“You see, Wiley,” I continued. “Every Dome in this sector has a Sheriff’s Office and all of those Sheriff’s have deputies. Except for my office – here in Dome Sixteen. You know why that is, Scarus?”
I had him confused now, I had him scared – he didn’t know what to make of all these uniformed men, wearing badges and holding weapons. He couldn’t figure out how he’d failed to anticipate that I would have brought some major back-up.
“It’s because three of my people were killed on the streets just a few days ago,” I said. “Three good deputies. Two of them had children. And now those children have been robbed of a parent, changing their young lives forever. You did that, Wiley. You and your Godforsaken so-called business.”
Scarus actually took a stumbling step backward, I could see the reality of his situation finally sinking in. He had a choice now – back down and take his chances in court. Lord knew, his lawyers had pulled off some pretty amazing decisions in his favor over the years. Or he could see this thing through and finish it. I really had no idea which way he would take it. Even now…I had no idea. But I could see in his eyes that he was of a mind to finish it.
“It’s over, Scarus,” I said and stood, brushing away one side of my long-coat to reveal the blaster riding my right hip. My badge sat shiny and bright over my left breast. “I played Callahan’s game for a long time, buying into his story that you were under investigation from a higher level and that I needed to back off. But look what that got me. And just think how I felt when I found out that you and Callahan were business partners.” I saw the dark man’s eyes twitch for a second and knew I’d hit a sore spot. “Yeah, word is that he’s joined the likes of Garcia and St. Germaine. The Bubbleheads take care of their own business, Scarus.”
I knew I’d reached the end of it now…no more speeches. No more words. The talking was done. Now…there was only the waiting. The waiting for death to come calling in this building.
The long seconds ticked by. Nobody said a word. I could hear blaster bolts echo outside and the screams of those hit cut abruptly short. It seemed that death had already come to the party.
The other Sheriffs shared no love of Scarus and his far reaching criminal organization. In our brief tuner conference this afternoon, I’d learned that they’d all heard the same speech from Callahan as well. Leave Scarus alone – he’s under investigation by the Dome Inspectors. Worry about the smaller everyday stuff that plagued all the domes in this Extraction Colony. But leave Scarus alone.
Well, sorry, Callahan, not today…
Jelvin made a move and the other two guys with him followed suit. Blaster bolts erupted all around me and the three men were chewed to bits in a matter of seconds. The other Sheriffs held their fire as I stood before Scarus, unmoving, silent and waiting.
Scarus looked me in the eyes, the hatred I saw there mirroring my own. His entire world, his money, his operation – his power, was crumbling around him. Soon, he would have nothing. Nothing…not even his life. For some men that was a hard road to travel. For others, it meant accepting defeat. Either way, they all had to choose in the end.
As the dust and detritus from stray blaster bolts and half-charges settled all around me throughout the Miner Forty-Niner, my eyes never wavered from those of Wiley Scarus. I was intent, I was empowered, I was channeling all the rage and violent energy of my former military days and focusing it all toward this one man. And I waited.
Turns out, I didn’t need to wait for long.
Scarus made a fumbling move for his weapon but mine was already in my hand. My first shot purposely removed his left leg at the knee and, in my mind, I watched him slowly topple toward that side. My second shot slammed into his right shoulder, throwing the center of whatever balance he had left off just enough to make his first shot go astray. I felt bad for the other Sheriffs doing it like this, letting him get off that one shot because I was selfish enough to not want to end it too quickly but…enough was enough. I wasn’t about to put any of these stand-up guys in any more danger.
As the bolt from my opponent’s blaster slammed harmlessly into a light fixture in a shower of sparks, my third shot hit Scarus between the eyes, sawing his skull in half and spilling his brains on to the beautiful Cazarian tiles lining the floor. Before what was left of Wiley Scarus stopped moving I already had my weapon reholstered.
Just then, with blasters drawn and full of eagerness, a trio of tall black-suited men rushed through the front door of the Miner Forty-Niner and skidded to a stop. We all faced each other for about three seconds before I shook my head in disappointment and muttered, “Bubbleheads…”
THE END.
FLIGHT by C Griffin
The mare hesitated on the bank, ears back. I didn't like the look of the murky water either, but I chucked to her and she walked on. Three strides later, she froze again. Green water lapped against my legs, warm as a bath. Ripples patterned the surface.
Scissor-bladed arms exploded out of the water.
The horse screamed.
I threw myself off to one side. Water blinded me; my hands clawed mud. Weed tangled my legs. I thrashed, choked on water, gasped air. Dragged myself into a reed bed and would have run a mile if I wasn't too busy coughing up mud.
The white belly of my poor mare rose above the bloody water. Most of my gear was with her, all but the sword and springbow I always carry. Though I could see no sign of the swamp creature, I had no intention of offering it dessert. I staggered off through the reeds as soon as I could breath.
Such monsters might be common in the swamp, for all I knew, but it was tempting to blame the wizard. I had been tracking Malaki for the best part of two weeks, from the city, through the rolling farmlands of Western Norphalia and now into Ghastmurk Swamp. A thousand square miles of reed beds, mud and stagnant water, trackless and unmapped. If he'd come to this Gods-forsaken place hoping to lose me, it was working. I hadn't seen any sign of him for days.
A big fetch leaves the queasy taste of magic in the air for hours, something I would surely have noticed. Certainly the beast had been no illusion; if there was anything in the world more real than those teeth, I never want to meet it. And the bigger the fetch, the quicker it breaks down, so if Malaki was to blame, he was no more than a day ahead. But considering I was on foot now and had no idea where the wizard was headed, this calculation didn't really help. My priority had to be getting out of the swamp without dying.
As I stood thinking this and getting my breath back, I noticed the smell.
Of course, the swamp stunk pretty bad everywhere. I had stopped paying attention to it after the first day. This was different. I had experienced this smell once before and that was enough to remember it forever.
I had been a caravan guard, on my first trip east into Zetari, sitting on the back of an ox-drawn wagon with my face full of dust and flies. The caravan road runs north and east around the swamp. When we got to the border, the wind from the south reeked worse than a pile of two-week old corpses. One of the older guards explained: near the edge of the swamp is the town of Slugfen. The inhabitants make a living, if you can call it that, by chopping up, boiling, and fermenting the foot-long slugs which are common in those parts. After rotting down the sludge for several weeks, a red dye can be extracted.
Though the pay was good, one visit to Zetari was enough for me. I never went back after. But right then, I was glad to remember Slugfen. With the wind in the right direction, it's the easiest place to find in the world. I turned my face to the worst of it and started walking. From Slugfen I could take the caravan road straight back to the city. Or I might get word of Malaki there, if he was making for the border.
As it happened, lack of supplies was the least of my problems. The mouthful of swamp water I'd swallowed made me as sick as I'd ever been. I feared I'd die, then I wished I would. The only thing keeping me moving was the thought of the stranger's grave I'd get, with the stone saying: don't drink the water. That's if anyone ever found me and bothered with a grav
e, instead of just letting me sink.
Two days later, I stumbled on the outskirts of Slugfen. By outskirts I mean the sludge pits and a few sheds. The town is just a single street and a dozen reed-thatched, wooden buildings built on piles, upwind of the pits. Looking forward to a bath and a proper bed under a roof, I headed straight for the inn.
A two-storey pile of rotting timber advertised itself with the sign of the Happy Slug. Inside, I had to duck to avoid the ceiling. Rushes crunched underfoot, all rustling with vermin. The innkeeper had a wall-eye and a beard rats could nest in.
'A room for the night. And a bath,' I said.
He sucked his teeth and measured me with his good eye.
'It's not the season for traders,' he said. 'We don't get many guests this time of year.'
'Have any strangers passed through in the last week? Any travellers out of the swamp?'
'A woman showed up yesterday. Looking for guard work, she says.' He nodded towards a table in the corner where a woman sat alone.
Whoever she was, she wasn't Malaki. There were no other customers. I sat down the other side of the room. The innkeeper brought my food. I was hungry, so I didn't ask what was in it. The beer wasn't bad, and certainly healthier than the water.
Just as I finished eating, the woman guard strolled over, looking at me kind of thoughtful.
'I know you, don't I?' she said.
She did seem familiar, though I couldn't place her. Tall and lean, with cropped brown hair and a crooked nose. A long sword dragged at her hip.
'Didn't you used to ride with Long Herman's gang?' she said. 'You had a black horse with white ears.'
'Not me,' I said. 'I never had no black horse.'
There were things from the past I would rather forget, but I thought I would have remembered her, if only because there weren't too many women. Well, obviously, there were plenty of women, mostly the sort who hung on the backs of horses behind men called Red or Scar. You didn't bother remembering their faces or names.
She pulled up a chair. 'Gwen,' she said, holding her hand out. I didn't remember the name and didn't expect to. Names are easier to change than clothes or horses.
'What brings you to this dump?' she said. 'I was hoping to pick up a caravan.'
'Passing through,' I said. 'Looking for a man. Twitchy, weaselly sort of face. Seen him?'
She shook her head. 'What do you want him for?'
I wondered if he'd died in the swamp. No bounty to show for all my trouble, unless I could dredge up a corpse. 'He's a wizard.'
She frowned. 'Mad?'
I shrugged. He was rational enough to run. But the magic gets them all in the end. Malaki might be out in the swamp now, being eaten by his own hallucinations.
'Any news?' I said.
'Famine in Zetari.' She gazed into the depths of her beer. 'The price of grain is up.'
'Nothing new, then.'
We drank and talked for a while. What happened then I don't recall; I woke up in the pitch black with my face stuck to the table.
Someone was pawing at my pockets far too friendly for my liking. I grabbed a fistful of greasy hair and knocked his head on the table a few times. It was the innkeeper, or someone with the same beard.
If there's one thing I hate worse than losing a bounty, it's being made to look a fool, so I left him blubbing on the floor and went looking for a horse. They had some hours start but if they were on a wagon I could still catch them.
Dawn found me on the caravan road, on the long climb up to the pass, getting the best speed I could from a cart horse that might drop dead of old age at any minute. But I could see the wagon ahead. As I had thought, they meant to cross the border in the guise of traders. The border guard don't much care who goes in to Zetari, so it wasn't a bad plan. I spurred the old girl on. With every switchback I closed on the wagon, until I could see the man driving the oxen. It must be Malaki.. The woman, Gwen, was following the wagon on horseback.
She saw me coming and met me on the road, sword in hand and death in her eyes.
The sword was a giveaway. I should have spotted it straight off. No caravan guard carries a piece like that, all engraved and shiny. Too long for her as well. But I didn't plan to find out how well she could use it. I drew the springbow and fired, not taking the time to aim. She jerked as the bolt hit her leg. A rotten shot, but good enough: three inches of steel in the thigh will knock the fight out of anyone.
I trotted past her. Up ahead, the wagon driver saw me coming. He whipped the oxen. They shook their heads and trudged on just the same. I knew I could catch him before he reached the border. He knew too.
You know what magic feels like? A little is bad enough. This was big. Huge. My stomach turned itself inside-out and upside-down. The earth turned to water and the mountains turned to smoke and the sun shone black. Nothing solid, nothing true. Like falling from a dream into a nightmare. Reality stretched, then broke.
The horse threw me but I barely noticed hitting the ground.
When the world stopped spinning, I looked up. The sky was black. For a moment I thought the magic was still twisting my head, then I saw the bird.
No word of a lie, it was an eagle big as a barn. Its wings blocked out the sun, black as a hole in the world, and its eyes were white-hot steel. It gripped the wagon bed in its talons like so much matchwood.
I staggered up the road towards it. Gods know why. I couldn't have been in my right mind.
The huge wings thrashed. Hot dust stung my face. The wagon lifted into the air. The oxen bellowed as they hung in the traces, bumping along the ground until the harness gave way. Freed of their weight, the bird carried the wagon higher. Up and up, to land on the road the other side of the border gate.
All this time, the soldiers on the border post just stared like nine kinds of stupid. On the Zetari side, the usual crowd of refugees screamed and scattered. There were forty or more that day, all women and children.
I arrived at the gate pretty out of breath. What was left of the wagon had landed fifty yards up the road. The bird perched on it, looking around, deciding who to have for lunch. Malaki hopped down from the wreckage.
He walked back to the gate, weaving like a drunkard and laughing. Ragged women with children in their arms scrambled up the mountainside, and he walked past them, laughing fit to bust.
'I'm free,' he said. 'I'm in Zetari. You can't get me now.' He faced me, just two feet away, thin body twitching like a horse shaking off flies. The pupil of his left eye was bigger than the right.
We aren't meant to chase them across the border. I don't disagree. No sense looking for one rat in a sewer. Zetari is a lost cause anyhow. The refugees are the lucky ones. Ask them what passes for law in Zetari. Some places, you can't rely on today following yesterday and up staying up.
So he's over the border and by rule I should let him go. But the children's screams were cutting right through me, and the oxen were dying hard on the road below, and I remembered the sound my poor mare made when she fell in the swamp. And the fact is, no Zetaran ever did me any harm. Why should I make their lives any worse?
My sword took Malaki in the throat mid-laugh. He looked surprised as he dropped.
'Wrong,' I said, and wiped my blade.
The eagle threw back its head and screeched, a single cry of desperate pain. It leapt into the air. But there was no escape: with the wizard dead, the force of reality ripped the huge fetch apart. Pieces of eagle thumped into the ground, followed by a shower of feathers like black snow.
'You killed him,' the woman said from behind me. She had limped all that way up the hill. 'He got away. He got to Zetari.' She leaned on the gate, staring at the young man dead in the road. Her face was pale under the dirt.
'He was my brother,' she said.
Family are the worst in this business. You put down some wizard nice and neat, then his mother tries to claw your face off. 'I'm just doing my job', you want to say. 'It's the law'. It never does any good. Better to say nothing.
Rules are rules though. He was across the border, so I left her the body to bury.
Well, that's the whole story of how I lost the wizard Malaki. I can't claim the bounty, but if my lords would see fit to pay my expenses I'd be grateful. I need a new horse.
THE END.
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