Dependent Days

by Chris Sapp

  MAGNUS

  MAGNUS COULDN’T STOP smiling. He had watched the Harbinger-vid three times. It was as genuine and groundbreaking as the legends always said it was. Even though Kariah had sworn on Blair’s life that she would tell the Czar that the child was his and pretend to be madly in love with him. Fooling the Czar was no easy feat. Not to mention dangerous. But now he had a back up plan if things went south. The Harbinger-vid would be his Ace in the hole. After he presented the datapac there was no way the Czar wouldn’t remove the interim from his title and name him Druglord of Slade Enterprises once and for all. As an official Druglord he would be a member of the Morphagen Order and then he would be allowed to attend meetings. He would have a say in matters that affected the entire galaxy. Daedalus had been the Czar since before he was born but no one lived forever and whoever became the next Czar would most assuredly be a member of the Morphagen Order.

  Magnus stood in front of the mirror in his office. He had showered and dressed in his favorite vest. It was black leather. He intended to look his best for his visit to the Czar. He had instructed Kariah to do the same. It normally took her an hour and half to make herself presentable. Now that she had been tossed into a jail cell and left there for hours on end, he figured she would need closer to three hours. He told her to be ready in two or she was going to be way over dressed for her detox. He glanced down at the gold pocket watch that accompanied the leather vest. She had thirty minutes. Which meant that he had time to watch the Harbinger-vid again if he wanted. He wanted to. It was hooves down the most extraordinary thing he had ever seen. He returned to his desk and opened the lid to the steel briefcase. But his hand froze above the datapad. The device was ancient. Fragile. What if it only had one more viewing in it’s lifespan and he wasted it on his fourth viewing instead of the Czar’s first? No, he would resist. The Czar had to see it. He closed the briefcase just as the double doors to his office swung open. Petro and Flynn cantered inside. Their battered and bruised appearance caused his stomach to coil into angry knots.

  “We’re sorry sir,” rasped Petro.

  “Sorry about what?” Magnus asked.

  The two stallions exchanged glances.

  “What?” Magnus demanded.

  “Driskell and the elf escaped,” Petro said.

  “But we recaptured Larkin,” Flynn added.

  Magnus swallowed before speaking. “Recaptured? Meaning he escaped too?”

  “Yes, sir.” Petro pawed the floor nervously.

  “He’s in lockup now,” Flynn added.

  “Where’s Vi?” Magnus asked.

  Again the two stallions exchanged glances.

  “We don’t know, sir,” Petro answered. Magnus felt the vein in his forehead pulse with anger.

  “Let me get this straight,” he said, struggling to maintain his composure, “You lost your captives and you lost your commanding officer?”

  “Yes, sir,” Petro said.

  “We’re sorry sir,” Flynn added.

  “Not as sorry as you’re going to be if we don’t find them. How the hell did they manage to escape?”

  “They stole a transport carrier.”

  “I don’t suppose you know where they went?” Magnus asked as he closed his eyes against oncoming migraine.

  “We do, sir,” Petro said

  Magnus’s eyes snapped open.

  “They’re on Arktikus,” Flynn said.

  Magnus glared at both stallions. His hands were shaking with rage.

  “Next time lead with that!” He roared. “Prepare my cruiser!”

  THEY ARRIVED ON Arktikus precisely one hour later. Precisely when Magnus planned to arrive at the Czar’s. But first’s thing’s first, he had to make sure this problem was taken care of before he presented the Harbinger-vid. Judging by the wreckage piled at the base of the mountain his problem was most likely already solved. But he had always believed in being thorough. So, three cans of bonding spray and two thermalskin gel packs later, he was strolling across the planet’s frozen surface towards the wreckage. Petro and Flynn, wearing their own thermal skins followed him. It had been one spectacular crash. Burning debris littered the white landscape. Jagged shards of metal protruded out of the snow like tombstones. Discerning the transport’s cargo wasn’t hard. Magnus saw several cocoons smashed against the rocks and the amount of organic debris burning in the snow was just as plentiful as the metal ones.

  Magnus slowly waved the Injector Gun across the wreckage. The manager of the C.D.F had assured him that both Driskell and Ramsey’s ID trackers had not been removed and that the Injector Gun would be able to pinpoint their exact locations. Magnus had no doubt the elf was dead but what about Driskell? What if he hadn’t perished? He was a Fenixborn after all. Magnus couldn’t leave this frozen rock until he was certain. The Injector Gun issued a quick series of chirps and he waved it back over the area he had just covered. The Gun chirped again.

  “There,” he said, “under that mound of snow.”

  Petro and Flynn, each carrying snow shovels, stepped forward and began digging away at the snow. Magnus sighed and forced himself to be patient. It was going to take awhile. The mound was as tall as he was. After about five minutes of shoveling, Magnus heard the familiar scrape of the shovel hitting something hard. Petro had found either a rock or a section of the carrier’s hull. Whatever it was, Magnus hoped that Driskell and the elf had been crushed underneath it. A few seconds later Flynn’s shovel found it too. Both Centaurs worked furiously using both the shovel and their hooves to clear away the snow.

  “It’s a cockpit!” Petro exclaimed once they had removed enough to snow to discern what it was. The cockpit was lying on its side. Nearly all of the windows in the hatch were shattered. Magnus stepped forward, careful not to lose his footing on the rocky terrain. The chirping of the Injector Gun was at a frantic pace now. He peered through the busted windows and saw two figures inside. The figure in the captain’s chair was clearly Driskell. He had an enormous smoldering hole in his chest. Fire embers and flakes of charred flesh swirled in the winter air. Driskell’s right arm had been severed just below the shoulder. The stump of bone protruding out of tattered flesh looked like a lump of burning coal. There was no sign of the rest of his arm but his right hand was gripping the control yoke. The figure in the navigator’s seat was badly charred and headless. The head was lying on the console wedged against a section of glass that hadn’t broken. It was also badly charred. But the eyes were open and Magnus recognized the violet irises staring out at him.

  “Bring me the girl’s hand,” Magnus said. Petro nodded and wiggled his shoulders as far as he could into the opening. He used the edge of the shovel like a knife and severed the elf’s hand. It thumped on the floor and he scooped it up and backed out of the opening. Magnus retrieved his datapad and waited while Petro positioned the hand on the touch screen.

  “This is pretty burnt sir. I hope it works,” Petro said.

  Magnus stayed silent while the machine whirred to life. It chimed.

  97% match. Izabel Ramsey. He smiled.

  “Good. Now, bring me Driskell’s hand,” Magnus said.

  Flynn was closer to the cockpit so he wiggled himself into the opening.

  “No,” Magus said when he saw Flynn reach for the hand that was holding the yoke. “That one will be too stiff. Bring me his other one.”

  Sighing, Flynn turned the shovel on its side just like Petro had and lined it up with Driskell’s left hand which was hanging limply against his side. He swung. But instead of cleaving Driskell’s hand off, the Fenixborn caught the shovel in mid air. Flynn screamed and jumped back from the opening.

  “What?” Magnus asked.

  “It was probably just a rat,” Petro said. “He hates the fuckers.”

  “It wasn’t no rat. It was Driskell. He’s alive. He grabbed the damn shovel,” Flynn said.

  Magnus and Petro trotted forward and peered into the cockpit. Driskell was alive. He was holding the shovel in his good hand and sta
ring at them.

  “Jesus,” Petro said, “I knew Driskell was a tough son of bitch. But god damn.”

  “Make this hole bigger. I want to talk to him,” Magus said.

  Flynn and Petro reared up on their hindquarters and then stomped down on the cockpit with their front hooves. What remained of the hatch shattered under their weight and fell to the ground. Petro and Flynn repeated this action until they had created a clearing large enough for Magnus to walk through unscathed. A light mounted on the front of Magnus’s helmet flickered on, illuminating the cockpit in all it’s glorified ruin.

  “How you doing Driskell?” Magnus asked. “You’ve looked better. Mind if I warm my hands” Magnus held his hands out in front of Driskell’s smoldering chest as if it was fire. Petro and Flynn snickered. Driskell remained silent. But Magnus knew he was conscious because the Fenixborn’s eyes were tracking his every move.

  “I don’t know if you can talk but you better damn well try, because if you don’t I will make sure you survive this. Where’s Vi? I know she boarded the transport you stole.” Magnus asked.

  “Dead,” Driskell rasped. A puff of smoke billowed past his beak. Magnus nodded and tried not to hide his disappointment. He knew something was wrong when he hadn’t heard from her.

  “In the crash?” Magnus asked.

  “Before.”

  “Who killed her? You?” Magnus scoffed.

  A weak smile formed on Driskell’s face. “Izabel.”

  “Bullshit,” Magnus said. “There’s no way that runt elf got the best of Vi.” Driskell stayed silent. Magnus studied his eyes for the slightest hint of a lie. Much to his dismay he saw none. Well, Vi had done everything he’d every asked, the least he could do was give her a proper burial.

  “Where’s the body?”Magnus asked.

  “Out…the…airlock.”

  The idea of Vi’s dead body floating in the cold blackness of space for eternity filled him with an uncontrollably rage. His nostrils flared and the vein in his forehead pulsed. He balled his right hand into a fist and punched Driskell in the face. He did it again and again. The Fenixborn’s beak splintered. Flames burned through Magnus’s gloves and blistered his knuckles. He ignored the pain and kept punching. He didn’t stop until the smoke and fire embers floating through the air was so thick that he could no longer see. When the haze dissipated, he looked down at his knuckles and saw that they were bleeding and covered in soot. But it had been worth it because Driskell’s face was a complete ruin. His beak had broken and collapsed in on itself like a wall in a burning building. His right eye was swollen shut and tendrils of smoke were seeping out of it. Magnus felt better but it wasn’t enough. Driskell needed to suffer a lifetime to make up for the pain and anguish he had caused in the last week. But letting Driskell, live wasn’t an option. He was the last one alive that had any knowledge of the Harbinger-vid and that knowledge needed to die with him. But therein lied the problem. Once Driskell died, he’d be reborn, which was exactly what the bastard has wanted since that damn Mermaid of his died. No, death was too easy. If he had to live with the memory of his mistakes, then Driskell was going to as well. Magnus tore open Driskell’s trench coat. He dug around in the bounty hunter’s pockets until he found what he was looking for, a zippo lighter and a pack of Fenix tails. The lighter was fine. But the bottom corner of the smokes was fairly charred. He prayed they weren’t burned beyond use. He shook one out and forced it into the gaping hole that used to be Driskell’s mouth. He lit the end of it and held it in place.

  “Uh, what are you doing sir?” Petro asked.

  “Reviving him,” Magnus yelled over his shoulder.

  “But don’t you want him dead?” Flynn asked. Magnus could hear the confusion in their voices.

  “I do. But just not today,” Magnus said. It was ten minutes and two cigarettes later before Magnus began to see the fruits of his labor. Finally, the smoldering ruin that was Driskell’s face began to reconstruct itself. Magnus was able to place the fourth cigarette between the bounty hunter’s beak. Driskell’s eye winked into existence as the fifth cigarette winked out. By the end of the sixth cigarette Driskell was conscious and able to speak.

  “What…are..you doing?” He rasped.

  “Reviving you,” Magnus said, sliding another cigarette between the Fenixborn’s teeth. He took a long drag.

  “Why?”

  “I’ve decided that death would be too easy for you,” Magnus said. “So, I’m going to keep you alive. First, you’re going to play The Crucible and after you die I will recover your resurrected body and then you will live out the remainder of your days as my personal slave.”

  The fear Magnus saw in Driskell’s eyes brought a smile to his face.

  KARIAH

  MAGNUS HAD GIVEN her two hours to make herself presentable to the Czar. So as soon as their conversation was over, she had trotted quickly out of the Centropolis prison. It took everything she had not to stop at Blair’s cell. She was dying to tell him that Magnus had been merciful and that he was going to be spared. More or less. But she didn’t want to push her luck so she headed straight for the bathing ponds. She cried softly while a team of faeries washed away the prison grime. She returned to the guest bedroom that had become her home at Slade Mansion. She pulled a sparkly white blouse off the hanger that was hiding in the back of her closet. It was Magnus’s favorite. She stood in front of the bathroom mirror and watched as a team of five faeries fluttered themselves to death making her presentable. Two of them styled her hair. Another one applied her eye shadow, and the last two were painting the nails on each of her hands. Every stylistic decision had been made with Magnus’s preferences in mind. The sparkly pink lipstick, the dark blue eyeshadow, and ruby red nails were all his favorites. Even her jewelry accessories were ones that he preferred. But in truth she couldn't care less about what Magnus preferred. Just because he had spared her life and extended Blair’s by not detoxing him immediately, didn’t mean that she had forgiven him for all his transgressions. After losing her first child, she swore that nothing would stop her from keeping her second. Becoming pregnant with another stallion’s child and then passing that child off as Magnus’s wasn’t what she had in mind. But you played the cards you were dealt.

  She was ready to walk out the door with fifteen minutes to spare. But when she called Magnus to tell her she was ready, his secretary informed her that he had an emergency off planet and he had to leave. So where did that leave her? Where they still going to see the Czar? Who knew? She didn’t dare change because as soon as she did, Magnus would return. If Magnus was off planet then she was free to go and do whatever she wanted. One thought entered her mind.

  Blair.

  The thought of him rotting in his cell with no knowledge of his fate, stabbed her heart like a knife. She boarded a cruiser and was flying across Centropolis before she could talk herself out of it. It was a quick ten minute flight to the prison. She strolled through the front doors and told the desk clerk that she wanted prisoner Blair Hawkins taken to interrogation room three. She half expected the clerk to object since she was a prisoner herself less than an hour ago. But her fears were unwarranted.

  “As you wish, Lady Slade,” the Clerk said and then he led her down a hallway that was behind all of the interrogation rooms. Presumably, the same hallway Magnus had used when he’d come to see her. The room was exactly the same. The only thing that had changed was her and therefor her reflection on the metal table was different. When she’d been in her with Magnus, she had been both angry and fearful of the face reflected in the table. It had been the face of a broken woman who had been caught cheating and attempting to murder her powerful husband. But now she had become the powerful one. It was amazing what freedom and a little bit of makeup could accomplish. But if she was the powerful one now, did that mean that Blair was the broken one. What if he looked as battered as she had. She couldn’t stand to see him like that. Especially, not with her looking like she did now. Coming to see Blair had been an
other mistake in a long line of mistakes concerning the brilliant chemist. But if she hurried she could correct it. She turned and grabbed the door knob, intending to leave before she saw Blair. But as she gripped the handle, she heard the door behind her open. She was too late. She was frozen with indecision: face her lover or flee. Kariah released her grip on the door handle. The door closed and she slowly turned to face him. Her heart was beating in terror of what dreadful state her Blair would be in. She had tried to prepare herself for how he would look but nothing could prepare her for what she saw. Her mouth fell upon.

  Blair was smiling. How could he possibly be smiling at a time like this. He seemed completely unfazed by his current circumstances or his pending demise.

  “Lady Slade, what a pleasant surprise,” Blair said. “I hope those pearls aren’t for me.”

  Not only was he smiling. He was jovial. All the reasons she had let herself commit adultery with him, came flooding back. He was gorgeous. He was a brilliant chemist. He was kind and loving. Most of all he was a hundred times the stallion Magnus would ever be.