Trouble at Stix
Steffin pushed open the massive copper doors and gazed into the noisy smoke-filled tavern. A few eyes turned his way, but they quickly shifted away. No one ever stared at strangers unless they were looking for a fight. His Hunter-reflexes were in high gear, as they always were. He scanned the crowd intently as he stepped slowly inside. He made no sudden or aggressive moves and by the time the door closed behind him, he was confident that no serious threat existed. He was tall and lean with leathery, tanned skin that came from time spent outdoors. Slipping his black shades up onto hairless head, he rubbed at the dark stubble covering his jawline and muttered softly, “time for a decent shave”.
He strode across the room, slowly and easily, his hands at his sides, long coat flapping around his knees. As he approached the bar, he glanced up at the stylized sign that read, “Stix”. The “x” was formed by two broken pool cues. Looking passed the bar, he smiled at the large room where ten pool tables were arranged in two even rows. Even though it was hours before sundown, the tables were all occupied and the clack of billiard balls was loud in Steffin’s ears.
“Steff, is that you? It’s been, what a year since you’ve been to church?”
Steffin grinned at the man behind the bar. He was broad-shouldered and dark-skinned. Lines creased the corners of his eyes but the man’s wide bright smile, showed that the wrinkles were not from worry or anger. His hair was black and close-cropped and the gray mixed in at the temples were the only clue to his advancing age.
“Nice to see you, Keve. It has been a while. How’s the flock?” The pool hall and tavern was located in an old church, something that made the Christians furious. Few of the patrons knew about the origin of the building but for Steffin and the bartender, it was a running joke.
“Oh, I can’t complain.” He took on a solemn expression and intoned, “Our cup runneth over. Speaking of, what can I get you?”
Steffin smiled at the old joke and moved up to lean on the bar. “Gimme a water.”
“Gonna be two cred.” At Steffin’s visible wince, he continued. “It’s the dry season. Rationing is in full swing. Mud and Juice are both only a cred though.”
Both alcohol drinks, mud was actually fermented goat’s milk that was typically thick and brown, thus the name. Juice was a straight grain alcohol distilled from a mix of hemp, wheat and barley. Steffin never partook in substances that could dull his senses or reflexes. It had been almost a decade since he left the Hunters, but he had never abandoned his training.
“No thanks, Keve. Water’s fine. What do you have on the grill?”
“Got a decent rat steak.” Seeing his friend’s expression, he continued, “Or we’ve got some ham as well. I’ll get you a nice cut. Gonna be five cred total.” Steffin handed over a plast chit, stamped with the Carseno seal on one side the number five on the other. “You gonna want a run on one of the tables?”
“Hey! I’m next on the wait list!” Keve glanced up at someone behind Steffin’s right shoulder. The bartender’s smile slipped slightly and his eyes narrowed. Steffin saw his friend slowly moving his hand to something under the bar and he knew that he had to act before the situation could escalate.
The low voice that rumbled from Steffin was almost unrecognizable. “Easy friend. There is no need for concern.” Keeping his hands clearly visible, he slowly turned to the man behind him. More of a kid really, he couldn’t be more than sixteen; probably just back from his mandatory tour with the Rangers. Steffin knew the type, tough enough to be a threat and young enough to be unpredictable. The kid’s eyes were locked on Steffin and they had a slightly glazed look. After taking in a slow breath, Steffin continued speaking but now his voice took on a soft, almost sing-song quality. “We’re all friends here, looking for a good time. I’m not going to take anything from you. Go watch some of the games. Your turn is coming up soon.”
The young man relaxed and his face lit up with a gap-toothed smile. He turned and walked into the pool hall without another word. Steffin watched him go, his stance relaxed but way. A low whistle made him turn back to the bar.
“Damn, Steff. It is always spooky watching you work. You do have the Gift.”
Grinning back the bartender, Steffin added “the Gift of Grift.”
“Useful talent, that. Let me go put your order in." A few moments later, Steffin carried his mug of water to one of the puff seats on the wall. He settled into the chair, a molded plast frame covered in a squishy cushion. He shifted until the seat was comfortable but wouldn’t hinder his movements. Then he took a slow sip of his drink and surveyed the room.
He slowly brushed his hands down over the sides of his coat in a gesture that seemed casual, but reassured him that his possessions were all in place: a small pouch of cred-chits, a plast tube the length of his forearm and finally a hard plast box, eight inches by six inches. The last was his prized possession, a flashbox, made for storing and displaying information. He knew that long ago, it would have been called a computer, but the old tech had long-since vanished. He wanted to take out the device and listen to some music or watch a holo-vid but showing such a valuable item here would only invite trouble.
Like her.
His eyes locked onto a young woman in the corner to his right, staring down a flickering holographic image projected from the box on her lap. He couldn’t make out her facial features but she had smooth brown skin, a few shades lighter than the bartender. Her straight black hair was cut to just below her ears and Steffin could tell that it had been cut using scissors instead of a knife like that of most common folk. A few people looked at her and the valuable object on her lap with an eager expression, but no one approached. That was when he noticed the emblem on her gray coat: two diamonds forming a downward “V” shape.
Few people in the 26th century would recognize the shape of a book, but they all knew the symbol for the Archivists, the mysterious and powerful keepers of knowledge and tech. Back in his days as a Hunter, Steffin’s most profitable jobs had come from capturing anyone who accosted or stole from the Archivists. In fact, his flashbox had come from one such job, when a group of raiders had robbed and murdered a traveling member of the order. Even among the desperate and depraved, word of what happened to those who attacked an Archivist was well-known.
Taking another sip of water, Steffin began to relax when suddenly a shiver went up his spine, a feeling that usually that alerted him to danger. He shifted in his seat and focused on the room around him. Though he was by no means an “Observer”, he did possess a keen sense of hearing. He brushed his fingers over his ears and suddenly, the sounds of the room magnified to almost painful levels. Breathing slowly and evenly, he blocked out the sounds of chatter, clunking mugs, shuffling footsteps and crashing and clacking sounds from the pool hall.
He started to think his danger sense had been faulty, something that had occurred numerous times in the past. But then a sound made him tense again, a soft steady hiss. He focused on the sound until he pinpointed the source. Along the wall, moving slowly between the door and the Archivist was a human-sized shape. As Steffin watched, the hues of the person’s skin changed to blend with the wall behind them.
The hissing sound was the focus used by assassin for the power of Camouflage. All powers required the use of gestures or sounds, sometimes both. “The eyes are the weakness”, the Hunter thought. “They can’t alter the whites of their eyes.” Judging by the direction of the figure’s slow movement, its target was the Archivist. Every instinct in his body told him that the young woman was in danger. Moving slowly and deliberately, he shifted to the edge of his seat and slid his hand down to the hard plast cylinder strapped to his left leg, undid the straps and freed the weapon.
The color-shifted assassin was only eight feet from the distracted Archivist. The figure edged closer and raised a hand, fingers curled into claws. “A Slicer!” he thought with alarm. He recognized that gesture and he knew that he had to act immediately. He stood quickly, pulling his weapon out from under his coat. With a quick flip of his wrist, the cylinder extended with a series of clicks into a staff, almost six feet long. Then he lifted his right hand and snapped his fingers.
There was a soft pop in the air where he had been standing and in the blink of an eye, he was across the room, standing between the assassin and the target. The sudden appearance of the Hunter made the assassin jump back in alarm and the sudden movement disrupted their concentration. A swirl of shifting color revealed that the surprised attacker was a bald woman with pale skin. Before Steffin could register any details of her appearance, the woman hissed loudly. Simultaneously, her skin changed to an inky black color while her arm began to blur forward, impossibly fast. Steffin knew that he couldn’t block the attack, but that was one reason he wore such a heavy coat. The fingers of her hand tore at the fabric, ripping it open in a set four long gashes from his left shoulder down across his chest.
Steffin snapped his fingers again and with another soft pop, he was behind her, already swinging his staff down at her exposed back. Somehow, the woman managed to dodge the blow and Steffin overextended himself. There was another rush of air as she whirled to face him and he felt a searing pain in his right arm as her knife-like fingers ripped open his coat to reach the skin underneath. There was also a snapping sound and a cry of pain from the woman and Steffin knew that the she had paid a terrible price for her attack. Slicers could move their hands and arms fast enough to rip through flesh and cloth, but anything more resilient could result in serious injuries such as broken bones, pulled muscles and dislocated joints. Sometimes they used knives to lessen the potential damage but the woman’s use of stealth prevented her from concealing a weapon.
Her eyes became tiny slits as she glared at Steffin. “Bastard! You’ll pay for meddling with my task.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue and she was suddenly gone!
“Damnit! She’s a Speedster!” the Hunter growled to himself as whirled around, looking wildly for any sign of the woman. She had to be close! A pop could only be done within line of sight and over short distances.
“There!” a voice shouted from behind him. He glanced over his shoulder at the Archivist and saw her pointing toward the pool hall. His head snapped around in that direction but he saw nothing.
“What are you talking…” he began ask incredulously, but then he spotted it. In the rafters, a shape was flitting from one heavy beam to another. Her skin had changed to the same color as the ceiling, but the sudden movements made her visible. He snapped his fingers and, Pop! He was in the pool hall. He jumped up and with another snap and a pop, he was in the rafters as well. He repeated the same pattern in quick succession: jump, snap, pop as he followed the woman across the heavy wooden beams but unfortunately, she had a head start and the ability to blend into her surroundings.
After his third pop, he paused to look around wildly to find his quarry, but there was no sign of her. He listened for the hiss or click that accompanied her use of her powers, but all he could hear was the wild pounding of his heartbeat and the excited murmurs of the crowd below. Then he spotted something that made him groan softly: an open window. He watched the rafters for almost an entire minute while straining his enhanced hearing as much as he could. Finally he grumbled to himself and turned to look down at the ground for a safe place to pop down.
He shifted his grip on the wooden beam and winced at the sharp pain in his arm. On his upper arm, a red stain was spreading where she had landed her attack. “Damnit, I loved this coat,” he muttered. After taking a slow, steadying breath, he put his staff away with a smooth, practiced motion. When he looked down again, he spotted the Archivist in the large archway between the hall and the bar. She met his eyes and said softly, “thank you” before turning away.
Another snap of his fingers and in the blink of an eye, he was standing on the floor. The patrons looked at him with either awe or fear, but they all backed quickly away from him. Most of them knew there was nothing more dangerous than a Hunter who had to abandon the chase. He went straight to the bar and met the concerned gaze of bartender. Without a word, the man set two small glasses of clear liquid on the bar and spoke in a low voice, “one to drink and one to clean the wound.”
“Thanks, Keve. I think I may need them.” He downed one of the shots with a shudder. After a quick shake of his head, he turned to look for the woman he had saved, but she had disappeared as well. “I’m going to need some answers too.”
