Soul of the Swordsman Page 3

  “Now what Commander?” Emili.

  “Not sure yet, what’cha think dream girl?” British asked Danny.

  “There are no hostages, our Intel is false. We must kill them all. Trust me when I tell you this facility is actually the command center for the rebellion. We will end the war today, taking hundreds of lives to save millions. Only I and the Snowman will walk away once we have slayed the Politicians and their staff inside the stronghold.”

  “What, the fuck is wrong with her?” Tommy pointed a finger at Danica, facing British.

  “Find your calm Lieutenant, it kinda makes sense.” Faye admonished. “How about the alternative, where we all walk away and call in the air strike based on new Intel and a thorough recon with imagery?”

  “Or, we could do that!” Warfell-Warbuck snapped fingers and pointed with a smile and an air-kiss to Commander Faye.

  “Save my life you will?” British smiled back, bringing the two fingers slowly back up to her mouth…extending the tongue…

  “Stop that,” Danica warned, and then, “what’s an air strike?”

  When the shuttle arrived, Warfell was frozen in place with astonishment, wide-eyed and silent until Tommy pulled on her arm.

  C’mon Commander! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

  She snapped to and boarded the amazing craft, sitting and leaving her stomach behind on the jungle floor as they ascended with a high-pitched whine and incredible force…

  Back on board the Derelict, the team watched from the flight-deck bay windows as bright flashes followed by orange, yellow and neon red flames emanated from the planet’s surface. Danica knew they were an incredible distance away, yet the explosions were massive, consuming nearly an eighth of the northern hemisphere. Nothing could survive that.

  “So, I killed them all anyway,” a lone tear trickled down Danica’s cheek.

  “But you saved all of us, thank you Commander,” Tommy was next to her, admiring the tall beauty in the reflection of the glass. “Sorry about what I said.”

  Warbuck and Faye! Captain’s office, Station!

  The voice resounded over the flight deck.

  The Derelict was a big ship. Seventeen floors above, Danica stood at attention with her partner before the Captain’s wide desk. It was a living Caelum Fey.

  “You left a fortune worth of magnetic rappelling plates and armor behind, you went off mission. Commander Warbuck, just how did you know our intelligence was wrong?”

  “It was a hunch Sir,” Danica tried. She didn’t want to spend the rest of this cool nightmare in the Derelict’s Brigg.

  “A hunch…really? Commander Faye, would you give us a minute?”

  “Daddy?” British warned. She did not want to leave, something was going on and she did not like it one damn bit.

  “Just a minute Poot, and don’t call me that in uniform.”

  “Don’t call me Poot,” British mumbled under her breath as she left.

  “Oh-my-God that is so precious,” Warfell smiled like a kid. Caelum Fey—rather Captain Faye was not smiling.

  “You need to listen to me Swordsman,” he called her that and Danica’s hair stood on end—he knew! “You need to wake up for me right now. Do you understand me? Can you feel it tugging on your leg?”

  She could!

  “Swordsman, you need to move your right hand down for the dagger and pull it the second you open your eyes. I need you to do that now, honey. Do it now! DO IT NOW!”

  *

  Danica’s body came to life with screams of intense pain bolting through her brain, followed by the insistent tugging on her right foot. She heard it breathing heavy, panting with effort. She forced the body to keep still and slowed her already faint breathing.

  A padded foot slapped down aside her waistline and Danica felt a claw digging into her thigh—cutting her muscle. No hesitation, she whipped the right hand down for her long hip dagger and opened her eyes. What she saw was a biological disaster of a creature, a mutated, hairless cave cat with massive teardrop shaped ears.

  She stabbed through the ribs, her cruel blade searching for the lungs…the heart. It dropped limp at her side and Warfell relaxed.

  She allowed her body to fall, reluctantly letting go of her tenuous adrenaline grip.

  Blue eyes blinked, slowed, and Danica slipped away, her world fading to blackness…

  *

  SHE OPENED HER EYES, shutting them violently to the raindrops, sitting up

  abruptly and rubbing them hard.

  “Where in the Seven Hells?” she was in an alley between two tall buildings. She stumbled to her feet, pulling her cloak tight and grabbing a brick wall for shelter. Across from her something moved. It was a man, covered in, printed paper?

  Her hand slid down to the pommel of her Dagger—a Bayonet-style pig-sticker in her right boot. Pressing her back to the wall, she already knew her sword was gone—Chesterborne repeater as well.

  The man was asleep. He rolled over with a grunt, allowing the rain to pelt his already soaked back. Why would anyone sleep in an alley?

  She walked, snatching her hood over and low—into the crowded streets, rounding a corner and grabbing another wall beneath a terrace in shock. There were bright colored carriages, metal, lining the streets at a standstill—no horses.

  Twenty feet to her right was a fruit stand. A woman sat behind the counter on a stool…she smiled as Danica Warfell approached, surveying the orange, red and green orbs of food. Two apples, one banana—the tall cloaked woman with long white hair placed twelve sparkling rubies on the counter…a dreamer’s fortune in any town.

  “What city is this?” she asked, feeling like a dolt for not recognizing the strange buildings.

  “Are you kidding me? We don’t want trouble—Jimmy!”

  A young man came outside, scanning the situation like a warrior. Danica saw the bulge on his side—armed. The Peddler’s Son examined the jewels, raising eyebrows high, moving eyes to Danica.

  She wore tight riding leathers—she looked like Cat Woman with a cape. Hot, really hot. She was tall, six-foot easy, long straight platinum hair and the eyes—Jimmy met the bright blues and something happened in his heart. He saw the fear, the uncertainty. This woman was completely lost. He asked her…

  “Are you okay? Can we help you? I’m Jim, this is my Mom, Riesa.”

  Warfell saw the goodness in these people. She felt she could trust them. “I need shelter and food—I have more money.”

  “This kind of money?” he asked.

  “Yeah, you like diamonds?” her blues sparkled like sapphires.

  “We got a small room upstairs—c’mon Storm,” Jim smiled, forget Cat Woman, she looked like Storm, definitely.

  Gunfire echoed, Danica recoiled, Jim didn’t.

  “First time in the New York?” She was there for a Sci-Fi convention in the free zone, surely. “You get used to it,” he added, motioning the tall beauty to follow him inside. So it was a violent city—good!

  “Yeah…something like that,” Warfell followed, mind screaming with questions—New York? This was a cruelly misplaced joke. I’m gonna kick British’s ass for this I swear it! she thought as they ascended the stairs...

  It was a hovel for the poor, clearly, but it was dry and warm. Jim opened the door, walking in, pivoting in a circle.

  “I lived here with…Contessa.” the young man’s smile faded quickly and Danica knew immediately she was dead. She didn’t leave him…she was killed. Clarion battle horns wailed from the streets below the meager apartment with one bed and nothing else, save a broad window. She approached the clean glass, placed a palm on the smooth surface, and lost her breath when she saw the skyline. The clouds where giving way to a bright blue sky—a soft baby blue. This was not home.

  “I got a guy, he can cash-out some of these gems. You like? It’s Tai,” Jim smiled as the tall beauty gobbled down the noodles and meat with gusto. His eyes moved to the long bayonet on the bed. “Nice, yours?” Danica froze with a mouthful, jer
king her nose up twice, silently nodding to the shoulder strap Jim was wearing.

  “Yeah, yours?” she swallowed and passed the blade to Jim, hilt first. He accepted the ornate weapon with a gleam in his eye and Warfell knew—this man was indeed a warrior.

  He opened his jacket, revealing the long barreled pistol, noting the sparkle in her eyes…

  “Yes, I’m a cop. Guess I should have told you that from the get-go,” Jim lowered his eyes as though ashamed. Danica smiled, she liked him.

  “I am Captain of the Knights of Salvos,” Warfell bowed her head forward.

  “Cool, rough neighborhood for cosplay. What do you do for—these?” Jim held a single ruby aloft.

  “I’m a cop too,” Danica was backpedaling. She was in a strange city—she needed to blend in somehow. “What kind of gun is that?” she asked, pointing.

  “Winchester .45 long barrel automatic with an eighteen round clip,” he smiled again. Danica saw it in the youthful eyes, he was crushing on her—good! “Listen, I’ve got to get to work, my partner is a real bitch. Don’t get me wrong, she’s good, damn good, just a pretty little four foot pain in my ass!”

  Warfell leaned forward. ‘What did he just say?’ her cunning mind raced.

  Danica helped Jim’s Mother for most of the day, getting to know her, discovering the world, watching, taking it all in.

  New York was under the control of an organized crime syndicate ruled by a man named Mafia. His Warlords monitored all the food and supplies entering the huge city—a war zone. Jimmy, as she called him, was helping to overthrow Mafia and restore order, democracy, a noble endeavor indeed.

  Nobody wore their weapons openly. Nobody wore capes or cloaks or leathers for that matter. Miss Riesa noticed.

  “Contessa was very tall like you. I still have some jeans and t-shirts she wore. Watch the stand…” the old woman smiled and went inside.

  “How much?” a voice—Danica turned around. An ugly man was holding a banana. “How much?”

  “Uh, what’s the sign say?” she replied, curious herself.

  “Says ask the stupid bitch,” he smiled a broken toothed grin.

  Warfell took a deep breath, calculating—she saw the holster-straps. The man tossed the banana into the street.

  “You tell the old lady we know her Son’s a pig,” he said the words and Danica instantly knew volumes. This was a bad man, come to rattle Miss Riesa’s cage, with a threat aimed at her Son. What is the phrase? ‘Kill the messenger?’ she smiled calmly, sensuously…

  “You know what?” Danica moved from behind the stand, approaching the man within kissing distance. “I’ve got something for you.”

  “Damn baby, I ask again—how much?” his eyes coursed over Warfell’s body like a hungry wolf. He squeezed his crotch with one hand and moved the other for Danica’s cleavage.

  She snatched the wrist, twisting, breaking it, spinning the arm wildly about, twisting again, brutally snapping the humerus clean. She thrust the screaming man to the sidewalk face down with a knee firmly in the ribs.

  Warfell lowered her face to his and spoke.

  “Tell your boss Mafia, that Danica Warfell lives here now. I claim this building as Captain of the Knights of Salvos. I know you do not understand—you don’t have to. Take these,” she set a small pouch of gems down. “Pay him off and keep the rest. Fail me and I will kill you. If he sends another soldier here—I will kill him, do you understand me dog…messenger boy?” Danica pressed down with the knee adding her forearm to the back of the neck. “ANSWER ME!”

  “YES! Yes Ma’am! I will, I swear!” the young man with broken teeth was crying—really? Warfell snatched the man’s pistol and secreted the weapon, leaping up, setting the man free as he grabbed the pouch, scrambling to his feet and running like a beaten child down the street, holding the noodle arm desperately.

  Miss Riesa came out whistling, holding a box of clothes. “Don’t wear the Hello Kitty shirt. Jim wouldn’t like that,” she smiled.

  That night, Danica gazed from the wide window in wonder. Ana’s absence in the sky was strange enough during the daylight, but at night? Danica felt dizzy—nervous. On Aleutha, the gas giant Mother-world fills half or more of the entire sky, the bands of gas swirling in bright pink, lavender and orange…

  Without Ana, Warfell’s already fleeting calm was disturbed greatly by the wide-open expanse. She could feel the small planet she was on careening through space at incalculable speed—at least it seemed that way in her mind, projecting those observations to her stomach.

  She also noticed the gunfire, wailing horns and flashing lights seemed to set off at maximum promptly after nightfall, the streets becoming barren as well. Her keen hearing discerned several, separate gunfights involving single shot pistols and rapid-fire rifles. Danica also knew how bureaucracy worked, all of the exchanges were between superior forces with better weapons and underdogs with pistols. So Jimmy-boy was on the losing team—but he was a good guy. Isn’t that special.

  She finished the Tai food and relaxed in the bed fully clothed in blue leans, a black t-shirt, and an old leather jacket. She kept her own knee-high riding boots, having seen plenty of women wearing similar pairs

  The pistol she took from the broken-toothed goon was nice, sophisticated and well crafted. Danica familiarized herself with the firing mechanisms, examining the clip—twelve bullets, lead slugs, thick. The barrel was long shiny chrome, much to Warfell’s liking. The word Colt was embossed in the side. She cut the lining of the jacket and secreted the firearm. Her dagger slid into its right boot home.

  Come morning, she was going to follow Jimmy-boy to work. She wanted to see the pretty Detective who was four foot tall…

  “Come to the station with me,” the entirely unexpected request at her door just before dawn. “You said you’re in law enforcement, my people don’t bite.”

  Danica opened the door and Jim lost his breath.

  “That was Contessa’s Jacket, Army Flight Corps—you better take care of it.”

  “I will, your Mom…” she started.

  “I know,” he finished. “She told me what you did outside. What Department do you work for?” Colder, accusatory.

  “Silvercrest,” Warfell answered, recessing in, allowing the door to open wide to the meager room.

  “A Deputy, we got those, small town, I get it.”

  “I, am not a Deputy,” Warfell moved into Jim’s personal zone with a cold stare that told him she was definitely not a Deputy.

  “Ex-military turned Sherriff?” he asked with respect, personally thrilled the tall beauty was so close to him. He wondered if she was a good kisser, already knowing the answer….

  “Actually, that is exactly what I am,” Danica did not need to lie on that one and Jim relaxed his demeanor.

  “Sorry, it’s a tough town. Look, I cashed just one of those rubies for twenty thousand—don’t ask where or how, I’m a good cop but like I said—tough town. Here’s the rest, I took out enough to move Momma out of here…thank you. You’re paid up for this room, and the two downstairs indefinitely. That’s a lot of money, I’m not askin’…just keep that shit hidden somewhere.”

  “Got it,” Danica leaned in and kissed Jim’s cheek, feeling his excitement. “Thank you. You need help, you ask me and I’m there.” Danica smiled wide and Jim blushed like a school kid.

  The 12th Precinct Stationhouse was only three blocks away.

  “What a pile of rubble,” Danica commented as they took the marble steps two by two.

  “Yeah, she’s been shot up a few times, but hey, she’s my second home,” they came to the double doors. “Welcome to the warzone scrub, you’re gonna die.”

  “Excuse me?” Danica shot a sideways glance as they passed through the crowded lobby.

  “Sorry, tradition.” Jim motioned her to keep up. Soldiers with guns were everywhere and Warfell liked it. Two corridors and through a steel portico—AM Debriefing Chamber.

  “Be quiet—you are my guest,” Jim whi
spered, taking a seat.

  Warfell counted twenty men and women. No sign of a four-footer. A fat Squad Chief took the podium and began the speech Danica had heard a thousand times; different names and places, but identical nonetheless. She smiled inside and out and then gave her attention to the speaker.

  They were behind enemy lines. At night the 12th was a Fortress. These people needed help…Warfell engaged her attention, grabbing the details, learning and memorizing, when a girl entered—late. The Chief stopped to wait as everyone turned around to see her walking in.

  And there she was; four foot maybe, long brown hair, eyes deeper than the night sky—drop dead gorgeous on any world. Danica rose to her proud six feet. The beautiful pixie stopped and met her blues…nothing, no recognition. Warfell pleaded, silently screaming across the room for her friend to respond. The woman winked, made a kissing pooch with her lips and snatched a seat on the other side of Jim. Warfell sat quick, facing forward awkwardly, embarrassed. The tired old Chief resumed the droll rundown of the previous night’s events…

  Thirty minutes later. Individual teams were given orders, dispersing to the streets respectively.

  “Foster and Faith, I need you in my office in twenty minutes, bring your humility.” Danica, Jim and the girl were last, alone in the conference room when the old man left.

  “Detective Brittany Faith, this is a visiting Sherriff, Danica Warfell,” Jim backed away as the two disparately sized women faced off.

  “British, what the fuck are you doing?” Warfell asked shaking her head side-to-side, hoping beyond hope.

  “Watch your mouth tall drink of something…white Russian?” Brittany’s eyes changed to the all familiar predator and Danica knew wise to back down.

  “Sorry boss,” spoken involuntarily, with such familiarity…

  “Do you know who I am?” the girl asked. Warfell shook her head no, her heart crumbling inside of her chest at the sound of those infamous words.