Starlit Ruins

by Simon Woodington

Heavy winds tore through her brunette bangs, frustratingly obscuring her view of the blade angled at her torso. She steeled her amusement at the sluggishness of her opponent. It would be so easy – so easy to let the vibrating weapon enter her skull and cleanse her of all doubts. Yet, at this time she did not desire it.

  She clasped the blade between her hands in a demonstration of physical superiority and then twisted quickly, disarming her opponent in a single motion. The three exchanged yellow pupil glances, and decided that this village was not worth the effort. To further convince them, she manifested a long blade of simplistic design. “Seen enough?”

  “Ah-ah we do have suh-seen enough,” the tallest stammered, “we go. Alone we do go.”

  She said nothing, making a gesture with her transparent blade. The gesture told them to leave, and that if they were to ever return, she would kill them. They scrambled away, giving no hint of rebellion in their retreat. She let the psi-sword disappear into the nothingness from which it had come. A small group of cheering towns-people approached the tall woman, as she merely regarded them, apparently indifferent.

  “Saviour!” one of them said, the self-evident elder of the small village.

  “This once,” she noted evenly, almost in reflection. “There will be others.”

  “Feh,” the old man quipped, “what does it matter with the likes of your kind about? I prefer you knights to the technocrats of the Coalition and the D-bees any day.” She seemed to study him for a moment, and his confidence froze in mid-motion. He tried to dislodge the wedge by asking a question of the valiant stranger. “Have you a name there?”

  She remained silent for a moment, but said, as if adding to an unspoken thought; “I am known as Sliver.”

  He paled. “The Sliver, in our humble town! Why are you not off fighting the Coalition now? This town means nothing,” he muttered, “not a-one'll miss us.”

  She regarded him with sudden warmth that set him at ease and said, “I go were I am needed. To defend the good people from evil is my life.” Her gaze hardened again. “There is always another waiting. Always.”

  “Well, you've done enough for one day, my dear,” the old man slapped her shoulder heartily, and in good humor. “Come. We've not much here, but the food is fresh, and hot. You shall have some rest after that. You look as though your search has only begun.”

  Her gaze, having drifted into the crowd of people who watched the conversation, seeming too scared to move any closer to the legend at hand, snapped back to him. It was steady, probing, curious. She began to wonder how much he really knew. The old fellow merely smiled. The hut he accompanied her to was small, and looked well kept. The crowd that had gathered about them earlier seemed to disperse, leaving them alone by the time they reached their destination. Dinner, it seemed, had already been prepared. It consisted of steaming spice soup, cheese, bread, and a variant of barley beer.

  “So what part of your search brings you to Quebec?” the old man asked, cutting a few pieces of cheese with a small knife.

  Sliver watched him carefully, as she had since he dropped what she suspected to be a hint about her origin.

  He shrugged and said, “We are all searching. Where that search brings us depends on where we care to go. How willing we are to follow it.” He sipped a bit of his soup.

  She shook her head and asked, “Tell me what you know of the young D-Bee women rumored to have escaped from Atlantis.”

  His face set dubiously. “I haven't heard much,” he said, putting his spoon down. “Why would you care anyway?”

  He knows something. He’s hiding, she thought. Frustrated, she leaned forward and snarled, “Just answer the question.”

  He startled, and nodded eagerly, clearly intimidated. “W-well, it's like I said. This place is pretty quiet. All I heard is about th' girls, and that the Coalition wants them. We're so far from the coast… it takes months for us to hear anything from so distant…”

  Neither of them were eating; both were far too tense. She measured him again with her eyes, attempting to perceive any knowledge he might be hiding. As some moments passed, she decided to risk a psychic probe. Reaching forth with her mind, she felt some measure of apprehension within him. He did not react, but asked, “You're nervous about something, what is it?”

  He merely gazed at her. At first she thought it was fear that locked his gaze, but she denoted the angle as above her. She dropped to the floor and rolled away. As she did, she heard the easy smashing of wood. Getting to her feet and turning around, she noticed the splintered chair she had been sitting in. The voice behind the black skull motif helmet cursed and approached her. She snarled and leapt at him, catching him by the throat and knocking him to the floor. She clenched her fist, and three slim blades extended outward from the back of her hand.

  “You won't kill me,” the baritone said, still defiant. “You're just a cyber-nut.”

  “Maybe so,” she agreed. “But you're just squishy.”

  She then hauled back, decked him and left an impressive dent in his helmet. In one motion, she turned and stood up from the unconscious form, and froze. The old man gazed at her, straining against the neck hold of the second grunt, watching the energy pistol held to his head.

  “Sliver I…” he coughed as the grunt tightened his grip.

  “You'll co-operate, or the old man dies,” he threatened.

  “Not a chance, creep,” she glared at the grunt, speaking in angry undertones. “Supreme Thunder!”

  A white bolt struck the man, knocking him over and causing him to release his grip on the older man's throat.

  With a violent cough, the elder called out; “Sliver, run!”

  She did that, before she had time to second guess herself. As it turned out, as she bolted out of the door, the Coalition had expected the possibility of her running. She was deafened by the sound of a sonic boom as a vicious explosion vaporized the front door and most of the adjoining wall, and also threw her aside. Scrambling to her feet with a dull ringing in her ears, she had barely enough time to notice what had fired at her before it took another shot. She recognized the laser resistant glint of the power armor immediately.

  Just as the thought surfaced in her mind, Sliver was caught by the second Power Armour's attempt at subduing its target. She screamed, thrown backward by the force of the rail gun blast. Her chance for action arose. Allowing herself a moment to drop into place psychic pain barriers, she determined her course of action. Not a difficult choice: Get the heck away from that Glitter Boy!

  Swift to her feet, she turned, and sought nearest exit, if one existed. A curse rose to her lips. No such luck, the Coalition had anticipated that tact, apparently. She turned again, and ran at the ten foot tall glittering Power Armour. The man inside the armor gave with a gasp as the half-ton of armour fell over with the impact of this comparatively small humanoid woman.

  “Halt!” A voice demanded coldly. “Or there will be more corpses like this one around here.”

  The charred remnants of the old man landed at her feet, smoking, and smelling of freshly warmed death. She said nothing, replying as much cold hatred her face would allow.

  “Bloody bitch,” a voice cursed from within the glitter armour. “Here, have some back!”

  She felt a dull thud as something knocked her the cool earth. Then she remembered nothing.

  @~%~~~

  She awoke with a groan. Silence greeted her as she glanced about the white walled room. There were no windows, which did not surprise her. What did, however, was the apparent lack of any door.

  Getting up, she felt a wash of pain move down from the back of her head to her neck. Strangely enough, they had not bothered to bind her. On that mental note, she was naked! The only article of clothing she seemed to be wearing was a metal collar, and a loincloth. Horrified, she sat down with her knees drawn to her chest.

  “Getting comfortable, are we?” came a voice in clearly mocking tones.

  She said nothing, looking around for the source.
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  “Good. You're going to be here for some time.”

  “Where am I?” she demanded.

  “Supposing I told you, what would you do with that information? No, I don't think so. You'll know what we want you to know, and answer the questions we ask of you.”

  “Bloody hell I will!” she retorted angrily.

  “No? Well, you might not agree immediately, but given time, and a little persuasion, I'm sure you'll become all too agreeable.”

  “Not a chance, buster!” she stood, anger pushing aside her modesty as she got to her feet. “I'll die before I…”

  “Perhaps later.” A pause. “My my, you are a pretty thing, aren't you? I really had no idea…”

  Clenching her fists, the six vibro blades failed to extend. She looked at the back of her hands. Steel plates had been affixed to her hands via small slips of synthetic material wrapped around the palms.

  “The cat gets de-clawed,” the voice laughed. “Little good they would do you anyway. You're ours now.”

  She bowed her head and started to mutter something under her breath.

  “Magic? We took that as well,” the voice continued. “Along with your psychic powers.”

  “Everything?” she asked, a slight smile spreading on her face.

  “Good to hear you're starting to see things our way.”

  “You might say that,” she said as she walked towards one of the walls. She raised as fist and put it through the wall in one violent motion.

  The voice cursed its error.

  Makoto began pulling out sections of the wall. It seemed as though the wall had been built next to a… sewer? She was underground! She punched the black piping. It gave a little, and also hurt a bit. She clenched her fists together, and hit it again. The pipe gave completely and her hands sank in. She reached into the hole and began widening it. Just as the opening started to become large enough for her to fit into, she heard a hiss. Turning, she saw a square section of the wall opposite her open.

  “Holy shi…” a voice gasped.

  “Halt!” augmented tones demanded.

  Makoto cursed. She had just enough time to duck the first blast as it struck the opening she had been prying at. Glancing at it as she scrambled to her feet, she noticed that the rest of her work had been finished for her. She jumped into the opening, and fled.

  The inside of the sewers turned out to be just as bright as the outside of the piping. It was damp, cold, and she was shivering. Her awareness of that brought her to think ahead.

  Where will I go? I can't go above ground like this! Emotions welled inside her as her feet carried her onwards.

  “Hey you!” A deep voice called. “Stop!”

  A backward glance told her that she was no longer alone. They had caught up to her. At the speed they were running, she had time to - maybe - find a place to hide, but no more than that.

  Lights flashed ahead of her.

  “Halt, you!”

  She stopped, eyes darting, furious.

  “Hey!” a rustic voice said quietly. So quietly that it failed to register at first. “Hey babe!”

  Makoto's eyes snapped to the source. To her right she could see a very masculine face not trying to not stare at her from a space between where two of the sewer pipes had formerly joined.

  “Geez, it's gettin' kinda cozy here. Come on!” She hesitated for a moment: There just was no time. The fellow offered his hand. She took it, and slipped into the crevasse with him. They ran for what felt like some distance. Finally the man started to slow. “We're probably safe now. They can't follow us.” Makoto was silent. He gazed at her and shook his head. “Yer way too pretty to be a D-Bee.”

  “I'm not a D-Bee,” she protested.

  “Wait,” he eyed her. “You're that lady Cyber-Knight, right?”

  “Glad you noticed,” she replied sarcastically, arms folded over her breasts.

  “Damn fine piece a-oh, huh…” he grinned, gazing at her body boldly. “You want some clothes maybe?” She glared at him. He shrugged. He took off the leather coat he was wearing and offered it to her. She refused it, shivering. “Gettin' cold, eh? Come on, I'm not gonna hurt you, 'cause they ain' gonna let up so easy,” he said, nonchalant. “An I'll be damned if I'm just gonna let you float here and get vaped. Got me?.”

  “Yeah,” she replied with a faint measure of gratitude.

  Makoto took the coat and wrapped it about her shoulders. He had a point. As they continued on, she noticed a dramatic change in the climate. From cool and muggy to warm and stale.

  “Where are we?” Makoto asked.

  “Jus' under a power plant,” he stated seriously. “How 'bout I take ya somewhere you can get that collar and bracers off?”

  “I can't go topside like this!”

  He gave her a look that told her he would not mind forgetting that, but had not. He stopped and gestured towards a small closet. She stepped towards it, and opened the door. Inside were several sets of pants, shirts, blouses, and other accessories of varying types. Oddly, she noted that a fair portion, at least half of these, were selections of reasonable taste - in the feminine sense of the term.

  “A liddle cache, jus’ cause ya never now.”

  She started towards them, but hesitated. “Do you mind?”

  “Nope. Do you? Oh, ‘kay, you do.” A stern glance made him concede. He turned around. “Okay. Sorry.”

  She blinked, and was silently thankful for his intervention, despite his somewhat harsh attitude. “Set this up? Why?” she muttered thoughtfully. “What do you do?”

  “I’m a bodyguard,” he offered curtly, his tones indicating his restlessness. “Look, we gotta get goin, okay? They'll catch up pretty flakkin' fast.”

  She frowned, and slipped on a shirt. “Hey, I'm getting dressed as fast as I can, okay?”

  “Sure. You mind if I ask what you were doin' down here, anyway?”

  “Yeah I do.”

  “Then you—oh, you do mind. Huh,” he grunted. “Right. Fine.”

  “Okay, you can turn around now.”

  He did, and froze, gazing appreciatively over her. He whistled appreciatively, though Makoto hardly found herself enjoying the attention for its baseness. She sighed heavily, eyebrows knitted, glare dangerously sharp. She grumbled through gritted teeth, “You want the jacket back?”

  “Looks better on you. Keep it. Uh, you can call me Hanlan, eh… um, Han.” He reached into the closet and pulled out another leather jacket while she slipped his old one over her shoulders. “What's yours?”

  “Makoto.”

  “Huh, interestin' name. Suits ya.”

  She squinted a curious eye at the comment, a little reproachful, but decided to let the matter drop. As it fell, they, in turn, shared a brief fascination. As he put on the jacket, she realized that there was something she found vaguely… attractive about him. He was quite heavily muscled and looked to be the sort of fellow who spoke a rather physical language. His brown shoulder length hair looked like it could use a good combing, and washing. Nonetheless, it appropriately framed his roughly chiselled face. Even that looked stocky, edgy, and tough. He had deep blue eyes, which held her attention for a greater span of time than she preferred to admit. Despite this, Makoto thought they were almost inappropriate for such a bruiser. Lack luster, lack culture. Summarily a physical attraction, she felt. Nothing more.

  Though, he did remind her somewhat of her ex-boyfriend… If I had a little time I could teach him to… I dunno, to wipe the drool off his face when he look at me too long, he just might be worth this hell trip.

  In her nudity, at first glance, she had seemed to him like a pretty-girl. Further unabashed study indicated that she had more muscle definition than any pageant beauty was likely to have. She looked to have seen a lot of adventure and enjoyed it. Despite her musculature, she did not lack a figure. As a matter of fact, she had enough of one to rival a lot of the fragile beauty queens he had known in the past. Even though he really failed to comprehend her nature, he
found himself quite drawn to her. It actually helped that she was clothed. Particularly in the style she had chosen. She had selected a blue shirt, black pants, shades, and black biker gloves, which he saw hanging out of one pocket. She had a throaty, husky voice, and a tough, hard edged demeanour which he found quite relaxing. All the women he had known had run at the first sign of trouble. She was no fainting lily, and was consequently fascinating to him.

  “Uh, why don't we get you do that doc.”

  “Doc? Who said anything about a doctor?” she asked, suddenly on her toes.

  “You deaf? I did. Look babe, if you want those bracers off… I can't do it, so… it's your call.”

  “First you start by telling me where hell I am.”

  He gazed at her for a steady moment. “What, you don’t know? Does New Quebec ring any bells?”

  She half-frowned, eyes narrowing. “Quebec? You mean Canada? I thought it was all mountains and snow peaks!”

  “What kinda stupid idea is that?” he asked, looking puzzled. “Oh yeah, D-Bee. Got no idea ‘bout anything. C'mon, let's go.”

  “I got lots—” she caught herself and closed her eyes a moment to ease her temper. “I don't know where I was, really. I was only down there for a few months, and no one told me.”

  “Uh, okay. Don' matter to me.”

  “Han, how about we get something straight, okay?”

  He stopped and faced the girl who he knew was about to draw the lines of interaction between them. His face was somewhat hard, but he said nothing. “Next time you stare at me like a side of beef, you'll regret it. Understand?”

  “A threat?” he drawled. “Gots damn, I think I'm shakin'.”

  She growled angrily at that.

  “Hey, hey… Most chicks don' mind if I stare, you got me? Way I figure it, it's a compliment! If ya do mind, you jus' tell me. Okay?”

  “I just did!” Makoto's sour expression did not lessen, but turned rancid. “Bullshot. Don’t give me a tweaked render.”

  His sigh was weighted, and his eyes jumped uncomfortably between her face and the stone floor. No one had ever had the nerve to call his ego on the level, aside from his deceased mother. Not really sure why, exactly, he felt the need to apologize to her. She was so pretty, and man, tough as nails! “Fine, fine. Fine!… Ah geez Mako,” he started slowly. “I'm sorry. Okay? I mean it.”

  She considered this for a moment, and watched his slightly slumped shoulders and uneasy face. “I can do respect, if you can just ease up and maybe trust me. 'Cause I tell ya, we ain't gettin' topside if you jus' wanna argue.”

  She nodded slowly, and uncrossed her arms. “All right.”

  “Then let’s blow ‘fore the hitch in where we at.” They passed quickly back into the sewers, up through a tunnel and into a back alley, right into Coalition suburbia. They were directly within the walls of the CS State, guarded from the dangers of the Rifts, and smitten by the threat of capture by their guardians.

  “Are you sure it's safe?”

  He looked back at her. “You tell me. You're the Psi-Freak.”

  “Didn’t I say not to—uh, cripes.”

  “What?”

  “Look over my shoulder,” she said. “Someone nearby… not sure where - is upset. Actually, it's more like disappointed. There's a lot of related anger there, too.”

  “We're almost there…” Han's unshaven face tensed in consideration. “Gots damn I'm not taking any chances with you.” He grabbed her arm and pulled her into the nearest alleyway.

  “Just what do you think you're doing?” she snarled, easily freeing his arm from his powerful grip. “If they want a fight, they can just come and get it!”

  “We're going to take the back door,” he said, ignoring her statement.

  “What? Just you…”

  “Look, I don't give scrap who taught you waht,” Han said plainly, not looking at her. “Take the 10-1 on this babe. Women I protect don't fight. So don't give me no sass, cause no one jacks Han the Man.”

  Still, glancing over her shoulder, Makoto could see no one behind her. “Okay,” she flared, pausing to summon a glowing broadsword of pure psychic energy. “You can just argue with this!”

  “Holy hell,” he swore, staring dumbly at the impressive weapon. With that, she could quickly reduce him to pieces. “A CyberKnight…? I thought they were just legends!”

  She stopped, her face losing its resonant anger. Abruptly, the sharp report of a shotgun sent her flying - a shapely rag doll - into the red brick wall nearby with a solid whump!

  “Some legend,” said a voice, accompanied by the click of a rifle. “Psionics don't mean scrap.”

  With a feral snarl and low bellow, Han leapt at the man before him in a flash of rage. There was a gunshot and a dull thwack! and Han got to his feet, his barrel-like chest heaving with effort and emotion.

  “Bastard,” he cursed, then whirled about to check on the folded form of Makoto. She was breathing, and moving, he noticed as he grabbed his opponent's weapon. No blood, though.

  “Armor,” he muttered, gazing about him. He wasn't alone, and knew it.

  “He greased Alex!” a voice exclaimed. Three dark figures appeared seemingly from nowhere. They did not appear to be armed. Han picked up the rifle from the unconscious man.

  One man with a gun against three. Yep, Han thought, that makes it about even. He shot the nearest of the three, who fell to the ground, motionless. Just as he turned to aim for the next, hands reached out and wrenched Han's rifle away. A fist hit him, hard, and he tasted blood. He staggered backwards, landing on his butt.

  Makoto cursed as she approached Han's assailant. Han was not sure if she even moved when she attacked the two figures. No, her hands and arms did blur as she struck them. They came back twice, and Makoto delivered, quite clearly enjoying physical combat. She was a natural. Scratch that. She was supernatural. She could kick his ass! Finally, they lay on the ground, unmoving. Han managed to get to his feet by the end of the fight, cursing is inability to defeat the three attackers.

  “So I can't fight eh?” she stated, stepping up to him, hands on hips.

  Han said nothing, he just looked at her. His eyes fell to her, and locked. Before he knew what happened, she was in his arms, and their lips pressed. A moment flickered, and dropped. She stepped back, flustered. The attraction was mutual, she blinked, abashed and ahgast. Her face soured slightly as she spoke. “Wha… what was…”

  “Let's just go, ok?” Han said.

  Dazed, and feeling psychologically mussed, she nodded. She needed time to figure him out.

  @~%~~~

  “Where'd you say you was from again?” A slightly overweight man asked as he carefully lasered the vibro-restraints.

  “Tokyo,” she said, watching his cigar stained fingers carefully.

  He snickered. “Don't ya worry none, I ain't hurt a'one yet.”

  “Yet,” she retorted, fatigued.

  “Tokyo? Can't say much about th' place, 'cept they got some nice tek,” he paused to expel a cloud of smoke through his mouth. “And nice women.” Makoto sighed internally, and coughed aloud. “Nothin' pers'nal. Yer nice lookin' too.”

  What a shack, she thought. Bits and pieces of what Laray called “tek” lay strewn everywhere, in no particular order. How can he live like this? But, I guess he really doesn't have any alternative. Ah… I want to go back home. I want…

  She bowed her head slightly, hoping to hide her tears. Suddenly Han was there, asking Laray if he was done. The balding man nodded deftly. “If y' don' mind, I'm gonna keep yer collar. I guess y' don' want it?”

  She merely shook her head. “Okay. I gotta check sum s'pplies 'n the back room…”

  “Just go,” Han said. Without further supposition, he turned and then stopped. “Why're you crying, babe? Was it something they… uh… did?”

  She smiled faintly then broke into bitter tears again. She thought, Why am I crying now? Why in front of him? Somehow it came to her that he was a kindred soul and a safe
house. The bruiser took Makoto in his arms, and was quiet for a while.

  Chapter 4

  Want Not Want