“Honey,” he said with a grin, “I brought down House Lodai in a pair of four-inch heels. I think I’ll be fine.”
* * *
“You seriously want me to murder Santa Claus?”
Zala could understand the incredulity in Xander’s voice. Only a few worlds still celebrated Christmas. Most of them had switched to a sort of Christmas/Yule/Hanukkah mash-up they collectively called Solstice. Still, Santa Claus was universally loved. He just flew a spaceship now instead of a sleigh with reindeer.
“He’s not a real Santa Claus,” she reminded him, an edge of impatience creeping into her voice. “His name is Tannen. He’s a serial rapist posing as Santa Claus to avoid detection.”
“And you want me to murder him.”
Zala barely refrained from an eye roll. “Execute him. It’s a Rider’s job. Serial rapists get two choices: Castration or death. Since this guy uses knives on his victims, let’s just say option number one is out.”
“One problem.” Xander leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other.
His satin dress rode up his thighs ever so slightly revealing a seriously gorgeous pair of legs. Zala could have killed him just for that. How dare he look better in a dress than she did? Stupid man.
“And that problem is?” she scowled.
“I am not a Rider. You are. You kill him, it’s execution. I kill him, it’s murder.”
“What do you care?” She snapped. “You’re a wanted terrorist.”
He laughed at that, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I brought down one of the most vile, corrupt Houses the Syndicate has ever spawned. I’d say “terrorist” is a matter of perspective.”
“And you don’t think bringing down a serial rapist who brutalizes his victims isn’t equally important?”
Xander leaned forward, his eyes locking with hers. “Of course it is. But it’s your job. Why do you want me to do it?”
Zala swallowed. “A ship usually has both Captain and Rider. Mine is deemed too small, so while I’m Captain in truth, I am only Rider by default.”
“Surely they trained you in the law so you could administer justice properly.”
She nodded. “They did. But this is different.”
“Why?”
She glanced down at her hands, then back at Xander. “Tannen, he has a very specific type.”
“Okay, what? Blondes? Brunettes?”
She shook her head, silken hair sliding across her shoulders. “Enhanced.”
He stared pointedly at her chest. “You’re not enhanced.”
That got a laugh out of her. “I mean implant enhanced. The kind of implants that come with being a starship Captain and a scion of a major Syndicate House. The kind that make you stronger, let you tap into the web, speak mind to mind. He’s got similar implants. Implants only you can hack.”
He frowned. “Hacking skills aside, I’m still not sure I understand why you need me. What are you going to do while I’m down there playing at executioner?”
“I’m the bait.”
* * *
“Remember, if you don’t hack him before he hacks me, I’m screwed.” Zala glanced over at Xander. “Please don’t let him hack me.”
He reached down and gave her hand a squeeze. “I promise.”
The fear of being hacked was a very real one. There were few entities in the known universe that could hack implants like hers. The Syndicate itself, of course, though technically she supposed that wouldn’t be hacking.
For the most part, her own implants would allow her to stop a hacking attempt, but hackers like Xander could get around that. It was how he’d brought down the house of Lodai. He’d shut down the brains of their entire fleet as well as their top scions. In one fell swoop, the House collapsed.
Hackers like Tannen used their skills for far more evil purposes. The Lodaians had eventually recovered, though too late to prevent expulsion from the Syndicate. The rapist’s victims had not recovered. Their minds now lay trapped within bodies scarred for life by his body and his blade.
She’d rather be dead.
Her fingers tightened around his. “Promise me something, Xander.”
He glanced at her. It was almost like he read her mind. “If the worst happens, I’ll end it. I promise.”
She nodded and released his hand. “There he is.”
Tannen stood in the center of the town square across from where they lurked in the alleyway. He was dressed in full-on Santa gear and was passing out sweets to the village kids.
Despite its regal name, Regis was hardly more than a village tucked back into the rugged hills of Vega. Zala found it odd that a rapist fleeing the justice of a Rider would choose a remote farming world to hide. It wasn’t like he’d have much of a pool of victims to choose from.
Then again, Vega had a major spaceport for food exportation. Lot of captains coming through there. Lot of scions, too.
It was time to stop this bastard from hurting anyone else. She threw off the cloak that had been hiding her Syndicate uniform and swept her hair up off her face, exposing her House sigil.
Xander grabbed her arm. “Are you sure you want to do this? I can maybe hack him from here.”
Zala shook her head. “Maybe isn’t good enough. We have to take this bastard down. Now.”
He nodded and removed his own cloak revealing a plain black body shirt he’d borrowed from her, and a pair of olive flight pants. The pants were Audley’s and he’d been pissed as hell when Xander chopped several inches off the bottom of the legs. Zala had to promise Audley a new pair in order to avoid bloodshed. He was very proprietary about his clothes.
She had to admit her shirt looked darn good on Xander. It was skintight and showed off all his muscles.
She dragged her focus reluctantly to the wide wristband on his arm. A tiny green light flashed. “Ready?”
“All I’ve got to do is touch a button and we’re golden. Good luck out there.” And with that he slipped into the crowd, fading away like a ghost. Damn he was good.
She took a deep breath and stepped out of the alleyway. She was immediately flocked by villagers begging her to taste their fruits or buy one of their crafted goods.
She smiled and played along, sampling a sweet here and fingering a beaded necklace there. Normally she’d have enjoyed such an adventure. It wasn’t often she got to go planet-side for purely pleasure.
Keeping a subtle eye on their target, she continued through the throng of vendors. One had a basket of hand-sewn silk handkerchiefs in ridiculously bright hues. Audley wanted to celebrate Solstice, fine. She’d give him some Solstice.
She bought one of the brighter squares of silk and tucked it away in the pocket of her flight pants. The vendor grinned and bobbed her head as though Zala had done a great service. Probably she had. A starship Captain and scion of the greatest House buying your wares could pretty much set you up for life. Everyone in Regis would be wanting those stupid handkerchiefs now.
She knew the minute she caught Tannen’s attention. Her implants shot a flash of amber through her vision. It was like a danger signal on a starship. Not only had Tannen spotted her, but he’d already caught her implant signal. She could only pray Xander was in position. And that he was faster.
Subtly she edged herself closer to Tannen. She wanted to keep his attention as long as possible to give Xander a chance to hack him.
Her vision flashed red. Shit, he was attempting the hack. Her thoughts snarled around, collapsing in on each other and she felt her body crash to the ground.
She was frozen, helpless. She heard women screaming, men shouting. Running feet flashed across her field of vision as she lay motionless on the ground. Xander had been too late.
* * *
Xander watched in horror as Zala crashed to the ground. Tannen was better than he’d realized. Much better.
But there was one thing Xander had that Tannen didn’t. It was his own secret weapon and there was no one alive who knew about it.
He
took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Inside his mind he saw Tannen’s implants laid out, ready to be hacked. They were cheap implants and half of them were nearly burnt out. Beautiful.
Xander cracked his knuckles, metaphorically speaking, and dove in. His fingers flew over the mental images of Tannen’s implants, manipulating them on a molecular level. There was no finesse, just pretty much smashing them to hell.
A scream grated against Xander’s ears. He opened his eyes, his mind half focused on the mental images of the implants and half on the true image in front of him. Tannen was on the ground next to Zala, holding his head in his hands and screaming. Blood poured from his eye sockets, his ears. Not long now.
Xander continued with his work until every last implant was destroyed and the screaming had stopped. The image of Tannen’s mind faded and Xander slowly opened his eyes.
It was pretty obvious Tannen was dead, his head twisted in a horrible angle. He’d clawed at his face, leaving bloody furrows carved in his cheeks with his own hands. His death had been ugly and painful. Fitting.
Around him, villagers stared in horror. He wasn’t sure if they were scared of him, or simply horrified by what they’d just witnessed. He supposed he should probably make sure they didn’t try lynching him or something.
“Good People of Regis. My name is Xander and I am Rider.”
There was an excited murmur as the villagers passed this information back and forth. Apparently Regis didn’t get many Riders.
“This man, Tannen, has been found guilty of hideous crimes of violence against women. As such, he has been duly executed.”
Somebody started clapping and pretty soon the entire village was carrying on like he was a bloody hero. Frankly he didn’t give a damn. He scooped up Zala in his arms and headed back to the ship, leaving the villagers to deal with Tannen’s corpse. With any luck they’d burn it so there wasn’t a scrap of the monster left.
* * *
Xander leaned back, exhausted. He’d spent hours inside Zala’s mind, repairing the damage Tannen had caused by his hack.
“Is she going to be okay?” Audley hovered over the bed, concern etched across his dark face. His usually bubbly nature lost under a cloud of fear.
“I think so. All we can do now is wait.”
And so they did. For three long, excruciating days.
On the fourth day, Xander was sitting alone by her bedside, having sent Audley off for a nap. He himself was half drowsing, so at first he thought he was imagining things.
“Xander?” Her voice was scratchy, but strong.
He leaned forward to check her pulse. Also strong. Damn she was a fighter. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I’ve got the mother of all headaches.”
Guilt crashed over him. “I’m so sorry, Zala. I wasn’t expecting him to use sheer, brute force. I should have been faster.”
She waved it aside. “Neither of us expected it. It’s done and everything’s okay. He’s dead, right?”
“As a doornail.”
“What does that even mean?”
He laughed. “I have no idea.”
“My implants?” Worry colored her tone.
“I fixed them.”
Zala frowned. “How? We don’t have the facilities.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to answer without giving away everything. Fortunately she drifted back to sleep, so he could keep his secrets. For now.
* * *
Zala woke to stars streaking by her window. Audley was really gunning the engines.
Her headache had finally gone, though she still felt drained. She turned her head to find the man himself sitting in a chair, glaring at her.
“You totally freaked me out, you know.”
She smiled. “I’m sorry, Aud. Hey, where are the pants I was wearing?”
He waved to a pile of clothes on the floor. Just like a couple of men to throw her stuff in a pile instead of hanging it up properly.
“Get them for me? Please.”
He hauled his large frame out of the chair and brought her the wadded up ball that was her flight pants. She dug through her pockets and brought out a square of brilliant blue silk. “Here you go. Happy Solstice.”
He took it from her, a look of wonder on his face. “It’s beautiful. Where?”
She grinned. “My secret. Now go find Xander and tell him I need to speak to him.”
“Aye, aye Captain.”
Minutes later Xander was standing by her bed looking solemn. This time he was wearing a black kilt and a green shirt that looked suspiciously like they belonged in her closet.
“I know who you are.”
He went from solemn to blank in half a second flat. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Do you honestly think you could rummage around in my brain like that and not leave something of yourself behind, Xander Lodai?”
He froze. The blood drained from his face. “Xander Lodai is dead.”
She snorted. “So said House Lodai when they tried to pin their crimes on him. The Syndicate, all the Houses, know better. There’s no point lying about it, Xander. Not to me.”
“Are you going to turn me in?”
“Nope. The only other person that knew the truth is dead.” She smiled at his look of surprise. “There’s no point in anyone knowing but us. Thought I’d offer you a job.”
His eyes widened. “What?”
“I need a Rider. A real Rider to help me track down these criminals, execute justice.”
“And you want me?”
“The man that brought House Lodai to its knees? In four-inch heels? Hells yes.”
He grinned at that. “Could be fun.”
“So, it’s a deal?” She held her hand out toward him. Xander took it, fingers tangling with hers.
“It’s a deal.”
“Good,” Zala smiled. “Let’s ride.”
* * *
Shéa MacLeod writes urban fantasy post-apocalyptic sci-fi paranormal romances with a twist of steampunk. Mostly because she can’t make up her mind which genre she likes best.
After living in Portland, Oregon most of her life, she now makes her home in an Edwardian town house in London just a stone’s throw from the local cemetery. Which probably explains a lot. Fortunately, the neighbors are quiet.
Find more information on Shéa and her books at www.sheamacleod.wordpress.com, or follow her on Facebook and Twitter
A Very Shero Christmas
Jack Wallen
God bless us, every one!
The famous line squeaked out of the 61” Plasma TV, followed by the sniffling and snorting of tears and snot. Always the sucker for Tiny Tim, Shero was immediately thrown into fits of weeping. It helped not a bit that the satin nightie-clad superhero was spending Christmas alone.
Alone.
Poor, poor superhero. Celebrities are always pissing and moaning.
A Christmas Carol was Shero’s favorite. It reminded him of cold nights with a fire, popcorn, and the warm, caring hands of his mother, holding him tight — promising the young boy that delights beyond his wildest imagination waited for him in his dreams.
Deep within the heat of his heart, the young boy who would become the protector of the innocent knew his imagination was all he really had.
Well, that and some kick-ass skills with a sword, and the ability to run in three inch heels. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m allowed to. I’m sexy.
And I’m the one telling the story.
So, where was I? Oh yes. The maudlin man-in-drag — er — en-femme continued watching the too familiar melodrama unfold before his running mascara.
This was the first time in a long time Shero had actually spent a Christmas Eve alone. His usual ritual called for flashing a sexy thigh here (BAM!), and a little cleavage there (POW!) in the fight against crime. Although the bitter cold mocked and guffawed at the expanse of skin left bare by the little black dress, Shero forged on, proving nothing could stop the ho
ttest super hero to don the Blahniks — not even rock hard nipples. But this Christmas was different. All was quiet on chaos front, so Shero had the pleasure of a much deserved night off.
There was little pleasure to be had. All our superhero could feel was a dark, depressing, loneliness: As if all love had been stripped from his life. That feeling was accompanied by the less-than-subtle sensation that no one cared.
The scene on the television spilled out over the carpet. Shero’s raccoon eyes blinked once and Ebenezer Scrooge disappeared from sight. A second blink brought the ghost of Jacob Marley front and center, causing Shero’s heart to pound against his bright red satin nightgown.
“You go, girl! Right … to … bed,” Shero barely managed to get out before the remote slipped from his polished nails and landed with a dull thunk on the floor. The battery door flew off and bounced up higher than it should.
Time. Stopped.
The battery door was held aloft as if the fabric of the space-time continuum had been folded and halted.
Did I neglect to mention this was about superheroes? Well, shame on me.
A drip of drool fell from our Superhero’s lips. The sounds coming from the TV grew slow, low, and ominous. And then, as C-cup sized snowflakes began pummeling the ground outside, the sounds of rattling chains could be heard. It was a veritable holiday mash-up. Halloween, meet my good friend Christmas.
Or something like that.
Shero.
The spooky whisper came from everywhere…and nowhere (of course it did, how cliché).
Shero.
After getting no reaction, the disembodied voice sounded off once again. The chains rattled with more ferocity. Still, the sleeping hero remained frozen in time.
Girlfriend, if you don’t get yo lazy ass up outta that couch, I’m gonna go off on you like a bitch at a Macy’s two-for-one! the disembodied voice demanded.
Shero shivered out of his funky slumber.
“Sale? Where? Let me get my … what the fuuuuuu —”
Don’t say it, Shero! Keep it clean, this is a family show.
“ — uuuuuunel cakes?”
Dodged a rating bullet there.
When the satin-clad hero finally managed to sit up and open his eyes, what he saw was, well, shocking. And that, coming from a cross-dressing superhero, was saying something. Like whoa. Standing, or rather, floating, between the chaise lounge (What, you think a man with Shero’s taste would have a couch? How gauche.) and the television was a ghost. But this was not just any ghost. Before the sleep-deprived hero was the most elegant, sensual, smexy, translucent drag queen. And honey, she was pissed.