Dependent Days

by Chris Sapp

  The hoverbike guards weren’t showing any signs of landing, so Izabel took to studying the crowd. Nearly every species was represented and they seemed to come from all walks of life and their reactions to whatever horrors lay beyond the open hatch of Phaelan’s barge was just as varied. A group of teenage Minotaur girls had been excited and giddy when they’d gone in but they’d come out distraught and crying. Another group, boys, had come out smiling. She figured they’d probably stolen something and one woman, a Giant, had even passed out. It took both of the ticket guards and her husband nearly twenty minutes to carry her down the stairs. Izabel thought that one of the hoverbike guards might come down and help but neither did. She was just about to give up on the whole plan when she heard the familiar whine of a descending engine. She looked up and sure enough, it was one of the hoverbike guards. She tried not to look anxious as the guard landed and strolled past her. She watched him for a moment to make sure he wasn’t going to come right back. How bad would it suck if she got caught stealing a hoverbike? Her fear dissipated when the guard entered a blood cafe across the street.

  Izabel looked up to see what direction the second hoverbike guard was facing. His back was to her. Yes! The timing is perfect, she thought as she ducked under the chain and darted towards the abandoned hoverbike.

  “Uh-oh!” said the ogre’s kid, but she barely heard it. Izabel straddled the bike in one leap. She cranked the ignition and then lifted the bike into the air. Izabel couldn’t believe it. Some of the crowd was actually cheering.

  “Yeah ride it, girl! Ride it!”encouraged a fellow elf.

  Izabel continued to rise into the air. One of the stair guards made a grab for her but he was too late. The noise had alerted the other hoverbike guard.

  “Cease and desist. Now,” he ordered.

  She smiled, gave him the finger, and then pulled back on the throttle. The bike shot away from the town square. Full moon hanging in a clear sky, wind in her hair, store fronts whizzing by at breakneck speed. It was almost as if Izabel was just out for an evening ride. The only thing ruining the illusion was the hoverbike, with its blaring sirens, hot on her trail. She banked hard to the left and slipped in between two buildings. The alley was narrow and Izabel had to constantly readjust to avoid hitting the numerous fire escapes. She hoped her pursuer wouldn’t be so lucky but apparently he had paid attention in hoverbike class.

  She arrived back at Phaelan’s barge at the exact angle she had intended. The metal staircase was perfectly aligned with the hoverbike’s guns. She curled her finger around the trigger and squeezed. She concentrated all of her fire power on one spot and by the time she had passed Phaelan’s barge, the bullet riddled staircase had broken apart and was plummeting to the concrete. Now Driskell could fly up to the cruiser and not be interrupted by anyone on the ground.

  When Izabel looked back she saw the headlights of a hoverbike pull up next to Phaelan’s barge. Driskell, hopefully. He’d said that he only needed a couple of minutes to get the DNA sample. So another trip around the block would probably do it. She banked high and to the right. She passed the blood cafe and the guard. He looked pissed and he was a holding a blood spice latte in each hand. Izabel smiled and risked a glance at her side mirror. Her tail was close enough to smell her exhaust. She had to find a way to lose him. Time to try some evasive maneuvering. She turned left down a side street and then right at the next intersection.

  It didn’t work. One glance told her that the guard was still in pursuit. Further away but still there all the same. What am I going to do? She’d told Driskell that she could shake the tail but now she wasn’t so sure. Obviously, the guard had more years of experience on a bike than she had. If she couldn’t lose him then she couldn’t hook back up with Driskell. If she got arrested he’d probably leave her to rot in a cell on Nos482 and she’d never learn who was behind the fake suicide.

  Down below she saw that the traffic light was red and a line of luxury hovercars were exiting a parking garage across from the Schreck opera house. Grinning, she gave the bike more throttle and aimed the nose down at the line of unsuspecting hovercars. Her plan was to slip between two of the cars and emerge safely on the other side. If her timing was off even a second she was going to become a fiery ball of flame. She glanced at her side mirror. Yep, the bastard was still back there. Gritting her teeth and resisting the urge to close her eyes, she continued to dive at 210mph. When she could see her headlights reflected in the side of a silver BMW, she did close her eyes. She couldn’t help it. No one wants to watch themselves die. But she didn’t die. Miraculously, she made it through to the other side. Laughing, she came out of her dive and turned west behind the parking garage. She checked her mirror. She was tailless. Finally! She’d lost him. She went several more blocks west before turning south again towards the town square.

  She found Driskell waiting for her at the rendezvous point, the roof of Nos482’s radio station. It was a block away from where Phaelan’s barge was on display.

  “Thought I’d seen the last of you,” said Driskell, puffing on one of his smelly Fenix Tails.

  “You’re not that lucky. Did you get it?” she asked.

  “Get what?”

  He said this with a smile, so she wasn’t worried.

  “Did you want to get out of here or were you planning on sticking around for the fun part?” He indicated the wailing sirens and flashing lights of the police cruisers that were starting to converge on the town square.

  “We can go. But I have to do one thing first.”

  “What’s that?” Driskell asked through a deep sigh.

  “Destroy my daddy’s barge.”

  Without waiting for permission or even a response, she sped away from the rooftop. When she was halfway to her destination she glanced in her side mirror. Driskell was coming up behind her. Good. This wasn’t going to work if he hadn’t come with her.

  “What’s your plan?” he yelled over the wind and the roar of their engines.

  “Just catch me. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  She smiled. He didn’t return it. But he nodded that he understood and kept up with her speed. When she was twenty feet from the top of Phaelan’s barge, she leaped off of her bike and onto Driskell’s. He immediately banked high and to the left. She looked back over her shoulder in time to see the abandoned hoverbike impact Phaelan’s barge. It was awesome! The bike crashed right through the viewport and then exploded, engulfing the entire barge in flame.

  “Feel better?” he asked.

  “Mucho,” she said. Driskell continued to steer and she continued to smile. Now no one could benefit from her father’s fake suicide. Not the deranged fans and certainly not the bloodsucking planetary authority.

  LESS THAN AN hour later, they were back on Driskell’s ship and Nos482 was lightyears behind them. Izabel was sitting at the kitchen table basking in the glory of her self accomplishments when Roe sat a box down in front of her.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “Hair dye,” Driskell said.

  “I can see that. Why are you giving it to me?”

  “Because after the scene you made today, people aren’t likely to forget your pink hair.” Driskell said, placing his datapad in front of her. It showed a Net News Headline that read: Elf with hot hair makes flames! Below the headline was a picture of her riding the borrowed, now destroyed, hoverbike.

  “So.”

  “You’re the girl who blew up Phaelan’s tour barge. What do you think’s going to happen if you start asking questions about his death? Especially if you ask the wrong people.”

  Damn! Driskell was right. But she didn’t want to dye her hair. She loved it just the way it was.

  “But you were there too! Why don’t you have to dye something?”

  “Because a red-feathered Fenixborn is as common as curdled milk and I didn’t blow anything up.”

  “Fine. From here on out I’ll be more cautious.”

  “It’s too late for that,” said Dr
iskell, shaking his head.

  “I’m not dyeing my hair. You can forget it.”

  “Fine. We’ll just shave it, then.”

  “Ahragh!” screamed Izabel, as she grabbed the box of hair dye and stormed down the corridor towards the bathroom.

  The dye was a dreadful black and it made her look hideous. When she voiced this concern to Driskell, he’d suggested that she wear a hoodie. She’d taken his suggestion but she’d also given him the ever popular and never overused, middle finger.

  The hoodie actually turned out to be a good idea because they stopped at a Morphagen Depot and like all depots that were located in space, it was freezing cold. The depot looked like a giant barbell made out of glass. There was a long docking hub in the middle and a hexagon shaped structure on each end. Each Hexagon housed the different morphagens. The designers must’ve saved a fortune because there was no heater, at least none that Izabel could feel, and there was no gravity. People were propelled through the glass corridors by strategically placed wall fans. Izabel might’ve thought it was neato if she hadn’t been so damn cold and still sulking about her hair.

  Driskell stopped at a vending machine in one of the corridors and bought three cartons of Fenix Tails. You could buy them practically anywhere but Driskell told her that he always stocked up when he came here because they were half price. She hoped they were half as smelly.

  They found the chamber they were looking for inside the left Hexagon. Or maybe it was the right. Directions became very confusing when all you had to go by were freaking stars and no damn sun. They stepped out of the brightly lit corridor and into a dark room. Their feet thudded on the floor as gravity returned. Open flames dancing in sconces and the twinkling of dying stars was the only visible light. For every flicker of light reflected in the endless amount of glass there seemed to be twice as many shadows.

  “Ah…Roe Driskell, my favorite bounty hunter, ” said a chilling voice.

  “Yeah right, Fiske. As if you don’t miss an episode of Grundy’s Grind,” Driskell said to the dark.

  Driskell didn’t sound scared. Well, good for him. Because she was scared shitless.

  Suddenly a large figure lurched out of the darkness and landed at their feet. Izabel had to make a conscious effort not to stare. Fiske was a kameleon, but unlike most kameleons he seemed to prefer their natural appearance. He was covered in green scales, had four arms, clawed fingers, a forked tongue, and yellow bulbous eyes.

  “Yeah, but my favorite episodes are the ones with you in them,” said Fiske as slapped Driskell on the back. Then, within seconds he had morphed from his reptilian form to an exact duplicate of Driskell. Both Izabel and Driskell gasped.

  “Relax, Driskell,” Fiske soothed. “Just making sure you’re you.”

  “Damn it. I do that every time,” Roe scolded himself.

  “Everyone does,” smirked Fiske, as he morphed back into himself. Then his yellow eyes fell on her.

  “Hello, what have we here?” Fiske’s tongue forked in and out of his mouth as if he was looking at something edible. She wanted to puke.

  “I’m….Iza-

  “She’s the reason I’m here,” said Driskell. “I need a favor.”

  Fiske turned away from her and she was able to swallow the bile that had collected in her throat.

  “Oh, my scales are shedding with excitement.”

  “I need you to identify some blood.” Driskell retrieved a glass slide containing the DNA sample, and handed it to Fiske. The kameleon briefly examined it and then his eyes fell on her once more.

  “It’s a little late for a paternity suit, don’t you think?”

  “What?” she exclaimed.

  “Besides, Driskell doesn’t strike me as the daddy type.”

  “It’s not what you think,” said Roe, once again saving her from those dreadful yellow eyes.

  “But is it what you think?” asked Fiske, his forked tongue flicking endlessly at the air. “That’s the more important question is it not?”

  “We’re about to find out,” said Driskell, glancing at her.

  Fiske produced a datapad and then inserted the glass slide into the appropriate slot. She and Driskell waited while the machine analyzed the data. The glow of the datapad screen illuminated Fiske’s face. It was just as grotesquely scaly as the rest of him. The datapad issued an electronic BEEP and then Fiske looked up at them.

  “You were right to come to me.”

  “What does that mean?”Izabel asked.

  “It means that this was no elf DNA.”

  She exchanged glances with Driskell and she saw her own excitement mirrored there.

  “Who’s DNA was it?”asked Driskell.

  “That kind of information will cost you.”

  “Name your price.” Izabel blurted. Driskell was scowling at her. So what if she was writing checks his credits would have to cash. She would spend the rest of her life paying him back if she had to. But she had to know.

  “My price is not of monetary value but rather a sensual one,” Fiske said.

  The glance Driskell and Izabel shared was one part confusion and three parts worry.

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  Fiske smiled and for the first time Izabel noticed that he didn’t have teeth so much as fangs.

  “A kiss, darling.” His tongue flicked out at her and it got so close that she nearly fainted. Oh God! Please God No! Izabel felt herself stepping backwards. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to know…needed to know who had died imitating her father but could she really kiss the kameleon without throwing up all over him.

  “Relax, child,” he soothed, “my lips are craving someone a little more seasoned.” Izabel was so relieved when Fiske’s eyes left her that it took her a moment to realize that they were now staring at Driskell.

  “What do you say Driskell? Surely, a hero of the Morphagen War isn’t afraid of a little smooch?”

  Driskell’s eyes found her and she hoped it was dark enough that he couldn’t read her face. Because what she was thinking was that he deserved it. It had been his idea to come here. He was the one that knew this repulsive creep and he was the one that had made her dye her hair such an appalling color.

  “Fine,” Driskell said to her complete and utter surprise, “but no more games. One kiss and then you tell us everything, you know.”

  “Deal,” said Fiske as he extended one of his scaly three clawed hands.

  When Driskell took Fiske’s hand, the kameleon pulled him close in a lover’s embrace. By the time they were nose to nose Fiske had morphed into a beautiful mermaid. She had blazing red irises that matched both her scales and her long flowing hair. She was a Syren of Serenity.

  Driskell flinched back as if he was in pain. Judging by the expression on his face it was emotional not physical. This incredible woman wasn’t from Fiske’s past she was from Roe’s.

  “Give it to me, big boy.” Even though Fiske was using the mermaid’s voice, Izabel was sure that she had probably never uttered such a cheesedick phrase in her whole life.

  “That’s not fair Fiske,” protested Roe.

  “Would you rather kiss the real me?” Hearing Fiske’s deep voice coming out of such a beautiful creature made Izabel’s head feel like it was going to explode.

  “Just do it.” Roe’s words were laced with anger.

  Fiske, still disguised as the Syren, pulled Roe close and kissed him long and hard. After what seemed like an eternity, the kameleon finally released his captive.

  “Change back. Now,” growled Roe, wiping at his mouth.

  Laughing, Fiske granted Roe’s wish.

  “Now tell us who’s DNA we have!” Izabel ordered.

  “Very well. As I said this is no elf DNA. It belongs, or rather belonged, to a kameleon named Griffon Andrews.”

  “I knew it,” she exclaimed, “I knew that wasn’t Phaelan in the video!”

  “Oh, my! That was Griffon in Phaelan’s suicide video?” Fiske seemed genuinely distraught.


  “Did you know him?” Izabel asked.

  “He was a protege of mine. I was a professional imitator myself before I became a dealer.”

  “How long had Griffon been imitating Phaelan?” Roe asked. Izabel could tell that he was still sore about the kiss. She couldn’t blame him.

  Fiske took a moment to confer with the datapad.

  “Uh, Griffon began imitating Phaelan three weeks before his death.”

  “Three weeks? How do you know that?”she asked

  “Well, child, every time a kameleon changes their form it leaves residual prints on their DNA, so I can see every species Griffon imitated for the last month.”

  “What did Griffon imitate before Phaelan?”asked Roe.

  “A Frostfang,” answered Fiske, still examining his datapad.

  “And before that?” queried Izabel.

  “Nothing. Apparently Griffon was a Frostfang for at least a week. Wait. Now this is interesting.”

  “What?” Izabel and Roe both said at the same time.

  “There’s a dead DNA strand in here.”

  “So?” Izabel shrugged, “What does that mean?”

  “Well, kameleons can only imitate the original as you saw me do with Driskell. So, a dead DNA strand suggests that another kameleon tried to imitate Griffin while he was imitating Phaelan.”

  “Which means that someone found out that Griffon wasn’t the real Phaelan.” Roe discerned.

  “Precisely,” said Fiske, smiling at Roe, “I told you that you were my favorite bounty hunter.”

  “Can you tell us who the dead DNA strand belongs to?”Roe asked.

  “Of course I could. But that kind of information will cost more than a kiss,” Fiske replied.

  “Forget it,” Roe scowled.

  “How about a hint?” Izabel asked.

  Fiske looked at her with his enormous yellow eyes. His tongue flicked the air. She did her best to meet his gaze.

  “Alright. Driskell knows this shapeshifter without evening knowing that he does,”