Kharmic Rebound

by Yeager, Aaron

  Gerald blinked. “What, like a genie?”

  “Just because she is blue doesn’t make her a genie,” Zurra chided.

  “Sorry, that was racist.”

  “I am unfamiliar with that word,” Lyssandra said. “If you command me, I will obey.”

  Ilrica leaned in without taking her eyes off of Lyssandra. “It’s got to be a trick.”

  Gerald scratched his neck. “Okay, prove it. Give up your weapons.”

  “Yes, master.”

  Ilrica eased off just a little bit. Lyssandra laid down her pistol, her gauntlets, her belt. She removed and set down her saber, a pair of vibro-knives, a bandolier of grenades, a shoulder-mounted laser-cannon, her forcefield projector, an axe with a chainsaw blade, a pulse-rifle, a pair of wrist-mounted disk launchers, an anti-tank mine, a handful of flash bombs, a needle launcher, atmospheric filter, and at least two dozen bits of shadow tech that Gerald couldn’t even identify.

  Just when everyone was gawking at the pile before her, she pulled out a rocket launcher and threw it on top.

  “Holy cow, where was she keeping that one?” Gerald wondered. Somehow, the pile of weapons managed to be taller than she was.

  She lifted up her tongue and spit out a concealed blade she was holding there. “It is done, master.”

  Gerald looked around for some indication of what he should do, but everyone else was just as confused as he was. “All right. Tell me, is your ship nearby?”

  “Yes, it is above the palace,” she answered frankly.

  “Tell them to surrender.”

  Without hesitation, she clicked on her comm. “Erusal, do you read me?”

  “Yes, General,” came the response.

  “Stow the weapons, land the ship on the east pad. Have everyone turn themselves into police custody.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “But General...”

  “DO IT!” she barked.

  “...Um, yes General.”

  Above the palace, the air shimmered, and the black blade of the Uragiri faded into existence. People in the courtyard screamed at its appearance, but it made no attack. Slowly, the ship descended as it had been instructed.

  Everyone was dumbfounded.

  “What else shall I do for you, master?” Lyssandra asked obediently.

  Gerald wasn’t sure what to say. “Um, I guess, let yourself be taken into custody?”

  She nodded. “Yes, master.”

  Gerald could hardly believe his eyes as she allowed the guards to search and restrain her. Shackles were placed on her wrists and ankles. She made no attempt to resist as she was escorted inside towards the holding cells in the dungeon.

  Gerald ran his fingers through his hair, wondering if he had gone insane. He looked down at the pile of weapons she had discarded.

  “Holy cow! I didn’t think she’d actually do it.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  In polite society it is considered a major faux pas to share or solicit details about how one died in a previous life, and the reason for this is very simple. While there are some people who die gloriously in a way that would make for a really great story to share at parties, such as being executed as a martyr for a noble cause, or dying of smoke inhalation after saving a puppy from a burning building, or by riding a thermonuclear bomb down to the ground while waving a cowboy hat in the air, the reality is that most people die in embarrassing ways that they’d really rather not share for fear of people thinking less of them. Tripping down a flight of stairs, slipping in the bathtub, choking on a bite of pie, having an allergic reaction to an insect sting, falling out of an open window, accidentally drinking bathroom cleaner, taking the wrong medication, stepping out into traffic without looking, being crushed by a household appliance falling on you, reenacting a stunt seen in a movie, having a building jumper land on top of you, kidney failure during a cupcake eating competition, etc.

  - A Quick and Simple Guide to The Galaxy, page 607, Tongzen Press

  The news of Lyssandra Bal’s capture was the biggest news story of the year. Conflicting eyewitness accounts ranged from Gerald using some sort of experimental submission ray on the pirate and war criminal, to one particularly fanciful account by one of the palace guards stating that he had used a special pressure point technique to knock her out just before she detonated an aetheric implosion device. It seemed that nowhere except in Gerald’s official report was Ilrica’s participation noted favorably, which chafed her to no end.

  The door to Gerald’s room slid open, allowing Cadbury to wobble in, clucking happily as she dove head first into her feeding dish filled with corn meal, only to get her head stuck.

  Gerald walked in, looking particularly tired after a day and a half of being grilled by law enforcement agencies at the local, city, country, planet, system, sector, and federal level. After a while he just recorded his statement and played it for them while he slept and waited for the next person in the beauracratic food chain to come in and accuse him of extended jail time if he didn’t tell them what “really” happened. No one could believe she had simply turned herself in. Gerald didn’t totally believe it himself, and it was his idea.

  Trahzi walked in and checked on the puppy with the nursemaid robot, while Gerald looked around.

  “Where’s Nikki?” he asked.

  They both looked around. The room wasn’t very big, so there weren’t many places to hide.

  “Maybe she left?” Trahzi suggested.

  Gerald was worried. “Oh no, I knew we shouldn’t have left her on her own.”

  Gerald headed for the door when something made him stop. Growing quiet, he listened for whatever noise had caught his attention. Then he heard it again, a quiet sobbing.

  Opening up a cabinet, he found Nikki sitting inside, having somehow contorted herself into the small space.

  “Nikki, are you okay?” Gerald asked, reaching out for her.

  She was on him in a flash. He found himself pinned to the ground, his good arm locked behind his back. He yelped in pain as the bones and ligaments strained, threatening to snap.

  “Nikki, let go of him,” Trahzi threatened, her hands bursting into flame.

  A small drop of liquid hit Gerald’s cheek. He looked up at Nikki. She was crying.

  “Nikki, what’s wrong?”

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, a tear falling off her chin. “I know that if I twist your wrist five more degrees, and apply two more urns of pressure, your arm will break.”

  She released him and sat back on the floor. Trahzi helped Gerald sit up.

  Nikki rubbed the tears off of her cheek. “I look at you, and I know that if I strike you between the fourth and fifth vertebrae with four and a half urns of pressure, your spine will be severed and you be instantly paralyzed. Brain death will follow in approximately forty-two seconds.”

  Nikki covered her face with her hands. “I look at everybody, and I know how to kill them. Why do I know all of these horrible things? Why do I know how to hurt people?”

  Gerald and Trahzi looked at each other, unsure of how to respond.

  “Hurting people is bad,” Nikki said, “so why do I know how to hurt people? Is there something wrong with me?”

  Nikki looked up, her lavender eyes swimming with tears. “Am I... am I bad?”

  Gerald scooted over to her and took her in his arms. “No, no sweetie. Listen to me.” He lifted up her chin and gave her a soothing smile. “You, are not bad, okay?”

  “Then why do I have so many weapons to hurt people in my body?”

  Gerald looked around and reached out for something. “Um, Trahzi, can you hand me that fork there?”

  Trahzi flicked up a finger and the fork vanished in fire, reappearing in his hand. “Okay, Nikki, I want to help you understand something. Will you listen to me?”

  She sniffed and nodded, sitting before him to listen.

  “Now, this fork here we use to eat our food, right?”

  “Right.”

  “B
ut it could also be used for other things. Like, if I really wanted to, I could use it to stab somebody.”

  “The best way would be to pierce the handle through the right eye socket, death would be instantaneous.”

  Gerald tried not to be disturbed. “Okay, yes, I was thinking more like stabbing someone’s hand, but that works too. My point is, the fork is neither good nor bad; it is just a tool. It is the way it is used that makes it good or bad.”

  Nikki thought seriously about this. She held up her arm and flipped out a chainsaw blade. “This is... a tool?”

  Gerald nodded. “Yes, it is only a tool. It can be used for good or for ill.”

  Despite the blade, he reached out and took her hand. “Like yesterday, when you used your shield to save Ilrica. You used your tool to protect her. That was a very good thing.”

  Nikki’s eyes went wide with realization. “I am... good?”

  Trahzi picked up the puppy and sat down with them. “Nikki, I once used my powers to hurt others, but Gerald taught me that I can also use them to keep the people I love safe, like Puppy Trahzi here. And when I did, I was even stronger than before.”

  Nikki didn’t quite understand that one, but she nodded appreciatively anyway. Her blade flipped back away and she placed her hand over her heart. “I am... useful.”

  “Yes, you are,” Gerald said, patting her on the head. Nikki managed to smile a little. “Knowing when to use your strength and when not to use your strength is one of the most important things you will ever learn. It can be very complicated. I may not have all the answers, but we will find them together.”

  Nikki managed a weak smile, gratitude in her eyes.

  It was then that they were all distracted by a scuffle outside. Men and women were screaming, and a stray laser blast scoured the window.

  The three of them ran out into the corridor, just as a pink guard splattered against the wall.

  “Look out!” a female guard yelled as a dozen more arrived on scene. At the end of the hallway they could see a group of guards attempting to pin someone down.

  “What’s happening?” Gerald asked a servant hiding behind a plant.

  “Lyssandra Bal is impersonating the Duchess again!”

  “How did she break out?”

  Gerald looked and saw Cha’Rolette underneath the pile of Zurinite palace guards. They stretched their bodies, wrapping her in powerful pink tentacles.

  What are you doing? Get off me! Cha’Rolette screamed, releasing a psychic wave that threw off her attackers, splattering them against the walls everywhere as if they were nothing more than putty.

  Cha’Rolette stood up, her school uniform torn, her ta’atu in shambles. She panted heavily, her fists clenched.

  “Is that the real Duchess?” Trahzi asked.

  How dare you treat the heir to the Ssykes family this way! By the time I’m done with this little lint ball of a planet you’ll all beg me for a minimum wage job on a rufla farm!

  Gerald smiled from ear to ear. “Oh, that’s the duchess all right.”

  Cha’Rolette spotted him and her mouth dropped open with delight. Gerald!

  Forgetting all decorum, Cha’Rolette, flew down the hall and threw herself onto Gerald, kissing him square on the lips.

  It surprised him so much that at first he didn’t know how to react. He stood there stunned as she kissed him, her ta’atu wrapping around him, as if she meant to hug and hold him with every fiber of her being. Gerald’s hands came up, as if to push her off, but her feelings were overwhelming. Her ta’atu began to glow, unbidden by her, and he felt her heart wash over him. He could feel it, he could actually feel her love for him. It was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced. His mind could find no words, no analogue that described what was soaking into him. It was spiritual honey, emotional sunlight, a warm fireplace and a safe hearth glowing inside of him. He was embraced in the wings of an angel, shielded on all sides, protected from every sharp and cold thing in the universe. There existed nothing else, only an eternal moment of superlative bliss.

  And in that moment, he could not deny that he felt the same way about her.

  Gerald’s eyes softened, his hands rested down on her slim waist, and he returned her kiss with just as much passion as she gave it. He was not an experienced kisser, but what he lacked in technique he made up for with enthusiasm. She found it irresistible.

  In reality, it only lasted a few seconds, but to him, they spent years locked in that joyous embrace. He could not tell where he ended and she began. Their very essences seemed to swirl together into a single being. Her mind was completely open to him. He could see her time spent in the hospital, her long nights of fear and loneliness. Her desperate fight in the darkness of the labyrinth. His heart reached out for her, and somehow he knew that she felt his remorse and empathy for what she had gone through to be here now with him.

  It was all worth it, she said.

  Trahzi snarled, her hands bursting into flames. “Dyson, what are you doing? Stop kissing her!”

  Nikki was fascinated, reaching up with her hand and touching her own lips as she watched.

  Trahzi’s outburst made Cha’Rolette realize where they were. She broke off the kiss, embarrassed at the hundreds of people who were now looking on, many of them taking pictures.

  Oh my, she said, placing her hands on her cheeks. That really wasn’t very ladylike of me. The man should initiate such things.

  “Huh?” was all Gerald could manage, his eyes dreamy. Nikki’s eyes went wide. Something about Cha’Rolette’s face made her decidedly uncomfortable. She scooted behind Trahzi’s amazonian figure and hid, poking her head out sheepishly.

  Cha’Rolette noticed the movement, and zeroed in on her.

  Gerald, who is that?

  Gerald snapped out of his daze, and realized that this wasn’t going to be easy to explain. “Um,” he said, catching himself before he scratched his neck. “That’s the assassin who shot you.”

  WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!

  * * *

  “Mrs. Zurra Immestria-Dyson,” Zurra wrote out on the tablet before her, placing a little heart in the dot of the i.”

  She considered it for a second, tapping the stylis against her lips. “Should I have a hyphen or not?”

  “Mrs. Zurra Immestria Dyson,” she tried again, this time making it pink.

  She liked that one a little better, so she underlined it.

  “Maybe I should spell out the hyphen.”

  She tried that, but then scribbled it out and put a frowny face next to it.

  “Zurra Dyson,” she wrote under it.

  That one made her giggle happily, so she added a smiley face and a rainbow.

  “Mrs. Gerald Dyson.”

  That one made her squee so loud she caught the attention of the people in the dining hall sitting near her.

  Zurra picked up the tablet and hugged it. Just thinking about their wedding made her so girlishly happy she could barely think straight.

  “Now to pick out some wedding colors.”

  She brought up a few wedding planning sites. “I wonder what colors my bride would prefer?” she asked herself. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Who cares what he likes? The wedding is all about the groom, anyway.”

  While she put together a few possibilities, including a black peach, and lavender combination she really fancied, Trahzi walked over and sat down opposite.

  “Hello, Immestria,” Trahzi said, looking decidedly uncomfortable around so many other people.

  Zurra looked up, a little confused. “Is Gerald here?”

  “No, he and Cha’Rolette are spending the afternoon together. She is pretty upset about Nikki.”

  “I’m surprised you let them go.”

  Trahzi’s fork snapped in her hand. “I broke off a piece of my consciousness and attached it to him. I then left him with the distinct impression that if he so much as touches another girl, Earth will be destroyed.”

  Zurra stared at her. “I hope
that was just a bluff.”

  “I am unfamiliar with that term.” Trahzi said, her fork melting in her grip.

  Zurra looked around. “Um... okay, so why are you... here?”

  Trahzi tried to smile, but her nervousness came through. “Gerald suggested that you and I should spend some time together.”

  Zurra crinkled her nose. “Why?”

  “I have lost my connection to my people. The only bonds I have left are those with my friends. Gerald has given me a goal, to strengthen them.”

  Something made Zurra shiver. “Yeah but... you and I really aren’t friends. If anything, we are rivals.”

  “Yes, I realize that. The possibility that Gerald might choose you instead of me is unthinkable, yet I cannot deny that it is a minute mathematical possibility.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Your use of sarcasm does not alter the reality of the situation.” Trahzi waved her hand and opened up a score chart with the four girls listed along with their scores. “You are currently ranked third in the competition.”

  “You started keeping score again?”

  “I never stopped.”

  Zurra made her arm into a scythe and sliced the window in half. “Then your tally is wrong, I will win Gerald in the end, not you.”

  “I can go over the algorithms I used to predict the winner if you prefer.”

  “Don’t bother!”

  Zurra sat down and pouted. “Gerald is my bride, not yours. Why would you think you and I could be friends? It’s stupid.”

  “Because of this.” Trahzi brought up a new window cluttered with bright advertisements and click-bait for boy bands and teen heartthrobs.

  Zurra sniffed, “What is that?”

  “This is a survey I found in a popular youth magazine. It has been most helpful. It determines whether or not two people are compatible to be friends.”

  Zurra snickered. “And this is supposed to prove what?”

  Trahzi looked at her as if the answer should have been obvious. “That we can be friends.”

  Zurra opened her mouth to scream out some caniptionic insult, but a small part of her mind stopped her. It was the rational part she usually ignored, the logical part that got drowned out by all the noise. It realized what Gerald was trying to do. Beyond a certain reluctance to upset Gerald, Trahzi would have no compunction about vaporizing a rival, but perhaps if the others were more than rivals, even friends, Trahzi would show greater restraint. “That man is far more devious than we give him credit for,” she though. “He may wear the robes of a saint in this life, but he still wields the tools of a devil from his last one.”