Future Reborn

by Daniel Pierce

  The scribe had a tablet computer, and its screen was lit.

  A careful look revealed a power cable running back to a pair of fan-like solar panels smaller than a book, lined with an unmistakable shine. Recharging panels and in working order. My opinion of the technology around me advanced yet again. I kept my eyes focused on the task at hand and stepped to the counting table with a confident stride.

  With a soft thump, I put the reeking bag on the table, careful not to dislodge the scribe’s work. I could appreciate a working man and had no issue with him—yet.

  Wetterick stared at the head with a slight smile. I expected a warlord but found a politician. He was handsome, with dark hair and light eyes that might have been gray, a trim beard and simple shirt of green fabric that looked more expensive than anything in the tent. His feet were bare, legs clad in pants woven from bleached linen and more of those idiotic symbols running along the outer seams. They were familiar and exotic all at once, and when he saw me looking at them, he smiled. It made him seem reptilian, as the smile never touched his eyes.

  “You understand the language of Hightec?” he asked me. His voice was light, cultured. A gentleman in every way, except for everything else about him.

  The symbols clicked into place, and I had to fight not to laugh at his fashion choice. He had, along one seam, the symbol for a USB cable, a vintage floppy disk, and an external drive of a design I didn’t recognize. Technology had advanced a bit since the day I entered the tube, even if fashion had regressed.

  “I do. It was my job before I changed careers,” I said. I didn’t offer him a title, because I wanted to keep my options open.

  “What is your new path, if not Hightec?” His brow lifted with what he thought was arrogance, but it came across as bitchy.

  “May I?” I gestured at the bag.

  Wetterick’s men stiffened, but he quieted them with a lazy wave. “Of course.”

  I opened the bag and pulled out our old friend Hardhead, dropping the remains on the table with a flourish. “I’m in pest removal. I started with him.”

  A gasp rippled through the tent, rising into a hum that threatened to break out into an open roar. One of the big guys turned to bellow at them but never even had to speak. The people feared Wetterick and by extension, his muscle. In seconds, the tent was quiet again, with only the bustle of the post outside Wetterick’s compound breaking the silence.

  Without his eyes leaving Hardhead, Wetterick spoke to the man counting coins. “Salas, send word to open the eastern road and start caravans again. I want wheels rolling by the end of day or I’ll have the captains flayed.”

  “At once, sir.” Salas snapped his fingers, eyes flashing as he began to berate a boy and girl in low tones of authority. No matter what year I was in, shit always rolled downhill, and the kids looked scared and annoyed as they left the tent with speed. Several people left behind them, clearly relieved that the lanes of commerce were open again now that Hardhead was little more than carrion. The engine of profit snarled to life with a single word from Wetterick, and I wondered how much he earned from skimming the trade since he sure as shit wasn’t offering real protection. Hardhead’s skull in my possession proved that little hiccup in his power structure.

  “You killed the beast?” Wetterick asked me, his eyes bright with curiosity. He was interested, though I wasn’t exactly sure why. He knew the answer, but he might be a simple jock sniffer, if better dressed and in a position to indulge his weakness for tales of valor.

  “I did. It was in the process of eating some of your men. I’m sorry, I wasn’t able to save them,” I said. To my surprise, I meant it. They were soldiers, and they died badly. Regardless of their boss, no one deserved being eaten alive.

  “How many men?” he asked me. Mira moved forward slightly, and Wetterick inclined his head that she should speak. It might have been a sign of respect if his eyes hadn’t lingered on her body. My eyes flattened in response to his roaming gaze, but he was looking at her, so he didn’t see my reaction. It was for the best, and I let a breath trickle from my nose to cool down.

  There would be plenty of time for fighting if I marked his goons correctly. As to their eyes, all were on me, not Mira. That was as good as a neon sign. They were more than just common muscle. They were something primal, and a critical cog in his operation. I knew I would find out their true nature soon enough because men like Wetterick didn’t have unused weapons.

  “Ten at least, but it was a mess,” I said.

  “Ten men. Two entire patrols,” Wetterick said in disgust as I filed away the size of his patrols for future use. He was sloppy to reveal something like that, but in his defense, he seemed arrogant as well as stunned by that number of men being eaten alive. Recovering quickly, the smile returned to the bottom half of his face, and I saw him lean back in his chair. It was an adjustment of power, not comfort. He was deciding how best to fuck me out of the reward, and we both knew it.

  The answer turned out to be right in front of me the entire time.

  “Naturally, you’ll want the reward?” He asked me, but the question was for everyone else. It was a bit of theater for him; red meat for the crowd who were going to see him flex his muscles and prove once again that he had more juice than anyone else in the post.

  “Naturally,” I said.

  He began to fuss with his sleeve, shaking his head like he was going to give bad news to a child. “I believe that rewards should be earned, and there’s no evidence that you didn’t find Hardhead already rotting in the sun.”

  “The fuck I did—" I spat, then bit my tongue. Let him have his say. I had my suspicions where things were going, and by her body language, so did Mira. Lasser was silent as a stone, watching everything with an intensity that had weight.

  Again, Wetterick waved in that feminine, disdainful way. “As I was saying, I believe in giving people a chance to earn their rewards, and I have just the thing in mind to do so with you.” His three personal guards tensed, having seen this movie before.

  I interrupted the proceedings before things could get out of hand. “Am I to understand that you are, after all, a man of your word?”

  Wetterick looked wounded. “Of course, I—”

  “Then you understand how important hospitality and respect can be, even to someone like me?” I asked.

  It was a moment before he answered with a drawn out, “Yes, I do.”

  I spread my arms wide, a look of disbelief on my face. “Yes here we are, under your tent, meeting with you for a reward I have earned, and I haven’t heard an offer of anything so simple as water. No wine, no chair, no greeting, nothing. Am I to understand that this—behavior—is supposed to make me trust you? That I am safe in your home, despite how hard this place is? That my guests are safe, too?” I held out my hand to Mira and Lasser, who had the excellent sense to look worried.

  My insult did the trick. Wetterick was a rooster in a robe, and his pride was easy to cut.

  “You are most certainly safe under my tent! I’m not some filthy savage, like—like others,” he sputtered, nimbly avoiding using Mira as an example of the kind of people he thought himself better than.

  “Then I have your word that we are here as friends?” I asked.

  “You do,” Wetterick said. His frown vanished when he saw me smile.

  I bowed, rising with a laugh. “Nothing personal, friend,” I said, launching myself forward, leg extended to shatter the chair leg under the biggest guard, who looked more surprised than angry. Before anyone could move, I snapped the chair leg in two and drove one half into the beefy guard’s neck with a grinding strike that made the skin of his thick neck bulge, then split as it gave way to the splintered end.

  I held the second half out toward Wetterick’s other guards, who had their guns drawn and pointed at the center of my face.

  “Say the word, boss,” one of them rasped. The stench of blood was heavy in the air as the guard I stabbed sagged to the sand, then went still.

  “
Hospitality, Wetterick.” I smiled, watching his face. He was purple with rage, teeth locked together in a deathmatch for control of his tongue.

  “Lower your guns,” Wetterick hissed.

  I stared at him, and then the guards. “I’ll fight both of you fat fucks at once, or together. That’s what you were going to offer me, right? Some bullshit kind of challenge in which the winner got the coins?”

  Outmaneuvered in front of traders and his people, Wetterick made the right call. “Something like that. You’re a step ahead of me, it would seem.”

  “Make that two. Now I only have to fight that pair of meatheads instead of three. Which one of you wants it first?” I asked, reaching for my blades.

  “Not here,” Wetterick said. He knew he was going to lose, and that meant he had to get me in the open where someone else could get a shot.

  I turned to Lasser. “We have covering fire?”

  “We do, Mister Bowman.” He gave Wetterick a dry smile, flicking his eyes out into the crowd at imaginary companions.

  “Berec is being...questioned right now. Caught him on the way in, and as to your other helpers, well,” I smiled in apology, lifting my hands in a shrug. “They seem to have melted away after seeing how this is turning out.”

  “I suppose you’ll just take the coins, then?” Wetterick asked. His champions both looked disgusted at the possibility of letting me murder and steal in one meeting. They were bullies. They weren’t used to being met with equal or superior force, and their only reaction was violence.

  I was counting on that. Hell, I was looking forward to it. I hadn’t really gotten used to my new body, even after the fight with Hardhead.

  I could feel the sneer on my face. I hated the tent, the asshole under it and his goons. To hell with taking anything.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of doing something so crude. I’m an honorable man, just like you.” Snapping my blades out, I motioned to the big bastard on the left. “I insist on earning my reward.”

  Wetterick had seen enough. “Carron, Rolf. Together. Gut him.”

  The guards charged me with a roar, scattering everyone like a panicked herd of wildebeest. Only Mira and Lasser stepped away with care, retreating a few steps while drawing their own weapons. I had backup in case things got dirty, and that let me focus on the task at hand. I didn’t just need to win.

  I had to shame them both.

  Carron was even more muscular than Rolf if such a thing was possible, but like many big guys, he wasn’t mobile. He charged me like a wild dog, sweeping a longsword out in a glittering arc that covered two meters of space in a flash.

  I chose not to engage, tripping him with a foot and crushing down on his instep, feeling small bones break as he twisted to try a backhand cut that was faster than I planned for. The blade caught my leathers but slid past on my upper arm to spin harmless into the air between us. The blow served a purpose. It made a delicious chill crawl up my spine as I entered that place where combat is real and time slows down.

  I knew they were too strong for a normal man, but I didn’t think of myself as normal, not since the moment sun streamed into my eyes from a day far in the future. With a sliding spin, I back cut with a blade to split Carron’s calf muscle in a spectacular spray of blood. He shouted in pain but tried to hit me with a closed fist, his other hand still holding the longsword in a loose, professional grip. I spun away to address the growing presence of Rolf, who was faster and smarter than Carron.

  I knew this because he approached me in a balanced stance, hands extended in a forward grip on a sword that was more than a meter of heavy steel. With a savage down strike, he met my blades in a crash of metal that sent shockwaves through my body. It was like being hit by a building, but I saw that my strike unnerved him. Not only did I not collapse, I was able to push back and lash out with a foot, catching him in the belly hard enough to stand the big boy up, wheezing.

  A sidekick is one of the most powerful uses of the human body, and I chose to disengage from Rolf and reward Carron for his patience. Coming toward me with murder in his eyes, Carron didn’t expect something like a kick. His eyes were locked on my blades.

  Big mistake.

  I caught him in the hip, collapsing his leg with a muffled snap. “Holy shit, I’m Bruce Lee.”

  “Who?” he asked, reaching to his ruined leg while waving his sword about in weak circles.

  “No matter,” I told him and used him for a ramp. In two steps, I did a dirty parkour off his enormous chest, driving him into the dirt and twisting to greet Rolf, who was halfway through a killing blow that would take my head for a trip to the clouds. I disagreed with his plans, so I took his blade on mine, letting the raw power of his cut pull my arm out and way, spinning me around like a toy.

  I drove my other blade into his kidney, pulling it out and stabbing him again just because I’m a mean bastard when it comes to preventing my own murder. The look on his face was a thing of beauty because he had clearly never considered the fact that he could be beaten.

  Slowly, he went down, like a ship taking on water. Bleeding freely, he could do nothing to stop me from kicking his sword away in disgust.

  Then Rolf’s fist crashed into my temple, and I saw lights that weren’t there a minute before. My knee hit the dirt, and I heard a weak laugh as a shadow crossed my vision before Mira could finish screaming my name, but I still had both blades and that meant all I had to do was push.

  My hands shot out in the general direction of Rolf’s wheezing voice, and I felt them both go deep in his chest, a pair of pins that opened up his lungs with ruthless precision. My eyes cleared, and the ringing in my head stopped as I tossed a little thank you to my ‘bots and preceded to pull out my blades, cutting Carron’s head off with a scissor motion.

  Rolf coughed in terror, but I wasn’t ready to end things, not just yet. Sore, panting, and more than a little pissed, I still had to convince Wetterick that fucking with me was the worst idea ever.

  I looked to Wetterick, who watched me through narrowed eyes. His tent was oddly empty for a warlord, and he knew the next minutes would go a long way toward determining his future.

  Without raising his voice, Wetterick called Salas, who appeared like a ghost. “One thousand imperials. Now.”

  I held up a hand, glancing at my shoulder. The leather was slashed, my skin a bright pink underneath. “How much does good armor cost?”

  “Around four hundred imperials. Five hundred with studs,” Mira said.

  “Fifteen hundred imperials, Salas.” My tone offered no argument, and all Wetterick did was nod.

  I spoke to Rolf, who was bleeding out on the sand. “Do you want me to help you?”

  He spat, then looked up into my eyes. With a short nod, he lowered his head, exposing the bull neck without hesitation.

  “Nothing personal,” I told him.

  “I know,” he said.

  I brought the blade whistling down, giving him relief from his wounds. “Salas?” I called the man who hovered near his warlord, wringing his hands with sickened worry.

  “Y-yes?” he responded, fearful and bewildered at being addressed by a murderous rogue.

  “Get help. I want these men buried before nightfall. I’ll pay the cost. If anyone robs their graves, I’ll find out who did it and string their fucking guts from the post walls. Is that clear?” I lifted my voice so that it carried, knowing people were listening. They were already filtering back toward the tent since even the guards stood in mute shock. I knew their stillness wouldn’t last, and it was best to collect and go regardless of what I’d just done.

  “Sir, may I?” Salas asked his master, who gave a terse nod. Salas bustled forward with a sack of coins. I took it and handed him one with a jaunty flip. He caught it like it was on fire, then let it drop to the ground. It was probably a good move on his part, given how his boss regarded our exchange.

  I stared at Wetterick, then smiled. If I’d been smarter, I would have killed him right there, but it isn’t in my
nature to take life easily, despite what I’d just done to three of his men.

  “A kind man in addition to being honorable. I’m sure you’ll find our town to your liking,” Wetterick said. His eyes flashed with the anger of someone who saw power slipping through his hands, and I loved it. I knew he’d crushed people in the past and was lucky I was feeling generous.

  I wiped my blades on the tent as we left, the bag of coins in hand. “It’s growing on me.”

  12

  Mira lay on me, naked, her skin prickled with the cool of evening. In the Empty, the temperature rose and fell with the sun, and the light curtains moved with erratic puffs of air like ghosts. I could see a crescent of her eye in the low light, bright with interest.

  “Not tired?” I asked her. We’d just gotten done proving a theory of mine. Wine and a big bag of money make everything better, including sex. The first time had been rowdy, the second more civilized, and the way she eyed me in the gloom told me the third time would be better still.

  She said nothing but slid under the sheets to take my growing erection in her mouth.

  “Oh, it’s that kind of insomnia,” I said, smiling into the darkness as I leaned back. I tried not to think of anything except the heat of her mouth, knowing that my work here in the Empty had only begun. I had a beautiful woman in my bed, giving herself to me in every way, and something nagged at my mind even through the haze of her skilled tongue.

  “Slow down or speed up, but don’t stop,” I said, and even to me my voice sounded thick. She slowed down, and I felt her smile, then continue her own work, leaving no part of me in the cool air for more than a second. I’ve been with women who were giving, but the way Mira moved my hands away was something new. She wasn’t letting me do anything except feel her mouth, a moment all for me.