Dependent Days

by Chris Sapp

  “Oh, that helps. Thanks,” Roe scoffed.

  “That’s why it’s called a hint. Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

  Without answering Roe turned and headed for the exit. Izabel followed. Fiske started laughing. The sound of the kameleon’s laughter was colder than the journey back to Roe’s cruiser.

  AUGUSTO

  SILVIO VALDEZ HAD was always better than Augusto at pretty much everything. He was five inches taller and the diameter of his horns were nearly an inch wider. He was smarter too. If Augusto got a B in chemistry class than Silvio got an A. He was also more athletic. If Augusto ran a 9 minute mile and performed fifty push ups then Silvio ran an 8 minute mile and did one hundred push ups. It never ended, so Augusto made his peace with playing second fiddle to his brother years ago. It was only fitting that Silvio be the best of two sons. He was the first born and therefore it was his right to challenge Paco for control of the family empire. But all of that had changed in a single night.

  Silvio had a very competitive personality and one of his favorite recreations was playing pool at this joint called Kings’s Hall. They were open late and it was BYOB. So, naturally the later the time got the rowdier the crowd became. On this fateful night, there was a Fenixborn named Zeke that kept harassing Silvio to play him a round of pool. Finally, around 2am Silvio gave in and he played the guy. It wasn’t even close. Silvio crushed him. Zeke challenged Silvio to a rematch. Silvio declined and Zeke got physical. He ripped Silvio’s nose ring right out of his snout. Then he told Silvio that if he wanted his ring back, they had to play again. Still bleeding profusely from his snout, Silvio agreed. He even let the Fenixborn break. But when it came time for Silvio’s turn, he made like his was lining up his shot and then he impaled the Fenixborn with his cue stick. Zeke’s smoldering insides rendered the wooden stick useless. So, Silvio got three more sticks and stabbed all of those into various places on Zeke’s body. After retrieving his nose ring, he’d left the Fenixborn smoking and writhing on the floor of King’s Hall, thinking that he would die and be reborn with no memory of their encounter.

  He was wrong.

  Nearly a week later, a beat up cruiser crashed into the side of Silvio’s ship while both vessels were in the air. The pilot of the beat up cruiser was Zeke and the only reason he survived the crash was because he was a Fenixborn. Once Fahrenheit Authorities ruled that Zeke had been at fault, Paco had pulled some strings and arranged for Zeke to be turned over to him. The Fenixborn had been tortured non-stop every day for a month until finally being allowed to die. Augusto didn’t have a clue what his father did with Zeke, once he was ressurected. The rumor was that he had been given to the Czar for his flock.

  Silvio was strong and everyone kept expecting him to wake up. But one would never know that looking at him now, lying comatose in a bed in room five hundred and twenty-three on the fifth floor of Fahrenheit General Hospital. Silvio looked thin and frail. The muscle stimulating machines did what they could but lying in a bed for seven hundred and thirty-two days took its toll. Kym, a g-head and Silvio’s personal nurse, administered his daily morphagen dose to keep him from detoxing. Minotaur dust was normally snorted through the nostrils, so Kym boiled it on a spoon and injected into his IV line. She also trimmed his nails and mane. She even polished his horns once a month. Well, one horn and what was left of the other one. Most of Silvio’s right horn had been sheered off in the crash. It matched the hideous scar that ran down the right side of his face. Augusto couldn’t bare to look at it for more than a few seconds. After the accident first happened Augusto visited his brother every day but now he was lucky to if he made it once a week. Paco didn’t visit at all. Silvio was already dead to him. But Augusto couldn’t write his brother off that easily. Silvio may have been better than Augusto at everything but he had never treated Augusto like he was inferior. In fact a big part of the man Augusto was today was because of his brother. It had been Silvio who had persuaded him to try out for the Crucible stuntman team and it had been Silvio that told him to follow his heart when he admitted that he had fallen in love with two elves. Silvio had always been there for Augusto and he wanted to be there for Silvio whenever he woke up. Augusto knew his brother would wake up when he was ready. He glanced at his watch. It was time for work.

  THE MINUTE AUGUSTO returned to Centropolis, he was reminded how insufferable the humidity was. Augusto was born and raised on Fahrenheit. Sure, temperatures got over a hundred degrees in the summertime but it was a dry heat. His Crucible stunt team dealt with the humidity by taking their shirts off but Augusto couldn’t afford that luxury. He was the administrator of the games and as such he had to look the part. So, he wore slacks and a collared shirt and he was miserable all fucking day long. Some days he sweated so much that he had to change his shirt at lunch. On Fahrenheit the temperature would drop down to thirty degrees at night. But on Centropolis the humidity was constant. Elves were naturally cold-natured but the humidity was so overwhelming that Nari and Maya had started sleeping naked. Which inevitably led to late night sex…at first. But the girls quickly realized that the excessive humidity made it nearly impossible for them to cool down afterwards and therefore they ended up hotter and more miserable than they where before. So, Augusto had resigned himself to the spare bedroom because sleeping between two gorgeous and naked elves was like placing a buffet of food in front of a starving ogre.

  When Augusto entered the stadium he expected to find his team prepping the motorbike obstacle but instead he found them lounging on the seats directly across from the motorbike obstacle. Some of them tensed when they saw him but they didn’t get up and go to work. They just continued to sit there. Augusto glanced out into the arena. There was no power going to the motorbike obstacle. The track wasn’t lit and the blades weren’t spinning.

  “What’s going on?” Augusto asked. “Did the power go out?”

  “The power’s fine,” said Deon, standing up, “But we ain’t.”

  Augusto turned to look at Deon. He was the only one that was standing, the rest had remained seated. But every single one of them were watching.

  “What is this?” Augusto demanded.

  “Don’t act surprised,” Deon said. “You knew this was coming. You’ve pushed this motorbike obstacle long enough. It’s over. We’re not racing it anymore.”

  “Do you all feel this way?” Augusto asked.

  “Of course they do,” Deon said.

  “I didn’t ask you. I asked them.”

  Augusto crossed his arms and waited. The stadium’s air conditioning system was state of the art but he was hotter now than when he’d been outside.

  “I do,” said Rikon, finally summoning his nerve. “I nearly bought it the other day. I know risking our lives is part of the job, Augusto. But I’ve got a wife and three kids to think about.”

  “Okay,” Augusto nodded, his rage simmering just below the surface of his fur, “What about you, Kash? Rikon nearly bought it but you nearly won it. Do you think the obstacle is too dangerous?”

  “I don’t know, sir. I’m too new,” said Kash.

  “Bullshit,” spat Deon. “Earlier you said this job was a lot harder than you thought and you didn’t know how much longer you were going to keep doing it.”

  Augusto could tell by the look on the wolf’s face that Deon was telling the truth. So, apparently they all felt the same way. The motorbike obstacle was too dangerous. Or at least Deon had convinced them that it was too dangerous. What was he supposed to do? Scrap it. Then the Games would be one obstacle short and they didn’t have time to develop another one. God damnit! He wanted to fire all of them, every single fucking one. But that wouldn’t help him either. This was his twentieth games and his five year anniversary. He wanted to give the audience something special. Maybe his team was right. Maybe he had been pushing too hard. No, thats’s bullshit! Augusto had been testing obstacles since he was 19 years old. He knew the motorbike race could work. He just had to convince the others. But how? Especia
lly now that Deon had poisoned their views on it. Somewhere along the way he’d lost the respect of his team. You couldn’t demand respect from someone. You had to earn it. There was only one way he could settle this. Augusto turned to face his stunt team.

  "As many of you know, Deon here has been challenging my decisions as chief administrator for the last couple of games. I have allowed this to happen because ambition is healthy. But now Deon's ambition has turned into arrogance. To settle this matter, we are going to run the motorcycle race again, just Deon and I.”

  Augusto turned his gaze to Deon. The little bastard was surprised. Good. He walked slowly towards the mutineer. "The winner will not only get to decide if the motorbike obstacle will debut in this quarter’s Crucible, they will also be the chief administrator from this day forward."

  Augusto didn't stop walking until he was snout to snout with his opponent. "Do you accept this challenge?"

  “Absolutely,” said Deon.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Augusto was straddling a brand new motorcycle. Nari and Maya were standing on the track next to him. Once they had been informed of what was happening, they had rushed to the stadium to watch.

  "Be careful,” said Maya, after kissing him passionately on the lips.

  "Kick his ass,” encouraged Nari, before shoving her pierced tongue down his throat. Once the girls were off the track, Augusto cranked the ignition and revved the engine. Deon did the same with his bike.

  "No helmets,” said Augusto, when Deon started to slip one on over his horns.

  “Whatever,” Deon tossed the helmet over his shoulder. It bounced on the track twice and then fell off.

  There was an electric hum as the blade motors came to life. It didn't take Deon long to realize that the blades were spinning at full speed. Augusto saw Deon glance at him but he kept his eyes focused on the track ahead. He had told the obstacle operators to run everything at full capacity. A simulated gunshot echoed through the arena's speakers and they were off. The ride was much rougher than Augusto had anticipated. The track was flawlessly smooth but he had been spoiled by a lifetime of gliding through the air on hoverbikes. The tires endless rotation against the ground was enough to vibrate the entire bike. This was going to require some quick adapting on his part. Deon zoomed past him, having adapted to the ancient ride days ago. That was fine. All he had to do was keep the cocky prick within eye sight. The pedals and clutch were less of a problem and he used them appropriately on the track's severe inclines and declines.

  Just as he was adapting to the loud death machine vibrating between his legs, he arrived at the first set of blades. He knew there were just two blades attached to each column but at the rate they were spinning, it seemed like fifty. Maybe ordering the blades to spin at full speed had been a mistake. Well, too late now. Deon was still ahead of him and unfortunately he made it through. If that douche bag could make it through then so could he. The first set of blades were high so he ducked. Time seemed to be moving in slow motion as he passed under them. He knew each blade was only six inches wide and forty-eight inches long. But careening towards them at 60 mph made them look fucking enormous and when their shadows fell on him, he felt like a rabbit trying to outrun a hawk. And then he was clear of the blades and time resumed passing at its normal rate.

  He navigated through two hairpin curves and then he was at the second set of blades. These were low so it was all about timing or lack thereof. Deon's timing was excellent. He made it through without a scratch. Augusto concentrated on the spot where the blades were attached to the column to judge his timing. He could either slow down or speed up. Too little or too much either way meant that Nari and Maya would be sleeping alone tonight and every night there after. He had his timing or at least he hoped he had it. He gave the bike some throttle. He was just past the column when the second blade struck. He heard something break and the bike lurched forward hard enough to pop the front tire up off the ground. He kept his composure and maintained control of the bike. He risked a quick glance back and saw that most of his back fender had been sheered off. At least the tire hadn't blown out. Once he was certain that it wasn't going to, he gave the bike some more throttle.

  Another round of hairpins curves and he was at the third set of blades. Damn. These were low too. Since the last pair had nearly cost him his life, he decided to watch both Deon and the column to see if he could figure out the younger rider's timing. Deon made it past these blades too. Of course he did, Augusto couldn't be that lucky. But he was confident that he'd learned Deon's timing. I'll find out in a second or two. Augusto gritted his teeth as he zoomed into the path of the spinning blades.

  He made it.

  No close calls. No scrapes. Nothing. The fourth and fifth sets of blades were both high. But the trick was that they were placed on a part of the track that was severely declined. Augusto kept his head low and his speed high. So far, Deon hadn't made any mistakes and there was no guarantee that he was going to. Augusto had to find a way to surpass him if he was going to win this race. He conquered both sets of blades without incident and he had managed to narrow the gap between Deon and himself. The sixth and seventh set of blades were both low but spinning at different speeds. Again, Augusto used the trick of watching Deon to navigate past them. Once the track doubled in width he sped up so that he was even with his competitor. They zoomed towards the last set of blades, which was positioned in the Y of the fork. Deep down, Augusto had known that it would come down to the last set of blades. Deon's instincts had been good from day one and Augusto had taught him everything he knew. But none of that mattered now. The terms were set. Winner take all. One of them was going to live and one of them was going to die. Suddenly Augusto saw Deon’s fist flying at him out of the corner of his eye. He dodged the punch and slammed the gas pedal. Deon’s attempted cheap shot must’ve over extended him because his bike was wobbling when they reached the blades. The blade on his side was high which meant that the blade on Deon's side was low. Even thought Augusto heard terrible scraping and crunching sounds as he passed safely under the blade, he waited until he cruised past the finish line before looking back.

  Pieces of the motorbike littered the track. A chunk of tire here, a handle bar there. Pieces of Deon littered the track too; a section of intestine here, a hand there. Augusto dismounted the bike and walked over to where the top portion of Deon's body was lying. He'd been sliced in half. Dark red blood, almost black, was pooling beneath him. The lower portion of Deon's body was nowhere in sight. Floating in the water down below, Augusto presumed. The race was over and there was a clear victor but there was no cheering. Only silence. Everyone had liked Deon, including Augusto. But Deon made his choice and Augusto had made his. He knelt down and took Deon's remaining hand in his own. Then he watched the light fade from his fellow minotaur’s eyes.

  MAGNUS

  MAGNUS’S HOVER YACHT was a real beauty. It was a SealHawk T60 series. It had three decks and a flybridge spacious enough to seat six centaurs or ten two-leggers. It had three heads all with separate stall showers. There were natural oaks, light finishes and furnishings throughout. A sociable L-shaped hay sofa and hand crafted coffee table in the saloon. Plus, a rear facing radar arch that could pick up any broadcast on the planet.

  Magnus, who was lounging on the hay sofa, forced himself to look away from the 60 inch vidscreen to where Vi was sitting on the deck. She was singing while she sharped a few blades from her knife collection. She was topless and had her back to him. Not as a tease but so she could admire the view of the water.

  “Why don’t you give that tongue of yours a rest,” he said.

  Most chicks would’ve been hurt or pissed off by Magnus’s curt response. But Vi wasn’t like most chicks. This wasn’t just joyous singing. It was a performance and if there was one thing Vi liked to do more than sing, it was perform.

  “Is there another service you’d like me to perform with my tongue?” she asked. Then she turned and looked over at him, exposing her bare breasts to hi
s eyes. They were plump and perky. But it wasn’t enough to arouse him. He’d seen lots of tits, especially hers.

  “No, stroking your knives will have to suffice,” He turned back to the vidscreen in time to catch the tail end of a Newsfeed story. Apparently, someone had blown up The Phaes’s tour barge. It had briefly been a display on Nos482 and now it was a smoking pile of ash. Magnus’s heart stopped in his chest when the identity of the perpetrator appeared on the screen. The name IZABEL RAMSEY flashed below an image of an elf with hot pink hair flying a hoverbike. No! That can’t be. She’s supposed to be dead. Elijah said the bitch was dead! If she was still alive, why hadn’t Driskell collared her by now? The image changed to footage captured by one of Larkin Grundy’s mobicams. It showed the same elf stabbing Larkin Grundy in the face with a knife and then she ejected herself out of a cockpit. Magnus lashed out with his hooves, shattering the slate coffee table.

  “Well, I can’t say it’s an improvement,” Vi remarked, looking at the remains.

  “Where’s the fucking remote?”

  “Under the renovated coffee table,” Vi said.

  He felt the vein in his forehead bulging against his skin. He glanced at her. She had one eyebrow raised as if she was slightly amused but there was no sign of the smugness he’d expected. He sifted through the broken pieces of the table for what felt like an eternity. Finally, he found it. Under a jagged section of slate that almost cut him. He picked up the remote control and dialed. The vidscreen went black and the words CALLING appeared in white letters.

  “Stay out of sight,” Magnus ordered.

  Moments later the black screen changed to an image of a blue skinned man hanging upside down.

  “Hello?” His long hair was a tangled mess and Magnus saw that he had a large bandage over the right side of his cheek.