Queen Killer

by M. H. Johnson

  Agneta just shook her head. "Timing, John. One of the first things any fighter worth his salt learns is timing. And close your damn mind. I spent half the night teaching you how to Castle, so I didn't have to worry about your stray thoughts costing us your head!"

  John grimaced and did his best to visualize thick obsidian stones tightly interlocked, warding his mind from all outsiders. He liked thinking of them as solid bricks of inky darkness as vast as the Milky Way, such that no stray thought could possibly reach the other side.

  Agneta smirked. "Don't overdo it. Now come on. Let's see if Elowin was able to rope our hotheaded merc back in without it costing us another fortune."

  John grimaced and nodded, following the athletic captain down the corridor, eyes catching sight of the war hammer now secured at her waist in addition to the cavalry blade riding her left hip, identical to the saber he himself wore. And his enhanced perception hadn't missed the glimmer of polished steel links showing just above her presently helmetless Dominion armor.

  "Nice gear, especially the hammer," he said, the beginnings of an idea tickling the back of his mind.

  "That it is. Our straight blades might be excellent for the charge, and curved sabers are perfect for the frenzy of melee on horseback. But if your foes are heavily armored, few things beat a war hammer, so long as you're equipped with a shield and can get close enough to use your weapon without getting your own skull caved in because command refuses to open their purse strings enough to reinforce armor that we must pay to refit ourselves.” She gave a frustrated shake of her head. “Our superiors just can’t seem to grasp that swords more than lasers rule the battlefields here in the South, thanks to all the electromana fluxes."

  John grinned. "And I'm guessing that all the gear the new idiot in charge demanded you stop using conveniently found itself here in the keep that your sister, a powerful mage who's somehow just the town's humble mayor, kept squirreled away for you all, like the steel mail shirt you're now wearing."

  Agneta nodded. "Such a clever lad. Too bad you couldn't be half so clever twenty minutes ago."

  John winced. "Yeah. I'm not at my best when getting yanked out of a bad dream, only to be yelled at for not hustling you guys out of every last coin I could. Anyway, it sounds like you and your men should be more than a match for these revenant bastards."

  "You mean the tragically infected former inhabitants of this town? I'd love to say you were right, John. But the truth is, even if half of us own brigandine armor covered in steel plates that will ward any necrotic tooth or claw, we need our Dominion armor as well. Take a good look at the wrists and neck. What do you see?"

  John's eyes widened, suddenly getting it. "Your armor doubles as a bio suit?"

  "To a limited degree," she sighed. "And half our suits have rips and tears that we've only just resewn, so it's no hermetic seal, but..."

  "It's a damn sight better than nothing."

  "That it is. And it’s all we can comfortably fit under is our shirts of mail which, granted, is excellent for saving you from fangs or disembowelment, but won't save you from cracked ribs." She patted her weapon belt, before glancing pointedly at his own. "And do you understand why we're so eager to bring you and Mason?"

  "You mean besides the fact that Terran adventurers are unlikely to get infected with alien spores since they're not really here?"

  "Though you are, John."

  "Yes, but I think I was kind of, well..."

  "Built for this?"

  John winced. "Pretty much. And how fucked up is that? I sometimes think most kids are accidents their parents fall in love with, whereas I was deliberately made by someone who values me about as much as a lab rat. But enough bellyaching from me. Point is, Mason and I, and even Sophia, have an edge you all don’t. We can wear whatever armor provides us with the most protection, without having to worry about hermetic seals."

  "True, though why Mason's dragging around a girl who would clearly rather be his wife than his adventuring partner, and who has neither the temperament nor the skill for the arena of combat, is beyond me. But that's not my point. Our curved blades are excellent for maiming foes, destroying their morale, and if we are lucky, getting their surrender with as few deaths as possible."

  John blinked, suddenly getting it. "Sabers are great for crippling, maybe even cutting through an enemy's arm, if you're lucky. And the injuries they cause are going to drop a lot of foes, quickly surrendering before they're toast. But these zombies are different. Their flesh is warped, tougher. Disemboweling them isn't going to do much more than running them through. And you have to do more than slash a wrist or leg or neck against these horrors. To stop them, you have to cleave completely through."

  He patted his hip. "And Mason and I, with our Carolingian swords, are capable of cleaving through even toughened zombie necks and limbs with any good swing. Hell, we can even cleave through skulls with these bad boys, which will drop those revenants as fast as anything. And even if these blades aren't nearly as effective against someone wearing any kind of plate armor, your war hammer won't do crap against the undead. So we just happen to have the right tools for the job."

  He couldn't help grinning at her approving nod. "Correct, Johnathan. Now that we know the nature of the threats we face, with blasters, battle-mechs, and velimobiles now working so piss-poorly in this area, I think I can finally pressure command into giving us the arms and armaments we need."

  "But that will take time," John said. "Time we don't have."

  The captain sighed. "Also correct."

  "Agneta?"

  "Yes, John?"

  "What's a velimobile?"

  She smiled, catching his gaze. "Perhaps it's best if I just showed you. Open yourself to me."

  John eased the defenses of his mind, blinking rapidly as images of retro-futuristic chrome-plated cars with hundreds of shiny coasters for wheels flooded his mind. For a second, he found the odd ways the coasters seemed to stack against one another horribly confusing before it all suddenly clicked. "Wow, I never realized how 3-D space folded like that before. Okay, that makes sense, I think." He frowned, then. "I don't know if the design will work on Earth, however."

  Agneta shrugged. "Hardly matters since it's now foot or horseback, this close to that Contender's territory."

  John smirked. "That's what we're calling him?"

  Agneta pinned him with her glare. "I could call him a genocidal maniac who'd see all of Jordia in ashes before conceding his insane claim to the throne. I was being gracious for your sake." She approached a pair of double doors, nodding to the guard. John gently squeezed her arm before she could enter, catching her gaze.

  "I have an idea. It might not work, but what do we have to lose?"

  She frowned, delicate eyebrows widening as she caught the sense of his idea. "It might work, though I don't like being put on display, John."

  John smiled. "I know you're strong, and from what I overheard, you've been doing this for at least forty years, so I'm guessing you're pretty damn good with a blade."

  Her smile was bittersweet. "I am, for all the good it did me." She sighed. "Alright. Just this once, I'll allow myself to be put on display, especially if it saves my sister some coin." Sparing only a glance for the guard by the door who immediately saluted, Agneta turned on her heel, heading for what appeared to be the armory, John whistling at the magnificent display of armor and armaments within. He felt like he was in a museum, seeing perfectly preserved poleaxes, spears, swords, and axes. Most were of high-quality steel, others of alloys he couldn't even guess at.

  Before long, Agneta returned, kitted up in a combination of plate and mail. Her helm was a modified barbute with a widened T-slit to allow for unrestricted vision and unhindered airflow while still providing fantastic protection. Her arms were covered in plate and mail that gave her near perfect mobility. It was a compromise design that did not leave one looking like the tin can a jousting knight did, but was probably a realistic compromise for fighting at maximum effect
iveness on horseback or on foot.

  John whistled. "You look fantastic."

  Agneta chuckled softly. "Your boyish affection is adorable, John. Were I your age, I'd return your gaze with interest."

  John couldn’t help grinning at that. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

  Honeyed laughter washed over him. "Come along, now. Let's see if we can rope your friend into joining us, after all."

  10

  John could hear Mason's hard tone as he entered a luxuriously appointed chamber filled with finely made oak furniture gleaming with years of polishing, chandeliers glowing with strange, shadowless lights and silver trays upon the table filled with fruit and pastries.

  Sophia's full lips were covered with chocolate as she devoured creme-filled pastries, happily sipping what John's nose swore was hot chocolate poured by a deferential servitor, though Mason ate and drank nothing, just giving a frustrated-looking Mayor Everwood and the man by her side a hard glare.

  "Five thousand credits, lady, and we'll accompany your little expedition to rescue those kids of yours and take out that nest."

  Elowin's eyes widened. "Five thousand credits is a fortune, Mason, and not what we originally agreed upon!"

  The man beside her frowned. "We are, of course, grateful for your assistance so far. But from what we can tell, you've been far more interested in bringing down the former citizens of our town than actually rescuing our missing children, which was the main thrust of your initial hire."

  "Besides," Elowin said, "We now have my sister's platoon, Mason. We are hardly dependent upon you. But I would be lying if I denied that your sword arm would be useful in helping us to secure our missing children."

  Her partner nodded. "And our initial offer still holds. You and your companions will each receive a full hectare of land, and citizenship within our territory. A place to call home, in reward for the home you helped to rescue."

  Mason's brow furrowed. "I only have one partner. And somehow I doubt that land comes with a farm already established. Wildlands I'd have to build up from scratch, am I right?"

  The bronze-eyed man frowned, graceful features hardening. "What you do with the land is up to you. It is a generous offer. More than generous. The path to citizenship and prosperity is before you, and the chance to be welcomed within a community that would accept you despite your foreign ways, if you have the wit to embrace it."

  Mason snorted, crossing his feet on the table, hands behind his head, his smirk turning to a hard line as he caught sight of John, entering the room. "And I sure as hell want nothing to do with this prick."

  John took a deep breath, refusing to let the man rattle him. "likewise. But as you yourself said, some things are more important than us dicking about our feelings.”

  Mason's gaze narrowed. "What the fuck are you talking about, boy scout?"

  "I'm talking about the bottom line," John said, flipping a chair around as he sat down, putting chin on crossed arms as he gazed at his former companion. "I'm talking about not letting bullshit get between you and what you really want."

  "You already know what I want, shithead. Credits. The more, the merrier."

  John nodded. "Sure. Credits are nice. Trade them in for ten bucks a chip. Buy yourself some fancy threads and a nice car. But at the end of the day, it still doesn't change the fact that whenever you look in the rearview, all you see is your past. Whenever you enter a store, all security sees is a problem."

  Mason's eyes widened, fists curling in rage, but John spoke on. "I'll bet the uniforms stop smiling at the suit buying birthday crap for his kid and instead look your way. Not even bothering to ask if you're a father looking for birthday presents yourself. They're just sizing you up in case they have to bring you down for theft."

  Sophia curled in on herself, her eyes heavy with regret.

  Mason lurched up, his meaty fist slamming against the table with a resounding crack. "Back the fuck off, boy scout! Unless you want me to smash that pretty face of yours to a fucking pulp!"

  John smirked. "Chill, man. I'm not even hating. I'm just stating the way things are."

  Mason squeezed his fist against the hilt of his sword. John ignored the desperate gaze the mayor was giving him, like he was charging willy-nilly into minefield. And perhaps he was.

  "You think I don't know the way things are? You think I don't know the fucking score? What's your fucking point, shithead?"

  John's gentle gaze fastened on Sophia. "What was that you said you wanted most in the world? A do-over, Sophia?"

  Sophia gulped, swallowed, a bright, hopeful smile flittering across her features. "Yeah, John, I did."

  John nodded. "That's what I'm talking about, Mason. Something more valuable than credits that run out all too fast when you're just trying to escape your shit, buying pretty toys. What I'm talking about is a fresh start. A do-over in the grandest sense of the word."

  Mason's brows furrowed. "You better not be trying to sell me bullshit, John."

  "I'm not! Look, for all that I hate to admit it, you got one thing right. Earth, for all its wonder, is filled with billions of strangers all crammed tight together. Plenty of room for predators to play idealists for fools, and for wanna-be paladins to end up jaded and broken as all their hard work, their secret desire for appreciation, gratitude, a place in society where their lives have meaning, turns into a minimum wage job with an asshole boss who doesn't give a shit if their employee just saved the neighbor from a heart attack. All the people in charge seem to care about is that their serfs get to work on time and make their bosses as much money as possible.

  "And God forbid you ever make a mistake, because no one gives a crap about your good deeds. But if you burn out and try to escape taking the wrong pills, or hell, just say the wrong thing someone records and puts on the internet, your life is fucked for good."

  John gave an angry shake of his head. "I might just be a high school senior, but even I've seen more than one good kid get dragged through the mud, just because they crossed someone with more money or connections than they had."

  John's jaw clenched. "I've seen kids self-destruct after being kicked out of school for taking enhancement drugs the former coach was pushing everyone to use, so their team would win the state championship. And the fucking principal expelling those students was in that same damned locker room, laughing and talking it up with the team, just the month before!"

  Mason smirked. "What's wrong, boy scout? You don't have a pretty record after all? Busted for possession and kicked off the team for using?"

  John shook his head. "No. I could tell a bad scene was brewing, so I quit the team. But you know what? Maybe I should have done more to stop it, and yeah, it does bother me that I didn’t. But it's like you said. No good deed goes unpunished back home."

  Mason's frowned. "What's your fucking point?"

  "My point, Mason, is that this isn't Earth!" He paused, waiting for it to sink in. "No one gives a shit about your past or mine here. No one cares what went down back home. All they care about is who you are, here and now. Are you a stand-up player they can count on, or are you an asshole?"

  John shook his head as Mason glared. "Don't you get it? No one hates you here, just because you spent time in a steel cage back on Earth. What they care about is your shitty attitude, acting like everyone's an enemy or a mark."

  John turned to the mayor. "Honestly, man, Elowin's sweet as any NPC you could want in a starting zone, if this were a game. But this is better than any game! Here, people don't just admire you for saving the town like in a game or movie, here it's because they actually appreciate the heroes in their lives. Why? Because everyone isn't a complete stranger! Your reputation follows you. Don’t you get it, Mason? You're so busy hating the world for the bad rep you got on Earth, that you’re doing it all over again, here on Jordia! Why, man? You literally have an opportunity to save the mayor's kid and be recognized as a hero through the whole freakin' starter-zone! You want a fresh start? It's right here for you. Just rea
ch out and grab it!”

  Sophia’s eyes widened with wonder. Mason blinked, looking at a momentary loss for words.

  “Life, version 2.0 could start right here, right now, for you both, if you want it,” John said.

  The mayor slowly nodded. "He's right, Mason. I care nothing for who you were before you came to Jordia." She swallowed. "And I will say right here and now, past negotiations we experienced will have no bearing on the honor you will accrue, the gratitude and appreciation this town will have for you, if we can count on you to help us rescue our children!"

  John smiled. "I'll tell you a secret, Mason. In a couple of years? They won't even need us. These soldiers live centuries, and they're not stupid, even if command's got idiots in charge of supply. That's temporary. The changes coming? They'll be permanent, with how the south is transforming. Now let me show you what I mean. Captain?"

  The last word he projected with his mind as well as his voice, and Mason's eyes widened when Agneta came in, looking a sight in a full suit of plate armor, staring coldly at the tattooed adventurer while she put down an old cast iron helm and a watermelon.

  "We pulled the captain's troops out of the fire when they needed us the most, and unlike back home, no cop's going to ignore our good deeds and just focus on arresting us for carrying.”

  Mason smirked at that. John spoke on.

  “Captain Greenfield appreciates the hell out of you, which is why she's been putting up with your shitty attitude for so long. But don't think she needs you. Don't think she needs any of us. In a few short years, the South is going to be filled with the equivalent of Dominion knights keeping the peace with charger, lance, and poleaxe. It’s just that shit went down right in the middle of their transitional stage where almost worthless blasters and reflective polymer armor an axe or revenant could tear right through are slowly being phased out, and real steel armor and heavier weapons suitable for medieval combat are being phased in. Weapons like halberds, poleaxes, and war hammers that can tear through enemy soldiers and supernatural horrors alike.