as Daria jumped, and when she landed, the slayer opened fire on the new combatant, but her bullets bounced off a magical barrier surrounding the woman. Cretu knew that such barriers could be broken, so she continued firing.
CLICK.
One of the blade clips emptied, and though the mage looked strained, her barrier held, and Daria realized she had made a mistake. She sensed motion to her right, and another cooler came down. She jumped back, then turned, ready for Neiltz, who arrived on schedule. He threw a roundhouse kick, and Daria leaned back out of the way. Somehow she was getting stronger, not weaker, faster and not slower. She spun with her empty blade, its tip caressing the warlock’s chest as she fired again with her other gun at Terra.
As her second mag emptied, Cretu saw that Terra’s gaze was not on her but on Neiltz. Daria turned and saw a red gash across the man’s chest. His skin no longer held up against her sword. The wound was not deep, but the stunned warlock started backing away.
Daria’s vision sharpened and seemed to enhance, exposing little details in the shades of gray, shapes of objects, and textures of the room. She watched as faint blue particles departed the body of the warlock and slowly made their way to her.