by OJ Lowe
“Guys,” Nick said. “You might want to tell the people in the VIP area they’re in danger. Get them to evacuate or something.”
He might as well not have spoken, they didn’t break stride, headed straight for him. Both on an equal height, one slightly slenderer in build. He had a horrible feeling about the way this was going to go. Travelling folk brawlers were notorious for not backing down if they felt some sort of insult had been offered.
“Guys, I’m with Unisco, you’ve got to…”
The first wrench came swinging at him, he had to duck back to evade it. Nick swore inwardly. Not good. He didn’t know why, but he didn’t have time for this. Not with Hobb out there. Whatever had gotten into these two, it wasn’t the issue here. Another wrench came at him, he twisted out the way, caught it behind the head in his palm. Pain shot up his arm, he winced and kicked out into the guard’s stomach. He wasn’t throwing punches with unguarded fists into muscle like that. He’d break his hand. As it was, he might as well have kicked a wall. The traveller gave him a bemused look, Nick shrugged then brought the elbow of his free arm down hard onto the wrist holding the wrench, felt the snap of shattering bone and then suddenly the traveller was screaming and the pressure behind the wrench gave. Nick took it from him, finding scant resistance and cracked him hard around the head with it. He went down. Hard. Hit the dirt and left a deep groove where he landed.
A growl ruptured through his ears, he turned and saw the other one was circling him, a little warier after the way his friend had gone down. He’d been warned, and he’d made the choice to heed it, rather than rushing in blind.
“I don’t know what’s going on,” Nick warned. He had to try diplomacy. Part of him already knew it wasn’t going to work. The traveller had the look of bloodlust in his eyes. He was ready to try and hurt him. He’d embarrassed the whole community here by putting one of them down on their ass. He had to be avenged. They couldn’t let an insult like that slide. Otherwise everyone would do it. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to have done. But those people are in danger. And…”
He took a step forward, Nick’s instincts kicked in and he hurled the wrench towards the traveller’s face, put all his strength behind it. He didn’t know if it’d land or not, hadn’t truly been aiming to hit him, just followed through on it as the traveller flinched, an arm coming to cover his face. By the time he realised it had missed, Nick was on him, inside the range of his wrench and behind him. He started to turn, lumbering like an airship carrier, Nick stamped down hard on the back of his knee, toppled him down, smashed an elbow into his face. He felt it all the way up his shoulder, had thrown all his strength into the blow and felt a nose shatter. It wouldn’t be fatal, but he wouldn’t be seeing straight for a while.
Two much larger opponents down, relatively unhurt, swiftly done. He straightened his jacket. That could have gone a lot worse than it had. He’d been lucky. Part of him wondered why they’d gone for him. Something was going on here, something that he wasn’t seeing, and it unnerved him.
That was when he heard footsteps, running footsteps crunching against the ground and his heart sank in his chest as he turned. Three, four, five of them this time. They’d heard the commotion. They’d come to see what was going on. They saw him stood there, saw their two fellows on the ground and it didn’t take a genius to see what was going through their heads in that moment. Very ugly looks passed across their face simultaneously and they started to step forward in menacing unison.
“Oh, come on,” he said. “Seriously?”
No response. None of them looked like they were up for talking. The only thing they wanted to say involved physical violence, hard and dirty. Maybe he could take all five of them. Maybe he could do it unscathed. Maybe he could talk them down. One thing he knew was that the other two had to have taken him lightly. They’d seen him, not known his capabilities and they’d underestimated his skill. With two of them on the ground, these five weren’t going to do the same. They’d see him as a threat. Someone to be wary of. If they had anything about them, they’d charge in all five hitting him at the same time and overpower him easily. There wouldn’t be a damn thing he could do about that, from their position.
He dropped a hand to his pocket, one hand to his belt. He already had a plan. Not a great plan but for something he’d thrown together on the fly, it wasn’t a terrible one. Strategy trumped strength.
To strategize, you needed to ask yourself what your objectives were. Here, he’d already run them in that instant. One. Get out of this situation without being maimed. If he failed to achieve that, he’d be unable to carry out anything further. Two and Three were kind of concurrent. Stop Hobb. Make sure nobody in the VIP area dies. Had he more time, he might have realised that getting everyone out of there would defy Hobb for now. Yet it wouldn’t be a permanent solution.
The best way out of it was to avoid a fight here. Since he couldn’t talk his way free and fighting was an unpredictable mistress, he needed to play it smart. In his pocket, he clutched his hand around the credits he’d pocketed back in his office earlier. He needed two. With his other hand, he thumbed his way through his container crystals, keeping his eyes off the approaching travellers. He needed to time this correctly or it’d all fall apart. Out the corner of his eye, he could see the woophawk was still sat there, crest blowing gently in the lightest breeze. Already, the action was starting to proceed on the stage, they had some spirit dancers up there, warming up for their acts.
“You have my apologies,” he said, surprised by how much actually meant it as well. “You want your retribution, but you cannot have it on this day.”
He flung the credit grenade down into the ground at their feet, watched it bounce before squeezing his eyes shut and covering his ears. As it was, the bang nearly took him off his feet, Divines knew what it had done to them, but it wouldn’t be fatal. Their bodies would recover in time, their egos might not but that wasn’t his concern if they couldn’t take a surprise. His summoner was up, he could just about hear the whirring under the tremendous ringing emanating through his head.
Carcer appeared, flared out his wings and Nick jumped, landed on the shark lizard’s back, wrapped his arms around his neck. The scales were warm but rough, he could feel them scrape against his cheek. “Fly,” he muttered, shaking his head to try and clear it. What he needed to do next, he needed to be able to think straight. Maybe the stun grenade hadn’t been the best idea, but it had worked. He couldn’t have asked for more. The wind whipped at his face as Carcer kicked off from the ground, took to the skies with abandon. The lizard was strong enough to carry him with little effort, though it wasn’t perhaps the most comfortable flight he’d ever take.
“Over there,” Nick said, jerking a thumb towards the VIP area. First thing was first. He didn’t know how long he had before Hobb took the shot. Disrupting that was the priority. He needed to make it as hard as possible for the sniper to do his job. Carcer obeyed, banked to the right and dived, Nick had the second grenade out in the flat of his hand. Checked it to see he’d gotten it right. Anything would have worked against the travellers on the ground, he needed to be more careful here.
Some of them had already noticed him coming, they were pointing up, their security had already gone for their weapons and he urged Carcer to pull up before they could draw a bead on the two of them. Carcer would survive being shot but it wouldn’t do him any good in the short-term. To succeed, he needed the winged shark lizard to be at his swiftest. On the ground, he wouldn’t be able to get to the building in time. Not with the travelling folk out to get him.
He fingered the activation for the smoke grenade, let it slip from his hand down into the maelstrom of the VIP area. Nick didn’t have to wait long for the reaction, saw the pillar of smoke erupt out of there the moment it hit the ground. Laser blasts tore up at the two of them and he urged Carcer to fly. The lizard wasn’t slow to oblige, swooping out of their path and turning towards the building.
Nick knew this
needed to be resolved now. He’d bought himself some more time, a glance back told him that the people in that area were hurrying to evacuate it until the smoke cleared. If they went back, it wouldn’t be long before Hobb could line up another shot. He’d only delayed the inevitable.
“Your present contains gold,” Lady Ancuta said, rubbing her fingers over the lone credit in the centre of the table. Still no emotion, nothing but matter-of-fact statement in her words. “We all know that Gilgarus bore a gold ring upon his body to signify the devotion of the Divines to the fate of humanity. Gold is the colour of wealth, men have gone to war for it, women have died to feel its touch on their skin. It is love, and it is hate, it is envy, and fear made solid.” Her eyes studied Sharon with curious intent. “I wonder what gold means to you. Will it be your guide? Your saviour? Or will it be the anchor that drags you down into the dregs? That is for the future to decide. For now, I see gold. Ah but…” She sounded shocked, a note of uncertainty in her voice. Sharon didn’t know what to say. Eventually decided to say nothing. When people sounded that uncertain, it usually meant they were genuine. Nobody faked not knowing. They’d bullshit you until the cows came home, until they thought of something that sounded halfway convincing and hope you didn’t notice. “Your gold runs, not yet hardened into the future it may become. It runs and runs, yet to stop or slow. It cannot harden while it is still in motion. Nothing has been set to pass.” She closed her eyes and a slow tuneless hum started to slip from her covered lips, music that Sharon couldn’t place. Somehow there was a familiarity to it that made her limbs heavy, unwilling to move. She’d heard it somewhere before. Couldn’t place where.
“The spirits of fate ponder their games, we mere mortals are the pieces in which they duel for dominance,” Lady Ancuta said, her voice cracking. “This has never happened to me, Ms Arventino.” No longer did she sound confident, she sounded like a child playing with power beyond her control and Sharon felt a little tug of sympathy at her heart. She’d been there. She knew what it was like. She reached out, grabbed the fortune teller’s hand, held it for a long moment.
You can do this, she urged silently. You’re renowned at what you do. Don’t let this be the thing that breaks your mind.
Somewhere deep inside her, she wondered about what had caused this level of reaction. Lady Ancuta’s eyes were going blank, blood trickling out the corners as she stared sightlessly into Sharon’s face.
She’d never broken a fortune teller before.
Carcer could move when he hit top speed. That had always been Nick’s intention when he’d genetically modified the winged shark lizard into one of his powerhouses, a cornerstone of his spirit calling squad. Less than a mile across open air. Easy. Best guess, twenty seconds to impact. A realistic one, if not generous.
Sharon had one just like Carcer, a female named Gamorra, a lot of people assumed he’d copied her in taking one. That was far from the truth. He’d always wanted one. Sharon had merely aided him in claiming one for himself.
Nineteen seconds.
That had been one hells of a first date, he thought with a wry smile.
Eighteen.
Carcer pointed his spanner-shaped head down, beady eyes focused on the warehouse. From here as he clutched the fins, Nick could see the sign ‘Shady Miles’ written on the side and he didn’t care enough to think about what they did.
Seventeen.
The building looked abandoned, he studied the windows on approach, hoping for any sort of tell-tale sign. If he saw a lens flash, he was ordering Carcer to dive. Fast or not, getting shot at wouldn’t be part of the plan. Hobb had to have seen that they were coming, a blind man could have heard the approach.
Sixteen.
Some part of him wanted to consider that maybe he was wrong and as cool as what he’d just done looked, it might have been wholly unnecessary. If he crashed into an empty warehouse, he’d look a bit of an idiot. Assuming anyone ever heard about it. Unisco had deniability, they employed it with gusto.
Fifteen.
He’d have to swear Carcer to secrecy. That huge mouth that was little more than a slash against the dark scales told no tales. The pointed teeth inside would be more than enough to discourage that.
Fourteen.
Another part of him wanted to try and get in touch with Sharon, tell her how much he loved her. He thought of the package in his pocket, hoped that if the worst happened, someone would take it from his body and give it to her. That would be his dying wish.
Thirteen.
Dying. He’d never thought about it before. Always assumed it would be an anonymous death but ultimately heroic. Something that made a difference.
Twelve.
You didn’t get to pick your death. It was a harsh choice of life that was thrust upon you. He’d heard someone say once that you started to die the moment you were born.
Eleven.
Morbid bastard. It took a special sort of mind to come up with that. He couldn’t accept that. Couldn’t believe it was the case.
Ten.
Was this how Lysa had felt when she’d approached Bertram Avis? Not sure of what was going to happen in the next several seconds but that it was undoubtedly going to change her life forever. He didn’t know. He wanted to ask her suddenly, more than anything.
Nine.
He thought he saw the lens flash, light across a scope. Dead giveaway that someone was in there. Someone with a blaster rifle and the skill to use it.
Eight.
He thought of Carling and how he’d brought him to this point. His actions had left him on a suicide run. Because even now, Hobb was lining up the shot. Mentally he urged Carcer on. Too late to dive now. They were seeing it out until the end.
Seven.
Faster! Faster! Not far now. He could see the windows, could count the supports in the frames. This was going to hurt. They looked sturdy and they were incoming fast. Mark had always made jokes that windows in working buildings had to be sturdy, just to stop people from jumping out of them. He’d never wanted an office job.
Six.
His thoughts went to Mark, to Wade, probably his two closest friends. He’d have done anything for Wade to be at his side come this moment. The two of them together, Hobb wouldn’t have stood a chance. Even fellow agents who’d always been decent to him sprang to mind. Noorland. Aldiss. Daniel Kearn, his first mentor. Very few others sprang to mind. It was a lonely life.
Five.
He even thought of Mallinson. Not long. Just enough to appreciate that some people had the shit jobs to do and they didn’t come any worse than trying to root out your fellow agents for wrongdoings. A moment of clarity. He wondered if Mallinson had failed the field agent test and was filled with bitterness. A flash, a shot, he could hear the explosion of the report, but he was still alive. Still thinking. A miss. The shooter had to be using projectiles with a bang like that.
Four.
If he died, he’d see his parents again. Hopefully. What kind of cruel god would deny him that. Even if he went to the furnace to be Ferros’ bitch for eternity, he hoped that he’d at least get that. One lingering memory to send him into damnation.
Three.
He didn’t deserve it. He’d done some bad things. Why should he have even a single moment of peace to take with him into death? There were those far more deserving. Another shot cut through the air, he had to throw an arm in front of his eyes, but he didn’t feel like he’d been hit.
Two.
Then don’t die. It was a good way to think. Optimism got you a lot of places. Live. Live through this and see her again. Who is more dangerous? The man who has nothing to lose versus the man with everything he ever wanted. That realisation shocked him, a sense of calm permeating his entire being, cold like ice but a boon to his nerves.
One.
You will see me again, Sharon. Count on it.
Nick threw his arms up as they hit the window, shielding his face from the glass as Carcer tore through it like it was water and he kick
ed his legs, leaping from the shark lizard’s back into the unknown.
Lady Ancuta blinked. Just for a single moment, Sharon thought she was going to come out of the trance she’d fallen into. She’d seen it before. Once. Either she was the greatest con-artist alive or her gifts were something truly special. Her mind was racing, overwhelmed with possibility that it could not ignore. If she’d even shown a half of this potential in the olden days, she wouldn’t be still doing it for spare credits at a carnival. Her talents would have been taken elsewhere.
Sharon knew that. Knew exactly what the fortune teller was. Knew what she could have been.
If that other future had come to pass, she would have been dead already. A sobering thought. That future was no longer viable. It had come to end in fire and madness and death.
The Vedo were gone. Ancuta had been spared ending with them.
Still with the teller’s velvet-clad hand in her own, Sharon gave her a comforting squeeze. If she was still in there, she’d hopefully feel it and know that she wasn’t alone.
Nick wasn’t sure how he hadn’t been hit, felt like he had Carcer to thank more than anything else, but it was no longer important now. Already taking in his surroundings as he jumped to his feet, he reached for his waist, searching for the blaster that wasn’t here. Silently, he cursed. The realisations of how reckless his actions were just about starting to filter into his being, putting him on edge. Nothing. Couldn’t see Hobb anywhere. His body ached, going through a pane of glass hurt, even if you did have a spirit to take the brunt of it. A dozen little cuts lined up his wrist and his arm, blood dripping down his hands. If that was the worst of it and he got out of here with just that, he’d be lucky.
He looked again. Couldn’t see the sniper. Could see the rifle though, leaning up against the window on a tripod. Femble by the looks of it, faintest trace of red-hot heat lingering around the barrel, he noticed as he approached it. They weren’t meant to be fired twice in that short a space of time. It was a one shot, one kill sort of weapon. There was a reason projectile weapons had gone out of fashion.
