This Work Is Part Of A Series (The Messenger Archive Book 2)

by DC Bastien

  [Sianor: Uhuh. Any reason why?]

  [Ashroe: It's a thought-experiment. Plus... my type.]

  [Sianor: I'd never have guessed!]

  [Ashroe: So what can you do? You can do canon. You can do a canon-analogue. You can do far future. You can do distant past. You can do role reversal. You can do temporarily-on-the-same-side. You can do...]

  [Sianor: Coffee-shop AU. Which I don't understand the weird appeal for, but sure. You can do cute husbands. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Weddings. You can do stripper AU. You can do them undercover. You can put them in space, or in the past. You can make them cowboys. You can make them have wings and tails. You can write them crossed over with Greek mythology, or another TV show. You can write them pregnant. You can write them adopting ten kittens and a teacup pig. Maybe one of them is deathly afraid of flying, or they're going to try out bondage for the first time. You can have them run for president. You can write them as serial killers. You can do all sorts of things.]

  [Ashroe: I know that, on one level. But sometimes I feel like I've... done. Like anything more is flogging a dead horse.]

  [Sianor: You shouldn't push it if you're not inspired.]

  [Ashroe: I know, so I stop. But... there's all those AUs, but there's only so many different sexual acts, so many different ways to interpret them. Tab A, Slot B. Top, bottom, lick, tug, stick. And if I write a really good version of how I want two guys or girls or whatever to get together... it kind of... becomes cemented in my head. Maybe I'm not designed to write fic after all. I like having a canon. Even if it's my own.]

  [Sianor: Nothing wrong with that. If you've invented the wheel, then keep pushing it. And maybe the wheel will drive over new ground, but when you get to your destination... stop.]

  [Ashroe: I don't want you to think I'm bored of ours. I meant this has happened to me in the past. I choke up, because I feel like I'd just be repeating myself. And then all of a sudden an idea comes in, and it changes. But until that idea is in my head... I just stare at the wall and look for patterns in the wallpaper, or I wonder what's in the fridge, or I panic about being an adult and not having the world figured out, and right then - at that moment - I feel like there's no words inside of me. Like there couldn't be more words inside of me, because I had a set amount of them and I wasted them.]

  [Sianor: There isn't a finite amount of words!]

  [Ashroe: There might be! There might be only so many times I can write, and I'm splurging them all on gay porn for free on the internet.]

  [Sianor: Well. You could stop. If you had something else to write.]

  [Ashroe: I... I know. But then I'd need to create a world. And I don't know if I can do that. Plus, when you write fic, people already know the characters and the world. You can skip a lot of the introductory work, because everyone comes at it from the same place.]

  [Sianor: So... write fic as if it was the only vision of those characters. Practice. Start introducing things.]

  [Ashroe: Won't that bore readers?]

  [Sianor: They don't pay you. They didn't buy it. They'll either carry on, or they'll give up. And you'll have practiced more.]

  [Ashroe: Hmm.]

  [Sianor: You know how to write. You know how to do dialogue, internal thoughts, plot, crisis, twists... you just need to go that one last step to making the world.]

  [Ashroe: What if I can't?]

  [Sianor: I'm not saying you'll suddenly write the next Middle Earth, or the next Hogwarts... it's all learning, isn't it?]

  [Ashroe: And then there's the fear: I write for free. People say nice things to me, but that's because it's free. Would they pay?]

  [Sianor: I am biased, but I would.]

  [Ashroe: I guess I can't ever know if I'd be any good at it until I try it.]

  [Sianor: When this is done - and we've finished the sequel - let's try it.]

  [Ashroe: Really?]

  [Sianor: Yes, really.]

  [Ashroe: I guess the worst books are the ones that don't exist.]

  [Sianor: And if you're stuck for what to write... think about the things you like to read. If you'd enjoy reading a book, then someone else would, too.]

  [Ashroe: That's normally why I write fic. I want to see a type of story, and it doesn't exist, so instead of gritting my teeth and reading drivel or feeling annoyed about it not being there... I make it.]

  [Sianor: So think about what the market is missing. Think about the book you wish was there. Not for commercial reasons... but for... love. What would you be proud to have written.]

  [Ashroe: I'd be proud to have written that little pep talk.]

  [Sianor: Hah, funny. Not quite a novel, though.]

  [Ashroe: I don't know, maybe it is. Maybe a story about a writer who needs a little help along the way...]

  [Sianor: If that's what you'd want to read.]

  [Ashroe: I'll... mull it over :) ]

  ***

  Vadim hadn't stayed alive as long as he had without being quick at reading situations, oh no. He took a side-step when the lights went out, and by the time the guards were firing, they were firing into the black, empty elevator behind him as he dropped lithely to the ground.

  Thankfully, Avery was just as smart as he was. However, he did end up bumping into the man, as they had both had the same idea.

  "Flashlights!" someone yelled.

  But as the house lights rarely ever failed this spectacularly, finding the small ones mounted on the rifles was not an easy task. Which was precisely why you were supposed to carry out regular maintenance and contingency tests and drills.

  Vadim elbowed one man in the - probably - jaw area and stole his weapon.

  He knew where the light was. And he turned it back on them, blinding at least two of them with the sudden shock of illumination, before shooting just above one of the group's head. "Easy, guys. Let's all think about this sensibl--OOF."

  Apparently the guards were paid enough that they didn't mind jumping on an armed man. Which was annoying, and meant he had to shoot him in the stomach. That was a nasty place to be shot, but Vadim believed if someone jumped on you when you held an assault rifle? Then they deserved every damn wound they got.

  There was more yelling, and now lights flashing maniacally, and shooting and shoving and then there was a sharp pain in his side and he found himself stepping backwards, pressing into the wall, not entirely sure what was going on. More lights, more yelling, and for some reason he couldn't move. He wanted to, oh he did. He knew he should, but the rifle dropped from his hands. He watched with a strange sense of disconnection, of detachment, as soldier after soldier dropped.

  Avery was making light work of them. When his rifle ran out of bullets, he started to use the butt. Vadim decided standing was too much effort, and he slid slowly down to his ass. The action was illuminated in strobe, as the dim torches waggled around and then all ended up on the ground, making a pretty pattern something like a pentagram.

  "You idiot," Avery told him, and that was rich, coming from him. "Didn't you learn to dodge?"

  "Yeah."

  "Well, why didn't you?"

  Vadim looked down to where blood was pooling around his hand. It didn't hurt. Not yet. Endorphins. It was why everything was suddenly so very, very slow. His body was going into shock, trying to keep him going past the trauma and blood-loss. It would hurt soon. It would hurt a lot.

  "You didn't shoot 'em fast enough, Gunner."

  "I was under the impression I only needed to shoot half... let me see."

  Reluctantly, Vadim pulled his hand back. He couldn't really see so well, just knew it was a wound to his side. It felt like it wasn't hitting internal organs, but he couldn't be certain. "How's it look?"

  "Through and through. Looks like it's missed all internal organs, but you were damned lucky. You've lost enough blood to make you woozy, but not enough to render you insensate. Need to get you checked out, but when we're out of here."

  "So I ain't gonna die?"

  "Not from that, you're not."

 
"Goodie."

  "Try to sound a little more enthusiastic. Bite your arm."

  "What?"

  "Bite it."

  Vadim closed his eyes and did so, and then screamed in a very manly, heroic fashion as Avery slapped a field dressing over the wound. It sealed the hole in his side up, disinfected it, and shot in some happy painkillers and stimulants. Wonderful stuff. Patched you up just long enough to go out fighting, normally. He made a face, but Avery couldn't see it in the dim light.

  "Can you walk?"

  "You really think I'm gonna sit on my ass now?"

  "I don't know, you do have form for it." The other man shoved his head under Vadim's arm, tugging him relentlessly up.

  The bandage was now kicking in, and his legs felt all full of run and energy and his heart was racing, so when he was pulled up he staggered upright and laughed.

  "Great. Hysteria, on top of everything else."

  "Let's get more clips. I'm not shooting anyone with a deck of cards."

  "Just remember not to point the gun at me."

  Vadim simply smiled.

  ***

  [Ashroe: You whumped Kip!]

  [Sianor: He had it coming. Also. I love his pained expression.]

  [Ashroe: So do I, but it's a bit kinky to say so, isn't it? XD]

  [Sianor: Then call me Miss Whip!]

  [Ashroe: Shouldn't it be Mistress Whip?]

  [Sianor: When I've got more experience at it. For now, I think I've got the training wheels on.]

  [Ashroe: And I'm sure there's a kink for that, too.]

  ***

  There were plenty of vehicles down in the delivery bays. A building this size needed regular influxes of food and office supplies, plus the parts required to keep the machinery ticking over. There was also a small fleet of mobile news-crew vehicles, pool cars and the private vehicles of some of the staff. There was far too much choice.

  Biann had on night-vision shades, and she walked around the panicking, crawling masses, looking the vehicles over. It had to be something mundane enough that it wouldn't be easily tracked using surveillance, and it wouldn't be hard to hot-wire. Though 'hard to hot-wire' was relative. She'd been jacking into spaceships before she was even old enough to vote, when she'd worked for her uncle. Everything was possible, it just took longer for some things than others.

  Thankfully there were only a handful of people working down here, so she didn't have to feel too guilty walking past them all.

  Perfect! There was a pool car just like her uncle had owned. Same year, even, just this one had a custom paint job and it looked like a better engine. Her uncle's had struggled to carry two Hleen when airborne, and this one looked like two Hleen and a Sianar would barely make it purr. She slid her hand over the cold bonnet, admiring it.

  It had been easy enough to get into the building's mainframe, using Waith's tablet and account. Biann wondered if Tuadan Corp even paid their technological security architects. If they had, she'd strongly recommend suing them for incompetence. It had taken her all of half an hour to strangle down the broadcasts, isolate the building's administrative options, turn out the lights and resist any reboot.

  As she hacked her way into the small town-car's systems, humming under her breath, she felt inordinately pleased with herself. She'd felt pretty sorry for herself for a bit, annoyed that yet again her friends had seen fit to leave her behind while they saved the universe, or something... well, no more! Last time she hadn't quite finished her 'build a ship out of a house' plot, but she'd gotten pretty darned close. This time, she wasn't going to let Kre make all the decisions and get all the glory. Oh no. She wasn't going to sit in a tower and wait to be rescued. She'd use her engineering skills to make a robot dragon to ride off into the sunset. Yessir.

  "Biann?"

  "Over here," she called out. Kre might not be able to see so well - especially in low light - but her hearing would give her the direction she needed.

  "Mind your feet, there's debris to the left," Waith told her.

  "Can you turn the light back on?" someone asked.

  "Sorry, routine contingency test," Biann replied. "You do all know the contingency measures, right?"

  "Not... for this?"

  "Well, what's your name. I'll mark you down for mandatory training in the next quarter."

  "Uh..."

  "You do realise I can just check the footage later to identify you?"

  "...my name is Jashian," came the reluctant answer. "I'm sorry, ma'am."

  "Be sure that you are."

  Biann was grinning widely. It was fun to mess with people's heads. If you just spoke authoritatively enough, they were sure you were actually in charge. It was great! There was so much power... she wondered, off-hand, if this was how the Captain felt?

  "You never cease to amaze me," Kre said, lowering Waith to the floor.

  "Your threshold for amazement must be real low," she demurred.

  "Quite the opposite."

  "I suppose it's not bad for a provincial hick like me... anyway. Sir, Madam," a bow to each. "Your chariot awaits."

  "I suppose now we have to work out who drives..." Kre said. "I'm reasonable at it. Maister...?"

  "Oh, come now, Kre. After she's gone to all this effort, you're going to deny your friend the opportunity to 'burn some rubber'?"

  Biann cracked her knuckles. "I'm not as good as my sister, but that's mostly because she always shoved me out of the pilot's seat."

  "I'm sure you are a wonderful pilot."

  "Say that when your stomach settles."

  Waith put his hand on Kre's arm. "Much as it pains me, I think this is where I leave you. I need to maintain my position in the Tuadan Corp. Without surveillance, they will have no idea that I was assisting you."

  "But Maister..."

  "I'm sorry, Kre. I would love to gallivant across the universe with you, but I'm afraid I'm a little too old for that, now. You two have fun. I'll be in touch when I can."

  Kre grabbed Waith's shoulders, pulling him under her chin. "Thank you, Maister."

  "No need to thank me. Now... shoo, the pair of you. I better work on my cover story."

  ***

  Chapter Twenty-Seven: Mission - Concession

  Biann could fly. She could. She could also drive. It was just that she had a slightly different opinion on what was 'acceptable' when it came to sharp cornering, turbulence, harsh braking and basically anything that might affect someone's inner ear.

  She could feel the cringing behind her, and she tried - she really did try - to make it easier on Kre. But this was fun, and it was hard to suppress the urge to take bumps hard to hear the hiss, or feel the weightless bounce in her belly.

  "I suppose I should apologise for my earlier attitude," she said. "It was totally uncalled for."

  "No... it's alright. I was being a bit of a prig. I know you're not all high and mighty, Kre. I just... I felt a bit out of water, ya know?"

  "As did I, all too frequently, when this world was still mine. I... did not like being a little princess, paraded out in front of dignitaries. I did not like the way rich parents would assess my health for breeding. Yes, the money might buy things you like or want, but... it isn't worth it. Not for me, anyway."

  "I knew you'd do what was right. Although I gotta wonder what 'right' is. I mean, what're we doing?"

  "We're going to Raboros."

  "And getting Saidhe and Loap back?"

  "And getting Saidhe and Loap back," the Sianar echoed.

  "What if they won't do it unless you... unless you say you're gonna be the Queen?"

  "The 'Za'. Well, I suppose it will depend on who has our friends, as to if they want me to succeed or not. If that is the only way to ensure their safety, then I will agree. But I will agree on my own terms, not through some mediator. And when I take control, I will affect changes to the regime."

  "You ever think... maybe that's what Nessin wanted?" Biann wasn't sure, but she felt like there were strings upon strings in this, a complex web of i
nter-connected wants.

  "I think whatever happens, in whatever situation, Nessin would find a way to make it 'what she wants'. She's the type to keep ticking away at things, to have seventeen plans depending on how someone says 'hello'."

  "I don't like that. I don't like the thought of being used. I mean, I know people have things they want... but it just seems... dishonest? That way. Like, with you: I want you as my friend because you're nice, and kind, and smart. I also like it when you reach things high up for me, or carry stuff. But I don't... I don't hide it? Like, if I wanted you to pass me something, I'd ask? But Nessin... she'd make you think you wanted to give her the thing."

  "Yes, I'm afraid so. Some people treat interpersonal relationships as warfare."

  Biann banked hard left, towards the shipping dockyards. There were people there who'd take fee-paying travellers, without asking many questions. If they were going to Raboros, they'd need to find a way to get there unseen.