#one day I’m gonna get one of those laser hair removal devices

[catbuggirly]

FINALLY finished the pu55y wax I started literally days ago it hurt, I bled, I fainted once but pussy now smooth so I win cause my pussy looks perfect

(Yes it’ll be on twt x)

[tanadrin]

Reordberend

(part 29 of 30; first; previous; next)

Leofe woke perhaps an hour later; Katherine heard her roll over, then a groggy question emerged from the bed behind her.

“What are you doing?”

Katherine finished tying her hair back; it was shorter now, but still too long for this. But she didn’t have time to cut it. She felt with her fingers down the back of her neck, trying to figure out where to press the awl. It was a shitty substitute for a proper neural probe, but it was all she could find at short notice in the hall.

“I’m just--shit!” She pushed it home, and there was a dull thud inside her skull as the emergency reboot protocol started. She pulled her hand back; her fingertips were covered in blood. Nothing for that now, unfortunately. “Just rebooting my cybernetics.”

“Isn’t that a bad idea?”

“Yes. It’s a very bad idea. It’s the sort of thing you only do in life or death situations.” Katherine stood up, and went over to the door, where Hraefn’s shield was leaning against the wall, next to one of her hunting spears. Leofe’s eyes went wide.

“Katherine, what are you doing?”

“I’m going--I’m going after the dragon. I talked to Eadwig. The bird I gave him, do you remember? I took it from the corpse of the second dragon. It’s likely… it’s likely it was a lot less damaged than its brother. And I think, whatever it is, the dragon has some way of tracking it, and wants it back. I think whatever tracking device it has built into it was meant to help recover the memory core, and I think I fucked up by removing it. And I got people killed. And I’m so, so sorry Leofe. I want you to know that. And I want you to tell the others. I’m going to go down to the Lower Settlement, and take the bird back. Then I’m going to go find the dragon. If I can’t find a way to reattach it, I’ll just have to find a way to kill it.”

“Now wait, you can’t--” Leofe tried to sit up, and that’s when she realized Katherine had tied both her hands to the bedpost.

“I’m sorry. You can’t stop me. Stubborn, remember? You can yell, but I don’t think anyone will hear you from outside the hall. And by the time someone comes looking for you, I’ll be in the hills.”

Katherine hefted Hraefn’s shield, then picked up the spear. Leofe’s eyes were wide; funny, Katherine thought she’d be more pissed than surprised at this point. 

“Listen, you can’t--”

“Shh. Leofe. I caused this mess. I came here, I disrupted your people’s existence, I got some of them killed. Before anybody else dies, I have to do everything in my power to make that right.”

“You’ll be killed!”

Katherine looked down at the ground.

“Then I’ll be killed. But at least I tried. Please tell the others I’m sorry. If you can get a message to the outside world--have somebody tell my parents I’m sorry, too.”

“Katherine! Don’t you dare leave without untying me!”

Katherine pulled her hood close about her face, and strode out of the room.

“Katherine!”

* * *

She slipped out of High Settlement and made the two-hour walk to the Lower Settlement in the dark. Eadwig’s house was easy enough to find; the bird was still sitting on a workbench, next to his stoneworking tools. She slipped it into her pocket, and was gone before anyone noticed her. From there, it was another two hour walk back up the valley, and when she was almost at the place where the path turned off toward High Settlement, she turned left instead of right, and headed up into the hills.

It was only then, stepping off the road, that something turned over in her brain, the adrenaline began to fade or whatever, and she started to feel her hands shake. She really should have eaten breakfast. Her mother always said it was important. Don’t go to school without breakfast, dear. Don’t go slaying dragons on an empty stomach.

The little observer inside her head, the little voice that was always watching her actions and critiquing what she did and telling her what she could do better, was screaming at her now, asking her if she was crazy, if she was suicidal, if she was stupid. She ignored it. She might be crazy. She certainly didn’t want to die. There were, in fact, few things in this existence that scared her more than the possibility of it ending, of plunging headlong into the great void of nonexistence, of contemplating what it would be like to be one with Unbeing, to be not, to become nothing. There were times when the certain knowledge of her one day death filled her with an icy cold terror. Today wasn’t one of those days, which was funny. Because she was pretty sure she was going to die.

She should turn back. It was the only reasonable course of action. But the one thing that scared her more than dying at this point was what would happen to the others if she failed. If she couldn’t reattach the bird to the thing, or at least get her to recognize she had given it back, it might keep looking. It might stomp all up and down the Valleys, until it had ground every village to dust, and it might keep going until it broke down. And she couldn’t have that on her conscience. She couldn’t be the one that destroyed them.

So she kept climbing into the hills. As she climbed, she did her best to hack together a self-diagnostic. Already, her head was starting to hurt in an ominous way. But if she had any chance of surviving this, she needed every edge she could get, and barely-functioning cybernetics was better than nothing.

She needed three things, she decided. She needed a way to mute pain signals. A headache was fine. Even a bad one she could live with. But burns, broken bones, anything truly incapacitating, needed to be reduced or eliminated. She also needed to get every last ounce of strength out of her muscles, even if she risked damaging them. She knew if you pushed your muscles too hard you could damage them, and that could cause kidney failure, but it would take a lot longer for kidney failure to kill her than a laser borer, or getting crushed to death. And the other thing she needed was better reflexes. That was probably gonna be the least likely to get working, because it involved core neurological function, which seemed to be exactly the part of her neural lace that was most damaged. But she had to do her best.

Finally she cape to the top of a ridgeline, and leaned against an outcropping to catch her breath. Damn, she thought. I wonder what my friends would say if they could see me now. She’d like to think they’d think she was a badass. They’d probably side with Leofe, though. If anything, she probably looked a bit ridiculous in the heavy coat, with the hunting spear and the shield. Like a squat black shrub with delusions of martial grandeur. She made a mental note, for if she survived this. Tell Hraefn to make her a bitchin’ suit of armor. Something with pauldrons and spikes. Something you could airbrush onto the side of a van.

She thought of a large green pyramid on the ground. The emergency startup sequence for her prosthetics engaged, and her headache got a lot worse. She gritted her teeth. “Neural lace console mode,” she said. A flashing indicator appeared to the left of her vision, and a shimmering, ghostly outline of a keyboard in the air in front of her. She raised her hand and made typing motions.

God, she felt like a dumbass. At least none of the others could see her right now.

Katherine was no programmer, and she was no neurologist. She did remember a few commands from the user manual of the salvaged dragon. Dampening pain signals only took about a dozen keystrokes. A loud warning tone sounded in her ears--well, probably her auditory cortex--warning that what she was about to do overrode almost every safety built into the lace, and its warranty. She hit confirm. Then she did the same thing with the musculoskeletal support system. More loud, horrible warning tones, this time with messages that featured the word “DEATH” in flashing letters. Literally, neon-green flashing letters. Yes, yes. Get on with it. She tried get into the actual neurological support system, but this time a big yellow ACCESS DENIED message stopped her cold.

“What the fuck?”

User access to the neurological support system is denied. Please consult a medical professional if you desire to… god dammit. Okay, so that option was out. She had her wits. She had a weapon. She had a shield. And she had every last ounce of physical strength she’d be able to muster. God, she hoped it was enough.

* * *

An hour later, she crested another ridgeline, and she saw it, hunkered down in a hollow below her. The dragon.

She exhaled slowly. She wasn’t sure what she had imagined. Lying on the valley floor, half buried by the landslide, they had looked so mechanical. Inert. Obviously the work of human hands; and, if she was honest with herself, she had thought that the People’s insistence on calling them “dragons” was kind of stupid. But now she could see why they did. This thing--hunched on four enormous legs, curled around an enormous stone outcropping like a beast of mythology--did not look like a machine any longer. The hundreds of metal plates that formed its skin slid neatly over one another as its head swung one way and the other; the instruments and receivers along its back bristles, like spines or the outlines of skeletal wings, and, yes, there was a furious red glow from deep within its belly. It was enormous--easily two hundred meters long. It moved forward slowly, almost glacially, testing the ground with each foot.

Well then. Maybe she could sneak up on it. Niiiice and easy. After all, somebody had to do maintenance on this thing, right? It was designed with that in mind? Maybe it would let her climb right up on top of it, find a nice hatch she could pop open, and she could drop down inside, plug her brain into a control panel, and press the “off” button. Yeah. That sounded like a great plan.

Katherine took a step forward. She looked down. Something was glowing inside her coat. She pulled it out; it was the bird. The flaw in the middle, that seemed to be where the homing device was. It glowed with a sharp, almost radioactive blue light. Katherine looked down at the dragon.

Well, shit. Its head, if that was what you wanted to call it, was looking right at her. She slipped the bird back into her coat and picked up her spear. She waited to see what it would do next. Metal plates began to slide past each other, and something not unlike a maw began to gape. And there was a grim red light shining from within it.

“Ohhhh fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfff-” Katherine took of sprinting down the ridgeline, as an enormous blast of something hit the spot where she had been standing a moment ago. There was a spray of rocks and dirt, and the force of the blast knocked her forward, but she did not fall. She glanced back over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of glowing red rocks.

“Whyyy,” she screamed down at the beast. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT. I’m trying to give this BACK to you!” She fished around inside her coat, and then held up the bird, so it could see it.

“Here it is! Take it! Take it and go! Leave these nice people alone!”

The dragon looked at her dully. She had a thought, an insane one perhaps, but she was having an insane kind of morning. She stood up, reared back, and pitched the bird as hard as she could down toward the dragon. It arced through the air, and fell hilariously short, skipping down the slope until it came to rest about half way between her and it.

“There! All yours!” she yelled. The dragon did not look at it, though it glowed as brightly as before. It just started opening its maw again.

“God DAMMIT,” Katherine screamed. She jumped down the slope, just as the boring laser blasted another Katherine-sized hole in the landscape, and slid down the scree toward the bird. She stumbled, fell, rolled, and tried to stand before falling again. The dragon’s head was tracking her, but it was slow. She could hear the machinery inside it whirring from where she was. She finally got close enough to the bird to pick it up, and took of running parallel to the dragon again, hoping she could move faster than its head could turn. Another hideous glare lit up the landscape around her; another blast hurled fragments of rock into the air.

Katherine needed to think, and she couldn’t do that very well while running. And her headache was getting worse and worse and worse and the last thing she needed was a critical failure of her cybernetics while eighteen hundred tons of pain had her classified as Threat Numero Uno. There was a larger stone outcropping ahead; she skidded to a halt behind that, and considered her options.

One, try to get closer. Running directly at it was suicide, but if she could get on its back, she was pretty sure it could not reach her. Maybe then she could get inside. Maybe. Two, try to get away. Ha ha, fat chance, and that didn’t solve her original problem. Three, try to… she looked down at the spear in her hand. Poke it? She considered throwing it away, but she couldn’t bring herself to. God you’re an idiot, Katherine, she thought to herself.

She had to get closer. She glanced around the side of the outcropping. The dragon was opening its jaw again. She took off running. It was a good thing, too; the outcropping exploded into fragments and the borer tore into the side of the mountain like it wasn’t even there. Some big chunks of rock hit Katherine on the back and head while she ran, but they weren’t big enough to knock her down, and the pain suppression was doing its job.

Now she ran down the slope, at a forty-five degree angle toward the base of the monster. Its feet were massive, nearly the size of one of the houses in the village, and the nearest one began rising in the air as she approached, as the creature took another slow step toward her. Crunch. It smashed the earth flat below it as it came down, but Katherine saw what she needed in the glow of another laser blast: an access ladder, reaching down to ground level.

It took a good seven or eight seconds at least between laser blasts. If she could escape one more, she could probably run straight at it and close the distance in that time. She began running parallel to the thing again, this time in the opposite direction; it fired, she pivoted ninety degrees, and fell flat on her face.

She scrambled to her feet; its mouth was already open again. A wild, elemental terror filled her body, and she sprinted blindly; there was another explosion, and she felt something go into her right leg. She stumbled again, but did not fall; but now her right leg was only halfheartedly obeying her commands.

Nothing for it, she thought. Just fucking run.

She made it to the leg just as it was rising into the air again, and leapt up to grab the handhold; the dragon froze, its leg in the air, as if confused, and Katherine scrambled up onto the ladder, and started climbing as quickly as she could with her shield and spear. She remembered where the access hatch had been on the other one: middle of the back, high up, near where the neck met the shoulder-ish part. The dragon’s head swung right, then left; haha fucker, she thought. Can’t laser me now. What she had not counted on was that the motion of the thing’s body made it extremely difficult to keep her grip; even as she came to the almost-flat part of the back, she had to cling to the ladder to keep from being flung off.

Finally, she found the hatch and the access panel. She used the end of the spear to pop it open, and found the neural interface on the first try. Then she saw the readout on the panel.

THREAT ELIMINATION MODE ACTIVE - DO NOT ATTEMPT ACCESS

Katherine froze. She’d heard stories--back before these things were more strictly regulated--of security protocols that could fry neural laces, even induce crippling brain damage. It wasn’t hard, if you had complete, unfettered access to someone’s brain and you were an epic asshole, to do them real harm, or just straight up kill them. That kind of thing was usually banned now. But it hadn’t always been. Katherine frowned. She tapped the physical interface of the control panel.

“DO NOT ATTEMPT ACCESS!” flashed more brightly.

“Fuck you,” she whispered to herself. She tapped it again, to see if she could get some sort of override input to come up.

PROXIMITY DEFENSE SYSTEM ENGAGED

A smaller hatch opened nearby, and something popped up out of it. Something that looked suspiciously like a miniature version of a laser borer. It swiveled to face Katherine.

“Oh come on!”

She let go of her handhold, sliding back down the side of the dragon as a second laser sliced the air above her. The dragon bucked, and she went flying off the side. There was a crunch, and a sharp pain signal, quickly muted, in her left arm. She groaned, and rolled over; the shield was still strapped to it, but her left forearm was definitely broken. She looked down at her leg. Her calf was sliced open, a deep, jagged cut. Her spear had fallen to the ground perhaps twenty feet away, and the dragon was turning, slowly, to face her.

I tried, she thought to herself. I really tried. At least it will be a quick death. The bird will probably be destroyed. I don’t know what the dragon will do after that. And I don’t know what idiot designed this thing, and what stupid fucking regulatory agency got bribed to approve it, but perhaps maybe then it will back off. And I can’t say I didn’t try.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. Fuck, was this really how it was going to end? She had survived the water and the ice and the darkness and all the rest, just to die in a flash of fire? The jaws of the dragon opened; a red glow filled the air.

It wasn’t even really a conscious decision at this point. Pure instinct. She curled herself up behind her shield, and did her best to make herself as small as possible. There was a terrific noise, a sensation of terrible heat and then--nothing. She looked up. She was alive. She looked down at her shield. It was glowing red-hot in the middle, and there was an awful stench of burned meat where the back of her hand was touching it; she flung it away, and looked up at the dragon.

The mirror finish had reflected enough of the laser to score a deep gash in it, running from the side of its head, back through its shoulder, deep into the machinery of its belly. Its jaw was shattered, hanging limply, even as its head swung left and right, like it was trying to make sense of what had happened.

“FUCK YOU YOU OVERGROWN POSTHOLE DIGGER!” Katherine screamed. She ran over to her spear and snatched it up. She could see, as the beast moved now, the way the machinery in its belly held it up, pistons moving back and forth to balance it, what looked like a supply of hydraulic fluid to move its legs. Most of it was solid metal, nothing she could do anything about, but there was one spot, exposed by the blast of the laser, still glowing from its heat, where she could see what looked like an important tank of something made out of plastic. And maybe, just maybe, she could immobilize it if she could cut it open.

“Okay, asshole,” she said to herself. “One last go.” She broke into a run straight toward the dragon. Its head swung in an arc directly down toward her, as if trying to flatten her into the stones; she turned, avoided it, but her foot caught a rock and she stumbled--but did not fall. As she came up underneath it, it began to move its legs apart, bringing its body down as if to flatten her; but this worked to Katherine’s favor, dropping her target until it was almost directly above her head. She leapt directly up, using every ounce of her cybernetically enhanced strength, and drove the spear home as hard as it could. For a brief moment, she thought it would bounce harmlessly off; but it caught some imperfection in the molded surface, and sank deep inside. The pressurized tank exploded, and a reeking, slick, chemical solution gushed out, drenching her from head to toe.

She fell to the ground, as the dragon loomed over her, and staggered. Something was terribly wrong now; her eyes were burning, and her nose, and the headache from her neural lace felt like it was going split her skull open. She watched the dragon flail for a moment, then slow--then still.

Oh God, she thought. Was it enough? Is it over? Are they safe?

[theonyxpath]

By Lauren Roy

Jo’s breath fogged the Perspex case, momentarily obscuring the prototype from view. Inside, the device lay dormant, all sleek silver curves and a blank interface awaiting its commands. On its own, Jo told herself, it was just a machine. It made no moral judgments. It saved lives or ended them, and the person who fed it the instructions was to thank or blame, not this lump of metal and wires.

Jo hated it a little bit anyway. She also needed it, and that made her hate it even more.

“Hey, kiddo, shake a leg, yeah?” Blake had been on edge all night. They’d gotten into DuttonTech so smoothly — fake badges letting them into restricted areas, Jo’s disguised tools sailing through security, green lights across every board. Blake trusted Jo and Dana to get them in, sure, but the fact he’d gone the last few hours without having to subdue so much as a slightly suspicious intern was making him antsy. Jo couldn’t blame him; Archangel never hired their crew for the cakewalk jobs.

But she wasn’t going to let Blake’s nerves unsteady her hands. She was elbow deep in the display case’s guts, only the last set of clamps and a weight sensor left to bypass. Easy peasy lemon-squeezy. She’d be home and in her pajamas in less than two hours, cracking a pint of victory ice cream and texting Leanne with the good news, that help was on its way. This was a killing machine in Dr. Alexander Dutton’s hands, but in Leanne’s possession? Jo’s sister could use it to save thousands.

She just had to unlatch the clamps.

Blake checked the cameras for the hundredth time. Downstairs, the security guards in their cozy little command room were watching the same looped feeds of Dutton’s lab Dana had set up hours ago. He knew the timing of their rounds, knew which guards just jiggled the occasional doorknob and which would swipe their access cards and look around the empty, after-hours rooms. He’d studied the dossiers Dana gathered for him over the last few weeks. The patrol team closest to their floor right now consisted of an ex-military type and a guy whose pre-DuttonTech police record was peppered with assault charges from bar fights. Ideally, Blake wouldn’t have to trade blows with either of them, but he believed in being prepared.

Waiting was killing him. He’d offered to smash the case when they first got here, just grab and go, but both Dana and Jo had shot him down. Something about delicately calibrated this and potentially volatile that. Of course, that described everything that DuttonTech put out these days, especially the volatile part. Blake had seen firsthand the damage the company’s products wrought. He’d wielded some of them himself, back in another life.

He’d never stop paying for that. Could never. But working for Archangel assuaged some of the guilt. He clenched his fists and tamped down the urge to find some other volatile thing and pitch it into anything that looked delicate.

Dana had six different data feeds scrolling past on her glasses’ left lens, telling her all DuttonTech systems were normal. She was jacked into the guard station’s audio, listening to two guards being wrong about the top five horror movies of all time. She’d set her little worm free on DuttonTech’s R&D servers — after, of course, she downloaded clean versions of the files to her own drive to peruse later. According to her own internal stopwatch (ONE one thousand, TWO one thousand) her team was right on schedule.

It was too bad they’d never be able to take credit for tonight, because damn, they were good. She imagined herself at some fancy Archangel cocktail party, regaling new cells with the story. Maybe she would embellish it, just a little, add in a tiny scuffle so Blake could have his crowning moment of awesome. Add in a few extra lasers for Jo to have to limbo under, and…

Click.

“Shit,” muttered Jo.

The lights in the lab went red.

There was an extra clamp. There was an extra freaking clamp, and it was so tiny and so obvious in hindsight, exactly where Jo would have put one if she wanted to protect her valuables from someone like herself. It hadn’t been on the blueprints Dana procured in one of her hacks, because of course it wasn’t. Dutton was notoriously paranoid. He’d either installed it himself, in secret, or had one of his lackeys do it and…what? Wiped their memory? Had them killed? Transferred them to a DuttonTech facility in Antarctica? Jo wouldn’t put any of that past him.

But that didn’t matter now. Their cover was blown. Dana was counting off the seconds until security got to them, her fingers flashing over her tablet’s screen. “We’re about to have company.”

Blake came and crouched beside Jo. He glanced at her hands, frozen on the prototype. “Kiddo, we’ve gotta run. Now. If you don’t have it free, you have to leave it.”

“I can’t.”

He frowned. “You stuck?”

“No.”

“Something gonna cut off your fingers if you move?”

“No.”

“What is it, then?”

Jo closed her eyes and pictured her sister’s face. “Leanne. She’s with the LRE in Caracas.”

Blake’s sharp inhale told her that he hadn’t known. Jo didn’t talk about Leanne much. He and Dana knew that Jo’s parents had been dissidents, murdered by their government for speaking out. They knew she and Leanne grew up in safe houses where they were never truly safe, and that Jo had turned to Archangel when she got old enough to be more than a charity case for the organization. That was about as much intel as Jo ever shared, because talking about Leanne made her worry. And worry had sharp, sharp teeth.

“You saw the emails Dana intercepted. Dutton’s going to sell this to the enemy, then that’s it for the resistance. This isn’t just about Leanne.”

Blake might let everyone else in Archangel think he was all muscle, minimal brains, but Jo knew better. He’d read the whole dossier, not just the guards’ vitals. “How long do you need?” His voice was deadly calm.

“However long you can buy me.”

“Get that thing out of there.” Then he was gone.

“We’re doing what now?” Dana gaped at Blake as he assessed the camera feeds on her tablet. She’d managed to lock the guards out of the elevators for the time being but couldn’t keep them out of the stairwells. One patrol had only been a few stories down.

He grunted as the patrol he was monitoring gained another landing. “We’re holding tight until Jo gets that damned thing free. What else can you do to keep them out of here?”

Dana peered around the lab. Until now, she hadn’t really let herself see everything. Sure, she knew the layout, and had a strong idea of what other projects DuttonTech’s brain trust were working on, but being here in meatspace? The temptation to start taking things apart would have distracted her from their mission. She’d kept her eyes firmly on her work and ignored the siren song of the shiny.

Now, though… She took it all in, performing a frantic inventory with a glance. “Get me a screwdriver,” she said, “and every inch of wire you can find.”

For a hasty build, it was impressive. Dana had to guess at what a quarter of the parts she found even were, but as she stared at the small mountain of electronics Blake dumped on the desk, the schematic came together in her head. The spliced wires and electrical tape meant it would never win any beauty pageants at the hackathon, but that didn’t matter.

As long as it did its job.

She dragged her cobbled-together creation out into the hall. It whined as it powered up; the highpitched tone of power gathering combined with a low, ominous hum. Dana listened a moment, until it sounded stable enough, and darted back inside. As Blake shoved a pair of desks across the doorway, Dana scuttled further into the lab and planted herself near Jo. The other woman nodded slightly, acknowledging her presence, but didn’t peel her eyes from the device inside the case.

“How are we looking?” Dana asked.

“There’s a wire on the last clamp. It’s what tripped the alarm. I’m trying to make sure it’s not going to fry the whole thing when I remove it.”

“Smart,” said Dana, then, “Oops, hang on, big noise.” On her tablet’s screen, the camera view showed two guards emerging from the stairwell. She counted (ONE one thousand, TWO one thousand, THREE) and yelled, “Blake, NOW!”

Across the lab, Blake slammed his fist down on the trigger Dana rigged. He dropped into a huddle, covering his ears.

The lab doors were, by necessity, prettied-up fire doors. Sure, deep-pocketed investors on a grand tour of DuttonTech could glance through the extra-thick glass to see scientists bustling about within, but if something exploded during a demo, those investors (and their wallets) would be safe. Now, those same doors muffled the worst of Dana’s sonic barrage. The pair of guards dropped to the ground, hands covering their ears as they writhed in pain.

The disruptor’s effects would only last for so long, though. Already, Dana could tell the pulses were losing their potency. “Thirty seconds, Jo. Then they’re back on their feet and super pissed.”

It was impossible. Jo held the wire pinched between her fingers, this hair-thin filament, and knew it was all for nothing.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Leanne, I’m sorry.

If she’d only taken one last look, she’d have spotted the trap. If she only had another five minutes, she could undo it. But time was well past up. Blake and Dana stood by the doors, their jaws set, their expressions grim. That awful thrumming pulse outside let out one last whump, and an eerie silence took its place.

If she was fast enough, faster than she’d ever been in her life, she could mitigate the damage. Not prevent it entirely, but… But enough.

Jo steadied the prototype with her left hand, readied the wire in her right.

She held her breath.

Pulled.

The spark traveled up her fingers, to her wrist, straight up to her elbow. The sharp tang of hot metal, melted plastic, and seared flesh filled the air. Had she taken the brunt of the jolt? She thought so but wouldn’t know until Dana got a look at the device later. When they were safe. Jo pulled the prototype free of its case and ignored the tingling in her fingertips. She joined Blake and Dana at the door. “Let’s go.”

In the hallway, the security guards were gaining their feet. Blake smiled.

The first one got up. He staggered as his balance betrayed him, but Blake wasn’t going to take that for granted. Guy like this? He had to fight after being pepper sprayed, tazed, or whatever the hell else they made Navy SEALs do. Sure, Dana’s device had done its damage, but Blake bet this guard was exaggerating its extent. It’s what he’d have done.

Three strides and Blake was in the ex-SEAL’s face. Sort of. The dude was a giant, six-and-half feet tall with a neck like a tree trunk. Blake only came up to his chest. His opponent swung, a short, sharp blow that would have knocked a weaker fighter flat. But Blake had training of his own. He deflected the jab, but as he’d suspected, the guard wasn’t as bad off as he’d pretended. More shots rained down, driving Blake backwards toward the lab.

A streak of red skittered down the hall toward him. Jo had liberated one of the lab’s fire extinguishers and shoved it his way. Blake danced out of the ex-SEAL’s reach and scooped it up. Only one shot at this. He swung it in a high haymaker arc, cranking the extinguisher’s heavy bottom into the ex-SEAL’s jaw. The big man went down in a graceless heap.

Blake looked back to where Dana and Jo huddled in the doorway and signaled them forward. Jo winced as she passed the first guard. Then she stopped short. “Uh. Blake?”

He thought the second guy was down for the count. It was the bar brawler, the one who should’ve been an easy takedown except…except he’d managed to unholster his sidearm and push himself to his feet. His arm wavered, but even if his aim was off, the hallway was narrow enough that he’d probably hit one of them.

“Easy, now,” said Blake. “Let’s all be calm.”

“Drop the extinguisher,” said the guard. “And you, put down the device.” He swung the gun toward Jo, and Blake felt his heart hit his stomach. That wasn’t a standard-issue piece. It was a DuttonTech special; destruction in Glock’s clothing. Blake had carried one of the previous generation himself. He’d seen what they could do, how the bullets tore up a body as they passed through.

“Okay.” Blake lowered the extinguisher, hoping to get the guard’s focus back on himself. “Look, we’re cooperating, see?”

“Oh, fuck that,” snarled Dana. She shoved past Blake, keeping to the other side of the hall from the guard — out of arm’s reach, but drawing his attention.

“I’ll shoot!” The guard whirled to follow her. His finger tensed on the trigger.

Blake barreled forward. He could never beat a bullet, but he had to try. The corridor seemed miles long, the air thickened like molasses. The guard might as well have been on the other side of the world, for all the good Blake could do. He saw the trigger pull back in agonizing detail, heard Jo screaming Dana’s name.

Dana just kept walking.

The gun didn’t fire.

Time started again, and Blake plowed into the guard at top speed. He drove him back and slammed his wrist against the wall until he dropped the weapon. Blake got a forearm across the guy’s neck and twisted to look at Dana. “What the hell?”

“Oh. Yeah.” She stopped fiddling with her eyepiece and came to stand beside him, still well out of the guard’s reach. She addressed the guard instead of Blake. “That thing that split your eardrums two minutes ago? I also had it resonating at the same frequency as the timing crystal in your shiny new gun. Probably cracked it. You shouldn’t pick it up again.” She gave Blake an apologetic grin. “I should have told you: I don’t make unitaskers. Learned it from a TV chef. Now will you knock him out, so we can go?”

Archangel paid damned well. Jo funneled most of her paychecks down to Leanne, helping to fund the revolution and keep her sister fed, clothed, and armed. With what was left, she bought tools to help with her craft. One of the first things she’d learned was, to be a good thief, you ought to have a good getaway car. So, she sunk a ridiculous amount of money into an old tank of a car and paid even more to have it tuned up, tricked out, and street legal. It had served her well so far, and now, with DuttonTech heavies chasing them through the city’s 3 A.M. streets, Jo prayed it’d get them home safe one more time.

It took 10 blocks for the black SUV to catch up to them. She’d figured a clean getaway was too much to ask, but Jo cursed the universe anyway. “Get ready,” she said, and jammed on the gas. Bullets hit the car’s frame like a sudden spate of rain. The back window spidered with cracks but held firm. She was glad she’d splurged on the bulletproofing.

The SUV sped up, drawing even with them. Jo stared ahead at the rain-slick street. The good thing about pulling off their heist so late at night was that no one drove in the business district at this hour. They had a good straightaway and, as she watched, all the lights turned green. In the rearview, Dana flashed her a thumbs-up.

Metal screamed, and the whole car shuddered as the SUV slammed into their side. Jo fought the wheel to keep them on the road. In the passenger seat, Blake swore as the door crunched inward.

PULL OVER, came a voice over the SUV’s bullhorn. RETURN WHAT YOU STOLE, AND WE’LL LET YOU GO.

Blake flipped them off.

Another sideswipe, and the car rode up on the curb. Jo swore and yanked them back onto the street, but not before she took out a row of newspaper boxes.

“You know what?” said Blake. “We’re risking our lives for this thing, I think we deserve a demo.” He pulled the prototype from the backpack Jo had shoved it in.

“Uhhhh.” Dana poked her head into the front seat. “Remember that talk we had about delicate and volatile?”

“She’s right. And I might have damaged it when I took it out of the case,” said Jo. “We don’t know what it’ll —”

But Blake was already pushing buttons, and the blank interface was responding to his touch. The options flashing by read stun, pulse, and stream, and a slider ran from low to high. Blake selected pulse and pushed the slider all the way up.

“Point it at them, not us!” Dana shrieked.

Blake turned the device and held the business end up to the window. Jo caught a glimpse of the SUV driver as he aimed. All the color drained out of the DuttonTech security woman���s face. She turned her wheel, disengaging the SUV from Jo’s car, but not soon enough. Blake slapped the automatic window button, and as soon as he could get the prototype’s nose through the gap, he fired.

THOOM.

They couldn’t see the pulse, but they felt it. Jo’s fillings buzzed. Every bone she’d ever broken ached like there was a storm overhead. The SUV flipped up and over, and for one terrible second, Jo could see what the pulse had done to the people inside, how none of their features were in the right places anymore. How everything had gone so very red. She’d be seeing that in her nightmares for years to come.

None of them said anything as they pulled away. In the rearview, Dana’s eyes were wide, her lips gone white. Blake let out a ragged sigh. The device’s interface blurred, cleared, then switched to one blinking red word:

Error.

The sun was coming up by the time they got back to their safehouse. Dana switched on the morning news while she examined the prototype. Not a word about their break-in at DuttonTech. Not a peep about a late-night car chase in the business district, nor any stories about a deadly crash. DuttonTech had covered it all up. Was that good for them, or bad?

Can’t worry about that just now. Let’s make sure we’re not going to explode first.

She handled the device gingerly, as if it might wake up and turn the three of them into human slag, but it turned out there wasn’t much chance of that. She could see the burn marks where Jo had pulled it from its kill switch. Once the casing came off, the insides were about as fried as she’d expected, even though Jo had taken some of the shock. “I don’t know how this even turned on in the car, let alone fired.”

“Is that it, then?” asked Jo. “All that work and it’s just…a hunk of metal?” She didn’t have to say her sister’s name for Dana to know she was thinking of Leanne, how she’d been counting on getting the prototype out intact to help her. Dana had made that connection long before she handed Jo and Blake their dossiers.

“Hey.” Dana set her tools aside. “First off, we’ve set DuttonTech back. They don’t have the physical prototype, and their IT group is going to have a miserable time sorting out the mess I uploaded to their servers before anyone there can even think about building another.”

Blake came in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with three coffee mugs and Jo’s pint of victory ice cream. He’d declared getting out alive a sufficient win, and Jo hadn’t argued the point. “She’s right, kiddo. We’re not even close to done. If Dana can’t get this thing up and running, someone in Archangel will know who can.”

“I have an idea about that.” Dana took her mug gratefully. She was bone tired but needed to stave off sleep as long as she could. There was too much to do. “The woman who taught me to do what I do, she studied alongside Dutton back in the day. If we can find her, I think she’ll be able to fill in a whole ton of gaps.”

Jo frowned. “‘If?’”

“No one’s heard from her for a while. She went off the grid, and we don’t know why. Last place she was spotted was Brussels.” Dana set the prototype aside and tapped her tablet awake. “Who’s up for a rescue mission?

The Trinity Continuum Core Rules and Trinity Continuum: Æon are available in print from Indie Press Revolution (core, Æon) or in PDF/print-on-demand from DriveThruRPG.

[qarajhcreations]

Hairballs and Asteroids, chapter one

”Space… An endless void that we are all floating in, towards unknown borders, new frontiers or certain, impending doom? No one can truly know how far space is reaching; no one knows the final destination. Well… I’d hope the pilot of this goddamned vessel knows; we’ve been stuck in this cargo hold for three hours now!”

Oh, hi, didn’t quite see you there… Perhaps I should start by introducing myself; my name is Jade Khezad, I’m a black anthropomorphic tiger. I know, I know, that seems a bit weird, and frankly; there aren’t a lot of tigers around. At least not what I’ve seen so far. I’m mostly a merchant of pretty much whatever I can sell and buy. But in the most recent times I’ve also had a side-job, a side-job that got me into this situation; bound and chained to a make-shift bench, in the cargo-hold of an Imperial freighter, along with several other people. Let me go back to where it all started…

It was a regular day at the Nexus-8 trading station, many people coming around looking for items, for supplies, for a chat. Anything you’d expect from an intergalactic market, really. I had managed to acquire a stall for my wares this day, mostly tools and ship-parts left for scrap, but at the Nexus you could almost be certain to be able to sell pretty much anything and everything. A couple of hares bought a crate of laser-wielders, small but accurate and quick assembly tools. They were hover-racers, as it turned out, and due to a series of sabotages, many of the teams had lost most of their gear for the crew. I’ve made a standard out of never asking where my wares come from, of course it never hurts to be careful. With the Nexus being a neutral place, no planet or organisation had security forces at the station. But the Overseers, mostly storks and cranes, were always keen to follow requests on stolen or illegal equipment. Everyone at the Nexus was there for the sake of trade on equal terms, so other traders quickly disrupted the few attempts at attacks there had been over time. The station itself weren’t armed with any weapons, though it had an energy-shield, kept running by a massive hydrogen-plasma generator in the centre of the station, this was more meant against comets and meteors, rather than attacks from ships. The halls inside the Nexus were filled with wares and people looking to sell or buy, the brushed blue silver floors could almost not be seen from the bridge, located directly above the main hall. Several shops were permanent, by agreement with the Overseers, typically these shops had items that was needed at all times, such as food, fuel and stock exchange. I was about to close down to get some dinner, when a rather corpulent hippo in grey striped business suit approached me. As a merchant, you get accustomed to reading what people want from their looks. This guy however was hard to read, he seemed to be focused when he walked towards my stall, but when he got over, looking over my wares and me, he seemed confused and unsure about himself. The suit was neat, albeit a bit tight around his stomach. A pale red tie was fastened around his neck, and there were small pearls of sweat hiding in the folds of his grey skin. Having taken him for a businessman, on the wealthier side, and seeing as how he did not take contact, I decided to break the ice: “Can I help you, sir?” He turned his gaze downwards, he was quite a bit taller than me, but he didn’t feel threatening. He spoke, a pleasant, somewhat deep (and slightly constipated) voice: “Ah well, err… Yes, maybe… You deal in ship-parts, yes?” Hmm… that was an odd approach, I had never a particular ware more than any other, and I didn’t really care much to let the Nexus know what I was selling. But, there was truth to it, I had been scavenging around for wrecked ships. Mostly because, through listening at other stalls, I discovered that there was a lot of scrappers around, so ship-parts in good condition would sell nicely. I would have to show that I wasn’t suspicious of his question, so completely unfazed, I replied: “Yes, on occasion, I do. Anything particular you’re looking for?” His small black eyes blinked for a couple of seconds, as if surprised no questions to the request were made. “Well, I am looking for a flux capacitor to a personal cruiser ship, three stock drive.” Okay… well, that was unexpected. Personal cruisers were more than often designed specifically to the buyer’s demands, this made them expensive and the parts equally so. A flux capacitor were almost only installed in much heavier and larger ships, typically war-ships. This complex technological engine part helps using the fuel much better for short usage, normally known as the ship “warping”. Before the first flux capacitors, invented by Jegarr D. Flux, larger ships used a so-called “burst-engines”, where the fuel consumption, when warping, often came with the risk of wrecking the engine, as many of the burst-engines weren’t built to perform that much. As for the stock drive, personal cruisers were meant for comfort, the stock drive allows the engine to filter more of the cosmic dusts out, thus making the flight smoother. For a “standard” cruiser, a single stock drive would be considered a luxury, two stock drives was very rare, and the mere existence of a third stock drive was to most people, a myth. So, naturally, I raised an eyebrow, “I am afraid that I cannot help you in that, it’s quite beyond what I have on display.” Expecting that amount of quality from a stall at a Nexus was a bit on the odd side. Strangely enough, the man just smiled, shaking his large head slightly, “I wasn’t expecting that either, but if you’d like a job offer that pays well, and” he added in a lower voice, as to hide it from other people nearby, “I mean REALLY well, come and see me at the loading bay in one hour. Here’s my card, with the frequency to my CommsUnit, if needed.”

A CommsUnit is a small, but hugely practical, device. It uses a set of twelve-symbol frequency code, using both letters and numbers; this gives a total of 3.379.220.508.056.640.625 possible combinations, and thus it’s nearly impossible to just guess a frequency. Typically, a CommsUnit is placed in a bracelet or as a small trinket, placed on the side of the head. CommsUnits come with a holographic projector, which allows them to receive messages, with both sound and visual input. I glanced at the card, as the man turned around and walked, or rather waddled, towards other stands. “Alexander Swift Jr., We’ll find a ship suiting your needs.” I took some time to consider it, and as the only trade I had, was a badger looking for hull plating for his cargo-ship, I had plenty of time to think things through regarding the offer. I began thinking about how much I disliked being at the Nexus, not that the people were bad or hostile… It was just… Boring. I enjoyed scavenging for parts and other items a lot more. Especially when the scavenging wasn’t exactly legal, that always got the adrenaline flowing through me. Flinging my leather jacket over my shoulder, after having locked my stall down with the remaining wares, I headed for the loading bay. The ramps from the main hall were mostly empty, though the Nexus was open for trade all the time. This was mainly due to the fact that it kept itself out of planetary orbit and maintained it’s own gravity, this also meant that there was no “days” and no “nights” on the Nexus. The loading bay was, naturally, connected to the docking area, where the ships were located. I quickly spotted Alexander; he was talking to a pit-bull in overalls, part of the docking crew, no doubt. The pit-bull signed on a clipboard, and slugged himself towards another merchant and another ship. Alexander looked up at me, and then at his CommsUnit, “You’re about seven minutes too early. That is good, that is good. I was half expecting you to not show up at all.” I shrugged my shoulders, it was in general a good idea to not straight-out trust a ship-salesman, he spoke again, not awaiting an answer, “Can we take your ship? I’ll have some-one bring my own back to the shop. We can discuss the terms of the job on the way.” There was nothing of a threat in his voice, but still you quickly got the feeling of Alexander not being a man you said no to. I was inclined to hear more though, so I just signalled for Alexander to follow.

My ship was of somewhat elder date, a lot of the plating was considered as “old-fashioned”, even though most of the parts weren’t more than a couple of years old... Tops. The oldest part, and probably what I loved the most of the quirks to my ship, was the dashboard. I had stripped it from a newly wrecked Hunter-7X fighter, a very fast and agile single-pilot fighter, with a fuel-consumption like a black hole. The few of them that were even put into service, had a short lifespan, most crashed because of the Hunter-7X’s high speed, but also because the fuel containers were largerly exposed, turning the Hunter-7X into a potential superfast fire-bomb, rather than a sleak fighter. And verily, not long after I had gotten into the damn thing, it started reaking of gas; the tanks were gonna blow. In fact, much of my ship had scrapped or scavenged parts, to say nothing of the countless moderations added and removed again. Alexander raised a brow on his grey, wrinkley head, it was easy to see as his stubby hairs were few and far apart. “Might not look it, but she’s reliable, mostly built her myself.” I padded the under-side of the “Scrap Eagle” (as I had come to call her), to ensure Alexander that my ship was sturdy. Pressing a hidden panel, three buttons appeared, pressing the middle one (the two others were meant to do something, but those functions was not a part of the Scrap Eagle). A hydralic gasp came, as the entry hatch into the small cargo hold of my ship opened up. “Pardon the mess, I practically live in this ship, so things are a bit cramped.” Alexander had to duck, squeeze and push his way through, but for his size, he was surprisingly nimble. Closing the hatch behind us again, Alexander made room, so I could take the lead. For me, I could manouvre the mess and other stuff, pretty much in my sleep, but I had to slow down for Alexander to follow, I noticed him taking into account many details about my ship.

Finally we reached the cockpit, I conviently closed the side-room with my bunk and clothing; a girl’s gotta have some privacy. A total of eight chairs were present in the cockpit; two by the controls and six in two rows of three. I had taken odd-jobs like freighting passengers back and forth, usually shady stuff, but also pretty rewarding in the end. Had a few rough batches, not so much with passengers themselves, except for that one turkey, who tried to have his way with me while piloting the ship. He got into a lovely and very close relationship with the pipe-wrench that I kept under my own chair. Paid a little less on delivery, but it was worth it. Mostly the trouble was either with getting passengers on, or when the “welcoming party” were greeting my passengers. The two chairs by the controls were comfy and soft, kind of a need if you are to sit on your own tail for hours on end. While it was comfy for me, Alexander sank deep into his chair beside me, as I began warming the engine up. Signalling to one of the Overseer cranes, a hatch soon opened up into outer space, and as the Scrap Eagle began taking off, I turned to Alexander, “So, where’re we headed?”