No Sharper Spur by Russell Zimmerman 7/7
âHere we are!â I sauntered over and stuck the katana carelessly into one of the elven gangers, then started typing on the little phone-computerâs keyboard with my bloody, sticky thumbs. It took me longer than normal.
âAll set, Evan,â I set the pocsecâs alarm to go off in a few hours, then wedged it back into his pocket. Rolling him for the disposable, certified credstick I knew an operative got before a jobâoh, how my mighty self had fallenâI hauled him by the ankles toward the door and the Eurocarâs waiting trunk. I nearly opened my side back up heaving the crate of TMPs out to make space for him, but once he was tucked away, the GridGuide responded to my voice commands and the sporty little coupe drove off into the heart of the city. Such admirable obedience the dog-brained car had, driving off into the heart of Cutter turf and then opening every door while it still idled.
Oh, heâd be plenty mad when he woke up, no doubt about it. Whoever found the car, doubtless some neâer-do-well car thieves, would get murdered for their trouble. But if Blackwing was anything, he was loyal to the Tir. Heâd deliver my message once he spotted it on his pocket secretary. James would, eventually, understand. Iâd explained it all to him. Heâd neither forgive nor forget, butâŚcompromise.
I just had to show him that the Silent Pâs werenât worth the trouble. Show him that the Ancients were still his bestâhis onlyâbet. Show him that they were mine, whether they knew it or not. Show him I couldâI wouldârule and treat with him like an equal.
And for that to all happenâŚ
I arranged the corpses just so. I picked up a TMP and sprayed it indiscriminately, then dropped it, empty, next to a Silent P body. I picked up a second, and fired it a bit more carefully, a bit more accurately. Puffs of calcium powder filled the air, big chunks of gravel fell to the floor. I placed a few shots just right, then blasted the rest of the magazine away.
When I stopped maintaining the petrification spell, Blitzenâs pockmarked form turned to a wet, red, ruin. A lesser man may have gotten sick just from the sight, never mind the smell of him, but I am not a lesser man.
I thumbed my own pocket secretary to life, the last gangerâs sleek little Steyr in my free hand. I wedged the barrel tight against my sideâstill soreâand let out a quiet sigh as I auto-dialed Stingâs number.
âThe things I do for love,â I quipped to the bodies all around me.
It wasnât quite the literary classic I was accustomed to, but the quote felt apt. While the phone rang, I squeezed the trigger. The burst tore through me and my howl of pain was more genuine than most of my lies; that was saying something. My side wasnât cold this time, no, but white-hot from this fresh indignity heaped upon it.
âSilent Pâs!â I shouted at the phone, arm shaking and knowing it made the tridview chaotic on her end. âMeet goneâŚbadâŚAmbush! BlitzenâŚshot!â
Ye gods, but talking hurt. Hell if I was going to keep babbling. I made sure the connection stayed active, and tossed the phone down on Blitzenâs savaged corpseâI didnât want it to just land on the concrete and break, did I?âbefore letting myself tumble down to sit and wait. I heard Sting shouting orders, her voice tinny and far away, and I knew sheâd be there with help as fast as they could run a trace and saddle up.
I worked on Blitzenâs farewell speech while I waited. Heâd died protecting me, of course. Taken one of the race-traitors out with the foolâs very own sword. The rest gunned him down as heâd tried to usher me away, then Iâd retaliated and avenged him. Heâd be a hero. Iâd tell Comet all about it, maybe while she healed me herself. I had to make sure everyone heard my version while the sight of his savaged corpse was fresh in their minds. Iâd give her that very blade, Blackwingâs mono-katana, as a gift, a badge of honor, a legacy to pass down to her baby when it came. It would be perfect.
Iâd get my war with the Silent Ps, against Stingâs and Telestrianâs wishes. Sting would temper it, rein us in, keep us from wiping them out. Telestrian would be happy with our restraint, but content after our demonstration of superiority. Stingâs authority would be further eroded, my schemes would advance, the Tir pipeline would stay solely ours, andâmost importantlyâall my secrets would stay safe.
My Tir loyalties and ties. My chafing against those same connections. My Talent as a mage, that perpetual ace up my sleeve.
I drifted as I bled, wondering if a point-blank burst had been my best idea. My thoughts drifted back and away, to my last visit to her. The last time Iâd gone to the Seamstresses Union, to the roomâand the whoreâIâd reserved for myself in perpetuity. My Angel would be there. Her hair was so soft and pale. Her features so flawless. For a Seattle-born elf, she was beautiful. Another secret of mine. Almost my last one.
My last secret was waiting in her belly. Iâd decidedâas though a fatherâs opinion ever decided such thingsâthat it would be a boy. A son. Nathaniel seemed like a good name. A strong name.
And oh, yes. Heâll be a handsome little devilâŚ

















