Halfblood Legacy

by Rheaume, Laura

  Scythe sighed, “I may not be able to...it will be hard, on us both...”

  The boy waited.

  “Humph, fine.”

  -----------

  Cord didn’t need to look at the image of the man again. He remembered what it looked like. And, unlike Mercy, he knew first-hand what it was like to be beaten down like that, ’til you no longer remembered why you were still fighting–heck, you didn’t even remember where you were–but you knew, you knew that you weren’t going to give up yet. Eventually, of course, you did, because they kept at you until you were spent. That’s what it was for, after all. It was nothing personal.

  Yeah, he’d seen enough of that scene. He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, not thinking about the times he’d been the guy. Not thinking about the times he’d been on the other side. Not thinking that it was one of the more effective means to a certain end. Not...not feeling anything about having lived like that. Definitely not feeling guilty about it.

  “Do you think Scythe could...I don’t know, have been captured by something like this?”

  “No.” He was glad she couldn’t see inside of him now, because at the thought of it, two words started up with their annoying blabber again. He angrily told himself that he wasn’t going to be controlled by them. Defiantly, he shrugged. “Well, maybe. Who knows?”

  He rolled his eyes at her expression. Stupid. The dumb ones always thought that just because you loved someone, they couldn’t possibly get hurt. Like there was some intricate chart somewhere in the universe and if your name was checked off here (family), here (good person), and here (already had enough bad things happen), then you couldn’t get stung by the next few columns: death, pain, misery, whatever.

  Everyone was open season for all of them, all the time. No license required.

  Some poor loser could get hit with seven things, all within a month, while someone else, like any one of the Youngs, would be cruising for years. There was no use in asking why, because the frightening truth was that there was no why. There was only the what and the What are you going to do now?

  He looked out the window to avoid the inevitable stare, and maybe be spared any more...nope.

  “No, you were right in the first place,” she said, trying to convince herself. With the ease of her kind, she had accepted the half of his response that she could cope with and conveniently ignored the rest. “He’d never get himself caught.”

  That really pissed him off. Why was she always doing that?

  No one tried to get caught. No one tried to pick just the wrong bank to walk into five minutes before a pair of desperate fools. No one tried to cross the street when a driver cut the corner, his attention on the radio for just a second and not on the road. No one tried to catch the eye of a fucked up lunatic who happened to come into the bar during her shift.

  Cord grit his teeth and pushed that thought way back where it belonged.

  He lifted his eyes from what little of the shadowy desert vegetation he could see flying past, mostly short, wide bushes and a few scrawny looking trees, and let them rest on the nearly full moon that hovered above the distant hills. It was the only thing that didn’t move, but it seemed like it was keeping pace with him.

  The moon always comforted him, especially in the dead of night, when everything else was dark and silent and stone cold. If the sky were clear at times like that, he would wander its surface, memorizing each detail. The moon had taken a lot of hits, but it didn’t cover them up like the earth did, with deep oceans, plants and layers of soil. The moon didn’t hide behind clouds, or turn away. The moon stared right back at you with scars all over its face from the shit that had been hurled randomly at it from across the wide solar system.

  The moon and its however many million craters were all the proof you needed, if you were asking.

  No one meant to pull down the rain and the misfortune and the pain, and those things didn’t seek out people either. They just sped through space, following their own paths, minding their own business. Even though the universe was immense, it was swarming with them: countless, thoughtless wanderers that would, eventually, intersect with someone you knew. No feelings, no excuses, no reasons, just BAM. So, what do you do?

  “No use worrying about some unknown problem. It’s a waste of time and, besides, we’ve got enough real problems to deal with.” He cut off her predictable objection, “That’s enough. I’m in no mood for any of your…” He waved his hand irritably in her direction. “...ravings. We’ll deal with it when we get to it.”

  “I don’t rave. I’m just wondering what we’ll have to deal with.”

  Her answer was surprisingly short, considering he had just used one of his more effective techniques for provoking her. Her brown eyes matched her tone, studying him as if she were looking for something...no, she was asking.

  Damn, but he hated her, and the way her soft voice grated on his nerves ten times worse than the shrill harpy voice. If he weren’t stuck on a train, he might have left her right then. Instead, he got up to take a walk.

  “What we're going to deal with is whatever fucking disaster is bearing down on us this time.” Number five thousand out of...however many million.

  -----------

  Report to: Scere Intelligence Officer Iris

  Re: Investigation of subject Karin Horn

  Target was not found at given location. Purchased a bus ticket to home in Nararret and video confirms she did get on the bus with what looks like a fellow student. Appeared to be associating closely with the university’s top student researching EFM under Dr. Everett. Details attached. Please advise.

  Orders to: Scere Field Agent West

  Re: Investigation of subject Karin Horn:

  You are to follow up and detain. Target is suspect. Take standard precautions for dealing with possible powered Human. Watch for ID swap. K Horn suspected to be an alias. Also, interview research student.

  Things were getting very interesting with Karin Horn. Iris sent the orders and assigned another agent to do a thorough investigation of the recipient of the original message.

  [dropbox.tra8090.383229]: Post office terminal: TRA8090. Id: Cargue 465553

  The good thing about post stations was that they were monitored closely at all times and created a paper trail.

  Let’s see if we can’t find Mom.

  Chapter 17

  “Gered has been operated on twelve times, all of which are estimated to have taken place within an eight month period. He has tissue damage in all major organs of the chest and abdomen, as well as in the genitalia and brain. He appears to have been the test subject for a variety of experiments, the last of which targeted his immune system.”

  Scythe squeezed his eyes shut, his teeth grating. It can’t be true. A hand rested on his head, stroking his hair.

  “He is currently in a coma and will soon achieve a final resting state, due to kidney and liver failure, complicated by resistance to treatment for a common bacterial infection.”

  Keyrin’s voice was filled with pity, “Can you go on, Scythe? We can leave at any time.”

  “It...it can’t be true.” Scythe looked up, pleading for a kinder truth.

  “I’m sorry, but it is, Scythe.”

  “No. No one would do that.” No. No. No. Without warning, the smell of disinfectant, bodily fluids, and another, unidentifiable acrid odor overwhelmed him. Suddenly afraid of vomiting, Scythe shut his mouth and looked down and away from the bed.

  “I wish that were true.” After a moment he said, “That will be all, doctor. I’m terribly sorry for putting you through that again.”

  “My Young Lord.” Scythe heard her walk woodenly over to her station, where she sat heavily on a chair, causing its legs to screech on the tile floor.

  “Do I have to see the others, the women?”

  “Just one, I think. Come.” Keyrin took a hold of Scythe’s elbow, drawing him out of his chair and across the room to the third bed.

  “Why?” Scythe ask
ed. Something in Keyrin's face and voice terrified him. He planted his feet and resisted the pull on his arm.

  “Because this is why you’re here.”

  “In the infirmary?” Scythe grasped at his inner calm, but it had already shattered.

  “No, here in Poinsea. This is why those Humans were taken, Scythe.” Easily yanking him forward, Keyrin dragged him toward the bed and pulled aside the barrier.

  Scythe’s heart stopped, just stopped in his chest, at the sight of the woman before him. Then, it started beating like a rabbit, and his lungs, like a pair of competitive foxes not to be outdone, started to race against it. He didn’t hear his own frantic panting, or the urgent voices calling; he didn’t feel the sting in his arm. He was deaf to them, deaf and blind to everything except the pain.

  Then, mercifully, it all went away.

  Scythe sat on the ground in the misty gray, slowly breathing in its moist coolness. The pain had nothing to do with the memories he had just experienced, though their horrors would have been enough to do that. Instead, his heart was aching in response to the mutation that filled the air around him. Hollow notes crept in and out of a melody bereft of any hope. Deep bars crashed wantonly into each other, sending the music flying in all directions.

  Scythe’s yearning for the peace of the first song, or the joy and excitement of those that followed, crawled like a caged thing under his skin. But those pieces were lost, behind him forever. He breathed in again, deeper this time, from his center, and then released it.

  Once again, he gathered his strength and reached out, trying to bend the dirge to his will. Slowly, a thin, reedy countermelody began to wind its way through the music, only minutely lightening both the music and his sorrow.

  He opened his eyes to gaze worriedly on the youth laid out on the ground in front of him. This was what his memories had done to the gentle, spirited creature before him. The warped, clanging atrocity was the venom that Scythe had stung him with, contaminating him by just being there. He didn’t want to think of what the rest would do to him.

  “Don’t you have any strength of your own?”

  The boy swallowed and nodded.

  “You need to find it, because you can’t depend only on mine. My strength failed me when I needed it badly, and not just once or twice.”

  A shadow of a smile bent the boy’s lips, “And because of that, what strength do you carry within you now?” The boy turned his head, finally opening his sea green eyes, “You’re worried about me.”

  Scythe didn’t answer. A moment later, the pressure in his chest lessened minutely as his countermelody gained ground in the music, taming some of the behavior of its wild cousin.

  Attempting to engage the boy, he asked, “What will you be, when you’ve seen it all? Will you just walk out of here a man? Will you just be a copy of me?”

  “No, I’ll be myself: a me made whole by your guidance,” he answered, his voice dull.

  “Why can’t you just live your own life, make your own mistakes?”

  The youth sighed, weary of explaining, “I’ll do that too, but that is separate from this. You share with me your life, your legacy, and in return, I’ll cherish it, honoring you all my life; that is the power of both your gift and the responsibility of my acceptance.”

  “There is a reason why I never married, why I don’t have any children. It’s not right to ask anyone to carry my burdens. Listen to it. It’s not...”

  Clear sea green darkened to a murky seaweed, “Yes, it is.” He turned his head back, staring upward. “It is worth sharing, and it is special to me. Besides, I’ve already decided, so it doesn’t matter now that you have reservations.”

  “Reservations? Look at what you’ve done to yourself...”

  The boy barked a laugh at the irony of Scythe using those words, and plunged them into the fog.

  -----------

  Four cars to the bar. One beer for two bills. Fifteen minutes of noisy chatting, game highlights on the big screens, a bunch of empty talk. Genius. He’d probably spend the rest of the trip in there.

  “If they hadn’t traded Hummes and Storin, they’d have a shot.”

  “Naw. Hummes was in a funk. Storin might have made a difference, but he can’t make up for the shitty defense.”

  “What are you talking about? They only lost twelve the first three last game.”

  “One game. The rest were trash.”

  “Yeah, but it proves they got it, if they can get it together.”

  “If they haven’t found it by now...no way. Not strong enough leadership on the field.”

  “Now, if they could get their hands on Gibbins…”

  Sports talk. Mind numbingly fucking fantastic.

  The first guy turned to Cord, who had nodded appreciatively at the last comment, and asked, “Gibbons, right?”

  “Yeah, hell yeah, but that’d go for any team. He’s a golden child right now.” Cord smiled and took another drink. “Only team he couldn’t carry’d be the Fielders.” They all had a good laugh at that.

  “Hey,” said the pretty blonde-haired woman sitting at the table next to where they perched at the bar. She had finally decided she’d waited long enough to not look desperate. “I’m from Fielder’s Run, so watch it, boys.”

  All three of them turned halfway around at the opening. She smugly accepted their appraisal.

  Oh, yeah. Now it was getting fun. Time for a new game, one he was really good at.

  Competition? Minimal, which was too bad, because he liked a challenge. Both of the men next to him were sadly out of shape, or rather, they were in the right shape for sitting around watching games and drinking a lot of beer. One was younger, maybe around nineteen or twenty, too much of a child for this fox. The other was around Cord’s age, mid twenties, but wasn’t much to look at.

  Cord was in top shape, and he made sure to dress so that the ladies wouldn’t have any trouble noticing it. He had always been good looking, and the women he was attracted to didn’t mind that he knew it. After all, he liked it when a woman knew that she was sexy. He’d take one of them, even one not so good looking, over a timid flower any stinking day.

  He gave a small grin and held back, letting them have their go. “Best to let the fool have his say. It clears the way,” they always said in his hometown. Besides, it let him gather information for his shot.

  “Oh, hey, sorry, ma’am,” Young Pup apologized immediately with a frantic wave of the hand. “We didn’t mean to offend you. The Fielders aren’t a total waste…they just need better coaching and some top players. They just don’t have the resources for it, you know?”

  She didn’t even nod, but was polite enough to keep from frowning as her eyes left him and sought out Cord.

  Well. That was quick. Still, it was good to know she liked to be called “ma’am”.

  Cord waited, giving her a very small grin and lifting one eyebrow.

  “You a fan, then?” Asked the smarter of his one time buddies, current rivals, future brothers in arms.

  She waved dismissively at the screen, “Not really. But I do like a good game once in a while. My father and brothers, though...big fans.” She gestured with her hands, and then lay one down on the table and the other she brought up to her face. She rested her chin on her palm. His eyes followed her hand like a cat watching a bird, settling with her fingers on her lips.

  Damn. She was good.

  “Yeah?” Catman prompted, encouraged by having caught her attention.

  She nodded. “Big fans. They’d have started a fight for sure if you had said that in our pub. But,” she said, looking him up and down, “You might be able to hold your own…”

  He laughed, shaking his head, “I’m not the type to fight over something like that.”

  “No?”

  “Nope. Not a fighter.”

  The unspoken second half of the saying was that he was a lover. He was smooth, Cord had to admit. She liked it, too, and smiled for him. It was nice. She was really pretty when sh
e did that. Cord was going to make her smile like that a lot.

  It wasn’t going to get any better than that, so Catman took his shot, “Can I get you another drink?”

  Nope, wrong one.

  She lifted up her cup, which was nearly full. “No, I’m good, but thanks. Maybe later.”

  “I’m not a Fielders fan, because they suck,” Cord said, standing up with his beer and walking over to her table. “But,” he said, showing her how much he appreciated what he could see, “I’m pretty sure I’m a huge fan of Fielder’s Run. Mind if I join you, ma’am?”

  She made him wait, pretending to consider, which was fine. It meant she could take her time and check him out. He was doing the same, so it was only fair. It was also the way she could see how he dealt with a little pressure...to see if he was insecure at all.

  He was all confidence, of course. He already had her in his arms, she just couldn’t feel them yet.

  For a second he saw her waver, wondering if she had bit off more than she could chew. He even liked that about her, so he lightened up a bit, giving a little harmless shrug and a warmer smile.

  One hundred percent effective on women like her.

  -----------

  “We thank you, physician. You are welcome in our home.”

  Heron bowed and then turned from the door, taking the steps down to his car. Next to him, one of his nurses carried the second treatment kit and the medical file of the girl they had just visited.

  They had had a busy day so far, visiting six patients in their homes before noon. Three more were scheduled for the afternoon, and then he would head home. He looked forward to the end of their rounds, which was unusual for him. Although he enjoyed his rewarding practice, he had been having a difficult time concentrating on his work for the last few days. The surprise visit in the atrium by Scythe had shaken him, but it had also given him a lot to think about, as well as eased his conscience about the despicable part he had played in his uncle’s plot years before.

  Then, his uncle had paid him a visit, and Heron learned that Scythe was being held by him.