by R S Penney
A sly smile appeared on Slade's face, and he bowed his head to her. “I see that you have picked Hunter's talent for witless banter,” he said. “He really has been something of a bad influence on you.”
“Wait, you think Jack taught me how to quip?”
“You are a foolish child, playing with-”
“Because I've been making quips for years!” Anna strode toward him with her fists clenched, her head down as she hissed air through her teeth. “I tell you, I get no respect. I was kicking ass across the galaxy all by myself and daunting criminals with a few well-timed puns, followed by a sharp jab to the nose.”
Slade was backing away from her, clearly puzzled by her insistence on getting the recognition that was rightfully hers. “I have come here-”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” she interrupted. “We'll discuss your evil plan and all the ways I'm gonna stop it later. Right now, I'm venting! I mean, really! The instant I get a partner, people are all 'Oh, Jack! He's so funny! He deflates the bad guys with his casual wit and indecipherable pop-culture references!' Hello? Quirky adorableness, right here!
“I'm trying to convey a genuine source of frustration, and here you are, butting in with 'It's time for me to make a villain speech.' Bleakness take me! It's not all about you, you know.”
Her tirade died off when she got within three feet of Slade, and suddenly, the urge to demonstrate her wit was replaced by a seething black hatred, a desire to smash his face until she felt the snap of his bones. Anna would've never thought herself capable of such rage. “You killed my friend,” she said.
Slade grinned and nodded to her. “I did,” he said in tones as cool as a lake in the middle of winter. “I do believe I've killed a lot of people.”
Tilting her head back, Anna stared up at him. “Too many,” she said, her eyebrows rising. “But if you want to do penance, you've come to the right place. I'm happy to beat the sin out of you.”
“Not the words of a Justice Keeper.”
“Well, you've been a bad influence.”
Spreading his arms wide, Slade looked down at himself. He shook his head ever so slowly. “You don't even want to know why I came here?” The incredulity in his tone gave her pause. “Really, Anna, what's gotten into you? We could have a nice, relaxing chat, but instead you want to fight. All right, let's fight.”
Slade began a roundhouse kick.
Anna ducked and felt the man's foot pass right over her head. She rose in time to watch him spin, one arm lashing out for a back-hand strike.
Anna thrust her arm out.
Their wrists collided with the harsh smack of bone meeting bone. Anna kicked the man in his side and sent him stumbling away with a sharp gasp. In a heartbeat, he was whirling around to face her.
Anna jumped and snap-kicked.
Her foot slammed into his nose, bringing a spray of blood as Slade's head snapped backward. The evil bastard was still on his feet, still conscious despite a blow that should have knocked him senseless. Anna landed right in front of him.
She threw a punch, but he caught her wrist. His other hand clamped onto her throat, and the next thing Anna knew she was being lifted off the ground. A quick surge of Bent gravity did the rest.
Anna flew sideways until her shoulder crashed into the motel's back wall, rough aluminum siding cutting her skin. Pain flared, but she landed in a crouch, pleading with Seth to heal her quickly.
She turned and found Slade gliding toward her across the width of the alley. The wicked smile on his face promised endless depths of agony once he was through beating her into submission.
Anna charged forward.
She jumped and spread her legs, wrapping them around Slade's waist. Clinging to him like a spider-monkey, she punched his face once, twice, three times. The man winced with every blow.
On her fourth punch, Slade's hand shot up to seize her wrist. He gave a twist and sent a jolt of pain through Anna's body. His other hand covered her face, and then she was being thrown backward.
Anna landed on her ass.
She rolled onto her stomach by instinct, gasping and wheezing. Pushing her hands down on the rough pavement, she flung her body upward to drive both feet into his belly. In her mind's eye, she watched him stumble away.
Anna rolled onto her back.
Curling her legs against her chest, she sprang off the ground and landed upright. “I think I'm starting to get annoyed,” she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “I was hoping to be done in time for a quick supper.”
Slade stood by the wooden fence with a hand pressed to his stomach, hunched over as he trembled with laughter. “Do you remember when I sent you after that Nassai Hunter now carries?” he asked. “Such a shame you didn't die in Dead Space.”
Baring her teeth with a growl, Anna felt her face burn. “Seems to me it all worked out in the end,” she said, striding toward him. “I met my best friend; we made an alliance with Earth, and you got the smackdown.”
Anna kicked high.
The man leaned over sideways, evading the blow by inches. He snapped himself upright, then grabbed the back of her shirt as she began a spin. All of a sudden, she was being thrown off balance.
She went face-first into the dumpster, bracing herself by pressing both hands to the metal. This wasn't good. When she turned around, Slade was already closing in for the kill. A lion on the hunt.
He threw a punch.
Anna ducked and felt the man's fist pass right over her head. She threw a series of jabs into his stomach, forcing him backward as her fists pounded him like pistons. Now to finish this.
Anna rose for a hard right-cross.
The man leaned back, catching her wrist in both hands. He gave a sharp twist, and the next thing Anna knew, she was being forced to bend over with her side toward him. A swift kick to the belly drove the wind from her lungs.
Slade lifted his foot above his head and then brought it down like a headsman's ax, striking Anna right between the shoulder-blades. She was forced down onto her stomach, pain surging through her body.
His boot slammed into her rib-cage, the blow augmented with Bent Gravity.
Anna was lifted off the ground and sent tumbling through the air like a log rolling down a hill, flying through the alley until she collided with the dumpster with a painful clang. She landed on her belly, trying to push herself up on all fours. That last blow had cracked ribs.
Seth would be able to heal her, of course; with a few hours rest, she'd be running down the street as if nothing had happened. But she wasn't going to get a few hours to rest. She could sense him coming for her.
Slade moved with the elegant of a zrinthala dancer, his black hair streaming out in the breeze. His face was serene, carved from stone. This was just business to him. A task to be completed and nothing more.
He stopped when he got within arm's reach.
Bending over, Slade grabbed the back of her collar with one hand and yanked her to her feet. Another hand clamped onto Anna's throat.
He lifted her clear off the ground.
Anna squeezed her eyes shut, tears running over her cheeks in rivers. “You're five kinds of pathetic,” she whispered, ignoring the strength of his grip. “Even with all your power, you're just a petty little man with a vendetta.”
In her mind's eye, Slade was nothing but a silhouette, but she could see the misty currents of his face twist in a snarl. “And look at you,” he said softly. “Such a tiny thing. A scrawny chicken waiting to be gutted.”
“Baby, eat this chicken slow,” she hissed. “It's full of all them little bones.”
She brought her knee up to strike the underside of Slade's chin, throwing him off balance. He managed to hold on to her, however, and the next thing she felt was a fist colliding with her face.
Everything went dark, and for a moment, she was barely aware of her own body. Then reality came crashing in, every ache and pain more pronounced after a few seconds' reprieve. She dangled from his outstretched hand, squirming but
unable to pull free.
Slade pulled her close.
Through tear-blurred vision, she saw his face, his eyes searching, trying to peer into her very soul. His gaze was locked with hers, and though part of her wanted to resist, she found herself transfixed. “It really is a shame, the power of a Nassai wasted on a sad little mouse like you. How you've survived this long, I'll-”
Suddenly, his eyes widened.
The colour drained out of his face, and he stared at her with an open mouth. “No! It isn't possible!” he said, blinking at her. “The Inzari would never allow it!”
He pulled her close until his nose almost touched hers, and then she was drowning in the bottomless pits of his eyes. Sinking into an abyss from which there was no escape. “Impossible!” Slade bellowed. “Again? Again! Will this wretched world give me no rest? Wǒ de tiān, Lihua? How many times must I kill you?”
What?
It made no sense; these were the ravings of a mad-man, but while her rational mind recoiled in disgust, something deep within her – something in the very core of her – knew just what to say. “You can't destroy me, Liu,” she whispered. “I tried telling you that, but you didn't listen. You never listen.”
Slade threw her, applying a Bending.
Anna flew sideways, crashing shoulder-first through the wooden fence, dropping into the grass behind the motel. Her body hit hard, and then she was sprawled out on the ground, aching from head to toe.
Slade came through the hole in the fence, snarling like a feral beast. “I should have known when you defied me,” he whispered. “When you flew off, chasing Denario Tarse against my orders.”
He stood over her with teeth bared, his face red with rage. “It's time that we ended this, Anna!” he hissed, every syllable dripping venom. “And this time, stay dead!”
“Break me off a switch, Greck,” Jack's voice called out. “I'm gonna have to take you over my knee.”
As he strode through the alley behind the motel, Jack struggled to contain his rage. His rage and his fear. The last time he had fought this man, things hadn't exactly gone in his favour, and by the look of it, Slade had just finished pummeling Anna.
The pompous peacock of a man stood with his back turned in a hole in the fence, looking ridiculous in that silly red coat. “Hunter,” Slade growled, whirling around. “And I thought I might have a challenging opponent.”
Jack grinned, then bowed his head to the other man. “Sorry to disappoint,” he said with a shrug of his shoulders. “But, you know, I'm like one of those stress balls. You can pummel me, and I'll just keep coming back.”
“More japes.”
“Really, Greck?” Jack mocked. “Ever heard the phrase 'Live in the Now?' I mean I'm spouting 90s language, and I'm still more hip to what the kids these days are saying! Should I call you 'bae?' That'll at least bring me into my parents' generation, and I'm told it means 'poop' in Danish; so it kind of fits-”
“Be silent!”
Slade looked up to study Jack. His face darkened considerably, and then he shook his head. “But if she's…” It was like watching a first-grader puzzle out why his father and Santa were never in the same room at the same time. “Then that means you're… Of course, you are! You follow her everywhere!”
Tossing his head back, Jack blinked at the open sky. “Seriously?” he asked, shaking his head. “We can't just beat the crap out of each other? You have to stand there, raving at me like Smeagol on meth?”
Slade started forward.
The man froze after stepping through the hole, his face losing most of its colour. “But the two of you…” His mouth dropped open as he drew in a shuddering breath. “This isn't over! Do you understand?”
To Jack's surprise, Slade leaped right over his head, riding a surge of Bent Gravity to the slanted roof of the motel. He landed there on the black shingles, glancing back over his shoulder. “It isn't over!”
“You're doing it all wrong,” Jack called out. “You're supposed to shake your fist and tell me I'll pay for this!”
He ran to Anna, hopping through the hole in the fence, and found her gasping in the grass, staring up at the sky. Her face was red and tear-stained. “He's insane,” Anna hissed. “Thought I was…Said I was.”
Jack closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. “I know,” he said, gently taking her hand. “But right now, we have bigger concerns. We have to get you to a hospital.”
Chapter 22
The sky was deep twilight blue with only a few faint stars visible overhead, leaving the houses on this suburban street as blocky shadows, sentinels that stood watch over a road illuminated by street lamps. A group of teenage boys road past on bicycles, each one intently focused on getting somewhere quickly.
It was a cute little neighbourhood, the picturesque setting that everyone imagined whenever they thought of what had once been called the American Dream. That was why he felt so out of place here.
Harry paced up the sidewalk with his hands in his jacket pocket, his eyes fixed on his shoes. Can you recall a time when this had been all you wanted out of life? he asked himself. It wasn't that long ago.
That, of course, had been before Denario Tarse had brought alien technology into his city; after that, things had become far more complicated. The simple dreams of the past no longer seemed to make sense in this new age.
And they had never really been his dreams. Della was right; he was something of a workaholic, and that may have played a big role in how his family life had played out. It had been so long since he had thought about it.
The small house with white aluminum siding was right there on the far side of the street, a light in its front window allowing him to see into the living room. There was a TV on, tuned to the news.
So, Mr. Osborne was home.
Closing his eyes, Harry let his head hang. “Be certain you want to do this,” he told himself, stepping into the street. “Because once this toothpaste is out of the tube, there's no putting it back.”
He paused.
It might be wise to be sure he hadn't come here for nothing. Assaulting a man only to discover that the very device they were looking for was not actually here would be nothing short of horrid. If he was going to damn himself, something good should come out of it.
He reached into his pants' pocket, retrieving the curled-up ball of flesh that had all but become an extension of his own body. The N'Jal unfolded the instant his hand made contact, unfolding to become like a second skin that covered his palm, tiny neural fibers bonding with his own nervous system.
He thrust his palm out toward the house.
Finding words for what he did wasn't easy, but in computer terms, it was something like a ping. He scanned the area for Overseer technology, and felt…something. A presence underneath the house. The cipher was here.
Harry winced, shaking his head. “Damn it,” he muttered, completing his journey across the street, stepping onto the curb. “You would be living right on top of some alien relic, wouldn't you, Mr. Osborne.”
He considered summoning the cipher to the street – perhaps it could erupt from the front lawn and spare him the need to go inside – but that would make too much noise and leave people with too many questions.
No, there was only one option.
Pounding on the red front door with his fist, Harry waited for an answer. The door swung inward a moment later, revealing an older man in gray pants and a blue button-up shirt with the collar left open. He was a handsome fellow with a firm jaw, thin white hair and glasses. “Yes?”
“Mr. Osborne.”
“Yes…”
Harry crossed his arms with a heavy sigh, then bowed his head to the other man. “I was hoping we could talk,” he said, backing away from the door. “We…There might be a problem with your house, sir.”
Osborne scrunched up his face as though he'd been sucking on a lemon, then shook his head. “I think you better start by telling me who you are,” he replied. “Before I decide to call the police.”
“That's funny.”
“I'm not laughing.”
“No, I mean you calling the police,” Harry said, stepping closer. “You see, it just so happens that I'm…Oh, never mind.”
He slapped a palm against Osborne's head, the N'jal's neural fibers digging into the old man's skin. Just like that, Harry had control of Osborne's nervous system. He really didn't want to do this, but…
A little oxytocin to make the old man feel a special bond with him, a little gamma-aminobutyric acid to lower his anxiety. Some melatonin to make him sleepy. In less than ten seconds, Osborne was standing there in a daze.
Harry caught the man as he fell forward, slinging one of Osborne's arms around his shoulders. “Come on,” he whispered, dragging Osborne into the house, shutting the door behind himself. “We'll find you someplace nice to rest.”
He dragged the limp Osborne over to the living room, then eased him down onto the couch. Mercy, but the old man was heavy! Most of his friends these days were Justice Keepers, and they always made feats of strength look easy.
Osborne was curled up on his side with his head on a soft pillow. His eyes drifted shut, and within a few moments, he was breathing slow and steady. Not exactly the best way to gain access to a man's home, but Harry had thought about it for the better part of an hour, and he had come to the conclusion that there were no other options.
He couldn't just tell Osborne the whole damn thing – even with the knowledge of aliens and starships, there was almost no chance the old man would believe him – nor could he go to the city police for some kind of assistance. Making any kind of official record of their trip here would almost certainly alert Slade to their presence. That meant doing something he really didn't want to do.
It meant breaking the law.
Harry thought – or, at least, he hoped – that he had incapacitated Osborne by the gentlest means possible, but that didn't make it any less illegal. However, the illegality of what he had done didn't make it any less necessary.
