by OJ Lowe
Might as well do the smart thing while he was here. Leave no weapon where it could still cause harm. Nick reached down, picked it up by the scope, made towards the window. If it was four storeys below, Hobb couldn’t use it to shoot whoever he was going to shoot. Stalemate.
“Put it down!”
The voice had authority to it and he had to fight the urge to freeze and obey. He craned his neck, saw Hobb laid on the ground out of his previous line of sight, a blaster pistol levelled at him. Darkness shrouded him in its clutches, the shadows had concealed him effectively from Nick’s gaze. The pistol looked tiny clutched in his grip. Hobb’s gaze didn’t break, he didn’t even blink. Nick knew what that meant. Not even a hint of tremor. Here was a man used to holding a weapon on someone. Here was a man who knew how to pull the trigger if he even had half a reason to do so.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Hobb said. “Put the rifle down. Gently.”
He’d been considering hurling it to the ground. Saga rifles were instruments of precision, finely tuned to be effective long-distance tools meant for only one purpose. That tuning could be thrown out of whack by a sturdy blow. Hobb really had thought up all the angles here.
“I’m going to bend down and put it on the ground,” Nick said. It was important to make sure that they knew what you were doing. That way, they didn’t see a sudden movement, misinterpret it and blow you away. If you went through with what you said you were going to do, they didn’t see a threat. They saw compliance. If they were pointing a blaster at you, they liked compliance. He needed to buy time. He already had an idea, he needed the time. “Then when I’ve put it down… Gently, like you said! I’m going to stand back up straight. Is that okay?”
“Hurry up about it,” Hobb grunted. His voice was rough, jagged like glass. In the moody darkness, Nick couldn’t quite see him but maybe he’d been hurt. He had to hope that was the case. Holding a blaster on someone long term while you were in pain was not a fun task. Alternately, it meant he might just be that little bit more eager to shoot him and ask questions later. “I’ll let you have that one. Don’t try any more of your psychology on me. I’ve heard them all before. Unisco still teach you that?”
“I think you know full well that they do,” Nick said, bending his knees slowly, placing the rifle on the floor. The temptation to aim the business end at Hobb and try to squeeze off a quick shot was there, he’d already dismissed it as futile. He might as well aim blind, shoot a dozen shots off and try to hit the moon with a blaster pistol.
Injured or not, a man capable of hitting someone from the best part of a mile away with a rifle wasn’t going to miss a shot from six-to-eight feet away into a standing target with a blaster pistol. There was optimism and realism. “You’ve not been on the run that long now, have you?”
“Well, feels like longer,” Hobb said. Coughing, he started to rise to his feet. “They’re notorious for not mixing up the curriculum. They’re still teaching stuff there now that they taught when I was a rookie if you can believe that. I’ve got to give you the credit though, that was one hells of an entrance. Never seen them teach that at the academy. I like your creativity, kid.”
“I’d take that as a compliment under other circumstances,” Nick said. “You are Lucas Hobb, aren’t you?”
“One and only, kid. That’s what it says on my wanted poster.”
He tried to brush off the stab of annoyance prickling between his shoulder blades. Being called kid rankled with him. Not that he was in much of a position to do much about it. Not with the blaster on him. Looked like a Bellario. Good weapon, sturdy enough. No qualms about what it would or wouldn’t do to him at this range. He made sure to stay very still.
“Yes, I heard about that,” he said. “Silent hunt, huh?”
Hobb snorted. “Yes. The ultimate insult. Nobody even dares admit that you’re rogue. They can’t stand the embarrassment. They want everyone out there to think that they’re perfect. They never make mistakes.”
Nick couldn’t really disagree with that. Right now, his plan consisted of keep him talking. He couldn’t move without being shot, that killed any thought of immediate action. Surviving was the goal. Do that, he could move onto a more immediate and satisfying plan. He said as much about being unable to disagree, and Hobb nodded.
“They never realise that true perfection exists despite the flaws, not in the absence of them. Nobody trusts something that claims to be perfect. Make errors, be better. Learn from them. That’s the path to credibility. Unisco has never quite worked that out.”
He was standing funny, Nick noticed. Favouring his side. Like he’d been hurt somehow. That was clear. His face didn’t show any signs of pain though, his arms were strong and steady as they held the blaster on him.
“How long you been a part of them?” Hobb suddenly asked. He’d been studying Nick’s face as if trying to work out where he’d seen him before. “Unisco? Have they worn you down yet? Made you question everything you thought you knew about them?” His voice took on a vicious tone. “Do you still think it’s worth it?”
“I think the work has value,” Nick said, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. “I think that everything we do is done for a reason and that someone needs to do it. Without Unisco, I think things would be a lot worse.”
“Undoubtedly.” Hobb sighed, a lot of dejection and regret in his voice. “You cannot tear down a system without having something there to replace it. Too often people find that out when it’s too late.”
“Is that why you’re here?” Nick asked. Just keep him talking. Part of him was wondering about Hobb’s state of mind. He’d been running for too long. Two years or so was a hells of a long time to be alone with your own thoughts, terrified that any moment that things would come crashing to an end and you’d be at the mercy of the very system that would do unto you as it had to others. He had to want to talk. There had to be things he wanted to get off his chest. “To tear down the system?”
Hobb chuckled, glanced towards the window, just for a split-second. “You know what? I don’t care about the political process. I just pull a trigger. One tiny muscle action, someone’s head gets blown off. I get paid to do it. It’s about the only skill I ever mastered. That’s the ultimate expression of power. I’m like a Divine. Death from a distance. The credits aren’t much but they’re enough to keep me going.”
Something in those words scratched at the back of Nick’s mind, stirred something deep in the recesses that he couldn’t place right now. He’d come back to it later. If there was a later. That wasn’t a guarantee. His fate was still up in the air.
“I’d have thought a man of your talents could name his price,” he said, keeping his voice level, still neutral. He didn’t want to antagonise Hobb with excess emotion. Some people got very funny about stuff like that if they thought they were being mocked or weren’t being believed. “Kingdom-class shooter…”
“Who can’t leave Canterage, has very few contacts and…” Hobb gulped. “… Not sure how much longer I will be that good.” He didn’t sound happy about the admission, something had cracked in his voice. Nick didn’t really hear it, too busy mulling over the words in his head. There was something here, something that he could use if he lived. “Age comes to us all.” Nick knew then that Hobb was going to kill him, he couldn’t let him walk away knowing all of this. If they both lived, Hobb’s shame would be legendary and he couldn’t allow that.
“Eyesight going?”
“Arthritis as well,” Hobb admitted. “Aches and pains that weren’t there when I was a young man. Sometimes I don’t want to get out of whatever hole I’m sleeping in.” Nick glanced at the blaster. If his joints were stiff and painful, then how easy would it be to shoot that weapon? Hobb saw him and laughed. “Don’t worry. A trigger isn’t beyond me just yet. Don’t tempt me… Roper, is it? You’re from this city. There’s a big page about you in the guidebook. Call you a famous son. You think the whole city will mourn you when they find your body?”
Nick smiled at him, a sickly-sweet expression that spread out from the centre of his lips out to the corners and he had to fight the urge to laugh. Hobb’s own face fell, he wasn’t sure what he’d just said, wasn’t sure what had brought about the sudden reaction. All he knew was that the assassin didn’t like it.
What he didn’t know was going to hurt him very badly. Throughout all the speech, Nick had been searching for something very specific inside his head, something that had flourished not for the Unisco agent he’d become but because of the spirit caller he’d always wanted to be. There existed between every spirit and its caller, a telepathic bond. It was how callers gave orders in the heat of battle, think it and their will would be done in drastic fashion. When they were active, it was like an extension of your own being, you could sense them for as long as they drew breath.
When he’d landed, when he’d gone to throw the rifle out the window, even when Hobb had first pulled the blaster, he’d been searching for Carcer in the murk. He could feel the winged shark lizard, knew that he was out there somewhere. He wasn’t dead, he could tell that much. If he wasn’t dead but unable to respond, then that usually meant a lack of consciousness in the spirit. Being dead was an impediment, not a permanent one either for being recalled to the crystal and recharged meant that they would be able to fight again soon, but being knocked unconscious did them absolutely no long-term harm at all.
He could feel Carcer’s active mind again.
“What?” Hobb demanded. “What’s so funny?”
He wanted to burst into laughter so very badly, eventually gave birth to the action and it tore from him. His head felt light and dizzy with the efforts, like he wanted to keep going until his stomach purged its contents and then he’d laugh some more. He’d been bleeding, he could feel it on his arms, maybe worse than he’d realised. Nick closed his eyes, tried to slow his breathing down to shallow gulps of air. The more excited he got, the faster his heart would pump out blood. He needed to remain calm.
“Being on the run made you sloppy, Lucas,” Nick said. “Very, very sloppy. You think you’ve got the upper hand here, all you need to do is shoot me, and you walk away back into whatever hole you came from. I know the truth. You’re not walking away.”
He said the magic words next, the ones Nick had been hoping he’d say. “And what makes you so sure that you can stop me from pulling the trigger on you?”
“Oh, me?” Nick pointed his thumbs at himself in mock amusement. “I’m not going to stop you. Can’t take the blaster from you before you shoot me. That’s not happening. I doubt you’re fool enough to point an unloaded weapon at me, so I know you’re not bluffing about wanting to kill me. I can’t do a damn thing about saving myself.”
The pair of eyes appeared out of the gloom, an eerie glow accompanying a mouth of sharp, jagged teeth and laboured huffs of breath. Nick could already smell him, the odour of rotten meat and barely digested offal. Despite it blasting into his nose from up close, he couldn’t lose the smile from his face.
“Him, on the other hand…”
“Oh, you prick!” Hobb sounded furious and that tickled him. At the very least, Hobb knew what it meant.
“You brought a blaster to a dragon fight, Lucas.”
Carcer wasn’t a dragon. Looked enough like one to make the point. Nick continued to smile. “You really want to walk away from this? Well, I do as well, and you know what’ll happen if you pull the trigger on me now.”
Hobb said nothing. Nick could see the thoughts running through his head, running the scenarios. Everyone at Unisco knew what happened if a caller died while one of their spirits was active. Accident or not, the final act of the spirit before it faded into non-existence was to brutally murder the murderer as quickly as possible. Sometimes, the murderer got away with it. Nick had already run a few processes of his own, mentally. If Hobb killed him, he’d be able to get maybe two shots off before Carcer tore his head off. A rampaging shark lizard was terrifying, even an ice-cold sniper might miss under those circumstances. A blast might not even penetrate those scales. Hobb wouldn’t be walking away from it, no matter what.
“Maybe I’ll take my chances,” Hobb said, his words slow and deliberately chosen. “You’ll still be dead.”
Nick nodded. “We all will be. No doubt about it at all.” He glanced at Carcer, fought the urge to pet him on the neck. Sudden movements would still be disastrous for them all. “Or, there’s another way we can get through this.”
“I’m not surrendering,” Hobb said. His voice left no room for doubt that he meant it. “You won’t cage me. I’m not going to be a side note on your record. One of your achievements.”
“I didn’t think you’d surrender,” Nick said. “You were one of us after all. You were Unisco and they teach us never to give up, never to surrender, no matter the odds.” He nodded his head at the blaster. “I was going to say we settle this like they did in the olden days. At least one of us walks out of here then.”
Hobb blinked. Looked at the blaster in his hand, then to Nick, then to Carcer. Nick could hear the lizard salivating behind him, hot slather hitting the ground. Looking intimidating came easy to something taller than him and mistakeable for a full-breed dragon. They were an evolutionary off-shoot, nothing more. “How you want to do it?” he asked. “I put this down, you call back your spirit, we do it the old way?”
“Works for me, although I must insist you throw your weapon out the window,” Nick said. He held out his hand. “Not that I don’t trust you. I’m going to go for my summoner now. I’m going to open my jacket, so you can see I’m not going for a weapon.”
He pulled his jacket aside, saw Hobb nod in satisfaction that there was no blaster inside. That might have been something to worry him. Pretend to go for the summoner on his belt, go for a hidden blaster and put a hole in his head. Nick pulled his device.
“On the count of three,” he said. “Throw it and I’ll call my spirit back. Unisco honour.” He saw Hobb open his mouth to protest, quickly moved to overrule him. “If I wanted to kill you with Carcer, I wouldn’t need you to be unarmed, would I? On the other hand, you don’t throw it away, I’m not giving up my trump card, we all die horribly and bloodily.”
“Damn you,” Hobb said. A vein was throbbing in his huge head, pulsating wildly with barely concealed enmity. Nick didn’t care. He could pull this off. He glanced at Carcer and shrugged apologetically.
“I’ll be okay,” he muttered out the corner of his mouth. “I can take him.”
The lizard said nothing, just looked pointedly at him. The old ways were still the best. Unisco encouraged rivalry between trainee agents, often encouraging them to settle their differences in the oldest manner possible. In the unarmed combat training centre at the academy in Torlis, there’d always been an arena set aside solely for that purpose. Hobb was bigger than him, but he was older and carrying an unseen injury. Nick fancied his chances.
“One,” Nick said. Hobb only glared at him, lowered his weapon a fraction. As a show of acquiescence, it was a good first step. “Two.”
He could do this. For older, read experience. For unseen injury, he wasn’t fully fit himself. His hands felt sticky with his own blood. Maybe going through that window hadn’t been the smartest idea. But better his chances man-to-man that man-to-man-armed-with-blaster.
“Three.”
At his word, Hobb tossed the blaster away, not out the window but bouncing off the frame and coming to a halt some several feet between them both. He grinned, showed his teeth in a nasty grin. “I’m giving us both a chance to go for it,” he said. “Changing up the agreement, if you will.”
In response, Nick pushed the button on his summoner and felt Carcer fade from existence, the part of his mind in which the spirit’s consciousness resided silencing in a heartbeat. He didn’t reply to him. “Okay. We’re even now. Neither of us has an advantage.”
“As they said back in Torlis,” Hobb said. “May the better man win.”
“I never said that,” Nick replied, shaking his head. He glanced at the blaster, saw the twitch in Hobb’s body language a split-second before he really moved for it. He didn’t hesitate, kicked himself into action.
Ancuta had started to moan, hit the floor and Sharon had lunged to catch her, cradling the fortune teller in her arms before she’d banged her head. Touching her was like wrapping her arms around an electric current, could feel the energy radiating off her. Whatever was going on with her, Sharon had never seen anything like it before. Her old master might have known. He wasn’t here.
“You’ll get through this,” she whispered in Ancuta’s ear. It felt pitiful in the attempts to get through to her. Shamefully inadequate. There was too much she’d tried to forget, couldn’t remember some of the stuff she’d wanted to recall. “It’s just energy. You are so much more. You wield the energy, it does not control you.”
She wished she could sound convincing.
Nick got there an instant earlier, didn’t even try to go for the blaster, caught Hobb in the chest with a knee as he tried to scrabble for it. The assassin let out a grunt, staggered back, rubbed his chest with a pained look. He didn’t look impressed. Kicking was a tricky art to master. He’d seen roundhouse kicks, he avoided them. Leaving too much weight on your standing foot and directing it out in a single blow wasn’t ideal for him. One duck around the kick and a well-placed blow and that standing leg suddenly felt very delicately exposed. He’d seen it before. Even inflicted a few himself. Lots of delicate ligaments and tendons around the knee. Busting them hurt.
“That the best you got, kid?” Hobb demanded. “I’ve been with whores who hit harder than that.”
