by Doug Burbey
"What?"
"I think today’s Frax was a different Frax. He didn't know about the TV and seemed awfully jittery."
That idea slapped him in the face. He wondered why he'd never seen it before, but she kept talking.
"But normally I get like a mental knock that they are looking for me. I mean, the first time I had to just create the portal and all the drones kept showing up, like moths to a flame. But finally a demon who could think showed up and I gave him a token so he could contact me."
Tokens were enchanted wooden disks, usually a half dollar size, scored with your initials, then soaked in your blood. It created a sort of link between the demon that had it and the mage on the other side but only let them ‘knock' but nothing else. Any mage capable of holding a portal could create them but usually couldn't do anything else. The concentration to hold it took up all their attention and power.
"Why did you do that?" The idea horrified him. Give them direct access to your brain? How insane could you get?
"The angels told me to. Said it was important." She shrugged. "So, I did."
Shane gave her a wary glance.
I know they are real but I've only met one, just one, and he had been here for over a thousand years. They don't normally talk to people. So, she is raving mad. Joy. All that power in an idiot savant.
"Why did you come today?"
"I showed up today cause my cousin said he needed me to contact the guy. I tried to tell him I could pin them but he didn't believe me. He said they had someone to impress today and he didn't want my delusions to ruin their chance to impress." She looked at her feet as she walked and he had to grab her to prevent her from walking into a light pole.
"Huh. The boys," he couldn't remember their names for anything, and boys covered all of them, "said they needed help with some demon negotiations and that the demons were willing to trade something more valuable than blood. I was the only one with the portal coordinates."
"They lied. Boys do that"
Truer words have never been spoken.
"But the demon wants to talk to someone, negotiate about the portals and treaty."
Chapter 17 - Straps Shrunk
Declan walked into his house and set the ICER business card down on the counter. Cordelia's card also had subdued trace runes in it and like the last time, he could feel a slight tingling on his fingertips as he handled it. He knew he could force the runes into activation if he concentrated on them. It would be straightforward but it did not seem to carry any trace impressions of being some form of hostile magic. While still concerned as to what the runes were for, he had delegated figuring that out to a lower priority task. The drive back to his house had been one of the most calming and relaxing he'd had in over a year. Whatever was in the concoction of chemicals that the ICER's have provided him in their Reset drug, it clearly worked as advertised. He could feel that his personal core energy had been replenished and had given him back his sense of balance and control.
"Well sir, I do believe you might have a little bit of your shit back together today. And I guess I got myself a part-time job now if I want to keep it that way. Since it sounds like this part-time job may be of the exciting type, I better go make sure all my gear is squared away." Declan told himself as he took a bottle of beer from the fridge, twisted off the cap, and flicked it towards the open trash can across the room. He missed his target with the bottle cap landing beside several others in the corner of the room on the floor. With exaggerated fanfare, he raised the bottle and took a pull.
Damn, somebody really needs to clean that up. Maybe I should hire a maid.
Turning around, Declan headed down the stairs into his basement and then to his armory. Opening the wall locker containing all his assorted gear, he glanced at the shelves with a confused look on his face.
Oh, now what the hell does a semi-secret government agency subcontractor for general demon nuisance killing wear on the job? Well, I am definitely not required to wear a uniform. So that's out.
Declan sat his beer bottle down on the workbench. He then reached out and took his heavy hunters coat out of the locker, holding it up and inspecting the damage and wear marks.
You, my old friend, are a definite must. Although it does look like you could use a little tender loving care. Spending some time in the shop could probably do you some good too.
Declan replaced his old coat in the locker, then glanced down at his armored boots. The metal hinged shin plates covering the front and back of his boots, while dented, dull and scratched, were still fully functional and ready to be put back into service with a just a layer or two of lubricating oil. He glanced at the shelf full of combat pants, and the fire-retardant combat shirts, disregarding both.
I’m pretty sure some random demon hunting is not going to entail my being trapped in burning vehicles. Besides, I need to be able to walk around in public without everyone assuming the Army has demon hunters roaming around the streets again. The coat and boots worn with civilian clothes will probably just have people thinking I'm a middle-aged wannabe hipster fashionista. That works just fine for me.
"This here will not be fashionable but will definitely be needed." Declan pulled out his tactical vest from the closet. The nylon and Velcro vest contained the ceramic composite front and back plates, offering protection from kinetic attacks. It also served as the primary load bearing system for additional ammunition magazines, his front chest holster for his backup .357 Magnum revolver, a small individual first aid kit, and finally a combat knife.
"This son of a bitch gets heavy when loaded out and it is not very inconspicuous. But like they say, don't leave home without a full basic load of ammo and a couple of Band-Aids." Declan chuckled to himself as he pulled the harness over his head, wrapped the securing side straps around himself.
"What the fuck! Who shrunk my shit?" Declan tugged on the straps in frustration realizing they were too short now to snap closed properly. Setting the tactical vest onto the workbench, he reached over and took a long drag from his beer bottle, trying to recall how to properly adjust the vest.
This had to of shrunk somehow. I know it was set up perfectly the last time I wore it.
Declan looked down at the beer bottle in his hand, then reached over and tapped at his slightly protruding beer belly; then he sat his favorite beverage back onto the bench.
"I guess this isn't much of a mystery, is it? You let yourself become a little bit of a chubby monkey didn't you, Declan? Well, I guess that just solved two mysteries. First off, the vest did not shrink, I just need to get the straps resized. Secondly, that explains why Cordelia did not throw herself at me immediately in a fit of passion like she clearly should have in a kind and just world."
All right now, tubby you have got yourself a problem. You told Miss Government Sexy that you would do some jobs for her. You need to do the jobs for Miss Government Sexy to get what you need. But, oh no hero, you decided that drinking beer from about 10 o'clock in the morning till 10 o'clock at night is now a national Olympic event that you are diligently training for.
"Well, seeing as how I'm not going on a diet and losing 20 pounds in the next few days, I need to take a trip into the shop for some adjustments. Besides John and Miriam don't judge."
Shit, when did I get a beer gut? Damn it, why isn't there a spell for instant weight loss. Now that would be some magic shit I'd actually consider buying and using.
For a minute he considered stopping drinking but a combat tour “dry” and the nightmares that accompanied that tour flooded back into his memory. Paying for alteration to his gear would be better than drying out. That held true any day of the week.
Two hours later, Declan pulled up in front of an industrial warehouse, parking his truck in the empty lot in front of the single heavy steel door. He took the nylon duffel bag out of his back seat and lifted it over his shoulder as he walked towards the door. He raised his hand to knock and paused as he heard a series of mechanical clicks unlocking it. Glancing upwards,
he noticed the series of cameras spread along the side of the building and waved at them, smiling. He pushed open the heavy door and began to walk down the entry hallway, feeling the rippling wave of magic sweep over him. This process felt familiar, almost safe, and he knew it was just Miriam's way of speeding up her service as it measured and evaluated his body shape. Also made it so she could kill anyone who might be a threat. The tech would be as prevalent as the magic.
Well, at least she doesn't have to run a tailor's tape up and down my crotch. Wait, is that good or bad? Good. John K is fucking scary.
Before he reached the end of the hallway he heard Miriam's voice. "Welcome Guest, to our home and business."
"Miriam, what happens if you don't say that every time somebody walks in?"
"Well, Mr. Kenner, let's just say that having children would definitely be out of the question for you." The female voice answered from inside the warehouse.
Oh please, like that has been an option, ever.
Declan proceeded through the rest of the hallway and into the open warehouse space angling towards the long counter area at the front of the room. The diminutive Miriam was standing behind the counter as Declan took in the room.
"Good to see you again, Miriam, I got some work for you and I got a couple questions for John," Declan said as he dropped the nylon bag onto the counter.
"John, Mr. Kenner's here. He wants to talk to you." Miriam shouted over her shoulder to the back of the warehouse, past rows of metal shelves and towards what sounded like a heavy floor press grinding through metal in the back of the warehouse.
"So what type of ingenious weapon of destruction is John working on back there?"
"I think it's a light aluminum set of Paladin plate mail,” Miriam replied, as she unzipped the nylon bag and started pulling out Declan's Hunter coat without even waiting to be asked.
"What in the hell can that possibly be useful for? Aluminum? And who the hell fights in plate mail anyway?"
"You do know this is a business, right? We do have other customers." She said casually, as she ran her hands across the damaged areas of his coat, tracing her fingertips over areas of exposed silver mesh lining frowning slightly.
"If it's someone that fights in aluminum plate mail, then that is a pretty dumb customer."
"It's for sale at the Renaissance fair next week you, dimwit. Like I said, this is a business. You wouldn't believe the markup on merchandise we get at the Renaissance fair."
"You know, I think it's illegal for you to sell legitimate charms in an unlicensed venue like a Renaissance fair. Don't you?"
"Like I said, you wouldn't believe the markup I can get at a Renaissance fair with the right customer. But, what you should be more concerned about is how much markup I charge you for fixing your clearly negligently maintained coat here." Miriam said gruffly as she pointed her finger at Declan's chest. "I've told you before, it's a whole lot cheaper if you just take care of your equipment instead of bringing it to me to fix after you've run off and done something stupid with it."
"I didn't really think I'd be needing it anymore,” Declan stated without thinking.
"So, this is not just fixing it up cosmetically for old times' sake is it, Mr. Kenner?" Miriam asked raising an eyebrow slightly the teasing tone of her voice disappearing.
"No, it's not. I need it brought back up to combat standard."
"Now would this have anything to do with that pretty government chippie that's been nosing around lately? Not to mention a new hunter with a name from the past."
"What are you talking about Miriam?" His attention had snapped to her as he processed that bit of information.
"Come on now, Mr. Kenner. No reason to play coy here. John and I do leave the shop here occasionally. It's hard to miss the increase in the number of specialized equipment requests that we've been getting. Not to mention the repairs that we've been having to do on some of our newer customer’s equipment."
"Newer customers? Are you taking Government contracts now?"
"That would be none of your concern if we were, Mr. Kenner. But, I was referring to that pretty young huntress in town. She has some very, hmmm, unique equipment requirements indeed. And she seems to need them repaired."
"A young hunter? I'm pretty sure, even if the Department of Defense had restarted a Hunters program, none of them would be on the streets as civilians already. I can ask around for some folks I know, see if they know anything."
Cordy is many things but she isn't a hunter. And Miriam wouldn't regard her as young. Huh, the game is afoot, Declan.
"Oh, she's not a mystery for you to solve, Mr. Kenner. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure you knew her father."
"Are you harassing customers again. Miriam?" A large man, a good foot taller than Miriam, wearing a machinist smock and wiping his hands off on an oil-stained rag approached from the back of the counter.
"I was just inquiring with Mr. Kenner if he happened to be needing repairs on his gear because of our government friends who have been making inquiries around the area lately. And he’s trying to convince me I should be giving him discounts." She snorted in derision at that idea.
Declan fought back a smile.
"Now Miriam, Declan's businesses his own now. We pride ourselves in respecting our customer’s privacy." John told his wife as he extended a hand over the counter to Declan who responded immediately with a firm handshake.
"Good to see you, John. I have an idea that I want to run by you after Miriam's done given me the third degree here. I mean, it's not nearly as interesting as making cosmetic medieval armor to sell to college students spending Mom and Dad's money for role-playing games."
"Hey, don't knock it, Declan. The Paladin with the sweetest armor gets all the wenches. Or so I'm told." John had added the last bit after noticing the withering glare Miriam was giving him.
"Okay Mr. Kenner, before you go off on a tangent about wenches, how fast do you need your coat back?"
"That's not all I need." Declan pulled out his tactical vest from the bag, placing it on the counter. "I also need my vest resized. It’s been a long time since I used it and apparently the sizing straps have shrunk a little."
"Sizing straps shrunk?" John smirked as he glanced at Declan's midriff.
Declan tugged his shirt down frowning.
"Hush, John. If Mr. Kenner says they shrunk, then they shrunk. I will make the adjustments based on your new readings from when he came in. The best that I can do for the coat is a re-impregnation of the wards with some of the silver mesh fill repairs. John can do some of the leather overlay patching and readjust the straps easy enough. To be perfectly honest, Mr. Kenner, the whole coat could really use some saddle soap too. You do know upkeep on this equipment is not always complex. Didn't they teach you army folks anything about preventive maintenance checks and services? I mean really, this leather is just screaming for some moisture. All said and done, the vest will maybe take 20 minutes. The coat will take me at least a week to get all the ward reinforcements to set. I can do the physical mesh repairs as the wards are taking hold. So yeah, I need a week."
"If I gave you little cash incentives, do you think you can put my stuff to the front of the line and have it all back to me in 3 or 4 days?"
"Sure, I could, Mr. Kenner. If you don't want the wards set so that your back gets ripped open by one of those government problems that they are denying they have. Or how about having the wire mesh fail because the wards have not integrated into the disbursement system and your entire nervous system gets fried by a novice level mage throwing amateur magic at you?" She replied sternly.
Declan raised both his hands in surrender, "All right, Miriam, a week it is then."
Miriam folded the coat and placed it back into the bag, then went the tactical vest on top of it and she zipped it closed. She carried the bag off to the back of the shop and placed it on an open workbench.
"Declan, what did you want to run by me?" John asked with a look of sincere interest. "You alw
ays have the oddest requests. What is it this time? A beer bottle opening grenade maybe?"
Declan paused for a second in thought "Hmmmm, no. While that would be awesome I could see unpleasant repercussions to carrying that around on a Friday night. What I really need is help with my Vulture."
John groaned "Really? That beast of a carbine is one of the few successful Army R&D efforts during the war. Reliable, rugged as hell and with a barrel built to withstand the hottest enhanced magical small arms rounds. But it is ugly as shit. Which is fine but it can also only carry twenty-one rounds, if you're using the extended double stack clip, and it weighs nearly 12 pounds unloaded already. There's not much I can do with it, buddy."
"That's the problem. The rounds."
"Well, you can stop right there, Declan. I can't extend the mag capacity. It's simply that the force needed to extend the magazine spring is proportional to the distance that spring is extended from its rest position. To push those heavy rounds in a higher capacity magazine you either end up with a two-foot-long magazine, or a drum mag making the weight balance canter to a side and make the weight of the thing just totally ridiculous. Either way, the Vulture becomes just flat out unshootable."
"I don't need more rounds in the magazine. Hell, at the price point you guys have on high explosive rounds, I can't afford them anyway. What I need is the ability to select round types, on the fly, without having to swap out mags. Standard, to explosive, to jacketed loads and so forth."
"Oh, now that is something else entirely." John leaned back and closed his eyes and drummed his fingertips rhythmically on the countertop for a few seconds.
"Earth to John. Earth to John." Declan snapped his fingers in the air in front of John.
"Oh yeah. Round selection." John's eyes snapped back open as he continued, "Interesting concept but also a problem. I mean, the Vulture's reliability is based on its heavy but simple, construction. There's really not much to its guts to allow for the addition of a complex trigger assembly, not to mention that the lower receiver feed and sear cam are in no way suited for a dual-round-ready configuration below the breech bolt. I think you'd be better off with a whole new weapon instead of trying to add round selection to your Vulture. I just happen to have some very sexy new replacement candidates I can show you. Have you seen the Heckler & Koch HK517 yet? It's a 7.62×51mm cartridge: Hybrid tech and magic optics with battery-less infrared d light amplification up to 10x, piston-operated, selective fire rifle with a rotating bolt. It is magazine or belt fed and I could possibly work some form of round selector in there if you insisted. But I can't guarantee that won't reduce its mean time between failures though."
