Valiant

[Valiant #7: Smolder]

Log Date: 9/15/12763

Data Sources: Feroce Acceso, Kiwi

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Sybione Route 29: Praelion District

6:34pm SGT

“The four main human variants in the Myrrdicato Galaxy. Go.”

Ridge scrunches up his face, leaning forward against his seatbelt. “Venusians. Originals. Marshies. Mercurials.”

“Good.” I say, keeping my eyes on the road and my hands on the wheel. “Tell me something about each variant.”

“Venusians like to fight and have a big military and are ruled by a monarchy. Marshies are really big on tech and they have psion genetics. Mercurials are small but they’re really durable. Originals are the most similar to the humans from the Milky Way.” he recites.

“All stereotypes, but I’ll let it slide.” I say, taking the exit off the highway. The cloudy sky through our windshield is lit with the colors of a dynamic sunset, flaring with reds and purples and oranges above the jagged winter trees. “Name me the other primary offshoots from the human race that are no longer considered human.”

“Cybers: they can be either part machine or full machine. Shifters: they’re mostly extinct, but can adjust and mold their form to mimic other creatures or objects. Collective: they’re a hivemind connected by a fungal symbiote and want to assimilate everything.” he says, pulling his phone out of his suit jacket and checking it. “How much longer? This suit is killing me, man.”

“Welcome to being an adult.” I answer as we start to cruise along the evening streets, making our way through one of Sybione’s more upscale residential districts. “Looking good is uncomfortable. And your answers are correct, by the way.”

“You’re asking me stuff everybody knows about.” he says, peering out the window. “I don’t need to read a species file to know this stuff.”

I shrug to that. “We can try something harder, if you feel like you’re ready for it.”

“I’ve been ready.”

“Alright. The twelve Families of the vampire Dodakatheon. Go.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Ridge visibly hesitate. “Uh… Vespertilio… Molossus… uhm, Lazarus?” he guesses.

I smile. “Lasiurus. You managed to name two, which is better than most people.”

“Vampires aren’t as simple as I thought they’d be.” he says, slouching in his seat.

“Oh?” I say, glancing at him. “Were you reading the vampire file recently?”

“I tried. There was a lot of political stuff, and financial stuff, and just lots of stuff I didn’t understand.” he says. “And I don’t get the whole bloodbank system, or the thing with the Families. Trying to read through it all gave me a headache.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t blame you there.” I say, taking a turn onto a road that leads to the larger, more widely-spaced estates. “Vampire politics give everybody headaches, even the vampires involved in them. The Families and the bloodbank are part of a single system that monitors and keeps the vampire population in check, and also makes sure the population remains fed.”

“Oh, is that what the Families do?” he asks, looking at me.

“Mhmm.” I say, nodding. “Because vampires live off blood and we’re conditionally immortal, population control is extremely important. If you have too many vampires in a population, it’ll start to collapse under the weight of their feeding requirements. So the Families set very strict rules on who gets to become a vampire, and how that process occurs. They can control who becomes a vampire, and make sure that the vampire population only ever remains a fraction of the blood donor population, so that there’s plenty of blood to go around.”

“So there’s tests you have to pass?” Ridge asks, watching me avidly now. Looks like this subject interests him.

“Pretty much, yeah. Loyalty tests, skill tests, background checks.” I explain. “It’s like applying for a really nice job, or trying to get into a college with limited spots. There’s a lot of competition. You have to make a really good case for why they should pick you over the other candidates.”

“Was it hard for you to get in? I bet it was easy, since you were a Challenger.” Ridge remarks. “They probably wouldn’t have turned you down, since Challengers are better than normal people.”

I open my mouth, then close it, thinking about how to answer that question. “I didn’t go through the application process.” I explain quietly. “I’m not registered with one of the Families, and I don’t have any of the benefits that come with being a member of the Families. Within vampire society, I am what is called an Orphan — an illegally created vampire that no Family wants to claim.”

Ridge stares at me. “You’re joking, right? You’re making fun of me.”

“I’m not.” I say, keeping my eyes on the road. The streetlamps have come on, now that the sun’s fully disappeared behind the horizon. “The Family system is everything in vampire society. Members of the Families have access to jobs, housing, financial and legal support, discounts on blood, all of it paid for by the Families’ extensive financial and political network. But if you break the rules, you get shut out of all of that. If you create a vampire without the approval of your Family, you are disowned, cast out, and become an Orphan. If you are the vampire created without permission, then you’re an Orphan from the beginning. No Family will claim you. Orphans usually struggle without the support of the Family network, and the Families use them as examples of what happens to those that break the rules.”

“That’s messed up.” Ridge says, slowly leaning back in his seat.

“It goes back to the population control issue.” I explain, watching as the estates get progressively larger on either side of the road. “It was hard to keep other vampires in check, to keep them from creating new vampires. So the Families created rules, set up gatekeepers, and established a system that rewarded those that followed the rules, and punished rulebreakers by excluding them from those benefits. Though it was harsh, it did the trick, and that’s the system that the Families have used for tens of thousands of years now. The galaxy’s vampire population has been kept at a low level that is sustainable both for our race and other races. If the numbers are right, less than one percent of the galaxy’s vampire population are Orphans — all the others are registered and claimed by one of the twelve Families.”

“But that sucks for you, doesn’t it?” Ridge demands. “Being an Orphan?”

I take a deep breath. “Yeah.” I admit. “It really does. I don’t get a support check from a Family every month, the way most other legal vampires do. And if it wasn’t for Sierra, I’d be paying a fortune to get my monthly sacraments.”

“Sacraments?”

“Blood.”

“Oh. Why don’t you just say blood, then?”

“Because sacraments is the polite way to talk about it.” I explain, a mansion up on a hill coming into view as we cruise along the winding road. “Talking about drinking blood in public is considered crass, and most other non-vampires get all judgmental if they overhear something like that, so vampires started calling it the sacraments so it wouldn’t rile people up as much.”

“Guess that makes sense. Even if it’s stupid.” Ridge says, noticing the estate up on the hill. “Is that where the party is?”

“Sure is.” I say, reaching forward to tap the screen on the dashboard and open up a channel. “Sierra, you’re sure this invitation is good and the intel is solid? I don’t want to get into a party with a bunch of rich snobs and spend the evening wandering around the place like an idiot.”

“And how is that different from how you spend the rest of your time…?” is Sierra’s snarky reply.

“Ha ha ha, you’re a riot.” I say, rolling my eyes. “Back on task. You’re sure that this is where we’ll find Kiwi?”

“Yeah, based on intercepted communications, your green-haired girl is supposed to be meeting another Maskling there to receive further guidance on what to do with the backup archive. You need to find her and get the archive from her — preferably quietly, but by force if necessary. We’ve got a team on standby for quick extraction if things get messy.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.” I say as the gate to the estate comes into view. “We’ll be taking comms into the building, but we’ll have you on mute for most of it. If you need to contact us, send a text. Keep an eye on the entrances and exits — if she spooks, I’m sure she’ll make a break for it.”

“For the last time, she won’t spook if you smolder her, Fero—”

I reach up and close the channel before Sierra can finish that sentence. Rolling down the window as I pull up to the gate, I hold my invitation out the window to the guard there, who looks it over, then waves me through. Rolling the window back up, I ease the car past the gate and along the road that leads across the undulating, snow-covered grounds.

“What’s smoldering?” Ridge asks as the hedges and empty flowerbeds pass us by.

“Something that exhibits poor taste and can easily be abused.” I reply curtly. “So naturally, the Lieutenant is trying to rile me up by telling me to use it.”

“Yeah, but like. What is it?” he persists despite the clipped answer. “That’s the second time I’ve heard her mention it.”

“Smoldering is something that vampires can do to most mortals.” I answer as one of the estate’s staff waves us around to one of the parking areas off to the side of the mansion. “There’s a rather extensive section on it in the vampire file I sent you. Did you not read it?”

“I mean, I read some of it, until it started to get to the science-y bit with all the big words. I couldn’t keep up with it after that point.” he admits. “It’s like some kind of mind control that you do with your eyes, or something…?”

“That’s a crude way of putting it, but yes. It’s a weak form of mental dominion that vampires can try to assert over someone by making eye contact and burning some blood on projecting their will onto the target.” I answer as I opt for a parking spot near the corner of the cordoned area, just in case we need to make a hasty exit. “It mesmerizes the target, makes them pliant and receptive to the vampire. It’s called smolder because it usually takes the form of a bedroom eyes that hit like a space freighter.”

“Oh, I think I’ve heard about that!” Ridge says as I turn the car off. “It’s the hypnosis thing that the evil vampires always do in the holos, right?”

“Smolder is the foundation for those portrayals, yes.” I say, getting out of the car and straightening my vest and tie. “Vampires evolved the capability to help with the hunting and feeding process, but nowadays we live in a civilized society, and consent is an important aspect of the feeding process, if you’re going to be taking a live sacrament. While it’s not illegal to smolder someone, it is frowned upon unless you have a very good reason for it.”

“Would it keep the Maskling from running away, though?” Ridge asks as he gets out of the car. “Jeez, it’s cold out here!”

“If I caught her off guard and hit her with it, then yes. It would probably keep her from running off.” I answer, starting across the parking area and towards the path leading to the mansion’s front entrance. “But I want to avoid doing that. I’d much prefer she cooperate with us.”

“You really think she’ll do that?” he asks as he hurries to keep up with me, his breath crystallizing on the cold air.

“I don’t think it’s likely. But I have to try.” I say as my shoes hit the shoveled walk. “This is going to be a classy affair, so—”

“Best behavior, I know. Pretend like I’m some prep school brat that can mind his manners.” Ridge says. “And you want me to keep an eye out for the Maskling, right? Text you if I find her?”

“Right on. But don’t go after her yourself.” I say as we get nearer to the entrance. “If you get in a tight spot, text me or give me a call. You’ve got the combat knife that Sierra gave you, right?”

He pats the side of his jacket. “Got it.”

“Good. Let’s go catch ourselves a Maskling.”

With that, I take a breath of the sharp winter air and let it out, coming up the steps to the front door. There’s a big guy standing on the porch; he puts an arm out, blocking me from reaching the door, and raises an eyebrow when I look at him.

I huff a soft breath, and reach down to unbutton one of my cuffs, pulling it down just enough so that the runemarks that Kiwi left on my wrist are visible. He nods and reaches out to the door, opening it to a foyer decorated with winter festivities and softly lit; I step in, then pause when I hear Ridge make an indignant sound. Looking around, I can see that the doorman’s accosted him as well.

“He’s with me. It’s his first time at one of these functions.” I say. The doorman looks to me, then drops his arm; Ridge glares at him, stepping in behind me. As the door closes behind us, I take in my surroundings and the warmth of being indoors.

“Nice place.” Ridge murmurs, staring at the crystal chandelier overhead, and the plentiful bouquets of flowers arranged on side tables and antique furniture. A few people are in the foyer, some taking off their coats, others putting them on.

“Yes, it was very good of your uncle to invite us here.” I reply, just enough for it to carry but not enough to be considered more than idle conversation. “You want to go see if you find him? I’m going to catch up with some of my friends.”

Ridge looks at me; it takes a second for the gears to start turning, but I can see it start to click in his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Should I tell him you want to talk?”

“No. Let him enjoy himself for a bit. I’ll come find him later.” I say, bringing up my arm to unbutton the other cuff as I cross through the foyer, headed for the main hall. Ridge nods and heads off into one of the adjacent halls, and I tuck my hands in my pockets as I stroll further into the mansion, listening to snatches of passing conversations.

“Did you hear about the Collective incursion out on the Marshy frontier?…”

“Oh, you should try some of the spiced cider. I normally hate winter, but it gives me an excuse to drink the stuff…”

“Have you seen the report about Songbird? I can’t believe they haven’t caught him yet!…”

If I had a heartbeat, it probably would’ve skipped a beat on that last one. Coming out into what looks like an adjoined living room, dining space, and a large kitchen, I keep moving, telling myself that nobody will recognize me with the new suit and the haircut. Soft seasonal music plays over the low, pleasant chatter of coworkers and old friends catching up with each other; heat radiates from the faux fire in the living room hearth. Technically this was supposed to be a formal affair, but everybody here — whether they’re lounging on the couches, gathering at the tables, or lingering near the windows — all seem to be relaxed and at ease. Many of the women are leant close and giggling like old friends, while some of the men have their ties pulled loose and their collars undone as they socialize.

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen this face around here before.” I can tell, without looking, that the comment is directed at me; swiveling on the spot, I see a small, petite blonde with a pixie haircut sizing me up. It looks like she’s forsworn some of the more haughty dresses worn by the women here in favor of a Krysmis sweater and some faded jeans. “You look like you’re lost.”

“I might be. A friend invited me here, but I don’t see her anywhere.” I reply, offering an abashed smile. “Green hair, about ye tall. Think you could help me find her?”

“Yeah. I know her.” the blonde says, tucking her hands in her pockets as she sizes me up. “And if you really knew her, you’d know she doesn’t have friends.”

She watches, expectant, waiting to see what I’ll say to that. I take a deep breath, folding my arms as I eye up the refreshments table off to the side. “Well, that’s a pity. I like making new friends.”

The blonde’s blue gaze goes to my wrist as I fold my arms, and I let my eyes flick down to see she’s staring at the runemarks visible through my unbuttoned cuff. She tilts her head to the side a little, as if to get a better peek at them, before her gaze rises back to me. “I recognize those marks… you’ve tangled with her?”

I’m not sure whether answering that question is a good or bad thing, so I just give a noncommittal shrug in return. “And if I have?”

The blonde smirks. “You have my condolences. Truly.” Moving past me to the refreshments table, she takes a cup and ladles some cider from the simmer pot. “She’s upstairs, but she’ll be coming down shortly.”

“Thank you.” I say, surprised when she hands me the cup, then draws another and starts lading some cider out for herself. “I’ll be honest, I wasn’t expecting the sudden kindness after the gotcha questions.”

She smiles as she sets the ladle back in the pot. “It’s not kindness. It’s pity.” she says, clinking the rim of her glass against mine. “Cheers. To a dead man walking.”

My eyes flick down to the cider, then back up to her. After a moment I decide not to remark on it, since ‘dead man walking’ is one way to describe a vampire, if not entirely accurate. “You didn’t poison my cider, did you?”

“No, silly. I’m not interested in killing you. You’ll already well on your way.” she says, sipping from her cider. “I’m Tarocco, by the by.”

“Nice to meet you, Tarocco… I suppose.” I say, sipping from my cider and waiting a moment for any adverse affects. “I’m Feroce.”

“Pretty name for a dead guy.” she says, looking past me. “She’s here now, if you want to talk with her.”

I turn, following her gaze, and I have to do a double take. I’d expected the Maskling in the highcollared jacket and the ripped jeans, since that’s what Kiwi had worn at both the starport and the museum.

What I see here is completely different.

The splash of green hair is familiar, bound back in a messy ponytail with stray bangs left to frame her face. But instead of the jeans and jacket, she’s in a collared black dress shirt, neatly tucked into immaculate black slacks. A brilliant white tie is pulled loose from the collar, the top two buttons left undone; her cuffs are unbuttoned and her sleeves rolled up to the elbow, the runemarks around her wrists clearly visible. I can feel the lazy air of confidence from across the room as she steps off the stairs, hands jammed in her pockets and puffing a stray lock of hair out of her face. She takes her time, gaze slowly sweeping the room, and only stopping when she catches sight of me.

Though she doesn’t say anything, she locks me with her wildfire eyes. I’d been expecting confusion, or surprise, or for her to run, but it’s none of those things. She stares me down like she’d been expecting me here; like she expected me to yield to her.

And I stare back without giving her an inch, waiting to see what she’ll do.

It takes a few moments for me to realize that the room around us is getting quiet, the soft seasonal music growing a little more audible. I allow my gaze to break away for a moment, and I can see that the other partygoers have noticed the staredown, their little conversations dying off as they watch us. And that some of them are staring at me as if they realized that the guy on the wanted posters got a haircut.

The slow echo of shoes across the hardwood floor draws my attention back to Kiwi as the last whispers of conversation slow to a mere trickle. Crossing the room at her own comfortable, deliberate pace, she stops in front of me, reaching up to take the glass of cider from me. “You’re making a scene, Blueberry.” she says, and though it’s quiet, her voice carries over the new silence in the room.

“Mm. Says the pot to the kettle.” I say, slipping my hands into my pockets to mirror her posture as she sips from the glass. “You know what I’m here for.”

“I do.” she says simply, swirling the cider around in the glass. “It doesn’t mean you’re gonna get it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t take no for an answer.” I apologize.

Kiwi stares at me for a moment longer, then throws back the last of the cider and holds the glass out to Tarocco. As Tarocco takes it, Kiwi raises her voice to speak to the rest of the room, straightening out the creases in her shirt as she does so. “If you all hear screaming coming from the study, turn the music up until you can’t hear it anymore.” Reaching up, she slides a hand along my chest, then folds her fingers under my tie, getting a good grip on it as she turns for one of the side halls, pulling me along. “Tarocco, let Forecast know we’ll be coming home with a Challenger.”

“You shouldn’t do this alone, Feather—” Tarocco begins.

“Let me have some fun.” Kiwi replies without slowing down. It isn’t long before we’ve left the common room, Kiwi tugging me along dim, half-lit halls with one hand over her shoulder, still clutching my tie.

I don’t know where we’re going, but I’m kinda worried for Ridge now.

“Should I be concerned?” I ask, feigning some level of nonchalance.

“Not if you come quietly. Nobody will get hurt if you cooperate.” Kiwi answers, turning a corner to head down a last stretch of hall with double doors at the end. “But that would be boring. I want you to resist.”

“I’m really not sure what to say to that.” I admit as she lets go of my tie.

Pulling the doors open, she stands to the side, holding an arm out towards the grand study within. “Don’t say anything, then. After you.”

In that instant I feel like I’ve hit a fork in the road. The smart thing to do would be to back away and run while I still can, since I’m clearly at a disadvantage here. But she’s got the archive, and besides that, I still have questions. Questions about what she did to me, and what happened back in the museum.

So I step into the study, reaching into my vest for one of my ninjato hilts as she pulls the doors closed behind us.

Event Log: Kiwi

Kimecan Estate: Grand Study

7:16pm SGT

When I turn around from closing the doors, I can see him reaching into his vest.

Though I’m not surprised, I’m also not disappointed. He’s a certain sort of stubborn, that much I remember from our last two encounters. Shoving away from the doors, I kick out the back of his right knee; as he goes down on that knee, I wrap my left arm around his neck and grab his wrist with my right hand, digging my thumb into a pressure point and twisting until he’s forced to drop the hilt he was pulling out of his vest. It hits the floor with a muffled thud, drowning out his quiet grunt as he finds himself trapped in a headlock.

“Don’t make me hurt you, Blueberry.” I murmur in his ear.

“Thought you said you wanted me to resist.” he replies in a strained tone.

“Well, yes.” I admit. “It would be fun for me. But probably not for you.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t come here to have fun.”

I can’t help but smile at that. “You’re such a good soldier. It’s cute.” Letting go of his wrist, I reach into my shirt and tug out the necklace that has the crystal core contained within the pendant. Holding it out over his shoulder, I ask “Is this what you’re looking for?”

His eyes widen a little, and brings his left arm up to snatch it; I jerk it back out of reach, bearing my knee into his back while I pull upwards with the arm locked around his neck. I can feel his jaw tighten as he grits his teeth, but refuses to make a sound. “You know I’m not going to give it to you, Blueberry. But we’ve tried to get it open and we can’t, not without a Challenger. So you’re going to be coming with me.”

“Tempting, but I’ve got my own agenda I need to follow.” With that, he reaches up, throwing both hands back to grab me around the head and shoulders at the same time he throws himself forward. I hunch my shoulders and cover my head as I’m flipped over him, landing on the floor on my back; even though I’m out of breath, I roll over and shove myself to my feet, bringing my fists up as he gets up as well.

“C’mon, Kiwi. We know where that goes.” he says once he sees that I’ve got my arms up, ready to fight. “You remember the starport.”

“I’m not giving you the archive.” I say, giving one of my arms a little shake so that the green runes glow to life on my wrist. The corresponding runes on Blueberry’s wrist warm to life, the blue glow showing faintly through the cuff of his shirt, though he doesn’t notice yet. “You want it, come and take it.”

“Is it so hard?” he demands. “Do we have to fight over this? I have told you time and again that we can work together—”

“Sorry, but trust is a commodity in the Maskling community.” I interrupt, jumping back onto the edge of the large, ornate writing desk sitting in front of the study’s windows. “And trusting the galaxy’s most dangerous Challenger isn’t a smart move.”

“Why do people keep calling me that?” he demands, throwing himself backwards as I launch off the desk, slinging a kick at the side of his head. “Nobody even knew my name before the Songbird Incident!”

“Hell if I know.” I say as I land, translating the momentum from my missed kick into another kick aimed at his legs. “Trust is hard-earned for Masklings, and you’ve got a reputation. Normally I wouldn’t bother because of that, but we need a Challenger to get the archive open, so you’re coming with us.”

He jumps the leg sweep, his fingers curling into fists as I rise again. “Fine. If that’s how we’re doing things. I’m not coming with you, but you’ve got the archive and I’ve got questions for you, so you’re coming with me.”

I smirk as I start to feel flickers of intent, of emotion running back through the glowing runes that link us together. “I’ve never had to fight someone over who gets to be the kidnapper.”

“For what it’s worth, I don’t like being the kidnapper.” he says, lunging at me.

I don’t answer, focusing on what I’m feeling through our link. It’s more instinct than anything else, letting go of my own emotions to listen to his; I can feel his focus, but also his concern. Though he’s determined to incapacitate me, he wants to do it without hurting me.

It's just adorable.

I jerk an arm up to block the straight-fingered chop aimed at my neck, using my other arm to slam an open palm into his chest at the same time. That staggers him and sends him back a couple steps; I can feel his thoughts race as he considers other ways to subdue me. In the space of a second, he cycles from pressure points to blunt impact respiratory shock to incapacitating holds to simple percussive persuasion.

I knew that Challengers were trained combatants, but this was more than I was expecting from them.

He goes for a hold next, seizing the arm I used to slam him; when he pulls me in, I block and grab his other arm, since I know what he’s going for. I yank my knee up, catching him in the stomach; it doesn’t quite double him over, but I do see him grit his teeth. After that I can feel a change in his intent, focusing now on my neck and a pressure point there; the moment he lets go of my arm, I grab his in return. It keeps him from reaching my neck as I use my other hand to grab his neck and dig a thumb into the divot just below his ear, where his jaw connects to his neck. He lets out a gasp, going slack and wide-eyed as he realizes I just hit the exact pressure point that he was planning to use on me.

“You’re good, Blueberry, but I can read you.” I say, keeping the pressure on that point. I twist his arm just enough so that he can see the runemarks that are glowing through the cuff on his own wrist. “We’re still tangled.”

I can feel his shock ripple through our link, followed by a stiffening of his resolve. He uses his free hand to knock away the hand I’ve got on his neck, and he starts to move; I can sense him going for an all-out push to tackle and pin. Letting go of his arm, I drop and lunge forward at the same time he does, slamming my shoulder into his midsection, then shoving upwards, using my own strength and his momentum to flip him over my back.

The sound of him landing his back behind me produces a loud, bruising thud.

I twist around, my runes projecting out into a ring around around my wrist. I’d expected him to take time to catch his breath, but he’s already starting to roll back to his feet in front of the writing desk; scrambling a few of the runes around my wrist, I slam my palm into his back while he’s still on his knees. A green ripple travels over his body as he stiffens, then slumps a bit as the paralysis takes over. 

“Sorry about that, Blueberry.” I say as I straighten, taking a moment to catch my own breath after all that. “I told you I fight dirty.”

He isn’t able to respond, and won’t be able to for a few minutes, at least until the paralysis wears off. Reaching up, I hook my fingers in my loosened tie, pulling it until it comes undone. “You’re pretty good. I could sense how fast you were thinking.” I say as I crouch down behind him, pulling his hands behind his back. “Seems like they trained you well in the Challenger program. Someone with your skills would make a great Maskbearer.” Wrapping the soft white tie around his wrists, I pull it tight so there’s no chance of him getting wriggling free, and knot it nice and firm, letting the ends dangle down over his heels. “But you’re far too stubborn for a normal Mask to handle.”

I can see him twitch at that, but the paralysis still hasn’t fully worn off.

Getting up, I circle around in front of him, leaning back to seat myself against the edge of the study’s desk. Reaching forward, I run my fingers through that blue hair, mussing it up so it’s all disheveled; he lets off another shudder at that, still trying to fight off the paralysis. Letting my hand slide from his head, I put my hands on the desk behind me, leaning back on them as I stare down at him.

“You try awful hard for someone that doesn’t belong anywhere.” I say quietly. “Is that why you’re trying to get the archive? So you can bring back the Challenger program? So you can belong to something again?”

It warrants another twitch from him, but nothing else.

After a moment to let my own words sit in silence, I look up again. With the sun gone down, and the lights in the study off, everything in here is steeped in thick shadows and cast in soft, snowlit shades of gray. Even Blueberry’s hair has a certain silver tone to it, the normally vivid blue showing up muted and cool. The quiet, and the fact that it’s just the two of us in here is nearly… relaxing.

“I almost wish you were a Mask.” I remark into the silence as I pull out my phone and start putting together a message for Tarocco and the rest of my team. “Been looking for a long time for someone to tangle with that can keep up with me. You’re the closest I’ve ever gotten to it.” Pausing in texting my message, I reach down to put a hand under his chin so I can tilt his head back, watching how the soft snowlight falls across his face; a matrix of monochrome hues and deep shadow. “Almost tempted to ask Forecast if I could take you as my Maskbearer. Adding a Challenger to my repertoire would be a hell of an acquisition, and you’ve got me curious.”

He cracks one eye open, just a bit, the ruby iris barely visible, then closes it again. The paralysis must be wearing off; I smile, rubbing my thumb along his jaw. “Does that make you scared? The thought of becoming a Maskbearer? I doubt Forecast would let me do it, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you. You’d be my best acquisition to date.”

He murmurs something, and I tilt my head. “What was that?” I ask.

“Third date.” he mumbles.

I smirk. “No Masking until the third date? You drive a hard bargain. Got a chastity belt to go with that?”

“This is our third date.” he exhales. “Starport, museum, now here. I never gave you a goodnight kiss on the first two.”

I raise an eyebrow, even though his eyes are still closed. “Well, that’s not your fault. I had to run both times. Places to be, flights to catch.”

He opens his eyes, those rich ruby irises stark and bright against the grey half-light of the study. I can feel the breath catch in my throat at how vivant the color is; I can’t bring myself to look away, and the brilliant red hue is pulling me in as if it had its own gravity well.

“Would you like one this time?” he offers softly.

The words feel oddly resonant, with a pleasant thrum to them that leaves me craving more. My fingers are frozen, tucked under his chin, still tilting his head back; I’m the one in the dominant role here, yet I don’t feel like I’m in control. Those eyes have me captured in a warm, fuzzy, vice-like grip that I know I should resist, but I don’t.

I don’t mind being captured like this.

The ruby rings beckon me closer without words, and I let my phone slip from my fingers, dropping onto the desk as I lean down. I hesitate a few inches from him; seeing me hesitate, he leans forward to close the gap, his lips brushing along my jaw. I remain still like an animal caught in the headlights, a chill running up my shoulders as I feel his cool breath against my throat, grazing my collarbone.

Then a faint click, and the abrupt sensation of something yanking around my neck.

The next two seconds are a blur; I see Blueberry start to throw himself backwards, and then a sudden pressure around my neck that yanks me along with him. I go sprawling atop him, trying to catch myself against the fall but jarring my head against the floor; for a moment everything spins. When they straighten out again, Blueberry’s squirming beneath me, and the warm, fuzzy haze filling my mind is starting to evaporate. Bracing a forearm against the floor, I use my free hand to rub a hand against my face as the last of the haze disappears.

“You tried to charm me.” I growl through my fingers, glaring down at him. Only to find him sprawled on the floor beneath me, mouth clamped shut around the pendant hanging from the necklace around my neck. I stare at him in disbelief.

He lured me close so he could try and bite the backoff archive clean off my necklace.

“Spit it out!” I snap, using my free hand to grab his throat and apply pressure.

He makes a little choking sound at the pressure, but doesn’t open his mouth, shaking his head in a wild, wide-eyed refusal. I grab the necklace’s chain and try to jerk it out of his mouth, but he’s got grip like an alligator on it. At a loss for what to do, I let go of the chain and plant my hand on his chest, a rune circle flaring to life around my wrist as I start charging a displacement ripple at point-blank range.

“Last chance.” I warn. “Spit it out.”

His eyes flick down to the green runes orbiting around my wrist, and he lets off a soft little whimper, but doesn’t let go.

“You are way too stubborn for your own good, Blueberry.” I mutter, leaning my weight on the hand planted on his chest. I really don’t want to do it, but he’s left me with no choice. Taking a breath, I brace myself for the inevitable recoil that’ll result from cratering him into the floor like this.

Then something slams into the back of my head, and everything goes black.

Event Log: Feroce Acceso

Kimecan Estate: Grand Study

7:23pm SGT

“You are way too stubborn for your own good, Blueberry.” Kiwi growls, pushing down harder on my chest as the runes orbiting her wrist glow brighter. With my mouth full of pendant and necklace chain, I can’t really reply without relinquishing my hold on it. Which is a problem, because a witty reply right now would go a long way in buying me some time.

Then Ridge looms up behind Kiwi, antique vase in hand, and proceeds to break it across the back of her head.

Kiwi collapses on top of me, and I let out a grunt as I suddenly end up with her collabone jammed against my face and a deadweight atop me. “Fhank vu, Rizzh.” I mumble past the Kiwi’s collarbone and the pendant in my mouth. “Helf meh pleez.”

Ridge puts the base of the broken vase on the table, then pulls out his phone. He takes a few steps to the side, holds it out, staring at the screen, and I start hearing clicks.

My eyes go wide as I realize that this punk is taking pictures.

“Fridge! Puf th’ fone dow’ ’n helf meh, yu lizzle shit!” I gargle past the pendant on my tongue, starting to thrash and trying to slide Kiwi’s limp body off me. This would be a lot easier if she hadn’t tied my hands behind my back.

Ridge grins. “Don’t worry, I’m just getting some souvenir pics. To use as leverage in case we have a disagreement later.”

“Ah’m g’na fee’ yu t’ th’ wooves, kid.” I growl past Kiwi’s shoulder.

He just smirks, putting away his phone and reaching down to roll Kiwi off me. “If it wasn’t for me, the Masklings would’ve caught you.”

I spit out the pendant as she slides off me. “Okay yeah, then you went and immediately ruined it by taking blackmail pics. That is not how good guys do things.” I roll over on my front so Ridge can reach my bound hands. “Untie me. We’re on the clock here.”

Ridge kneels down beside me, starting to pick at the knot holding my wrists together. “I saw her hit you with the glowy green stuff. Was that magic?”

“It was. All Masklings can use some variant of rune-based magic.” I mutter into the carpet as the tie starts to loosen. “Their race is an inherently arcane one, I know that much. Did anyone see you come in here?”

“No. Everyone was too busy talking about you two and how you left the party. Nobody was paying any attention to me.” Ridge says as he manages to pull the knot free. “Did you smolder her like Sierra told you to?”

“…not because I wanted to.” I mumble, pulling my hands out of the knot’s loosening loop so I can plant them on the floor and push myself upright. “She left me with no choice.”

Ridge kicks at some of vase shards on the carpet. “Guess it didn’t work, since she didn’t give you the archive.”

“It doesn’t work that way.” I say, moving over to Kiwi and carefully removing the necklace from around her neck. “Smolder usually renders the victim receptive, but it doesn’t make them mindless. If you ask them to do something they don’t want to do, there’s a chance that the dissonance will be jarring enough to break the hold. You can maintain a smolder longer if you stick to things that either have a neutral or positive connotation for the victim.” Holding up the pendant, I study the little crystal prism glowing within the cage of metal. “We got what we came here for. Let’s split.”

“What about her?” Ridge asks, looking at Kiwi.

I glance at her, then at Ridge. “What about her?”

“Aren’t we taking her with us?” Ridge asks.

My gaze goes back to Kiwi again, sprawled on the floor with her stray bangs strewn across her face and her dress shirt disheveled and askew. “Why would we do that? We’re not here for her. We’re here for the backup archive.”

“Yeah, but you offered to help her back at the museum.” Ridge points out. “You told her that you two could work together. Unless you were just saying that to try and keep her from escaping?”

I look at Ridge, then at Kiwi, then at Ridge again. He’s not wrong; I did offer her that. And I hadn’t done it just as a stall tactic. Feeling conflicted, I look back to Kiwi again, not sure of how to answer Ridge; practically speaking, Kiwi’s dangerous, and we have no real need for her.

But if what she told me at the starport was true, then the location of one of her people’s arkships is locked away in the archive, and that’s got to be important to her.

Before I can answer, the silence is broken by the sound of a couple knocks on the door, and Tarocco’s voice. “Hey Feather, got your text. Venox says he’ll have the cell ready. You done subduing the Challenger?”

Ridge gives me a wide-eyed look of panic, and I hold a hand out to him, motioning for him to be silent. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, thinking back to the way Kiwi was talking to me a few minutes ago. The way her voice rose and fell on certain words, the unique cadence it had when she was breathing hard or soft. The way she’d spoken over her shoulder at Tarocco when she was dragging me away.

“Kiwi?” Tarocco asks again, starting to sound suspicious.

I open my eyes, looking towards the door and opening my mouth. It’s Kiwi’s voice that comes out, though; lazy, soft, faintly annoyed with just a hint of disdain. “I thought I told you to let me have some fun, Tarocco.”

There’s silence outside the door for a moment. “Sorry. Just wanted to check on you and make sure you were okay.” Tarocco says eventually. “Don’t get carried away. Finding Challengers isn’t as easy as it was fifteen years ago.”

“Oh, don’t worry.” I answer, still using Kiwi’s voice. Thinking of how she stood in front of me when she had me on my knees, the faint snowlight painting her creased shirt and rolled sleeves in a tapestry of shadows and greys. Relaxed, soft, yet commanding — and using that remembrance to shape the tone and inflection that I’m using. “I don’t plan on letting this one slip through my fingers.”

“If you say so.” It’s Tarocco’s last words before I hear her soft footfalls receding down the hallway, eventually fading into the noise of the party in the distance. Once she’s gone, I let out a breath, my shoulders slumping from where I’d held them to mimic Kiwi’s posture. Taking a breath, I look aside to see Ridge is giving me a long stare.

“What?” I ask in my own voice again.

“That was creepy, dude.” he says. “You sounded exactly like her. I thought she’d woken up for a moment there.”

“Yeah, I try not to do that too often. It weirds people out.” I say, collecting the hilt of my ninjato off the floor of the study and tucking it back in my vest, before putting the necklace around my neck and tucking that into my button-down shirt.

“Is that the sonic sorcery stuff?” Ridge asks, following me as I pick up Kiwi’s white tie and move over to her, putting her limp wrists together so I can start wrapping her tie around them. “What you were doing with your voice and making it sound like hers?”

“That’s part of it.” I say, knotting and double-knotting the tie, making sure it’s nice and firm. “That’s the part of it I can control. The rest I’ll tell you about later.” Triple-knotting the tie for good measure, I nod to the window. “See if that’ll open. Going back through the house will get us caught. If we can cut across the lawn to the parking area, we can probably get out of here without anyone noticing.”

Ridge moves around the writing desk, wrestling with the window while I slide my arms under Kiwi and scoop her up in a classic bridal carry. I grit my teeth at the limpweight; this type of carry is usually a lot easier when the other person’s working with you.

“It won’t open.” Ridge says, taking a step back from the window and looking it over. “I don’t think it’s the type of window that’s supposed to be opened.”

“We’ll have to open it anyway.” I say, standing up and balancing Kiwi’s weight. “Break it and get ready to run if you have to.”

Ridge looks at me, then back at the window. “Are you sure? It’s going to make a lot of noise—”

“Ridge, unless you’d like to be the one carrying her to the car, please break the window.” I say, coming around the desk.

He takes a deep breath and shrugs. “If you say so…” he says doubtfully, reaching over to grab the base of the broken vase off the desk, and turning towards the window. Winding up, he throws it at the window, cracks racing through the entire pane as the ceramic slams into it, but falls back to the carpet with a muffled thud.

“Kick it.” I order tersely, nodding to the base of the window. “Make sure to pull your leg back quickly so none of the falling shards cut you up.”

Ridge rolls his shoulders, and positions himself to kick the base of the window. His shoe slams into the glass, and is jerked back just as quickly; the pane starts falling in pieces that shatter further as they hit the ground. Waiting until the last of the major pieces have stopped falling, I step over the mess of glass, my shoes crunching into the snow as the cold air hits me.

“Stay close.” I say over my shoulder as I start walking through the snow-covered grounds, making a beeline for the edge of the mansion around which the parking area is located. “If you see someone coming after us, let me know.”

“I’m surprised nobody’s noticed us yet.” Ridge says, crunching through the snow behind me. “That was pretty loud.”

“Kiwi told them to just turn up the music if they heard any commotion coming from the study.” I explain, moving as fast as I can with Kiwi in my arms and being careful not to lose my footing on a sloped section of the snow-covered lawn. “If they took her at her word, then might not even realize what’s happened. Let’s hope it stays that way.”

“I can’t believe we’re really gonna get away with this.” Ridge says as I pause at the corner of the mansion. “This was too easy.”

“Speak for yourself.” I grunt, sizing up the cars parked around the side of the building. It looks nice and quiet; everyone that was coming to the party has already arrived. “You’re not the one that got slammed with a jolt of paralytic energy. I still feel tingly from that.”

“Yeah, if it wasn’t for me, you would’ve gotten captured.” Ridge says smugly.

“Yeah yeah I heard you the first time you rubbed it in my face.” I say, starting to walk along the side of the mansion to the parking area. “Next time we can switch places, and you can be the one trying to subdue the Maskling while I sneak around the party stealing food off the snack table.”

“You’ll have to train me first. I know how to punch people but I don’t know how to do the kind of fighting you two were doing before she paralyzed you.”

“Memorize the twelve Families of the vampire Dodakatheon, and I’ll consider teaching you Jai Te.” I say as we reach our rental car, and I let Kiwi’s legs down, leaning her against the car so I can dig the keys out of my pocket. “Open the door for me and help me get her in there.”

Ridge pulls the door open, and I carefully sit her down on the edge of the seat, then lay her back across the seats. Ridge moves her legs up into the car, and I close the door once she’s been packed into the backseat. Moving to the driver’s side, I sling myself into the car and start it up while Ridge runs around to the other side and jumps into the passenger seat. “What if she wakes up on the way back?”

“My stunner is in the glovebox.” I say, putting the car into reverse and carefully backing out. “Pull it out and charge it to the middle setting. Have you ever used a gun before?”

Ridge opens up the glovebox and pulls out my stunner, looking it over. “No, but it’s pretty simple. Point and pull the trigger, right?”

“Depends on the type of gun you’re using, but yes, that’s how most guns function.” I say, pulling back onto the long and winding driveway that leads across the grounds and back to the main road. “First rule of guns: never point one at something unless you intend to shoot that thing. There’s other rules, but that’s the most important one. Got it?”

“Got it.” he says, looking the stunner over. “Is this the setting you were talking about? The switch right here?”

I glance over quickly. “That’s the one. Two notches until it hits the middle. The middle setting is used for taking down most humanoid adults.” I lean my foot on the accelerator, keeping my eye on the gate that separates the estate from the main road. “I don’t know how long a vase to the back of her head is going to keep her down, so if she wakes up and starts to get aggressive, stun her.”

Ridge turns in his seat so he can stare into the backseat and keep an eye on her. “I dunno, dude. She looks like she’s gonna be out for the rest of the night.”

“Looks can be deceiving.” I say, slowing down as we near the gate. I roll down the window in case I need to speak to the guard, squinting when I have trouble locating him. After a moment, I realize that the snow where he was standing is trampled and disturbed, and there are drag marks leading away from it and around one of the bushes outside the estate’s gate.

Something’s not right.

A thud on the roof of the car has me jumping in my seat. “Shit!” I hiss, stomping on accelerator. The engine roars, and the car careens forward, slamming into the gate and swerving out onto the road. There’s more thumps from above as whoever’s on the roof of the car scrambles to keep their hold on it. “Get down and cover your head, Ridge!”

I think he’s trying to do that, but the speed at which the car is hurtling down the road is keeping him pressed back against his seat. I roll up my window, keeping the pedal flat against the floor, my entire body in fight mode. Listening to the growling of the engine, listening for further signs of something on the car’s roof, eyes on the road and taking in every speck of information I can process. Reaching out, I turn on the car’s dashboard interface, dialing out to the emergency channel we have with the Accatria.

“Sierra, this is Feroce, we’ve got a third party in the AO. I think they’re currently on the roof of the car. We’re going to need that extraction and possibly backup to go with it.” I say as soon as the channel connects, ignoring the flashing speed limit sign on the side of the road.

“Hey hon, the Lieutenant’s not in right now. You want t’leave a message, or…?”

Disbelief shoots through me as the lazy drawl of the Accatria’s comms officer comes out of the dashboard. “Tariel? What the he—” I pause when I realize Ridge is still in the car with me. “What the heck! What do you mean, ‘the Lieutenant’s not in’?!”

“Look sweetie, don’t shoot the messenger. I’m just the comms officer. Lieutenant’s not in. You wanna leave a message?”

“No, I don’t want to leave a message!” I snap at the dashboard. “Where’d she go to? What’s she doing?! We need extraction ASAP!”

“Fine, fine, she went to go tickle her kitty.”

“Tickle her what?” I demand. Even though I don’t have a heartbeat, I swear I can feel my blood pressure rising.

“The kitty. The Schrödinger. Look, kid, I’m not gonna spell it out for you. I’m no saint, but I’ve still got some class.”

“WE ARE IN THE MIDDLE OF AN INFILTRATION MISSION AND SHE WANDERED OFF TO TAKE A ROLL IN THE HAY WITH LUCI?!” I shout at the top of my lungs.

“I can neither confirm not deny the veracity of that statement.”

“I’m going to confirm my boot so far up her ass she’s going to be tasting leather for a week!” I fume, easing off the accelerator and giving the brake a little attention as we come up on a curve in the road. “Can you at least do me a favor and tell the extraction team that we need some support getting to the evac zone?”

“Look, hon, I told you I was just the messenger. They don’t pay me enough to make executive decisions. You think I would still be comms officer if they let me give orders?”

“ANAYA ABOVE, TARIEL, IF YOU DO NOT GET THE EXTRACTION TEAM OUT HERE IN THE NEXT SIXTY SECONDS—”

I’m interrupted as a long, purple plasma blade spears through the roof of the car, stabbing into the dashboard screen and shattering it. The shards of the screen go dark as we lose the channel, and Ridge scrambles in his seat to push as far away as he can from the wicked, humming blade. After a couple seconds, it pulls back a bit, and whoever’s on the other end of it starts using it to cut a longer gash in the roof of the car.

“I hope Sierra got the rental package that included vehicle insurance.” I growl, glancing at the glowing, molten-metal gash being sawed in the roof of the car. “Ridge, do you know how to drive?”

“Do I what?” he yelps as I start to unbuckle myself. “They don’t give driver’s ed classes at the orphanage!”

“Left pedal is brake, right pedal is acceleration. Go five under the speed limit. Don’t overcorrect on the wheel. Treat the accelerator like a kitten; light touches only. Treat the brake like a puppy; it can play a little rougher, but you still need to be gentle.” I order as I finish unbuckling, patting my vest to check and make sure I’ve got both of my ninjato hilts on me. “You ready to switch?”

“NO!” Ridge shouts, sounding panicked. “I don’t know how to drive!”

“It’s automatic, so you won’t have to worry about switching gears.” I say, unlocking my door. Ridge lets out another yelp as the plasma blade stabs through the roof again, missing him by inches as it starts to cut at an angle to the first gash. “You wanted to train like the Challengers used to. Drive or die, Ridge.”

“You’re crazy!” Ridge shouts.

I shrug. “Well, yeah. I’m a Challenger.” With that, I yank the handle on the driver’s door, kicking it open. “The wheel’s yours.”

With that, I grab the edge of the roof with both hands, using my feet to kick off the open driver door and flip up and over, landing on the car’s roof in a crouch. I stay crouched, the car swerving while Ridge takes the wheel and scrambles into the driver’s side. On the roof across from me is a tall, willowy figure in low-profile, covert-ops armor, tinted black and purple. She crouches down as well, bracing herself on the hilt of her sword as the car swerves; the four glowing eyeslits of her helm remain fixed on me.

“Long time, no see, Gossamer.” I say.

“Don’t pretend you know me.” she hisses, yanking her plasma sword out of the roof of the car. “Songbird.”

“Look, I think we can talk this out—” I begin as the car starts to straighten out. The moment it does, she yanks her sword out of the roof, and swings it at me. “—or not, I guess.”

“I’ve waited a long time for this.” Her voice is distorted by her helm as she takes another swing at me, one that I twist aside to avoid. “Now that you’re no longer protected by the resettlement agreement, we can do to you what we should’ve done a long time ago.”

I duck under the swing, struggling to keep my balance against the wind and the moving car. Bracing a hand against the roof, I kick out Gossamer’s shin, forcing her down to one leg before she can wind up for another slash. “Look, seriously, Gossamer, I don’t want to fight you. Please, just… go home or something.”

“Give me the backup archive, and I might let you live.” The demand is punctuated with a stab from the plasma blade that only misses because I slap the palm of my hand against the flat of the blade, knocking it to the side but burning my hand in the process.

“You’d make a horrible motivational speaker.” I say, keeping a hand on the roof of the car to balance myself as I swing a leg around to catch her on the side of the head with a kick while the sword’s stuck in the roof of the car. It forces her to let go of the sword so she can catch the edge of the roof and keep herself from falling off, and while she’s shaking that off, I start to stand again.

Only for something to hit the back of my leg, forcing me down to one knee. Balancing on the roof of the car, I look around to see… nothing but swirling snow and a dark sky.

Oh wait no, there’s a slight distortion there—

Something slams into my face, and I think it’s a fist, based on the pattern of what feels like knuckles leaving their print on my face. It knocks me flat on my back, sending my vision spinning, but I can still see the vague distortion moving across the roof of the car. A moment later, what feels like an unseen boot slams on my chest, pinning me down. A hexagonal ripple travels upwards from that point, first revealing a boot, then a leg, then the rest of the person, dressed in a bodysuit and a combat jacket with a hexagonal weave. This girl with short black hair folds her arms on the knee of the leg that’s pinning me down.

“Axiom was right. You don’t seem like that much of a threat.” she remarks, pushing a set of goggles up off her eyes. “I was kinda expecting mooOOAR—”

The pressure suddenly lets off as she has to reposition to catch her balance when the car swerves, yanking her boot off me and slamming it on the roof of the car. Gossamer, who was getting to her feet, falls back to her knees again. “What the hell is up with your getaway driver?” she snaps. “This has got to be the easiest stretch of road on the surface of Sybione, but I’ve spent more time trying to keep from falling over than I have actually fighting you!”

“He’s sixteen and he’s never driven before.” I mutter, rolling over on my front and getting to a crouch again. “You’ll have to cut him some slack. It’s his first time.”

“WHAT?!” the cloaking girl screeches. “You’re letting a teenager drive while we’re all fighting on the roof of this car?! What are you trying to do, get us all killed?!”

“Look!” I snap at both of them. “The Maskling’s unconscious, my commanding officer’s taking a roll in the hay with her pet catboy, the extraction team was supposed to be here thirty seconds ago, and the kid’s all I’ve got right now. Give me a break, okay? It’s been a hard night!”

“Well could you at least tell him to hold it steady?” Gossamer demands as the car swerves again. “Whisper’s right. ‘Killed by a student driver’ is not what I want on my tombstone after a lifetime spent overthrowing tyrants and corporate monopolies.”

“Fine!” I grumble over the wind. “But no sneaky stuff while I’m talking to him. I’m officially calling a timeout.” Leaning to the side, I grab the section of roof that Gossamer had partially cut through before coming out on the roof. Yanking and bending it back a little, I peer down into the the car. “Hey Ridge, you mind keeping it steady? You’re making me look bad…”

My words peter out when I see that Ridge’s terrified eyes are fixed on the road, while behind him, Kiwi’s woken up and has looped her bound hands over the driver’s seat. The tie that binds her wrists together is held against his throat like a threat to choke him out if he doesn’t do what she says. When Kiwi notices me staring at her through the hole in the roof, she bares her teeth at me in a snarl.

Well, this makes things a mess. At least more so than they were before.

Before I can start chewing Kiwi out, an arm goes around my neck, with a hand on the back of my head, catching me in a restraining hold. I instantly throw myself backwards, Gossamer grunting as she loses her balance, and both of us slam down onto the car’s windshield, cracking it as Gossamer’s combat armor hits it. “I called timeout, you cheating bitch!”

“What are you, twelve years old?” Gossamer demands as I try get her arms off my neck, both of us sliding further down the windshield and onto the hood of the car. “There’s no such thing as timeout when the fate of the galaxy is at stake!”

“I don’t care! Someone calls timeout, you respect it!” I grunt as I see Whisper yank Gossamer’s sword out of the roof of the car and come at me with it.

As she slides down the windshield, with the plasma blade raised over her head, I throw my weight to one side, rolling over so that Gossamer’s on top now, serving as a body shield. Whisper’s eyes goes wide as she scrambles to halt her swing, and she overbalances, falling over on top of us. I let out another strained grunt as the weight piled on top of me suddenly doubles, and I reach out to grip the sides of the car’s hood as Ridge starts swerving and slowing down.

“RIDGE! Don’t slow down!” I shout. “We need to get out of here!”

“I don’t know where I’m going! I can’t see past you guys, you’re blocking my view!” is his muffled, panicked reply through the cracked windshield.

“This is stupid! You’re all stupid!” Gossamer shouts, clinging desperately to me because she doesn’t want to get thrown off the car. “Whisper! Get off me, you clumsy hairball! Stop clowning around and take him down already!”

“Like you’re doing much better, pointy-eared bitch!” Whisper spits back at her. The weight suddenly lessens, and I can see Whisper scrambling back up the windshield to the roof of the car, crouching there. “Why are you using that hold on him? Vampires don’t need to breathe, it’s not going to incapacitate him. You look stupid, hanging onto him like a clingy fangirl!”

“Shut up!” Gossamer snaps, one of her boots thumping against the hood of the car as she yanks me upright, her arms still locked around my neck and the back of my head. “Just get my sword; I’ll hold him still while you cut him up. As long as we take most of the pieces back, we can get him to regenerate while we have him detained!”

“That’s rude.” I wheeze past the hold that Gossamer has on me. I reach into my vest, pulling out of one of my ninjato hilts; spinning it in my hand, I hold it out and turn it on, the prismatic blade crystallizing in the night air. Whisper brings up Gossamer’s plasma blade in a two-handed grip, taking a ready stance.

“You’re outnumbered, Challenger.” Whisper warns. “You can come quietly, or we can carve you up and take the backup archive by force. Your choice.”

I grit my teeth, my eyes going from Whisper to my starglass blade, then to the windshield. Through it, I can see Ridge and Kiwi watching me with expressions of uncertainty and concern. My gaze catches on Kiwi, and my mind flashes back to the first night we met on the roof of the starport, and how Kiwi had thrown herself on my sword to get away.

And it gives me a really brilliant, really unhealthy idea.

“You can’t carve me up if I carve myself up first!” I rasp back at Whisper, and flipping my blade around, I grab the hilt with both hands. Setting the point against my torso, just under my sternum, I brace myself for what I’m about to do.

Then I ram it through my body all the way up to the hilt, the blade punching clean through me and stabbing into Gossamer behind me.

It hurts like hell.

But I feel Gossamer’s grip on me loosen as she gasps, and though she sags against me, she pushes me away. I fall against the hood of the car, the blade sliding out of her as I catch myself on my forearms, and she falls to her knees beside me, clutching the wound in her midsection. “What the… what the hell?! Are you insane?!”

I grit my teeth, pushing myself up enough to grip the hilt of my ninjato. After taking a moment to brace myself, I pull it out of my torso in a quick, painful motion that hurts just as much coming out as it did going in. I cover the hole with my hand, trying to stem any blood loss, and focusing on the self-inflicted injury. I can feel it starting to heal, much of the blood in my body flowing towards the wound site, and as the pain starts to ease up a bit, I set the point of my blade against the hood of the car, using it to help push back to my feet. After another couple of seconds, I get a better grip on the hilt, and look aside to Gossamer.

She catches the way I’m looking at her, and though I can’t see her reaction behind her helm, I know it’s making her think twice. With the hand she’s not using to hold her wound shut, she pushes a section of her chest plate in; the air around her seems to cave in, pulling her into it and then closing around her, whisking her away as if she was never there.

With that sorted, I look towards Whisper. I drop my hand from my wound, even though it’s not fully sealed yet, and spin my blade in my other hand, limbering up for duel.

Whisper takes one look at me, then turns and jumps off the car, morphing into a small black cat as she flies through the air. She lands in a snowbank, disappearing from view as she sinks into it, with Gossamer’s plasma sword landing in it somewhere near her.

And then it’s just me on the hood of the car, the winter air tugging at my clothes and chilling the parts of them that got soaked by blood.

After a moment, I turn off my ninjato, tucking it back into my vest before carefully making my way back up the windshield to the roof. More fully prying back the portion of the roof that Gossamer cut into, I slide back into the car, wiggling and twisting my way into the passenger seat. I do my best to ignore the pain of the wound in my torso that’s still healing, and burning through my blood reserves as it does so.

“Don’t think you’re in the clear yet, Blueberry.” Kiwi threatens from the backseat. Her voice sounds a little ragged, as if getting bashed over the head with a vase has her out of sorts. “You’re gonna turn this car around and drive me back to the estate, or I’m going to strangle your sidekick he—”

As she’s talking, I dig around in the passenger seat, coming up with my stunner, which Ridge left behind when he switched to the driver side. Checking that it’s still charged, I point it over my shoulder without looking, and pull the trigger without waiting for Kiwi to finish her ultimatum. As she goes limp and slumps against the back of the driver’s seat, I drop the stunner in the cupholder and let out a long sigh, rubbing a hand over my face as I close my eyes.

It’s been a long night, and it’s going to keep being a long night.

“Uh, Songbird?” Ridge asks quietly, with all the reluctance of someone that’s well aware they’re poking a moody creature. “I don’t know where we’re going.”

I open my eyes again, checking the roadsigns as we cruise past them. Looks like we’re halfway to the next district over. I’m about to ask where in the world he was going, but then I see the shattered dashboard interface and realize he had no idea where he was going, and no way to get directions.

“Pull over.” I say, keeping it short and simple.

He does so, and I have to show him how to put the car into park. Getting out, we switch sides, and as we get back on the road again, Ridge remains unusually quiet in the passenger seat. He looks back at Kiwi every now and then to check on her, and keeps the stunner charged and ready for another shot if needed. By the time he finally decides to speak up, we’re almost to the extraction point.

“Hey Songbird?” he asks as the lights of the convenience stores and the fast-food restaurants on the city’s edge pass us by.

“Yeah?”

“I didn’t get a lot to drink at the party and I’m thirsty. Can we get a milkshake or something?”

In that moment, I can think of a million reasons to deny the request. We don’t have time. The extraction team is waiting for us. The police could catch us. CURSE might’ve alerted local authorities to our presence. They may have other Peacekeepers deployed on this world. Kiwi’s friends or comrades could be looking for her and might find us. Someone might notice the very conspicuous bloodstains on my suit and call emergency services. Or they’d notice the damage to the car. Or they might notice the person we have in the backseat with her hands tied up.

But then I think about what he’s been through tonight, and how he’s handled it. Going on a covert mission, knocking out someone with a vase, and driving for the first time while there are people fighting on top of the car and someone threatening to strangle him inside of it. He’s handled it pretty well, for a teenager.

“Yeah.” I say after a moment, looking aside to him and smiling. “We can stop for milkshakes. Where do you want to get one?”

He smiles with that, straightening up in his seat and pointing out one of the fast-food places further down the street. “Can we go to Nacho Pop’s Soda Shoppe? They have good milkshakes and fries.”

“Yeah.” I say again, putting on the turn signal. “I think we can do that.”