by Tyler Vance
The odd couple laughed and joked with each other as they walked through the noisy, bustling crowds. The concrete sidewalks were stiff with faceless people, and the dirt pounded center was eerily emptied, in the event that one of the occasional horsemen had business that required they pelt through the dingy West Side. The wealthy east siders were the only ones that could afford to keep Swifthooves in the crowded city.
Swifthooves were the genetically purified cousin to wild horses. They could run almost six times as fast, but Sheikoh hadn’t had much chance to explore their speed; the price for the animal’s upkeep here, in the industrial capital of Skyrei was exorbitant. No one living on the destitute West Side could afford transportation. That was a privilege reserved for the wealthy. The east siders, who regarded their struggling counterparts with contempt.
Sheikoh didn’t personally know any east siders, but they made their feelings on people like him extremely clear. Once or twice, he’d actually seen their Swifthooves run down unfortunate pedestrians. One worried look back, then the effluent would race back to whatever errand had required the poor West Side life.
There were never any reprisals. The dead party was treated like road kill. Everyone knew east siders didn’t consider people living in the crumbling, gang-controlled section as anything more than animals. After all, only animals condoned a system of violence. Not humanity in all its ‘civilized’ society. Sheikoh’s eyes hardened. He glanced up at that familiar sheet of Coral Grey, perpetually staring over his shoulder. The wall. It slashed through the Interium’s horizon, cutting the city in two and divided the Legacy-controlled West Side from the prosperous East Side. It protected the rich from gangsters, trapped the poor under their unchallenged rule.
Unlike the misinformed east siders, Sheikoh knew the truth. Violence simply took what it desired. It was the chaos and destruction that fueled life itself, and when face to face with the insidious entity, there were only two choices; fight or flight. Sheikoh’s life had made that lesson its go-to answer for every problem he had ever faced. Every challenge that’d he’d had to overcome in his short, violent life had traced that same menacing mantra. Everything boiled down to a single choice that was both simpler and, paradoxically, more impossible than any other; to live or to die by the harsh streets. Sheikoh had chosen to live, but sometimes he wondered if maybe he should have weighed both options a little more carefully.
Sheikoh shook his head and forced his attention on Dorothi, who was expounding on something that she’d been working on the last couple of nights. “I undid the remote’s circuit board, I hope you don’t mind,” Dorothi confessed, her expression hesitant.
“I needed to rewire the laser modulator to pick up another channel and program another control sequence, but I-promise-I’ll-fix-it-really-soon-don’t-be-mad-please?” Dorothi’s eyes widened anxiously up at him.
Sudden warmth filled up his chest with tingly a soda-bubbles feeling. She was so much like her older sister.
“Dorothi… you expect me to get up and turn channels? That totally defeats the purpose of doing nothing! Why not just kill me now?” Sheikoh whined jokingly.
“You totally tried to kill me like five minutes ago so… I think it’s fair, right?” Dorothi joked back, eliciting a false laugh and sent an electric shiver of fear down his spine. Dorothi’s hard life had aged her far beyond her eleven years.
Sheikoh’s secret dread was, directly or indirectly, he would be the one responsible for her death. He had quickly grown to love her as his sister after he had taken over her welfare a little less than five years ago. Sheikoh had long since given up on himself, but he would never forgive himself if he was the reason she lost her innocent life.
Sheikoh’s glance over at her was suffused with parental warmth, but Dorothi didn’t notice. She squinted forward through the masses of jostling people. Sheikoh let his eyes follow hers’ general direction.
“Wanna find something to eat?” Sheikoh asked, at the same time pulling a wallet out of the ragged pocket beside him. His face settled with satisfaction. Dorothi didn’t notice of course, she inhabited her own little universe.
“Yeah! How about Primelight?” She suggested happily.
Sheikoh groaned, but his eyes sparkled with amusement.
“We were over there yesterday, don’t you ever get tired of that place?” he asked. His tone of voice implied they’d had this conversation more than a few times.
“But it’s right here, Sheek!” said Dorothi.
“So is the dirt! That doesn’t mean we have to eat it!” Sheikoh responded quickly.
His grin quickly crumpled under Dorothi’s big, hopeful eyes. He endured them until there was no choice but compliance. They shifted their course in Primelight’s direction. Dorothi smiled, half-skipping along beside the bigger boy. She had Sheikoh wrapped around her finger.
“You’re right here…” Sheikoh grumbled under his breath. He really needed to figure out how to break her insidious hold over his emotions.
“I totally am!” Dorothi exclaimed happily.
“No I totally am!” Sheikoh shot back at her.
“You’re silly, Sheek,” Dorothi laughed. “That doesn’t even make sense!”
“You don’t even make sense…” he muttered.
Dorothi just giggled to herself and ignored him as they made for the restaurant. Currents of the crowd pressed them conclusively ahead, as Sheikoh tried to work out how this child had subdued him so easily. It was both a happy and sad line of speculation. He hoped that it’d never be a talent Dorothi came to regret.
“We’re here!” Dorothi exclaimed in words colored by delight. A small smile crept onto Sheikoh’s face.
Primelight was a startling mixture of shabbiness and overdone ostentatiousness. It’s chipped windows gleamed with gaudy neon silhouettes of happy people and crowds. It’s brickwork exterior was overlain with fading smiles, children wearing styles from the last decade and flashing, neon arcade games. Dorothi looked up at him, her face shining. Sheikoh shook his head slowly at the irrepressible girl, remembering their conversation. He was a little unsure as to how they’d gotten here.
“We’re here,” Sheikoh agreed with a dazed look as the two pushed opened the double doors to the world of lights, cigarette smoke, and laughing conversation. He sauntered past the servers waiting to greet them by the door, and knocked on the rectangle window to the kitchen.
“Yo Adeil, whassup? Can we get a grilled cheese and… a rack of ribs? Oh, and two colas, too,” Sheikoh called in to the busy kitchen. A hairy man in an apron smiled harriedly back at him and clanked two cans onto the separating ledge between about five other jobs. Sheikoh flashed a grin in return, and handed Dorothi hers as they walked away. The dude barely had time to breath, let alone talk.
Sheikoh’s smooth gait resembled a glide through the smoky room, while Dorothi half-skipped at his side, chattering happily about whatever popped into her mind. The two sat down at their usual table, a curved booth in the back that was draped in a rare blanket of the ambient shadows that allowed Sheikoh to see others while hiding the two from most wandering glances. They were far from invisible, but the tacky, neon rainbow designs of the gaudy restaurant were usually more than sufficient distraction to disguise the two children-shaped silhouettes. Sheikoh didn’t feel threatened in the restaurant necessarily; it was more a question of habits modeled on his lifelong mission to see dangers before they were dangerous. Besides, if he was going to pay for this meal with ‘hard-earned’ money, they better make him and Dorothi as comfortable as they’d ever been.
Then Sheikoh screwed up his face, wondering who ‘they’ actually were. Did east siders own all the businesses and factories in the west? If so, he felt a lot better about his day-to-day.
Dorothi misinterpreted the crinkle between his eyebrows.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like this place Sheek, I know you do.” She smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Sheikoh snapped back into focus, and his face softened into a smile. “No, you’re right,�
�� he admitted. “No one can cook runaway Purmynxs like good old Primelight.” Dorothi hit him in the arm, indignant. Sheikoh burst into laughter.
“Purmynxs are pets! No one would ever eat one!” Dorothi retorted vehemently.
“You’re pretty cute, but I’m hungry enough to cook you up,” Sheikoh mock hissed to Dorothi, twisting his face into creepy grimace.
“Well you’re big and ugly, but I wouldn’t cook you,” Dorothi countered.
“That’s cause us big ugly ones don’t taste so good. It’s the cute ones you go after. I’m so proud, you’re already ahead of the curve, Princess,” Sheikoh gushed. Then he ducked as Dorothi tried to punch him again.
“You’re sick, Sheek,” she informed him with disgust.
Sheikoh opened his mouth to make some reply, but something out of the corner of his eye unsettled him. Something that the grey-haired man standing by the door had done had tripped his sense of alarm...
Sheikoh stared at the offender, noting his khaki slacks and the blue suit and tie ensemble. Criminal, most likely. He closed his eyes and searched his memory. Constant danger had sharpened his mental recall until it was borderline eidetic.
Sheikoh focused his thoughts on that one, weird instant of peripheral memory that had seemed… off. Just before Dorothi had fallen into his arms, the man had glanced up with an expression of… recognition? He cursed to himself. For someone like him, recognition was rarely good news.
Sheikoh shot a worried glance at Dorothi. She was still glaring up at him from his arms. Whatever this man was after, Sheikoh wasn’t going to let it touch the innocent girl. His eyes tightened with resolve as he looked at Dorothi’s porcelain, soft face, thus far unblemished by firsthand knowledge of pain. Physical pain, at least. She wasn’t about to see any scars in the mirror on his account.
Sheikoh pulled Dorothi closer to him, leaning forward so that the man couldn’t see what he was doing. He leveled a serious stare into her fiery eyes. They sparked slightly brighter with sudden curiosity. Dorothi knew him well enough to make out the seriousness in his expression. She began to look around, but Sheikoh clenched her wrist and imperceptibly shook his head.
“Get out of here. Go to the safe-house. Now. I’m not joking,” Sheikoh muttered softly.
Dorothi’s mouth shaped a ‘w’ sound, but Sheikoh cut her off before she could get a single question out.
“No. No time for explanations. I’ll distract and you disappear.” Dorothi’s expression was reluctant, but she nodded.
Sheikoh’s eyes hardened with resolve. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. Dorothi’s nodding sped up, and her own eyes were wide and anxious. She and Sheikoh both stood up at the same time. Sheikoh faced the exit, and Dorothi faced him, her expression uncertain. Sheikoh turned and walked towards the doors. Dorothi scrambled after him and reached for his hand, but Sheikoh shook her off.
“No. Get out of here and don’t look back,” he hissed out of the corner of his mouth. “I’ll make sure no one follows you.”
Dorothi bit her lip and fixed an anxious gaze up at him. Sheikoh stared forward determinedly. His jaw clenched. Then two seconds later, Dorothi turned and walked through the restaurant's double doors. She had even listened to him about the not looking back bit. Guess that’s the way you deal with kids. He smiled with grim humor and met the man’s eyes as he prowled forward. He saw the dude’s adam’s apple lurch nervously. His face split into a feral grin.
Sheikoh slid a hand into his pocket and flicked his electroblade out, twisting it around a finger. Its edge ignited at the touch of a button. The black steel knife hummed with menace like a swarm of killer bees. The weapon was more dangerous when it was off, when it was on, it was a threat or the fastest lock pick in the world – for the times it didn’t matter if he left a mess behind.
Tie-and-collar inched backwards. Sheikoh greeted the man’s nervousness with cocky tilt of the head. Adrenaline and exhilaration rushed through his veins, kissing his movements with the tiger-like grace.
“Hey mate,” Sheikoh whispered into the man’s ear. “What brings little, old you down these parts?” With the slightest emphasis on old.
The man squared his shoulders, making an obvious effort to stop shaking. He tore his eyes from the dancing blade.
“I was informed that you, Mr. Namar, are something of a… go-between? Between prospective clients and the… assassin…” his voice cracked and dropped to a whisper, “Silence?”
Sheikoh eyed the man critically, debating internally whether or not to hear him out. Assassin? He didn’t like that word.
Sheikoh’s practiced eyes glanced over dude’s wardrobe, but he’d known from the first glance that this guy was swimming. His gray-hair was gelled back and spritzed with a subtle tang of cologne. The blue shirt he was wearing looked like genuine silk.
And, up close, he made out the indent in the dude’s pocket. Monocles were the expensive fashion nowadays. Cellpads like his Trinity had been replaced in a commercial sense. Earpieces with tiny lenses extending over an eye. To Sheikoh, they sort of looked like half a pair of colored sunglasses duck taped to an ear. They weren’t the monocles dignified, old scholars used to wear; the name had evolved to include the long-distance conversation TV that was connected to the internet.
Most importantly, even with the cut-down price offered for stolen goods, a monocle would still toss a year’s worth of rent into Sheikoh’s safe. If this job offer wasn’t his kind of thing, he could always make do with a different sort of payout. His electroblade twisted between his fingers in an unconscious, graceful dance as Sheikoh went through it all, weighing distaste against dollar signs. Sheikoh abruptly decided he might as well hear the man out.
“Follow me,” Sheikoh ordered, majestically sweeping out Primelight’s double doors.
The man followed behind him. Sheikoh walked down the street a ways and then turned into a deserted alley. He turned and leaned against a dark wall, still tossing and catching the electroblade with precise inattention. The fan-like arc of the blade spinning through the air and falling into his hand had seemingly hypnotized the well-dressed man. The dude watched him without blinking.
Sheikoh’s right hand blurred in front of his face. Midair, he slid an impossibly fast index finger through the circle at the end of the electroblade’s handle. The knife spun a few times then fell back pointing downward, swinging slightly; identifying the path of a corpse. Sheikoh leaned into a long afternoon shadow and stared at the client.
The man swallowed back his fear.
“So, Mr. Prospective Client,” Sheikoh whispered. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He adopted the sinister tone he imagined a criminal mastermind would speak in. Cold and precise. He didn’t like it. His words fell stiff and uncomfortable, and his mind suddenly flashed with the memory of Emili berating him for bragging about what he’d accomplished as Silence. Sheikoh’s heart throbbed with pain. He shook the thought from his head and opened his mouth, trying to drown the thought.
“By the way, Tie-Guy what’s your name?” Sheikoh asked quickly. “You sort of look like a... Gerald?”
“My name is irrelevant, it is imperative that... the silence... receives my audience immediately,” the dude whispered meaningfully.
“Well I promise I’ll tell him you called,” Sheikoh laughed.
A family edged around them, heads down and eyes facing forward. They'd probably noticed the blade in his hand.
“I have nothing to say here,” the dude answered firmly.
Sheikoh’s teeth gritted together. This guy wasn’t very clued in. Dorothi's anxious face lit his thoughts. She didn’t deserve to stress over a prick like this. Energy flared in his shoulder, and it was like something surged through him. Sheikoh’s hand, the one holding the electroblade burred forward.
The man gasped at the explosion of pain in his chest. He stumbled backwards and then crumpled onto the dirty ground. He’d never let the humming electroblade out of his peripheral, he’d seen it b
lur, and now his horrified eyes were searching Sheikoh’s, searching for an answer to the only question that’d ever mattered; what had he done to deserve this?
Sheikoh couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Judging from this dude’s martyred expression and melodramatic performance, the joker thought that he'd stabbed him or whatever. Sheikoh had barely tapped him. True, it’d been a perfect shot to the solar plexus, but really? How pampered did you have to be to think that little bump had ripped a hole into your body? This guy didn’t know the feel of raw pain. He didn’t know the first thing about life.
Still, it had been slightly uncool of him.
Sheikoh leaned over the man and offered a hand up. At the very least, he was pretty sure that this dude wasn’t in it to kill him or whatever. When you intend to kill someone and you don’t know how to fight, you don’t just walk up to your target. Human nature makes itself pretty clear on that point.
The client stared up at Sheikoh’s hand, his expression incredulous. Killed for the crime of being impolite?
“Seriously, you have got to learn how to treat people the way you want to be treated,” Sheikoh lectured him patiently.
“Respect..?” the man coughed. “What does... respect have to do with anything? You just stabbed... me.”
“You’re gonna be fine, Trooper. I just nailed you with the hilt. You aren’t bleeding, unless…” Sheikoh trailed off worriedly. He glanced at his electroblade and his eyes widened with shock. The man watched on in silent horror.
“I’m so sorry… I didn’t think...” Sheikoh murmured looking to the side. “I… I never meant to lie, but there’s a chance…”
Sheikoh bit his lip.
“The thing is, when said that you aren’t bleeding, I meant just from me. If you were already bleeding, I wasn’t able to heal those,” Sheikoh explained in a sincere voice. “I am so so sorry for decepting you…”
The man looked down at his chest bemused, and then up at Sheikoh. His eyes flared with anger and indignation.
“I never meant to lie to you, mate,” Sheikoh went on. “So here’s the truth;
