REBOOTS

by Mercedes Lackey

  Fred just stood his ground, still nearly seven feet of angry wolfman. The hallway they were in was much more cramped than where they had found Runner near the docks. This is going to hurt no matter what. The Boggart unholstered his revolver, holding it out in front in a low ready position with both hands.

  The only good thing was that those four pirates weren’t Wendigo yet. They were well on the way to it, but they weren’t there yet.

  The Wendigo stared at Fred. Fred glared back, growling deep in his throat, and slowly getting hairier. “No? Suit yourself. I needed a new rug fer my quarters, anyways. Get them.”

  The Boggart brought the revolver to bear on the closest pirate’s head, squeezing the trigger just as the front sight was centered with the pirate’s eyebrows. The muzzle blast from the Webley-Fosbery was thunderously loud in the tight quarters, partially blinding and deafening the Boggart. He was able to see that there was nothing left of his target’s head, however, before a second pirate was upon him. The used-to-be-a-man shouldered into him, knocking the pistol from the Boggart’s grasp. They both tumbled to the deck, kicking and punching, each trying to end up on top of the other. The pirate finally gained prime position, and tried to use his knees to pin the Boggart’s arms to the decking while raining hammer fists all around his head. He was inhumanly strong—still not nearly as strong as Captain Runner, though—and the Boggart knew he had to get free before he was smashed to a pulp.

  Arching his back suddenly, he rocked the pirate forwards, sending the man tumbling above the Boggart’s head. The Boggart saw another one of those terrible fists lash out, but rolled out of the way before it could crush his head. They were both on their knees now and facing each other. The Boggart feinted, then fully extended himself in a powerful leap, catching the pirate off-guard. The man went down under him, but he wouldn’t stay there for long; he was simply too strong. The Boggart wasn’t going to give him any time to try to counter, this time; he jabbed down quickly with his fingers stiff, claws burying themselves in the pirate’s windpipe. Deep brown, foul-smelling blood welled up, and the pirate’s eyes went wide. Still, he fought, and wrapped his hands around the Boggart’s throat. Everything was going white for the Boggart, blood pounding in his temples as he found that he couldn’t breathe. Won’t die! Bastard won’t die! The Boggart tried digging his hand deeper, but he hit the man’s spine and could not push his fingers any further while his other hand was clawing at the hands around his throat. In another few seconds he’d either black out or have his neck crushed in the creature’s iron grip. Desperate, the Boggart took his left hand and speared it into the pirate’s throat next to his right hand. His claws passed through the back of the man’s neck and painfully hit the deck. Got it! Grunting with effort, he scissored his hands with as much force as he could muster. The pirate’s head separated from his neck, with more of that nasty, not-quite-blood spurting out from the wound. The dead man’s hands released their grip, and the Boggart could breathe again, though he was almost gagging from the stench of the tainted blood.

  Where the hell is Fred in all of this? Still regaining his composure, and on his hands and knees, the Boggart bent around to see whether Fred was alive. He most certainly was; both of the remaining human pirates were at him with knives, dancing around him and slashing whenever he would lunge, taking turns distracting him. The werewolf’s jumpsuit was shredded and spattered with blood, but his regenerative ability was keeping him alive. It struck the Boggart that Fred was holding back…He’s biding his time. Then it happened; Fred slashed viciously at the pirate in front of him, spilling the man’s entrails from the jagged tear he had left in his stomach. The disemboweled pirate fell to his knees, trying to push his guts back in. Fred turned and fell upon the second pirate in a flash of fur and blood; the Wendigo-to-be hardly had time to scream before Fred had ripped him completely to pieces. The injured pirate had a knife raised for Fred’s exposed back; the Boggart scrambled to his feet, catching the man’s knife hand before it could find its target. Twisting, he brought the knife up under the pirate’s jaw until the point was sticking through the top of his skull. The Boggart saw the man’s eyes roll up into his head, and pushed the fresh corpse to the floor in disgust.

  Just as Fred stood up from his murdered pirate, gore dripping from his fangs, Captain Runner began to clap slowly.

  “Bravo. The pup’s got claws. The Fey’s got fight. I’m gonna enjoy eatin’ ya both.” He began to laugh. “In fact, I think I’ll do it slow. Keep ya both around fer a while. Might even get three or four meals offa the pup, if I keep tearin’ off bits.” He laughed harder. “Cause a pig like that, ya don’t eat all at once!”

  The Boggart vaguely remembered that being the punch line of a joke, a long time ago. Hell if I’m going down as a punch line, he thought savagely. He knew that he had to get to his revolver to have any hope of taking down Runner. Only problem was he didn’t know where in this blasted hall it had skittered away to. Runner advanced on both of them, stooped over and hideous arms groping. Fred howled, and then charged to meet the pirate captain. They both embraced, with Fred biting and tearing with tooth and claw; Runner just laughed again before brushing the werewolf off. Fred fell to the floor, where the Wendigo landed a kick in his belly, punting him towards the Boggart.

  But the Boggart got a sudden brainstorm; as Fred hurtled towards him he grabbed the back of the Fur’s jumpsuit, whirled with the momentum, and flung him as if he was an athlete and Fred was the “hammer” in a hammer-throw. Fred’s reflexes were excellent; about halfway through the windup, he’d figured out the Boggart’s plan, and as he was launched, he was fully in control of where he was going and how he was going to hit. He held his arms out in front of him like a spear, aimed directly for the Wendigo’s chest.

  The Boggart didn’t wait to see what happened, he followed Fred, ready to defend or follow up, whatever the result was. Fred’s hands speared through the Wendigo’s ribs, knocking him back a few steps. That’s when Fred started to pull, spreading his hands to try to open up Runner’s ribcage. If we can just get to his damned heart. The pirate captain most certainly didn’t like that; he grunted, forcing his chest closed again. Somehow he was able to get a knee between himself and Fred, pushing the werewolf off. Fred landed hard but came up into a roll, this time running on all fours back towards Runner. The captain met his charge, catching him and throwing him back in the direction of the landing bays. Shit. This just went from bad to we’re screwed.

  Time to get fancy. And the Wendigo hadn’t seen this one yet. The Boggart dashed next to Runner before the huge monster could recover, then using some simple sleight of hand he palmed his watch into one of the pockets on the captain’s union cavalry jacket.

  The Boggart whistled. “Hey, sunshine.” Runner turned his head just in time for the Boggart to shove a clawed thumb through his right eye socket. The captain grunted, and grasped for the Boggart’s arm…but it suddenly wasn’t there. The Boggart became corporeal again, this time on the other side of Runner, slashing the Wendigo’s Achilles tendons. Stumbling, the pirate captain turned, spinning and cutting through only the air with his ape-like arms. The Boggart had hopped into the ether again; now he came out on the captain’s left side, stabbing through ribs and kidneys. Another jaunt into the nowhere space of the ethereal and he was rematerialized on the opposite side, rabbit-punching the captain three times. On his next jaunt, he spied Fred getting back on his feet.

  At that point he yelled as loud as he could. “GUN!” Then he hit the ethereal again as the Wendigo grabbed for him. He reappeared behind the monster, turning his head as he shouldered into Runner’s lower back. “Get the damned gun!” The Boggart disappeared and reappeared one more time—and Runner’s hand snapped out, nearly taking the Boggart’s head off. Too close. He’s anticipating it now. I can’t keep this up forever. Now he only focused on keeping the last pirate’s attention, no longer attacking him. He jaunted from the ethereal to reality and back, always random, all of his jumps centered on the w
atch. Each time, like a strobe going on and off, he would catch a glimpse of Fred; on his feet, unsteadily shaking his head, then scrabbling on the floor, searching, searching…there! The werewolf was holding up the revolver triumphantly, howling. The Boggart rematerialized hands outstretched. Fred threw the revolver, and it sailed through the air perfectly, end over end. The grip landed exactly in the Boggart’s hand right before the world exploded into stars and pain. The Boggart’s entire left side felt like it was on fire, and it took him what seemed like years to realize that he was on his back and staring up at the ceiling. Captain Runner’s face loomed into his vision, the massive head seeming to fill the world.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” the Captain snarled. “I’m gonna turn ya inta paste an’ eat ya on toast.” Runner reared back, bringing his foot up to crush the life out of the Boggart. He couldn’t get the gun around in time; it was suddenly very heavy in his hand, and he couldn’t find the strength to lift it. The foot was coming down when a human sized blur slammed into the Wendigo’s midsection, roaring. Fred? The thoughts were coming sluggishly to the Boggart, but he was able to raise his head off of the deck with effort. Fred was crawling all over Runner, biting and tearing, ripping huge chunks of flesh off of the giant. Runner was shouting and cursing, trying to get a handhold on Fred so he could fling him off and finish with the Boggart. The Boggart marshaled his strength, willing himself to lift the revolver. Slowly, it rose off of the floor, still in his hand, swinging towards the two combatants. Fred was on Runner’s back, biting deeply into the captain’s neck, but he was about to be pulled off; both of the Wendigo’s arms were raised above his head, exposing his chest. Jackpot. The Boggart squeezed the trigger on the revolver, and another too-loud explosion filled the hallway. A gout of blood exploded from Runner’s mouth before he fell onto his face with a wet smack, depositing Fred in a pile next to the Boggart.

  “Ow,” Fred said, mushily. And not just because it was hard to speak with something that was half mouth and half muzzle. The both slowly got to their feet, hands on wounds. When they were facing each other, the Boggart brought the muzzle of his revolver to bear on Fred.

  “So,” he said, panting hard; the Boggart thought that some of his ribs, if they hadn’t been broken before, definitely were now.

  “Sho,” Fred replied, looking steadily at him. “‘Ere we are.” The fangs he had in his wolfman form impeded his speech just slightly; in any other situation, it might have been comical.

  “You know why I’m here, right? Why I’ve come after you?”

  “Shenotah,” said Fred. “Shpashed Fangsh. Shtole ship. Oo know they wash pricksh, ri?”

  “Yeah, well. Who isn’t in this screwed up galaxy.” He kept the revolver trained on the werewolf. “I’ve chased you halfway across this galaxy, you know. From Earth to find your cousin on a mining rig, to backwaters with nothing but grief and a beach planet with nothing but zombies. I’ve had to fight pirates, stevedores, pirates, a goddamned Wendigo, and Fang treachery. But do you want to know what the worst part of it is?”

  “Shucksh t’ee oo?” Fred asked. Sucks to be you?

  “The absolute worst goddamn part of this entire rotten mess? It was dealing with that goddamned Púca from Home Service.”

  “HS can bite me.” Fred’s muzzle was slowly becoming more human. “I gave them over a hundred years of my life in a tin can that seemed to have been put together by monkeys, it malfunctioned so much, and a crew of the most dysfunctional Fangs the Deep Dark ever created. And I just came back here to save your sorry ass because…” He fell over and lay on his back. “Because I didn’t want a fucking monster to rip you to bits and eat you, because you were just doing a job, and I didn’t want it to rip the first functional people I’d seen in a century to bits and eat them either. I like these people. I know I didn’t talk to them, but I kinda forgot how to talk to nice people.”

  “Kinda makes you an idiot, doesn’t it?”

  Fred slowly sat up, whimpering a little, and offered a hand to the Boggart. “Yeah. But I’d rather die that kinda idiot than live knowing I ran out on them.”

  The Boggart kept the revolver trained on him a moment longer…before holstering it and helping Fred to his feet. “Great, you’re a sentimentalist, too. I don’t know how we’re ever going to work together. I’m guessing it’ll take a lot of whisky.”

  “Uh…what?”

  The Boggart shrugged. “You got a lot of talent for running; figured you might be able to put it to use helping me find others doing the same. Unless you like skulking around on stations like a rat all the time.” He looked around at all the blood and messy bits of bodies strewn about them. “Besides, like I said; I’m tired of chasing you. Especially if it’s going to turn out like this all the fuckin’ time.” This time he offered his hand to Fred. “Whaddya say?”

  “I guess I say…” Fred’s eyes suddenly widened, pupils dilating. “…oh SHIT!”

  The Boggart turned as behind him Runner sprang to his feet, his hands scraping the ceiling as he was about to fall upon them. Faster than he thought he could, the Boggart unholstered the Webley-Fosbery and fired twice point-blank into the Wendigo’s chest. The two big .455 Webley silver bullets tore through wool and flesh before finally finding the pirate captain’s heart, ripping through it. Behind Runner an incinerator bay door opened as if by magic; Fred wasted no time, gut-checking Runner with all of his strength as a half-form Fur. The pirate captain stumbled backwards, finally tottering over and falling into the incinerator, sending tongues of flame shooting out. He screamed then, thrashing wildly; the Boggart thought that Runner might just escape and try to kill them both again when the doors closed as inexplicably as they opened. The hiss of the lock closing was the best sound he’d heard in weeks.

  “…did you do that?” The Boggart hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath, letting it out in a quick pant.

  “No,” said a sarcastic-sounding voice. “Gremlins did.” Out of the shadows beside a control panel stepped…a Reboot?

  “Did I mention I have a buddy?” Fred said.

  “…another talking zombie?” The Boggart felt dizzy. “I’m not sure I have the constitution for this many shocks in one day.”

  Fred gave him a knowing look. “Believe me, man, I know exactly how you feel.”

  The Reboot shrugged. “We come as a set.”

  The Boggart shook his head to clear it, then looked back to Fred. “So, you never did answer my question. Wanna become a private eye? After this job, I’ll be able to expand my offices. And, as you can tell…it’s exciting work.”

  “Well, I guess…wait, what’s your name, anyway?” Fred asked. “And what are you?”

  “Boggart…Humphrey Boggart.” He cleared his throat. “And I’m a Boggart.”

  Fred blinked. “Seriously?”

  The Boggart was about to speak, but—

  The Reboot made a sound a little like coughing. “That’s right. Ignore the talking corpse in the corner that saved the day. Don’t mind me. I’ll just stand right here. Like a corpse. In the corner. Alone. In the dark.”

  “Oh. And that’s Skinny Jim.” Fred smiled sheepishly. If a wolf could look sheepish. “And he’s right. We come as a set. If it hadn’t been for him…”

  The Boggart threw his hands up. “I’m too tired to argue. I’ll take you both. And I think it’s time for a whole lot of single malt.”

  “So…the way I see it,” Skinny Jim said, as the Boggart led the way, limping a little, back to his pod. “The Wendigo ate you, Fred. Boggie here heroically and single-handedly threw him in the incinerator.”

  “Boy, didn’t I just.” The Boggart shook his head. “Sad about the Fur, though. No trace left; that’s how Wendigos operate, nevermind Wendigo pirates.”

  “You’re a big damn hero, boss,” Skinny Jim said. “I don’t exist, of course. Whatever happened to that traitorous prick, Pete, anyway? Who also didn’t exist, by the way.”

  “Wendigos have big appetites,” Fred put in, help
fully.

  “What a dimrod.” Jim shook his head. “OK, so, here’s my thinking. We get the outside of an old anthro-bot, see? Weld me inside. That’ll keep me from falling apart, and nobody’ll know I’m not an AI. Then we come up with a name…I like Boggart, Barkes and Bot…Fred can change his name to Fred Barkes.”

  The Boggart could only bury his face in his hands. Finally, after a half dozen steps, he looked up. “Oh, why the hell not. I’m gonna enjoy giving the Púca his last expense report.”

  Skinny Jim suddenly stood stock-still.

  “What?” said Fred, alarmed.

  “What?” the Boggart echoed, looking around for trouble.

  “I…just remembered,” Jim said with wonder. “Who I was. What I did when I was…alive. I was an accountant. For the Mob.” He began to laugh, and slapped the Boggart’s shoulders. “Oh, boss, you are gonna love me. Let me make out that expense report. When I cook books, I really cook books.”

  For the first time in a very long while, the Boggart felt his mouth stretching in a genuine smile. He put one arm over Fred’s shoulders, the other over Skinny Jim’s. “Boys,” he said. “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

  Table of Contents

  A Greeting from the Series Editor

  Cody Martin: A Long Strange Trip by Mercedes Lackey

  BOOK ONE: BAD MOON RISING

  BOOK TWO: JUST THE RIGHT BULLETS