By admin, on June 15th, 2009% I know, I know. It’s been a while since the last TETWOS. A hell of a lot more than two weeks, and a good sight longer than “or so”.
Anyway, I’ve been working on a revision of the Fell Sylvanus character class I created for Colin’s revised edition of Permafrost. Joe’s been kind enough to let me playtest it in his current D&D campaign, and we’ve come to conclusion that it’s a broken class, especially at high levels. So complete overhaul. But, it got me thinking about the other set pieces I wrote for Permafrost, so I thought I’d post another one.
The Longest Journey
S’Darta stared placidly as the guards disappeared into the mist. This far from Inferno Peak the ground was barely warm enough to avoid freezing in the daytime. By afternoon an inevitable ring of impenetrable fog usually ringed the lands controlled by the infernal Peakers. It was also beginning to snow — again, curse the world — and a flake drifted into his unblinking, slit-pupiled eye. A transparent membrane nictitated across, wiping away the flake, momentarily blurring his vision. The guards were too far to see it, but still they watched his fixed gaze warily over their shoulders. He waved insolently, grinning, though they couldn’t see his scarf-covered mouth.
The guards were a courtesy, an escort provided by the ruling council of the Peak, as much to ensure the safety of those leaving with S’Darta as to ensure he actually left. The last guard took a few backward steps, to better watch him, before melting from S’Darta’s sight. He sighed, sinking in on himself, compacting his body, and shivered. He was not used to this constant cold. He headed further out of the mist, following the trail of his new converts. It was an easy trail to follow, with last-night’s snow still fresh on the ground. Clumps of the heavy wet stuff kept falling from dead and dying trees into the trail, though, and he almost lost it once before seeing the tail end of the line of new darveshi it was his honor to escort into the Dark Halls.
He quickly caught up and patted the straggler — Venson he thought was the name — through his layers of fur and cloth. At least S’Darta thought Venson was a man. It was always difficult to tell, with only cold grey wrinkle-shrouded eyes to judge from. No matter. All were equal in the eyes of the great Naga, be they always merciful. And in S’Darta’s bed, truth be told. When the world was going into the shit-hole as fast as it seemed today, a man would be a fool not to take whatever companionship he could get.
He pulled down his scarf and grinned reassuringly at Venson, then sped up to overtake the middle of the line, stepping carefully to avoid cracking through the encrusted snowbanks. The hiking was getting tougher and many of these new converts hadn’t ventured out into the frozen wastes much. They were too inured to their hopeless struggle to wrest food from a circle of ground that shrank, however minutely, with each passing sunset. And S’Darta was glad of it, too, for his people needed whatever surplus the Peakers could spare to trade. Just as the Peakers needed whatever supplies his people could spare.
He drew even with the middle of the line, bunched here into uneven sets of three or four people, as they were approaching a cave entrance, a passageway to the Great Dark. They were flanked by two of his fellow rhebari, Hashook and Silanna. One of the darveshi stumbled, landing on her face in the snow, not moving. The rhebari dashed forward, but Hashook was nearest and reached her first. He rolled her over and began to check her for injuries, removing her face scarf to scrape away the snow. S’Darta scrabbled forward over the ice crusted snow, nearly tripping himself over what had until recently been the lower branches of an oak or maple. As he reached the new darvesh — a young man after all, judging from the pitch of his stifled screams — Silanna was already helping Hashook cut away the man’s boot from a sickeningly twisted leg. Apparently the fellow’s foot had punched through a pocket in the icy crust. S’Darta began to carefully circle the spot, directing the rest of the travelers away as well.
“Pass on into the caves,” he reassured them. “Our friend will certainly be alright. We will join you momentarily.”
He turned back to the fallen man, and knelt at his head. “Report, please, Hashook,” he said, leaning on the man’s torso to help still his thrashing.
“It is badly broken. Several places, I think, honored one. We must try to set it, and splint it, but…” Hashook was silenced as the man kicked his undamaged foot into Hashook’s face. He fell back, but Silanna managed to repinion the fellows legs. “…he is rather uncooperative,” Hashook concluded through the fistful of snow he was using to staunch his bloody nose.
S’Darta pulled down his own scarf, and took the man’s head in his hands, leaning over his face. “Easy young fellow,” he said soothingly. “We are trying to save your life. What is your name?”
The young man squirmed some more as though trying to pull away from S’Darta’s gaze, or perhaps just move off of a rock or stick, but he replied, “Randall.”
“Well, Randall, my friend. Know this,” S’Darta continued, leaning closer in. “I am cold and I am hungry, and the life of a fool who struggles against those who would aid him is worth very little this day. Think on this.”
A shadow fell across S’darta. “Anything I can do to help?” It was Venson.
“Ah, my friend.” S’darta smiled smoothly. “If you have an axe or sturdy knife about you, you might cut us two sticks for a splint,” he said, holding his hands apart to indicate length. “About two fingers thick should do. Thank you.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” replied Venson. “I’ll be right back.”
As Venson moved off, S’Darta returned his gaze to Silanna and Hashook, his smile sliding away. “Quickly, Hashook, you must dose his leg. But be careful. Only enough to make him forget the pain. He must be able to walk.”
Hashook leaned forward, placing Silanna’s body between him and Venson. He removed the thick glove from his left hand, exposing the scales that he and his fellow rhebari were so reluctant to show to outsiders. The slow change affected all Children of the Naga differently, some developing scales on the extremities, some on the torso; some sooner, others later. Regardless, it was a deeply personal, spiritual experience. Double-checking that he would not be seen, Hashook quickly slapped his open palm against the bare flesh of Randall’s broken leg. The young man spasmed, and moaned, but held himself admirably despite the flash of pain.
“Good,” sighed S’Darta catching Randall’s gaze once more. “You do have discipline, when you choose to use it. You may progress far after all.” As the young man began to relax with Hashook’s venom spreading up his leg, S’Darta raised his voice to check on Venson’s progress. “How are you doing there, Venson, my friend?”
Venson leaned out from behind a nearby tree. “Just getting the last stick now.” He disappeared again, and S’Darta spoke sharply to Hashook, “Again. Quickly. We can risk a second dose with this one.”
Again Hashook slapped the young man’s leg, but the resulting spasm was less, and no moan escaped Randall’s lips. S’Darta patted Randall’s head absentmindedly. “Ah, here comes our friend with your splints Randall. It would seem you will survive this day after all.”
They splinted Randall’s leg, not bothering to swaddle it as warmly as before. The cave entrance was only a few paces away and they would soon be much warmer. They lifted him up and supported him as he hopped — lightly, so as not to crash through the snow again — into the cave. Randall stumbled often, his balance and dexterity thrown off by Hashook’s venom, but they and the rest of the travelers passed
deeper into the cave without incident. S’Darta had them all pause once, as the several passage bends stole away the light, to apply a salve to their eyes. Made from several mystical mineral powders, and the excrement of the sacred Naga masters, the unguent allowed them to see short distances in the darkened caves.
As they passed down into the Great Dark, the rhebari performed their sacred duties and began to instruct the darveshi in the ways of their new culture. They made excellent tour guides as well, explaining the meanings of frescoes carved into the living rock of the cavern walls. Carvings of the great Naga flanked passage entrances. Stone bridges snaked bare inches above glistening murals set in concave floors like frozen lakes. Reaching ever deeper into the earth, rooms were opened and shaped into scenes of breathtaking exotic beauty. And as they descended, the air warmed, and they were forced to slowly strip away their outer garments.
It was by no means sultry in the Great Dark, but the temperature was at least consistently well above freezing. As S’Darta watched Hashook and Silanna lead Randall off to the curates, he smiled. Everyone was now carrying a bundle of furs and cloth nearly as large as himself, but he could now tell men from women, young from old, attractive from repulsive. “Come my new friends,” he said, expansively, gesturing for them all to dump their extra clothing into a nearby bin. “I will show you such wonders as you have never dreamed of here in the laps of our great Naga masters, may they be ever merciful. But first, we must get you cleaned and properly attired.” And he turned and led them away into the dark, into their new home.
Tags: Fiction, fluff pieces, Permafrost, TETWOS
By admin, on February 3rd, 2009% So, it’s about time for another installment of Thing Every Two Weeks or So, but I haven’t written any new fiction, so I’ll have to cheat again. Not that I haven’t been busy writing, just not fiction. Anyway, here is a selection from a D&D 3.5 supplement Colin Fredericks was working on once. He actually published it for a brief moment, but pulled it from the shelves after some mediocre reviews in hopes of cleaning it up. I wrote some fluff pieces for it, but the project has stalled, now that 4E is out.
So you get to enjoy this piece here:
The North Face
Pardo leaned out nearly perpendicular to the wall and stretched his back and arms, loosening up the kinks caused by the contortions needed to reach the most tenacious crevices of accumulated ice. The wind whistled along the crystalline crenellations jutting from the north wall of Crystalhome in random places, and the ice dust made footing precarious. His left foot slipped off the rounded exterior of a large crystal strut and he banged his knee against the wall as he slipped into a crevice. He twisted around in his abseiling harness, putting his back to the crystal, and rubbed his knee through several layers of cloth and fur. From his vantage one hundred or so feet above the ground he could see the ruddy morning sun glinting off the mountains to the west and northwest and the slow, steady, billow of steam from Inferno Peak, like a column of roiling fire. Last night’s snow storm must have been heavier there than here.
He shifted his weight and pushed off the wall to swing out several feet, twist and return to the spot he had been chipping at before his slip. At the apex of his arc he could see a train of people leaving ‘Home for the surrounding forest. What was left of it, anyway. Each week the trees retreated further away, as the Crystalhomers raided their long dead and frozen ranks for the fuel needed for survival. The inner crystal of ‘Home may be somehow self-warming, but food needed cooking, laundry washing, and sacred fires stoking. Recently, though, there was news from the Core Seekers of Inferno Peak of black rocks found deep beneath the surface that would burn hotter than wood. Perhaps someday soon, they said, a new guild would form of people who would brave the depths to harvest these rocks from the belly of the earth.
But for today, sixty or so of the Woodsmen’s guild were heading west to cull what they could from the forest before dark fell and the crushing cold returned. Daytime wasn’t so bad during the summer, especially in the sunlight. Sometimes, the temperatures would still rise above freezing, then the snowmelt would puddle along the walkways and refreeze at night, and the Scrapers Guild would have even more work to do.
Scraping ice from the surface of Crystalhome may not be the easiest or most glorious of jobs, but it was important, and it held him his place in the community. Some people of the community thought it a waste of time and resources — after all, “it’s just ice on top of crystal. Wouldn’t it help to insulate Crystalhome”? True enough, it would; but eventually the ice would be thick enough that it cut off the sunlight feeding the crystals. It wouldn’t take much ice, either. Just a few inches could cut the daylight in half. No. The ice had to be removed, patch by patch, and that could only be done by hand.
Ice-scraping wasn’t Pardo’s only work, nor perhaps the most important. Every member of the Crystalhome community had several jobs to do, some belonging to five or more guilds. Pardo himself belonged to two besides the Scrapers Guild. He also helped with cooking and animal husbandry, and served at the temple near his quarters. The Adepts oversaw everything, of course, keeping order and raising everyone’s spirits. Any new arrivals to ‘Home — an incredibly rare occurrence — were assigned to empty positions until their talents could be assessed.
The Adepts made Pardo nervous. It was something in their eyes. When he had first arrived, they sized him up with one look. He was sure they knew everything about his past just from watching him walk, move, even breathe. And when they talked to him, he just wanted to tell them everything. And he did. Opening up with his rotten childhood, his life on the streets, his life of thievery, and following all the way to his inevitable retreat from Culver Cityas the cold drove everyone south. He told them everything they wanted to know and they listened to it all without judging him. They made him feel welcome and needed…and home. Within just a few days they had him assigned to his three guilds for training, using the skills of his past to best advantage. And he was finally happy. It took the end of the world to do it, but damn it all, he was happy.
As he hung from his harness against the wall of Crystalhome, Pardo took a swig of warm milk from an insulated canteen inside his poncho, and waved to his nearest work-mate, Jeanine, appearing around the bend several yards to his left. She was a fast scraper, and was already a few feet ahead of him, halfway up the north side of ‘Home. The Scrapers Guild preferred to employ women, as they tended to be lighter than men, but Pardo, short and lithe, had never been a weighty man. He quite enjoyed the dearth of men in the guild; it made him feel like the cock of the henhouse. Though, in reality, he was more like the little brother of a large family of girls. Oh well. It was pleasant enough company. Pardo never really got on that well with other men, anyway. Most treated him as a useless runt. At least, before the Great Cold came. Now, here in Crystalhome, there was even need for an ex-thief such as himself. Who would ever have thought Pardo, the Weasel, would rise even to as lowly a position as this. But, here, he was needed, and appreciated, and he fit in, if for no other reason than he was among the last of a dying race.
That last morbid thought brought with it a shudder, and tear that quickly froze to Pardo’s cheek. It was deathly cold here on the north face of ‘Home, out of the morning sun where the ice built up at its thickest, and he realized he had better get back to work before he froze here. He attacked the rime with renewed fervor and was soon caught up to Jeanine, who had stopped for her own break, her last swath of scrapings bringing her up against the border of their two assigned patches.
“G’mornin’, Pardo,” she said. “I n’er thought you’d e’er catch me up t’day. What’s lit the fire under your arse a’sudden?”
“Hello, Jeanine,” Pardo replied slowly, chewing over what he’d heard. Jeanine was from far south of ‘Home, originally, and he from the north. He sometimes had trouble deciphering her thick accent. “Just fighting off a sudden chill. But I could stand a bite. Ya mind if I sit with you a spell?”
“N’at all, m’friend. If y’can call hangin’ like a fly inna crystal web a fair sit.” She spat at that, a sickly green glob of paste spinning down away from the wall to the ground below. One thing this forced mixing of cultures had wrought was an appreciation of “exotic” vices. The southerners had brought with them an herb called chupar that, when chewed and sucked, invigorated the body and cleared the mind. It was a godsend to the Scrapers Guild. The last thing you wanted to do was fall asleep on the job up here. “I’ve had me eye onya most all morning,” she continued. “What’s go’you so moon-eyed t’day?”
“I don’ know, Jeanine. Just feeling melancholy t’day, is all. I was thinkin’ about Before, and how lucky I am t’have this work, t’be here in Crystalhome.” He took a bite of dried meat from the pouch that hung beside his canteen, and chewed it thoughtfully.
“Y’n’er talk about the Before e’er, or wha’ you did then, do ya?” asked Jeanine, watching Pardo’s face closely.
Pardo noticed her concern, but replied, “No, Jeanine, and I won’t ever. It’s not somethin’ t’be proud of. And don’t worry; I see your concern. I don’t have vertigo, or the wheezes. Just thoughtful, is all, but thanks for carin’. You and Breanine are too good to me.” Breanine was Jeanine’s twin sister, a twisted hunchback who worked the soup line near their quarters. Both of them were beautiful to look on, though. Even Breanine had a beaming face, full of love and caring, despite her forty-odd years of hardship. Pardo thought perhaps he would ask her to sit by him at the story-telling tonight. She was perhaps a bit old for him, in most folks’ eyes, but he loved her gentle wit, and her caring heart. And it was obvious she was sweet on him. “Do you think Breanine would like to come with me to the story-telling tonight? You and Lucius would be welcome, too, of course. I could use the company,” he added hastily, so as not to seem to eager to be alone with Breanine. Jeanine could be fiercely protective of her sibling.
Jeanine smiled sideways at Pardo. “Soooo,” she drawled. “You’d be wantin’ a bit of alone time wit’me fair sister, y’would I s’spect,” she said, watching his embarrassment creep into his face. “Well, Lucius an’I are off f’the oth’r end of ‘Home t’night. We’ve a card game standin’ with friends o’there, so I’ll expect you t’be on your best b’havior with me Breanine, or you’ll be findin’ y’self eatin’ alone up here t’morrow.” She smiled directly at Pardo now. “Best be getting’ back t’work the both of us. Good cheer t’you, Pardo. Have fun t’night.”
Pardo smiled and tucked away his provisions, after taking a bite from his own bar of pressed chupar. The cold was beginning to seep in again and he knew Jeanine was right. She always was the prudent one. He returned to his scraping, nearly finished with his daily patch, and thought about his night with Breanine.
Tags: character, Fiction, Flash Fiction, Games, Igor, Permafrost
By admin, on January 8th, 2009% So, here is the first installment of TETWOS, as promised; the narative gameplay demo. It still needs work. I’m going through it now writing a script-format version from the POV of players sitting around the table to show how the game mechanics are used to get the effects in the narrative. This will run as a sidebar to the narrative. Problem is, I’m finding a few initiative rating discrepancies in the narrative that have to be addressed, but this is close to the final product.
Two Cops Walk Into a Bar…
A Gameplay Demo in Narrative Form
Three gibbous moons, purple-white, deep green, and coal black, hung above the Solidumai skyline. The night air was blowing cold, whistling around the corners of the tightly-packed buildings of the southern sector of the city. Warehouses, shops, and small businesses all nestled in with restaurants and bars to service the daily influx of labor. A few of the high rise buildings had apartments on the top floors, but mostly this was a place people came to work, not live. PPC Officers Martha Zinkowski and Jefferson Leeds had walked all over town that morning, following lead after dead-end lead for several numbing hours. Finally, after a brief lunch, they stumbled across someone who might be able to put them in contact with someone else who may be able to give them a line on the notorious Redrumio’s current whereabouts. Maybe.
Their contact, a Trillid named Rak, had finally gotten back to them only a few hours ago, telling them to meet another Trillid named Barq at the Crimson Plowshare in Southside at eight o’clock. They were, of course, to come alone. They conceded to this typical demand. At least, they told each other, they would arrive alone. Rak’s timeliness had given them enough time to get a few plainclothes backups in place at the bar. Specifically, non-human backups. Everyone who could recognize a human on sight knew they all worked for the PPC, even if they didn’t know why. That made it hard to get work done sometimes, but the clever ones used it to their advantage. Most of the underworld believed the humans ran in packs.
As they rounded the corner that would take them onto Klipp street where the Ploughshare was located, an especially stiff gust of wind ploughed into them. “Shit, they got some cold wind on this planet, Mat,” said Jefferson. He zipped up the jacket of his plainclothes working outfit — trousers and jacket over one of his favorite T-shirts. The trousers and jacket looked like denim jeans and a leather bomber, but a practiced eye could see they hung and moved slightly more stiffly than usual. Under-layered with a special thermal-superconducting fabric, the ensemble could protect him from a few hits of blaster fire, as long as he didn’t take any in the face. They could even absorb a small bit of physical damage from more mundane weapons.
Mat wore a similar ensemble, though the jeans were slightly less hip and frayed and the black blazer she wore covered a thin lavender sweater. “I keep telling you to dress warmer at night, Jeff. You’ll learn. Now, tac up,” she said, tapping her glasses, “And check your weapons.” Mat removed her tactical set — a pair of stylish and surprisingly clear sunglasses — and wiped the lenses. She keyed her WristComm active and entered the command to darken the glasses. Instantly they went completely black — useful for blocking the light of a flash grenade. She then put the glasses back on, subvocalizing the command to make them gradually lighten back to clear. “Voice pickup seems good in the wind.”
“’Course it is,” she heard Jeff reply over the link. “Bone conduction, remember?” Speakers and microphones built into the arms of the glasses transmitted and detected sound directly to and from the skull above the ear. “Right,” she drawled. Smartass, she thought. The boy was good with technology, though his casual dress, sloppy posture and a permanent look of belligerence in his eyes belied his intelligence. She looked over at Jeff, who was checking his Stunner. It disappeared into its shoulder holster, a holonet model designed with active camouflage that blended it easily into the background of his black T-shirt. And the bomber jacket hid the tell-tale bulge that the holonet could not. A similar sheath on his right thigh housed a Stun Baton. She thought he was taking a risk with that. Without the added concealment of the jacket, even the slim line of the baton might be noticed by a careful observer.
Mat’s tac-set overlaid a HUD on her vision. Jeff’s name and vitals displayed over his shoulder. Weather conditions and air quality readings showed in the upper corners of her vision. The tac-set was linked to her WristComm, which was in turn linked to her Healer unit. With the WristComm as a central hub, information was relayed from its own multiphasic sensors to both the healer and tac-set, and from both of those to the others. She keyed up a small window displaying the view from Jeff’s glasses, then shut it down. It was too distracting. “Your feed is coming through strong,” she said. Mat checked her own Stunner — standard issue sidearm for the PPC — and the hold out Wasp at her ankle. Both were active and functioning. “Alright, let’s get moving. We want to be late, but not that late.”
“Right,” said Jeff. “I’m good.” They walked the last hundred yards in silence, quietly scanning the street and alleys for signs of hidden danger. Their WristComm scanners easily showed them any living creatures or people behind the walls they passed, even giving them best guesses on species. They could see a rough layout of any rooms, and any furnishings larger than about a foot long. But no one suspicious seemed to be following them.
They entered the Ploughshare at 8:02, just late enough not to seem eager, and perambulated toward the bar. Even having visited over a dozen bars in his short time as an active Journeyman, Jeff was still amazed at not being carded. It wasn’t that the bar’s owners knew all humans were cops here, though that might be true. It was that, in the eyes of the Galactic Union, he was past the age of majority, even at seventeen. He still felt a thrill as they passed through an area of small tables peopled with an even cross-section of the Union’s citizens. Not that he hadn’t been in any bars back on Earth. Quite the opposite. But the sounds and smells here, though similar, were still slightly alien. The music playing softly over the speaker system was eerie, using a strange scale system that sounded like it might have more than eight notes in an “octave”. And the mingled body odors of seven different species left an acrid taste in the back of his throat. But alcohol smelled like alcohol, no matter what you distilled it from.
As they got closer to the bar Jeff noticed most of the patrons stared at them as they walked by, some with malice, most with curiosity. Humans were still quite the novel species here. At the bar they ordered drinks and turned around to survey the room. Their scanners picked put the three well-spaced backup Officers from their neural tracer signals — a Kalen named Chzrli, and two Trillids named Korn and Peez. Jeff supposed they must get teased a lot for that, then remembered barely anyone spoke English. He didn’t recognize their names, but they were experienced enough to know not to stare at their targets.
Even having been off Earth for several months now, Jeff still couldn’t quite get his mind behind the Kalens and Trillids. Mostly it was a pronoun thing; he had trouble categorizing them. Kalens were asexual, but he couldn’t think of them as “it”s anymore than he could think of a cat or dog that way. When someone had a definite personality, whether they were sapient or not, he thought of them as either “he” or “she”. With the Kalens he had met, it took a while to notice, but there was always a definite gender bias; eventually they solidified as male or female to him. But in the mean time, he never knew how to refer to them. Sure they had their own asexual pronouns in their own language — “li” for singular, “lish” for plural — but he hadn’t gotten used to those yet, though he supposed he would. Mostly, he just referred to them as “yo”, something he had picked up in his time on the streets of Baltimore. It could be used for many things — too many things maybe to make it into mainstream usage, but one of the more useful was as a genderless pronoun.
The Trillids were just as bad, if not worse. They had three sexes. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out just how that worked. In formal classi
fication, they were referred to as alpha- (a-), beta- (b-), and gamma- (g-) Trillids, but using those as pronouns seemed just as forced to him, as was trying to remember all the pronouns of their native language (they had one for each sex, singular and plural, as well as one for each possible plural combination of sexes). So, it was back to “yo” again.
Mat leaned against the bar and seemed half asleep, but when the drinks arrived, she took Jeff’s. “On duty, kid. It’s fizzy fruit juice for you.” She slid her own drink over to him. The Union might have pretty liberal ideas about the age of responsibility, but no seventeen year old kid was going to drink alcohol in her presence. She’d made that mistake once too often on her first tour nearly ten years ago and wasn’t about to let someone else nearly ruin his career. “I think I see our contact in the far corner. Come on.”
“How can you tell?” asked Jeff, frowning at his drink. He hated these alien juices and Mat knew it. Damned mother hen.
“After a while you’ll pick up on the different details that mark individuals of any species.” Mat began to thread her way between the tables to the back corner of the bar. Why always the back corner? “Besides, she’s pretty much the only person staring at us now, and definitely the only Trillid.” She. Call it sexist, but Mat couldn’t help referring to the lithe g-Trillids as females. They were like supermodels, svelte and flat-chested and just a bit too haughty. Of course they were “she”s. Besides, it was better than Jeff’s ridiculous “yo”. “Are you Barq?” she asked in Usarian as they reached their quarry. She had never bothered to learn any of the galaxy’s other languages; Usarian was tough enough.
“Yes, I am Barq.” The gamma blinked; her too-human eyes were incongruous. Her face looked like Dr. Moreau had crossed a frog and a dog. She wore a loose garment — part robe, part overalls — covered in loose flaps of fabric mimicking autumn leaves. “And you are officers Martha Zinkowski and Jefferson Leeds, correct.” She didn’t pause for an answer, but gestured at the empty seats across from her. “I have information you want. Please remove your tactical sets.”
That request startled Mat. Not the politeness of it, but the directness. These tac-sets were still pretty new. This Trillid was connected. Jeff glanced at Mat before sitting down, raising his eyebrows as he removed his tac-set, folded it and hung it on his breast pocket by one of the arms. She had to give the kid his props; he could be clever. Now his tac-set’s camera was in a great position to record the whole conversation. She wondered if Barq realized that. Mat put her own set away in a pocket and sat down. “Okay Barq. What have you got for us?” she asked, putting her unsipped drink down on the table.
“I have a message for you from Master Redrumio,” Barq replied. “He would like you to desist in your investigation.” Four a-Trillids, who had been sitting at the table behind Barq stood up and surrounded the three of them. They were short but broad and strong, and wore the utilitarian grey overalls of day laborers. Two flanked Barq and two flanked Mat and Jeff. So we weren’t the only ones to bring backup, thought Mat. Stupid, thought Jeff.
Mat leaned back in her chair and played with her drink, allowing her blazer to pucker open over her Stunner. “Is that so, Barq. And here I though we were going to be friends.”
“Your sarcasm is misplaced Officer Zinkowski. I have only your safety in mind. Master Redrumio is a most formidable opponent. You could be hurt.” Barq looked pointedly at Jeff then retook Mat’s gaze. “You could be killed.”
Jeff lurched forward in this seat toward Barq, slamming the table and yelling in English, “Look yo! Don’t threaten…”
The four goons shifted from their at-ease stances to ones of at-the-brink-of-murder. Barq sat motionless, unamused. Mat grabbed Jeff’s shoulder and eased him back into his chair. Why is he always so hot-headed? “Easy, Jeff,” she said, maintaining Usarian. “Let’s hear what our new friend has to say.”
Jeff relaxed and readjusted his jacket. “Alright,” he snapped. “Say your piece Barq.” In English he said, “Yo stoney!” making it sound like a curse while throwing up his hands as though frustrated. Let yo think he was rattled.
Barq gestured to her entourage and they relaxed again. “Peace, officer Leeds. I have a proposition for you. As I said, Master Redrumio would like you to remove yourselves from this investigation. It is my task to persuade you.”
“And just how do you propose to do that?” said Jeff.
“I would first try reason,” said Barq. “You have very little evidence linking Master Redrumio to your list of crimes — all of it quite circumstantial. You are driven more by a mass PPC vendetta than by any sense of justice.”
“Oh right. Like you would understand justice,” interrupted Jeff. “How can letting Redrumio walk away from countless murders serve justice?”
Barq paused for a moment then spoke directly to Mat. “Officer Zinkowski, perhaps the wisdom of your experience will prevail here. Surely you see the futility of your search, scrabbling for tiny, inconsequential clues and links, like mice after crumbs of cheese. There are doubtless more pressing concerns awaiting your attention; ones that could be wrapped up more quickly and satisfyingly.”
“Oh, I don’t know. I’m pretty good at multitasking,” replied Mat. She shifted her weight forward a little onto her legs and rest her hand on the table. “Even now I’m investigating someone for obstruction of justice.”
Barq bristled at the unspoken accusation. As much as a hairless overgrown frog can bristle. “I see,” she said. “Master Redrumio said you would be somewhat recalcitrant. I had no idea you would also be so foolish.” She gestured to her goons. “You will accompany us now to a more private location.”
As the goons
moved to grab them, Mat threw her left shoulder into the nearest of her pair, knocking him back a few steps as she came out of her chair. She then pivoted slightly, putting all of her weight into a massive uppercut as she stood up into the second goon’s path.
Jeff was a little slower off the mark. As he was reaching into his jacket for his Stunner, the nearest of the goons on his side of the table grabbed his shoulder and pulled him out of his chair. The second goon pulled Jeff’s hand from his jacket, squeezing his wrist so he dropped his Stunner. He spilled onto the floor, escaping their grasps but wrenching his shoulder.
Meanwhile, Barq stood and backed away from the table, drawing a blaster. She hesitated for a moment, though, waiting for a clear shot at Mat.
Not wasting time to draw her Stunner, Mat spun around to face her first goon and stepped into a forward kick that threw him back several feet to crash into and over the table behind. A blur of motion in the corner of her eye alerted Mat to a bull rush from the goon behind her. She threw herself forward, rolling away from the attack.
Having dropped his Stunner, and not being as much of a fighter as Mat, Jeff was in a tight spot. He chose discretion. Still stumbling from being wrenched out of his chair, Jeff turned his forward motion into a roll, bringing himself up against a nearby table as he drew his Stun Baton from its sheath.
As Mat dived away from her attackers, Barq saw her opening and fired at Mat, scoring a blistering hit on the seat of her pants. Though embarrassing, Mat’s protective trousers easily absorbed the blast, and she finished her dodge safely, drawing her blaster as she stood. Her buttocks were already tingling and she knew they’d be numb for a few seconds from the stunning effects of the Blaster shot.
By now the three backup PPC Officers had gotten up and moved into position. Coordinating themselves through their WristComm links, they each fired at Barq. Three brilliant red-purple plumes of plasma shot toward the Trillid, expanding quickly as they left the guns’ muzzles to the diameter of a large pizza. The shots struck home. The first enveloped Barq’s left leg, causing a stutter in her step. The second two splashed across her chest. She spasmed briefly. Realizing she was outflanked, Barq dived under her table, overturning it.
Meanwhile, Jeff had recovered his balance and composure. He leaped to engage his nearest attacker with a hard baton attack, but the goon simply laughed as he swatted the baton away. Jeff’s second goon attacked him from behind, attempting to get him in a bear hug and forcing Jeff to dodge away again. Jeff dropped to the floor and rolled under the table, only to collide with the incoming Barq.
Mat managed to land a shot on one of her goons before they both closed on her. The glowing plasma cast eerie shadows across his face as it poured around his chest, slowing him for a moment as his chest muscles stuttered. The second goon bore down on her, but she stepped aside, guiding his incoming fist past her and pushing his face into the table behind. As the one she shot finally closed on her, she spun around the back of the other and danced back out of harm’s way.
Now that Jeff was out of the way, Chzrli saw her opening and tossed an Adhesive grenade behind his attackers, fixing them in place, along with a few of the establishments less fearful and more voyeuristic customers. Some of the sticky goo shot between the goons and onto Jeff and Barq, struggling under the table. Since Mat was still a little too close to her attackers, Korn and Peez fired their Stunners at them instead of risking a grenade of any kind.
Under the table Jeff wrestled with Barq for her blaster. The thin spray of adhesive from the grenade behind them blew across Jeff’s back harmlessly, but caught Barq on the left side of her face, startling her. Her weapon discharged between them, impacting only on the underside of the table, but the blowback from the blast engulfed their heads mildly burning them both. But the blast caused Barq to flinch enough for Jeff to remove the weapon from her grasp.
Sensing that the battle was not going their way, the two goons who had been attacking Mat glanced at each other, nodded once, and ran. Heading away from each other in a rough V, and at a sort of half-Sprint because of the many obstacles, they headed toward the front door, dodging tables and cringing customers, hoping to get out of range of the PPC’s Stunners. They overturned tables and kicked people out of their paths, but while their antics made them more difficult to hit, Korn and Chzrli managed to score on the leftmost goon.
The two stuck goons, having taken the grenade blast from behind, still had the use of their hands. They drew blasters from inside their jumpers and fired at Jeff, who took the blasts in his lower back and thigh. Jeff disentangled himself and tossed Barq’s blaster far out of reach, while Mat spun and fired at the rightmost of her erstwhile attackers, hitting him in the legs. Barq, taking advantage of the blaster fire on Jeff, jumped up and made a dash for the back door, behind the bar.
The two fleeing goons managed to crash through the exterior doors, but not before taking three more hits from the backup Officers. Jeff’s two goons, still stuck in the adhesive film tried to give the fleeing Trillids cover fire, but the backup Officers just ignored the shots, letting their armored clothing soak up the damage.
Jeff screamed, “Barq’s away!” and dashed after her. Hearing Jeff’s scream, Mat whirled and fired her Stunner at Barq, but missed.
Jeff was just a bit faster than Barq, and was slowly closing on her, but he knew she would get out the door before he reached her. Pulling a Slime grenade from the mini bandolier at the bottom of his shoulder holster, he tossed it in front of Barq. It exploded on impact, covering a six yard swath right in her path. Mat was running now, too, firing her Stunner as she went, but the shot went wide as Barq hit the slime and lost her footing. Crashing into the bar at full speed, she took the brunt of the crash on her temple.
Peez and Korn set off after the fleeing goons, while Chzrli turned her attention to the ones stuck to the floor. They had tossed down their Blasters and placed their hands on their heads. Chzrli moved over to their position, careful to avoid contact with the nearly invisible film, and removed a small canister of releasing agent from her belt.
Jeff ran up to the edge of the slime field, as transparent as the adhesive one, getting as close to Barq as possible. “I think
yo out,” he reported as he began to apply the coagulating agent that would counteract the slipperiness in a matter of seconds. “Looks like yo still breathing, though,” he said to Mat as she joined him. Barq was crumpled against the bar, arms and legs splayed at odd angles and a bit of drool escaping her partly opened lips.
Mat surveyed the bar scene. The customers who had ducked and covered were starting to poke their heads out now. A few were even applauding. Chzrli was restraining the two stuck goons before removing the adhesive around their feet. Two minor annoyances had probably gotten away from Korn and Peez, but they had managed to capture an apparently important mouthpiece of Redrumio. With any luck they would be able to get some useful information from her. At the very least, they would have a recording of most of their encounter. “A good night’s work, kid,” she said, patting Jeff on the back. “Let’s wrap ‘em up and get some rest.”
Tags: Fiction, TETWOS
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