Genrenauts: Season One

by Michael R. Underwood

  The dragon breathed fire at King. With Fantasy-World armor, there was no way he could dodge. Mallery leapt forward and took the gout on her shield, bracing against the flames.

  She didn’t need to think, didn’t even worry. She just jumped right in.

  My girlfriend is a hero, she thought.

  Pride gave way to worry as the dragon lunged forward to swallow Mallery whole.

  “Hell, no!” Leah shouted. She bounded forward and choked up on the Hammer. She let swing a horizontal slash, putting all of her weight behind the blow. The blow shattered several of the dragon’s teeth just as it was about to snap its mouth shut over Mallery.

  Gotcha, she thought.

  The great wyrm writhed in pain, coiling up to protect itself.

  “Re-form!” King called, and the heroes stepped into formation.

  Mallery and King stood side by side, joined by a dazed but still-moving Roman. Leah joined them, playing the Song of Battle, her whole body buzzing with magic and adrenaline. Shirin stood a pace back, staff raised. And Alaria moved to flank.

  When the dragon uncurled, they were ready.

  To open their barrage, Mallery tossed a lance of light at the creature’s rump and Shirin let loose with a cascade of ice bolts that fired at machine-gun speed.

  Alaria chucked a long dagger at the thing’s eye, Roman dodged its claw-strikes to bury a sword to its hilt in the creature’s breast, and King cut three toes off at once.

  And then they kept going. They had the beast on the ropes but kept striking, kept casting, and kept swinging.

  Leah threw in the chorus from “We Will Rock You” as they pushed for the fight’s endgame.

  “Stay on it!” King shouted. “We will be triumphant!”

  Leah swung once more, the Hammer shattering a patch of scales, exposing bloodied muscle. Then they pulled a Combined Arms Bard the Bowman, concentrating their fire on a single armorless spot, and struck.

  And like with the Black Arrow and Smaug, their blows struck true. The dragon swayed, then drooped and crashed to the floor, raising a cloud of dust. The heroes were knocked to the ground by the force of the creature’s collapse.

  But only the good guys got back up.

  “Everyone alive?” King asked.

  “Slightly singed, still bleeding,” Shirin said.

  Roman growled, “Left side’s numb.”

  Leah said, “Slightly necrotized arm, but I’ll live.”

  Mallery said, “A few cuts and a body’s worth of bruises.”

  King ran to the secret passage and pulled the torch handle.

  Nothing happened. He pulled again, then moved and pulled the other one.

  “Come on. Why won’t you work!”

  Roman stepped up and pulled the painting from its fixture but revealed only a flat, seamless stone wall.

  “What sorcery is this!” Roman shouted, getting into it.

  King pressed his hands to the wall. “Everyone on me.”

  They poked and prodded and searched. Shirin tried a spell of Opening, Leah sang a Song of Cleverness, but nothing they did could make the passage reappear.

  Shirin produced a scroll from her bag and read it, the words burning up as she went. The entire scroll vanished in a burst of magical flame, and Shirin turned a complete three-sixty, her eyes lit with green fire.

  “I cannot see them, sense them, or feel their presence on this plane. They’re gone. All that remains is a lingering magic at the door. This must have been a spelled portal, designed to let them escape and then close forever.”

  Roman pounded a fist on the wall. King looked defeated, deflated. They’d come home empty-handed again.

  “Everyone is still wounded,” Mallery said, setting down her shield. She took her holy symbol in one hand and raised it to the unclouded sun. “Join hands. Let us receive the blessing of Felur.”

  They formed a circle, hand in hand. Leah squeezed Mallery’s hand, and was rewarded with a wink. The look on her face told Leah that there was more to say. Later.

  “Great Felur, we dedicate this victory over a beast of darkness to you. You who have borne us up with your righteousness. Please grant your grace to us, your soldiers on the field of glory, such that we may fight on.”

  She was good at the inspirational-praying thing.

  White light descended from the heavens and filled every hollowed-out or pained part of Leah’s being, leaving her whole and uplifted and not at all jittery, the worry and wonder from the tower evening out into a pool of calm and hope.

  “Praise Felur,” Leah said with a happy sigh.

  Looking around, Leah saw the same sense of calm from the others. Wounds were closed, burns healed, and spirits lifted.

  Mallery had an absolutely beatific look on her face. “That was was…not what I expected. It was several times the greatest blessing I’ve ever been granted. Felur is truly pleased.”

  Alaria grinned. “She’s not the only one. Night-Lord vanquished, evil artifact destroyed? All that’s left is cleanup.”

  King looked to the stairs. “But Raven and her party escaped, and we still don’t know what their real mission was. We’ll scour the castle, make sure they’re not still here and somehow hiding from scrying. And along the way, we can clear out any remaining skeletons.”

  “Then we go down to throw open the gate and proclaim the kingdom’s liberation.”

  They spent several hours searching the castle before King relented and called for them to make for the front gates. King was fuming, frustrated in a way that was all too reminiscent of when he’d nearly lost himself in Crime World. This Raven, as he’d called her, was getting under his skin, too.

  “We’ll find her,” Leah said, a hand on the team lead’s shoulder. King squeezed Leah’s hand.

  “I’m supposed to be the one offering encouragement.”

  “We all do our part. But right now, we have a story to finish, right?”

  King nodded. It wasn’t an indulgent nod of a parent to a child, or a teacher to a student. This was a nod of peers.

  “To the gates,” he said. And so they went.

  * * *

  King and the Genrenauts found a crowd assembled at the gates, clubs and knives in hand. Shattered bones littered the far side of the moat at their feet.

  They lowered the drawbridge and met the charging citizens with open arms. King pushed Alaria to the front, the recognizable hero.

  As the crowd shifted, Ioseph Bluethorn appeared, stepping forward to greet the one surviving member of his party—barring Nolan, the traitor.

  After months, they’d confirmed the Tall Woman was a dimensional traveler. They’d all seen her, could add their voices to Leah’s once-tenuous theory. But without a suspect in custody, the Council might still be disappointed in their results. In his results.

  The next few days moved quickly. The surviving companions held a ceremony to honor Xan’De and Theyn’s lives. The surviving nobles of Fallran appointed Alaria and Ioseph Protectors of the Realm, until a new heir could be determined.

  As soon as the ceremony ended, Ioseph grabbed King and the other Genrenauts, running through the possibilities and candidates. But the wizard’s voice was rote, more frustrated at the prospect of tedium than worried about a succession war.

  King said, “We will need to disembark soon. Our own lords call us home so that we may prepare for our next holy mission.”

  “I understand. But first, let me express Fallran’s eternal gratitude.”

  Ioseph threw open his arms and proclaimed, “Let there be a feast!”

  Chapter Five: Fallran’s Gratitude

  Alaria, Ioseph, and Leah were the honored guests of the celebration, a receiving line as long as the soccer-field-sized Great Hall. Nobles and courtiers emerged from the rocks of privilege they’d been hiding under while the Night-Lord had the run of the castle.

  King watched as the nobles threw together a feast in less than a day’s notice, bringing in prize pheasants, calves, and more. Fortunately for Leah, F
allran was also known for its desserts, so while the roasted pork and steaks were off the menu, Leah was also presented with tarts and small cakes to her heart’s content. She and Mallery were inseparable that evening, even disappearing from the party at the same time.

  Something to deal with later. He’d suspected something was going on, but it hadn’t interfered with their performance as of yet. In fact, King would bet good money that Leah’s feelings for Mallery were no small part of what had given her the narrative juice to make that home-run swing that had turned the tide in the battle against the dragon. Every story world recognized and respected love, not just the Romance regions.

  As the official section of the feast died down, King led the team in their customary denouement toast, though this one was tinged with more fatigue and worry than most. Especially for him. They’d patched the story, set Fallran back on course, but they’d seen companions die and spent six weeks of their lives on a mission they’d soon learn was never approved in the first place.

  He kept a brave face, laughing and celebrating with the team, raising somber toasts to the victorious dead. Only two remained from Theyn Lighthall’s original party, three if you counted the wolf in hero’s clothing.

  King did everything he could to hold the scene in his mind, spent a moment focusing on each member of the team, this team he’d assembled by hand, storytellers and heroes all searching for their story, for a place to fit and do good. And what good they’d done.

  Don’t get too drunk on the nostalgia, he told himself. The wine was doing a fine job of that on its own.

  “Are you all right?” Shirin asked at a whisper.

  “Just tired. And not relishing the six weeks of mission to summarize in the debrief.”

  Shirin chuckled, then poured him some more wine. “Live in the moment a bit longer. We won’t be back here for a while, I imagine.”

  That’s what I’m afraid of. But King drank the wine and focused on the moment, on his team, on the family he’d built and now put in danger in pursuit of a quest he still had not completed.

  Chapter Six: Homecoming

  The next day, the team bade Alaria, Ioseph, and Qargon farewell and rode out of the capital, their bags laden with treasure and gifts from nobles currying favor and jockeying for position in the inheritance struggle.

  Leah sang the whole way back to their ship, in a contagiously excited mood, especially since she could go back to singing Earth-Prime songs instead of rehearsing a broadside ballad for the thousandth time.

  But thanks to six weeks of solid practice, her singing voice was in rare form, her fencing skills had never been better, and she had a one-of-a-kind World-Saving Artifact of her very own.

  “Are you sure we shouldn’t leave it here, like a sword-in-the-stone kind of thing?” she asked. “Not that I don’t want to have my own magic hammer at home.”

  “We’ve tried that before,” Shirin said. “The artifacts go bad when their Chosen Bearer leaves the dimension. We didn’t notice it at first, then when our team arrived to address a breach created by a poisoned wood taking over the countryside, they traced it back to the sword left behind by one of Mendoza’s artifacts left jammed into a tree stump, Zelda-style. The sword was sentient, and it did not react well to being abandoned.

  Leah cocked her head, looking down at the Hammer in its saddle harness.

  “Wait, so is this thing intelligent? I feel like I would have found out by now. And maybe that sword was just really co-dependent.”

  “Let’s not take any risks, alright? You can store the Hammer in the supply wing with the other artifacts.”

  “Also, does anyone else ever consider how ridiculously amazing it is that every HQ has its own mini-Warehouse 13?”

  Ahead, Roman shrugged. “Just makes me more confident that we could fight off the National Guard and FBI if we needed to.”

  “Because it’s also totally normal to daydream about fighting off the National Guard and FBI.”

  “Don’t sass. Preparedness is next to godliness.”

  “I’m not sassing. If I were sassing you, you’d know it because you would be properly cowed by my brilliance.”

  And so they rode on, reaching the forest outside the village where they’d first arrived.

  They let the horses loose, sending them off in the direction of the town. Someone could use them. There was always a need for road-worthy horses. Maybe some enterprising team of adventurers would come along and ride those horses to even greater glory.

  Or maybe an ogre would find them and have a midnight snack. Who knew?

  King dropped the camouflage on the ship, and Leah restrained the urge to hug the big metal tube when it revealed itself.

  “Home! Hot showers, TV, indoor plumbing, and proper vegetarian food.”

  Leah continued to chatter as she did the walk-around with Roman, Shirin squaring away the gear as King headed inside for the pre-flight sequence.

  Within minutes, they were airborne. Or dimension-borne. They were off. Not in fantasyland anymore.

  The return passage was bumpy, but the storm had mostly passed on. And after a hero’s feast and an epic win, some stomach-churning turbulence wasn’t too much of a bother.

  She’d completed a full circuit of the team’s major regions in their beat—Western, Science Fiction, Romance, Mystery, and now Fantasy. With this report filed, her position would come up for review, and she’d be able to apply for a permanent position. Because it wasn’t like she was going to do anything else with her life now that she’d gotten hooked on the delights and the danger of professional dimensional-interventionist story doctoring.

  Comms came back up halfway through the journey.

  “This is Mid-Atlantic Actual, come back.”

  “Mid-Atlantic Actual, this is Mid-Atlantic 3 inbound after a successful mission,” King said.

  “Glad to be coming back. We missed your voice out there,” Shirin added.

  Preeti answered, “Your flight plan hasn’t been logged. Please stand by so we can clear up a berth for you.”

  King threw some switches, the ship’s crossover slowing. “Standing by, Actual. Disturbance kept our cross-world comms down, couldn’t be helped.”

  No answer.

  The ship sat in not-quite-anywhere, waves of dimensional energy hitting the ship, tossing it back and forth like a toy in a bathtub.

  “Do you think something’s gone wrong?” Shirin asked.

  “Maybe one of the other ships was damaged in a dimensional crossing?” Leah volunteered.

  “Could be,” King said. “Hold tight; we’ll be home soon enough.”

  Something was wrong. Story senses or just a general gut feeling, whatever it was, was going off.

  Preeti crackled back onto the comms. “You are clear to approach, Mid-Atlantic 3.”

  “Roger that. Mid-Atlantic 3 coming in.”

  Her calm tentatively harshed, Leah grabbed the Hammer out of her bag again and carried it over her shoulder as she lined up to climb down out of the ship.

  The main hatch opened, and as the light equalized, a booming voice filled the ship. “Angstrom King, get your traitorous ass out here right now.”

  Say what?

  * * *

  King climbed down the ladder to see Ricardo Mendoza standing on the hangar floor, the man’s eyes as filled with cold fury as he’d ever seen.

  “The Council is on the line. I suggest you don’t make them wait.”

  And here came the judgment. No time to prepare, to debrief his team. Just straight to the principal’s office.

  “Good job, team. I’m proud of all of you. I’ll be back,” he said, then set off at a jog, making for the comms room. On the way, he saw that team members were posted at every exit. They were expecting him to rabbit.

  Deanna, Mendoza’s right-hand-woman, was standing by in the comms room, her arms crossed. Great, a babysitter, he thought.

  “Deanna,” King said with a nod, taking the position. As he stepped into place, the screens sna
pped on all at once, revealing the five shadowed figures of the Genrenauts High Council.

  The center figure, D’Arienzo, spoke first. “Angstrom King. You have served with this organization for nearly thirty years. Your clearance rate is exceptional, and while we have been lenient in the past in acknowledgment of the efficacy of your unorthodox approaches, this latest stunt of yours is beyond the pale.”

  King stood strong, keeping any expression or response off his face. Let them yell, then move on.

  D’Arienzo continued. “In the next few minutes, you will explain to us why you contravened a direct order, inappropriately requisitioned Genrenauts assets, coerced personnel into breaking regulations, and made an unapproved deployment where you implemented narrative interventions without guidance, irrevocably changing the course of that world’s history.”

  “It was the right thing to do. I do not pretend to understand the Council’s methods, as I know you have a greater plan, a wider view. But that world was on my beat, I saw a breach getting worse day by day, and I saw my window. So, I broke the letter of the regulations in order to serve the spirit of the organization. My team was not informed of my disobedience; they believed this was an approved and sanctioned mission.

  “Which it should have been in the first place,” King added. “The disturbance cleared, and there was clearly a breach, as your readings will have told you by now given the fact that we have a stable patch.”

  “During the mission, we found and confronted the same dimensional traveler which I alerted you to several weeks ago. Previously identified as the Tall Woman, we have now learned that she goes by the name or call sign Raven.”

  King sent the data packet with his video footage of the final battle.

  “You can see her here with several companions. I suspect that they are part of her cohort, traveling across dimensions as well. With the possible exception of Nolan, a swordsman who had been part of Theyn Lighthall’s fellowship and is the likely traitor leading to the original story breach.”

  Several councilors’ silhouettes shifted. That had ruffled their feathers.

  Insubordination or not, this recording was incontrovertible.