Vicious Circle

by Elle E. Ire

  Jaren laughed. “An assassin poet.” He glanced sideways at me, lips curling up in a smile that reminded me of his sibling. “I understand what Kila sees in you. Your aggression is tempered with empathy. Your willingness to take life is complemented by an appreciation for it.”

  He turned to take one last look at the sunrise. Despite the absence of scrutiny, I blushed and turned to stalk across the sand. He had to run to catch up.

  We hiked for several hours in companionable silence, leaving the beachfront and crossing through farmland.

  At dusk, Jaren approached a rustic farmhouse and requested lodging for us. Better him than me. In my assassin gear, with the tear in the shirt, I’d scare off any offers of hospitality. At least I’d run the clothing through the Triumph’s cleaner and removed my own bloodstains.

  The farmer and his wife, an elderly couple with graying hair and gentle smiles, fawned over Jaren when we entered. They knew his identity, which made me nervous, but when he asked for their help and silence, they were more than willing to comply. They even attempted to give us their bed for the night. We refused, of course, electing to sleep on rolled-out mats on the floor of the gathering room.

  Jaren attempted to use their communication system to gain word of his family. I wouldn’t allow him to contact the T’rals directly. Instead, he managed to connect with a childhood friend. From her he learned his home still stood. The fire brigade contained and extinguished the town blaze. The invaders left as soon as word spread of our departure, and his parents were fine.

  Kila, however, had disappeared.

  “You don’t think they discovered her talents….”

  Jaren turned from the viewscreen, which had gone dark at the end of his communication. “More likely she’s coming after you. Her skills hold much less value. A military group wouldn’t benefit from them. But she’ll want to make amends, explain herself to you. The question is, will you accept her.”

  I refused to answer. My feelings needed to sort themselves out first. “It’s too dangerous,” I argued instead, pacing between the bedrolls.

  The young lord smiled. “For her? Or for you? Danger has never bothered Kila. Since we were children, she always stormed headfirst into everything, took unrealistic chances to achieve her goals, and let nothing stop her.”

  That sounded like a good way to get herself killed, but I kept my thoughts to myself throughout the sleepless night spent on the farmers’ floor.

  In the morning, the farmer’s wife, Hena, served heaping bowls of thick porridge and a pink juice that tasted tart and sweet at the same time. I settled in at the wood table, relishing the last few minutes of calm I’d likely see for the extended future.

  Ric, the farmer, entered carrying a high-powered pulse rifle and wearing a military-grade blast helmet.

  My chair crashed backward in my haste to stand and draw my pistol. Ric turned toward me, swinging the rifle in my direction. Only Jaren’s hand on my wrist prevented me from killing the simple farmer then and there. I couldn’t see Ric’s eyes through the polarized shield of his headgear, but the dark plastic faced me, then angled down at the rifle he held, then at the gun in my hand. Very slowly he raised a glove to his visor while he lowered the rifle. My heart started beating again. He lifted the shield to reveal sheepish eyes and a reddening face.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Just wanted to let the young lord know we’re prepared.”

  Jaren wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Prepared for what?” I asked, still fighting the adrenaline rush.

  Ric puffed out his chest, twirled the rifle twice, then slammed the butt on the wood floor, coming to a rigid full attention. Impressive for an old man, but gods, I hoped the safety was on that thing.

  “He’s been training with the boys, our two sons,” Hena said, patting her husband’s arm. She seemed oblivious to the fact the man had almost died a minute before. “Thinks he’s joining the Peacemakers force.”

  “I am joining the force.” He humphed and leaned the rifle against the wall, then stomped in heavy boots out of the room.

  Jaren was right. If old men were this determined to throw away their lives in the name of the Believers, I could only imagine how enthusiastic the teenagers and young adults would be. The battles would be bloodbaths.

  Before taking our leave, Jaren thanked our hosts by healing the woman’s arthritic pains and the man’s pronounced limp from a farming equipment accident.

  “Won’t that make it easier for him to fight?” I remarked once we were out of earshot.

  “He was kind to us, and he hurt. Should I have let him suffer? Besides, if you’re right about the temple, no one will need to go to war.”

  Yeah, that was a big if. An if that had me willing to walk myself into a den of people bent on killing me, not to mention I’d be bringing in outsiders—another major Guild rule violation, also punishable by death. I was placing a lot of stock in this unbeatable army the Generational referred to. Genetic recessive healing traits I could deal with. Magical hidden armies were a bit of a stretch.

  I had to be out of my mind.

  Throughout the second day, roaring engines overhead interrupted our pleasant hike. They startled the herd beasts in fenced fields grazing on the tender grasses. I recognized some from the pictures of Kila riding them, and my chest tightened. Dozens of ships were arriving on Lissex, military vessels from the look and sound of them, all bearing those who would use Jaren’s skills for their personal benefit.

  “Why now?” I asked him, watching an X9 Cruiser pass above us.

  “Hmm?” Jaren stared after the ship until it dropped behind some low hills.

  “Why not capture you a year ago, or two years, hold you until you developed? Why wait?”

  His expression turned sheepish. “My fault. The Generational, as I said, is interpreted widely, and levels of devotion vary between households. Some adhere strictly to its guidelines. Others loosely follow its doctrine. It gives estimated time frames for the appearance of a Chosen in my family line, but those times are generations apart, and people forget, lose track. Besides, which measurement of time does one use? One assumes we should go by the yearly rotations of our religion’s world of origin, but we don’t know where that is. So, people guess. People reinterpret. They wonder if the Chosen is simply an intelligent man with medical skills, if the ‘gift’ is an exaggeration of something a lot more realistic.

  “Every hundred years or so, a resurgence of faith occurs, brought on by poor economic times, times of war, an outbreak of disease, or just a general consensus that we’ve strayed too far from our beliefs. Congregations make preparations for the Chosen’s return. The devout build ships. Pilots and fighters train in secret. Every male child born into any branch of my family is assumed to be the Chosen and watched for signs of the talent. I tried to ignore early indications of my power, pretend coincidences. Then, about ten months ago, Kila and I were walking down the hill from our home to the village.” His brows knit together in remembrance. “She tripped, fell, and shattered her ankle. She was in so much pain.”

  His tone pleaded. For what, I wasn’t sure. Forgiveness, maybe, but who was I to judge?

  “I healed her without thinking. I could have gone for a physician, but I healed her. It was hard, a lot more exhausting than now, and if she’d broken something more serious, like her neck, I would have lost her. I wasn’t strong enough then.” Jaren stared down at his hands, grimacing as if they were enemies. “She tried to stifle them, but her cries brought witnesses. Word spread, gradually at first, but it spread. People were already looking. The timing was right.” He looked up at me. “It takes time for a story like that to travel, to be verified and believed by outsiders, but there were plenty of outsiders who wanted to believe. Now they are here, determined to use me, dissect me, destroy me.”

  By sunset, the landing fields came into view, and we skirted the edges of the circular slabs of concrete, keeping low in the surrounding tall grass and scoping out each shuttle and private starship
. The area bustled with activity, crews doing external maintenance to their ships, refueling, and bringing in supplies and goods for their return voyages. Several squads of soldiers practiced formations and drills in the shade beneath their vessels. Even at a distance, I could see some damage on their hulls and wondered if the people of Lissex were trying to prevent some of these from landing. I kept us as far from those ships as possible.

  In the distance, I spotted what looked like rows upon rows of low, domed structures. “What are those?”

  “Hangars,” Jaren said, spitting into the grass at his feet. “Shielded hangars, housing our warships.”

  I blinked. They resembled produce storage facilities. Clever. “What kind of ships?” There were dozens of those domes, extending beyond my range of vision. Maybe hundreds.

  “RS Annihilators.”

  My eyebrows rose. The entire perception I had of the Believers changed with that pronouncement. I swallowed hard. Annihilators were quick and compact, with high-energy-output weapons and fantastic maneuverability. “How did your people afford them?”

  “You’d be amazed what religious devotion will get people to donate—time, expertise, money. Believers come from many worlds, not just Lissex. And here we also have a wonderful climate and a healthy tourist trade.”

  Each of the large hangars might hold two or three of the ships. If the Believers had the skills to fly them, they wouldn’t be the ones getting slaughtered.

  Jaren watched my expression. “I hope you know what you’re doing, keeping me alive.”

  Yeah. Me too.

  We didn’t know whom to trust. We couldn’t book passage. That would reveal us to strangers and potential enemies. Lissex exported almost nothing off-world, so any ships on the actual landing field belonged to outsiders.

  Our only option was to steal one.

  “Can you get us to the Annihilators?” I didn’t know if I could fly a warship. My piloting experience was limited. But I was willing to try.

  Jaren gave me a sheepish look. “I’m afraid not. Father has overseen preparations for the crusade to other worlds. I wouldn’t get the access codes until after the official ceremony.”

  I started to speak, but he cut me off.

  “And no, even then, I wouldn’t be able to stop them. They aren’t following me, remember? They’re following our gods.”

  Which brought us back to these ships on the landing field not guarded by religious fanatics and high-tech security.

  A shuttlecraft with a familiar shape and configuration of engines caught my eye from the far side of the landing area. Waving for Jaren to follow, I scouted it, affirming its name as the Protector. The Guild owned three ships, including this ship, for the use of the Guild, and only under unusual or very important circumstances. Most of the time assassins took public transports between worlds. The practice drew less attention. We, they, kept the Protector and the other two in a hangar in Weathered Palms on Sardonen when not in service. Had the Guild joined the hunt for Jaren? I didn’t think the contract on me would warrant use of the Protector. Then again, the others thought I caused three deaths among them—Micah, the unknown driver of my aircar, and Alek.

  And damn my former lover for forcing me down this path.

  I shook my head, freeing it of images of Micah and Alek’s brutal deaths. Whenever I closed my eyes, most often at night, I could still see the blood pouring from Micah’s sliced throat and Alek’s body contorting at unnatural angles as vacuum sucked it into space.

  Shivering despite the warm evening, I pondered how best to take the shuttle. The Protector carried two people, though its systems could support up to four in a pinch. I had to assume I’d have two masters to contend with. Not good odds, considering Jaren would be of no help except to heal my wounds after the fact, if I survived long enough.

  It was still our best bet. I knew how to fly the Protector. Every Guild member did. The ship’s security would respond to my palm print and retinal scan, assuming the Guild hadn’t deleted them. It was a big assumption to go on, but any other vessel would require hot-wiring, and while I’d done some circuitry work on doors and windows to get to targets, I had no idea what to do with a shuttle. A mistake could cause a vital system to fail, like life support or the Weiss-space drives. Not a chance I would take.

  If I couldn’t get access, I’d have to force the pilot to let me at the controls. That would not be fun.

  Shadows lengthened, stretching dark reflections of the various ships across the concrete surfaces and the fields around them. The Protector’s boarding ramp was down, which meant the occupants were inside or close by. I had to assume the former.

  I waited for the sun to set. Jaren and I shared some jerky the farmer’s wife packed for us. We chewed the tough, stringy dried meat in silence and watched the rays disappear below the horizon. Raising a palm outward to my companion, I indicated he should stay put. After all we’d gone through, I wouldn’t let him get caught in crossfire. Then I drew my pistol, which I’d recharged on the yacht, and approached in a low crouch.

  I made it behind and beneath the ramp, where I caught my breath and extended my legs to stretch them. So far, so good. No alarms echoed from within. Travelers knew Lissex as a peaceful world despite recent events, so the pilot might have kept ground scanners off.

  Leaning out, I peered into the darkness at the top of the ramp and detected no movement within. I pictured the layout of the Protector in my head, the central sitting and eating area with a food processing unit, the rear compartment with two bunks, the floor hatch leading to the engines, and the forward cockpit. Not many places to hide, but I neither heard nor saw any signs of life.

  Then a faint scuffling reached my straining ears. At first I thought it might have come from an animal in the tall grass, but I heard it again, and I pinpointed its origins in the Protector. It came closer, accompanied by a muffled voice. I had no idea what in all hells was going on in the ship, but I was about to find out. I pointed my pistol at the dark opening, keeping most of my body off and behind the ramp, and waited. If I could pick off one of them before they spotted me, I’d even the odds. I aimed low, hoping for a crippling, not killing shot. I didn’t need any more former friends haunting my nightmares.

  The first figure stepped to the ramp’s head, a shadow against shadows. My finger tightened on the trigger.

  Always confirm your targets. Micah’s teachings flooded back to me, the constant repetitive drills with holographic simulations replaying in my head. In the underground temple, we trained with headsets and retinal projectors. The computer gave us a figure to hunt, then told us where to find the target, all the while popping out children—huh—old ladies, and other innocent bystanders in our paths. If we shot one, the victim’s death was realistic enough to cause nausea, and the user of the device received a nasty shock from the system.

  Under these circumstances, waiting could get me killed.

  My hand shook. I’d never had this problem before. I wondered if Jaren’s passivity affected me somehow.

  The figure took a step onto the ramp. She had a slight build and long, flowing hair. Another step brought her into the glow of the landing lights on the underbelly of the shuttle.

  I jerked my arm up and away, releasing the trigger as if burned. Kila.

  Uncomfortable tingles made my muscles twitch, psychosomatic memories of training shocks I’d received. Thank Fate for Micah’s incessant drills. My heart pounded. My breath came in panting relief.

  Then I saw the figure behind her and readjusted my aim.

  Yesenia shoved Kila forward, one hand over Kila’s mouth, the other with a gun, a ripper, pressed to her spine. I knew the master assassin well. She’d envied my skills. Beating me became her goal in everything. She never succeeded, but she had an inflated opinion of her abilities and wore her Guild brand openly at all times. I could see it now, with her sleeveless vest revealing her arms completely. Outside the Guild, she drank heavily and slept with anyone willing. Her tolerance was great, a
nd her performance never declined, so everyone overlooked her vices, but I knew Micah had several talks with her once he became Guild Leader. I suppose I shouldn’t fault her for the alcohol and narcotics, given my recent history, but I never did those things prior to the Guild kicking me out.

  She must have spotted our approach on the shuttle’s scanners. Now she held my friend as a human shield, using a ripper of all things. The act wasn’t a minor transgression. It violated Guild law. It endangered an innocent and employed an outlawed weapon.

  “Let her go, Yesenia.”

  She located me quickly. I watched her eyes dart from my face to my gun and wondered if she’d lost her mind.

  Yesenia released Kila’s mouth, switching her grip to her shoulder, and Kila gasped, sucking in a lungful of air. “Cor!” she cried when she could breathe. “Cor, I’m sorry. This is my fault.” Tears flowed down her pale cheeks. Shadows under her eyes suggested she hadn’t slept in days.

  “First-name basis, tears, good. You mean something to each other.” Yesenia smirked. “I came here looking for Alek, hoping he’d lead me to you. This little rich girl approached me on the docks at Wayfarer’s Wharf. She thought she’d hire me to kill her brother, a rapist.” Yesenia spat the final word. “Then she said her last assassin had refused to do the job and teamed up with her brother.” She shoved Kila all the way to the foot of the incline, and I backed off, sliding under the Protector and keeping the ramp between us. The two women differed only slightly in height. Unlike with Derrick Vargas, who’d towered over Kila by a head, I couldn’t make the shot without hitting my friend.

  Yesenia’s angular face twisted in a smug grin. She shook her head, throwing back bright red hair that fell below her shoulders. “It didn’t take me long to figure out that first assassin was you. None of our current members had assignment on Lissex.” She paused. “Whatever happened to Alek, anyway? He turn up?”