Tales From the Sword & Scroll Tavern – Lyndsey’s Tale

Disclaimer and copyleft still in effect.

Special disclaimer: Lyn’s grammar has been known to make people cringe. Also, a reader called an earlier version of this “a vignette for the Overconfidence disad.” That’s pretty accurate. Except it’s not vignette length any more. And Lyndsey swears a lot.

As Renata was finishing her story, a woman who looked very much like a younger version of her sat down at our table. She was thinner and had golden-blonde hair pulled back in a messy ponytail and her eyes looked like Viktor’s. She was wearing a button-up shirt that was mostly unbuttoned, with sleeves rolled up high enough to show an abstract design tattooed on the underside of her left arm.

“That’s not how Daddy tells that one,” she said simply.

“That, dear, is because your Daddy is insane,” Renata explained just loudly enough to be sure Viktor would overhear, which he did, but seeing her grin, he just shook his head and went back to the conversation he was having with a young girl with long curly black hair, glasses, and slightly pointed ears.

The blonde woman chuckled and then, standing and looking at me, bowed with a flourish as she said, “Lyndsey Katherine Kavaliro-Blue. Dagger, ninja, and the best pilot in three galaxies.”

Renata scoffed at the last claim. Lyndsey and she argued over who was the best pilot as I studied the young woman. Though she was young, she already had a story. More than one, perhaps.

“Excuse me, madam, but I believe you have a story that I have been Called to hear, would you mind sharing it?” I asked formally as the buxom barmaid brought me another mead and the young woman something called an Irish coffee. It was a brown drink with what looked to be whipped cream on top.

“Sure,” she said with a cocky grin. She scooted her chair back, put her feet (encased in a pair of very scuffed and dirty boots that may once have been brown) on the table, and began. “Let’s see, I’ve got so many . . . ah! I’ve got it. The Nirith Empire!”

When I reached the top of the fortress, I tried to pull the grate over the ventilation duct loose. It wouldn’t budge. “What the fuck? This is attached securely. We can’t get in this way.”

My partner — a Covatic who I was pretty sure wasn’t actually an adult yet, regardless of what he’d told Darrien when he joined — who was also a rookie on his very first mission — looked at me, curious. “What?”

“This evil dude doesn’t play by the rules. He secured the vents. We can’t get in this way,” I paused while I thought about it some more. “Well, we could. We could always blow it up. But then we’d lose the element of surprise. Besides, I’m not allowed to have explosives any more anyway.”

Dolvis chuckled nervously. Apparently he’d heard that story. Accidentally blow up a whole building instead of just a door one time and some people get the idea you shouldn’t be trusted with even a firecracker any more. Weird, huh?

I tried picking the lock. It wasn’t too tricky looking, just a simple mechanical lock. But I couldn’t get the mechanism to budge. I muttered a string of Mugdaran curses under my breath and then asked my colleague if he had any bright ideas. I hoped one or the other of us had an epiphany soon. It was getting cold and unlike him, I didn’t have a natural fur coat.

We were discussing other possible ways in (No, we didn’t have a Plan B beforehand. We’re Daggers. We don’t need back-up plans.) when suddenly Dolvis paused and asked “What’s that sound?”

Seven years as a Dagger had taught me that nothing pleasant ever followed those words. This time was no exception. We both dove for what little cover there was on the roof as the laser turrets on the roof opposite turned towards us and fired.

I swore violently as I gave another look to the vent, now much closer to my face.

Center yourself and strike, as hard as you can, and even someone as little as you can get through anything. I recalled the words of Kenshin, head of my ninja clan. “Can’t hurt to try,” I whispered. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, tried to clear my mind, focused all of my attention inwards for a few seconds. Then I muttered a quick prayer to Thor – crazy ass mystical shit tends to work better when you’ve got a god helping you, opened my eyes and struck the grate.

And it didn’t fucking work! Stupid secret ninja tricks. They’re never as effective outside the dojo. I thought, grumpily. I could hear Dolvis praying to his gods. I hoped they listened better than mine. Those laser beams were getting closer with each shot.

My wrist comm beeped. Thank you, gods! I thought as I looked at it and saw Tech Guy’s face. “Need a hand?” He asked. Apparently the support team — that’d be him — had arrived.

“Turn off the fucking lasers. Now!” I yelled as a blast got too close for my peace of mind.

“Hey! Calm down. You can’t rush brilliance. And . . . the computer system is kind of tricky,” he said and then signed off.

After what felt like an eternity, the laser beams quit flying over our heads. Dolvis and I both breathed an audible sigh of relief. “So, now that they know that we’re here, what should we do?” Dolvis asked me, looking a little nervous. I felt sorry for the kid. This was supposed to have been a simple “get in, get the thingy, get out” type of mission. Spending a long time on a roof with lasers shooting at us had not been part of the plan.

“Well, a rational person would probably panic. But we’re Daggers, so obviously we’re not rational. Relax. There’s got to be a way in. There’s no such thing as an impregnable fortress.” We could hear alarms sounding in all the surrounding buildings. I crawled over to the edge of the roof and looked over. There was a window about two and a half meters down. I was sure I could get in through it, but, well, Dolvis is no ninja. But, he thought he could handle it so that’s what we did. It probably wasn’t a great idea, but it beat the hell out of staying on that damned roof.

Besides, I was sure we could handle anything we found inside. After all, we’re Daggers.

We climbed down the wall, swung into the room, and found ourselves surrounded on three sides — the fourth being the window — by large, armoured guards who had their standard military issue blaster rifles pointed at us. Breld! I thought.

One of the guards — I assume he was the leader since he had the fanciest emblem on his helmet — spoke. “If you surrender now, we’ll kill you mercifully.”

I took stock of the situation as I pretended to consider his offer. There were six of them, with armor and those damned rifles. (I’d learned first hand what one could do to a knee earlier that year. Trust me, that’s an experience you don’t want.) Dolvis and I had, between the two of us, two holdout blasters, about half a dozen shuriken, and two throwing knives. We can take them, I thought.

“Never,” I said simply as I drew three shuriken and threw them at the hand of the man who had spoken.

Dolvis drew his pistol.

Only one of the shuriken hit the dude, but that was enough. He screamed as it struck his hand and dropped his rifle. I grabbed it as fast as I could. While I was doing this, Dolvis shot one of the other guards in the chest. The armor kept the shot from killing him, but he was still in enough pain that he couldn’t hit a target directly in front of him.

The other guards all fired at us too, naturally. They missed. I don’t think they’d expected us to fight. For some reason guys in big scary looking armor, carrying big scary looking guns never expect people lacking those two things to fight back.

The firefight was over rather quickly. I may abhor blaster rifles, but I’m a good shot with one. As was Dolvis, who’d taken one from a fallen guard as soon as he could. There was soon only one guard left standing. He was very close to the comm on the wall, which couldn’t possibly be a good thing for Dolvis or I. “Screw this,” I said, as he dodged my third shot in a row. I dropped the rifle and ran towards him, launching my whole body at him feet first. I don’t know if I actually killed him — I didn’t bother to check — but he was down and Dolvis and I could get to the door.

“You alright?” I asked Dolvis as I picked the rifle I’d acquired back up.

“Yeah,” he said, not really sounding it. “It wasn’t much different than the sims.”

I smiled at him. Kid was trying to be tough at least. I like that. “Yeah. C’mon, we’ve still got to get down a floor and into the weapons lab. Hopefully Tech Guy will have disarmed its defense systems by then.” I wished I had time to check in with Tech, but I had a feelling that our firefight hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Before I opened the door, I said a brief, earnest prayer. And checked the charge on the rifle. The gods help those who help themselves, you know?

The door opened into an empty hallway. I heard Dolvis thanking his gods as I thanked mine.

We found a door to a stairwell fairly quickly. Dolvis tried to open it. It didn’t move. It was locked, of course. The Nirith Emperor, or whoever was in charge of securing this complex, obviously didn’t believe in playing by the rules. We looked around but didn’t see any sort of keypad or similiar. Time to call Jordan, I thought.

I didn’t wait for him to answer. As soon as the connection was established, I started talking. The lack of anyone else on this floor and the locked door were making me a bit uneasy. I mean, I was pretty damned sure we could handle whatever happened, but I’d heard what these guys did to prisoners and didn’t relish experiencing it myself for even five minutes.

“Tech, I thought you had gotten into their system? If so, why the fucking hell is this door still locked?”

“What door?” he asked. I glared at him. I was in no mood to be patient with his dumb jokes right then.

“Lyndsey, there are no doors in that building that are still locked,” he said after a few minutes of working his secret rituals that make computers do what he wants them to.

“Then what the fucking hell is this thing in front of me? Looks like a door to me, and, oh look! It’s locked,” I was getting pissed. This was a trap, I was sure of that now.

Jordan was ignoring me, trying to figure out how that door was still locked. Finally, he spoke. “Oh! That door. Looks like it’s got it’s own security system, not connected to the others. Gimme a few minutes.”

I – reluctantly – gave him his few minutes. When he said he’d gotten the door unlocked, Dolvis tried again to open it. This time it opened easily. I heard Dolvis breathe an audible sigh of relief.

The first thing I did after entering the stairwell was shoot a very poorly hidden camera. It was nice to find some way the Nirish Empire did play by the rules of How To Be The Bad Guys.

Or so I thought. When we got to the next floor, right outside the door was a gathering of baddies. Including, of course because it was obviously just that sort of day, the motherfucking Nirish Emperor himself.

“Breld,” I muttered under my breath as he smiled at us. Trust me, smiling torture fanatics are not a good thing.

“How nice of you to drop in. I do so love having new playthings. Now, now, don’t try anything dumb. Wouldn’t want my guards here to hurt your pretty face, now would we?” He asked, after I’d reached for a shuriken. I rolled my eyes at him. I know I’m easy on the eyes, but it’d be nice if just once the bad guy was scared of me instead of attracted to me.

“And you.” He addressed Dolvis in that silky, condescending voice that was about to make me punch him, regardless of how suicidal an act that would’ve been right then, “You need to be a good little boy, or else I’ll make your worst nightmares come true.” Dolvis looked at me and I, silently and surreptiousily, signaled for him to obey. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually suicidal and do know that sometimes it’s better not to attack. Like when there are twenty guys in front of you with military blaster rifles, heavy armor, and a lunatic as their commander who also is standing right fucking in front of you. What I wanted to do was put an arrow in his eye socket (which would’ve been a tough feat since my bow was on my ship), but what I did was meekly say, “We’ll cooperate.” I already was working on an escape plan. Besides, Tech was bound to check in soon, and when we didn’t answer, he’d call for back-up. So, we let them take our weapons (the ones they could find) and march us to their waiting vehicles.

They were smarter than I’d hoped and kept Dolvis and I away from each other as they marched us towards the exit. Still, I signaled to him as best as I could as we passed near the weapons lab before I grabbed the arm of one of my captors and twisted hard, breaking it hopefully, at the very least rendering it unusable for the time being. The guard on the other side of me started to fire his blaster, but found that hard to do with a shuriken in his – his . . . that artery in the hand, the important one. “You missed one,” I said matter-of-factly as I kicked him in the head.

The Emperor was screaming for the guards not to shoot. You see, I’d run towards him right after I kicked my captor and he didn’t seem to trust his guys to have good enough aim to hit this nimble little ninja instead of their precious Emperor. While they were busy trying to figure out what to do, I started stealthily and slowly slipping towards the door to the weapons lab.

Some of them started shooting at me, and, once he’d figured out what I was doing and was on the same trajectory, at Dolvis too. We didn’t get to it completely unscathed. Those bastards were good. Both Dolvis and I had scorched clothes and some slightly worse than superficial burns by the time we got to the door. The door was blaster proof, because, well, think about it . . . would you want a weapons lab that a stray blaster bolt could hit? That’s a really good way to make a really big boom. I know. I’ve done it before. So, I knew we’d be somewhat safer on the other side of it.

I hoped like hell Tech had made the lab all nice and safe. I like a challenge – the fight I was having to get to the door was the sort of thing I wish I could do all the fucking time (well, without the getting shot part) – but I really hate lasers and blasters and all other sorts of things that use really hot things to put really big holes in your body. And that lab had been defended by every sort of thing like that imaginable. And poison gas and, well, just all kinds of nastiness. They really didn’t want to let anyone but themselves in. But it was all hooked up to one computer system and we had Tech Guy on our side. That dude could hack into reality itself if he took it into his head to do so. A lot of us think he must’ve made some sort of pact with a demon or something to be that fucking good. I mean, he’s not just Dagger good. He’s like god good.

At least, we’d thought it was all hooked up to one system. Apparently that door wasn’t on that system after all.

All that went through my head in the few seconds between me throwing the nearest of the guards into his precious Emperor (who was trying to shoot Dolvis and coming too close for my peace of mind) and starting to open the door to the lab. I held my breath and said a brief, earnest prayer as I opened the door.

For once, the gods listened. The security system in that lab had been, as near as I could tell, completely deactivated. Dolvis came in about ten seconds later as I was – cautiously, in case Tech had missed something – making my way across the room to where the prototype of the quithin bomb was. Quithin, in case you don’t know, is a highly reactive chemical that . . . well, let me put it this way, if I’d been using that on Tathane, I would’ve blown up the whole fucking metropolis, not just the building when I made my minor miscalculation.

“That was fucking crazy, Lyndsey! Are you trying to get us killed?” Dolvis yelled. I really don’t understand why everyone always asks me that. I mean, I’m not stupid. I don’t get up in the morning and think, “Hey, I know what I’ll do for some excitement today. I’ll try to get myself and some of my friends killed in a horribly painful way!”

“No. I was trying to save us from being tortured, raped, all those nasty things assholes like him do to people they don’t like. Now, calm down and help.”

“We’re still going to have to get out of here, you realize.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

He muttered something. Then I heard him praying again. Apparently he didn’t trust my plans any more.

Can’t say I really blamed him.

But, hell, we had gotten away. So, really, what the fuck was there to complain about?

I grabbed the prototype. It didn’t actually contain any quithin, so I was allowed to touch it. (I wasn’t joking earlier. There really is a Dagger rule that I can’t even play with firecrackers any more.) I touched the comm on my wrist, to tell Tech we’d done it, just as his face appeared on the screen.

“Hey, you guys done playing around up there and ready to get out?”

“Yeah. We ran into a bit of trouble. Nothing too bad though.” Dolvis gave me an incredulous look, gesturing to the area of scorched fur on his chest and the still smoking shoulder of my jacket. (Adrenalin. It’s a wonderful thing. I wasn’t even feeling the pain from that one yet.) “Look, we need to make a slight change in plans. Pick us up outside the window of the lab, okay?”

Tech just nodded. That’s why I like being partnered with him. He never asks me if I’m crazy or anything like that. Dolvis, on the other hand, looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “The . . . window?! You are trying to get us killed, aren’t you?”

I smiled at him. “Hey, man, relax. We’re not that high up. If we fall, we’ll break a few bones. Big deal. C’mon. Let’s get out of this joint before the Emperor comes to. I really don’t want to be around when that happens.”

Still looking at me like I was crazy, he followed me to the window.

Tales From The Sword & Scroll Tavern – Renata’s Tale

Disclaimer and “copyleft” notice still apply.

Special disclaimer: Ren swears a lot.

“Needless to say, that night was quite enjoyable. To make the rest of what could be a very long story short, I soon met and fell just as deeply in love with her wife and they both met Ginny and got along splendidly. And now we’ve been together almost thirty years.” Viktor stuck his pipe back in his mouth when he was done talking. He’d been gesturing with it more than smoking as he told his tale.

A short, buxom, human woman with long dark brown hair, brown eyes, and the bearing of a seasoned warrior had come over while he was talking. I suspected it was Renata from his earlier description. As human women go, she wasn’t exceptionally attractive, but from Viktor’s fond smile when he noticed her, it was evident that to him she was one of the most beautiful beings in the universe. She kissed him softly on the cheek. “Good job. That’s more or less what happened.” And then, to me, “I’m Renata. Pleased to meet you.”

“What do you mean “more or less”?” Viktor asked before I could respond to her introduction. He sounded offended, but whether the offense was genuine or not I couldn’t tell.

She smirked. “You left out some important bits and seem to have invented others. It’s okay. I expect it from you. You’re a poet, after all. There’s no way you can tell a story just like it happened.” They bickered fondly for a few minutes, while I studied the pair. I already knew the story Viktor had told wasn’t the one I’d been Called to hear from him, and I now noticed that Renata had a story as well.

I, trying not to be rude, but their bickering seemed destined to continue for some time and I had other stories to hear this night, spoke finally. “Excuse me, sir, but, that wasn’t the story you were supposed to share.”

Viktor raised his eyebrows. “Oh? Sorry then,” and standing, said, “Now, if you two will excuse me, I have a bar to run.” The edge was back in his voice. Why, I wasn’t sure.

Renata watched him as he limped off. “Don’t mind him. We’ve had Terran Confederation reporters around recently. They like to pry into things he’d rather forget about. He’s never, to my knowledge, met a Traveller before. He doesn’t know that you aren’t allowed to pry. Give him some time to see that, and he’ll probably tell you what you’re supposed to hear.”

“And you, madam, you have a story as well, do you not?” I asked.

She smiled. “Several. I know which one to start with though.”

Roim V is one of those worlds you don’t go to unless you have a reason to be there. It’s not near anything important. It has no tourist attractions. It’s not even pretty. We Daggers had a reason to be there though, a good one. The Chief Governor had progressed from imprisoning people for criticizing him to murdering them. Needless to say that wasn’t going over so well with his subjects and a revolution had started. Well, the Daggers aren’t called “freelance freedom fighters” for nothing. I don’t know how much we got for that one – Daggers have always gotten a salary, funded through the magic of Darrien’s accountants, but it couldn’t have been much. The revolutionaries, hell, the populace in general, considered themselves lucky if they could afford two adequate meals a day. Apparently, Mr. Chief Governor had been lining his pockets with quite a bit of their money for years. And of course, like a thousand others like him the galaxies over, he’d also spend a hefty sum on a very well-equipped, supposedly well-trained army, who were fiercely loyal to him.

I found myself, through circumstances I don’t care to get into, except to say I’ve never touched alcohol that strong again, waking up to a member of that army kicking me. I don’t subscribe to any of the religions that have a place of eternal punishment, but if there is one, I hope there’s an especially horrible part of it for people who kick someone with a hangover. Oh sure, I’ve been in worse pain. Losing my leg in a crash certainly hurt more. But at least that wasn’t directly inflicted by another sentient being. There’s just something unbelievably sadistic about making a fellow being suffer as much as that hurnith was making me.

That’s why I didn’t feel the slightest bit of remorse when I puked on his shoes.

Well, okay. I did feel the tiniest bit. Those were nice boots.

Needless to say, he was pissed. He jerked me to my feet. My head throbbed horribly. He was screaming at me in some language I didn’t speak. Or at least I don’t think I did. At the time, I was concentrating much more on not puking on him again than I was on what he was saying.

That was probably a mistake. He shoved me against the wall and was getting his blaster out of its holster when – Spirits be thanked, I was in no shape to dodge a blaster bolt just then – a bolt got him in the side. I looked around for my savior and found a certain tall, sexy Dagger with an expression that plainly said, “I’ll be yelling at you later for getting into this” standing in the doorway.

“Thanks,” I said weakly.

“Don’t mention it,” Viktor said as he came over to me. He looked at me intently and asked, “You all right, babe?” with so much concern in his eyes and voice that I wondered if maybe I’d been shot and just not noticed. Hell, as drunk as I was, I figured it was possible. I looked down at myself to see if that had happened. Vik sighed and handed me a canteen and a couple of pills. I looked at him askance. “Hangover cure. A quick acting one too,” he said. “You look like you need it.” After I swallowed the pills he asked again if I was all right.

“I think so. My side hurts where that hurnith was kicking me, but I don’t think anything’s broken.”

“Good. You look like shit.” He pulled me close. “And don’t you ever put me through this again. If I’d been half a second later, you’d be the one lying there dead, Ren!”

I winced at his raised voice. “I know,” I whispered. “I’m not stupid or a rookie. I’ve been doing this for years now, dear.”

We both noticed the sound of footsteps approaching at the same time. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said, knocking out a window with his elbow. He reached back through and helped me out. We ran and managed to be fairly far away before he took a wrong turn into a dead end alley.

“Great job, babe. Whose side are you on?” Maybe I was being a little more bitchy than the situation called for, but I still had a bit of a hangover.

Viktor was muttering to himself. “I must’ve miscounted how many alleys we passed. Let’s . . . ” He cut his sentence short as we started hearing footsteps and shouts.

“Breld. Zulik breld!” he swore as he drew his blaster. “Well, it looks like we’re making a stand here.” He looked at me and his brow furrowed. “Ren? Why aren’t you . . . shit! You’re unarmed.”

“Uh, yeah,” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “I didn’t dare go into that bar last night with more than a dagger and some hurnith took that off of me apparently.”

“Wonderful.” His expression was rather grim now. You see, while I can handle myself without weapons, unlike Viktor and Tera, it’s never been something I’ve excelled at. I prefer having a couple of feet of sharpened steel between me and my opponent, increases my life expectancy I figure. I looked around for something to use as a weapon, but before I could find anything they opened fire and I did the only smart thing I’d done in a while and dove behind cover.

Vik tried to get behind cover too, but unfortunately there was nothing in that alley big enough to be much protection for him. He was shot in the arm, but he didn’t let that stop him from shooting for even a second. Lest you think he’s some sort of children’s story hero though, I’d like to mention that he did cry out in pain when it happened.

One of the soldiers called for our surrender – the usual surrender or we kill you deal. Viktor was about to reply when suddenly more poured into the alley behind the ones who’d been shooting at us.

“Fuck,” I muttered. At the same time, Vik said, “Breld,” and dropped his blaster. When Vik gives up, you can always be sure it’s an definite no win scenario. I mean, this is the guy who won Culs III by ordering five one man fighters to fire on a battleship! The guy who took on a Dichidian war beast with a sword! He doesn’t give up unless he’s certain that the alternative is death. So, I trusted his judgement.

They accepted our surrender, and we were thrown in a windowless cell together with two guards outside it wearing Diamatanium armor and wielding rifles that could be used to hunt nichtcho. Our execution was scheduled for the next morning.

Yeah, turns out they were going to kill us whether we surrendered or not. Great, huh?

As soon as we were alone Viktor said, entirely too calmly, “Don’t say a single word to me right now. This is your fault, and I’m rather pissed off at you at the moment.” I started to object – he was the one who’d gotten us lost by not being able to remember the route he’d taken less than an hour before! But as soon as my mouth opened, he said slowly and emphatically and still way too calmly, “Not. One. Fucking. Word. Renata.”

So I sat there silently for only the Spirits know how long. It felt like an hour or so, but Vik has always insisted it was only a few minutes. He sat silently as well, with his eyes shut, meditating. Finally he opened his eyes, looked over at me, and said, “It’s a wonder I haven’t killed you yet myself, dearest. You realize this is the second time in four months I’ve been in a jail cell awaiting my execution because of you?”

“Neither time was my fault. The last time you were the one who made so damned much noise getting into the armory, and this time you were the one who got us lost!”

“And whose idea was it to break into the armory? And who was it who got absolutely wasted last night and ended up needing rescued?” He countered, ruining a perfectly good argument by being right.

I changed the subject. “Got a plan for getting out of here yet?” The last time we’d been lucky, another unit of Daggers was planning to rescue someone from that jail the next morning anyway, so they just broke us out too. This time he and I were on our own. The rest of the Daggers were training rebels on the other side of the planet, and of course our comms had been taken.

“No. You?”

“No.” We sat there thinking for what felt like millenia.

Finally, something occurred to me. “How many guards do you think they’ll have along to escort us to the town center tomorrow?”

“Probably not many. But, before you think of anything rash, allow me to remind you that they have absurdly powerful rifles, and we have our hands and feet. And I was shot in the arm earlier today and these wonderful people have denied me first aid.”

“Good, that’s precisely what I was hoping for.” He looked at me like I’d gone completely out of my mind so I explained. “They won’t expect us to fight them.”

“Yes, dearest. That’s because fighting them would be suicidal. Now, if you have a plan that doesn’t involve us both dying, I’d be quite glad to hear it.” He sounded a bit angry now. I actually preferred that to the calmness earlier. That calmness was just fucking creepy. Staying calm in a situation like that is not something sane people do.

“My plan doesn’t involve us dying. Think about the way the guards who shoved us in the cell were carrying those rifles. I’d bet a liter of Isidan brucha brandy they don’t actually know how to do anything with them but look intimidating.”

“A liter of Isidan brucha brandy? That’s 500 credits worth, you realize?”

“Uh-huh. And if they come anywhere near shooting us tomorrow, I’ll buy you one.”

He smiled a little. I was glad. I like his smile. And it meant he probably wasn’t so pissed at me any more. “Tell me more.”

“My idea is we overpower the guards tomorrow . . . shouldn’t be hard . . . grab their weapons, and haul ass to the other side of the planet.”

“Simple. Possibly, but not likely, effective. Still, it’s the only thing either of us has come up with. It’s a deal.” He paused thoughtfully. “But I’m going to try to come up with a backup plan just in case.”

I rolled my eyes at him. I’ve never been a backup plan kind of person. If your first plan doesn’t work, odds are your second one won’t either. If you need a new plan, you come up with it on the spot. But arguing with Vik has never done any good. He’s got to be one of the most stubborn people to ever live.

I eventually fell asleep from boredom and exhaustion. I don’t think Viktor slept at all. His arm was bothering him more than he wanted to admit, and the entire situation worried him. He, as he told you, lost his first wife on a Dagger mission and, as he saw it, he’d nearly lost me to my own stupidity and his rescue attempt was likely to leave our still rather young kids – Ginny was eight and Lyn was two – without either of us. I wasn’t nearly so worried because I was damned sure my plan would work. And if it didn’t, well, I’d worry about it then.

The next morning, I woke up to find Viktor praying and looking resigned. When he noticed I was awake, he attempted a smile. “Good morning, beautiful. Ready for today?”

I nodded. Truthfully, I felt like shit. I hadn’t eaten in a whole day and everything I’d had the day before that was on the shoes of the guard who’d kicked me. And I hadn’t had a cup of coffee in two days, which was making me slightly cranky. I’m not addicted. I just really, really like the stuff and don’t feel quite myself when I haven’t had any in a while. But that’s not the same as an addiction. But I didn’t want to add to Vik’s worries so I didn’t mention anything about how I felt. “How’s your arm?” I asked.

He smiled wryly. “It hurts like hell. But, don’t worry. I’m sure that’ll be the least of my problems soon.”

“My, but you’re optimistic.”

He shrugged. “I’m realistic. Our entire plan hangs on none of the guards being able to handle their weapons. I don’t think that’s very likely.”

I shrugged. “I haven’t seen any yet who could. Have you?”

He chuckled very slightly and shook his head no. Then he pulled me close. I noticed tears in those beautiful sapphire eyes. I reached up and touched his face. “Hey, don’t worry. This’ll work. You can’t tell me the Hero of Culs III is going to give up just because escape looks impossible.”

He sighed. “I really wish I’d never won that damned battle. Thanks to it I never get to argue against anyone else’s suicidal plans.”

I just nodded while smiling smugly.

Then we sat there quietly, each alone in our thoughts, waiting for the guards to show up. We didn’t have to wait long. The door was opened by four men . . . I was beginning to suspect that sexism was one of the Chief Governor’s many faults . . . who looked more intimidating than the guards we’d seen before.

I think I surprised them some by smiling brightly when they came in. “Hi, gents. Glad to see you.” I signaled to Vik, and we both rushed the guards nearest us. The only part of this plan that I was worried about was avoiding get shot by the other two while liberating the rifles from these two. I counted on Vik and I being able to dodge well enough to at least not get hurt seriously.

Things didn’t go exactly according to plan. These guys had at least been trained in how to retain their rifles. Vik finally managed to get one away from a guard, but I wasn’t having much luck, all of the guards being a lot bigger than me. Vik knocked out the man he’d taken the rifle from by hitting him with it and then started shooting at the others.

That’s when it became really obvious how badly his arm was bothering him. He’s never been the marksman his brother is. Hell, hardly anyone is. But he has always been a decent shot. Yet all of his shots were missing, each one worse than the one before.

I guess worrying about Vik distracted me a bit because a bolt managed to graze my side. It hurt like hell but didn’t do any serious damage to me. When I screamed, my husband, in one smooth move, turned and shot the man whose rifle was pointed at me right in the center of the chest. He went down, a smoking hole in his armor . . . but not in his chest. He was lucky, though I doubt he felt that way right then. Those rifles were incredibly high-powered, and were definately not designed to be used on humans.

I flashed a smile at my beloved. “Thanks, babe.” My smile was genuine. The fight was making me feel better. I know it’s probably crazy, but I love the challenge of fights like that one. Viktor, on the other hand, looked grim and serious. He’s never liked to fight. He just saw it as an unfortunate necessity to protect and spread values he believes in. A necessity he happened to be rather good at.

One of the remaining guards reached for his comm. “I don’t think you want to do that,” Vik said very calmly, pointing his rifle at the man’s chest. The guard scoffed and keyed his comm on. Viktor closed his eyes for half a second, while he whispered something in Norsk . . . probably a prayer, and then moved the rifle up slightly and fired, the bolt going straight through the middle of the man’s head. That was rather un-Viktorlike, so I was shocked. But then I realized it made sense . . . a hit from one of those fucking rifles to the head and you’d be dead . . . even if the shooter’s aim was horribly off.

The remaining guard didn’t bother with using his comm, he just started running and yelling.

Once again I said,”Fuck,” right as Vik said, “Breld.”

“Time for a new plan?” I asked my husband as we both shot. My shot glanced off the asshole’s armor and Vik’s struck the wall next to the guy.

He looked even grimmer and more serious. “No time to think. Run. We’ll either escape or die trying. It beats the hell out of being executed, I guess.” He didn’t sound completely convinced about that last part.

So, run we did. After we’d gone about sixty yards, Vik suddenly grabbed me and threw me in a small room and then stepped into it himself, shutting the door behind us both.

“What the fuck?” I asked him, confused as hell.

“Ah, good! I was right,” he said, seemingly to himself. He smiled, the first genuine one I’d seen him have all day. “Come on.” He gestured to a window stuck part way open, above my head. “It’s how I got in yesterday.” Then he paused. “And you owe me a liter of Isidan brucha brandy,” he said, pointing at my shirt.

I ignored that last bit. “Gimme a lift, and don’t get us lost on the way to the hideout this time,” I said reaching for him. After he helped me up to the window, he paused for a few seconds, now obviously in serious pain. He pulled himself out of the window somewhat awkwardly.

And, yes, when we got back home I did buy him the damned brandy.

Tales From The Sword & Scroll Tavern – Viktor’s Tale

(Finally finished this one! I’ve been working on this for . . . over a year, I think. Anyway, enjoy.)

“Copyleft” notice on the prologue applies to the whole series, as does the disclaimer.

As hard as it may be to believe seeing me now, thirty years ago I was a founding member of Darrien’s Daggers, of whom I’m sure you’ve heard. One of the other original members was my first wife, Rebecca. She and Darla became the first Daggers to die when they sacrificed themselves to save the people of Midgrothis – and the rest of the Daggers. At the beginning of this story, I’d been widowed only six months and was back on The Asylum – the Dagger training world – for the first time since then. It was also the first time since then that I’d been away from my then very young daughter, Ginny, for more than a few hours. I’d sought refuge from my loneliness in the cafeteria, which was always sure to have at least a few people in it.

I was returning to my seat after refilling my drink when suddenly a short, young, busty brunette ran into me, spilling her drink on both of us . . . but mostly on me.

“Oh fucking hell! I’m sorry. I was distracted. Shit. I’m sorry . . . ” she was muttering as we both tried to dry up the mess.

“It’s okay.” I interrupted, putting a hand on her shoulder. “No harm done. Clothes wash. Now, let’s try a more normal introduction. I’m Viktor Blue.” I paused, waiting for the inevitable.

For the first time since the Battle of Culs III, four years before, I introduced myself to a Sweetian (her accent was unmistakably Delthakkian) and didn’t get asked if I was the hero of that battle. Apparently I didn’t look like anyone’s mental image of the, as the news reports put it, “brave and daring young officer who saved so many lives that day.” Instead the young woman before me asked, incredulously, “Vince’s older brother?”

I automatically started my reply with “Yes, that Vi . . .” then I realized something was wrong and asked her to repeat what she’d said.

“I asked,” she said very slowly and carefully, as if she were talking to an idiot, “if you are Vince Blue’s older brother.”

“Yes. Yes, I am.” I answered, confused. I was fairly certain my then adolescent brother didn’t have any female friends who were that attractive. Grief doesn’t cause blindness and the young woman in question was undeniably attractive. To be sure, she wasn’t conventionally beautiful. She came to barely the middle of my chest and her hair, while a beautiful shade of dark brown, was badly in need of brushing and was pulled back into what could only charitably be called a ponytail. But she was the perfect mix of curvaceous and muscular and something about her eyes and the way she carried herself suggested a degree of self-confidence that most people don’t have and that I found incredibly appealing.

“I’m Renata Kavaliro. Our little brothers are best friends,” she said as I gestured to the seat across from mine. Her surname sounded very familiar, not just as that of one of my brother’s friends. There was someone I’d heard mentioned back in the War with that name, but I couldn’t remember who or for what. I didn’t get to ponder that for long though because a few minutes later she asked, “So, what made the Hero of Culls III join the Daggers?”

I cringed at that appellation. A few people nearby chuckled, enjoying my reaction. I tried to keep my voice neutral . . . having gotten sick of being called that about two days after the battle . . . as I said, perhaps a bit coldly, “That wasn’t heroism. That was luck. There is quite a difference and I suggest you learn it soon.” She raised her eyebrows and muttered something. (What, she won’t tell me to this day.) “Anyway, I served with Darrien in the War and he asked me to join. I, against my better judgment at times, agreed.”

“Against your better judgment?” She asked with a quizzical look. Someone took a deep breath. Someone else muttered something incredibly unflattering about new trainees.

I merely looked down at my food, trying . . . struggling . . . to find a way to phrase the answer that wouldn’t make the tears stinging my eyes break through. I, still looking down, not wanting anyone to see my moist eyes, finally said, “My wife, who joined at my urging, was killed in action six months ago.” My voice did break some, but I somehow managed not to cry.

“Oh. Viktor, you poor . . . I’m so fucking sorry! I didn’t know. I’m sorry,” she babbled.

“It’s okay,” I said a few minutes later after I’d composed myself enough to look up. “You didn’t know. I miss her horribly, but she died a hero. She’s in Valhalla, and someday I’ll see her again.” I was pretty sure Renata didn’t know what Valhalla was, but right then that didn’t matter to me. I’d said it as much to comfort myself as to put anyone else at ease.

We ate in silence for a while, then I remembered why Kavaliro sounded familiar. Captain Jake Kavaliro was a highly decorated warship captain who had spent as much or more time in the news than I during the War. And, unlike me, he deserved it. “Forgive me for prying, but are you related to Captain Jake Kavaliro?”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile. “He’s my dad. And yes, he does know I joined the Daggers instead of the Defense Force.”

Curiosity got the better of me. “Why did you decide to join anyway?” She was too young to be ex-military, like most of the Daggers were back then.

She shrugged. “I’m not Daddy. Too many rules and regulations get on my nerves. But . . . I felt like I needed to do something to make the universe safer.”

I nodded. It was much the same reason I’d stayed in after losing Becky. “Someone needs to do it; it might as well be you, right? Same here.” We smiled at each other. I liked her smile. It seemed to light up her whole face, making her look both even younger and more beautiful.

I next saw Renata the next morning, promising the coffee maker she’d make it do physically impossible things if it didn’t cooperate. Barely suppressing laughter, I reached over her and pushed the right buttons. “There. Good morning.”

She glared at me. “Showoff.”

I couldn’t help it. I started chuckling. She looked like she was thinking about killing me. No, that’s wrong. She looked like she was going to kill me and was trying to decide how best to go about it. “Not a morning person?” I asked as chipperly as I could. She glared at me as she made a cup of coffee. I put my arms around her for a friendly hug and apologized as I hugged her. She smiled slightly.

As has been Dagger tradition since practically day one, everyone currently on The Asylum and not off on that insane trek called the Grand Prize, getting hands-on wilderness survival training, or currently in the medbay, sat around the common room discussing our plans for the day over our morning beverages. I was happy to hear Renata was planning on starting the day with sword practice. You see, at the time I was the best swordsman in the Daggers, having earned a black belt in kenjutsu – a sword-fighting style from my birthworld, Earth – years before. I was looking forward to showing off a bit in front of the lovely young woman.

Hey, I was only twenty-three. I didn’t know better yet.

The lesson didn’t go according to plan. After a few cautious jabs from both of us, I found myself on the floor with my katana a good three feet away. She smiled impishly. “Did I forget to mention I’ve been a competitive Ruvellian fencer for a few years?”

“Ja,” I said, so confused I reverted to my native tongue, an Earth language called Norsk.

“I assume that means yes?” She asked as she helped me up.

I nodded and went to retrieve my sword. She was laughing. It was a beautiful sound.

“Why don’t you show me how you did that, please?” I asked, ego thoroughly trounced.

“Gladly,” she said happily.

She proved a very capable instructor and after a few lessons I could last a couple of minutes against her. I also taught her a few things though. Disarming she was good at, but actual (well, simulated anyway) “your life is in danger” type combat she obviously lacked experience at.

We talked a lot during those lessons and over meals, and after only a few days, we were spending almost every free minute together. I later learned that other Daggers noticed but for once – I think Darrien was involved in this amazing feat – kept their damned mouths shut. First we talked about our brothers . . . mostly how they were both well on their way to being complete reprobates . . . but quickly the conversations became about our families in general. She told me about her wife, a martial arts competitor and, in Ren’s eyes, the most gorgeous woman to ever exist. I, slowly and not completely without tears, told her about Becky. We talked about life in general; our goals, our dreams. In short, we rapidly became close friends and, though I tried to deny it to myself, I almost as rapidly fell in love with her.

I was going home every weekend at the time to spend time with my daughter. On one of those weekends, about a month after I met Renata, I decided I need to talk to someone. I knew how I felt, but . . . I wasn’t ready to be in love with anyone else yet. I decided to talk to Poppa, as he was both my priest and my father and therefore could advise me from two different perspectives.

“Poppa?” I asked, coming into the study after putting Ginny to bed.

“Hey. Something on your mind?” I hadn’t been coming back upstairs after tucking my little girl in lately, so he knew something must have been bothering me.

“Yeah,” I said, sitting in an old armchair that we’d brought from Earth, one I’d curled up in when something was bothering me since I was as little as Ginny, and helping myself to one of his pipes and some of his tobacco. I didn’t smoke often back then, but that night I needed something to concentrate on besides the conflict raging in my heart.

He said nothing as we both sat there on either side of the fireplace smoking for several minutes, but he was looking at me with a concerned expression.

“I think I’m falling in love,” I finally blurted out, tears welling in my eyes and some running down my cheeks before I could blink them back.

He closed his eyes momentarily and laid his hand on his torc, asking the gods for guidance. “Viktor,” he said softly, taking my hand in his. “That’s not something to cry about. Tell me about . . . ” He looked thoughtful. “It’s that young lady you’ve befriended, isn’t it? Rena?”

“Renata. Yes.” I got up and began pacing. “I know it’s too soon. Becky hasn’t even been dead a year!” I started to cry in earnest. “I don’t want to be in love yet! It’s not that I still hurt so goddamned much . . . being around Ren actually makes the pain better, makes life enjoyable again. It’s just . . . it’s too damned soon!” I sat back down, crying harder than I had in months.

Poppa held me close and comforted me as one would a child. When at long last I had control of myself again, he spoke. “Son, who says it’s too soon? If you love her, you love her. How long Becky has been gone is irrelevant. I know you. You’d feel the same about this young lady if Rebecca was still alive, wouldn’t you?”

I didn’t answer immediately. Instead I relit my pipe and sat smoking and thinking for a few minutes. I wanted to argue with him. I wanted to tell him that that wasn’t the point. That Rebecca was dead and that changed everything. But . . . he was right, and deep down, I knew it. Love happens when it happens. It’s that simple. I loved Renata. I loved Rebecca. It was only the cruelty of fate that kept me from being able to have them both physically with me at once. If my darling Becky had still been alive, I wouldn’t have hesitated to tell Ren how I felt about her. “You’re right,” I finally whispered to my father, tears starting to fall again, this time because thinking of both women that close together had made me think of how well they would have gotten along, and that made the pain almost unbearable again.

Poppa put an arm around me and spoke, gently but firmly. “Then you love her. Tell her how you feel . . . both how you feel about her and how much you’re still hurting over losing Becky. No one worth being in love with will hold that against you.” He looked me directly in the eyes, his own now moist. “If it was really too soon, then you wouldn’t be feeling this way. Now, you don’t look like you’ve slept well in a week. Get to bed.”

*****

“Knock knock,” I said, entering the disaster area Renata called her quarters two days later. I’d decided to tell her as soon as I could. I knew . . . I knew entirely too well . . . how short life could be, how precious every moment was. I didn’t want to risk never getting the chance to tell her.

. About the only thing where it belonged was her sword. Now, I’m no neat freak, but I’ve never understood how anyone can stand there being little more than a path from their door to their bed. Ren, on the other hand, has always considered that little acceptably clean for company. “You cleaned.” I added, noticing such a path.

She shrugged. “I got bored.”

I smoothed my beard, taking a second to get my thoughts into something less resembling chaos. I took a very deep breath. “Renata, can we talk about something serious?”

“Sure. Shut the door and come on in,” she said, looking confused.

I did as she’d asked and decided to just get it over with. I walked over to her, took her small hands in mine, and spoke. “Renata, I think I’m in love with you. But I’m not over losing Becky. I don’t think I ever will be. I’m not really sure I can be a very good boyfriend right now. I’m fairly certain I’ll never be the man you deserve, but . . . I love you.” Maybe it wasn’t as poetic as I’d hoped, and I’d been looking at our hands instead of her face while I spoke, so hadn’t seen her reaction, but I’d gotten it all said without crying at least.

She pulled her hand out of mine and touched my cheek. “Vik, I love you too,” she said as I raised my face to look at her. “I know you miss your wife. You’d be an asshole if you didn’t. I don’t mind.” She hugged me tight and we just sat there embracing for a few minutes.

Suddenly, I had an idea. “Ren? What do you say to a date day after tomorrow?”

She started laughing. “A date? You really are as insane as some of the guys say, aren’t you? We’re on The Asylum. There’s nothing to do here.”

I shrugged and grinned. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll think of something. Trust me, we’ll have fun.”

Still laughing, she said, “It’s a deal.”

When we walked to the cafeteria hand-in-hand later, (The Daggers, I should probably mention, have no rules against fraternization . . . or for that matter much of anything . . . as long as you don’t let it interfere with doing your job. Darrien is a Sweetian and very strongly believes in the Sweetian ethic that “If it’s not going to hurt anyone, let it be.”) everyone was thrilled to see us together. We got a few congratulatory hugs and kisses and more than a few ribald remarks. Darrien himself told me it was about damn time I’d told her how I felt. More than one person told me Becky would’ve been glad to see me so happy again. That helped quell any doubts I still had quite a bit.

My heart at ease, I had time to think about the date. I spent the next day and part of the one after thinking it over, but finally had to conclude that Ren was right: There was nothing to do on The Asylum. Finally, in desperation, I burst into Darrien’s quarters.

“Darrien, my friend, I have a problem,” I said as I sat down in his desk chair.

“You mean aside from your inability to knock?” He asked, pretending to be annoyed.

“Yes. Aside from that. Renata and I are supposed to go on a date tonight and this miserable excuse for a world has an utter, complete, and total lack of entertainment facilities. Would a small movie theater really be that much of an expense?”

He looked at me like I’d lost my mind.

“Seriously. People need something to do besides hang out in the common room every night.”

He looked thoughtful. “There’s that beach on the other side of the world. It’s beautiful and as long as you don’t go in the water you should be fine.”

I stared at him in disbelief for a moment, unsure if he was joking. “The one with the lobster-like creatures as big as Ren?”

He shrugged. “Bring a blaster and you should be fine.”

He was completely straight-faced. I’m still not sure if he was joking.

“You’re no bloody help,” I said as I left.

I think I heard him chuckling, but he denies it still.

While getting ready for the date . . . I’d gotten an idea at the last minute, inspired by someone paying off a kista debt . . . I encountered another problem. I hadn’t brought any first date worthy clothes or jewelry with me. The nicest things I had were a dark green tunic with a hint of embroidery on the neck and chest, a new pair of blue jeans, and some small silver hoop earrings. I also had nothing to tie my hair back with that hadn’t been chosen for practicality, so I wore it down. I felt seriously underdressed for an important occasion.

I dressed in the afore-mentioned, prayed, and practiced what I was going to say. I wanted that night to go perfectly. First dates are always a nerve-wracking experience; this one was more-so than most.

“Hey beautiful,” I said upon entering Ren’s quarters, hoping I sounded more cocky than I felt. “Sorry to let you down, but it looks like this world’s many charming amenities do not, alas, include entertainment facilities. Therefore, as ungentlemanly as it is, I find I must invite you to my quarters – or we can stay here I guess – this evening.”

She started laughing before I was done. I was glad. It was, truly, a beautiful sound. She looked around her quarters, which no longer even had a path all the way to the bed. “Let’s go to yours.”

I offered her my arm and we walked down the hall together. As we walked, I took a good look at her. As attractive as I’d found her before, that was nothing compared to how she looked that night. She was wearing a simple blue button-down shirt, undone just far enough for a tantalizing glimpse of her ample cleavage, and a pair of tight black jeans. Her hair was neatly brushed and down, the first time I’d seen it that way.

We were arguing good-naturedly over whether or not she was amazingly gorgeous when we reached my quarters.

“Now,” I said, interrupting the argument. “My plan for the evening is to wine-and-dine you . . . or at least provide the closest approximation of it that I can in this hellhole. I couldn’t find any wine.” I paused, recalling Darrien did have something that was supposedly wine. It was, however, pale green and smoked slightly. “At least not any I was sure was safe for human consumption. Darrien has a fascinating liquor collection, by the way. However, I do have Tenithian ale, and, for dinner, I shall take you to the most wonderful dining establishment on the entire world.” I paused dramatically. “The Dagger cafeteria.”

She laughed again. “Glad to know I amuse you,” I said as I sat beside her and offered her some ale. “Is there anything you’d like to do tonight, beautiful?” I asked as I pulled her closer.

“I thought you were in charge of entertainment.”

“Yes, well, I seem to be lacking in ideas that aren’t inappropriate for a first date.”

“I don’t mind those,” she said with a smile and in a tone of voice that made it quite clear that she was telling the truth.

Tales From The Sword & Scroll Tavern – Prologue

(I know I’ve posted this before, but I’ve made lots of tiny edits so I’m reposting it . . . mostly so I have it somewhere besides my thumbdrive. And so I’ll quit tinkering with it.)

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

(In other words, please distribute it to whoever you want to, just don’t take credit for it, and don’t make money off of it, okay? And if you want to write/draw/compose/whatever something related to it, feel free . . . so long as you license it the same way.)

Disclaimer for the entirety of the series: This is an unabashedly space opera setting. Scientific realism is tied up in the corner wishing it could remember the safeword. Whether or not psychological realism is present is a matter of what psychological theories the reader thinks accurate. Any story may contain such things as: homosexuals, heterosexuals, open relationships, monogamists, socialists, capitalists, and many other things potentially offensive, such as puns.

Enjoy. (And comment! Even if it’s just to say you read it, please.)

It was a very cold evening when I disembarked from my craft at the Delthakk spaceport. Despite my fur, I was bundled in a thick jacket and gloves, but, the feeling, the Calling, that had drawn me to the sparsely settled extra-galactic world, was stronger than ever. There were stories here that no Yugovian had ever heard. I had dallied awhile at the ‘port’s shops, asking about the locals, trying to get a feel for the culture, and trying to find the most likely place to find the stories I sought.

Almost unanimously recommended was The Sword and Scroll Tavern in Lus Ville, a small town not far from the ‘port. The tavern apparently had the best and most diverse alcohol selection for quite a distance – some claimed that none in the universe came near it, but most said merely that it was the the best for several parsecs. The quality of its fare made it the favored drinking spot of both the legendary “rebels-for-hire” Darrien’s Daggers – whose headquarters was nearby – and the Sweetian Special Forces who were also based nearby. Both groups seemed the sort to have tales worth hearing so I rented a non-descript speeder and made my way towards the place.

The small town – perhaps more properly called a village – sat nestled in a valley surrounded by forested hills on three sides. This night the whole scene was snow covered. It was the kind of night when even an adult half-believes in the Solani. But, I was anxious to get out of the cold, so I didn’t tarry long enjoying the view.

At one edge of the town, there was a parking lot, for it was not laid out in a way that accommodated speeder traffic well. I wasn’t incredibly thrilled to find I’d be walking in the bitter cold and whirling snow, but the Calling was too strong to ignore now.

What the town lacked in size, it made up for in diversity. My walk took me the entire breadth of the place and I saw no less than thirty distinct architectural styles and, despite the cold and snow, I saw beings from no less than twenty species. Surprisingly, few gawked at me. Or perhaps not so surprisingly. In a place with so many different species living side-by-side, seeing strange looking beings becomes a non-event.

At last I reached a stone and wood building with a wooden sign hanging from the roof that bore a symbol of a crossed sword and rolled scroll and the words, in red, “The Sword and Scroll Tavern,” and in smaller print, “Bobby Thase and Viktor Blue, Proprietors.” The Calling was now so strongly urging me to go in that I had opened the door and stepped inside before I was consciously aware I was moving.

“Welcome!” said a pleasant voice as soon as I entered. As my eyes adjusted to the light – it was brighter than most taverns, but still not brightly lit – I shook the loose snow from my clothing. When I was done, I looked in the direction the voice had come from and saw a scantily clad, buxom, human woman with elaborately done chestnut hair and large brown eyes. By human standards, she was very attractive.

I knew, in a way that you can only understand if you are another Yugovian the Spirits have Called to be a Traveller, that this was the place I would find the stories in. But, before I could begin gathering tales, I needed to warm up.

I took a seat near a real wood burning fireplace against the left wall. While contemplating what I wished to order, I took a good look at the clientele. It was mostly human, but obviously even amongst humans in this town there was no uniform culture. Their clothing choices were the most eclectic mix of styles I’ve ever seen outside of Junil. There were beings of all ages present, for this tavern appeared to serve as the center of town life. From babes in arms to grizzled elderly veterans, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. There were a few gaming tables upstairs and the players’ laughter could be heard throughout the place. Upon the stage next to the bar sat a young human male playing an odd instrument which looked something like a loothin, but with more strings and a longer neck. He had a very pleasant voice, pleasing enough to the ear that though I didn’t know the language he was singing in, I enjoyed the song. The area immediately in front of the stage was devoid of furniture and looked suitable for use as a dance floor should the music be appropriate.

I’d just decided on a mulled Sundarin mead when a tall older human male with a rather bad limp, waist length black hair with prominent white streaks, a neatly trimmed beard that was a touch whiter than his hair, and eyes of a gem-like blue – with slightly odd looking pupils – came to my table. His attire stood out, even among the multitude of fashions in the tavern. He was dressed much more formally than anyone else, save an Aslith captain. He wore a blue silk shirt with lace ruffles at the neck and ends of the sleeves. Over this he wore a black vest with silver embroidery tracing an intricate design. His pants were black velvet. His boots were the most unremarkable part of his outfit, being plain black boots, but they were shined until they glistened. Silver filigree earrings dangled from both ears and rings shone on two fingers of each hand. With a friendly warm smile he introduced himself. “I’m Viktor.” He paused for a second, as if waiting for something. When I didn’t say anything in that brief pause, he continued in his smooth deep voice. “And I apparently am your waiter for the moment. Do you know what you would like, or would you like a few more minutes?” He had a slight accent that I, despite having been a Traveller since coming-of-age, had never heard before. I studied his face as I ordered my mead and suddenly knew that he had a story people needed to hear.

“Excuse me sir,” I said touching him gently on the arm. “I’m a Yugovian Traveller. I have been Called to this place on this night to hear true tales worthy of sharing with all. I can tell that you have lived such an experience. When your shift is over, would you be so kind as to share the tale with me?”

The human studied me for a moment, frowning slightly. Finally he sighed and spoke. “Let’s get one thing clear right now: I don’t tell war stories. There are many people who can tell you what happened to me in the Mugdaran War and during my time as a Dagger much more colorfully than I. If you insist on hearing one of those stories, I’ll help you find the right person to hear it from. Understand?” His voice had a bit of an edge to it now.

I hastened to reassure him. “Sir, I don’t know what sort of tale I’m supposed to hear from you, but if you don’t wish to tell a war story, you don’t have to. War, love, tragedy, comedy – it’s all part of the beautiful tapestry of life, after all.”

He smiled again. “Well then, give me a few minutes – I’m just filling in for someone who’s on her dinner break – and I’ll be back and gladly relate a story to you.” He limped towards the bar and after a handful of minutes came back with two glasses – my mead and a amber colored drink for himself.

He sat in the chair opposite mine, pulled an unadorned black pipe from one vest pocket and some smoking herb I’d never smelled the like of before and a lighter from the other. He started to fill the pipe then abruptly stopped. “Do you mind if I smoke? It’s genengineered tobacco so it’s safe to breathe.”

“Please, do whatever you wish to feel at ease.”

He nodded and continued filling and lighting his pipe. After a couple of puffs upon it, during which he’d been looking thoughtfully towards a group of people talking and joking with each other at one of the gaming tables, he began speaking.

Tales From The Sword & Scroll Tavern, Lyndsey

Few things before the story:

1) The disclaimer and copyleft notice on the Prologue apply to this one as well.
2) Lyndsey’s word choice wouldn’t be out of place in a Kevin Smith movie. If this bugs you, then don’t fucking read it.
3) This, obviously, isn’t the story that immediately follows the Prologue. That one is proving difficult to finish. Mostly in that I can’t figure out where it should stop so it just keeps getting longer and longer. This one should stand alone fairly well.
4) Lyndsey’s opinion of her looks is not proof that she’s a Mary Sue or any other such nonsense. Her opinion and that of most people around her are not necessarily the same. She is also probably exaggerating for the benefit of her audience about how often she’s been captured because of said looks.
5) They are in a space opera universe. Please do not attempt anything in this story at home.
6) This has only been proofread once by me when I was starting to fall asleep. Please point out any typos, odd punctuation, etc. but do keep in mind that Lyndsey is telling this story orally and she is definately NOT concerned about proper grammar, so most subject/verb agreement type errors are deliberate.
7) No, Lyndsey is not COMPLETELY insane.

Now, the story:

When I reached the top of the fortress, I tried to pull the grate over the ventilation duct loose. It wouldn’t budge. “What the fuck? This is attached securely. We can’t get in this way.”

My partner — a Covatic who I was pretty sure wasn’t actually an adult yet, regardless of what he’d told Darrien when he joined — who was also a rookie on his very first mission — looked at me, curious. “What?”

“This evil dude doesn’t play by the rules. He secured the vents. We can’t get in this way,” I paused while I thought about it some more. “Well, we could. We could always blow it up. But then we’d lose the element of surprise. Besides, I’m not allowed to have explosives any more anyway.”

Dolvis chuckled nervously. Apparently he’d heard that story. Accidentally blow up a whole building instead of just a door one time and some people get the idea you shouldn’t be trusted with even a firecracker any more. Weird, huh?

I tried picking the lock. It wasn’t too tricky looking, just a simple mechanical lock. But I couldn’t get the mechanism to budge. I muttered a string of Mugdaran curses under my breath and then asked my colleague if he had any bright ideas. I hoped one or the other of us had an epiphany soon. It was getting cold and unlike him, I didn’t have a natural fur coat.

We were discussing other possible ways in (No, we didn’t have a Plan B beforehand. We’re Daggers. We don’t need back-up plans.) when suddenly Dolvis paused and asked “What’s that sound?”

Seven years as a Dagger had taught me that nothing pleasant ever followed those words. This time was no exception. We both dove for what little cover there was on the roof as the laser turrets on the roof opposite turned towards us and fired.

I swore violently as I gave another look to the vent, now much closer to my face.

Center yourself and strike, as hard as you can, and even someone as little as you can get through anything. I recalled the words of Kenshin, head of my ninja clan. “Can’t hurt to try,” I whispered. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, tried to clear my mind, focused all of my attention inwards for a few seconds. Then I muttered a quick prayer to Thor – crazy ass mystical shit tends to work better when you’ve got a god helping you, opened my eyes and struck the grate.

And it didn’t fucking work! Stupid secret ninja tricks. They’re never as effective outside the dojo. I thought, grumpily. I could hear Dolvis praying to his gods. I hoped they listened better than mine. Those laser beams were getting closer with each shot.

My wrist comm beeped. Thank you, gods! I thought as I looked at it and saw Tech Guy’s face. “Need a hand?” He asked. Apparently the support team — that’d be him — had arrived.

“Turn off the fucking lasers. Now!” I yelled as a blast got too close for my peace of mind.

“Hey! Calm down. You can’t rush brilliance. And . . . the computer system is kind of tricky,” he said and then signed off.

After what felt like an eternity, the laser beams quit flying over our heads. Dolvis and I both breathed an audible sigh of relief. “So, now that they know that we’re here, what should we do?” Dolvis asked me, looking a little nervous. I felt sorry for the kid. This was supposed to have been a simple “get in, get the thingy, get out” type of mission. Spending a long time on a roof with lasers shooting at us had not been part of the plan.

“Well, a rational person would probably panic. But we’re Daggers, so obviously we’re not rational. Relax. There’s got to be a way in. There’s no such thing as an impregnable fortress.” We cold hear alarms sounding in all the surrounding buildings. I crawled over to the edge of the roof and looked over. There was a window about two and a half meters down. I was sure I could get in through it, but, well, Dolvis is no ninja. But, he thought he could handle it so that’s what we did. It probably wasn’t a great idea, but it beat the hell out of staying on that damned roof.

Besides, I was sure we could handle anything we found inside. After all, we’re Daggers.

We climbed down the wall, swung into the room, and found ourselves surrounded on three sides — the fourth being the window — by large, armoured guards who had their military issue blaster rifles pointed at us. Breld! I thought.

One of the guards — I assume he was the leader since he had the fanciest emblem on his helmet — spoke. “If you surrender now, we’ll kill you mercifully.”

I took stock of the situation as I pretended to consider his offer. There were six of them, with armor and those damned rifles. (I’d learned first hand what one could do to a knee earlier that year. Trust me, that’s an experience you don’t want.) Dolvis and I had, between the two of us, two small blaster pistols, about half a dozen shuriken, and two throwing knives. We can take them, I thought.

“Never,” I said simply as I drew three shuriken and threw them at the hand of the man who had spoken.

Dolvis drew his pistol.

Only one of the shuriken hit the dude, but that was enough. He screamed as it struck his hand and dropped his rifle. I grabbed it as fast as I could. While I was doing this, Dolvis shot one of the other guards in the chest. The armor kept the shot from killing him, but he was still in enough pain that he couldn’t hit a target directly in front of him.

The other guards all fired at us too, naturally. They missed. I don’t think they’d expected us to fight. For some reason guys in big scary looking armor, carrying big scary looking guns never expect people lacking those two things to fight back.

The firefight was over rather quickly. I may abhor blaster rifles, but I’m a good shot with one. As was Dolvis who took one from a fallen guard as soon as he could. There was soon only one guard left standing. He was very close to the comm on the wall, which couldn’t possibly be a good thing for Dolvis or I. “Screw this,” I said, as he dodged my third shot in a row. I dropped the rifle and ran towards him, launching my whole body at him feet first. I don’t know if I actually killed him — I didn’t bother to check — but he was down and Dolvis and I could get to the door.

“You alright?” I asked Dolvis as I picked the rifle I’d acquired back up.

“Yeah,” he said, not really sounding it. “It wasn’t much different than the sims.”

I smiled at him. Kid was trying to be tough at least. I like that. “Yeah. C’mon, we’ve still got to get down a floor and into the weapons lab. Hopefully Tech Guy will have disarmed its defense systems by then.” I wished I had time to check in with Tech, but I had a feelling that our firefight hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Before I opened the door, I said a brief, earnest prayer. And checked the charge on the rifle. The gods help those who help themselves, you know?

The door opened into an empty hallway. I heard Dolvis thanking his gods as I thanked mine.

We found a door to a stairwell fairly quickly. Dolvis tried to open it. It didn’t move. It was locked, of course. The Nirith Emperor, or whoever was in charge of securing this complex, obviously didn’t believe in playing by the rules. We looked around but didn’t see any sort of keypad or similiar. Time to call Jordan, I thought.

I didn’t wait for him to answer. As soon as the connection was established, I started talking. The lack of anyone else on this floor and the locked door were making me a bit uneasy. I mean, I was pretty damned sure we could handle whatever happened, but I’d heard what these guys did to prisoners and didn’t relish experiencing it myself for even five minutes.

“Tech, I thought you had gotten into their system? If so, why the fucking hell is this door still locked?”

“What door?” he asked. I glared at him. I was in no mood to be patient with his dumb jokes right then.

“Lyndsey, there are no doors in that building that are still locked,” he said after a few minutes of working his secret rituals that make computers do what he wants them to.

“Then what the fucking hell is this thing in front of me? Looks like a door to me, and, oh look! It’s locked,” I was getting pissed. This was a trap, I was sure of that now.

Jordan was ignoring me, trying to figure out how that door was still locked. Finally, he spoke. “Oh! That door. Looks like it’s got it’s own security system, not connected to the others. Gimme a few minutes.”

I – reluctantly – gave him his few minutes. When he said he’d gotten the door unlocked, Dolvis tried again to open it. This time it opened easily. I heard Dolvis breathe an audible sigh of relief.

The first thing I did after entering the stairwell was shoot a very poorly hidden camera. It was nice to find some way the Nirish Empire did play by the rules of How To Be The Bad Guys.

Or so I thought. When we got to the next floor, right outside the door was a gathering of baddies. Including, of course because it was obviously just that sort of day, the motherfucking Nirish Emperor himself.

“Breld,” I muttered under my breath as he smiled at us. Trust me, smiling torture fanatics are not a good thing.

“How nice of you to drop in. I do so love having new playthings. Now, now, don’t try anything dumb. Wouldn’t want my guards here to hurt your pretty face, now would we?” He asked, after I’d reached for a shuriken. I rolled my eyes at him. I mean, look, I know I’m gorgeous. Simple fact. But . . . just once . . . just one fucking time! . . . I want the evil dude to capture me because he’s scared of me, because he’s heard what a badass warrior chick I am, not because I’ve got the body of a goddess. It gets old.

“And you.” He addressed Dolvis in that silky, condescending voice that was about to make me punch him, regardless of how suicidal an act that would’ve been right then, “You need to be a good little boy, or else I’ll make your worst nightmares come true.” Dolvis looked at me and I, silently and surreptiousily, signaled for him to obey. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not actually suicidal and do know that sometimes it’s better not to attack. Like when there are twenty guys in front of you with military blaster rifles, heavy armor, and a lunatic as their commander who also is standing right fucking in front of you. What I wanted to do was put an arrow in his eye socket, but what I did was meekly say, “We’ll cooperate.” I already was working on an escape plan. Besides, Tech was bound to check in soon, and when we didn’t answer, he’d call for back-up. So, we let them take our weapons (the ones they could find) and march us to their waiting vehicles.

They were smarter than I’d hoped and kept Dolvis and I away from each other as they marched us towards the exit. Still, I signaled to him as best as I could as we passed near the weapons lab before I grabbed the arm of one of my captors and twisted hard, breaking it hopefully, at the very least rendering it unusable for the time being. The guard on the other side of me started to fire his blaster, but found that hard to do with a very small knife in his – his . . . that artery in the hand, the important one. “You missed one,” I said matter-of-factly as I kicked him in the head.

The Emperor was screaming for the guards not to shoot. He was too close and too terrified of getting his pretty face hurt. Or maybe it was my pretty face. I was a little preoccupied to listen closely. It was probably mine though. And though he said face, from the way he’d been leering at me, I don’t think that’s what he really gave a fuck about. Like I said, just once I want to be captured because of something other than my looks.

I was pushing my way through them, headed for the door to the weapons lab. When they were in front of me, there was no way in Hell I’d have attacked them. Or if they’d been behind me. But next to me? With their precious Emperor nearby? Oh fuck yeah!

I hoped like Hell Tech had made the lab all nice and safe. I like a challenge – the fight I was having to get to the door was the sort of thing I wish I could do all the fucking time – but I really hate lasers and blasters and all other sorts of things that use really hot things to put really big holes in your body. And that lab had been defended by every sort of thing like that imaginable. And poison gas and, well, just all kinds of nastiness. They really didn’t want to let us in. But it was all hooked up to one computer system and we had Tech Guy on our side. That dude could hack into reality itself if he took it into his head to do so. A lot of us think he must’ve made some sort of pact with a demon or something to be that fucking good. I mean, he’s not just Dagger good. He’s like god good.

At least, we’d thought it was all hooked up to one system. Apparently that door wasn’t on that system after all.

All that went through my head in the few seconds between me throwing one of the guards into his precious Emperor (who was trying to shoot Dolvis and coming too close for my peace of mind) and starting to open the door to the lab. I held my breath and said a brief, earnest prayer as I opened the door.

For once, the gods listened. The security system in that lab had been, as near as I could tell, completely deactivated. Dolvis came in about ten seconds later as I was – cautiously, in case Tech had missed something – making my way across the room to where the prototype of the quithin bomb was. Quithin, in case you don’t know, is a highly reactive chemical that . . . well, let me put it this way, if I’d been using that on Tathane, I would’ve blown up the whole fucking metropolis, not just the building when I made my minor miscalculation.

“That was fucking crazy, Lyndsey! Are you trying to get us killed?” Dolvis yelled. I really don’t understand why everyone always asks me that. I mean, I’m not stupid. I don’t get up in the morning and think, “Hey, I know what I’ll do for some excitement today. I’ll try to get myself and some of my friends killed in a horribly painful way!”

“No. I was trying to save us from being tortured, raped, all those nasty things assholes like him do to people they don’t like. Now, calm down and help.”

“We’re still going to have to get out of here, you realize.”

“Yeah. Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.”

He muttered something. Then I heard him praying again. Apparently he didn’t trust my plans any more.

Can’t say I really blamed him.

But, hell, we had gotten away. So, really, what the fuck was there to complain about?

I grabbed the prototype. It didn’t actually contain any quithin, so I was allowed to touch it. (I wasn’t joking earlier. There really is a Dagger rule that I can’t even play with firecrackers any more.) I touched the comm on my wrist, to tell Tech we’d done it, just as his face appeared on the screen.

“Hey, you guys done playing around up there and ready to get out?”

“Yeah. We ran into a bit of trouble. Nothing too bad though.” Dolvis gave me an incredulous look. “Look, we need to make a slight change in plans. Pick us up outside the window of the lab, okay?”

Tech just nodded. Dolvis looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “The . . . window?! You are trying to get us killed, aren’t you? I know I didn’t do perfectly today, but . . . I didn’t think you were going to kill me!”

I smiled at him. “Hey, man, relax. We’re not that high up. If we fall, we’ll break a few bones. Big deal. C’mon. Let’s get out of this joint before the Emperor comes to. I really don’t want to be around when that happens.”

Still looking at me like I was crazy, he followed me to the window.

Tales From The Sword And Scroll Tavern, Prologue

(Forgive the formatting being odd in any way, this is a straight copy/paste because I’m lazy.)

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.

(In other words, please distribute it to whoever you want to, just don’t take credit for it, and don’t make money off of it, okay?  And if you want to write/draw/compose/whatever something related to it, feel free . . . so long as  you license it the same way.)

Disclaimer for the entirety of the series:  This is an unabashedly space opera setting.  Scientific realism is tied up in the corner wishing it could remember the safeword.  Whether or not psychological realism is present is a matter of what psychological theories the reader thinks accurate.  Any story may contain such things as:  homosexuals, heterosexuals, open relationships, monogamists, socialists, capitalists, and many other things potentially offensive, such as puns.

Enjoy.  (And comment!  Even if it’s just to say you read it, please.)

It was a very cold evening when I disembarked from my craft at the Delthakk spaceport.  Despite my fur, I was bundled in a thick jacket and gloves, but, the feeling, the Calling, that had drawn me to the sparsely settled extra-galactic world, was stronger than ever.  There were stories here that no Yugovian had ever heard.  I had dallied awhile at the ‘port’s shops, asking about the locals, trying to get a feel for the culture, and trying to find the most likely place to find the stories I sought.

Almost unanimously recommended was The Sword and Scroll Tavern in Lus Ville, a small town not far from the ‘port.  The tavern apparently had the best and most diverse alcohol selection for quite a distance – some claimed that none in the universe came near it, but most said merely that it was the the best in the hemisphere.  The quality of its fare made it the favored drinking spot of both the legendary “rebels-for-hire” Darrien’s Daggers – whose headquarters was nearby – and the Sweetian Special Forces who were also based nearby.  Both groups seemed the sort to have tales worth hearing so I rented a non-descript speeder and made my way towards the place.

The small town – perhaps more properly called a village – sat nestled in a valley surrounded by forested hills on three sides.  This night the whole scene was snow covered.  It was the kind of night when even an adult half-believes in the Solani.  But, I was anxious to get out of the cold, so I didn’t tarry long enjoying the view.

At one edge of the town, there was a parking lot, for it was not laid out in a way that accommodated speeder traffic well.  I wasn’t incredibly thrilled to find I’d be walking in the bitter cold and whirling snow, but the Calling was too strong to ignore now.

What the town lacked in size, it made up for in diversity.  My walk took me the entire breadth of the place and I saw no less than thirty distinct architectural styles and, despite the cold and snow, I saw beings from no less than twenty species.  Surprisingly, few gawked at me.  Or perhaps no so surprisingly.  In a place with so many different species living side-by-side, seeing strange looking beings becomes a non-event.

At last I reached a stone and wood building with a wooden sign hanging from the roof that bore a symbol of a crossed sword and rolled scroll and the words, in red, “The Sword and Scroll Tavern,” and in smaller print, “Bobby Thase and Viktor Blue, Proprietors.”  The Calling was now so strongly urging me to go in that I had opened the door and stepped inside before I was consciously aware I was moving.

“Welcome!” said a pleasant voice as soon as I entered.  As my eyes adjusted to the light – it was brighter than most taverns, but still not brightly lit – I shook the loose snow from my clothing.  When I was done, I looked in the direction the voice had come from and saw a scantily clad, buxom, human woman with elaborately done chestnut hair and large brown eyes.  By human standards, she was very attractive.

I knew, in a way that you can only understand if you are another Yugovian the Spirits have Called to be a Traveller, that this was the place I would find the stories in.  But, before I could begin gathering tales, I needed to warm up.

I took a seat near a real wood burning fireplace against the left wall.  While contemplating what I wished to order, I took a good look at the clientele.  It was mostly human, but obviously even amongst humans in this town there was no uniform culture.  Their clothing choices were the most eclectic mix of styles I’ve ever seen outside of Junil.  There were beings of all ages present, for this tavern appeared to serve as the center of town life.  From babes in arms to grizzled elderly veterans, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves.  There were a few gaming tables upstairs and the players laughter could be heard throughout the place.  Upon the stage next to the bar sat a young human male playing an odd instrument which looked something like a loothin, but with more strings and a longer neck.  He had a very pleasant voice, pleasing enough to the ear that though I didn’t know the language he was singing in, I enjoyed the song.  The area immediately in front of the stage was devoid of furniture and looked suitable for use as a dance floor should the music be appropriate.

I’d just decided on a mulled Sundarin mean when a tall older human male with a rather bad limp, waist length black hair with prominent white streaks, a neatly trimmed beard that was a touch whiter than his hair, and eyes of a gem-like blue came to my table.  His attire stood out, even among the multitude of fashions in the tavern.  He was dressed much more formally than anyone else, save an Aslith captain.  He wore a blue silk shirt with lace ruffles at the neck and ends of the sleeves.  Over this he wore a black vest with silver embroidery tracing an intricate design.  His pants were tight black velvet.  His boots were the most unremarkable part of his outfit, being plain black boots, but they were shined until they glistened.  Silver filigree earrings dangled from both ears and rings shone on two fingers of each hand.  With a friendly warm smile he introduced himself.  “I’m Viktor.”  He paused for a second, as if waiting for something.  When I didn’t say anything in that brief pause, he continued in his smooth deep voice.  “And I apparently am your waiter for the moment.  Do you know what you would like, or would you like a few more minutes?”  He had a slight accent that I, despite having been a Traveller since coming-of-age, had never heard before.  I studied his face as I ordered my mead and suddenly knew that he had a story people needed to hear.

“Excuse me sir,” I said touching him gently on the arm.  “I’m a Yugovian Traveller.  I have been Called to this place on this night to hear true tales worthy of sharing with all.  I can tell that you have lived such an experience.  When your shift is over, would you be so kind as to share the tale with me?”

The human studied me for a moment, frowning slightly.  Finally he sighed and spoke.  “Let’s get one thing clear right now:  I don’t tell war stories.  There are many people who can tell you what happened to me in the Mugdaran War and during my time as a Dagger much more colorfully than I.  If you insist on hearing one of those stories, I’ll help you find the right person to hear it from.  Understand?”  His voice had a bit of an edge to it now.

I hastened to reassure him.  “Sir, I don’t know what sort of tale I’m supposed to hear from you, but if you don’t wish to tell a war story, you don’t have to.  War, love, tragedy, comedy – it’s all part of the beautiful tapestry of life, after all.”

He smiled again.  “Well then, give me a few minutes – I’m just filling in for someone who’s on her dinner break – and I’ll be back and gladly relate a story to you.”  He limped towards the bar and after a handful of minutes came back with two glasses – my mead and a amber colored drink for himself.

He sat in the chair opposite mine, pulled an unadorned black pipe from one vest pocket and some smoking herb I’d never smelled the like of before and a lighter from the other.  He started to fill the pipe then abruptly stopped.  “Do you mind if I smoke?  It’s genengineered tobacco so it’s safe to breathe.”

“Please, do whatever you wish to feel at ease.”

He nodded and continued filling and lighting his pipe.  After a couple of puffs upon it, during which he’d been looking thoughtfully towards a group of people talking and joking with each other at one of the gaming tables, he began speaking.

I keep encountering an attitude online — mostly on blogs and forums so I’m not going to provide direct quotes out of respect for the authors of the statements — that bothers me. People keep referring to all religions as nonsense, primitive, and completely unnecessary now that we have science, saying that all religious leaders are in it for the money and power, and that all religions teach that their religion is the only true religion.

Religion being unnecessary now that we have science is an opinion, and I very sincerely wish people would quit stating it as fact. It’s only true if you believe that the only purpose of religion is to explain natural phenomenon. (A purpose I’ve seen stated as the only reason religions existed in more than one scholarly source.) I don’t believe that is now nor has ever been the sole purpose of religion, and I think that most religious people, regardless of their creed, would agree with me. 

But the second statement . . . the idea that all religious leaders are in it for money and power disgusts me. Yes, there are religious leaders that sought their positions for all the wrong reasons. But several is not all. And what about the ones, like the Dalai Lama, who were appointed to their positions? One of the comments saying that religious leaders were in it for the money was on an article that had specifically mentioned the Dalai Lama! I can only understand this opinion if people assume that all religious leaders, all across the world, in all faiths, are chosen the same way. This shows a lack of even attempting to understand that I find reprehensible. Before I criticize, I at least attempt to understand what I’m criticizing.

The final statement is just a flat-out lie. I don’t know of a single religion that doesn’t have some believers who think that it’s the One True Way, but I can think of very few where, even if it’s a stated part of the official dogma, all believe it. Yet, people say it all the time like it’s an irrefutable fact. As with the last one, I can only assume they’ve done absolutely no research. 

That lack of research is what bothers me. There are religions I disagree with very strongly. There are religions, many of them, I disagree with the details of. There is no religion I agree with every bit of the dogma of. But I know this because I’ve done the research. I understand not everyone finds the differences and similarities of religions as fascinating as I do. I understand not everyone has the time to devote to studying religions that I do. But, I don’t understand not even taking the time to read one article about a religion before criticizing it — which is the only way to explain some of the comments I keep reading.

The world has many, many religions with great diversity. I have no problem with people thinking every single one of those religions is misguided and wrong. They’re entitled to their belief. And they have the right to express it. But, I don’t think it’s asking that much that they at least do a little research before criticizing. 

Vince and Walter

Warning: Male/Male relationship, polyamory.

Remember, I’m an author, I live on feedback. Yes, that includes copyediting . . . which I’m pretty sure this needs.  Anyway, enjoy:

I’d been to The Sword and Scroll Tavern before, but not often and not recently.  Bars really aren’t my thing.  But I was going crazy with nothing to do but wait for the semester to start and my friend Hank had said that the house band – named The Band Without A Clever Name – which he played in sometimes when he was in town on the weekends – needed a drummer, and since one of the few non-military related skills I’d picked up in my life was drumming, I decided to look into it.  So, late in the afternoon of a warm day in Dekdua of 303, I was standing outside a wood and stone building that looked more like a cottage – a very rustic cottage – than a bar.  The wood (not entirely unique in Lus Ville, but still rare enough to warrant mention) sign said “The Sword and Scroll Tavern” over a crossed sword and scroll with smaller text under it reading “Viktor Blue and Bobby Thase, proprietors.”  I was definitely in the right place.  Bobby I knew slightly – we’d served together for years, but when off-duty he hung out with quite a different crowd than me.  Viktor Blue sounded familiar, but I couldn’t remember where from.

The inside continued the wood and stone motif.  There were a few tables at one side for various games, like that Earth thing – pool, I think it’s called – but most of the interior seemed to be designed around the idea that patrons wanted to have a good view of the stage.  Suddenly I wasn’t too sure about this.

I didn’t have time to completely chicken out before a guy a bit older than me with butt-length greying black hair, a nicely trimmed beard, and amazingly bright blue eyes limped out of a back room – the kitchen or something, I presumed (correctly) – and spoke to me.  “Walter, isn’t it?” His voice was deep and smooth, with a very slight accent I couldn’t quite place.  At my nod, he continued.  “I’m Viktor.  Pianist, guitarist, occasional songwriter, and owner of this fine establishment.”  

I suddenly realized where I’d heard his name before.  Just as I was opening my mouth to ask if he was that Viktor Blue, hero of the Battle of Culs III in the Second Mugdaran War, he said, as if reading my mind, “Yes, that Viktor Blue. I was young, foolhardy, and somehow managed to live through it. Now, on to more important matters . . .”

He and I were almost done talking when the most gorgeous man I’d ever laid eyes on walked through the door. I immediately wondered if he and Viktor were related. They had similar features and builds, but the newcomer was a bit shorter, closer to my height, and noticeably more muscular. I guessed him to be about my age, maybe a little older. His wavy black hair was tied up in a loose ponytail that reached just past his shoulders.  His beard was a bit unkempt looking, but somehow on him that look worked. His clothing was a sharp contrast to Viktor’s ruffled poet shirt and leather pants. He was dressed in a plain black t-shirt and jeans, with a blaster holstered on one hip and an antique firearm of some sort on the other. His lower arms were covered in tattoos, most noticeably crossed daggers on his left arm, the symbol of Darrien’s Daggers.

I guess the best way to describe the difference between the two was that Viktor was the more traditionally handsome, but the other man had a ruggedly handsome look that I’ve always preferred. And there was just something about the way he carried himself, like anything the universe threw at him he could take on and make regret its mistake. I’ve always liked that in a person, whether they were serving under me in the SSF or a friend (and, I vaguely recalled, I’d liked it in boyfriends too, back when I’d dated.)

“Hey. I guess you’re the new drummer. I’m Vincent.  You can call me Vince. Call me Vinnie and I’ll kick your ass.” At the last he looked pointedly at Viktor who feigned innocence. “Bass player, artist extraordinaire, and retired Dagger,” he said with a slight smile, in a deep voice that had a hint of gruffness to it that I liked.

“Walter, retired Sweetian Special Forces,” I replied, with a smile of my own. 

“Nice to meet ya,” he said as he sat down next to me. “Mind if I sit here?” He asked after he was sitting.

I told him I didn’t mind, and he ordered us both drinks. We sat there talking for quite awhile. I found out that he was originally from Earth – some place called “Norway” – but had immigrated to Sweets with his parents (There were four of them.) and his siblings (He was the fourth of five. Viktor was the eldest.). I also found out he’d retired from the Daggers after almost 21 years about a year and a half ago because he wanted to spend more time with his family (Wife and two kids) and on his hobby turned profession – art. I also told him the basics about me: only child, retired after 20 years in the Navy because I didn’t want a desk job and was about to be promoted to one, was going to start taking classes at Delthakk University in the fall but didn’t really have a fucking clue what I was going to do with the rest of my life yet. I was trying to think of a tactful way to find out if his marriage was open, and if he was even interested in men when he suddenly said, “All right.  Enough of this bullshit. Whatcha doin’ tomorrow night?”

I just stared at him for a second . . . or an hour, I’m not sure. He’d caught me completely off-guard. He chuckled and grinned. “Look, dude. You’ve been checking me out; I’ve been checking you out. You seem cool. We’ve got some stuff in common. Why don’t we go out to dinner or somethin’ tomorrow night and get to know each other a bit better somewhere quieter?” The bar had filled up quite a bit while we’d talked. I wondered idly how long we’d been talking. I knew I was on my third or fourth beer, so I realized it must’ve been quite awhile. Once I found my voice again, I smiled at him and said, “I think I’d like that.”

“Good. Now, lemme introduce you to people,” he said as he stood up and gestured for me to follow him. The rest of the night was lost in a haze of alcohol and introductions.

*****

About an hour and a half before Vince was supposed to pick me up – we’d decided on a Lutonian restaurant in Altan he’d already been to and that I wasn’t quite sure how to get to – reality finally caught up with me. 

I WAS GOING ON A DATE!

I came as close to panicking as I have in many years. I hadn’t been on an actual date in . . . I couldn’t remember how many years. I calmed down when I realized I was going on a date with a former Dagger. Few of them are known for their exceptional social skills, so his expectations probably wouldn’t be too high. 

Figuring out what to wear was only slightly less difficult than planning a raid on an Anerix stronghold. I finally settled on a blue button-up and casual slacks. I figured that looked nice without making me look like I was the sort of guy who put a lot of effort into looking nice. Trimming my beard more carefully than usual was the only other real effort I put into making myself look good.

Vince got there a few minutes early. His hovercar looked a lot like him – reliable and broken in, but still better than about anything else. His hair was down and his beard looked like he’d made a half-hearted attempt at tidying it up. He was wearing a black leather vest over a gray button-up that looked like it might be silk and a nice pair of jeans that showed off his legs and ass very nicely. He had the antique gun in a beautifully tooled holster, but had either concealed the blaster or left it at home. 

“You look good,” he said as soon as he saw me.

“So do you,” I replied. We talked during the short trip to Altan – the nearest real city – and I learned a bit more about him. He followed an old Earth religion that one of his fathers was the local priest of. Aside from that though, he’d always been more drawn to his Mugdaran heritage (His biofather was Mugdaran.). His other parents were a courtesan, a surgeon, and schoolteacher – an odd combo, even by Sweetian standards. He’d met his wife, a Mugdaran woman named Kanjetta, when he was designing scenery for a dance production she’d been in about fifteen years ago. His last serious relationship with a man had ended with the guy walking out four weeks before their wedding date, twenty years ago.

We chatted throughout dinner, which was delicious, but I barely noticed. We opened up to each other like we’d known each other for years. It was weird. It had never felt that right to share some of my more private thoughts with someone. By the time we finished dessert, we both were treating the other like we’d known each other our whole lives.

During the ride home, I took the liberty of putting my arm around his shoulders. He was even more toned than he looked. He didn’t seem to mind my arm. In face he smiled bigger, turned on the autopilot, leaned over, and kissed me! It was a rather chaste kiss – open mouth, but no tongue. 

“You’re gorgeous, Walter,” he whispered, his voice thick. Before I could reply, he continued. “And more importantly, to me anyway, you’re one hell of a great guy. I won’t say no to going further tonight, but, honestly, I’d rather wait.” He was speaking fast, not giving me a chance to reply. It seemed like he wanted to get it all out before he changed his mind. I didn’t know what to say anyway. “I want to introduce you to Kanji and the kids first, make sure they like ya too.” He ran his fingertips along my jaw. I gasped involuntarily. “Dammit. I’m not good at this sort of thing. Vik’s the poet in the family. Walter, what I’m tryin’ to say is that we can fuck tonight, but I’d rather wait and have our first time be something special, sometime when we can make love instead of just fucking.”

What the hell do you say to something like that?! I thought. My hormones, dusty from lack of use, said to take him now, but . . . for the first time I could ever recall, my heart said to wait. Vince was too special to just fuck.

*****

That date was quickly followed by our second, third, fourth, and so on. I met his wife and kids and agreed with him that they were the greatest examples of both in the universe. We made love for the first time a few days after that, and it was worth the wait. By Vince’s birthday, I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him.

I spent the whole night trying to think of just how to propose, and I guess my distraction must have been evident because after he’d tucked Markig, his son, into bed, he said to me, his voice lacking a lot of his usual self-confidence, “What’s wrong, babe?”

Breld, I thought. “Vince,” I said gently. “Nothing’s wrong. I’ve just got something on my mind.” I finished lamely while mentally kicking myself. The last time I’d been so unsure of what to say was the first time I’d had to tell someone their spouse was dead. Nobody ever said proposing was the most difficult thing to do in life, I thought as Vince gestured towards the door, indicating he’d rather he and I talked outside. I put my coat and gloves on and stepped out into the cold Vendredo air. I shivered, despite my sweater and coat. I was originally from farther south and never had gotten used to Delthakk winters. Vince, I noticed, wasn’t even wearing a jacket and seemed perfectly comfortable.

There was no trace of a smile on Vince’s face, something I’d learned over the past few months was generally a sign something was really bothering him. “Walt,” he said quietly, reaching over to touch my hand. “What’s on  your mind?” He took a deep breath, like he was bracing himself for bad news. “Whatever it is, man, you know you can tell me,” he said as he caressed my jaw.

Just say it goddammit! I yelled at myself silently.

I took a deep, steadying breath and spoke. “Vincent, I love you.” I paused, unsure of what to say next.

“But?” He prompted, looking like he was trying not to cry, and lowering the hand that had been caressing my face to his side. 

“No, not ‘but’ anything.” I looked into his deep brown eyes, lacking the mischievous twinkle they usually had. I reached for his hands, needing to touch him.

“What is it then?” He asked softly.

I shut my eyes for a second, trying to force myself to focus. “Walt?” He said as he gently touched my face again.

I opened my eyes and spoke. “Vincent, I love you. I love your family. These past few months have been the best of my life.” I paused and took another deep breath, determined to get it said this time. “Vince, will you marry me?”

His immediate response was silence.

After what felt like an eternity or three, he laughed. “Yes! Goddammit, dude, I thought you were gonna break up with me or were dyin’ or somethin’!” He hugged me close and started to kiss me.

“Wait, I have something to give you,” I said, pulling back, somewhat reluctantly. “I know it’s traditional in most cultures to give your intended spouse some sort of token, and, since in some ways you’re a rather old-fashioned guy, I got you this.” I handed him the ring I’d ordered from Tuis Prime weeks before. It was a gold band with an intricate design carved into it and a single diamond – which I’d learned was traditional for engagement rings on Earth.

His smile was the biggest I’d ever seen it. “I love it. And I love you,” he said, pulling me close to kiss.

 

Story

This is basically Dravenloft’s story, but I spiffied it up because I understand Viktor better.

 

Into the Palace of Death

“Tell Ginny I love her,” Rebecca said stepping back from kissing Viktor deeply, tears in her eyes, and her blaster aimed straight for his chest. She answered his look of surprise in a voice that broke. “Vik, there’s a way everyone can live through this, and if the Spirits are aiding, these poor people will be saved in the process. There’s no fucking time to explain. Just get in that ship now, or I swear I’ll kill you myself.”

He took a step forward and she fired. Crying, she bent down and touched her lips to her husband’s, “Stupid, noble ass. You weren’t supposed to call my bluff. Darrien, get him aboard, and get out of here. Me and Darla have something wreckless and stupid to do that’ll let all of you keep your skins.” Sighing, she looked at the unconscious Viktor being slung over Burok’s shoulders. She half chuckled, half choked as she said, “Maybe some of his luck is contagious and we’ll see you later… somehow.”

The two women left as the rest of the fledgling adventuring band got on board, saluting the pair’s fleeing backs — tears or their equivocal freely falling.

The huge orbital palace’s weapons locked onto the fleeing ship as the tractor beams sputtered and failed. There was a series of explosions as the sabotaged weapons systems all overloaded. This the Daggers had expected. The trouble was keeping those on the world below from suffering mass atrocities in ‘punishment’ for this. The labs where the plagues were manufactured and the bulk of the giant ship’s armament were too well guarded for such a small force to destroy them without destroying the ship . . . something that would have been suicide. The only accessible way to do it was almost a kilometer from any means of escape and would cause the ship and anything smaller than a Borlothan Battlestar within a thousand kilometer radius to be space dust in less than ten seconds.

The Daggers ship reached hyperspace and safe distance the moment an explosion happened large enough it could literally be heard around the world whose liberation it heralded. Winters would be longer, and summers shorter and milder on Midgrothis for another century — but it was a small price to pay for the lives and freedom. Nothing larger than a cooking pot remained of the enormous flying continent from which The Supreme Majesty, known to the resistance as The Usurper or The Terror, reigned over the whole of the Midgorthan people.

Darrien and his band landed on the world an hour later to cheers and feasts. A royal funeral was prepared for the heroines of the people, who say any who make such noble sacrifice are reborn instantly as Gods and their names are whispered in

The book shut as Salandra began to cry. She put the unfinished novel down, ran to her father, and climbed onto his lap as she sobbed into his chest.

Viktor held her close. Salandra was among his more emotional children, be he’d never seen her this upset — even when she was convinced her uncle and older sister were terrorist agents being controlled by rogue circuits of their prosthetics.

He was concerned but knew that she needed to calm down before she could make anything approaching sense, so he just murmured soothing words until her sobs quieted down some and then asked, “What’s the matter?”  She was saying “Poor Daddy and Ginny” over and over  — which made no sense at all sense his eldest daughter was in a different galaxy than either of his husbands.

“Salandra, honey? What are you talking about?”  Viktor expected that Sal had just had another far-fetched, barely even plausible idea.  She had a very active imagination that sometimes overrode her common sense.  

Saldandra’s answer shocked him and was the last thing he’d expected to hear the little girl say.

“Was that really how Rebecca died? How she became a hero instead of my mommy?” She met his eyes with her own.

“Was what really what? Dear, please try starting from nearer the beginning. You’re easier to understand when you do.”

“Into the Palace of Death, was that really what happened to Rebecca?”

Odin’s beard! Of all the stupid, absurd, pulp trash available in that damnable series of Dagger novels she would have to pick that one, he thought to himself, fighting back tears as painful, bittersweet memories began to surge through his mind.

Softly, his voice closer to a whisper and husky with powerful, deep emotion, he spoke. “Ja. That one is truer than most of those books. That part especially — Darla’s brother swore to eat the author’s still beating heart if one detail were changed or omitted. I agreed with the sentiment and wouldn’t have approved any version that did anything that dishonoured their memory or their sacrifice. How far did you read?”

“Oh, yeah…” She sniffled in answer. “Why’ve you never said she’s a goddess now?” She put an accusing glare on her puffy, tear streaked face that caused Viktor to chuckle slightly.

“She’s not quite a goddess.  They were taking literary license with a difficult to translate term.  A closer analogy would be Donovan’s saints, or maybe angels.  Or some sort of cross between a Valkyrie and a warrior of Valhalla.  It’s complicated.  They’re not so much worshipped as I recall that book saying so much as revered and prayed to in times of need.”

“Oh. Daddy? Didn’t she want to see Ginny again? Most Daggers don’t have little girls — they didn’t then either, did they? Why’d it have to be her and Darla? Couldn’t you have –” She paused, her imagination working in overdrive for a solution to the problem. “Couldn’t you have brainwashed a droid to do it?” She thought another moment then added, “What’d they do anyway, I didn’t really understand that part?”

“She would have done anything to see Virginia again, sweetheart. She had no choice. There were no droids on that ship to brainwash — and they’d have never been able to do the job, their core programs would stop them or something — I’m sure Ren or Kris could explain that to you better.  What Rebecca and Darla did was something to the ship’s reactor and hyperdrive that overloaded — umm… reactors that big have systems to keep them from suddenly becoming tiny, momentary stars. They worked together to wreck those in a way that made a small, short-lived supernova instead. Few of us had the slightest idea how to do that, and of those who did — some of whom had no family and begged to go instead so that Becca and Dari could go home to those who loved them — none but Becca and Dari were fit to fight the scores of guards along the way.”  Tears were flowing freely from Viktor’s eyes and he had to pause for a moment to regain his composure. Salandra cuddled closer against him. “Sal, don’t believe for a moment she would rather have been a hero than Ginny’s mother. But she couldn’t let millions, possibly all ten billion, of the people of that world die just to see Virginia again. Her choice wasn’t hero or mommy, it was hero or monster.”

Viktor had always been proud of his wife’s courage — but pride couldn’t talk to him or sing to the babies. Thirty years had only eased the pain. He would miss her until he died. Then, he suspected, they would meet again in Valhalla — he had no business there, in his opinion, despite what most people who knew him said — but she probably had Thor, Loki, and Odin calling her ma’am and bowing by the third day. She would have demanded he be saved a seat.

Salandra had fallen asleep in his lap, her tears exhausting her. Viktor slid her glasses off and watched her sleep as he wandered fondly through old memories until he fell asleep too.

Untitled Dagger Story

This isn’t finished, but read what I’ve got so far, pretty please? If you like it, I’ll finish it. And title suggestions would be really appreciated.

Special thanks to Dravenloft, Official Word Maker-Upper For Universal Nexus.

When I reached the top of the fortress, I tried to pull the grate over the ventilation duct loose. It wouldn’t budge. “What the fuck? This is attached securely. We can’t get in this way.”

My partner — a Covatic who I was pretty sure wasn’t actually an adult yet, regardless of what he’d told Darrien when he joined — who was also a rookie on his very first mission — looked at me, curious. “What?”

“This evil dude doesn’t play by the rules. He secured the vents. We can’t get in this way,” I paused while I thought about it some more. “Well, we could. We could always blow it up. But then we’d lose the element of surprsie. Besides, I’m not allowed to have explosives any more anyway.”

Dolvis chuckled nervously. Apparently he’d heard that story. Accidentally blow up a whole building instead of just a door one time and some people get the idea you shouldn’t be trusted with even a firecracker any more. Weird, huh?

I tried picking the lock. It wasn’t too tricky looking, just a simple mechanical lock. But I couldn’t get the mechanism to budge. I muttered a string of Mugdaran curses under my breath and then asked my colleague if he had any bright ideas. I hoped one or the other of us had an epiphany soon. It was getting cold and unlike him, I didn’t have a natural fur coat.

We were discussing other possible ways in (No, we didn’t have a Plan B beforehand. We’re Daggers. We don’t need back-up plans.) when suddenly Dolvis paused and asked “What’s that sound?”

Seven years as a Dagger had taught me that nothing pleasant ever followed those words. This time was no exception. We both dove for what little cover there was on the roof as the laser turrets on the roof opposite turned towards us and fired.

I swore violently as I gave another look to the vent, now much closer to my face.

Center yourself and strike, as hard as you can, and even someone as little as you can get through anything. I recalled the words of Kenshin, head of my ninja clan. “Can’t hurt to try,” I whispered. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, tried to clear my mind, focusing all of my attention inwards for a few seconds, then I muttered a quick prayer to Thor, opened my eyes and struck the grate.

And it didn’t work! Stupid secret ninja tricks. They’re never as useful outside the dojo. I thought, grumpily. I could hear Dolvis praying to his gods. I hoped they listened better than mine. Those laser beams were getting closer with each shot.

My wrist comm beeped. Thank you, gods! I thought as I looked at it and saw Tech Guy’s face. “Need a hand?” He asked. Apparently the support team — that’d be him — had arrived.

“Turn off the fucking lasers. Now!” I yelled as a blast got too close for my peace of mind.

“Hey! Calm down. You can’t rush brilliance. And . . . the computer system is kind of tricky,” he said and then signed off.

After what felt like an eternity, the laser beams quit flying over our heads. Dolvis and I both breathed an audible sigh of relief. “So, now that they know that we’re here, what should we do?” Dolvis asked me, looking a little nervous. I felt sorry for the kid. This was supposed to have been a simple “get in, get the thingy, get out” type of mission. Spending a long time on a roof with lasers shooting at us had not been part of the plan.

“Well, a rational person would probably panic. But we’re Daggers, so obviously we’re not rational. Relax. There’s got to be a way in. There’s no such thing as an impregnable fortress.” We cold hear alarms sounding in all the surrounding buildings. I crawled over to the edge of the roof and looked over. There was a window about two and a half meters down. I was sure I could get in through it, but, well, Dolvis is no ninja. But, he thought he could handle it so that’s what we did. It probably wasn’t a great idea, but it beat the hell out of staying on that damned roof.

Besides, I was sure we could handle anything we found inside.

We climbed down the wall, swung into the room, and found ourselves surrounded on three sides — the fourth being the window — by large, armoured guards who had their military issue blaster rifles pointed at us. Breld! I thought.

One of the guards — I assume he was the leader since he had the fanciest emblem on his helmet — spoke. “If you surrender now, we’ll kill you mercifully.”

I took stock of the situation as I pretended to consider his offer. There were six of them, with armor and those damned rifles. (I’d learned first hand what one could do to a knee earlier that year. Trust me, that’s an experience you want to avoid.) Dolvis and I had, between the two of us, two small blaster pistols, about half a dozen shuriken, and two throwing knives. We can take them, I thought.

“Never,” I said simply as I drew three shuriken and threw them at the man who had spoken’s hand.

Dolvis drew his pistol.

Only one of the shuriken hit the dude, but that was enough. He screamed as it struck his hand and dropped his rifle. I grabbed it as fast as I could. While I was doing this, Dolvis shot one of the other guards in the chest. The armor kept the shot from killing him, but he was still in enough pain that he couldn’t hit a target directly in front of him.

The other guards all fired at us too, naturally. They missed. I don’t think they’d expected us to fight.

The firefight was over rather quickly. I may abhor blaster rifles, but I’m a good shot with one, as was Dolvis who took one from a fallen guard as soon as he could. There was soon only one guard left standing. He was very close to the comm on the wall, which couldn’t possibly be a good thing for Dolvis or I. “Screw this,” I said, as he dodged my third shot in a row. I dropped the rifle and ran towards him, launching my whole body at him feet first. I don’t know if I actually killed him — I didn’t bother to check — be was down and Dolvis and I could get to the door.

“You alright?” I asked Dolvis as I picked the rifle I’d acquired back up.

“Yeah,” he said, not really sounding it. “It wasn’t much different than the sims.”

I smiled at him. Kid was trying to be tough at least. I like that. “Yeah. C’mon, we’ve still got to get down a floor and into the weapons lab. Hopefully Tech Guy will have disarmed its defense systems by then.” I wished I had time to check in with Tech, but I had a feelling that our firefight hadn’t gone unnoticed.

Before I opened the door, I said a brief, earnest prayer. And checked the charge on the rifle. The gods help those who help themselves, you know?

The door opened into an empty hallway. I heard Dolvis thanking his gods and chuckled. So that’s how you get what you want from gods, I thought. You ask two different sets.

The Nirish Empire apparently didn’t believe in decoration. The interior of the building was more boring than one of Daddy’s lectures on grammar.

We found a door to a stairwell fairly quickly. Dolvis tried to open it. It didn’t move. It was locked, of course. The Nirith Emperor, or whoever was in charge of securing this complex, obviously didn’t believe in playing by the rules. We looked around but didn’t see any sort of keypad or similiar. Time to call Jordan, I thought.

I didn’t wait for him to answer. As soon as the connection was established, I started talking. The lack of anyone else on this floor and the locked door were making me a bit uneasy. I mean, I was pretty damned sure we could handle whatever happened, but I’d heard what these guys did to prisoners and didn’t relish experiencing it myself for even five minutes.

“Tech, I thought you had gotten into their system? If so, why the fucking hell is this door still locked?”

“What door?” he asked. I glared at him. I had no time to be patient with his dumb jokes right then.

“Lyndsey, there are no doors in that building that are still locked,” he said after a few minutes of — doing whatever the hell it is he does to make computers do whatever he wants them to.

“Then what the breld is this thing in front of me? Looks like a door to me, and, oh look! It’s locked,” I was getting pissed. This was a trap, I was sure of that now.

Jordan was ignoring me, trying to figure out how that door was still locked. Finally, he spoke. “Oh! That door. Looks like it’s got it’s own security system, not connected to the others. Gimme a few minutes.”