by S E Zbasnik
"Me?"
"Yes, you. Monde would leave behind an instantly traceable set of palm prints, we're aliens. No data file on us. Now, grab the feet and drag."
Segundo picked up the boots of the orc who was probably thinking of doing rather unpleasant things to him, and felt a jab of pity as her head lolled like a basketball in a sack. "Is she, will she, is she dead?"
"Nah," Variel dropped her end, and tried to squeeze over the body sleeping off the encounter behind a dumpster. "Very hard to kill orcs. Much easier to just drug 'em and then set off a bomb."
"We're not going to bomb her are we?"
"Of course not!" Variel patted the technician on the back, the closest she came to a job-well-done. "We don't have any bombs. Everyone, get in the egg!"
Orn didn't need to be told twice, sliding up the battleaxe handle for easier storage, he hopped into the driver's seat, his feet dangling above the floor, and Monde took the one beside him. Variel shoved Segundo into the back, cramped for an orc car, but it was probably one of those designer eggs built for speed and a mid-life crisis. Turning one last glance at the broken scanner watching over their little scene she saw a small flash of waking red and dived into the final seat. The door resealed behind her.
Reaching over Segundo, she tapped on the back of Orn's division and shouted, "Go! Go! Go!"
The egg did not go.
"Um..."
The egg remained stationary
"Orn..."
The egg's windows turned transparent and a jet of wiper fluid shot out over the entire vehicle.
"By all the..." Monde reached over top of Orn and cranked something that looked like an old cigarette lighter, flipped up the radio and mashed his foot down on the clutch. Miraculously, the egg car roared to life, humming as the engine engaged. As Monde removed his foot, it zipped back down the road at break head speeds.
"You input the coordinates here," Monde pointed to a panel Orn thought was for ordering drinks, "and stop with this," he pointed to the extra large pedal with stop written all over it in orcish letters.
"What's the acceleration button?" Orn asked, glancing over the scrambled egg schematics.
"Orcs don't have one. We only worry about stopping," Monde said, yanking the impact bars down over his head.
Variel looked at her "dived into the deep end" pilot and sat back, first yanking down Segundo's bars as if he were a child and then her own. "How long until we hit the farm?"
"You may wish to rephrase that, captain," Monde said, eyeing the dwarf's hands flitting just above the multitude of controls. "I set the coordinates to find the most direct path, the readout says ten minutes."
"That quickly?"
"This 'egg' can travel at speeds of...on rethought, you do not wish to know."
With their ovum car navigating itself, all the backseat passengers could do was sit back and wait for the ride to end. Not that this stopped Variel from stretching her neck up as high as the restraints would allow as she tried to make sense of the world zipping past and calling orders to Orn, who kept his foot hovering over the brake in a life or death game of whac-a-gnome. The landscape of the colony faded like turpentine tossed across a painting, as the windows failed to make much sense of the outside world traveling far too quickly past. Monde fiddled around in his bag, one eye following along the countdown.
"Five minutes," he said.
"Five minutes passed or five minutes 'til?" Orn asked. Normally, the orc would shrug it off as another of his jokes but a thick sheen dotted the terrified pilot's brow, thrown onto the seat of something he couldn't command.
"Both," Variel said calmly, trying to get through Orn's panicking exterior. He nodded but didn't say anything, still watching the tick of numbers which probably meant something vital to an orc.
City faded, the buildings shrinking into the ground in the flipbook pace of the car. A few trees overtook the crossblocks and food stands, lone farms and stretches of marching crops in their rows formed an undulating wave. "Three minutes," Monde said, settling down his bag and punching through a few screens to make absolute certain they were in the right area.
"Two minutes," he said absently as he returned to the main screen, watching another number vanish into the onboard computer.
"One minute."
"That's good enough!" Orn shouted, throwing both of his feet down hard upon the brake peddle. At first the egg shook its shell, refusing to obey the clearly demented driver, but as the few connected wires crossed and overrode the safety and not-so-safety features, it gave in and began the breaking procedure.
As if someone smashed a tray against their noses, every passenger thudded back in their seats, their vision blackening from the mass inertia hit. Slowly, the grey fog pushed back and Variel's hand landed on Orn's shaking shoulder, "Good job."
"Yeah," he pecked about on the console trying to find the door open button, "that's the last time I pilot something that comes out of a bird's ass." Monde unhooked his harness and reached over Orn to a button labeled with a crack across it, the door opened and every member crashed into the dying light of an exhausted world. A few bugs cried like squealing engines in the distance, but no one else moved as they looked up at the cab call station that began their trip into the city.
Variel shook her legs, still trying to rub pain out of her entire body, and switched on her PALM light. A few of the pungent red rays of the sinking sun lit their path, but the dips and divots of the farm tossed enough shadows to make staggering back to their ship arduous. "Lights, everyone that has them. Orn, call your wife. Tell her we're coming back."
"She'll be ecstatic," he muttered, pulling up his own hand and trying to scroll through the lists of names he'd acquired. One day he'd actually put people into fast find.
Pulling them in the direction of the ship, the captain waded into the freshly irrigated fields, her boots failing to find the old planks. As if this day could get much worse she thought, as she yanked her shoe out of a grasping mud hole for the third time. "Any word yet, Orn?"
"This damn thing can't get any signal," he grumbled, shaking his hand as if it fell asleep.
"Captain," Monde grabbed Segundo's palm and pointed it into the darkness illuminating the golden exterior of their crashed ship.
"Thank gods, I was half afraid the thing was dragged off and sold for scrap. Monde, Segundo, help me tip the thing up proper. I'm not in the mood to fly into space ass first."
The two males nodded, both wanting to be as far from the planet as possible. They pushed against the buried ship, its nose rising as if it were a pig rooting in the mud. Teetering onto its side and crashing, the cloud scraper thudded to a silent refusal to move. Segundo slipped in the mud, his white knee slurping deep into the red clay as Variel called for them to keep pushing. It had to be righted before it could break atmo.
Summoning as much strength as he could, the technician dug his fingers deep, and -- with assistance -- finally hauled their ship into an upright and ready to fly position. Orn kept shaking his hand, and turned from his attempted call to watch the others coated in the red clay wipe their exertions off with more mud. "Jolly job. I can't get her, she must have gone to bed."
"Great, well back is easier than down. The return catch should handle most of that, everyone into the ship," Variel pointed back into the cramped capsule and motioned the others to get their exhausted hides inside.
Monde scattered in first, not wanting to spend another second on his people's planet with Segundo close behind. He'd had enough adventure to make up for his first eighteen or so years of nothing. Orn kept messing about with his PALM, but Variel guided his shoulder.
"It's weird, she's almost always on the line, unless she's mad at me."
"We'll figure it out once we're space side. Get on in," she said, and Orn slid in himself, finally closing down his meager connection.
Variel turned back to the slipping off to slumber world of the orcs. Someone was probably already zeroing in on the stolen egg and writing up an interesting
warrant, as her old adversary paced about in her bloodied office. The captain smiled; the orc's probably enjoyed the chase even more. She slid into the capsule, and, after slipping into the far less secure harness, banged her fist on the "return" button.
CHAPTER TEN
The return trip was less blood wracking thanks to the stabilizing affect of the ship's pull and some other things Variel could ask Ferra about later when they lost ether connection and couldn't take any more of Orn's baffling attempts at charades. The dwarf still thought flapping his arms like a beheaded chicken symbolized water.
The shuttle bay door descended, allowing the cloud scrapper to putter in, the mag locks yanking her forward until their little capsule lodged into one of the ruts for something older and bigger. Everyone trapped inside waited for the decompressing call from either WEST or Ferra, but they both remained silent, only the loud BWAM of "all clear" answered Variel's hails.
She cracked open the door and exited the capsule backwards, yanking their new inertia injector with her. Placing it in the crook of her arm, she glanced around the mostly darkened shuttle bay, as empty as a tomb. "Did someone bake cookies in the galley?" Her voice echoed less than usual.
Orn staggered out behind, waving his hand before his face to make certain he wasn't going blind. "Cor, that's how it is. Nearly seven years of marriage and your wife won't even greet you with a cold beverage, fuzzy slippers, or a fresh change of bandages after a death defying mission."
"It was hardly death defying," Variel joked, offering a hand to Segundo, "more like death shifting."
"Death taunting?" Orn asked, trying to find the light switch. It was usually on a wall section that looked a lot like this one, or maybe one of the other ten similar ones. It certainly wasn't on the ceiling.
"Death poking with a really big stick?" Variel slipped into banter mode so easily she forgot the dwarf was mad at her, as did he.
Monde finally poked his head out, the last of their group. He'd been quiet on the ride back, avoiding everyone's gaze. As Variel offered him her hand, he took it tentatively and she held it tight, shaking it slightly. It was her way of saying "Sure, you almost got us killed, but it's all forgotten. You ever seen the shit the dwarf's caused?"
"Hey Cap," Orn pointed towards the quaint and dark observation center overseeing the shuttle bay, "someone's moving."
"About time," she said, walking to one of the crates and placing the injector upon it. Her fingers searched through her pocket to find a tissue to wipe some of the clay off it and the shield projector fell into her hand. She completely forgot about the damn thing on the planet. Unexpected orc attacks had a way of doing that. Dropping it back in her pocket, her fingers trailed across the thick casing as a flare of lights rose from the far end of the shuttle bay.
A shadow loomed out of the doorway, but moved no closer in the rising rows of lights illuminating the friendless grates and bulkheads of a dusty cargo bay. "Hey!" Orn shouted to whoever haunted the doorway, "Where's our ticker tape parade?"
As the final row of lights kicked in above their heads the crew raised their arms over their heads, trying to adjust to the retina glare. The shadow descended, its thick shoulders tossed back as its arms pivoted something about the bay.
"Captain!" Monde gasped, pointing to her left. She turned to find a new addition to her ship, taking up a good third of the shuttle bay with its sleek fins yanked back against the open mouth of the Crest engines; a Drake shuttle.
Variel's hands searched for her spent pistol, as the shadow called out in harsh male tones, "Stop what you are doing."
"Or what?" Orn chided, dropping behind a grate to find some cover. As he turned back, he spotted the kid and yanked Segundo down with him.
"Or I kill your wife," Sovann's controlled voice, gravel from too many years sucking down comet dust, broke through the shamble of boots as she appeared, an elf clutched in her armored fingers.
"You moronic gas sniffer!" Orn taunted, "That ain't my wife."
Brena didn't tremble in the knight's cold grasp, but she wasn't happy either, her eyes glancing to the side as the Knight pressed the butt of her gun deeper into the elf's neck. "Captain," her voice called out to the woman frozen mid gun reveal.
"It's all right, Brena," Variel said as another guard appeared from the observation deck, dragging Ferra with him. That elf was spitting hot tacks, pure molten fury in his arms as she twisted about in rage, but could offer little resistance to the Crest soldier.
Sovann aimed her gun at the cursing engineer, "Very well, how about this one then?"
Orn balled up his fists and turned towards their captain. She seemed to be counting over the crew, looking for their missing few, when Taliesin entered, his hands the only ones locked tight and a gash running down his chin. Slowly, Variel lifted her spent pistol. Sovann re-aimed hers into the spitting Ferra, and the captain lowered it to the ground.
"Let them go," the captain said, "take what you came for."
Orn wanted to argue with her, but the sight of his wife under the scope of any weapon sent his mind into total burnout. All he needed was her safe.
Sovann lifted her weapon and tossed Brena to the first guard that entered. She descended down the industrial slope, walking into the bay and towards the last members of the crew. "I am glad you've decided to be cooperative, Captain."
Variel surveyed over her humbled crew and back at the woman who did it, "You left me little choice."
A smirk twisted Sovann's mouth, far more wrinkled than was typical for someone her age. She must have some majorly nasty habit. The Knight kept her weapon up but raised her spare hand as if they were in negotiations, "I can be quite reasonable when given proper provocation."
"Like busting up someone's face. I see how reasonable the Crests are."
Sovann laughed at her handy work, it had to be hers. It was rare for her squires to train in how to take down an elf, even one anchored by his sister. Glancing back at the proud assassin, she raised her weapon at the captain and said, "Tell me where it is."
Variel blinked, never a good move in life or death negotiations, "Where what is?"
The smirk dropped, frozen ice taking its place as Sovann turned on her newest trophy. "Now is not the time to play ignorant. I deal with fraudulent idiots by applying a bullet." She booted up her gun, the safety dinging far faster than anything Variel owned.
"I'm not playing, or kidding, or pretending. I have no idea what the hell you want," the captain waved her hands, for a glorious second hoping this was all some giant misunderstanding. If they didn't want her...
The pistol dropped momentarily, and the Knight narrowed her eyes, "You do not know, yet you ran... Space debris," she cursed at them, getting a few appreciative guffaws from her yes men. "The djinn, tell me and I will let your pitiful ship slink back into the muck it crawled from."
Not a micron of realization crossed Variel's eyes, "Djinn? What djinn?"
"Milad!" the Knight shouted behind her. The guard escorting the bound assassin vanished out the door and reappeared with Gene's suit. The dead fissures as black as the grave gave away its empty state. Their djinn flew the coop.
He tossed the empty rock suit onto the ground where it thudded like a dead body, and Sovann glared into the Captain's eyes, "That djinn."
"Why do you want a djinn?" Variel asked, eyeing up the shuttle bay. If only she'd hidden a few weapons in here, or something really big and heavy, like a troll.
But the monologuing trick didn't work on the Knight, who pointed her weapon at the orc's head instead, "Tell me where to find him or I will eliminate your crew one by one."
Monde stood tall facing down death, possible death. Even at point blank range to the head it was still somewhat likely he'd survive. Ferra twisted against her guard but still couldn't find an opening. If his hands weren't guarded by thick gauntlets, Variel knew she'd have bitten him by now. Her dulcen twins watched on with perhaps the most emotion she'd ever seen from them, neither wanting to give up their fellow silent c
rewmate in exchange for their lives.
Only Segundo took to crying, his hands shaking as he lay on the ground next to Orn, some old prayer from his commune days tumbling from his mouth. The dwarf didn't turn to Variel, his eyes locked fully on his wife, who could be next on the killing list.
It was time for the most powerful weapon the captain had left, the truth. "You must know nothing about djinn. Once they exit their suits, there is no finding them. They can disperse into a billion particles, fade into the walls, slip inside of our lungs if the need arises. Shoot all of us if you feel the need." Segundo's whimper from Variel's speech reached into elven frequencies. "But it won't pull out the genie."
Sovann waved her pistol across Monde's face and then smiled, "Excellent," she stepped back, dropping her aim. "It is exactly as I surmised." The Knight turned to her soldiers, "Secure the prisoners in the galley. You," the squire's name must have escaped her, "you, get the pilot and the man jello."
One guard gathered up the elves, dragging them from the bay, as the second descended towards his Knight and the dwarf helping Segundo to his wobbling knees. Sovann smiled, and said to Variel, "Thank you for your time." Turning, she fired a point blank shot directly into Variel's chest.
The captain's body flew back, crashing into a crate and slipping out of view as it tumbled into the torn grating. As the rest of the Elation-Cru watched in shock, Sovann quipped, "Your services are no longer required. Bring these prisoners with me!" she ordered, "I have a plan to smoke out the djinn myself."
Sovann gripped her fingers into the collar of Orn's coat, half dragging his scrabbling boots along the carpet until she tossed him into his chair, twisted his arms behind his back, and latched a pair of wrist cuffs around him. The dwarf glared into her eyes as she spun him around to face her. "My nose itches."
"Your ship board comm line?" the Knight asked pointedly.
