by S E Zbasnik
Variel touched the "answer" button on her PALM and a familiar voice chirped, "Honey, I'm home."
The rising winds buffeted everyone to the floor as the stars descended, lining the rim of her beautiful ship. She rose against the winds to her knees, Orn's few skills paying off as he hovered over the correct house. Dacre screamed and tried to fire up but the gattling-gun couldn't maneuver directly above him. He tossed it aside and began to stalk around the roof, his sword drawn.
The docking bay opened on the Elation-Cru and a crackling red fire form dropped an anchor strung on thick cable towards the roof. It scrapped above their heads. Variel broke cover and jumped in the confusion, but couldn't reach it. "Damn it, dwarf. Lower the ship."
"Fine, fine. If I'm gonna break one law tonight might as well go for all of them."
Taliesin inched around the roof, slipping the knife into his pocket as he joined his captain. The swinging anchor pounded through their cover, finally smashing the poor pipes to bits, but Variel grabbed it before it made another pendulum swing. She undid the locks and broke into the padded jacket for the skyskiiers. "Put it on!" she shouted above the buffeting winds to the assassin.
He shook his head no. What a time for chivalry. "I'll need you to hold me! Put the damn thing on." The elf nodded and slipped his arms into the jacket just as she locked the vest in place. A shot zipped past her exposed head as the last guard rounded on her. She pulled the anchor chord loose and Taliesin rocketed into space.
Variel dodged, ducking and running around the roof as the guard fired madly towards her. Two targets and one bullet left. This was a good time for a miracle of some sorts.
High above their heads, the elven assassin flipped upside down, wrapping his legs around the tether. He dangled his arms down. "Lower!" Taliesin screamed into his PALM. The Elation dropped, and he swung over his captain, the shield momentarily deflecting the guard's bullets, but leaving her exposed as he continued the arc.
The guard stepped closer, grinning wildly at the trapped prey, and failing to notice the return of the very athletic elf. Taliesin grabbed onto the guard's arms and pulled the now screaming man with him off the other edge of the roof. Once free, he dropped him into the seas below.
The weight was enough to throw off his swing and he went wildly left, slightly corkscrewing. Dacre laughed at the show, slicing his sword through every duct and piece of long tossed equipment on the roof.
"Are you scared, Sir? Is that fear running in your veins? Or piss down your leg?"
Variel shifted, running low towards a specific spot. She'd get one shot at this and she needed things to be perfect. Taliesin swung his hips like a pro, trying to direct his body towards her. He passed close, only fingertips away, but moved past. It gave Dacre enough time to walk near her and the pile of orange warning stickers below her feet.
He raised his sword, the sword of a Knight, high above his head like a meat cleaver. "You were such a disappointment," he crowed just as Variel jumped back.
"I'm making up for my mistake now," she said as she shot at the explosives. Twisting, she leapt towards the sea and the swinging elf.
Her questing fingers grabbed Taliesin's forearm, just as the excess pile ignited. The fireball claimed the roof and the screaming corpse of one Lieutenant Dacre. The elf gripped deep, his gloves biting into her flesh, but she didn't register the pain. Her eyes followed only the arc of the swing that would pull her back overtop the flames bursting off the roof.
"Up!" Variel screamed into the night sky, and hopefully her PALM, "UP! UP! UP!"
In the darkness it was impossible to tell if the order reached any ears. The flames bit down into the roof tiles and the metal stashed on top it, crackling and spitting like a fireplace, shooting shrapnel back at the night. The tether reached the end of its pull and began the swing back. A series of very family-inappropriate curses racked through her brain and probably out of her mouth as Variel watched her dangling feet swing nearer to the inferno. Even as the assassin gripped her with the strength of a hungry constrictor, she still clung back with her legs pulled up to her stomach, just passing over the fire on the swing out.
By the second pass over the fire, only the heat nipped at her heels. Variel slowly relaxed her legs, letting them dangle to not throw off the elf's grip. His eyes seemed to be bulging a bit as he dangled inverted out of a spaceship pulling higher into the atmosphere.
But up they went, the tether retracting back into the Elation. For a moment, Variel broke the first rule of skyskiing and looked down. As the light of the ship pulled from the black water below, the famed moon plants erupted. Cascading pinpoints of dancing green light floated below the ocean's depths. The wisps of the water signaled their goodbyes.
The endless rushing of air was replaced by faint voices as the tether inched closer to the ship, their bodies dragging along the hatch. A loud beeping started, and the hatch closed as the cabin tried to re-pressurize and seal before Orn got any bright ideas. With the final beep, a green light flooded the mostly empty cabin. Finally, Taliesin let go of Variel. They lay on the rocking hatch, trying to breathe life into shaken lungs and acid out of stretched muscles.
A heavy hand dropped to the captain and curled around her fingers. Gene lifted her surprisingly tenderly, and she leaned into the djinn, inspecting her arms for damage.
"Not to be a pain or anything, but we've got a good ten Sec. ships blaring out of their hidey holes," Orn's voice echoed through the shuttle-less docking bay.
Variel coughed, and whispered to Gene, "Tell him to get us out of here."
This would not have been very helpful from the mute djinn, but her comm line still sat open, and Orn didn't need to be told twice.
"Hands on yer bums people, this is gonna be a rocky one," Orn's voice clipped before he severed the line and punched in the vey illegal atmo-burners.
Variel stumbled at the increase in inertia -- Ferra must be keeping the thing off-line as long as possible -- but Gene caught her. The assassin unhooked himself from the jacket and rose despite the gravity boost, inspecting himself for damage. As his eyes moved off the tattered remains of his vest up to the teetering captain he caught the eternal damnation glare of the fire golem. It was supposed to be near impossible to read the emotions of a djinn, most never tried, but Gene made it painfully obvious how little he thought of Taliesin.
"Damn it!" the captain's cursing broke the elf-djinn stalemate, "Orn! Pinch the wyrm," her fingers poked around her side, trying to knot up a stitch from that burst of exercise.
"Breaking atmo...now!" Orn's triumphant voice called to the ship as if anyone was impressed he managed to find "up." "Fine, fine, pinching the wyrm. Prepare to have your molecules rearranged."
The air grew metallic as if it filled with ozone, and very humid. Variel's saliva glands tried to make up for the excess of magic rushing through the ship's divergence systems, altering the fabric of space. Her stitch searching hand flew up to her forehead as the tear opened. Damn things always gave her a headache.
Without waiting for an on the ball security guard to wonder why a ship that rose from the planet suddenly opened a hole right outside the ancillary zone, Orn drove the ship in. The wyrm collapsed behind them, zapping some excess MGC back through the circuits as she raced through to a point on another side of the galaxy.
As normalcy replaced the magic burn, Taliesin glanced towards his captain and paled. A swathe of blood trailed along her forehead where her hand left a path. He walked quickly to her side but the djinn grumbled.
"She is injured," the assassin said, having trouble hiding the blame in his voice.
"Oh shit, am I?" Variel complained as if she got a summons for justice time, and she poked at the wound. "Must have been a stray bullet." As the endorphins drained from the chase, a wave of nausea and pain hit hard, "or a few. Medical, better get there. And Monde, he's probably hiding somewhere safe. Find him."
The djinn nodded to her. Like a gorilla picking up a kitten, he hefted her into his oversized arms
. She rolled her eyes and muttered, "I didn't mean that," but was losing enough blood she didn't have the energy to argue.
Taliesin paused, uncertain if he should follow, when his own PALM lit up. Curious, he touched it and an automated message scrolled quickly, the white text legible against his black skin.
"Congratulations on finding and destroying your intended, MR. DACRE, the fee has already been wired into your account."
He flipped the message off in disgust and followed after the captain.
CHAPTER FOUR
The dwarf flipped the "reality" switch -- a word he sketched over the fancy mage term for zipping up the universe's fly -- closing the wyrm behind them and gargled the awful taste of the galaxy out of his mouth. He waved his hand and raised up the three dimensional map, zooming into a particular spec of nothing in the grand scheme of things. A few holographic planets whizzed around his ear as he charted the time it'd take to swing into the next station. Vargal (so named after the sound someone choked out upon seeing it) was about all that interested this backwater shiphole. She wasn't going to be happy about it, but Ferra'd learn to adjust. The Captain; however, was going to go spare this close to the old demilitarized zone.
Orn yanked down the map -- after digging some planets out of his hair -- and set the course in, flipping on the autopilot. WEST grumbled in a jealous rage. This gave Orn no amount of glee every time he informed the glorified concierge that the autopilot had the bridge. Well, the dwarf thought, turning to the person shaking like an avalanche beside him. Time to go break the bad and worse news.
The med-bay -- also known as the closet stocked with bandages, black market morphine, and that damn pool table they couldn't find a use for -- was nestled off the mostly empty crew quarters. Only the twins haunted the area, laying claim to some of the "rentable rooms" not torn out. Rounding past the galley, Orn snagged a piece of ice rock candy from his drawer and jammed the entire fist sized lump of sugar into his maw. His companion was silent but still mobile; a plus in this line of work.
They turned the corner, ducking down the incline to the "customer deck" and paused as their assassin paced back and forth outside the shuttered door like a father or widow to be. Orn caught the elf's eye and shrugged, "She's been through worse."
The elf grimaced, his tiny mouth sucked so deep in consternation it vanished, but he said nothing. Quieter than the grave, that one. No wonder he got into the stabbing people in the night business.
"A few rub downs, a new coat of paint, an oil change, and she'll be right as rain," Orn said, patting the elf on the back.
Taliesin's clouded face turned down on the dwarf and his buttoned mouth actually broke, "You are referring to the ship."
An alien pull of concern overtook the elf's eyes. It was rare for them to feel anything beyond ennui or a flower-scented passing of gas for someone that didn't sport the right brand of pointy ears. It caught Orn by surprise and he slightly assured the kid, "She'll be fine too. Saw her take on a midgard serpent once. Bare handed."
"Those do not exist."
"Exactly," Orn winked as if it was comforting and pushed on the admittance panel to the med-bay.
Variel lay haphazardly across the pool table crackling the protective tarp now dotted vivid crimson from her injuries. Her pet hovered over her, taking up space as the Doc buzzed about, his nimble fingers slipping in and out of jars labeled in one of the non-universal texts. He liked it that way, made looting much harder if you didn't know what pill you swiped.
"Cap!" Orn said cheerfully as if she weren't half naked and bandaged like a pharaoh mid-mummification. "We're out of the Samudra system and nearing a fresh new station so my lovely wife can acquire the part we need before she gets excessively stabby."
Variel slowly rose to her IVed elbows looking over her pilot. A few dark circles sunk in her eyes and that olive skin was paler and waxier than normal, but otherwise she looked fine. Mostly fine. Mostly not dead, at least. "That'd be the good news. So what's the bad?"
Orn tilted his head, a pile of knotted hair falling into his eyes as he chided, "So cynical, my captain. It just so happens there is no bad news. The station we're two days from would be the 'famous for its active nightlife' Vargal."
"You WHAT?!" she threw her arm up, scattering an injection from Doc's fingers clear across the room.
"We needed a quickly registrable, no questions asked flight path near a station. It was the best I could do in, oh ten minutes notice," Orn folded his arms and pouted, "And you're welcome for me saving your ham hocks by the way."
It was either the heavy dose of painkillers or the lack of blood, but she actually slumped back, willing to let him win one for once. "Yeah, yeah, you're right. It could be worse. We could have wyrmed into a dead system or dark space."
Orn turned to leave but then paused. Turning back over his shoulder he added, "One more tiny, small, so insignificant you'll never notice little thing."
"Orn..."
The dwarf reached into the waiting area and grabbed the arm cuffs of his fellow bridge partner, "The technician's still on board."
Segundo blinked into the heavy operating lights, which used to be for the vacant shuttle bay and slowly turned his "so out of its depth angler fish swam around it" head from the injured registered owner, to the genie that tried to kill him, and finally over to the doctor. That was when he started shaking again.
"That's an...an...an..."
Doc put down his tools and turned, the polyester lab coat snagging on the ball return jammed with tongs. "An orc?" he asked softly, raising where an eyebrow would be if his species sprouted them. His pale orange eyes, double lidded, blinked twice in rapid succession as the newest crew member, or stowaway, gave him the once over. Human gawking was standard fare, and why he preferred to remain hidden in the bowels of the ship when they docked.
Segundo trailed across the row of spikes descending in size down his skull, a deep green skin with shades of grey. The underbite was not as noticeable as one expected, and the razor ripping teeth were barely longer than human canines. Even the orc's size was something of a disappointment; slightly shorter than Segundo himself and only a bit thicker, most of that in his upper shoulders.
"But we were at war...?" the technician asked, turning to the only other human on this cursed ship.
"And it ended," the orc said, "as they are wont to do."
Variel butted in, knowing how this could trail on for hours, "This is Demi Monde, resident practitioner of ointments and boo-boo patches. He won't rip your legs off to beat you over the head with them, or chew your ear off and drink your blood."
"Unless I missed meal time," the orc smiled, highlighting the teeth that didn't look so harmless now.
"A..." Segundo fought back the shakes and held out his hand, "a pleasure to meet you Demi."
The orc watched the hand, uncertain what to do with it. He settled on giving him one of the ancient lollypops left in the healing lounge after the ship's decommission. As the human putzed about with the treat, he returned to the bleeding captain, "It is Monde, actually. Demi is my kin name. And what shall you be known as?"
"Getting off this damn ship," Variel interrupted. The orc problem having solved itself with sweets, she got to the marrow.
"I," Segundo faltered in the face of raging pain looking for anything to take it out on.
Surprisingly, the dwarf stuck up for him, "It was my doing. You called in the middle of his inspection."
"The middle...you were in my home for over five hours!" she continued to press the kid.
"We were, that is to say, I..." Segundo put his hands behind his back and stood rod straight, mentally trapped in his previous life. All business, with his eyes screwed tight, he said, "I inquired of the dwarf's preferred activities outside of piloting and he indulged my curiosity."
Variel sagged at that, knowing when she lost a battle, "You asked Orn a question?" She shook her head slowly, trying to clear through the medicinal fog.
The orc chuckled at that, k
nowing all too well the dangers of engaging the dwarf on anything he had ample opportunity to showboat over. Even the djinn shifted on his steadfast feet, as if he too was once caught under Orn's spell. "All right," Variel said, coming to a decision, "We get to Vargal, get a fresh part, then wyrm to whatever station has a direct line back to Samudra. So, in the meantime I suppose you shall be able to enjoy the fine elegance of the Elation-Cru for free."
Segundo looked down at the dwarf, who nodded as if he somehow just defended the kid against the death penalty. Surely she wouldn't have tossed him out the airlock for failing to disclose his existence upon her ship...which made him sound exactly like a stowaway, who were traditionally tossed out airlocks. The technician realized it was in his best interest to thank the captain profusely for her stay of execution, but she cut him off.
"Orn, find the kid some quarters. Some place not overrun with protein. And then get your hairy ass back up to the controls. I need your eyes watching for marauders. We're flying in purple space, and their ain't no corps we can run crying to."
The dwarf bowed deeply, as if he received orders from a god or loan shark. "Come on," he said, tugging on Segundo's shirt cuff, "I know a cozy little place that'll be perfect for you. Rat dropping baseboards, mold encrusted fixtures, and wainscoting -- whatever the hell that is."
Segundo began to trail after the dwarf, but he paused and turned towards the orc. "My name is Quito Segundo, but I do not have a kin name." He toddled after Orn onto his forced detainment on a ship full of aliens.
As the door closed, Monde swirled a finger in his ear and asked, "Either my translator's on the fritz, or that human is named Fifth Second?"
Variel laid back, trying to find some sleep to pull her away from the mounting headache that was her life.
Segundo collapsed onto a creaky, "ultra-deluxe" foldout bed, careful to keep his elbows away from the razor sharp edges. After perusing through his quarters' collection of reading material he waded the ether, trying to find any mention of a possible kidnapping of a government official on Samudra. Not a peep, though there was edge to edge coverage of a giant fire at a local dignitary's home and something about an adorable kitsune kit curled up inside a spacesuit glove being the next big monetary denomination.
