"Take the papers," Windrover said, thrusting the spurned items towards her. "It's suicide for you not to."
Too insistent. If she'd had any doubts the papers would be trouble, those doubts were gone. "Your suicide, I hope," she answered. "And if you don't quit trying to peer down my tunic I'll deck you. Lead on, Feldspar. If we stand here any longer I'll do something I won't regret."
"Okay. Whoops! Sorry, Spinecracker… what are you doing here?" The Academy chief had been coming in as Feldspar left, and they'd run into each other.
"Sorry, but you should look where you're going." Was he copping a feel from Feldspar? Yes, and handing her a small package as well. That was interesting… Feldspar and Spinecracker? She never would have guessed… but no, it couldn't be… even Feldspar wouldn't be able to pretend Spinecracker was interested in more than her body, and without the illusion of love, the girl wouldn't… just wouldn't. Spinecracker was using Feldspar to relay the cash she'd requested from him earlier.
And despite the poor acting on both their parts, no one else had noticed the exchange. Belinda was still inside, her view blocked. The fairy had floated out over their heads to the portal. And even after she'd warned him, Windrover was still in front of her, gazing down her top, trying to get a good look at her tits. "Windrover… this is your last warning." Grunt rapped his drooping chin with an open palm, pushing his mouth closed with a click.
"Hey, that hurt." He stepped out of her way.
Grunt winked at Spinecracker as she walked past him. Next time they had sex, it would be no holds barred. She looked back. "Rabid? Get your skinny ass over here. It's time to go." Like Belinda, the green-haired elf had been waiting for the doorway to clear. But he didn't seem in any hurry to get to the portal. Feldspar was already in front of the arch, waiting.
"Yes ma'am. Right away, ma'am." He scurried past Windrover to join her. They both held hands with Feldspar.
Grunt smiled at the fairy and said the magic words. "Okay, Twink, we're out of here." And the quest party walked through the portal.
* * * * *
Roger's feet squished in the dew-sodden grass of the central quadrangle on the University of Noronto campus. Life sucked--at dawn it would be more natural to be heading home to bed. Or better, much more natural to be in bed, rolling over for another steamy bout with a bright-eyed young thing trying to convince him she was the one who would take him off the 'most eligible' lists. Or maybe just wanted a part in his next movie…
Maybe one of these days. Fantasy made life tolerable when reality was an early-morning shift at the Westshire, washing dishes. There were worse jobs, and Roger had held some. At least in the hotel kitchen they didn't expect you to smile. If you did, they figured you were on drugs, but didn't care long as the dishes were clean. Of course the pay was lousy, but you ate for free.
And most importantly, he was working on The Street, Canada's media epicentre… although not in his chosen profession. But, he had afternoons and evenings free to search out and occasionally get auditions. One of these days the bright-eyed brigade wouldn't be his fantasy, he would be theirs.
"Hey, you!"
Roger squelched to a stop. If a shout could be sultry, that's what it would sound like. She was on his left and behind him.
But that side of the quadrangle didn't have any entrances and had been deserted a moment earlier. So while she couldn't be there, she was. And had to be hailing him. Had to be… no one else was around. Not even her… except she was. But she hadn't been there earlier… or was he so lost in his dreams he could walk past a real woman without checking her out for bright-eyed brigade potential? Nah, not possible… this one had appeared out of thin air. There wasn't any other possible explanation.
He turned to look and saw not one person, but three.
And they hadn't been there moments earlier, not a chance. In a noonday crowd he couldn't have walked past any of the three without noticing, let alone in a deserted--he'd thought--quadrangle. The platinum blonde in the lead had a body the like of which Roger had never seen outside of cartoons, a lush hourglass figure with powerful hips and shoulders. He didn't recognise her designer, but the dappled brown dress displayed and exaggerated a figure that needed no flattering. Even her backpack was colour co-ordinated although Roger thought it rather large for a fashion accessory.
He was staring, his mouth hanging open. Couldn't have that. This was a woman he wanted to impress and gawking didn't cut it. With an effort Roger convinced his eyes to leave the blonde.
They immediately fixed on a dark and sinuous goddess, at least six feet tall. Most women anywhere near his height slumped, as if to hide, but she had the carriage and stride of a star, of a person who knew that every instant they were in public, they were on stage. Below her startlingly angular face she was subtle curves. Beyond a doubt, somewhere she was famous. Not in the English-speaking world however, or he would have seen her picture and known her name. Roger suspected she used the same designer as her friend. The supple leather of her top and tight slacks was a shade darker than her coppery skin and made her face glow.
"Quite something, aren't they?"
Roger jumped. "How did you do that?" He took a step backward and bumped up against the stone wall. Had he been that transfixed by the women? Even so, no one with a mop of virulent green hair like this guy should be able to sneak up on anyone. The women had covered half the distance from where their party had appeared--and they had appeared, out of nothing, because there was no other way they could have been where they were. Any one of them he would have seen, eyes closed. All three? They hadn't been there. Hadn't.
And now the women had covered half the distance from where they'd appeared, from where he stood… and in the meantime, the stringy punk Roger had noted and then disregarded as far less interesting than his companions, had arrived beside him, completely unnoticed.
"How did I do it? I'm an elf," the punk answered, as if that explained how he vanished from one place and appeared in another.
Roger smiled. "Can't say I've ever met an elf before." He couldn't help liking the man straight off. The grin was infectious and the pale green eyes full of life and mischief. So what if he was slightly deranged? The most interesting people were.
"I'm glad to know you haven't. Not many elves on Terra from what I hear. By the way, people call me Rabid."
"Roger." The women were approaching earshot. "Yeah, they're really something all right," Roger said, answering Rabid's initial question. Closer up both were even more beautiful. The blonde's eyes were a marvel of flecked green and hazel. "Maybe you really are an elf. Them too… it's hard to believe either of them could be human."
Rabid laughed. "Feldspar is, supposedly, although a lot of people on our planet doubt it too." He turned to speak to the women. "I'd say we've acquired our trusty native guide."
On our planet? They were aliens? "You were beamed down by a spaceship!" Now that made sense.
"Damn stupid, even for a human… if you ask me," the blonde said. "We can do better, bunny boy."
"Bunny boy? How dare you… my appellation is Moonreaver, as you well know. If you're not going to call me that, the name isn't Rabbit, it's Rabid. Call me Rabid."
"Call me Ishmael," she answered, flipping a dismissive hand. An alien who'd read Melville?
"Not a chance," Rabid responded. "Will you settle for Ishtar?"
"I will if she doesn't object." The three stood still for a moment, anticipating… something?
The dark woman laughed, her resonant tones echoing off the stone walls. She'd been the one who'd hailed him? He'd assumed it'd been the blonde. How did such a deep voice live in that slender body? "Okay, nothing happened so Ishtar it is. Hi, I'm Feldspar." She held out a hand to him and smiled. Her deep eyes were her strongest feature, despite all that was below them.
Roger took her hand and shook it, barely resisting an urge to bow and kiss it instead. "You expected some other Ishtar to object? I'm surprised aliens would believe in a Babylonian deity. What did yo
u expect to happen? The skies to open and reduce you to a pile of ash?"
"Sarcasm, almost," the blonde now called Ishtar said. "And a touch of education from somewhere. Okay, I've changed my mind. He'll do. Greetings earthling, you've been drafted into the quest for the Adornments of Glory." Her pronouncement was punctuated by the squealing of brake-locked tires on pavement and a deafening crash from the nearby and aptly named University Avenue.
Feldspar shook off Roger's hand. She and Rabid glanced at each other, then started running towards the sound. Roger saw at least part of how Rabid had snuck up. The man, or elf, didn't run as much as flit from point to point. Feldspar ran in a more conventional manner, with graceful ground-eating strides.
"Damn elf is a low-grade teleport," Ishtar said. "Didn't think to mention that talent, he didn't."
"Where are they going? Okay, I guess that is a stupid question," Roger added in response to a scathing look. "What I meant was 'why are they rushing to the scene of the accident'?"
"They're healers. Minor league, but all elves can heal a little and of course Feldspar is the Prophesied whether any of us like it or not. Guess we better follow and make sure they don't get into trouble, or leave us behind." Ishtar sighed and started walking in the direction her companions had gone.
The Prophesied? And what had that been about… the quest for the Adornments of Glory? Ishtar had sounded serious. Nutcases, all three of them. And the women were out of his league… and he was going to be late for work if he didn't head that way, pronto.
Ishtar stopped and turned back toward him. "You coming or what?"
"How much does this quest pay?"
"Damn Terran money-worshipping moron. I was right about you the first time." Ishtar wheeled and started walking again, at a much faster pace.
Roger had to sprint to catch up. "I have to make a living."
"As a drudge? You're too smart for that, and too cute. From what I can tell, what you need is a life worth living, not a living."
Ishtar might have a point. Washing dishes was just a step on the road to a hoped-for future, not a career. So what if he got fired? What could he lose? A furnished room in a dive and all the leftovers he could eat?
And what could he gain? In the short run, the company of two of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen, much less talked to--and an elf. And they had as much as admitted they were extra-terrestrials. Ishtar had called him a moron. If he walked away from this he would be. "I'm sorry, Ishtar. You're right. I'm in this with you until the end."
"Glad you realise it." Ishtar started walking again. Roger almost had to jog to keep up. "The gods get pissed when conscripts try to back out," Ishtar continued. "I wonder if they also felt the need to sacrifice anyone in order to bond you to our cause?"
The accident had happened just as Ishtar was telling him he'd been enlisted into their quest. A coincidence? He hoped. A sacrifice? Had people on other planets made a science out of black magic? "Your gods would do something like that?"
"I didn't say they were my gods." A sparrow toppled from the branch of the tree just ahead of them. Ishtar stepped forward and caught it in her open hand. "Very funny," she said, looking up. "Just like one of you to use the blameless as an example." She tossed the bird into the air. With a surprised chirp it spread its wings and flew away.
Roger didn't know what to say, so said nothing. He'd always found that a good policy. They arrived at University Avenue. The accident was minor in nature.
"No fatalities here," Ishtar said, "at least not if Rabid can save that maple."
A sports car had run into the side of a van, crumpling the van's right side on impact and its own hood when it bounced off a tree. Rabid was leaning against the maple, swaying slightly, his hands pressed to the tree's trunk. Roger could see the bark stripped off by the car's impact regenerating. He could? Could anyone else? Neither of the drivers was paying any mind. Both men were totally engrossed by Feldspar; she had one hand on each as she talked.
A police car arrived as Roger and Ishtar got to the edge of the road. The officers glanced at Feldspar and the men, then went towards Rabid. One grabbed for his holster. "Okay, freak, turn around slowly."
"He didn't have nothing to do with this, officer," one of the men with Feldspar said. "I was sort of driving around, kind of thinking about other stuff, and swerved into Mr. Singer's lane. It was all my fault."
"I was going far too fast," Mr. Singer said. "Really, I can't blame Bill here for hitting me."
"This piece of shit didn't have anything to do with it?" a policeman asked.
"Wasn't even around."
"We'd better take him in anyway, O'Shillelagh," the other officer said. "You know what the mayor wants us to do with weirdoes." He took out his handcuffs, hesitated, then turned to the drivers. "Are either of you gentlemen in need of medical assistance?"
"I rather think that won't be necessary. I do, however, feel a bit odd, don't you Bill?" Mr. Singer asked.
"Yeah. Hey, how come we ain't yelling at each other and calling our lawyers?"
"I am my lawyer, Bill. Guess we're just both having a good day."
Officer O'Shillelagh laughed. "Glad you guys are. This scumbag won't. Hands behind your back, green boy." He put the handcuffs on Rabid.
Ishtar walked over to the other policeman. "Excuse me, but he's my boyfriend."
"You can come with him, if you'd like." O'Shillelagh holstered his gun and took a step towards Ishtar. "Cute little slut like you can do a lot better than that trash though." He hitched up his pants.
Feldspar let the driver's hands go and turned to the policeman. "You'll regret it if you try to rape her." Her voice carried.
"Rape? What the fuck are you talking about, sister? We wouldn't rape no one. We're police officers."
"Noronto police officers." Roger regretted his words the instant he said them.
"And what the fuck do you mean by that, asshole?"
"O'Shillelagh. Witnesses." The second officer shoved Rabid into the back of the cruiser. "And we've got an accident to deal with first."
The eyes fixed on Roger didn't waver. "Yeah, okay... guess so. I'll remember you, shithead. If I see you again, you're dead meat." He turned. "You girls better get yourselves and him out of here or you'll all be going to the lockup." He walked away.
"We're just going to leave Rabid?"
Feldspar had joined them. Roger wasn't sure if Ishtar's question was for him, or Feldspar. He answered. "If we try to do anything, we'll get arrested as well."
"Damn coward. I'm going to clobber the bastards."
"No." Feldspar grabbed Ishtar before she could move. "Think about it--didn't you notice? Rabid's a teleport. Let's get going. He can escape on his own."
"And what if he can't? What if you're wrong? Roger? What would they do with him?"
"Detain him, see if they can trump up a charge by planting drugs on him or something. Depends on the mood they're in, and whether they've made their quota." He shrugged. "Or they might just let him go with a warning to get the next bus out of town. But I doubt that; my guess is they'll take him down to some isolated beach, beat him up and leave him there. It's a long-standing Noronto tradition."
"But none of that is going to happen." Feldspar walked away. "He'll escape," she added, over her shoulder.
"I suppose we're just supposed to follow you? Trust your judgement?" Ishtar still sounded angry. When Feldspar didn't answer or look back, Ishtar turned and looked up at Roger. With an effort, he kept his eyes fixed on hers--the loose neckline of her dress beckoned. "Are things really as bad as all that here on Terra?" she asked.
"If you don't have money… yes. Worse, most places. They call this 'Noronto the Good.' The police force here seldom kills or even seriously maims detainees."
"Damn barbarians." Ishtar glanced back at the accident scene. "Hope the damn Prophesied's right about this." She turned to follow Feldspar. Despite her short legs, Roger had to almost jog to keep up.
* * * * *
Wh
at a vile damn world, Terra--the air full of partially burned hydrocarbons, the earth covered with concrete, the sound level mind-numbing… and their guide, a spineless idiot benumbed by his brutal fellow beings. No, that wasn't fair. This place would make anyone into a zombie and that, Roger wasn't. He was quick on the uptake, understood their Diluvian sense of humour and his voice was resonant and deep. With some help, he could make it into an effective weapon. It wasn't his fault he was human, or Terran… and he had taste… obviously he thought her more interesting than Feldspar. That was a pleasant change from back home, just like Rabid--could it be a trend? One could hope. Roger was walking beside her, pretending to not look. From him, she didn't mind the peeks. Yeah, with some work, he could be something--for a human.
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