《The Storybook of a Hundred Worlds》 Sanctuary Half a dozen parallel beams of red light shone on the brave Captain Blaize¡¯s face, cascading warmly over his chiseled jawline and confident smile. He lay full length on his arms and knees, peering through the vent cover and into the massive room beyond. His fingers shifted slightly on the grip of his Chimera-model laser blaster, and his heart beat out the half-forgotten rhythm of action in his breast. He was at the very core of the dark fortress, a sprawling subterranean complex that now hosted none other than Doctor Devious, seemingly back from the dead and dastardly as ever. With the impossible theft of the Thurian Power Diamond accomplished, only one thing stood between the Doctor¡¯s malevolent machinations and the peaceful Stellar Union: Captain Blaize and the rest of The Paragon¡¯s crew. His blue eyes flashed through the vent slits, reviewing the room beyond: it was vast as a cathedral, with rough walls hewn from the brown rock of this world that stretched to a lofty arched ceiling far above. The red glow that illuminated the whole space emanated from a deep cloven chasm far off to the Captain¡¯s right, which was spanned only by a single narrow bridge draped in bundles of cables and wires. Off to the left, four capital-ship class generators stood like gargantuan pillars between roof and floor, hissing and venting steam as the hydraulic actuators expanded and contracted. But most notably, Blaize observed the Doctor himself, clad in white lab coat and delivering furious instructions to two clipboard-holding goons. The Captain smiled. ¡°Zynner!¡± Blaize whispered into his communicator, ¡°How close are you?¡± Doctor Devious dismissed his frightened underlings before the First Mate¡¯s voice crackled in over the communicator. ¡°The interference field threw me off trajectory a good way, sir¡­I calculate it may be some time before I can reach you.¡± Blaize nodded. ¡°Quick as you can, Zynner¡­I want you to be here when we take down the Doctor, once and for all! ¡­Again!¡± ¡°Friends are always there when you need them, sir.¡± That left Doctor Devious alone in the generator room. As quietly as possible, Captain Blaize popped out the bottom of the vent cover, slipping down to the stone floor of the cavernous space. The reactors themselves provided excellent cover as he snuck forward, closer to where he had last seen his nemesis. His veins throbbed with adrenaline¨Conce a common sensation, now made all the sweeter by its temporary absence. He rounded the generator and at last leveled his blaster pistol at Doctor Devious¡¯s exposed back. The man stiffened as he heard the Captain¡¯s sonorous voice echoing over the noise of the reactors. ¡°Doctor Devious, we meet again!¡± And slowly, the Doctor turned to face Blaize. He was exactly as the Captain remembered, only now he wore a white mask, all made up of geometric shapes as though it was cut from resin. Despite this, the sneer was audible in his voice as he responded. ¡°Captain Blaize! You¡¯ll be disappointed to learn you¡¯re too late: the Thurian Power Diamond is already integrated into my weapons system, and there¡¯s not a force in the galaxy that can save your precious Stellar Union now!¡± The Captain¡¯s confident smile indented his cheeks with those classic, charming dimples as he began to advance towards the Doctor, blaster pistol still raised. ¡°We¡¯ll see about that, Devious! I must say, you quite convinced me with that fake death. You¡¯ll have to tell me all about how you did it¡­from your Union holding cell!¡± There was a zap, blast! as a yellow beam erupted from the Chimera blaster, but Doctor Devious leapt behind one of the generators just in time to evade the searing bolt. Captain Blaize fired a few more sizzling shots for covering fire as he picked up his pace, striding up to the reactor and peering around the side to see¡­nothing. Blaster at the ready and eyes roving ceaselessly, he navigated around the back of the massive powered pillar, checking for any sign of the Doctor. His ears replayed again and again the blasts of his laser pistols, relishing the sound of real, live rounds¡­ a laser in action was a completely different sound from yet another run through The Paragon¡¯s training simulator. A hiss breathed out behind Captain Blaize and he spun to face it, but not quick enough. A massive metal force slammed into his chest, hurling him a dozen feet back and flinging the pistol from his grip. He scraped along the ground, coming to rest with his back propped against one of the other generators. He struggled to suck breath back into his lungs, forcing stability to return to his vision and attempting to shake the ringing out of his ears. Triumphantly approaching his prone form was the Doctor¨Cinstalled in the torso of a fifteen foot tall mechanized exosuit. The huge metal fists pumped at the air, and with a sadistic stomp it crushed Blaize¡¯s discarded pistol. ¡°Zynner,¡± the Captain wheezed into his communicator, ¡°Anytime now!¡± The mech picked up speed as it approached, tilting forward into a full on charge. Blaize made out to be weak and shocked, but his muscles waited like coiled springs for exactly the right moment¡­almost¡­NOW! He hurled himself out of the way as the hydraulic exosuit arm rocketed out like a cannonball, plowing into the generator Blaize had been leaning against only a moment ago. The massive pillar spat out fountains of sparks as the pistons ground to a halt, and an alarm system began ringing through the entire complex along with a warning message. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Alert: reactor meltdown imminent in t-5 minutes. All personnel evacuate immediately. Repeat: all personnel evacuate immediately.¡± Doctor Devious swore, tugging to free the mech¡¯s arm from the warped steel of the reactor¡¯s hull. Captain Blaize hauled himself to his feet, and took the crucial few seconds he had to examine the exosuit for weaknesses. It was a sturdy construction, so characteristic of the Doctor in its design that he almost couldn¡¯t help but smile¨Cand yet, as always, there was one glaring flaw. On the inside wall of the cockpit, an open JX3 port. Any power sent in through that would overload the system, frying the circuits like a Tarintian cobb rat! He¡¯d be trapped inside of his own personal prison. The Doctor finally wrenched his mechanized arm from the wreckage, mauled with scratches and moving in erratic jerks as it compensated for severed hydraulics. Devious began advancing towards the Captain once again, the fury evident in his voice through the mask. ¡°You¡¯ve ruined it! All my plans, laid waste! I¡¯ll crush you, Captain Blaize! I¡¯ll scrap your precious ship for parts!¡± Blaize turned, running as fast as his legs could carry him for the bridge that spanned the red chasm. The light in the room intensified, the trench glowing fiercer and fiercer as he approached it. The ground shook with the pounding footsteps of the Doctor¡¯s exosuit behind him, gaining a concerning amount of ground as it charged after him. Just ahead of his nemesis, the Captain reached the bridge, hurling himself onto the narrow metal surface and spinning around to face Devious. He could see now that the carmine light came from a violently glowing red fluid that bubbled in the chasm¡­a tide that rose higher and higher as the exosuit slowed to a menacing walk. ¡°T-4 minutes,¡± the alarm reminded them. ¡°A narrow bridge, Captain? You¡¯re not as sharp as you used to be! Nowhere to run, now!¡± ¡°Zynner!¡± called Blaize uselessly, combing the underside of the handrail with his fingers. ¡°Your¨Cyour friends are no help to you now, Captain!¡± The broad mech chassis forced the handrails apart as it stepped onto the bridge, making a horrible scraping sound as it bent the metal out of place. Blaize finally located a bundle of wires and tugged them free, building up slack as he backed up. ¡°That¡¯s where you¡¯re wrong, Doctor Devious! Do you know what First Mate Zynner taught me?¡± The exosuit jerked to a halt before it continued. ¡°You may as well have your last words, Captain. What did your wretched officer tell you?¡± ¡°That your friends will always be there when you need them. At the time, it struck me as pretty¡­shocking!¡± With a sudden burst of motion, Blaize¡¯s muscles snapped into action, hurling him forwards with the fistful of live wires he had ripped from the handrail. He planted them into the JX3 port before Doctor Devious had time to block him, and just as he had expected the whole suit short circuited. Arcs of electricity stretched across the metal hull with a loud crackling and flashing, the machine seizing up as the Doctor howled inside. The gigantic metal construct convulsed, blew out a cloud of sparks, then began slowly, inevitably to keel over to one side. It snapped through the guardrails, looming over the edge towards the rising tide of boiling toxic sludge. As the arcs of electricity stopped, it was already toppling. Devious keyed the emergency release sequence, leaping out of the cockpit with a scream, but too late. His hand fell short of the bridge as the exosuit was swallowed by the scorching iridescent fluid. And he jerked suddenly to a stop. Blaize was reaching out over the edge, suspending the Doctor by his black-gloved wrist. Devious looked up to that iconic smile, the confident smirk he knew so well¡­so well. ¡°This seems familiar, Doctor,¡± grunted the Captain. ¡°But one thing¡¯s different.¡± The panic showed in his voice as Devious replied. ¡°What¨Cwhat¡¯s that?!¡± ¡°Last time, you had the courage to show your own face! Let¡¯s see what you¡¯re hiding behind that mask!¡± ¡°No! No, anything but the mask! Stop!¡± But Blaize reached through Devious¡¯s flailing arm and tore off the white, geometrical mask, flinging it back into the red fluid with a careless flick. The gloved hand suddenly dropped down a good five inches as the Captain recoiled in shock and disbelief. For a moment, there was no sound but the blaring of the alarms and the popping of the boiling waste. Blaize¡¯s eyes turned sanguine with the reflection of the sludge, wide open as they saw, but refused to believe. ¡°Zynner?¡± he breathed at last. The Paragon¡¯s First Mate reached up, grasping the edge of the bridge instead of his Captain¡¯s hand. Blaize backed away, planting his back against the rail on the opposite side. ¡°Zynner?¡± he echoed ¡°How?¡± ¡°T-3 minutes,¡± announced the alarm system. The lab coat fluttered in the shimmering updraft as the red fluid popped, now a mere two meters below the First Mate¡¯s feet. He looked up, and met the Captain¡¯s eyes with a set jaw. ¡°You were without purpose after Doctor Devious died, sir¡­drifting through space, replaying your old logs again and again in your quarters. I couldn¡¯t bear to see you like that. I had to do something, rekindle the hunt to give you meaning again¡­¡± his eyes fell to his feet for a moment before he looked up with a bitter smile. ¡°Friends are always there when you need them, sir.¡± Blaize stared in horror, his mouth agape and his ears deaf to the ringing alarms, the increasingly flurried reactors and the fluid that bubbled louder and louder as it rose. A long moment passed, Zynner simply hanging from the bridge. Finally, the Captain blinked, rolled forward onto his knees, and extended his hand over the edge with a short nod. ¡°Then I¡¯m here for you, Zynner. Give me your hand!¡± ¡°I don¡¯t think so, Captain.¡± ¡°You¨Cwhat?!¡± Again, that bitter smile. ¡°What could I be now, Captain? Not a friend, not a villain¨CI¡¯ve failed you in every capacity. I¡¯m so sorry, sir. You trained me better than this.¡± A hot tear plummeted out of Blaize¡¯s eye and landed on his First Mate¡¯s cheek. ¡°Stop saying that! I¡¯m not leaving here without you!¡± Zynner drew in a slow breath. ¡°No, sir. I calculate you are not.¡± And he released his grip on the bridge. The Storm of Red Thunder Benny watched as the bartender rubbed a dead half cigarette between her fingers while she studied the holographic bounty profile projected over the countertop. Name: RED THUNDER (nickname, birth name unknown): Wanted on charges of felony-level drug distributions on Deimos, Mars, Europa, Hyperion, Sol Station VII, and Titan. Suspected involvement with the Cartel, including several deals with confirmed mob members. Last spotted fleeing pursuit in downtown New Angeles, Deimos, three weeks ago on 2/25/2284. Has been described wearing a black mask and long black coat with red lapels. Wanted: ALIVE for a bounty of £¤260,000,000. No payment beyond standard informant fees will be paid for return dead or with proof of death, reward renewable at any Guild Bail Bonds Agency location. WARNING: This criminal is known to be dangerous and unpredictable. Furthermore, it is currently believed that this criminal holds active ties to members of interplanetary crime rings. Hunters unwilling to risk Cartel attention, or who possess a history of dealings with the Cartel, may wish to avoid pursuit of this bounty. Interplanetary Criminal Retrieval Guild Case file #00569378. Happy hunting. Benny kept his eyes intently on her burned face for any brief flash of recognition, but without much hope¡ªa broad didn¡¯t get a reputation like hers without being able to hold a poker face. A few sweet, melancholic chords of jazz drifted from a dark corner of the bar, danced over the smoke-filled air and swirled in the eddies of a lazy ceiling fan, as Benny took a sip from his glass of gin. With a rattle of whiskey stones, he gently set it down again. Vicki spoke without looking over. ¡°Mhm¡­and what¡¯s this got to do with me? ¡°We have a mutual friend, Chief Payne down at the local precinct. When I heard Red Thunder was in his neck of the woods, I came around to see if he knew anything, but all he could do was point me here¡ªsaid there ain¡¯t a cat in N.A. could shake its tail without you knowing. Sorry to bother you and all, but I wondered if you might have any leads on a guy like this?¡± Vicki looked up and slid the projector back to Benny, then cast a glance over her shoulder. ¡°Holly, you wanna cover the bar for me? I need to take a few minutes.¡± She led the bounty hunter off to a circular booth nestled in the back of the bar, right next to the alley exit. At four on a weekday the place wasn¡¯t exactly busy, Benny noted, but it was certainly better safe than sorry with information like this. She gestured him into a seat, then sat down, still twirling the half cigarette between her fingers. ¡°You uh¡ªwant a light for that?¡± asked Benny, glancing nervously at the burn scar over her cheek and wondering if holding fire near her face was still a sensitive subject. Vicki shook her head with a wry smile. ¡°Not just yet, thank you. You¡¯re certainly welcome to light one yourself.¡± Benny nodded his gratitude, removing and igniting a cigarette from a tin case in his jacket. Vicki¡¯s eyes searched the ceiling for a moment as she considered. ¡°Let¡¯s see now. Red Thunder¡ªruns ether to the Cartels, but he ain¡¯t one. Not yet, leastways. Word is, got another deal coming up tomorrow night.¡± ¡°Oh?¡± ¡°Same M.O. as everywhere else, trading a pretty big shipment to one Arturo Tejero on top of Nelson Tower, uptown. Midnight-thirty.¡± Benny drew in a lungful of smoke with a nod, breathing it out into the shade of the hanging light. ¡°That¡¯s mighty helpful, ma¡¯am. What do I owe you for that much?¡± She shook her head. ¡°Not a rin. Red Thunder¡¯s career is coming to a head anyway; getting time for him to pay his dues.¡± Before Benny could reply, he was interrupted by a mechanical thunk and the sudden sound of glass shattering. His muscles springing into action honed by long experience, he heaved on the underside of the booth¡¯s table, flipped it towards the front doorway and dropped into cover behind it. No fool, Vicki hit the deck right beside him, a snub-nosed revolver already clutched in her hands. An instant later, the flashbang grenade that had been fired into the bar went off with a single piercing note and a blinding flash of light. The music was replaced with the screams of reeling patrons, barely audible over the ringing in Benny¡¯s ears. A moment later, the liquor shelf behind the bar exploded into shards of multicolored glass and gallons of spilled alcohol as fully-automatic gunfire raked from wall to wall. Over their heads, the wall crumbled into a flood of splinters and showered down onto their backs with a sound like Martian hailstorms on a tin roof. Benny remained pressed against the ground, but the dame beside him was crazy enough to rise to a crouch, stepping over him and surging to the back door. She ducked beneath the row of lead-punched holes as she popped the door open and slipped into the narrow strip of daylight beyond. Benny swore, pushing himself halfway up before a stray bullet burst through the table mere inches above his head. With a grunt, he dropped back down to the tiles, rolled onto his back and grimly resolved to wait till the storm had passed. After an absurdly long hail of bullets, Benny could hear the tramp of boots storming in over shards and wooden splinters, accompanied by the bark of a commanding voice¡ªa tone universal between the sergeants of private armies, Cartel kill-squad captains, and his childhood gym instructor. ¡°Cl¨²daigh na beala¨ª amach agus seice¨¢il na corp¨¢in do Adria Tejero!¡± Benny¡¯s ears pricked up. Tejero¡ªthe name of the Cartel agent Red Thunder would be meeting. He could hear them combing through the rubble, calling continuously to one another as they searched the bar¡ªprofessionals then, not just hired grunts. One voice in particular was growing closer and closer to where he lay behind the table, and he aimed his 1911 upwards at arms¡¯ length in case he should see a head looking over it. Suddenly, a woman¡¯s scream joined them, along with the sound of someone being half marched and half dragged across the debris on the floor. ¡°Shut your mouth!¡± shouted the accented voice of command. The screaming collapsed into subdued, panicked sobs. ¡°D¡¯you know who we are?¡± the commander continued. To the miserable lack of response, he answered, ¡°We¡¯re Green Canvas. And I am Major Doyle, of the sixth division.¡± Where he lay, Benny swore silently to himself. Mercenaries. However they were involved with Tejero and his bounty, it wasn¡¯t likely to make things easier. Especially with an introduction like this. Slowly, carefully, the hunter twisted himself onto his stomach. ¡°We¡¯re here,¡± continued Doyle ¡°because this fine establishment is hiding a person of interest to us, to our mercenary company. You seen this woman?¡± Some of the Green Canvas soldiers turned away from the interrogation, returning to the searching of the shot-up bar. One near the back door moved towards the overturned table in the back, cautiously putting his rifle to his shoulder The sobs continued. ¡°Yes or no, in¨ªon?¡± ¡°N-no,¡± she managed. ¡°Hm. See now, something¡¯s telling me that ain¡¯t quite right, in¨ªon. Take another look¡­and mind, she might have got a few scars since this picture was taken.¡± The mercenary moved the final few feet up to the overturned table¡ªset a cautious hand on the edge, and pulled it back to expose what was behind it: nothing. He grunted and returned to the middle of the lobby. Benny watched from where he crouched behind the bar as the Green Canvas soldier moved away from his previous hiding place. Keeping an ear out for the interrogation by the door, he keyed as quietly as he could through the bar terminal. Employee files¡­Molly Travis¡­Dale Mullins¡­ah, Vicki Yeates! ¡°Wait! Wait!¡± sniffled the woman before the major. ¡°I do know her! That looks like Vicki, if she didn¡¯t have that burn on the side of her face!¡± ¡°There we are! Now, we¡¯ve got it on good authority she¡¯s working today¡ª¡± the dreadful sound of a revolver hammer being drawn back¡ª¡°So be a good lass and tell us where she¡¯s at.¡± Benny¡¯s fingers danced over the keyboard as rapidly as he could manage, cursing its noisiness. Schedules¡­application¡­and there! Her labor tax form, and on it, a current legal address. ¡°Oh God!¡± breathed the woman in the front ¡°She¡­she stepped out to speak to a man right before you arrived! Honest, I have no idea where she is or who she was talking to¡ªI can describe him but please don¡¯t hurt me. I have a kid sister! She needs me!¡± The mercenaries looked up in unison as the back door clicked shut. ¡°Go tapa,¡± shouted Doyle, pointing, ¡°tar ¨¦is di!¡± By the time the soldiers had finished pouring out into the alley behind the bar, all that was left was a shadow flickering high up on the walls and the sound of a T-17 model hovercar burning off into the golden noon sky. * ???? * ???? * ???? * ???? *???? * Vicki shut the door to her apartment behind her, engaging both locks and slamming her back against the cool wood. Closing her eyes for a moment, she breathed a deep sigh of relief. She raised the ancient, half-smoked cigarette to her face and pressed it against her lips, then ran a thumb over the red burn scar. Dead flesh now¨Cbut still searing with the memory. ¡°Long day?¡± asked Benny, from an armchair obscured in shadow. Like she¡¯d received an electric shock, Vicki shot up straight as a rod before breaking into a chagrined smile. ¡°I hope you don¡¯t mind,¡± he continued, ¡°I poured you a drink as well. Been sitting out on the counter for a bit, but it¡¯ll be nice for you to have something to sip on while you explain yourself.¡± Twirling the cigarette, Vicki moved to the counter and picked up the tumbler of liquor¡ªbourbon on the rocks. She took a slow sip and noted the glint hovering in the armchair¡¯s shadow: lamplight on a gunbarrel. ¡°You got me,¡± she replied in a bittersweet tone. ¡°Mhm,¡± said Benny. ¡°And just who have I got? You¡¯ve got a private army after you on a no-expense-spared personal grudge, have a suspicious amount of information on Red Thunder which you¡¯re awfully free with, and evidently share the name ¡®Tejero¡¯ with Cartel brass.¡± The stones rattled as the bounty hunter took a slow, smooth drink. ¡°So start at the beginning, go till you hit the end, and then stop.¡± Vicki stared at her half cigarette pensively for a long time, then slowly crossed the room and sat down in a chair across from Benny. She crossed one leg over the other, drank a deep sip of bourbon, and at last set the glass down on a jade coaster. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. ¡°As you may have guessed, my name¡¯s not Vicki. I¡¯m Adria Tejero, sister of Arturo Tejero, and it seems these days, better known as Red Thunder. ¡°My brother and I were always bright, ever since we were little kids. Scored so high at our one-room schoolhouse on Tethys that we got bumped up to these special government-sponsored academies¡ªscored high there too. Picked up a lot of learning in ¡¯em, but we never really took to the manners so much. We got real close after Ma died too, so we ate together, studied together, got into scraps together, and won ¡¯em together¡­used to say barfights and brain cells ran in the blood. Anyhow, with a whole world of prospects for us, it was our uncle who clued us in to how much money we could make working with Green Canvas. Arturo heard those figures and I saw his eyes light up like he was watching fireworks. I wasn¡¯t the keenest I¡¯d ever been, but hell, I couldn¡¯t look into those eyes and say no, so after a little talk we agreed that same night. ¡°See, our uncle had connections high up in Green Canvas, and apparently they needed two technical engineers on the controls for a fancy new piece of equipment they¡¯d cooked up. Fresh off Mercury¡¯s conveyor belts, trim with the shiniest lights and the clickiest buttons, they called it the Green Canvas Hippogriff Battle Station; most expensive piece of privately-owned tech in the galaxy, at the time. Held a few dozen companies of troops with mess and tack, but most importantly, the Orbital Strike Array. That¡¯s where we came in: when things got too hot for the ground teams, they¡¯d radio up and we¡¯d burn our initials into whatever rock was giving them trouble. Precise like a broke barman ringing up a tab, and just as devastating. We could give you a comfortable shave from the other end of the solar system, if you asked nicely. ¡°Now running with mercs, you¡¯re bound to run into some cases you¡¯re less than thrilled about. I ended up seeing a side of Arturo I wasn¡¯t sure I liked, how fast he¡¯d turn the key over some rival company¡¯s hideout or how quick he¡¯d laugh it off afterwards. Made me feel sick to my stomach, sometimes, and it all snapped one day over one of Saturn¡¯s moons. We¡¯d been hired by the Plex Corporation, sent to clear out some colonists that had settled there before the rights had been given away and weren¡¯t moving off. Stubborn as oxen, the dumb things. They weren¡¯t being smoked out, starved out, or strafed out, and we were on a deadline. So they call on up, the order gets cleared by our superiors and tumbles on down to us¡ªwipe them out from orbit. ¡°Considering what I¡¯d done before that¡ªconsidering what I¡¯ve done since? Guess I don¡¯t know why I froze up just then. Had this image in my head of a bunch of folk across the galaxy waiting for letters what never came and¡ªI just couldn¡¯t do it. Sat there in the control room with my arms folded, wouldn¡¯t move a muscle to turn my key. Arturo got angrier and angrier, started shouting at me, said I had to do this, even if we quit after. It was the first time in ten years I saw him get mad at me; but he couldn¡¯t look me in the eyes for a moment of it. He knew I was right. But when I still refused, he reached into his jacket¡ªand pulled a gun on me.¡± Adria took another drink, then began rolling the cigarette between her finger and thumb again. ¡°I knew there wasn¡¯t a thing I could do to stop him, either. Worst came to worst, he could just do my part and call in some meat-headed grunt to turn my key, so I did the only thing I could think of: closed exhaust vents throughout the station and reversed the Strike Array¡¯s coil feed, then I turned the key. ¡°And it all started coming apart around us. The bottom two thirds were burned into molten slag in about thirteen seconds, the bulkheads sealed and emergency lights went on. Sometimes I hear police sirens and for a second I¡¯m back there again. Arturo screamed and took the shot, but it was too late. He got me in the chest, right here.¡± Adria pulled her collar down only a few inches, for modesty¡¯s sake, but Benny could see the seam where her skin met the smooth steel of an implant. ¡°Then he looked like he¡¯d just woken up,¡± she continued, ¡°like he didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d done. He dropped the gun, ran over and held me in his arms, crying, crying. He said he was sorry, over and over, but I couldn¡¯t say I¡¯d forgiven him. I ought to have¡ªbut truthfully I don¡¯t think I did. Or have. That might have been why he still didn¡¯t look me in the eyes, not the entire time. He lit me one last cigarette, then ran for an escape pod and left me for dead.¡± She held up her long cold cigarette stub, turning it in the lamplight. ¡°Somehow, as you may have guessed, I did survive. Long enough for some early-bird scavvers to pick me up and get some life support cybernetics into me. Spare-part trash, but hey, I was alive. And to pay off that service I had to run with them for two years, picking space hulks way out by the Tannhauser Gate or off the shoulder of Orion. When I¡¯d finally worked that off, I returned to civilization and immediately started tracking down my brother, changing my name and keeping as low a profile as I could. Turns out, he¡¯d quit Green Canvas after making up with them about Hippogriff¡ªand moved right into shipping ether with the Cartel. So, I followed his path, making connections, meeting synthesizers and proving my worth. When I dealt ether, I became Red Thunder, the mysterious, untraceable, uncatchable narcotic supplier.¡± She drank from her tumbler again, draining it till the stones ran against her lips. Benny watched with his head cocked to one side, a ghost of wonder managing to slip past the guarded stoicism his face was accustomed to. He breathed as much quiet menace into his voice as possible, but it was impossible to mask that two-hundred-and-sixty-million yen had just become a person. ¡°All this,¡± he said at last, ¡°To meet your brother? Running from the cops, Green Canvas¡ª¡± ¡°And Plex Corporation,¡± Adria finished. ¡°I reckon it was them put out the bounty on me. Listen¡ªBenny, right?¡ªit¡¯s been five years. Five years I¡¯ve dodged Plex for laming their expansion, dodged Green Canvas for blowing Hippogriff, just shooting forward for tomorrow. For the day I get to make a deal with my brother. Back in the bar, I told you it was about time for Red Thunder to pay her dues, and that¡¯s perfectly true. I don¡¯t know what I¡¯d do the day after tomorrow, so I don¡¯t give half a damn at the thought of spending it staring through bars. All I want¡ª¡± Adria paused, her knuckles going white as she gripped the glass and her voice wavering for a moment. ¡°All I want is to look him in the eyes. And then¡­then one of us can finish this cigarette.¡± She looked up and met Benny¡¯s gaze, her eyes like hazel storms bound into marbles. ¡°Take me in, take him in, take the ether in for an extra paycheck from the feds, just please. Don¡¯t take tomorrow from me.¡± *???? *???? *???? * ???? *???? * Arturo Tejero breathed a wispy cloud of cigar smoke into the night air, watching it shimmer an incandescent red in the glow of a massive neon billboard. Fifty stories up on top of Nelson Tower, the smoke was quickly shredded by the midnight winds and vanished over the black Cartel hover van parked on the roof. He stirred the gravel with his black Oxford shoe idly, and cast a glance over his shoulder to the mid-air traffic that flowed between the uptown skyscrapers. None high enough to see onto this particular rooftop, of course, he wasn¡¯t a fool. He returned for another draw on his cigar, a fat, slow-burning Neptune, with notes of coffee and pepper; a Cartel paycheck allowed for such luxuries. From where he stood on the top steps of the fire escape, Benny risked a glance up onto the rooftop proper to ensure Arturo hadn¡¯t moved, then pushed up his sleeve and checked his watch¡ªany moment now. One last time, he ejected the magazine from his sniper rifle, counted the .50 caliber rounds inside, and after a brief inspection replaced them into the gun and silently racked the bolt to chamber one of the massive bullets. From what he had seen, Cartel at this level were unlikely to be wearing plates. If they expected a firefight, they¡¯d pass the risk down to the grunts. Still, there was no such thing as over-armed, and £¤260,000,000 was too much to leave to chance. Adria had to be brought in alive, but he had no such restrictions on Arturo. From the rooftop exit, Benny could hear a faint click, followed by the crunch of a boot stepping out into the night air. Craning up to peer over the edge, he saw Adria walking onto the roof from the stairwell inside the building; though perhaps it would be more accurate to call her Red Thunder now. Her eyes and nose were hidden behind a black brocade mask, the kind you might see in robber barons¡¯ masquerades on Phobos, and complimented by a long dark coat. The inside had been lined with a rich carmine silk, and with the lapels turned outward they did indeed give the impression of twin red lightning bolts. A hover pallet stacked with aluminum crates glided quietly behind her, humming to itself as it threw up a faint dust cloud from the rooftop¡¯s surface. Arturo smiled and watched a cylinder of ash crumble from the end of his cigar. ¡°Punctual like a flush barman at closing time, with an opera mask and a comic-book villain coat. Either it¡¯s Halloween on this rock or you must be Red Thunder.¡± Adria stopped about fifteen feet away, allowing the pallet to slow to a halt at her heels. She cocked her head slightly to the side, but remained silent, staring at her brother. He raised an eyebrow, then gestured for the crates of ether. ¡°Yeah, good to meet you too. Let¡¯s see the goods.¡± She still didn¡¯t move. After a long moment, she finally spoke. ¡°You look older¡ªNot just five years older. Like you¡¯ve stared some lines into your face in front of the mirror, thinking about what you did and wondering if it was worth it.¡± ¡°What the hell?¡± ¡°And was it worth it, Arturo? Did it buy you enough gin to forget?¡± Arturo¡¯s face twisted into a sudden scowl and he dropped his cigar, grinding it out under his shoe. ¡°I don¡¯t know how much of your own supply you¡¯ve been sampling,¡± he said ¡°but if you¡¯re not showing the goods you¡¯re not getting a single yen.¡± He turned and stormed around the front of the hover van and threw open the driver¡¯s side door. Reaching up behind her head, Adria undid the mask and let it drop with a soft clatter to her feet. Arturo froze where he stood, with one hand still on the door. Bathed in the red light of the blazing sign, both were completely silent. The distant sounds of midnight traffic echoed up from far below. Benny adjusted his grip on the rifle, his muscles primed to spring into action for whatever would happened next. After a long while, Arturo finally managed to whisper, ¡°How?¡± Adria cracked a bitter smile. ¡°You¡¯re a lousy shot,¡± she said, with a slight sniffing sound. Arturo barked a laugh, cut it off a little too quickly. ¡°No,¡± he said. ¡°To answer your question, never could get enough gin. I did try to drown my sorrows, but¡ªthe bastards learned how to swim. Bah. And I hate weepy drunks.¡± Adria chuckled as well, and her brother continued. ¡°But¡­I reckon after seven years you¡¯re not in the mood for catching up.¡± Her smile faded as she sighed. ¡°No,¡± she said softly. ¡°I always imagined that when I did find you, one of us would end up shot. Properly, this time.¡± Her hand drifted towards her hip, her fingers just turning back the flap of coat that obscured the path to her revolver. Arturo nodded bitterly, and the fingers of his right hand splayed as he stretched them. From the fire escape, Benny raised the muzzle of his sniper rifle and set it against the lip of the rooftop. He shut one eye and looked through the scope, centering in on Arturo¡¯s heart¡­and he paused. If Adria was killed, he lost the bounty, but how could he possibly kill Arturo now? He swore silently at himself, damning whatever foolish notion had put him here and double damning whatever foolish notion still held him back. The air between the two siblings grew statically tense, hands hovering inches above their triggers. The wind whipped up a paper from the rooftop, swirling it and casting it over the edge to spiral down fifty stories. When that breeze died, the only sound on the rooftop was the buzzing of the neon sign, burning its eternal carmine vigil. The moment was shattered like glass. With the thunk of floodlights switching on, an armored hover transport lifted up over the roof, shining bright white spotlights onto the two. Benny reeled back blinded as a massive voice boomed through a loudspeaker, ¡°Adria Tejero, ye are wanted by the Green Canvas mercenary company for the devastation of company property and the murder of company personnel! Lay down your weapons or ye will be fired upon!¡± Blinking enough to make out the two black silhouettes of the Tejeros against the glaring rimlight, Benny could see that both had drawn their handguns and now stood holding them and staring at the new development. For one instant they turned and glanced at each other, then dove for cover alternately to the left and right. Arturo leapt and rolled behind his black van even as Adria slid behind a rooftop generator, and the guns of the mercenary hovership opened fire. In a way Benny considered to be growing decidedly tiresome, the automatic blasts raked across the roof, casting up sparks and chips of concrete before they settled for a moment on the van, blasting massive holes through its side. The glass in the windows shattered, crumbling and toppling out like red and white rain to the ground. As Arturo took shelter, Adria leaned out over her generator, firing off a few shots at the ship¡ªa useless gesture, of course. .22 was hardly going to do serious damage to a plated vehicle. Clearly reassessing risk, the chopper began to turn, marking out a spray of fractured gravel as the bullets weaved their way towards Red Thunder. Benny¡¯s eyes shot wide as he realized how few shots the generator would actually be able to absorb before it became totally useless as cover. Quickly returning the stock to his shoulder, he focused through the sniper¡¯s sight and did his best to guess where¡ªgiven the position of the two blinding searchlights¡ªthe cockpit would be. The hovership¡¯s gunfire had only just reached the generator by the time he pulled the trigger, and for a moment, time was frozen. Inside the barrel, there was an infinitely brief hiss as the primer was struck and ignited the propellant, blasting the bullet out of its case. It accelerated as the rifling twisted it into a furious spiral before it finally burst free of the barrel, emerging with a hundred and sixty decibel crack and piercing the night air so swiftly that it left a vacuum in its wake. It spat out over the rim of the rooftop, flying between where the two siblings crouched in cover and climbing higher and higher between and above the two searchlights. Invisible to the bounty hunter against the glare, it pierced directly through the plated glass, punching a small circular hole through the windshield, shattering the pilot¡¯s skull like a ceramic plate, and at last burying itself in the instrument panel behind him. The ship guns cut out immediately, leaving only a ringing in their wake as the corpse slumped forward onto the joystick. With a buzzing sound, the whole hovership keeled forwards and down, propelling itself towards the rooftop. Only marginally understanding what had happened, Arturo stood just in time to see it hurtling towards him, and spun around to sprint for the edge of the rooftop. It slammed into the side of the van with a force that shook all three off their feet, detonating an instant later in a blossom of smoky orange flame. The corner of the skyscraper was blown into rubble, hurling out into the night and plummeting fifty tall stories to the city streets below. The top three levels of the tower were exposed in the crater, and the sheer concussive force of the impact threw the scalded hovervan several meters. The burning wreckage protruded out of the building, the golden flames and black smoke still lit by the undamaged red sign. Shaking the sound and force out of his head, Benny reeled to his feet, rushing up the steps onto the rooftop proper¡ªand he saw where the van had landed. Arturo¡¯s bottom half was crushed beneath the vehicle, and he stared silently upwards with a pale face and a set jaw. From behind the generator, Adria struggled to her feet, clutching a bloody spot over her heart. The bounty hunter could do no more than stare as she staggered over to her brother, dropping down next to him and laying back against the van. He shifted his gaze over to her as she sat, still silent. She reached, wincing, into her pocket and drew out a dry half-cigarette and a tin lighter. She placed it in his mouth, igniting it with a gurgling cough. Adria lay down gently, spilling blood onto her brother¡¯s chest as she rested against him. She watched as he drew in a lungful of smoke and breathed it up into the night sky. At last, he raised his head and stared into her eyes, like a sun-burned man drinking from a desert well. He watched as they frosted over, till the only light that remained in them was the sanguine reflection of the rooftop advertisement. When his head dropped to the ground again, his own eyes were likewise glazed over; and the cigarette tumbled limply out of his mouth. The Raven-Headed Men There was a mist hanging over Yuese, a thing unheard of even in the most bizarre legends. Condensation dripped into the deep cloven glass canyons for the first time in a thousand years, and at last the restlessly churning ash dunes had ceased to perfect stillness. The Jaqals were silent, cowed by the unnatural weather, and within their beaten metal domiciles humans stirred uneasily to their duties. It was, they told one another, an ominous sign; the tears of lost souls, one claimed, wept as they seek to return to the lives they don¡¯t know they¡¯ve lost. No, said another, it¡¯s the pure blood of the Innocent Ancestors, the ones who had opposed the malice of their kind and been slaughtered in return for their wisdom. Whatever the cause of the fog, potions of Cable Draggers or the restless sleep of the Dreaming God, the bazaar stirred uncomfortably to life. The market, usually filled with the racket of haggling voices and clattering carts, was today silent as a windless lake: necessities were exchanged for amicable prices with no discussion, and their purchasers returned to their homes as quickly as they could. The Charm Maker¡¯s stall alone was bustling, drawing great crowds from throughout the city to stand in hushed lines to buy necklaces and totems. Ancient motherboards slung on plastic and copper cables, idols made from speakers whose purpose was long since lost to antiquity. The people touched these reverently to their lips or to their breasts, invoking every god whose name they knew for protection¡­and they stared, unreservedly, at the cage in the center of the bazaar. For inside of it was a jutha, an injured body and a deadweight to a scavenging team on the outside. Normally he would have been stripped and abandoned as nothing more than a threat to his party, but times were desperate. Instead, strongly against tradition, he¡¯d been brought back and locked here, in a hanging rebar prison normally reserved for traitors and usurers. His skin was pale, covered in sweat and condensation from the fog. He clutched at his fractured leg, shivering and staring at the ash-strewn ground through the bars of his cage, not noticing the eyes of the passing market-goers or their hushed whispers to one another as they walked. He mumbled to himself, repeating over and over again, ¡°Not the Priests¡­oh by the gods and the magics of the Cable Draggers, let me be fed to the Jaqals or smothered in ash, cooked on coals or pierced with stakes and left to dry up in the sun, please, only spare me from the Priests!¡± It was the day for the Priests, if ever there was one, some murmured to the others¡­and the braver added, about time as well. Their beasts had grown tumors and ulcers, lowing with pain in the fields by day. Their milk was muddy with blood and their offspring had been born dead or warped¨Cmissing limbs or with one too many. Wheat had risen up stunted, charred black and bowed with strange black berries that stank of rotting flesh. Famines and plague had spread throughout the city, the lasting wrath and hubris of the Divine Ancestors still exacting its toll upon their children centuries later. The Clerics of Famine and their practices were not pleasant to behold¨Cbut their blessing was necessary, before the last morsels of food were dried up from the storehouses. Time passed, immeasurably beneath that dismal gray mantle. The sun¡¯s rays, usually scorching, were diffused to meaninglessness in the hundred thousand specks of moisture, like the diamonds of a chandelier. The people watched warily from their doorways, knuckles wrapped tightly around their charms and totems. The dogs, skin stuck to ribs, lay across their feet, whining quietly to themselves. And at last, around noon, they came. From the gate of the city, there was a shrill tone, a kind of alien chanting that straightened every spine it reached. The women rushed inside, taking their children with them, and the men stayed on with a sense of grim foreboding. The jutha in his cage looked up with wild eyes, then went completely silent as he stared. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. They processed in along the main road, led by a blind and naked boy. It was he who chanted, singing as he walked and bearing a loaded thurible fashioned from rusted metal. It leaked a noxious gray smoke to the ground that mingled with the mist, but smelt sickly sweet and caused those who breathed it to feel feverish. Through the foul incense vapor came the Priests themselves, stirring it with their black cloaks by their passage. Their shredded robes swept across the ground behind them, dark except for occasional specks of whiteness: maggots or lice that writhed and swarmed between the layers of damp fabric. Their hands were folded before their breasts, each finger ending in a hooked black talon smeared with ominous stains¡­but most notable of all, of course, were their heads. Whether they were headdresses or the Plague Priests were the children of devils, onyx black beaks protruded from their faces, and no skin was visible through the pestilent feathers that covered their heads and spilled down their necks into the cloaks. When the light caught them perfectly, beady dark eyes were visible above the keratin, glinting with secretive, private thoughts. Three of them followed the blind acolyte, wordless and soundless as they processed to the center of the bazaar. Once they reached the cage, the boy fell silent, placing the cord of his censer into the outstretched hand of one of the Raven-headed Men. The jutha stiffened, drawing back as far as he could from the foul smoke, but the Priest swept it towards him, wafting clouds of stinking vapor to him again and again. Gradually, the jutha¡¯s resistance grew weaker and weaker¡­his movements smaller, his breaths deeper, until at last even his eyelids opened and closed and though leaden. The pupils had turned a milky white, and his jaw hung open narcotically, saliva spilling from the corner of his mouth. The Plague Priest returned the censer to his acolyte, and then he began to sing. His voice was a haunting drone, a single note that seemed to have more depth than the human ear could perceive. After a moment, the other two joined him, and together they wove a song that stung the brain and confounded the mind. It didn¡¯t seem to emanate only from the Priests, but to echo from the crowds, to fill the streets and spill out over the city walls. It would not have surprised the people to hear that a Jaqal a hundred miles away, prowling in a canyon would stop and raise an ear to listen to their infernal drone. With the smoke of the censer filling their lungs and the chant of the Clerics buzzing in their ears, the people¡¯s vision grew blurry. It became difficult to distinguish the sky from the ground and the far from the near¨Conly the black smudge of the Raven-headed Men was recognizable in the spaceless fog of their sight. The Priests spread out, surrounding the cage and raising their arms to obscure the jutha from view. The pitch of their chanting grew, till it made one want to dance and vomit and drop dead all at once. In his hanging prison, at last, the jutha screamed. No man has ever survived to tell why the sacrifices scream that way¨Cbut none need to. From the sound, the sensation could be derived exactly: loneliness. It was the wail of an orphaned babe, the cry of a deadweight abandoned in the wastes, and the keen of a lost cub. It was the song of the whale that had not been heard in a thousand years, alone and echoing through the infinite void of water to¨Cnothing, and no one. Between three Clerics, in the village that had bred and raised him, the jutha was entirely alone; and heartbroken. With a crackling sound like a driftwood fire, the scream shrank into a gasp and a long, slow breath. Half of that breath issued from dead lungs, the exhalation of a corpse perfuming the air inside the cage as the maddening chant stilled and finally went silent. The Priests lowered their arms, folding their talons once again before their breasts. They paused for a long moment around the rebar prison, then turned as one. The blind acolyte took his place before them, and began walking, without a word, the way they had come. There was no sound but the rustling of the Clerics¡¯ ragged cloaks across the ground, and presently, at last, they were gone. Within the cage was a shriveled husk, wrinkled like a sun-dried fruit and shrunken over its bones. The leathery skin had split, bleached femurs and clavicles peering out through it like teeth in the dust, and the last of the jutha¡¯s eyeballs drizzled from his sockets, dripping to the ground. The cage was emptied into a glass canyon for the Jaqals, and then hung back up in the bazaar to swing on the eddies of the wind. Their beasts would bring forth handsome, healthy offspring and the next harvest of crops would rise tall and strong into the sunlight. Those bowed under the plague of their Ancestors¡¯ wrath would recover, tumors subsiding and hair returning to their scalps. The life of a jutha for the life of the city. And trade in the bazaar resumed. Black Griffon There was kind of a symmetrical nature to the twin cracks as Gray¡¯s fist collided with my jaw and slammed my head into the dust. A fresh surge of blood flavor joined the swirling tastes of cigarette smoke, crushed amphetamine pills, and broken teeth. I worked my jaw a couple times in the sand¡ªit was easier than standing back up¡ªand felt it hit a hard barrier about halfway open. I reckoned I might be able to break that barrier, but it would probably never shut again if I did. I nodded a few times appreciatively, filling my sweaty hair with sand. Both of us had gotten much better at this. A house stood in the middle of the yellow dustbowl, its roof bowed in like slumped shoulders and its paint peeling off in rolls one or two feet wide. A rust-brown weather vane stuck out of it at an angle that would give flashbacks to an ER surgeon, and turned slowly in the wind like an aging stripper around a pole. Beyond a tree that had long since considered drying up a mercy and Gray¡¯s dust-stained, overpriced coup¨¦, we were the only occupants of the shallow desert valley. The sun, obese to the point of bursting with overbearing heat, breathed down shimmering waves onto the sands as though it was trying to melt them into glass, and the breezes that brought relief were apathetic and flaccid in response. I started to speak, but paused as I felt something slipping between my gums and lower lips. I paused to unearth a dislodged tooth with my forefinger and thumb, then used my tongue to check where it had fit in. Pretty far back, a canine on the left side. No great loss. I rolled onto my back, bearing my swollen belly to the sun and squinting against its light. ¡°It¡¯s hot,¡± I said. ¡°Fucking hot,¡± agreed Gray, as he turned his back and walked a few paces towards the house. He fished in his pocket for a moment, then I heard the clacking of his index finger packing a tin of dip¡ªBlack Griffon. Always was. ¡°Bum a hit?¡± I asked, careful not to use my jaw too much. The tin arced back over his shoulder in answer, and I scooped a wad out and stuffed it into my lip. It was soaked through with blood almost instantly, a clod of hot metallic mucus against my teeth. I squinted in his direction again. ¡°You know they put glass shards in this stuff?¡± Gray didn¡¯t know. ¡°Like microscopic bits of glass that cut the inside of your mouth, so it gets into your bloodstream and you get a buzz faster.¡± ¡°Dickheads,¡± he commiserated, ¡°sounds like something they¡¯d do.¡± With a sigh, I flipped over onto my hands and knees, then pushed back onto my legs. With a brief pause to work out some kink in my spine, I straightened and gave a little double-jab with my fists. It was a habit by now, though I wasn¡¯t sure where it came from. Part of my brain said it was a sort of check to make sure they were still working, though I was fairly certain I¡¯d be able to tell if anything went that wrong. Another part said it was from some half-remembered film or show. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. ¡°Good?¡± Gray asked, turning and doing that mouth-opening thing he did when he had dip in it. I bent my head to either side in a sort of half-nod, slimy dust descending from it in both directions. His left flashed out in a jab towards my jaw, and I managed to grab his wrist. He closed the remaining distance between us and lashed with his knee, pulling away to throw me off balance. I soaked the knee and the tug both, slamming my jaw into its maximum openness as air rushed out of my lungs and blew out a jet of blood and saliva. I rolled with the fall, heaving Gray on top of me as I tumbled. As his head descended towards mine I bore the top of my skull to him, and felt my efforts satisfyingly rewarded through the sensation of crumpling cartilage. He reeled back like a rider in a rodeo, a red bow expanding outward from his ruined nose as his head rocked backwards. I took advantage of the distance he had created by seizing the collar of his shirt, and hauling his face back down as I punched. Through the target, not to the target, I reminded myself as my knuckles collided with his flattened nose. Still muddy-headed from the pain, Gray simply swayed on top of me for a moment. I took his right ear in one hand, and struck his other with an open palm for good measure. The blow was enough to roll him off of me and I stood, licking my skinned knuckles. I walked to where his tin of dip had landed¡ªthe knee to my stomach had exorcised it from my mouth. I hadn¡¯t screwed the lid back on, so some sand had blown in, but I didn¡¯t mind. It would prevent it from absorbing blood as quickly this time. ¡°You dow,¡± Gray observed, his voice now entirely absent nasal qualities, ¡°I thik this bight really be our last ode.¡± I nodded without saying anything, and for a long moment just stood and steamed in the sun as he recovered. ¡°If I win,¡± I said at last, ¡°you got the keys for that ride?¡± ¡°Still id the igditiod,¡± he answered. ¡°Dot sure how good I got you, but you still bight black out before you cad bake it anywhere.¡± It wasn¡¯t a threat¡ªjust an observation as to our mutual states. I heard the scraping against the sand as Gray pushed himself to his feet once again and turned around to face him. Something felt a little different in the air between us as we stood, something a little more broken and a little more sad in our postures. Fuck, it was hot out. ¡°Gray,¡± I started, but there was really nothing else to say. What I could see of his mouth behind a curtain of viscous red slime quirked into a half smile. ¡°Yeah,¡± he said, ¡°I dow. Sabe to you, Jo.¡± I gave another nod, absently looking over the blood-speckled sand between us. I felt, or maybe heard him, draw in breath, tense up his muscles and ready himself to fight. I jabbed at the air twice, just to make sure they were still working.