by S E Zbasnik
A loud "whuf" bounded through the air as the assassin's hands grabbed onto the slick air duct, his gloves implanting microspikes to support his form. From a straight almost four foot jump, he clawed his way into the duct, barely out of breath and fitting inside the damn tomb much easier than her.
"I am inside the air vent," he called as if he just informed her dinner was ready.
"Elves," she muttered and slipped her middle finger down to her PALM to start it up. Her projecting fist smashed down on the duct, moving her ass along. A small movie about a girl who meets a boy that turns out to be a clone of an infamous tyrant cued up on its own. It skipped forward a scene every time her hand met with ground.
"How do we get out of here?" she asked, despite being in the lead.
"I generally prefer the doors," Taliesin admitted sheepishly. This was not supposed to be so difficult. Get the intended alone, perhaps waiting until there is a lull or he excuses himself to the bathroom, finish the job quietly, then walk out the front door with none in the house the wiser. He preferred the bathroom kill, cleanup was easier for himself and the inevitable ghoul squad. Any use of gun play would typically forfeit a bonus, but this was such a low level kill the extra cherry was a coupon for a free sandwich from any of the universe's "Shuttlecocks."
Variel sighed loudly and, trying to shout overtop the clone discovering his past, called to the only one who could help, "WEST!"
"It looks like you are trying to escape utter annihilation. Would you like some assistance?" it responded.
"A path to the door, give me one," Variel ordered, thinking she'd either throttle the computer or give it a fat kiss when this was all over. He'd probably hate it either way.
Variel paused in the flickering light, trying to raise her only source as the movie projected onto one of the suffocating walls. It was at the obligatory "even though we just met I am madly in love and pledge my life to you" songs. The reason she was in this mess in the first place failed to notice her cessation of movement and his bowed head plowed into backside.
"Please, forgive my intrusion. I did not intend harm or contact." This was the first time since the whole flying bullets started the elf actually sounded flustered, even embarrassed.
She may have been a bit flattered to be the first to break through the ice veins, but WEST beeped up, "There isn't one."
"What do you mean 'there isn't one?'"
"One, a noun of the singular variety, in this example referencing a previous request i.e. escaping through a door. Isn't, a contraction of is and not, implying the one cannot be achieved. That which you requested is not an available option."
"How can there be none? This house cannot be placed under lockdown," the elf's voice cut into the fight.
WEST bristled at the interruption, but his smarmy algorithms rebounded, "No, but a very sophisticated anti-theft device can be pumped through any and all door mechanisms and other switches at a moment's notice that, when touched by human or other hands, would render the escapee very very inert."
"Shit," Variel cursed to herself. How a little asswipe got his hands on that technology...it was in prototype last she'd heard.
"Which the proprietor of your little extravaganza has just activated," WEST added.
"Doors are no longer an option," Taliesin pointed out for himself. "What of the grates or ductwork?"
"If it affected grates wouldn't 20,000 volts be racking through your puny electrical system right now?" WEST was having the time of its life, being able to calculate something other than time tables and the selling weight of aged centarian cheese.
"Up," Variel's voice cut through the pair arguing and the movie getting to the first big action fail before rebound and triumph! "Find me a path to the roof," she ordered her computer then clicked over to her miniature address book, scrolling through to find Orn.
Her end rang once, twice, then a third without a pickup.
"Perhaps he's away from his hand for the moment," Taliesin said, catching onto her plan.
"If he is we're in bigger trouble than I thought. It's implanted in his good one."
A buzz clicked as the dwarf finally answered. Orn got as far as "Who is..." before WEST butted in.
"Take two rights, one left and you'll find a ladder at a small maintenance hatch. Take it up. There you should find the roof. Or the basement, if I'm holding this wrong."
"Thanks, WEST," Variel said, holding her palm out before her, and shoving the beleaguered gun to the right passage. The elf trailed behind far more softly.
"Do you require any more assistance, Owner 23?"
"Yes, get off the damn line!" The computer huffed but clicked out, letting the original line pick up. "Orn, you there?"
A gust of music, like someone threw a cat against a guitar and played the mess backwards, blasted out of her hand directly below whatever room they hovered above. "Crap, crap, crap," she tried to fumble for the volume in the dark, but could only scroll the damn movie back to the obligatory musical number.
Her assassin laid his lavish ears against the floor and said, "Many voices, muffled but stern. I would recommend moving quickly."
His calm assessment was reinforced as a bullet pierced through the plaster of the ceiling and into the ductwork, traveling to the roof they were hoping for. Another inch to the left and she'd have been short a lung. Variel scrabbled through the duct work chanting, "right, right, left," still shoving the gun as if it were an errant child. "Orn! Turn that shit down!"
The music continued to blast, as she rounded on another corridor of duct, cursing her bad everything. How fucking long was this damn house? Below her hand Orn's noise dimmed and his out of breath voice came over the line. After their earlier discussion, Variel decided to not ask what he was doing.
"What's up, Cap?"
"Get your ass in the pilot's seat," she ordered, halfway down the long corridor, leaning to the left. More boots and fancier shoes trampled below them. Hopefully the lost and drugged out party guests made havoc for the guards.
"Already am," Orn said and probably tipped back, his shoes scuffing up very expensive controls.
"I do not need to know that," she shuddered, wishing she'd avoided the trip into his marital relations.
"Pardon?"
"Break orbit. You're gonna do an atmo break over the islands Brena sent me to. Tee or something. Ask her."
"Tau cluster," Taliesin's calm shook a moment as the superior elven hearing picked up what sounded like the wheeling of a very heavy machine.
"Yer shitting me, right? This is one of them big tests to see how loyal I am."
Through the conversation, Variel pushed on, shining her PALM light around the edges, then pulling it to her face to curse at her pilot. "I'm serious, Orn. This is my serious voice. Get your fat, dwarven ass in the sky and down to the planet."
"An atmo break, on Samudra," but even as he shook his round head she heard the heartening hum of controls booting up.
"There's the left," Variel said to her caboose and turned.
"Cap'n," Orn's voice carried across the warming of engines, "we, uh, the thing is, we still have..."
Variel spied the maintenance shaft, large enough to stand hopefully two to a person, just as Taliesin heard the tell-tale click of an ammo round fitting into the turret. They were going to rip through the ceiling, like killing a fly with a warhead.
Without saying a word, the assassin's gloves gripped deep into the shaft before him. With all his might, he propelled himself forward, shoving Variel further into the shaft. His own body crumpled atop her when the gun turret fired up, showering the previously occupied area in bullets, plaster, and metal shrapnel. That was gonna be a bitch to explain to the home owner's association.
The assassin popped up onto his legs and offered a hand to the captain nursing a bruised sternum thanks to the submachine gun breaking her fall. "Are you all right?" he asked while guiding her up.
"Peachy." She'd hurt later, "Orn..."
"Still here. Wasn't certain if you
were, though."
"Get the skyskiing jackets out, have Gene man the crank. And you, reserve a good wyrmroute. Hopefully we'll leave the system before security even notices anyone broke atmo," she tested the ladder as she spoke to Orn, her light shining to an obvious lock at the top.
She turned to Taliesin and lifted the pistol from his hands. Aiming haphazardly, she shot at the lock, blasting a hole large enough for her hand to fit through. Variel passed it back to him, her PALM lighting up his dark face. She thought perhaps she should reassure him that everything would be all right, then she remembered he kills people for a living. Maybe he should be reassuring her.
"We head up. I'll go first."
"Why?"
Variel tapped the submachine gun, a spray of bullets against a room of unknown enemies worked much better. "Stay low. It'll take the Elation five minutes to get through the atmo at least. If Orn's still bitching about his driving record, more than likely ten. We find cover and hold our ground," she dug through her pockets, fishing out the handful of batteries she saved. "I have enough for three charges, maybe four if we're lucky."
"I see no reason for luck to start now," he said as he accepted the batteries, slipping them into a series of vest pockets expertly hidden in the field of black.
"Right," she balled her fist to shut off her PALM. The shaft fell dark. The assassin's heavy breath brushed across unhindered skin as her heartbeat increased in tempo. Her fingers slipped around the ladder's rungs and she climbed slowly, boots clanging against the gnome sized lift.
Taliesin followed close behind, his own weapon at the ready as Variel's fist punctured through her damage, searching for the handle. Gah! The puckered metal sliced through her shirt and into flesh as she reached deeper in, her fingers falling across the handle. Sucking back a grunt of pain, she jammed her arm the last few inches and turned the latch. The door lifted up and she snaked her arm in.
"On the count of three. One. Two. Three!" She threw the door open, the end of her gun meeting a clear night sky.
Variel climbed quickly, spinning about to sniff out any enemies hiding in the piles of air and heat vents littering the roof, but none appeared. Only a few clouds lilted across the starry sky. Two of the three moons were nearly full, giving a full cast of light to the dirty work before them.
Taliesin appeared behind her -- his pistol raised -- as she took in the surroundings. Given time, even Dacre had to realize they were on top of the roof and come for them. "We need to fortify," Variel pointed at a massive pile of old pipes, probably thick enough to absorb most handheld weapons. "That should be the base. Drag some of the excess metal whatever to the sides," she pointed to the scrap and the elf obliged, his fingers slipping around an edge.
The only main entrance was a door, probably sealed by the anti-theft system. Well, she could help that out a bit. Pulling a pick the size of a pen from her pocket, she inserted it below the doorknob and pushed a button. Rods ten times the strength of iron dug deep into the floor, walls and frame of the door. It wasn't gonna be easy getting through there. She walked about the roof, glancing over the edge. The walls were too sheer, almost no chance of anyone attempting to climb from the bottom, but there were a multitude of windows. It was all the rage to boil in natural light over a never ending sea view. The waves crashed harder against the floating foundation of the house testing the balancers; a storm was rising.
As Taliesin pushed the last of the fortification walls into place, her PALM lit up. She tapped it quickly, not bothering to check who it was, "What?"
"If you run this hunk of shit on a cracked inertia injector..." she closed the line before Ferra could finish her rant. Variel knew the engineer could argue a saint to death for his perceived sins, but she'd also listen to her boss. As her still flashing PALM light swooped across the sleeping roof, it lit upon a familiar sign. The orange and black triangle warned any and all organics to refrain from combusting near this pile of...Oh Dacre, you've been a very bad boy.
She marked the location of the dump and returned to her assassin. He settled down into a crouch, probably praying to his plants for guidance. She whistled softly, "There's an entire pallet of weapon's grade explosives sitting behind the attic door. Enough to send this entire house up in flames."
The elf rose up from his small prayer bow and said quietly, "Then I best be extra careful what I shoot."
It was either the endorphins or the brain in full on fight mode, but Variel laughed at her nearly silent elf and he in turn smiled back. "I had no idea your kind could do that?"
"Do what?"
"Show emotion." A bang broke from below the attic door.
Taliesin blinked slowly and aimed his pistol towards the door, "We reserve it only for special occasions, or if someone is losing poorly at cards."
She laughed again and raised her own gun. The door buckled against whatever man bear they persuaded to play battering ram. "You think they forgot to turn off that zapping door thing?"
"I fear I was not born under a lucky star."
"Yeah, me neither." With her words, the door finally splintered in half and a head poked through. Without pausing, she unleashed a round straight into the questing face. It roared and tumbled back into the crowd behind it. While Variel cocked her gun, trying to burn off some heat, Taliesin took aim, popping off the next two guards climbing over top the first, each falling like a sack of lembas.
Maybe this wouldn't be so hard after all, if those witless wonders keep funneling through like that. Another round of the machine gun ripped through the half door one used as a poor shield and down he went.
A shot clanged against the metal pipes, sending both of them down to the ground. Someone broke through in the blue of night. It was enough to trigger the assassin instincts, and he popped off the guard before another shot was fired.
For a moment the guards paused, trying to regroup and replan. As far as they knew, their prey were trapped. No reason to risk a bullet to the brain to get to them fast. Variel checked her battery level: low. Damn things were getting too old to handle a charge. She slotted it back in and cocked the gun. Come on Orn, get the fat foot of yours in gear.
The assassin shot wildly at a guard exploring, getting nothing but ceiling and a puff of white plaster into the rising winds. He turned to the woman fighting beside him and replaced the battery in the pistol. She got the count. But how many guards could Dacre possibly have?
In response, the entire roof below the door collapsed revealing a jagged staircase like a broken set of teeth. Out jumped ten men surrounding the man of the hour himself. A sword with a brilliant blue edge shone out of one hand while the other sported a micro-gattling gun. Taliesin popped off the guard on the edge while Variel whittled down a few just as Dacre started to return fire. The pair bounded down to their cover, turning back to face the still shipless night.
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shitshitshit!" Variel cursed over the sound of bullets pounding into the metal pipes. Her ear drums were going to take days of reconstruction therapy.
"He is carrying the sword," Taliesin stated the obvious.
"I know," she shouted, angry at the reason she was in this mess in the first place. "Get anywhere near that thing and we're all dead."
The elf pulled a blade out of his pocket; a small thing, nowhere near as powerful as the one Dacre wielded like a sickle. He weighed it softly and whispered, "If you distract them, I slip in behind and pick off some of the guards."
"With the gattling-gun? That's near suicide," she said to him, already aware of the "but we're nearly out of bullets argument." Variel dug into her pocket and pulled out a round device, slightly larger than a quarter, and pushed her finger into the middle. A sheen overtook her form momentarily, then vanished.
Without waiting for the elf to say anything, she stuffed the shield generator into the front of his pants pocket, the shield enveloping him. It wouldn't stop the sword, but it'd at least keep most of the bullets away from his vital parts. He looked down at his hands, slightly shimm
ering in the sparks of the bullets beating against the pipes, then to Variel. Nodding, he passed her the pistol. Extracting his blade, he inched along their sidewall and vanished into the night.
All right, Dacre, let's dance. She shouted into the stars as he momentarily paused to rest his trigger finger, "You were always a weasel! A shitless nothing!"
A few more bullets bounded into the pipes from the guards at her comments, but Dacre stopped his storm. "And what of you, Sir. Hiding, running, scared of the big bad Crests coming for ya? You can change the whole face for the right coin, but that scar's forever. Tha's what you get for lying down with orcs."
Through Dacre's peacocking a shadow moved around the shifting shade, his blade biting into the exposed neck of a guard swooping towards the uninhabited section of roof. One down, four more to go. A crunch shattered the eerie calm and Variel popped up, the last of her machine gun emptying into someone trying to invade her cover. His body tipped back, more meat than man now.
Dacre restarted his fire, trying to melt the pipes with enough friction. Grabbing one of the side walls, Variel slotted it into place behind the pipes who gave it their all against superior fire power. Another guard bit the dust as the elf stabbed him through the back, straight into the heart.
Three more left and still no sign of her ship or that blasted dwarf. He'd better not be under fire from his wife or, so help her, she'd haunt the shit out of both of them for an eternity. "I should have killed you," Variel's shout managed to make it over the rapport of bullets.
Dacre paused again, wanting to savor what was a long time coming. "Is that why you're here now? To kill me?" A small light flashed on her PALM, and she pushed it, holding her hand up to her ear to muffle the voice.
"I knew it," Dacre continued to gloat even as another of his guards fell to the assassin's blade. "All those companies sudden interest in 'em. It had to be important. And what do you have to do with it? Are you working for the corps now? Tell me!" The man jumped from the kiddie pool into the deep end of insanity.
