by LV Lewis
“I imagine you would be.”
Amarie fakes being upset, throwing her hands on her hips and sticking out her tongue. Gary smiles, appreciative for the break from sorrow. The light atmosphere doesn’t last past a few seconds as reality thunders back down around the two of them. Gary reminds himself that there’s an investigation to get started, and ensuring Princess Amarie stays safe. Amarie knows that there’s a looming question that needs to be answered, and soon, so that Gary knows where he stands. Who am I kidding, she asks herself. I need to know where I stand first.
In the shadows of the rafters above them both, Sydney smiles. Oh princess, you’ve found your true prince. Why do you try so hard to deny him when, in the end, he will fill you with love . . . among other things. Her smile grows wider.
Striking a Deal
Disguises are in short supply in the safehouse, so Gary and Amarie settle on sunglasses and a baseball cap for the princess. Fitting a bulletproof vest over Amarie’s now naked shoulders, Gary tries, and fails, to keep his eyes averted. Amarie merely smiles as she slowly lowers her white top back over the vest. Gary smiles fondly as she ties her beautiful long hair up in a bun to hide inside the black hat.
Gary leaves first, doing a quick perimeter run before signaling for Amarie to come out. He’s having trouble keeping his head in the game. Being close enough to the princess to smell her desire is leaving him more than a little intoxicated. Complicating things further, something broke open within him, and he now understands Amarie Vanyarin far more deeply than he had even two hours before. Remembering Prince Erihstoll’s words that Gary had stolen something is now beginning to make sense. Not perfect sense, but enough that the prince doesn’t sound crazy.
His paranoia is on high alert, his heart beating way too fast for the pace he’s set, as the two of them walk along the sidewalk. Every shadow moves, every individual is suspect, and Gary is having trouble not jerking his head back and forth. Only Amarie’s hand on his arm calms him enough to not blow her cover. Not very professional, dude.
The sun does feel good on Gary’s skin. Being in the dark, underground, had not been a relaxing experience. Then, losing Temera painted the night with sinister undertones and utter sadness. Gary feels as though he’s survived a week-long siege. Refocusing, he lets himself believe the artificial wind is coming from up north on Raxu: chilly but warmed by miles under the sun.
***
He’s still strapped to the teeth with weapons Ama Seldova doesn’t allow in the Complex. While Gary knows he can explain this to any Climintra personnel, he’s more worried about Metas using their natural abilities to either destroy his less than natural ones, or steal them. So far, everybody they pass is at least pretending they don’t notice. Maybe they don’t know? Gary strikes that thought. Everybody knows Humans need external weapons. Hoping they’re ignoring him because they respect the Climintra, Gary keeps his head straight and feet moving.
The Climintra building looks as dull on the inside as outside. No decorations break up the monotony of white walls and smooth, cement floors. Gary finds himself imagining a fake, flowerless plant by this door, or a painting of a frog in a pirate hat hanging over the main desk.
What he doesn’t have to imagine, however, are the stares everybody offers when they notice his weaponry. It doesn’t take long for a line of people ranging from Humans to Dwarves to block him from going any further. Okay, maybe they won’t be as understanding as he’d thought. Thankfully he’s still in uniform, so nobody’s arresting him yet. A Human man steps forward. Temera had introduced them early on; Gary remembers his name is Yenton, and his badge gives him the rank of Major.
“You need a damn good reason for this, and Sergeant, you need to give me that reason pretty damn fast,” Yenton speaks in a quiet, formal tone.
“Major, I need to talk to you in private, if possible,” Gary replies.
Major Yenton nods, and the line splits like a wave hit by a boat. Gary motions for Amarie to go first, nodding at the departing Intra officers as he passes by. Yenton leads them down two halls and into his private office. Gary whistles. The room is lined in oak trim, the walls light blue. Gary blinks, the difference too great to accept at first look.
Yenton drops formalities once the heavy oak door is closed behind Gary and he’s seated behind a solid desk. “Alright kid, you’ve got five seconds to explain yourself.”
“This is Princess Amarie Vanyarin. Her life is under threat. My job is to keep her alive and find who made the order to kill her.”
Yenton strokes an impressively long, white mustache. “You would get a soldier’s job here in the Complex. Still, you haven’t explained why you’re armed to the teeth. Does Temera know about this?”
“She did, Major . . . ”
A knowing look crosses Yenton’s face.
“She’s dead, you mean."
Gary nods, unable to say it aloud. Not yet.
Yenton continues, “So you’re the reason behind the explosion at the security firm. Who’s going to run Uni Ama Security, then? You?”
“No, Major. I’m not a businessman. I’m not sure who, or what, blew out headquarters, but I do know they were using magic. Temera sacrificed herself to keep Princess Vanyarin safe.”
“We found her body. Well, an engineer did. Seems that your attackers were goblins. Princess Vanyarin, have you had any trouble with the goblin community?”
Amarie thinks for a moment. “Nothing beyond the usual. We all know goblins are ugly inside and out, but there’s not been any significant public dialogue from them with regard to Elves or Humans. It would make more sense if they leveled the threat at Prince Erihstoll, as fairies and goblins are not on friendly terms and never have been. Plus, the creature that made the threat was no goblin. My guess is they were hired hands for my assassination.”
Saying that last sentence visibly sends chills through Amarie. Gary wants to reach out and reassure her but does not want Yenton taking him off the case . . . he won’t allow Yenton to take him off.
The princess is right. The video threat contained a razor sharp claw on brown fur, not yellow or green scales. Still, the sheer number of goblins thrown at her, as assassins, would have been expensive. That they used magic means they were even more costly. Gary decides that he will look into the Complex’s goblin clans next. They won’t tell him the truth, but maybe he can get them to tell enough lies that he can glean the truth. Of course, this means leaving Amarie behind somewhere. He doesn’t like it, but he knows who he’ll have to talk to next.
Yenton speaks up. “Well, until this is figured out, you’re now under the full protection of the Climintra, Princess. Twenty-four-hour watch, and a full guard when you need to leave.”
Amarie’s eyes go wide, and she looks over at Gary with open fear. Gary stands up and faces the Major with as much respect as he can dredge up.
“That’s not going to happen, Major. Much as I hate to suggest it, her enemies may be within the Climintra or even Ama Seldova. I can better handle . . . ”
“No, Locke. You can’t. You’re not only one individual, but a Human. You’ll have to sleep. Eat. Shit. You can’t cover her twenty-four hours a day. You’ve done a great job keeping her alive so far but lost a man in less than a day. Princess Vanyarin stays with the Climintra. You’re more than welcome to continue your own investigation into who killed Master Sergeant Temera Wiles, but your duty to Princess Vanyarin is finished. That, boy, is an order. And son, get rid of those weapons, there’s no place for ‘em in my Complex.”
“Fine. I demand a final talk with my former client, Major. For the purpose of completing the paperwork back at the office, of course.”
Yenton nods but stays in his chair.
“Privately, Major.”
Stroking his impressive mustache a few seconds longer, Yenton gets up, opens the oak door, and then closes it behind him.
“Gary! You can’t seriously be planning on leaving me here! I don’t know anybody by name, and somehow, I doubt they’re go
ing to let anybody, save Sydney, in here. Why did you agree to this?”
“I don’t like it, Princess, and you will need to be cautious, but only for one night. After a failed attack, one that killed a majority of those sent after you, our baddie will need time to rethink strategy. An outright attack on Climintra central is suicide. In the meantime, I’m going to learn something from the goblins; though I admit I have no idea what. Tell Yenton to put you behind bars, don’t allow anybody to come in, and definitely don’t eat anything until I return.”
“Gary, this is mad.”
“You’re the turmoil of my life right now, and I think I might love you for it.”
Amarie’s face goes white, and Gary cringes at his words. Amarie relaxes, still stunned, and manages only a whisper.
“I . . . think I might love you, too. But, Erihstoll—”
“Will be expecting you to be alive. I won’t let him down. Stay safe, Princess.”
Gary opens the door to a waiting Yenton. The older man gives Gary a cross look, but steps inside without saying anything. Amarie stays seated and silent. Gary watches her through the door until it closes with a loud clunk. You’re gonna have to trust she'll be all right, Gary thinks.
***
Yenton looks her up and down with a mixture of lurid desire and empty empathy. Amarie can tell the man is military to the bone. From the way he sets his jaw to his robotic movements, one would have a difficult time not seeing him serving a flag. She should respect him for this, but she also sees an innate loathing of women, and it’s killing him that she holds a higher status within the Complex. Amarie decides she will not trust this man, not because he believes women are below him, but because of that, he will not hold her best interests to heart.
“Major Yenton, I would like to be placed in a jail cell for my own protection. Also, there are a few people I would appreciate sending letters to. You can trust my embassy people.”
Amarie suspects that Yenton will put her in a cell, which will give him a sense of power. As for the letters, she knows he won’t send them off even if he allows her to write them. Just in case she is way off about him, she’ll give him a chance.
“I’m afraid that, for now, sending letters or any other communication is against your best interests, Princess. The cell, however, is attainable.”
“I’m afraid that if you don’t allow me to write letters to my embassy, or contact them in any manner, you’ll find yourself deported from the Complex within a week. And should I die in the meantime, Mr. Locke will know whom he needs to investigate.”
Years of training to be an ambassador taught Amarie many things about psychology, trust, and manipulation. She may be using an overly aggressive tactic now, but she won’t allow herself to be boxed in by any one person. Not even Gary, though he seems to understand who he can trust among her friends. Major Yenton, on the other hand, is proving her fears about his character correct, and she needs to force his hand. He will let her contact the embassy. If not, he will find himself dishonored in front of every planet in the Seldova planet, and Ama Seldova as a whole. Your move on the chessboard, Major Yenton.
***
Goblins settled on the eastern side of the Complex, in the tundra biome. Known for their inventions and irrational hate of every other species, they made sure nobody wanted to come into their neighborhoods. Everything Gary walks by seems to be covered in grease, oil, or dirt. Sometimes, all three. Even the smell is offensive, reminding Gary of piled garbage behind a fast food restaurant.
Trash litters the streets of the biggest goblin district. Bits of paper fly through the air, getting into Gary’s beard. After five minutes of constant swiping, he stops bothering to try keeping it out. How in the hell do they get away with leaving the Complex in this state? There must be fifty computers strewn about the street, not to mention boxes, retired or broken furniture, the works. If someone wants to come here via hover-cab, they would have trouble finding a place to land. Gary is beginning to think that goblins never use the provided waste management disposals that are in every building and each apartment.
Below the dirt and grime, however, is the saving grace of goblin kind. Nearly every gadget provided by UNI, including the waste management disposals, was developed by the miniature creatures. If Humans have Einstein, goblins have forty-five Stephen Hawkings. In other words, if you’re a goblin and not a genius, you’re considered lower class.
Gary knows this after working with goblins on a strike during the war. The goblins were designing an exact-shape explosive and needed something to test it on. The Humans needed demons blown back to hell. It was a perfect marriage of need and want. When one of the goblins nearly blew themselves, and a team of seventy goblins and Humans with them, the poor soul was ordered to endure several hours of ‘reinvestment’. If his screams were any indication, ‘torture’ would be a good synonym. On the positive side, the goblins managed to invent the explosive . . . except it could only make a perfect ‘O’. Anything more detailed and the bomb simply blew up, like any other.
Despite the dirt and grease of Main Street, Gary is now walking the back alleys, where dirt turns to grime and grease is all about money changing hands. If there is one thing a goblin enjoys more than tinkering, it’s making deals that ensure they come out on top. Gary may not like it, but the time has come to make a deal with one of the worst: Morty McAllitar. Major Yenton told Gary to get rid of his weapons, but he didn’t tell him to do it legally.
Gary finds the Kingpin of Quick Deals leaning against a fly-infested trash barrel deep in the maze of alleys, known by locals as Trash City. Gary’s not excited to meet the goblin again, but his investigation requires an in with goblins, and Morty is his only entrance.
Oversized ears, pierced four times each with gold studs, wriggle as beady, red eyes stare up at the Human approaching. Morty stands up straight for a goblin, but his hearty girth only accentuates his diminutive size. Reaching up a hand, he welcomes the newcomer with graciousness.
“Aye, there’s a face needin’ a scrub, an’ I ain’t talking about soap!” Morty laughs.
Gary takes the offered hand and tries not to grimace. “Morty McAllitar, you haven’t grown an inch.”
“Yeah well, it’s in the genes. Or, in my case, maybe it’s the jeans,” the goblin quips, sticking a thumb down the front of his pants.
Glad to see the goblin in good spirits, Gary doesn’t want to waste his time. However, if it gets him the information he needs in one go-round, the whole trip is worth every embarrassing second.
“Listen, Morty. We both know I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need something. So look, insofar as deal-making goes, you’ve got the upper hand. I need info, but I got something you’ll never get easy unless you give me what I want.”
Morty places a long, green finger over his lips. Gary can’t tell if he likes what he hears. It doesn’t help that Morty’s two friends are snickering, thinking that Gary is about to lose his shirt . . . and maybe his pants just for giggles.
“Well Sergeant, I do like you; our previous engagements were honorable and fun. It sounds like one aspect will be missing this go-round, though.”
“Not necessarily. My gift to you, if your information is one hundred percent true, will far outweigh the tedious aspect of telling me a little story. That is a promise.”
“Hey, now. You know better than to make early promises with a goblin.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have time to do the long deal. That’s why I came to you, Kingpin.”
He’s stroking the goblin’s ego, which is always a good thing until you take it too far. If they feel you’re simply mocking them, goblins will turn on you in a heartbeat. The other worry is boring the creature. Being intelligent, goblins get bored really easy. That’s why they lie; doing so livens up the game for them.
“Watch it, Human. You sound almost sarcastic talking that talk. Whatever it is you need, there ain’t nothin’ in the Complex says I have to give it to you. Even if you are Intra.”
&n
bsp; “I’m not trying to be sarcastic. I told you I’m in a hurry. There’s a life in the balance, and Morty . . . it isn’t mine this time.”
A flicker of fear flies over Morty’s face. Gary catches it and knows he came to the right place. All he has to do now is extract from Morty whatever caused that fear. Goblins may be kings of the deal, but Gary is a master of putting on the pressure.
“You help me solve this, Morty, and whoever it is won’t be able to put fear in you again. I got a real good feeling they’re gonna have to die. And why do I get the feeling they’re cutting into your own funds?”
Morty’s friends stand aghast. This Human is going toe-to-toe with a goblin? It’s written all over them that Gary knows way too much about what’s going on in Trash City. Despite keeping a careful eye on Morty, Gary sees some of the story from their reactions, too.
“Afraid I don’t know anything, Mr. Sergeant Intra man. Why don’t you mosey on along? S’getting dark, and Trash City at night ain’t safe for the uninitiated,” Morty finally retorts.
Dammit, he got bored. Or just scared. Time for Gary to bring out the big guns, literally, and hope his one last ploy has some teeth.
“Okay, Morty. Okay.” Gary pulls out one of the handguns with Human blood ammo. “I don’t suppose any of your personal issues could be solved with this?”
He hands the gun to Morty. Morty’s eyes go wide seeing the real thing. He was expecting it to be some kind of toy or replica, but no. Sergeant Locke is going all in on this deal. Expelling the magazine, and popping a single bullet out, his whole face lights up, even as he scrambles to shove everything back together. He looks up at Gary, pleading in his eyes. Gary shakes his head from side to side, slowly.
“No freebies, Morty. You taught me that a few months back. It looks like that could solve some problems for you. But, you’re either gonna give it back, now, or you’re gonna start telling me a story about some goblin assassins, and a plot against a princess.”
Gary’s ploy paid off in spades. A sneaking suspicion had crept into his head when Major Yenton told Amarie and him that the attackers were goblins. Magic isn’t unknown in goblin tribes but is a good deal less common than tinkering. Since the lot of them seemed to be using magic in tandem, either a new guild had cropped up in the Complex, or something was feeding the goblins magic pills. Probably not literal pills, but the end result—that of magic-flinging goblins—remains the same.