Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 13

Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 14

The Eonwyl was racing against time even more than she knew...

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Chapter 14

The Eönwyl:

"Query: We are near to arrival?"

The Eönwyl nodded as she strapped herself into the command chair. "Very near, yes, Hmmmseeth. Please secure yourself. I do not expect any difficulties, but –"

"But prudence is wise. Understood." The creature went to the chair that had been modified for its use, settled in, and wrapped the multipoint harness around itself. The harness tightened and pinged loudly to announce that it was properly secured. "Information: I am ready, Eönwyl."

"Good." She activated the intercom. "Conversion Downbreak imminent, Doctor Guvthor, Doctor Sooovickalassa. Please make sure you are properly restrained."

A few minutes later, the blaze of Downbreak enveloped the hull of The Eönwyl and the ship emerged into normal space. All sensors scanned the area and reported no immediate threats. Thank all the powers that might exist for that. We threaded the gantlet of gateways and TC travel through the entire Empire and – just maybe – we've done it without alerting anyone!

"Zhiraz control," she said into the D-Comm, "This is The Eönwyl, returning from a mission for the Vmee Zschorza. Please notify said council and please advise as to desired course."

"Eönwyl, acknowledged," came the answer, after a few moments of slightly tense waiting. "The Vmee Zschorza will require some time to assemble. Until further notice, you may take the designated orbit around the primary planet."

"So far so good," she murmured to herself as she set her ship on that course. "Not under fire or directions to turn ourselves in. Better than the last time we came here."

"Indeed it is," Guvthor's voice agreed in its usual booming way. "I much prefer being welcomed to a parking orbit to being surrounded by warships. The latter seems much less friendly."

Although this will matter little if Hmmmseeth's testimony cannot sway them, Vick pointed out.

"It's the best we've got," the Eönwyl said, trying to banish the doubt and worry in her heart. "I mean, really, if they accept that we believe our story at all, they know they set us a near-impossible challenge."

"Comment: That truth may still not carry much weight in convincing them," Hmmmseeth said. "Yet I will do my best to pay Rational Debt, and if these are psionics they will see the sincerity."

"I hope so."

To keep herself distracted, she unstrapped and went to the engine room and began routine maintenance. There were some unbalanced coils and other typical signs of having driven a TC drive for long distances, and these would require the usual maintenance. Even here she could not entirely escape Varan's memory; they had spent so much time together working on the ship that she found she now associated Sasham Varan with her own vessel's caretaking – a thought she would have found offensively ludicrous not three years ago. I have changed. I hope it is for the better, but clearly I have changed.

In the midst of preparing herself a small meal, the communicator buzzed. "The Vmee Zschorza is assembling and will meet with you immediately, Eönwyl," transmitted the Zchoradan control vessel. "You are cleared for landing at these coordinates. Please be prepared to be escorted by armed guard directly to the Vmee."

"Understood. I will be landing shortly." She breathed out a sigh of relief. "It's time, gentlemen."

And then perhaps we can actually take effective action against our adversary! The accompanying mental image included a lot of claws and teeth.

"We can but hope, Vick. I've sure got a list of faces that could use some forcible rearrangement." Shagrath being at the very top, of course. But that's probably more Sasham's job than ours.

The thought of Sasham – now no longer uncounted lightyears away, but a few thousand kilometers and drawing nearer as they descended – sent a worried pang through her heart. He was so terrified when we left him. How is he? Has he even survived?

Though not precisely designed for human vessels, the linkages for the Zchoradan port managed to connect after a few moments, and she saw the proper lights appear on her board. Accompanied by Hmmmseeth, she descended through the decks to reach the main cargo hold.

This was of course necessary, since Guvthor Hok Guvthor could neither enter nor exit via any other manner than the main cargo doors. The doors opened and the loading ramp extruded; as it did so, the Eönwyl could see several ranks of armed Zchorada waiting nearby. They did not make any threatening movements, however, but waited in more of an honor formation as the four of them descended the ramp. An odd group we must make, she thought with a faint amusement. One tall skinny human, one huge Thovian, a scaly R'Thann, and a floating purple single-eyed alien they probably have never seen before.

The guard closed ranks around them and escorted them swiftly along. The Eönwyl thought she recognized at least part of the route, and sure enough it was not long before they approached a set of very familiar doors – ancient, of solid wood bound and decorated with metal worn smooth over hundreds or even thousands of years.

The Vmee Zschorza met in the Heart of Nests, an amphitheatre whose roof was fifteen meters above their heads, dimly lit with the preferred reddish lighting of the Zchorada. As the visitors and witnesses they were standing in the center of the amphitheatre, surrounded by a three-meter tier of stone. On that tier of stone, each in a bowl-shaped depression carven from the very stone of that tier, were the thirteen senior members of the Vmee Zschorza, and in the center, facing her in a slightly elevated bowl, the Vmee Zschorhaza, the ultimate leader of all the Nests of the Zchorada. The air was warm and humid, but not stifling.

The three who had been there previously made their best effort at the mandibular-salute of respect, arms substituting for the long, scythelike mandibles of the centipedal aliens. The Vmee returned the gesture; Hmmmseeth merely bobbed in place, the gesture being one he could not easily emulate.

"Welcome back, Eönwyl, Guvthor Hok Guvthor, Master of the Dawning Light Sooovickalassa," said the Zschorhaza. "You have returned with some small time remaining to you in the year you were granted. Does this mean that you have evidence to present to the Vmee Zschorza of the story we were told by yourself and Captain Varan previously?"

"It does, Zschorhaza," she answered. "Do we have your permission to proceed?"

"You do indeed. We are most eager to hear what possible evidence you may have obtained."

She turned and gestured. "Vmee Zschorza, I present to you all Hmmmseeth, a Researcher of the species Mydrwyll. He has been briefed on the situation, and is prepared. I invite Rizzivor, or any other Master of Minds you may have, to first examine him and assure yourselves that he is here of his own will and will speak of his own accord, and is untampered with."

The red-mandibled Rizzivor scuttled a few steps forward and gazed down. Hmmmseeth quivered momentarily but otherwise remained still. After a few moments, Rizzivor withdrew. "This is a witness present of his own will, mind untampered with. His evidence will be presented and we will read it untroubled."

Hmmmseeth moved forward slightly. "Query: Are any of you familiar with comparative cultural sentiology as a discipline?"

One of the Vmee raised itself slightly in its cupped depression. "I have studied the subject area somewhat."

"Good. This is the discipline of my specialization, and my evidence is of that field."

The Vmee Zschorza buzzed among themselves for a few moments. "Very well," said the Zschorhaza. "We understand the basic concepts and are ready to listen."

"Acknowledged. Then observe and understand."

Hmmmseeth had not been idle in the months aboard The Eönwyl. He had assembled his information and carefully planned the method and format of his presentation to convey his data and theory in the most emphatic manner possible. He had studied what information they had on the Zchorada, so that he could tailor the images, words, and phrases to best effect.

Now that effort paid off. The Eönwyl watched as the Mydrwyll scientist carefully, systematically, and convincingly presented first an outline of his profession and field of study, then a detailed sketch of his work in attempting to understand and model the evolution of societies in the galaxy, and the difficulties he had encountered.

"Found situation intolerable. Theory appeared sound. Models designed well. Outputs violated known parameters in unsupportable ways, yet could find no flaw in models.

"Then Captain Sasham Varan pointed out that this situation could only be possible if a vital factor was missing – a factor that changed the behavior of civilizations."

A murmur went around the shadowy room, but no questions were asked . . . yet.

"Given this point, it was clear that – for scientific parsimony – such factor must itself be consistent. Proceeded to devise and model multiple possible parametric factors to determine characteristics of unknown factor. Eventually found a single set of parameters that described an unknown, active factor whose behavior fit predictive model perfectly. Modeling on multiple known prior civilizations produced expected results." Hmmmseeth paused. "Modeling on current civilizations indicates that total war and collapse is imminent."

The Vmee Zschorhaza quieted the following murmurs. "Can you describe – in non-technical terms – this . . . factor you have discovered that makes your models function?"

Hmmmseeth bobbed, and his eye glowed yellow. "Malevolent," he answered. "Deliberate, long-term design of infiltration and destruction, coordinated collapse."

The entire council was silent for moments. Then Rizzivor spoke. "What level of confidence do you assign to the existence of this . . . factor?"

"Highest confidence short of verification," Hmmmseeth responded instantly. "Other aspects of model verified. Other results consistent. No other alternative has provided results approaching the accuracy of current model. Will stake personal and professional reputation, and personal existence if necessary, on these results. I owe Rational Debt to Captain Sasham Varan, and for the payment of that I have abandoned my home and crossed fifteen thousand lightyears to address this company." Hmmmseeth paused for an instant, and then, before anyone else could speak, continued. "There is an Enemy. An Enemy of all existing civilizations from the First Civilization to today. And I believe Captain Sasham Varan has met this Enemy."

One of the other members of the Vmee Zschorza raised herself. "These results are impressive and disquieting, but they remain theoretical. They are models. The Nests were hoping for something more . . . material in the way of evidence."

The Eönwyl closed her eyes, took a breath, stepped forward. "If I may speak?"

"Granted."

"Put bluntly, if you accept the description of our adversary – that we gave you almost a year ago – what possible material evidence could we present?" she demanded. "I suppose we could have attempted to infiltrate the Empire and kidnap Shagrath, but if he's even one-tenth as dangerous as we think, how would we have held him? Or if he'd gone with us, we'd have been bringing the enemy here. The same is true of the Kaital. They are bodiless. I have no idea if you can catch a psionic lifeform, but I know by the Towers that my ship doesn't have the means.

"You've seen our minds. You've read Hmmmseeth as well, and know he's not influenced or changed by any of us. He's given you the only evidence I can imagine for what we've claimed – the evidence that the Demons of Atlantaea existed – and at least one of them is still here, alive, and working against all of us. We've done what you demanded – gone out, on our own, without anyone's help, and found you evidence." She glared up at the Vmee Zschorhaza, and then around at the others. "You took Sasham Varan hostage for this. Well, we've done our part! It's time for you to do yours!"

There was a long pause, and then a murmuring in Zchoradan that she could not follow. It began to grow in volume, but suddenly both Rizzivor and the Vmee Zschorhaza screeched, overriding the others. "ENOUGH!" the leader of the Zchorada said, and then more quietly, "Enough. The Eönwyl is correct. And I believe you, Hmmmseeth of the Mydrwyll. We have seen . . . disquieting things ourselves. We were debating the course to take before; with this evidence, should we continue debate? I say no. My predecessor says no. Rizzivor says no. We – all the Nests of the Zchorada – are in danger. I demand an immediate vote of the Vmee Zschorza. The Nests assembled have already met on this general matter, and given it to us to decide."

The Eönwyl found herself holding her breath as the voting – in Zchoradan, naturally – began. Thirteen. Unless one abstains they have to reach a majority, but I'm not sure whether that's enough. Deciding war? Is that a majority, or do you need two-thirds or three-quarters or nine-tenths?

Finally the hall fell silent, and the Vmee Zschorhaza rose to face them once more. "It is decided.

"The Vmee Zschorza accepts your evidence and your deeds, and on that recognition accepts that it is our duty to accept the alliance Captain Sasham Varan proposed when first you arrived." He tilted his head. "Tell the Grasper –"

A brilliant white light blazed near the leader's bowl; instantly the others went rigid as the Zschorhaza answered. A moment later, the huge-mandibled head turned and then rose high in apology. "It seems we have a more immediate problem, Eönwyl.

"A small Imperial task force has arrived . . . and is demanding the surrender of Captain Sasham Varan."

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 14 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

LEGEND: Chapter 4

Legend finds himself with a little time to think...

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Chapter 4.

He dropped through what looked like solid rock but was actually a self-perpetuating light projection over the entrance. A flicker of darkness as he fell through the granite tunnel and then the light of the Eyrie blazed up around him.

Legend landed lightly, his boots giving an echoing click on the polished stone, and looked around. No one in the entry, so either no one's in, or . . .

The entry area was in the center of the Eyrie, with four doors leading out. He took the north door and looked through.

Monitor Central had the dramatic, all-seeing design Legend associated with NASA control centers and the TV versions of NORAD, although it had far fewer seats and a lot more gadgetry. Most of which I don't understand, he admitted to himself. Not my specialty . . . in either form, really.

A figure at the top stood and waved him over. "Legend! Nice to see you, kid. How're you doing?"

"I'm doing well, Jack. How about you?"

Jack Morriman grinned, the white teeth a contrast to his dark, heavily-weather-beaten face. "Not bad, not bad at all." Deep brown eyes twinkled in a sideways glance. "So? . . ."

"Passed with flying colors," he said. "And I guess I did, too, because she took me as a client."

"Good. Good! She's done a hell of a lot for me, you know."

Legend nodded. Morriman's problems hadn't really had much to do with his secret, except indirectly. Losing one of your kids to cancer wasn't easy; when that got combined with your wife of 43 years deciding she wanted out . . . well, the Steel Sentinel had been a pretty moody hero for a while, and Legend remembered the one time he'd had to intervene before Steely did something he'd really regret.

"I know. Thanks for telling me about her." He gave an accusing glare. "But you might have warned me!"

"Warned you?" Morriman's face was the very essence of puzzled innocence. "About what?"

"Don't try that on me! I rescue kittens all the time, Jack. You don't have the cute to cut it. About the fact that she looks like a younger Michelle Yeoh, that's what."

"Heh. She is quite something in the looks too, isn't she?"

"Yeah. And even smarter than she's pretty, which is going a lot farther. I felt like she already dissected my brain before I'd been there a half hour."

"Anything you want to talk about?"

He thought. "Um . . . no, not really. Oh, I did fill out forms that give her permission to talk to anyone she wants to about me as long as she keeps my key secrets. That means you guys, if any of you are willing to talk to her."

"What?" Jack made a show of putting a hand on Legend's forehead. "You don't seem feverish, but you're trusting her awfully damn fast."

Legend shook his head. "You and the others just aren't trusting enough. Most people are decent, and people like her are just there to help."

The older man gave a cynical smile. "Damn, kid, it's a good thing you are tough as a mountain, because you'll need it when that clueless innocence gets you in it deep."

They'd had this debate before, and Legend wasn't up for another go-'round right now. He looked at the main screen. "Anything going on?"

"Nah, nothing much. Fireflux is out on patrol, she caught a couple regular crooks but hasn't seen anything big. The Rat's down in the big city with Crystal Visions, haven't seen America today but he said he probably wouldn't be in this week."

"Trinary and Traveller?"

"Girl's night out, I think, with Caracal. Didn't invite me, worse the luck."

"Hard to have a girl's night out with a guy along."

"I can always dream."

"Any sign of the Five?"

"Not as a group. Fireflux thinks she caught a glimpse of Shadowblade earlier, though, so they're around." Jack chuckled. "I can read you like a cheap paperback, kid. You're not into it today, just standing there asking questions. Go home, wherever home is."

Legend sighed. "I would if I could. But this is my usual night out, and they know I never come back before about midnight to one o'clock."

"Well," Jack said, rubbing his chin, "if you wanna sit here and watch things, I could go out and join Fireflux . . ."

A part of him twitched at that, but he thought he managed to keep it from actually being visible. And that's overall a pretty good idea, actually. "Why not? Been a while since you were out and about."

"A week and a half. Yeah, you know, that sounds like just the ticket today."

Jack Morriman concentrated, and with a flicker of silvery light he changed. Unlike many of their friends, he was still recognizable . . . if you knew who he was. But this Jack Morriman was thirty years old, smooth-skinned, in perfect health, and could do things that even his much older real self could never have done more than dream about. Things he had dreamed about, just like all the rest of us, Legend thought.

The transformed Morriman reached under the console and brought out the metallic backpack, put it on, and pressed the button. Glittering silvery armor extruded, covering chest, arms, legs, curling up and around to encase the head in a shining helmet with a stylized V-shape above the eyes, almost like eyebrows. The armor thickened to plates on the chest, shoulder-guards, and poleyns and coulters, giving the suit the air of an old-fashioned knight while being streamlined and containing accessories for the twenty-first——or maybe twenty-third——century. "Steel Sentinel——ready for patrol!"

"Enjoy yourself."

"I will, kid, especially with Fireflux around."

He didn't rise to the bait. Besides, he's actually always a perfect gentleman, and if he ever did try anything . . . well, a guy wearing steel armor annoying someone who controls magnetic fields would be pretty stupid.

It was . . . weird, being in the Eyrie alone, watching for everyone else. He knew how to run the observation, of course, they were all trained in it, but he was always the front-line type. But tonight . . . Nerving myself up to go see a shrink really took a lot out of me. Lot more than I would have ever thought. He laughed out loud suddenly. "Darn, I swear, I've had battles that took less out of me!"

It was true: the more he thought of it, and even though he was still feeling tense, the more he realized that meant he'd made the right choice. I need to deal with this. WE need to deal with it, he corrected, and felt his other side . . . not exactly separate, not exactly the same . . . agree emphatically.

Sitting at the console, it dawned on him that there was another drawback to being alone. With no one else in the Eyrie to take over, he couldn't do any exercises or practice runs or, well, anything to distract himself. He was half-tempted to change to his ordinary form; Ben would appreciate it.

But even here, almost no one knew who he really was. There was one, and only one, other hero he'd trusted with that secret. It was funny – most of the others he knew both sides of their lives, but he had never told them his . . . and none of them had asked, as though they felt it wasn't appropriate.

Maybe it's because I was there first. It's like asking Superman to tell you his secret ID . . . not that I'm anything like as good as all that.

But America had been different. He was as good as all that. The tall, anachronistic figure in red, white, and blue carried the sharp, patriotic air of the old-fashioned recruiting posters of Uncle Sam, and his face had much of the kindly, craggy warmth of Abraham Lincoln. It had never occurred to Legend not to trust America.

And the same, strangely, had applied to America and Legend . . .

***

"Legend! Glad you could come meet me, son."

He took America's hand, felt the other's – maybe as strong as his own – grip and release his warmly. "Did you think there was any chance I wouldn't?"

"Well, not much, no. Still, you're a busy man and taking any time out of your day is quite a favor to ask."

Legend glanced around. The late summer light danced over the forest floor and shone more brightly in the clearer areas, where picnic tables and charcoal grills were scattered about. The nearby stream (or maybe small river) chuckled cheerfully over smooth stones. A little ways upstream, Legend could see a jet of water hissing regularly skyward from the center of a tiny island, one of the only geysers east of the Mississippi. "So why here? Not that there's anything wrong with Saratoga Park, but seems about as peaceful as anything gets."

"Nothing wrong with peace, son. Take it when you find it, especially in our line of work." America's eyes were momentarily somber under the brim of his tall, tri-colored stovepipe hat. "The Good Lord knows we don't see it much."

Legend couldn't argue. "Still . . . ?"

The taller hero smiled. "Yes, you're right, more than my trying to get you to take a break. You made a right touching gesture to me the other day, trusting me with your biggest secret. Seems to me the only polite response is to show you the same trust."

Legend blinked. "You mean . . . um, look, sir, that's an honor, but you don't have to –"

"Son, I think maybe I do have to. See, the way my . . . well, existence works, Legend, I don't always know why I do things, leastwise not until after I've done them——see what I mean?"

Legend thought about it. He'd observed America since he'd first appeared and had come to some general conclusions about the patriotic hero's abilities. "I guess I do, sort of. You get a sense of what you should be doing, but not the explanation."

"That's just exactly right. So until you got here, all I knew was that I had to tell you the truth about myself, same as you did about your own origin. But wasn't 'til we started talking that I got an inkling as to the whys and wherefores."

He began walking along the edge of the clearing. Legend noticed that strange aura that America gave off: a sense of belonging that was so strong that no one gave the two of them a second glance, despite the costumes that stood out brilliantly in the sunshine. He doesn't want anyone else to see us, so they aren't. "So, are you just trying to keep me in suspense?"

A low laugh rippled out, melding with the water's own eternal cheer. "Oh, forgive this old man's sense of humor and drama, son. Comes with our territory, don't it?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I suppose it does."

America looked serious now. "Legend, I just got myself a feeling——a deep-down, absolutely-certain, one-hundred-per-cent gut feeling——that one day you will have to know who I really am. Don't know why, don't know when, but I do know that it's going to happen."

He looked up and a broad smile creased his face. "Now looky there."

Legend looked in the same direction. He saw three people around one of the picnic tables: two adults and one child. Legend didn't need to use any special powers to see that this was a family having a wonderful time at the park. The little girl——tanned, dark-haired, with intense eyes that Legend could see with his own superhuman sight even at this distance——was talking with bouncing animation about what she'd seen in the park. Her parents were busy getting the picnic dinner together, the father laying out the table while the mother carefully grilled hamburgers. It was nearly certain the little girl was adopted, since her father was black and her mother a golden blonde, neither of their features echoing the straight, black hair and narrow face of their daughter, but it was also just as certain that this didn't matter to any of them. "You saying that's your family?"

America smiled again. "In a manner of speaking, yes. Though in some ways, all families are mine; bet you've already guessed that. The little girl yonder is Virginia Dare Jefferson, and that's her mom Sunny and her daddy Malcolm."

"So they've got another kid. Who happens to be next to me, right?"

"I'm not quite like the rest of you, son. That," he pointed at Virginia, who was now being directed by her father to bring the rocks she'd collected back to the stream, "is my muse and author, my creator if you will."

Legend stared, then reached out with his ki senses.

America fairly blazed before Legend's spiritual eyes; the hero's very ki seemed to flicker in the three colors of his namesake.

And that was, literally, all there was to America. He wasn't a transformed being like Legend or most of the other Heroes. He wasn't someone wearing a mechanical or magical disguise, like Steel Sentinel or Crystal Visions. He was a pure spirit, a creation of nothing but the essence of who he was – a resonant product, Legend thought with stunned awe, of every single human being in the nation, infused somehow into a statue that should never have moved . . . but now not only moved, but lived, lived with an intensity nothing else on the planet could match.

But there was a stronger resonance, a pulse, at the core of Legend's sense of the hero, and that resonance echoed back and forth between the toweringly tall America . . . and the tiny, black-haired little girl bending over the stream.

"She . . . created you?"

"That she did. Maybe one day I'll tell you the details, or she will. But she is to me as Ben is to you . . . except she believed in me first and only, so she made what she believed into reality itself."

Legend stared at Virginia Dare Jefferson and then began to grin himself. "That's . . . well, that makes her more a hero than me, I guess. She didn't think of being a hero herself; she just wanted the best hero there could be, so she made you."

"Don't run yourself down, son; you're the first, the one every single one of us looks to as an example. But I will surely agree that Virginia is one special young lady."

***

He came out of the reverie feeling a little better, a bit more focused on who he was, who they all were. All of us are special, he admitted. And I guess I should look in the mirror and accept that, once in a while, as long as I don't get . . . arrogant about it.

He got up, walked around the room--keeping an eye on the telltales, of course, but his ki sense would almost certainly let him know if something was badly wrong anyway; he could sense Fireflux right now – over the New Mall, he thought – and Steel Sentinel was catching up to her.

No one else seemed active, for which he was grateful. Every day that goes by without a new Fenris or Endgame or Valameon is another day that I don't have to worry how many people won't get to the Shelters, how many might be hurt because I'm not quite fast enough, strong enough, smart enough to do the job I was created to do.

The part of him that was Ben did, sometimes, try to argue that everyone – even Legend – couldn't do everything right all the time . . . but he never argued it long.

They both knew that Legend had to do everything right, all the time. That was what being a hero meant.

That was what being a hero was.

 

 

The post LEGEND: Chapter 4 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 13

Varan was learning to live in a fairly comfortable prison...

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Chapter 13

Varan:

Twin mandibles slashed at me, and I parried, reinforcing my parry with my psionic strength. I was still under the damper fields, yes, but it remained an edge that allowed me to hold the Grasper at bay just long enough to flip up and let the pressure on the blades squirt me higher, a seed shot from between two fingers, and somersault in midair. I landed on the Grasper's back and laid the vya-shadu across her eyes. "I win, I think."

A buzzing laugh. "You do, Captain Varan. A very impressive showing. I am not sure whether I am learning more of your people than you are of mine."

"I'd guess it's an even match there. I don't know how you were trained, but I know that most of what I knew about Zchorada was how to kill them, preferably at a distance, and something about your usual tactics and strategies. Your culture, or even personal combat preferences, weren't much discussed."

"It is . . . not that different for us," she admitted, and rattled around me; sounds told me she was opening the refrigerator of this training room. "Catch, Captain!"

I sensed the small object coming, reached out my hand and caught it without even looking around. Then it suddenly dawned on me:

A Zchorada had just walked behind me. Had just thrown something at me without warning.

And I felt not the slightest rise in my pulse, not the faintest hint of concern. A smile touched my lips, grew, and I threw back my head and laughed with a feeling of such joy and relief as I had hardly known, a cleansing rush of rightness that I had feared would never be mine again.

"What amuses you so, Captain?"

I turned to her and gave her a full Six-and-One. "Grasper, though your people neither planned nor knew it, you have done me a service beyond price. The hrizz-zamiza as you call it, the unthinking fear, the phobia I had of your people . . . it is gone. I no longer look about me and see evil and fear, no longer find the sound and movement and shape of Zchorada a horror impossible to bear. I am . . . myself again, and only through this imprisonment – this forced, inescapable exposure to that fear – have I found my way past it."

The mandibles fluttered in a pleased way. "This is a wonderful thing, Captain. That so cruel a necessity would produce such a marvelous result is . . . proper, it seems to me. It is what you deserve, at the least. I hope that means your remaining time with us will be somewhat less unpleasant."

I laughed again. "It will be immeasurably less unpleasant. Even pleasant, leaving aside the locked doors and psi-screens – not that I truly object to them. It's what we'd do in your place." Much less than what we'd do, especially with Shagrath in charge. "I just hope my friends get back soon."

"As do I. We are well past the halfway point of their allowed term." She shook herself with a clattering of chitinous armor like a dozen plates clashing. "Well, shall we attempt another passage at arms? I am –"

A low buzzing and a glow from her first thoracic segment cut her off. She cursed mildly in Zchoradan, but touched the comm; immediately the faint sounds of another Zchorada became audible, speaking the native language.

Something's wrong. I thought that before I was able to consciously recognize why I did. The Grasper of Sealed Holes was stiffening, slowly but clearly, her body unconsciously straightening as she listened to who was at the other end.

"Enough – I will come at once." She tilted her head at me, then called to the watching guards, "Bring our honored prisoner back to his room; I must attend an emergency meeting." Without even waiting to ensure I was properly under control, she scuttled out of the door.

That damped down my elation. Something terrible had happened, and given the circumstances, I couldn't think of too many candidates for that which wouldn't end up being bad for me.

Had Shagrath finally completed his maneuverings? Were we simply too slow? Was it now war?

No. It couldn't be. It might be wishful thinking on my part, but I didn't think he could be ready – not when Taelin, Lukh, and Trey were working against him. No matter how many people he'd suborned with his Kaital allies, I was sure that my friends would have found a way to avoid it, and with Lukh running Imperial Security, it was an absolute Towers-damned certainty that he'd find a way to slow down anything and everything Shagrath did.

I felt better even as I thought that. I knew Taelin, and he'd actually seen through Shagrath's lies on his own. I'd sent him just three words, and he'd not only read them, he'd accepted them and believed in me – and apparently so had Lukhas and Trey, if no one else. They were what the Five Families were supposed to be, and that meant that there was no way in all the Hells that they'd let the Reborn Empire fall. Not that fast.

But that did leave me with the mystery of my hosts' current problem. I shrugged after a few moments; there was literally no way for me to answer the question (short of breaking out or trying to read their minds, neither of them very diplomatic actions). So I sat down and began clearing my mind and preparing to practice my psionic skills again, as best I could under the pressure of the psi-screens. A while back they'd seemed to get even stronger, but things were a bit easier now; apparently they'd decided to back off on the pressure.

The practice lasted more than an hour, and still the Grasper had not returned, nor had anyone called. Perhaps the problem was more an internal one? A jailor, or more accurately the officer in charge of a prison, could have many things happen that would lead to a lot of worry and confusion. Despite her earlier discussion of how they tried to run their jails with kindness, I could easily imagine a prison break taking place. And that would surely be something to call the officer or warden out of their practice duel with a star prisoner.

Massaging my temples a bit, I walked over and tapped the door. "Is it time for lunch yet?" I asked.

"Momentarily, Captain," Hurrzador, my usual guard, replied. "I called it down ten minutes ago."

"Thank you very much, Hurrzador. I appreciate the thought."

"Your thanks are accepted; the service was minor."

Sure enough, within a few minutes my lunch arrived and I was able to start eating, having finally banished speculation about my hosts' current issues from my mind. I was just contemplating the dessert – a surprisingly tempting fluff-pastry with redfruit and cream filling – when the door gave its warning buzz and opened.

The Grasper stood in the doorway, and I could tell just from the rigidity of her mandibles that things were very, very bad. "Grasper? What is wrong?"

She entered, stiffly, slowly, her feet whispering in a subdued scraping on the deck. "The Empire knows."

"Knows? Knows what?"

"The Empire knows that you are here."

I heard my breath whistle in past my teeth. Torline's Swords. The Empire knows the Zchorada have me? "How? How could they possibly know?"

"That they have not told us; a spy we have not yet caught, perhaps. But when they contacted our people, it was with absolute knowledge. They could even tell us which cell you were held in."

I swallowed. This was about as bad a situation as I had ever imagined. "And . . . what do they want?"

"You, Captain Varan. They ask that the Zchoradan Meld turn Captain Sasham Varan, known psionic and renegade, over to the Empire for trial and, presumably, execution."

Sinking Towers, no. "And what does the Vmee Zschorhaza say to this?"

"They have attempted to dissemble and negotiate. Apparently the first contact was a few weeks ago. The emergency call . . . well, the Empire has run out of what minimal patience it has displayed of recent. They are sending an emissary to retrieve you. If we do not cooperate . . . it is strongly implied that this will begin the war we have been so desperately trying to avoid."

My mouth was dry. They can't afford to go to war yet. They haven't even accepted what their true enemy is; without that they haven't got a chance. "How long?"

"Based on the messages?" The Grasper paused, then looked down. "The emissary's vessel will arrive in-system in three weeks."

Three weeks.

My deadline was a lot closer than I had thought . . . and there was no way to let my friends know.

And if this "emissary" did get me on board his ship . . . I was pretty sure that "deadline" would become, very suddenly, literal.

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 13 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

LEGEND: Chapter 3

Dr. Hsui has her daughter to look after and a lot of thinking to do...

-----

 

Chapter 3.

Jennifer realized she'd made it home only when she was opening the front door. I drove home entirely on autopilot.

"Mommy!" The delighted cry from farther in the house preceded a small, slender, black-haired dynamo who catapulted into Jennifer's arms so energetically it almost knocked her down. "It's a commercial break, so I can come out now, I had my bath, Gran's reading in the other room, she said I'm a big girl now so I can watch by myself, I've done some more drawings – can I have ice cream?"

"Slow down, pinball girl," Jennifer said, laughing, and scooped up her six-year-old daughter. Yuki hugged her fiercely. "Yes, I'll get you some ice cream, while I get myself some dinner. Don't pester me, though."

"I won't!"

"Of course you won't," Jennifer agreed, smiling. "Except during the commercials."

A familiar quick fanfare came, faintly, from the living room, and Yuki practically leaped out of Jennifer's arms to run over and sit by the widescreen TV. About a quarter of the TV was visible from the seat Jennifer preferred to use when eating in the kitchen.

Gran – Samuel's mother Linda – came out of the den. "Welcome home, Jenny. Are you set, or do you need me to stay a little longer?"

"No, no, it's fine. Thanks so much for watching." She shook her head. "I always feel I'm taking too much advantage –"

"Never. If I think you're imposing, I'll certainly let you know. Have I ever been shy about that? Of course not. Still, it will be good to get back to Will; he doesn't mind a few hours without me in the house, but once it gets to nighttime –"

"Then shoo, go on." She kissed her mother-in-law on the cheek. Once Gran had left, she threw the deadbolts and activated the security system. So far, I haven't needed it . . . but I've got someone very valuable who's worth it.

The refrigerator yielded half a steak from earlier in the week, the fixings for a small salad, and a little brown rice. Not a bad dinner, and she could afford the calories today.

     "Yuki, do you really want your ice cream now, or do you want it when the new episode comes on?"

"Oh! Umm . . ." The battle of now versus later on Yukari's face was of heroic proportions. "I . . . I guess I'll wait."

The next half-hour passed quickly as Yuki watched Densetsu no Densetsu and Jennifer heated and ate her late dinner. She'll want me to sit with her for the new one, so I'd better finish up.

She just made it, putting the dishes away and bringing in Yuki's snack as the opening began to play. "Yon Youso, Yon Kami . . ." her daughter sang along with the opening, which showed the "Yon Kami", or "Four Spirits" – Dragon of Air, Tiger of Stone, Turtle of Water, and Phoenix of Fire – coalescing into Densetsu.

After today's session, that armor and face – animated or not – struck a new chord. Elements and Spirits . . . the Five are element-spirit paired, at least that's what I've read. I wonder if that part of Densetsu is a reference to the Five.

Of course, Yuki could – and sometimes did – reel off an almost unending list of facts about the show, and the actual legends it drew upon, such as the relationship between the Chinese Four Guardians of the Compass Directions and the Shishin of Japan and how the choice of which element was related to which Guardian affected the direction of the show, and what powers Densetsu had because of them, and so on. Undoubtedly, if Jennifer were to ask about whether the Four were a reference to the Five, Yuki would be able to tell her if the creators had ever said so, what the fans thought, and how many fanfics had been written crossing the Five over with Densetsu.

Having watched most of the series with Yuki, Jen had somewhat unwillingly come to appreciate what it was that made the show so popular with so many people. Oh, it was obviously playing to audience expectations, but doing it in so straightforward and un-self-conscious a way that it came off as an adventure with the same earnest, clear-eyed sense of right and wrong that a six-year-old might understand. At the same time, there was a depth to it that children might not directly see – the implications of events in the pasts of both Heroes and villains, the choices Densetsu and his friends had to make but that they almost certainly sensed, which made the show that much more real.

And the resonance with the real world itself can't hurt. The real Legend had fan clubs, and she wondered how all of this affected him.

She yanked herself out of her woolgathering to realize the episode recap had ended a while ago, replaying the cliffhanger it had left off on. This season's villains were a mangled Egyptian pantheon and their representatives. At least Set's been given a demonic ass' head in this one, rather than getting the snake treatment.

The episode held Yuki spellbound, ignoring the ice cream in front of her. Even though Jennifer knew perfectly well how the music and animation were being used to evoke her reactions, she found herself drawn in towards the end, when Ma-Sho, one of Densetsu's oldest enemies, walked slowly toward the beaten hero. Densetsu was too weak to do more than turn his head as the gray, stone-like face of his enemy impassively looked down and then glanced back to the glowing manifestation of Set.

"You may finish him, foreigner. We know he has been your enemy. You have served us well. Take that which is his, and it shall be yours."

The light of the setting sun glinted from the amulet around Densetsu's neck – one detail that was not the same as his real-life counterpart, the source of his curse and blessing. If Ma-Sho gets that . . . she thought, and then smiled to herself. It really is a well-done show, even if it's not quite what I expected my little girl to watch.

Ma-Sho turned back. "I had expected better of you . . . Densetsu."

He reached down, unhooking the kusari-gama from his belt. As he did so, a tiny object dropped from his hand, bounced off his boot, and rolled in front of Densetsu——in a place that those behind Ma-Sho could not see. It looked like a dried fruit: wrinkled, round, and slightly golden.

"Look, Mommy, look! It's a dragon berry!"

Densetsu's eyes flickered up, and for just one split second his eyes met those of his enemy . . . and Ma-Sho's mouth turned up in the tiniest of smiles, even as the gray-skinned Demon General prepared for his final strike.

The kusari-gama whirled and came down – but in that instant its target was gone. Something moved so quickly it could not be followed, and Ma-Sho was sent flying, disappearing in the distance. Now Densetsu stood before his enemies and raised his arms above his head. "You trusted in greed; I trusted in honor, and now I am reborn." Fire gathered about him, blazing brighter, gathering to a point of intolerable brightness, and Set's warriors tried to scramble back.

"Too late!" Yuki crowed. "Ohh, you're going to get it NOW! The dragon berry brought him back, even stronger than he was before. That's the way they work, and I'll bet he's got a new——"

As Yuki said the word attack, Densetsu's arms swept down like wings. "PHOENIX . . . ASCENDANT!" he shouted in an echoing voice, and the gold-white fire raced out in all directions.

Of course, that also ended the episode. "Awww! I wanted to see him beat them!"

Jennifer laughed. "Well, that will be next week. Now he'll have a whole episode to –"

"——open up a can of whup-butt!" Yuki looked down and made a face. "My ice cream's soup!"

Her daughter's face was so mournful that Jennifer couldn't keep from laughing. "I'm sorry, Yuki. Maybe I should have let you eat it earlier."

"Can I have another bowl?"

"You're supposed to be going to bed, pinball girl." Another pleading look. "I'll give you a small cup. But then you brush your teeth and go straight to bed."

"Okay!"

Jennifer had thought she'd do a little reading once her daughter was in bed, but now, in the quiet of the night, incredulity caught up with her. Has anyone ever tried analyzing one of these people before? What does it mean to literally change yourself back and forth? Who could I even ask to get a different perspective on this?

This is going to be . . . interesting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The post LEGEND: Chapter 3 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 12

It's been a while since we looked in on Taelin...

-----

 

 

Chapter 12

Taelin:

"Thanks for letting me steal a ride, little brother!" Lukhas said, dragging his travel cases up the boarding ramp of Valabacal.

"You're always welcome," Taelin said. "After all, there's enough room to keep you out of our way."

"Ha!"

"But why do you need –"

Lukhas rolled his eyes. "I don't need to, but you and Trey are already headed near Karanis, and barring one of the cramped messenger ships there's no other ship that'd get me there any faster."

"Oh. Makes sense."

"Glad you agree. Hi, Trey, am I interrupting anything?"

"We were planning on a private trip," Treyuusei said, trying to look severe and failing; she gave Lukhas a hug instead. "But come on, let's all get inside. Takeoff in a few minutes."

Lukhas made sure the doors sealed behind them and followed to the control room. "So a second marriage flight, was that the plan?"

Trey wrapped one arm around Taelin, who echoed the gesture. "Why not? Once the shockwaves of my return settled down, of course me and Trey –"

"Like the two of you weren't seeing each other anyway," Lukhas said dryly.

"What? How –"

"Please, Taelin, I am Imperial Security. And you two weren't that discreet."

Taelin flushed slightly, then pulled away from Trey as they reached the control deck and slid into the pilot's seat. "Strap in for takeoff!"

The usual ritual of clearance and permissions led to a smooth climb into the sky. Once they were well clear of Oro, Taelin unstrapped. "All clear, and we'll be into Conversion in about three hours. I don't know about you, Lukh, but I'm going to go unpack everything; this is going to be a couple of weeks' trip, you know."

"True enough. I'll see you all in a bit, then." Taelin didn't miss the fond grin as Lukhas saw Trey take Taelin's hand and both left the control room together.

Unpacking, setting up their cabin, and various other activities took up a few hours; finally, he felt the faint jolt of Valabacal making the jump to T-Space. He and Trey immediately made their way forward.

"Took you long enough," Lukhas said, turning from where he'd been watching the opalescence of conversion streaming by.

"We're secure?"

"I found nothing. I assume you already did your own security survey."

"Both of us did one."

"Good. Then we're secure. If something can spy on us in Conversion, we're in serious trouble. Though our real key to being undetected is to keep them from suspecting us."

"That's not really possible," Trey pointed out. "Not for you, anyway, Lukhas."

"Well, they'll always be worried about me, but my efforts are intended to keep that on a mundane level. Make them mostly concerned with keeping me properly directed so that I follow their script when the time comes." He frowned, lines drawn into his face that hadn't been so clear only a couple of years before. "And the time's coming soon."

Taelin felt a faint chill down his spine. "How do you mean 'soon'?"

"No more than a year before it all goes straight to a second Fall," Lukhas said bluntly.

"Emperor's Name, Lukh. How sure are you?"

"Too sure, Taelin. Remember, I get all the reports – well, those that go through any channels I get to see, anyway – and knowing we've got a whole network of traitors or worse hiding in the Empire puts a whole different spin on what those reports say. On the surface it looks like the Empire's just being pressured from a lot of other directions, with maybe some overreaction internally. But with what we know about Shagrath and his allies? You can tell that something's very, very carefully playing every faction off against the other, ratcheting up the tensions in a coldly-calculated manner."

"But why? You've got to have some kind of idea by now of what Shagrath's after. Complete conquest of the Empire?"

Lukhas' face was so grim that Taelin's mouth went dry, and he saw Treyuusei bite her lip. "Nothing so sensible or mundane. I don't see the Empire surviving this, Taelin, Trey. Not the Reborn Empire, not the Zchoradan Meld, not the Ptialians, not even the other groups on the fringe like the R'Thann."

"But . . . then what . . .?"

"The only thing that makes sense of what Shagrath's doing – even though it's otherwise completely insane – is that his goal is to destroy every single galactic civilization within reach. He doesn't want to rule; he doesn't want to leave anything to rule. He's orchestrating an explosion of conflict that will cause everyone within fifteen or even twenty thousand lightyears to engage in all-out warfare and collapse the economies and eventually even the infrastructure of every star nation we know of in that volume."

Taelin felt as though a huge abyss had opened up beneath him, an abyss filled with incomprehensible horror. "But . . . why? I mean, it makes sense to try to take something over, and the occasional psychopath might want to smash everything, but he's got an entire set of alien allies working with him. Are they some . . . invading empire, maybe? That would make sense, they're going to knock us down and take over."

Trey shook her head. "If they were, they're an empire we've never heard a thing about. How would Shagrath have managed all this without even Lukh hearing anything about the source of these . . . psionic allies of his?"

"But what kind of group – one big enough and old enough to do this kind of thing – deliberately sets out just to wreck everything? That's . . . that's a child with a tantrum, or a madman, or a demon, not something that . . ."

He trailed off, feeling that icy sensation spreading. "Fallen Towers."

Lukh looked at him. "What is it, Taelin?"

"I think I might be going crazy," he said slowly. "But . . . something you said, something I said . . . put them together and I can make an insane kind of sense out of it, especially when I think about Sasham."

Treyuusei and Lukhas both thought about it for a moment; their eyebrows suddenly shot up at the same instant, but Trey spoke first. "You can't be serious, Taelin!"

"It makes sense. Insane sense, but if Lukh's right the whole situation is insane. He said we're heading for another Fall. And I said that only demons seek destruction for its own sake. Well . . . what if I'm literally correct? Then –"

"Then Shagrath and his allies are the Demons," Lukhas breathed with a sort of horrified revelation. "Some kind of alien race that did exist back when Atlantaea did, worked with them, and then once it got a chance somehow took the whole civilization down. And now that we've seen how it's working here, it's all too believable. Psionic allies and manipulation on a grand scale . . . add extreme longevity to that, so that our adversaries can take centuries to work on a project? Yes. Yes, that would all work."

"And Shasham's faith . . . our faith, the research and belief in Atlantaea, that's probably what drew them back out," Trey picked up. "If you're right, they destroyed Atlantaea, for whatever reason, and we're trying to revive all that we can. So naturally we're targeted."

"By the Seven," Lukhas said emphatically. "No wonder it was so hard to recognize. Invasion plans make sense. We're always trying to figure out the motives of our opposition, but we expect their motives to be ones we would understand. Now that I think of it this way, everything makes sense."

"And even harder for us to explain," Taelin said, feeling the weight of depressing certainty. "We can't talk about the Demons as if they were facts without sounding like a Believer nutcase, worse than Sash. Not without having a Demon, whatever they really are, for exhibit."

"Worse than that," Lukh said somberly. "The fact is that we have a swiftly-shrinking circle of people that we could tell. Most of the Five Families are compromised badly, so are most of the Greater Families, and there's starting to be extensive . . . conversion, I suppose we could say, of the Lesser. We need to get word to Sasham – I am certain he's still alive and uncaptured – but not in any way that will draw attention to us. And we need to prepare some kind of countermove."

Taelin thought a moment, then grinned. "I think I've got a way to get a message out. And an ally or two I can contact, if I do it right."

"Who?"

"Canta, that's who. We used associative code together years back, and while he wasn't nearly as good as me or Sash, I'm sure he'll still catch a simple couple of messages."

"He is under surveillance, you know. All of Varan's old associates are, except you – and that's only because of the way you got kicked out and re-accepted."

"Yeah. That's an issue, but I think Sash will try to contact him, and if we prep Canta for it in advance . . ."

"I like it. Remin Canta's also due for rotation to duty in Oro system fairly soon, so we may be able to use that." Lukh suddenly froze, struck by another thought. "And so is Commodore Morno."

"Veshdar Morno? Why in the Hells do you say that as though it's a good thing? I remember the beating he gave Varan –"

The grin spreading across Lukh's face startled Taelin into silence. "Well, what you don't know is that Varan managed to return the favor . . . on board Commodore Morno's own flagship . . . during a Ptialian-triggered honor challenge. And Morno let him go."

Taelin tried to put that together; it took a few minutes, because making sense of that sequence of events meant changing his outlook on the former bully. "Morno captured him. He knew what the Navy said Varan was. And yet he let him go. Which means . . ."

"I think so, yes. His report emphasized that he had been given directives that maintaining peaceful cooperation with the Ptial was paramount, and that he thus had to both accept the challenge and abide by the results, and that's true . . . by the book. But Dragon Strikers aren't very by-the-book people usually, and Morno's record doesn't show him to be usually some slavish rules-addict. He could just as equally have justified the possible political break by relying on the general directives on psis."

"So Sash somehow convinced him that . . . what? He wasn't crazy?"

"At the least, I would say. And the fact that none of that showed up on the reports and such means Morno's keeping a very close rein on any of the facts surrounding the event."

"Okay, so maybe we can make use of that. But . . . it all comes down to somehow pulling off Shagrath's mask, or that of his allies, so that everyone will know."

"I know, little brother. And how we do that I'm not sure. But once we do know that we'll need to be ready to act. And for that part of the plan, I have some very definite roles for you and Trey to play . . ."

As Lukhas outlined that key part of their last-ditch effort to save the Empire, Taelin felt that grimness descending upon him once more. Their enemy was worse than they had imagined, they had no idea as to how to prove he even existed . . .

. . . and at best, when the time came, they would have one – and only one – chance to save the Empire. Because if they made even the smallest mistake, it would be their actions that would trigger a war of complete annihilation.

 

 

 

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 12 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

LEGEND: Chapter 2

So, you have a superhero on the analyst's couch...

-----

 

Chapter 2.

She was still in something of a state of shock, but she heard herself respond, "I . . . will have to think about it for a few minutes."

He looked suddenly chagrined. "Look at me, coming in here with a clear plan as to what I was going to say, and then messing it up already."

She blinked. "What do you mean?"

"Well, obviously you'll have to think about it. There's . . . a lot of issues. And I wanted to make sure you knew them up front. And I was going to talk about those first."

"It's not that, Mr . . . Legend," she said slowly, finally starting to come to grips with the situation. "I may realize the potential pitfalls better than you realize. But that's because of a rather personal set of events."

He waited, but she didn't elaborate; just leaned back and started thinking. Very personal, and my job isn't to discuss my personal life with you, just to decide if I can keep most of it out of the job.

There was nothing more personal than the death of your husband, and Samuel Hsui had died five years ago as a bystander in a battle between an inexperienced hero and a vicious empowered psychopath. The hero, named simply the Rat, had won, and––she did not hesitate to admit––had probably saved many lives by stopping the one calling himself Fenris; but in the battle three people had died, one of them her Samuel. His quick smile would never brighten her door again, his hands had never come back to pick up Yuki or touch her face, and she could not see one of these costumed Heroes without——fairly or unfairly——feeling a moment of anger.

I'm also bitter because it was only a few months later that the Shelters started construction; Samuel would have lived if they'd already been in place. And the Shelters themselves couldn't have existed without the unique powers that had appeared; it was a combination of the group called the Five and one of the more secretive government organizations which had designed and built them, first in Albany (which had, for some reason, been the epicenter for the initial changes) and then in other cities around the world.

Seeing that she was lost in her own thoughts, Legend was wandering quietly around the room, looking at the pictures, certificates, and other things she had scattered around the office. She noted the way he moved, while somehow surrounded by that aura of power and impressiveness, carried also the nervousness of a new patient. He bent down and studied something on her desk, a faint smile crossing his face, then looking over to a picture tacked to the wall, a rough but painstakingly executed scene in the bright colors that were favored by small would-be artists everywhere.

"You have a fan at home, I see," he said quietly.

"You like having fans?" she asked. Yes, I'm always a therapist even when I haven't made up my mind.

"Those aren't my fans," he protested.

"Densetsu is an awfully obvious pastiche of Legend. The name even means 'legend', doesn't it?"

He looked embarrassed. "Well . . . yes, I can't argue that, given that they've hardly even tweaked the costume design. They actually asked me for permission to do the show."

And you gave it. Which would indicate . . . what? "You obviously didn't say no."

"Well, people would make some kind of show about us sooner or later. More than one, actually, as you probably know. I said yes, but on a few conditions. They had to keep Densetsu a hero. No temporary falls to the Dark Side, no Batman-esque antiheroics. But they also had to show him as a PERSON outside of the hero-antics."

She wanted to pursue that line of questioning, but now she was starting to act as a therapist and she hadn't even accepted him as a patient yet. "Can I ask how you chose me?"

He noticed the shift of conversation but didn't question it; one thing that was clear to her was that he was a very controlled man, one who liked to keep anyone from telling whether he was rattled or not. "Can I ask you if what we're saying is confidential?" he countered.

She considered briefly. "Yes, it is. Unless you tell me about something that I am required to report – which means generally suicidal tendencies or certain criminal activities, which shouldn't include anything you're likely to tell me."

He nodded. "I asked around my . . . peer group. While none of us – until now – have been going to anyone in our heroic identities, some of us have had issues we were seeing therapists for in our regular guises, for purely mundane problems. One of your old patients . . . highly recommended you."

It was suddenly blindingly obvious. "J——!" She stopped before actually saying the name. Jack Morriman. He mentioned his hobby often, and that it took time, and was dangerous, and somehow I'd decided he was probably a mountain-climber. He led me to that conclusion deliberately!

"Morriman, yes," he said with a grin. "Jack said that if you were everything he thought you were, as soon as I gave you the hint, you'd figure it out. You pass."

Do I? "I'm still trying to decide if I'm the right person for you, Legend."

He sat down quietly, but stiffly, nervously waiting for her decision, and she suddenly had an insight. The way he talks, moves, acts . . . the way I've seen him act on television . . . he's young. Very young, much younger than he looks.

That, really, was what decided her. That and the memory of the most important little voice in the world asking "You're going to help him?". A young man asking for help with what had to be an almost impossible problem. I can't let what happened to Samuel get in my way. That's not what he would have wanted. And it's certainly not what Yuki would want.

"All right, Legend. I'll take you as a client." He relaxed visibly. "I understand there are some risks inherent in this job; I will expect you to do everything possible to minimize those risks.

"In return, I will do my best to help you. Understand that therapy isn't a miracle. In the real end analysis, I, personally, can't help you. All I can do is help you to help yourself."

He nodded.

"Everything said in this office is confidential, unless I think you present a major danger to yourself or others, or have committed certain crimes that I'm required to report. I also recognize your . . . unique legal status and will take that into account." When he nodded again, she leaned back. "All right, Legend. What brings you here?"

He instantly went tense, with a tension that was completely familiar to any therapist. He knew there was a problem, he wanted to address it, but it scared him, worried him in several ways. He'll approach it obliquely at first. I'm guessing . . .

"Well . . . what do you know about how we . . . super-types work?"

Exactly right. "Not very much. What I've seen on the news. I don't think anyone knows much about how you work. You hide it for the most part, after all, and I presume that's to protect yourselves and people you feel responsible for."

"Yeah," he agreed, and shifted in his seat. "Understand, we're . . . ordinary people, or we were. And so far, there isn't really any clear pattern as to who gets these powers, or how. I know more about this stuff than just about anyone, except maybe Jason Wood and a few spook agencies, because I've met and talked with most of the Supers – and the bad guys, too, though usually there's a lot more fisticuffs involved."

Fisticuffs. The word was what her great-uncle Jeremy (on her father's side) used to call a 'ten-dollar word'. The fact he chose that word told her a fair amount about Legend. Compensating for nervousness with emphasized intelligence and faux formality.

Legend was continuing, not noticing her momentary thoughtfulness. "What I'm getting at is that what you see . . . really usually isn't what you get. Which is why most of us can have a private life at all."

"So . . . you don't look like Legend all the time?"

He grinned. "Not even close. And I'm not nearly the most extreme change. Well, you knew that, from people like Caracal and Coatl, but I know of at least one hero who isn't even technically alive when he's not out doing his stuff."

She nodded, just looking at him.

The smile faded and he was silent for a moment, looking back at her, clearly having realized he'd diverted himself from the subject. So how will he address it now?

"Well, that wasn't an entirely pointless diversion," he began, an undertone of defensiveness in his voice. He's used to being questioned and arguing his side. He sighed, flashed a nervous smile again, and shrugged. "That's part of the problem, really. I mean . . . who am I? Who are the others? Now you know Jack's one of us, but is he more Jack, or . . . his other identity?

"It's one thing if you're just playing the role – if you're an actor, or even a spy or something. You're still not changing yourself. But when I go out to save someone, I go from . . ." he hesitated, then continued cautiously, " . . . from my normal self to a completely different body – different voice, hair, eyes, all of that––even different fingerprints, probably even different genetics, which means even the super-spy organizations haven't got a lot of ways to track us all down. But that's not the point, the point is I'm not the person I was born, most of us aren't, when we're Supers. It's not just a mask, it's a different EVERYTHING."

She hadn't thought about that before, but now that she was thinking of it, he was right; this was a problem that was almost completely new. "I see part of your problem, Legend, and I can understand that it must be difficult. You look in the mirror one moment and then another, and see completely different people looking back. And if I might take a guess, when you see Legend in the mirror I think part of you likes him a lot more than your original self."

He winced, but laughed at the same time. "Well, yeah, I guess. Legend . . . doesn't have to take my baggage with him." He rubbed the back of his neck as though to massage out a cramp. "It's . . . tougher than that, even. My colleagues––how am I supposed to think about them? When the face they use in my line of work isn't the one they wear at home, when it may not be the same age, the same race, hell, may not even be the same sex. Or even, as I said, the same species."

"So part of your problem has to do with how you should interact with your peers. Perhaps a particular set of those peers?"

He blinked, his eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he shook his head, chuckling. "Oh, my, my, you're good. I suppose I can sorta see where you got that, but it's not direct. You have to be getting a lot from nonverbal cues."

"I'll take that as a yes, then?"

"Hell yeah. Not sure I'm quite ready to go farther," he added, candidly.

"Well, Legend, that's entirely your choice. I can see this will be a very interesting relationship, especially if you keep having to avoid some of the more basic topics." Jennifer pulled out a clipboard. "I have to have you fill this out anyway, so since you're not feeling comfortable . . . ?"

The sharp-planed face gave an exaggerated look of horror. "By the Five Elements! Not FORMS!"

She couldn't quite restrain a chuckle. He was very good at that; he had a sense of timing and dramatics that clearly served him well in his chosen avocation.

For a few moments Legend wrote––filling in forms at inhuman speed. I can see superpowers can be useful in a lot of ways. Then he gave a snort of laughter.

"What is it?"

"I'm afraid I'll have to leave a lot of this one blank," he said. "I can't give you my address or anything, and as for insurance . . . do you think there is ANY company on Earth that would take me as a policyholder?" He signed the bottom of the form Legend.

She had to admit . . . he had a point. "So how are you paying for your sessions?"

He reached into his armor, and pulled out a roll of paper bills. "Cash. I think you may have heard of it?"

"Without insurance, my sessions come to –" she broke off as she realized he'd just dropped the entire roll on her desk, and it was all one-hundred-dollar bills.

"Just let me know when that runs out," he said as he opened the window again and glanced out. "I'll bring more."

And with a flash and a gust of wind, he was gone.

 

 

The post LEGEND: Chapter 2 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 11

People who knock on doors using bombs generally aren't friendly...

-----

 

 

Chapter 11

The Eönwyl:

She realized she'd been momentarily stunned, tried to rise, found herself shoving rubble up and away. Murr stirred and began helping her. Whoever did that is going to be coming in—

The sharp twanging sounds of automatic rannai fire sounded out from the smoking hole and she could see the staccato flickerings of the packeted energy bolts streaming outward. Well, by the Seven. Hmmmseeth's defenses managed to survive that blowback charge? That's impressive.

Automated weapons wouldn't hold their opponents for long – any group that used a focused blowback charge like that as a doorknocker wasn't playing around. But it gave her plenty of time to clear her head. "Vick, talk to me, what're we dealing with here?"

A disciplined strike force, Vick's mental voice replied instantly. Personal mind-shields on all of them, unfortunately. I can of course penetrate them given time, but I have not yet done so; I would prefer to not demonstrate this capability if I do not need to.

"How many, and what are they? Mydrwyll?"

I sense . . . twenty individual screens. Visualizing the area shows three are Mydrwyll. The others appear to be human.

She threw a glance at Murr, but by the way the Mydr guide was preparing a barricade, it didn't look like this was something he had expected. "Murr, I think we've got Imperial troops out there. How?"

The purple alien said something in his own language; from the tone, she was sure it was not fit for polite company. "Deduction: Someone's been monitoring the Nets for specific queries. Couldn't just take in Hmmmseeth, but knew he was a top contact point for outsiders. Further deduction: from your earlier conversation, knew Hmmmseeth had shipmates connected to your Varan."

Towers and caverns, he's got to be right. "So they paid someone well to watch for this."

"Even more well to permit military landing. May involve very high-up people on Mydr."

The automatic fire suddenly lessened. Blast it. They've got one, they'll have the other down in a few minutes. "Hmmmseeth, we don't have your twenty-five minutes!"

"I have deduced that," came his distant voice. "Need at least five more, however. Minimum time to acquire material."

"Collapsing Caverns." She drew her own pistol, but knew it wouldn't likely be of much use against . . . whatever came through the door. "Doctor Guvthor, Doctor Sooovickalassa, if you have any ideas . . .?"

Guvthor gave a sharp-toothed grin that looked far less civilized and far more eager than she was used to seeing. "By the Ancestral Forest, I think I do." He grasped the largest remaining fragment of door and heaved it to a standing position. "Doctor Sooovickalassa, if you would . . . support me, so to speak?"

A hiss of amusement. I believe I understand. Yes, go when ready.

The immense Thovian lifted the door fragment by the handle in its center, now seeming to heft it easily, as though it were no more than an ordinary shield and not a multi-ton piece of armor plate. Looking to the side, she saw Vick's right hand touching his forehead, a look of intense concentration on his reptilian face . . . and a faint glow surrounding him.

Oh.

With his other massive hand, Guvthor reached back and freed the titanic axe, the Makthu Hok Guvthor. The two-handed weapon spun about, frighteningly well-controlled by Guvthor's single fur-covered hand, and even as the second automatic rannai cannon in the entryway finally fell silent the Thovian was already charging forward, crouched low behind his impossible shield.

The Eönwyl sprinted after him; there was no point in reserving anything, a move this desperate would need all the backup it could get . . . and she really wanted to see this.

The smoke was clearing in the shattered entry lock, and a mass of figures was crouched in the main entrance. As they saw movement they opened fire, a hellish fusillade of energy bolts and even solid slugs that would have swiftly torn through even the power armor that Sasham Varan used to wear.

But Guvthor was not wearing armor; instead he bore before him something thick enough to have been armor for an Imperial patrol vessel, and the beams and bullets barely slowed him, even explosive charges from a Shockwave cannon rebuffed by the sheer impossible mass of E-steel. Before the massed fire could even begin to wear its way through, Guvthor Hok Guvthor was upon them.

He released the shield and its apparent lightness vanished; instead it tumbled implacably onward, a careening groundcar out of control plowing through the assembled assault force. Even armored figures were bowled over, some broken and bent by the impact. The great axe rose and came down, and she saw a torso go one way and the lower body another, even as his other hand batted one of the Mydrwyll assailants aside like a child.

But being in among them without his shield meant he was vulnerable.

The Eönwyl was already raising her rannai pistol before she consciously thought of it, knew which of the men was going to shoot, fired, and her bolt caught his armor where it was already damaged, sent a convulsive shock of agony through her target, who dropped his weapon. A green and gold streak passed her, and Sooovickalassa was there, guarding Guvthor's right flank as her pistol shielded his left. Murr scuttled up beside her and added his own fire.

The battle did not last long.

"It is . . . done," Guvthor said, leaning heavily against the wall. Blood matted his fur in a dozen places, and she did not like the way he favored one leg. "But there will be more. A single task force? No, they will have planned for at least two or three more stages."

I agree, Vick thought. And this corridor is very, very long. I do not see an easy way out.

"Hmmmseeth, you have your five minutes, but not much more!" she shouted, mulling possible actions in her head. Vick was, unfortunately, right. The corridor was kilometers long. They couldn't use the same trick again. Maybe Vick's constantly-growing psionic powers could get them past one, or even two, more groups, but once he started really using them the Imperials would be alerted. She doubted they'd use mass-destruction weapons on a world they had a very shaky presence on, but they'd sure try to use anything they could get away with, especially since – almost certainly – there would be a Kaital pulling the strings on this. Although on second thought, if there was, it would have to keep far, far away. This world had a very significant R'Thann presence, and the Kaital and R'Thann, as they had discovered, were ancient and implacable enemies.

Maybe they could go the other direction? Into the sea? A lot of weapons were far less effective underwater, and certainly both Hmmmseeth and Murr would be completely at home there, and Sooovickalassa seemed likely to handle water well. But they didn't have an artificial lung for Guvthor, and she suspected he didn't swim terribly well.

But if we can't get through the tunnels and we can't go through the water, what the Hells can we do, fly?

And suddenly it was there, the idea she was looking for. She waved desperately to get Murr's attention.

The open eye section slid towards her. "Query?"

"Query, yes. Where's the nearest transmission relay?"

He thought. "Answer: one point two kilometers down the tunnel."

"And that's on top of the tunnel, right? How high?"

"Three hundred twenty-seven meters."

That's high enough to give me the line-of-sight for transmission. "Vick, check me on this: the Mydrwyll and the R'Thann both like people to take care of their own problems, right?"

     Correct. Though there are nuances.

"Neither Mydr nor Thann'ta actually want much to do with the Imperium, so they won't care if we embarrass them, right?"

As long as we try to minimize casualties, yes. Self-defense is one of the sacred rights.

"Got it. Vick, Guvthor, take out the tunnel ceiling."

They blinked, then Guvthor smiled. "Ah, I see. If our adversaries await us inside the tunnel, they will find it much harder to stop us if we are running along atop it."

"More than that, but yes, that's the start." Guvthor and Vick grabbed up the fallen weapons of their adversaries and opened fire on the upper section of the tube.

Hmmmseeth scuttled up as the two scientists completed making a hole in the obdurately stubborn material of the tube. "I have what is needed."

"Then let's go."

Guvthor handed her up, then the others. He tried to scramble up after them, but it required something of a jump – one that his injured leg could not manage. "I am afraid I am unable to –"

With an exasperated hiss, Vick glared at him. Drop your protections for a moment, you fool!

An instant later, Guvthor practically flew upwards, to land with a grunt on the gently-curved tunnel roof. "My apologies, I am indeed injured and not thinking clearly. Let us move onward."

Even injured, Guvthor could limp along at a reasonable speed due to his sheer size. The others kept pace, the Eönwyl leading them. "Murr, I'm going to need your help interfacing with the transmission tower. I need to override its governors so I can punch a signal through their damned scramblers."

"Understood. This is technically illegal –"

She reached into her pouch, yanked out the crystal and pressed it into his tentacles. "Take the rest, everything."

A ripple of strained amusement shifted the creature's hide. "I was about to say, but I am already targeted. Still, I will not refuse payment. My experience in the Enforcers included these sorts of maneuvers, although usually on the other side. I believe we can achieve what you want – look out!"

A line of figures below opened fire on the fugitives. Fortunately the tunnel ceiling – as Guvthor and Vick had proven – was very tough, but even so some of the shots punched holes straight through the glassy substance.

"Keep moving!" she shouted. "If we keep going they'll never be able to make a big enough hole to shoot us through. It'll take damn blind luck to nail one of us otherwise."

Yes, but they could duplicate our own actions and come up here.

"I'm more worried about them calling in reinforcements from the ocean."

"It is doubtful they have any such," Guvthor assured her, his voice strained but still confident. "We were at a location with only a single way in or out, and no resources to escape to the ocean. I am afraid that they will come to the same conclusion as Doctor Sooovickalassa, however, and I am not capable of running."

"You don't have to run very far, Doctor," she said. Four hundred meters ahead of them, the slender, dark needle of the transmission tower waited. "That's our destination. Though we will have to somehow keep them off us once we're there."

"That will be something of a challenge, I am afraid. That tower does not look conducive to serving as much of a fortress."

"No, and I need it to stay intact."

Guvthor shrugged, and Vick rattled his crest. Hmmmseeth buzzed a dismissal. "Statement: We are committed. Either we will succeed, or we will die. But we will die trying to fulfill our Debts, and that is all we can do." From a toolbelt around his body he drew a gently-curved stafflike object of crystal and metal; she recognized it as a skip-laser rifle.

"Trust me," she said, as the tower drew nearer, "I am not planning on dying today!"

The transmission tower, like most such structures, was an openwork construction of beams and antennas. It was probably mostly E-steel, but that just meant they could make the beams thinner than other materials would have allowed; it would still be relatively fragile.

On the positive side, the test and servicing panel was at the base of the tower. Murr rippled his way up to it first, examining the seals. "Standard anti-tampering work. I've got a key-code for all these public support installations." In a moment, the opaque seal-shield slid back. "Access granted. Query: What will you be transmitting from? Directly from the console or –"

She pulled back her sleeve, showed her commlink bracelet. "Can I interface through this? Transmit at close range and relay?"

"Hmmm . . . standard Imperial protocols?" At her nod, he bobbed slightly. "I can arrange that. It will take a few minutes to perform the override, however."

A sharp detonation caused her to look back; about three hundred meters away, rannai and Shockwave fire was systematically cutting a hole in the tunnel ceiling. "A few minutes is all they're going to give us."

"In either direction, I am afraid," Guvthor said, pointing. In the distance, a squad of human figures was advancing from the direction they had been going.

Collapsing walls, she cursed mentally. "Hmmmseeth, keep up as much constant fire as you can across that hole they're making. With luck they're going to be really reluctant to stick their heads up, armored or not, and that'll buy us time. Guvthor, Vick, start trying to take out the group that's already up here. I've got to stay with Murr so I can act as soon as he's ready." She turned and added her pistol to the suppressive fire Hmmmseeth was providing.

For a scientist whose primary study was statistical, Hmmmseeth was an excellent shot. Skip-lasers required a well-trained sense of distance and many hours learning how to reflexively tune your firing impulses to cause the bolt to emerge exactly where you wanted it to. A good shot with a skip-laser, however, could judge it well enough to literally shoot targets on the other side of a wall, and Hmmmseeth was doing exactly that every so often – aiming down, to the area where the group doing the cutting must be standing, and squeezing off shots whose effects were obvious by the way that they disrupted the otherwise carefully synchronized fire from below. Helps that we know we have no friends in that direction. That might just keep them slowed down enough.

Vick stepped out, pulled a glassy cylinder from his pack, aimed, and hurled it up and out. It described a swift, high arc and came down almost exactly in the midst of the approaching Imperials. Instantly a detonation of fire and force shattered the tunnel beneath them and sent soldiers flying. Some plummeted into the sea to either side, while others fell helplessly into the gaping hole; a few others lay motionless on the shining surface of the tube. As the smoke cleared, she could see there were still multiple combatants standing, but that terrible blast had cut the forces against them by half, at least.

"Grenades? When did you get grenades, Vick? And I don't recognize the design –"

An impression of a laugh coupled with a steamkettle hiss. I have no grenades. That was an empty collection bottle.

She blinked, then grinned. "Oh, that's clever. They don't know you don't have grenades –"

- and so they will not assume that detonation was psionic in nature. Exactly.

"Interface is ready!" Murr said sharply.

She activated her comm. Transmission . . . clear, finally! If I can just get off the right commands . . .

A glint showed in the direction of the city. "Vick, Guvthor, what –"

"It appears," Guvthor said, with not a trace of his usual good humor, "to be an Imperial troop transport. As I recall, they generally carry fifty troops, or twenty-five in full combat armor. This may become . . . difficult."

"Fallen Towers." She tapped out the commands as fast as she could; despite her preference for hands-on controls, she berated herself for not at least fitting neural links on the comm. "Murr –"

A bolt splashed off the E-steel just between the two of them, perilously close to the controls. "Tzil! Murr, what's the code for the spaceport tower – emergency code?"

One of the armored figures had reached the top of the tunnel behind them, and Murr was now trying to support Hmmmseeth. However, he managed to duck back and punch in another code.

She sent the last transmission and then turned away. "That should do it. They're still trying to jam everything, but I think this was getting through." I hope it's gotten through.

"Meaning no disrespect, Eönwyl," Guvthor said, firing around the antenna base which provided some meager cover. "But whatever it is had best be very fast. Doctor Sooovickalassa and I are formidable, yes," another two shots, and return fire that scorched his fur, "but that is a troop carrier and it is almost ready to land. Our hand weapons will make no impression on it, and I doubt that even Doctor Sooovickalassa can take twenty-five power-armored Imperials by himself."

I am a Master of the Dawning Light, Vick's mental voice said with a chill certainty. Perhaps I cannot . . . but many of them will fall first.

"That still ends with us falling," the Eönwyl said. "Not my plan."

"Then what is your plan?"

A brilliant spark of light shone out, far down the line of the tunnel, so far that it had to be from somewhere in the center of the city itself, and the Eönwyl grinned. "That."

A distant, thunderous roar punctuated by a whipcrack boom reached their ears, but even before that they could see the spark growing, becoming a graceful white arc swelling with terrifying speed.

The troop transport swayed, then slewed around, heavy rannai fire bursting from its two defensive emplacements, but The Eönwyl was a screaming sword of vengeance ripping through the air so fast that sound itself lagged far behind; the sound they had heard must have come from its initial launch. The mere shockwave of its passage sent the transport spinning out of control, dipping downward to a fatal encounter with the waves; it tumbled half-over and began to sink, the armored figures inside desperately scrambling to avoid being taken down with the foundering ship.

The Eönwyl pulled up scarcely a hundred fifty meters away and even though it was now streaking its way almost directly upward, hurricane-force winds buffeted the little party; Guvthor went to one knee and Vick held on grimly to the tower.

The triple-pointed Atlantaean hull nosed over and dove, slower than before but still fearfully fast, and the soldiers that had made it to the top of the tunnel were tripping over each other in their haste to make it back down.

Now The Eönwyl slowed, flaring up and back, drifting down to a jet-supported landing that nonetheless made the tunnel's roof creak dangerously . . . and lowered the boarding ramp.

"Observation: A most effective move indeed, Eönwyl!" Murr said.

"Everyone on board now! They might be sending something bigger!"

"Undoubtedly they will be," Guvthor said, forcing his injured leg to support him now that refuge was so close. "Yet they will still need at least a few moments to recover their wits! I know that I would, my friend!"

The Eönwyl noticed Murr hanging back. "Murr, aren't you –"

"I am curious, but you will be traveling far indeed and I have made no such preparations. A benediction: I wish you good fortune!" The Mydrwyll agent gave a complicated gesture with its tentacles that she sensed meant something like a very deep bow, and then slid swiftly off the tunnel into the water. His natural element; they're not really after him anyway, and they'll never catch him now.

She bounded up the ramp, ordering it to close after her as she saw the other three were already inside. "Everyone get secured somehow! This might be very, very rough!"

This is not an unfamiliar circumstance in our adventures.

"True," said the Thovian with a booming chuckle, "though I might wish it were otherwise!"

She commanded the ship to lift and drive for the sky even before she reached the control deck and relied on her experience – and a bit of that strange sense – to know when to grab on and when to move.

Strapping in, she scanned the indicators. There are Imperial vessels closing in . . . but only two. Marjaav or equivalent – wonder where they came from, didn't see them on our way in. Not very close, though, far around the arc of the planet. And there's so many other vessels in orbit . . .

She detected a missile launch from the nearest; this close to the planet the effective range was long, but there was still a chance of hitting The Eönwyl.

And then the missile blew up in mid-flight. She picked up a general-wave transmission.

"Command and directive: this is Mydr oversight control. No weapons may be fired or discharged in near orbit without Mydr permission. Endangering of customers and allies forbidden. Information: Imperial vessels in violation of basic directives. Command: Cease activity immediately or be destroyed."

As a mass of Mydrwyll – and a few R'Thann – vessels converged on the vastly outnumbered Imperial vessels, the Eönwyl began to laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 11 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

LEGEND, Chapter 1

It's just an ordinary day at the office...

 

 

Chapter 1.

"I think today's session went well, Mr. Thompson," Jennifer Hsui said in her best professional tone. It was important to conclude each appointment on time, but not to make the patient—or client, as some people preferred—feel pressured or cut off.

Thompson, a man with a heavily lined face and graying hair that showed it had once been dark, managed a smile that creased his cheeks with wrinkles that had not been there so often when first he had come to her——was it a year and a half ago? "I guess so, Jen. Still hard to talk about some of this . . . but it's all getting easier now."

"Good to hear. Same time next week?"

"Think so."

The door closed behind him and Jen sat back with a whoosh. The hardest thing about being a therapist sometimes was trying to figure out the right direction for the patient, and then get him to move himself along it. Some people came looking for a quick cure—no, most of them do, let's be honest with ourselves, Jenny—but even when they accepted that this wasn't an option, they still had their own expectations of direction. And sometimes—maybe even usually—the direction they expected wasn't the right direction to go in.

Day's not quite over yet, not time for woolgathering, as my mother used to say. She stood and moved over to the attached bathroom, checked herself in the mirror; straight long black hair parted just so, touch up the makeup a bit, but nothing major.

She checked the schedule; a new patient was due in, a David Helten. He had a late appointment—5:30.

Whatever possessed me to take another patient at that hour?

She knew the answer: instinct. When Mr. Helten had called, his approach had been very professional, matter-of-fact . . . but there was just something about the tone of voice that made her feel there was something important there.

It was always important for the patient, once they made the step of calling, but somehow it had rung out strongly in the way he spoke, and she'd felt it.

Fifteen minutes before he gets here. She picked up the phone and dialed, waited. A few minutes later, a high-pitched child's voice answered, "Hsui residence, Yukari speaking." The words were enunciated with careful pride.

"It certainly is Yukari speaking!" Jen said.

"Mommy! Are you coming home now?"

"Not tonight, Yuki. That's why Gran is still there with you. I have a new patient tonight." She looked out her window idly as she spoke; from her tenth-floor window in the newly-constructed Grume Building the view was spectacular. Today, the sun was hanging low, shining across Albany and making long shadows from the buildings, throwing the Memorial Square into sharp relief. The new structures around it did not rise nearly as high as the old South Mall had, even though it had been . . . what, nearly ten years now? Had to be; Yukari hadn't even been born then. But there were also so many more buildings . . .

"You're going to help him?"

Bless you for being so understanding. I don't know if I would have been at your age. "I'll at least find out if I can, sweetie. I just wanted to call and say I love you."

"I love you too, Mommy!" A pause, during which Jen thought she saw tiny, distant shapes moving fast against the sky. They twirled together, a flash, a streak of light, and they were gone. I still have a hard time realizing that I'm really seeing this. "Mommy, it's Thursday . . ."

She laughed. "Oh, I see. Put Gran on."

Her mother came on the line a moment later. "I've already got dinner on, Jenny. Yukari's finished all her spelling words and showed me her other homework, which she was perfect on." The eternal pride of the grandmother echoed in her mother's tones.

"It's only third grade, mother. I think we'll wait to declare genius until the Fourth."

"If you insist. Now, I was going to read her a book later, but she insists—"

"Mom, you know she's going to watch her show tonight. There's a two-hour marathon ending with a new episode. It'll make her really easy to sit for—just make sure she showers first and she can go straight to bed after, if I'm not back. I should be back long before then, though."

"But that show is so—"

Yes, yes, I know. But she loves it, and it's not that bad. And I've had this argument with Mom so many times. "I know, Mom, you think it's lowbrow, boy's adventure with nothing to recommend it. And I admit I don't know why this grabbed her attention, but it has, and she doesn't just sit and watch."

"I'm sorry, Jen. I really should stop questioning you. You've been doing fine on your own. I'll get her fed and washed up and with luck you'll be back . . . when, seven?"

"If it all goes smoothly. I'd hope eight at the latest." She glanced at the clock. "Gotta go, mom, put Yukari back on." When her daughter was back, Jennifer said, "Love you, Yuki. Gran knows you'll be watching your show, so that's all set. I should be home at least in time to watch the new episode with you."

"Yay!"

She ended the conversation with a kiss and hung up. She looked up at the monitor over her desk. No one in the outer office yet—her part-time office manager had gone home, and the patient wasn't there yet. I hope he's not late. The green telltale showed that the CryWolf unit was in good operation, not that she was really worried; the number of Wolf incidents in Albany was very low, even compared with other cities. Still, it was good for peace of mind.

It struck her anew how incongruously bizarre it was that she accepted the presence of a werewolf detector in her office as a completely normal thing, like having a smoke alarm in your house. That was when the world really started to change, I guess. Though even then we could never have imagined what the world would become.

The Transformation, the Awakening——people called it different things . . . but suddenly there were new sorts of creatures appearing, some like men, some . . . not. And they, and some of the people, wielding powers that had just been fiction, stories in paper and film brought now to impossible life. The law, science, even political realities shifted, and the world was still far, far from adjusting fully.

The last minutes ticked by as the sun almost touched the horizon. No one there. He's late.

There was a rap at her window.

Jennifer jumped in startlement and whirled from the monitor.

Standing impossibly outside her window was a man, a tall young man with wild-flowing black hair bound back with a silver band, wearing strange, impractically styled armor that showed a physique like an Olympic swimmer, an outlandish outfit finished off with a flowing silvery cape.

She felt her mouth drop open as she stared, but for a moment she simply couldn't do anything other than stare.

"Dr. Hsui," he said in a voice that somehow penetrated the thick glass without being either diminished or shouted, "I'm your five-thirty appointment." He flashed an apologetic grin. "Sorry about the unorthodox arrival."

And at last she spoke with the only word she could think of. " . . . Legend?"

He smiled and nodded, the trademark confident smile that had been the symbol of the world's final transformation. He was not the only being of his type—not the only Super, as most would call them—but he was the first.

He was Legend.

She broke her momentary paralysis and yanked open the window – it took a moment for her to figure out how to unlock the sash, since there were safety features to prevent that being easy. Legend dropped through and landed lightly, making it look trivially easy to do the impossible.

"Why didn't you . . . use the regular door?"

"Didn't want to be recorded on the cameras. No one was watching this part of your building from the outside, not this high up." She noted that the cape somehow moved with him, avoiding getting in his way, as though it knew what he was doing, where he was going.

"All right." She could understand that. It must be very hard to have anything private when you were like . . . well, like that. And you'd have to go to extraordinary lengths to assure privacy. "So . . . what can I do for you?"

His smile was suddenly less confident, and just as suddenly more familiar.

"You have . . . problems?" She failed to keep the incredulity out of her voice, and kicked herself for it.

Fortunately he laughed, and the laugh itself told her a great deal. It was a laugh edged with uncertainty, nervousness, even a ragged tone that might be unshed tears. "Problems? Yes, Doctor . . . I have a number of problems. And I did a lot of searching to decide what I should do . . . who I could talk to. You ended up being highly recommended." He sat down in one of the chairs and leaned back, trying to look like he was relaxed – and failing miserably. "So how about doing some headshrinking on a superhero, Doctor Hsui?"

 

 

The post LEGEND, Chapter 1 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 10

The Eonwyl and her friends had a guide...

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Chapter 10

Eönwyl:

"You're sure of our destination, Murr?" she asked.

The color-flicker across the creature's skin was one she thought held both confidence and slight annoyance. "If your information was accurate, yes. The name Hmmmseeth is not a terribly common one, and combined with other information available on the public nets, there appears to be only one such that could meet your criteria."

They had taken a shuttle-boat to Konntenata, an inhabited reef area some distance from the rough-scattered center of the main city. Now the three – plus Murr – were making their way down a broad, sea-scented tunnel curving along a panorama of water-washed blues and greens with occasional flashes of brilliant colored plumes waving against the backdrop, schools of small water-creatures like fish flickering past the transparent walls. Water flowed gently through the tunnel, shallower to the sides than to the center.

The Eönwyl found the going somewhat tiresome, as even at the sides the water came nearly to her knees, and in the center she would have to swim. Guvthor, she had to admit, was having the hardest time of it, as he had to walk in considerably deeper water simply to give himself enough room to move, and the water soaked and dragged at his fur. Vick, with his slender form, was the least inconvenienced and, she suspected, could swim extremely well with his tail to propel him.

"Have you at least contacted Hmmmseeth, let him know we are on our way?"

"That was not possible," Murr said; the tone of his voice carried a note of intrigued interest. "Your target is highly private at the moment. He has withdrawn contact from public webs and, in fact, it required quite a bit of ingenuity to locate him at all. Had I not numerous contacts in Enforcement remaining from my service, and your generous expense account to encourage cooperation, I am quite doubtful that we could have located him at all."

"How interesting," Guvthor said. "Is this common?"

"To isolate oneself completely? It is not unheard of; unlike your species, ours is not seized with a need to associate with others at nearly all moments of our lives. Yet . . . no, this is not common. Not, especially, for one such as this Hmmmseeth, who has clearly mastered the art of associating with aliens and thus – like myself, to an extent – is used to frequent and diverse communication."

That sense was stronger. Something's wrong, or at least some kind of danger's approaching. Despite the creeping discomfort, she found that there was at least some comfort in knowing that this sense was an objectively real and powerful capability. "Did you come across any hints as to why Hmmmseeth might have isolated himself to this extent?"

"No clear indications, no." Murr stopped before a tunnel seal, presented his credentials to a waiting sensor. The tunnel unsealed, allowing them to pass through. "According to the timeline I was able to uncover, he returned to Mydr approximately roughly two years ago by your measure, and spent six months working on his project using the resources he had gained while offworld, including leasing very large amounts of time on the available simulation systems."

The Eönwyl surveyed the area; as usual, there were few Mydrwyll anywhere in sight, one far down the corridor from which they'd come, another at least a hundred yards ahead, and little else other than the tunnel and the reef outside. "Go on."

"After those six months, he ceased all work abruptly, purchased a large reef-section out here, and then moved in. Aside from occasional transactions for supplies, I have seen no indication he has ever left since, and there are no records of any visitors that I can find."

That's . . . interesting, she thought to Vick.

Indeed. The timing would indicate that he came back very shortly after Captain Varan's escape and the subsequent debriefing – and memory erasure – of all on board. Then he worked for half a year and suddenly retreated. Most suggestive.

"So how do we get to see him?"

"I am taking you to the entrance to his purchase. There will be a communication installation there. Whether he chooses to respond to a query or not . . . that I cannot say."

The Eönwyl frowned. What if he doesn't answer? We have to see him.

An impression of a toothy grimace. That will be something of a challenge, then. Forcing ourselves upon our host in such a hostile environment will be not only difficult but extremely dangerous. We are none of us able to breathe water.

Murr led them through several more corridor gates; the Eönwyl was increasingly impressed with the engineering and extent of these structures. They have built so much infrastructure to support movement of such a relatively small number of people . . . just to facilitate the existence of their unique civilization.

Finally, after kilometers of slogging, the corridor came to an end at what was clearly a door, and a massive one, reinforced with E-steel like a battleship or fortress main entryway. Next to the huge door was, however, a recognizable communications pad.

She glanced at the others; Guvthor moved forward. "Allow me."

He bent towards the communicator and activated it with a delicate push of his smallest finger claw. "Hmmmseeth, Child of the Seventh, a greeting and a request for dialogue. This is Guvthor Hok Guvthor of Thovia, formerly a research comrade of yours aboard Teraikon. I am accompanied by Dr. Sooovickalassa, Master of the Dawning Light of Thann'ta, and by the trader named The Eönwyl."

They waited, but there was no response even after a full minute of waiting. Guvthor raised one heavy brow, but bent back to the communicator. "Our mission is most urgent for us, and we believe of import to you as well."

When there was still no response, the Eönwyl moved forward. "Please listen to us, Hmmmseeth." Thinking of everything she knew about what had brought them to this point gave her a hint as to what to say. "Hmmmseeth, I believe we know why you ceased your work and have retreated here." She sensed approval from Sooovickalassa, and an additional hint from the telepathic R'Thann gave her the proper wording. "Captain Sasham Varan sent us, and we can tell you what the missing factor in your simulation truly is."

A light suddenly flickered to life on the communicator. "Who is the other with you?" said a Mydrwyll voice.

"This is Murrrinnessak, a guide under contract to us."

A hesitation. Then a stream of Mydrwyll language came from the speaker, to which Murr responded. A few moments later, the massive door gave a clank and swung outwards. "Instruction: Enter swiftly and let the door close before proceeding."

The four followed these directions, finding that the door opened into a large chamber with another closed door directly across from the entrance. The first door closed and locked, and brilliant lights shone out into the chamber. The Eönwyl could see multiple cameras and other sensor emplacements . . . as well as a few installations that appeared far more lethal. We're being studied . . . carefully.

It took only a few seconds, but watching what she was sure were rannai automatic cannon focused on her position made the time stretch out rather unreasonably. Finally, however, the lights dimmed and the second door opened.

Squatting just beyond the door, one manipulator tendril still on a nearby console, was Hummseeth. Having spent some time now around Mydrwyll, she was certain this was the same being shown to her by Vick.

Guvthor certainly thought so. "Hmmmseeth, I give you thanks for this risk you are taking."

"You recognize the risk. Good. It is a rational fear I possess."

"More than you know," the Eönwyl said.

"Query: you said you were sent by Captain Varan. Captain Varan is a psi, a murderer. I have witnessed this. Why do you speak his name as a justification?"

Vick hissed and his bared teeth were not a comforting smile. You allowed us in. You have suspicions of your own. You are of Mydr and our alliance. You know that memory is not always true. What intrigues me is that you have such a suspicion. Why?

The Mydrwyll opened its eye wide to examine them all in detail, then closed it to leave only two visible portions open. "Captain Varan clarified research direction. Captain Varan is owed Rational Debt if research is verified. Captain Varan's behavior throughout tenure on Teraikon entirely at odds with my memory of final day. It is more rational to misdoubt a memory of a single day than the history of many days. So the Captain is the person I remember from the year, not the day: verify?"

The Eönwyl grinned in relief – though that sense of danger was not yet gone. "I verify this, yes, and so do your colleagues – who know what did happen that day. So my query to you is this: what did your research discover?"

Hmmmseeth hesitated – the first time she had seen this type of hesitation in a Mydrwyll, with their focus on rational and direct approaches. Finally, however, he spoke. "Captain Varan appears to have been correct. Adding an unknown factor provided an explanation for historical course of galaxy as known. However, this only resulted in correct simulation if the unknown factor was continuous in operation and ultimately malevolent in nature, and precise motivation remains impossible to determine. The latter points cast doubt on veracity of model."

"But we have discovered this unknown factor," Guvthor said. "Its leader is someone well-known by reputation, if not personal conversation to us both: Prime Monitor Shagrath."

The eye flared wide, and then shut completely, Hmmmseeth concentrating the entirety of his mental resources on some analysis of his own. Minutes passed, to the point that the Eönwyl was wondering if the researcher even remembered they were there.

As abruptly as it had closed, the Mydrwyll's eye opened again. "Clarity achieved. Manipulation at highest level of major civilizations. You have data confirming this?"

"We have," Guvthor said. "Data which also confirms the description of the First Civilization, the one called Atlantaea."

Hmmmseeth's eye flickered almost closed again; clearly he wanted to think a great deal on that. But instead he rotated in place, then stopped, eye-segments now open and staring at all three of the alien visitors. "You did not come merely to confirm my research. Describe your needs."

"As I said, Captain Varan sent us. He sent us because you, and only you, can help him."

Hmmmseeth gave a rippling blink, then waved his tentacles in an emphatic manner. "I owe Captain Varan Rational Debt, the Debt must be discharged. How may I assist him?"

Tremendous relief burst through her. I won't have to argue with him!

No, Vick agreed. Once I knew he felt Rational Debt was owed, I knew he would come. There is nothing the Mydrwyll take more seriously.

She looked at Murr. "Murr, we may be discussing things that will sound insane, and certainly may involve you in dangerous doings if you continue. You have fulfilled the terms of your contract and I will pay the remainder and release you."

"Query: May I stay? I am . . . intrigued. Mysteries – seeking of understanding – have been the reason I have spent so much time in the Enforcers and interacting with aliens."

A moment of thought, then she shrugged to herself. Despite that slowly-growing sense of menace, none of it seemed associated with their guide. "If that is your wish, yes. But here," she handed him the payment crystal. "Payment in full for all services rendered thus far."

"Accepted and recorded."

"All right. Hmmmseeth, we have to hurry; I have a very bad feeling about how long we have. But I understand if you need to hear more –"

Hmmmseeth looked to Guvthor and Vick. "Both were shipmates. Both fellow researchers. Both of you swear that what she says is true?"

"We do," Guvthor affirmed, echoed by Vick.

"Then we shall speak of the details when you feel safe," Hmmmseeth said decisively. "I must gather my materials. Query: I am correct in assuming my research, my professional knowledge and capabilities, are what is needed?"

"You are correct," the Eönwyl answered.

"Then I require . . . twenty-five minutes, thirty maximum."

She nodded and the Mydrwyll scientist immediately flowed away deeper into his home.

"You will be departing the planet, then," Murr said.

"As soon as Hmmmseeth is ready and we can get back to The Eönwyl, yes."

"For a relatively small fee," Murr said, and she was certain that the pulses of color in his eyes were a broad grin, "I will call ahead and arrange all of the launch clearances so that your departure will be . . . swift and simple."

She grinned back. "I've still got some Mydr funds. You're on. Make sure we're cleared to launch as soon as we get back."

"Understood."

Vick nodded and rattled his crest. A wise choice. He will arrange traffic to suit us with the appropriate, as you say, 'grease'.

That won't be such a small fee, though. She sent a grin. But then, I don't need to save any of the Mydr money I got in trade.

Something about Murr's posture struck her as odd; after a moment, she realized most of his manipulator tendrils had stopped moving. "Murr?"

"Information," he burbled, in the tone of one puzzled and beginning to be worried. "Even though I have successfully interfaced with our host's transmission antenna, I cannot contact the port."

She froze. "Oh, fallen Towers."

As though the words had been a trigger, the sense of danger spiked, and without even thinking she screamed "Down! Everybody down!" and dove to the side, dragging Murr with her with the strength born of panic.

And the massive front door blew inward with a shockwave that deafened her.

 

 

The post Demons of the Past: RETRIBUTION, Chapter 10 appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.

LEGEND: Prologue

Here we begin snippets of my forthcoming superhero novel Legend!

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Legend
By Ryk E. Spoor

 

 

 

Prologue.

     It's going to be a chilly night.

 

Virginia shivered, even though it wasn't cold yet. But she knew she wouldn't be able to go back to the apartment; her father might be chasing after her, or he might have given up for now, but either way going back there was asking for more bruises or worse.

 

She grimaced, looking down at the darkening streaks that were the imprints of Daddy's fingers. A part of her still ached more than her arm at the memory of his anger… no, not at him being angry. Because he wasn't, not always, not before…

 

She bit back a sob. No. Not crying. I'm in the park where I wanted to be anyway. I … might have to go back tomorrow. I guess I have to. He's my father, I have to live with him. But tomorrow he'll go to work, he'll remember tomorrow…

 

But I'm in the park now, and it's the Fourth of July.

 

This year, Troy had decided to go all-out for the Fourth, and was actually attempting a fireworks display to compete with the State Capital's usual celebration. Virginia swallowed, then put on a bright smile and walked into Riverfront Park. She glanced up at her favorite landmark – the tall and dynamic statue of "Uncle Sam", gleaming even in the deepening twilight, and saluted.

 

People were gathering from all over. She could see vendor stands set up all around the park, and smells of everything from popcorn to roasting pork mingled in the air. Her stomach growled. Have to ignore it. I'm a big girl now. Almost eight. I can go without dinner. There's other people who didn't have breakfast and won't have dinner either.

 

Virginia was here for the celebration. She wanted to eat, yes, but that wasn't the important part. She was here to celebrate America. She loved the country, she loved the words her teachers read – and that she'd read, later, from the books on her own. Her father didn't understand, really, even though he had a flag on his usually-broken-down truck. She was pretty sure Mother hadn't understood, too; if she had maybe she wouldn't have left.

 

Most of my classmates don't, either. They'd laughed at her name when it came up in class. But she was proud of her name, even though there were a lot of bad things the Europeans had done when they came over. She still loved the country, the country she imagined. The one that she sometimes saw in stories, in books, in movies, and once in a while on the street – in her favorite statue, in the fireworks, and she believed that there really was something there. That there really was, not just a bunch of arguing people, but something better, something to send a tingle up your spine and straighten your back when you heard the Anthem start up.

 

She'd even learned all the verses of the Anthem. Just because Morrie said no one knew them, but she loved the tune. She was glad that her chorus teacher had taught them how to sing right, because it was a little hard to hit all the notes.

 

She pushed through the crowd; being a little girl made that a lot easier than for bigger people! There was a big podium, a stage, set up near the water's edge, and there were bands playing music. Suddenly the music shifted, swelled to a very patriotic-sounding fanfare, and she saw something up above, descending…

 

Oh, my g… goodness! Is it…?

 

She pushed her way through to the front, in time to see the impossible. Red and silver, with touches of blue and a stylized "S" emblem, the hero called Superlative landed gently on the central stage. "Hello, Troy!" he called out.

 

"Hello, Superlative!" she shouted back; so did a lot of other people, but quite a few were simply staring.

 

"I'm stopping by to wish you all a wonderful Fourth!" he continued. His deep, calm voice carried easily across the park. "I couldn't celebrate July Fourth without seeing the home of Uncle Sam, could I?"

 

Virginia had never seen any of the new heroes up close; after all, it had only been a couple of years since they first appeared. Now she couldn't do anything but stare. Superlative seemed… just bigger, brighter, more than everyone else. And she could hear in his voice that he meant what he said – that America was something he believed in, too. His eyes caught hers for a moment, and she knew that he really did see her, and that the smile he gave there was for her, for her belief, for who she was, and for that instant she felt warm all over.

 

If only… if only I could feel this way forever…

 

But the speech was short, it was almost over, it was over, and Superlative leapt up and streaked away into the sky; he was going to Philadelphia, then to Washington, she heard someone say.

 

Still, the cheerful feeling lingered on, and she wandered through the crowd, listening, hearing, watching. It's almost time for the fireworks!

 

"Hey, little girl, are you lost?"

 

The question came from a woman walking with what was obviously her boyfriend… no, husband. They've got rings. She noticed rings; sometimes Mommy had come home with hers off and that was when there were big fights.

 

She smiled. "No, not lost."

 

"Where are your parents?"

 

Virginia had known that question was coming. It wasn't like she hadn't heard that question a hundred times before. "Oh, around. We live near here, so Daddy knows I can find my way back if I have to." She felt a tension… an odd, tight feeling… in her stomach, through her body.

 

She gave the look – the one that said that she didn't think much of any Daddy that would let his little girl run around in a crowd like that. And … I guess she's right. He should be here with me, if …

 

Thinking that way was a mistake; she felt her cheerful smile waver, the strange tense feeling winding even tighter. Virginia immediately forced the grin back on her face and skipped off. Have to get near the waterfront again – the fireworks will start soon!

 

She wriggled her way through the crowd again, this time to get a place near the railing. It was getting quite dark, but there were some lights so it wasn't hard to find your way around.

 

THUMP!

 

She felt the shock in the air and through her toes, as the mortar launched the first firework shell skyward. BOOM!

 

She laughed, and as the next shell burst in brilliant red, she cheered; so did most of the crowd. The odd tenseness within her did not… let go, relax, but the lights and the celebration made it seem less urgent.

 

Then there was a shout not far away: "'Ginia!"

 

Oh no!

 

She saw her father, shoving people aside with ease. Gordon Dare was a big man with a furious glare, curly black hair that was now an untidy mess, and brown eyes that were as hard and unyielding as oak.

 

She turned and ran. Why now?

 

     "Knew you ran away here!" he bellowed after her. "Now get back ­home! Right now!"

 

The crowd was thick, but that meant that it was still easier for her to get through than him. The peculiar tightness within her worsened, made her lightheaded. Maybe the police will get him. But… then where do I go? I'll just have to wait for him to come back… and then he'll be really mad.

 

"Virginia!"

 

She screamed involuntarily as the rough hand grabbed at her again.

 

"Hey, you! Leave her alone!"

 

The words came from a young man – maybe from the high school, thought Virginia as she tore herself free. He was skinny, not anything like the size of her father, but his angry words made her father hesitate, and she took the chance, ran, ran as the fireworks burst in flashes of red and white and blue, ran, looking for somewhere she could hide…

 

A huge figure loomed up in front of her; for a moment she thought it was a man, an impossibly huge man – but then she realized it was the statue. She ducked around the front of it and then scrunched herself up behind Uncle Sam's legs and the cast-aluminum barrel that stood next to him.

 

Please, please let him miss me…

 

"Virginia! Ginia! Damn you stupid.." her father swore and she covered her ears.

 

A shadow moved out into view, and then one of the fireworks flashed; she saw her father silhouetted not ten feet away. Inside, she felt taut, a string stretched to the breaking point, stretching farther, and her head seemed to spin; she was barely able to focus on her father as he stared straight at her.

 

But he looked around, then away. Another flash and bang, and he was thirty feet away, walking, back to her, stumbling a little. She heard another curse, fainter, but he was sixty feet away, crossing the street… heading for home.

 

Still, she stayed there, unmoving, unbelieving, pressed up against the statue. It was actually slightly warmer here; the heat of the day had not entirely left the huge mass of metal and the stone base. It was a comforting feeling, even with the hard metal and stone. Maybe because of that, too, because she knew nothing – like her father – could sneak up and grab her THROUGH all that metal.

 

Daddy shouldn't have missed seeing me. She was sure of that. And that inexplicable tension was now unbearable, dizzying, and that something told her that her father should have seen her. He was looking, he had been barely beyond arm's reach, the statue didn't give that much cover. Yet…

 

She looked up, feeling the warmth, and that strange tension.

 

Red, white, and blue light flared with thunder, like the guns of the Revolution, and for a moment the colors danced along the statue.

 

And – for just a moment – she believed, even as that indescribable tension or pressure seemed to shatter within her.

 

She found herself lying on the ground next to the pedestal, dazed, but somehow certain. Something had kept her from being seen.

 

"Well, now, young Virginia," said a strong, tenor voice with a faint twang of an accent, "the ground's no place for a young lady. Can I help you up?"

 

She looked up, and felt her face – her whole life – suddenly igniting with a joy that she had never felt except in the dreams that she kept secret.

 

He stood there, tall and spare, cloak billowing out to one side, his colors of red, white, and blue striped along his pants and his impeccable top-hat. The white hair and beard were just as she had known they would be, and his blue eyes twinkled at her like those of Pa Ingalls in the books she had read last year. "That's right," he said as she rose slowly, incredulously staring at him. "You're not hurt, are you?"

 

"You… I…" she couldn't think of what to say. It's like… like meeting Aslan in Narnia. "Who are you?"

 

Even as he smiled, she realized with a shock that there was no longer anything standing on the pedestal. "Why, Virginia, you of all people ought to know that."

 

"You… you protected me."

 

"You protected yourself," he said with another smile. "I just helped."

 

She could feel, somehow, that he was right, at least in some way that she couldn't really understand. But the fact that he was here, that he was real…

 

And then the joy began to fade. "I still… well, tomorrow. Have to go back."

 

The tall man shook his head. "Now that we can see to, right now. You come with me, Virginia."

 

She didn't think of questioning him. She just put her hand in his and followed as he strode down towards the waterfront.

 

People laughed and pointed and some saluted or clapped as he passed – obviously thinking he was someone in a costume, celebrating Independence Day in the most colorful way. But the crowd also parted, almost without thinking about it, and so they were hardly slowed until they approached the riverfront railing, the finale of the fireworks now fountaining up in a cascade of flashing beauty and thunder like triumph.

 

"Beg your pardon, Ma'am," he said, the mellow tenor somehow cutting easily through the echoing din of the explosions and cheers.

 

The woman who turned around was an older woman – the word Virginia thought of was "matronly" – wearing a dress so brilliantly colored that it stood out even in the semi-darkness, and a hat so unique it was obviously hand-made. She had her hair done up under the hat and her eyes were gray-green. She looked up and raised an eyebrow, giving him a severe "and just who are you?" look. "Yes, sir?"

 

"This little girl has a problem," he said.

 

She looked down and her face immediately softened. Instantly Virginia liked her. "What can I do for you, honey?"

 

Virginia looked up at her companion, who smiled. "She's got nowhere to go. Nowhere safe, anyhow. Look at her –"

 

"I see it," the woman cut in, seeing the marks on her arm. "Sweetheart, who did this?"

 

Normally she wouldn't say… but she trusted him. "My… my father."

 

The woman still spoke to her kindly, but she could see anger – not directed at her – instantly flare up. "Has he done this to you… before?"

 

She suddenly couldn't look into that sympathetic, angry face; she dropped her gaze to the ground. "Y…. yes."

 

"Are you afraid to go home now?"

 

Do I answer?

 

She looked up at him, looking gravely at her now from under snow-white eyebrows. "The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, Virginia," he said after a moment.

 

All right. "Yes, I'm afraid. He'll… hit me. Hard."

 

The woman straightened up and looked back to her companion. "You know this girl? What's her name? Who's her father? Where's her mother?"

 

"In order, Ma'am, I certainly do know her, her name is Virginia Dare, currently resident at the address you'll find on the card in her lefthand pants pocket, her father's Gordon Dare, and her mother has seen fit to depart from their household and her whereabouts are not known – to her father, at any rate. You can do something about her, can't you, Eleanor Pilgrim?"

 

"I certainly will try – but who are you and how do you know my name?"

 

He bowed to Eleanor and took Virginia's hand. "You stay with Ms. Pilgrim here. She'll make sure you're taken care of." He straightened and tipped his hat. "She needs a good home, Ma'am. You'll find that there's some people just right for her, coming by your office probably tomorrow morning."

 

Eleanor Pilgrim's lips tightened. "That's fine to hear… and for some reason, I actually believe you, though I have absolutely no reason to do so. Who are you?"

 

He smiled, tipped his hat again to both of them, and strode off, whistling. Virginia's mind filled in the words:

 

"Oh, I'm a Yankee-Doodle Dandy

     A Yankee-Doodle do or die

     A real-live nephew of my Uncle Sam

     Born on the Fourth of July…"

 

And as he reached that line, striding away from them into the crowd… he simply faded away, leaving the crowd and Eleanor Pilgrim staring in awe… and Virginia smiling.

 

The post LEGEND: Prologue appeared first on Ryk E. Spoor, Author, Gamer, Geek God.