Date Point: 16y6m1w AV
Folctha, Cimbrean, the Far Reaches
Gabriel Arés
Sometimes, Gabe just knew something was sideways. He couldn’t prove it, couldn’t do anything but say what his gut was telling him…and the previous week’s shock death of the Secretary of Agriculture just…felt wrong.
On the surface, it seemed like a tragedy. A healthy, fit man in his mid-fifties had died of a sudden heart attack right in his suite. The Secret Service had immediately summoned the police, and Gabe had by courtesy invited the FBI; they were on foreign territory, after all. This was a Foltchian show, not an American one. A painstaking investigation—by Gabe’s men, not the FBI—had revealed…
Well, a whole lot of nothing. Secretary Guillory had, by all evidence, helped h imself to some wine from the wet bar, got himself a bit more comfortable, turned on the news, took a nap…and died of a massive heart attack.
Gabe had absolutely no doubt the toxicology report would show nothing suspicious, too.
On the face of it, it really did just look like a tragic death of unexpected medical causes. Except….
Secretary Guillory had no history of heart trouble, cholesterol problems, hypertension or anything like that. He’d definitely gained a bit of a dad-bod paunch over the years, but it wasn’t anything to write home about. He’d been a linebacker in college and had retained much of that strength over the years. The man wasn’t a fitness fanatic by any measure, but he’d certainly kept up on exercise, and he’d been on prescription statins that had kept his blood pressure perfectly within the normal range.
Men like that did occasionally just tragically drop dead, and Gabe honestly would have written the entire incident off as a genuine tragedy…except. His investigators had asked to interview the Secret Service agents who were on-duty at the time…
…And they were already through the Array, out of his reach forever.
That was deeply suspicious. In fact, it set alarm bells ringing in Gabe’s head. So he’d gone over the surveillance footage again… and found something very interesting indeed. At exactly the perfect time of night, a very familiar little juggernaut of a man was caught on CCTV, jogging past—or possibly out of—the Statler Hotel.
That was odd. Gabe knew Hoeff. They were good friends in fact, and the two had set off on a hilarious adventure to learn how to play golf very, very badly. Hoeff was a morning person, not a nightowl. He always did his runs at the buttcrack of dawn.
He also didn’t use running suits. Ever. And he had no reason to be anywhere near the hotel…
Nevertheless, Gabe tracked him via the street cameras as, at the wrong time of day and in the wrong kind of clothing, he traced a lazy loop through the wrong part of town, then over Westbridge, along riverside park, and back across the bridge by Rooney’s, two laps around the Alien Quarter’s perimeter and then back across town to jog around Palace Lake.
It was a decent run. A lot further than Gabe himself ever bothered with nowadays. And every last step of it was in clear view of the cameras.
It was, in short, much too perfect.
But that was the problem. Too perfect was still perfect. A suspiciously watertight alibi was still watertight. And there was no indication whatsoever of foul play in Guillory’s death.
Nevertheless…. Gabe knew. Even though it was unprovable, he knew. And that sort of thing simply could not be allowed to pass without at least a modest token of protest.
Gabe drummed his fingers on his desk as he thought, and finally decided there was only one thing to do in these situations: play golf.
He called Hoeff.
An hour later, they met on the fairway, and a few more details tickled at Gabe’s senses as he shook his friend’s hand. Hoeff had always been a hairy guy, bordering on having his own personal sweater. Now, the man’s forearms were perfectly smooth-skinned.
“It’s hot on Akyawentuo,” was of course a great excuse…
They got around to the third hole before Gabe, with his ball firmly lost in the rough, decided it was high time he start angling toward his suspicions. He knew he wasn’t going to get anything—Hoeff was far too shrewd for that—but he could still make his point.
“…I’ll be glad to put the business with Secretary Guillory behind me,” he commented.
“I bet. Can’t have been a fun time for you.”
“Wouldn’t be fun at the best of times, but something’s been… I dunno. My spider sense is tingling.”
Hoeff nodded amiably. “Yeah, I getcha.”
“It’s never failed me so far,” Gabe added.
“A man should listen to an instinct like that, I reckon.”
Gabe nodded, and made a soft grunt as he found his ball. He shut up long enough to successfully take a stroke, and by pure fluke chance it rolled onto the green.
Hoeff chuckled. “I swear you’ve been practicing without me, man. You ain’t never made a shot that good!”
“If I knew how to do that on command, this game would already be over,” Gabe retorted, wading back out of the rough to join him. “Anyway. Spider sense.”
“What about it?”
Gabe knew there wasn’t any point beating around the bush. “Daniel, I’m going to be suspending your personal protection license. I thought I ought to tell you in person.”
Hoeff stopped lining up his swing. He paused, then wound up and whacked the ball firmly down the fairway.
“I think I should warn you of the consequences of that, Gabe. Firstly, and immediately, you will almost certainly earn the ire of Ambassador Rockefeller. Secondly, that will more or less bring our training work with JETS teams on Akyawentuo to a dead stop, because I am the registered agent for arms traveling across the Array. Are you sure you’ve thought this through?”
“Ciertamente. You know me.”
“I do. I happen to like you a lot, for whatever fuckin’ reason. You’re a good man. And I don’t want to see you do something that won’t go well for you. Now don’t get me wrong,” he offered immediately, “I’m all about doing the right thing, even if it sucks doing it. So if you think this is your hill to die on, by all means, do. But everything we choose has consequences, man.”
Hoeff’s expression was mild. Almost friendly. But that, right there, made Gabe certain. Hoeff was a man who could shut off his remorse like a switch. Gabe had never seen it in him before, but he was seeing it now.
That was also the moment he knew he was about to set some very unfortunate things into motion. But there was a principle at stake here, and old men near the ends of their careers could afford a little principle.
He tapped his thumb on his golf clubs. “Consequences,” he said, “are exactly the point.”
Hoeff didn’t betray any emotion. He simply reached into his pants and produced a pistol. And then another. And a knife from above his ankle. And a small device Gabe couldn’t identify.
“Well, in that case, I gotta go make some phone calls.” He set everything down on the green in front of them.
“…Yeah.” Gabe agreed, trying to keep a touch of bitterness out of his voice. He’d made his career on being an honest and by-the-book sort of man, so being confronted with…
…Well, with the unprovable certainty that a man he liked and respected had assassinated—most likely on orders from the very highest authority—a member of the US cabinet under his, Gabe’s, nose and that not only the Secret Service but also somebody at the Jump Array authority must have been complicit…
…It didn’t sit right. He was far from being okay with it, in fact. But the only thing he could do was raise the gentlest and most discreet of protests.
Stripping Hoeff of his license was as far as he could go without things becoming official. It was unquestionably within his authority, nobody could overrule or question him on it, but it was enough to sting Hoeff’s superiors and send his message: that he knew, and did not approve one bit.
There’d be a reply, of course. And in that contest of gentle power, Gabe was only ever going to be a loser. But sometimes, the only honorable thing a man could do was to lose gracefully on his own terms. It was that thought that kept him calm and outwardly civil.
“I look forward to hearing from the people you call,” he said. “I hope my successor reverses this decision, I really do. And for what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”
“Nah, it’s just business. Nothin’ personal.” They shook hands. If Hoeff’s grip was iron-like to the point of near agony, Gabe didn’t betray any discomfort. That was as clear and stealthy a warning as he could have received.
Be careful.
Hoeff had an awfully unsubtle delivery for such a discreet message.
“…I was thinking of retiring anyway.” Gabe just barely managed to avoid shaking his hand out.
“Funny thing, retiring. I don’t know many people who actually manage that trick. I’d try pretty hard though, if I were you.”
“I’ll take that advice.”
“Okay. Have a good life, Gabe.”
“You too.”
They went their separate ways.
Date Point: 16y6m1w AV
Folctha, Cimbrean, the Far Reaches
Daniel “Chimp” Hoeff
“I can’t help it, big guy. I gotta step down. For now, at least.”
“This is fuckin’ bullshit! What the fuck is he doin’?! Does he know how much he’s fucking shit up with this little pissing contest?!”
“He knows exactly how much. I don’t worry myself with those kinda games. That’s for diplomats and special envoys to worry about.”
“Well how am I supposed to worry about it? A decision like that just goes… I mean, I don’t know why he’d make it!”
Hoeff tried really, really hard not to roll his eyes, and somehow succeeded. “He has his reasons. Don’t take it personally.” That was probably one of the things he really liked about Julian. The big bastard was a lot of things, but jaded sure as fuck weren’t one of them.
For that matter, the same was true for Gabe. Anyone who stuck up for their principles like that was too idealistic to be called jaded.
Too bad, really. He liked Gabe. That was gonna be a friendship he missed.
“What possible reasons?!” Julian demanded.
The best part of this situation was that Hoeff didn’t even need to lie. All he had to do was very carefully tell the truth.
“Oh, that’s easy. He thinks I might have had a hand in some foul play. Not uncommon, really. Guys like me always seem to get tangled up in shit like this.”
“Wh–does he have any evidence?”
“‘Course not. I ain’t in jail, am I?”
“Then—”
“Julian. Bro. This is the Game. Don’t worry your pretty head about it too much, okay? It’ll work out. Pretty quick too, I bet. This isn’t even close to the weirdest bullshit I’ve gone through, and there’s gonna be weirder still. Just go with the flow.”
A part of Hoeff sorta regretted lying to Julian by telling him nothing but the truth, but Hoeff took his protection duties very, very seriously. That meant protecting his favorite slabmonkey from anything that might harm him. Including Hoeff.
“…How quick?”
“Dunno. However long it takes for his replacement to take over and put it right. I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do in the meantime, though. I’m gonna send a video message to Claire and apologize my head off, then I’m gonna go lift the entire goddamn gym, and then I think I’ll probably eat way too much sushi at Kobe’s. They got Gaoian sushi there an’ I wanna try it.”
“I warn you, it’s an… experience…”
“What kinda experience?”
“Uh…well, they’ve got that nose, y’know? They like really strong flavors to contrast against that. I mean, I liked it, but…”
“I’ve seen you slurp raw bone marrow right out of a Werne’s thighbone.”
“Yeah. I’m maybe not the guy to ask. But they put on a heck of a show too so I’d still go. Maybe take Claire?”
“Maybe. Sounds good. We ain’t been on a proper date in civilization yet.”
“Definitely fix that.”
“Yeah.” Hoeff stood up. “Anyway. I’ll see you at the gym on Friday, yeah?”
Julian nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
“Cool. Say hi to Al and Xiù for me.”
And with that little bit of duty done, Hoeff clapped Julian on the shoulder and left.
He checked his phone on the way back to the hotel. Still no sign of Briggs, or the Handler. That was the bit that worried him. She’d been… well, a lot stronger than he’d predicted. Strong enough that he was kinda glad she’d just pimp-slapped him and run, ‘cuz if she’d decided to do what she’d done to Agent Childs…
He set the thought aside. Wherever she’d got to, the bitch was down a working hand and most of her support network. And the APA was unravelling fast. Their days were numbered.
But that was exactly when they’d be most dangerous…
Date Point: 16y6m1w3d AV
Abergerrig, New Belfast County, Folctha, Cimbrean, the Far Reaches
Wilhelmina “Bill” Briggs-Davies
“Easy! Easy! We’re on your side!”
Bill uncoiled. She’d been expecting to walk right out into a wall of guns and cops. After the shit that’d gone down in NYC, her Handler had stuffed her into a cargo container—one of the expensive ones, with a stasis field—and promised she’d come out somewhere useful.
Considering the shit that’d gone down in NYC, it was a fuckin’ miracle that his plan had worked. The farmboy with the weird British accent who’d opened the doors sure didn’t look like a cop.
Still…
“…Prove it.”
“Wisdom is the most exquisite curse.”
Bill relaxed, and ducked out of the container. “You know he never actually said that, right?”
“Actually he did, but he maybe didn’t say it first. The women rarely get mentioned in history.”
Fuck, the geeky little shit almost pushed his glasses up his nose. Woulda, probably, if he’d been wearing some. Whatever. Little guy had some kinda hangups or whatever going on. Bill settled for not commenting and just said: “Hm.”
She looked around. She was in a barn or workshop or something. Kinda agricultural from some of the shit about the place, but there was some decent tech too, and electronics all over a workbench in the corner including what looked like actual field emitters. “…The fuck is this place?”
“We’re on Cimbrean, about two hundred miles outside Folctha. You were in stasis just over a week… Jesus, they said your hand was bad, but…”
Bill grimaced at her stump. The skin had grown over it while she slept in the car. “Yeah, I heal quick. And I’m fuckin’ starving, you got anything to eat?”
“Uh, sure. They said you’d be hungry…” The farmboys beckoned her through a workshop. The one with the goofy accent, who’d so far been their spokesman, had a bad case of couldn’t-shut-the-fuck-up. “I was going to try and make you a prosthetic. I know how.”
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s actually pretty simple with modern—”
“Okay, shut up.” Bill palmed his head and squeezed just hard enough to give him a taste of how easily she’d squish it if she wanted to. “I’m tired as shit, I got shot like four hours ago, an’ you are giving me the worst headache. Go get me a fuckin’ sandwich.”
“R-right.”
Still. Annoying, but kinda cute in a dorky sorta way. And he was looking at her in just the right way, too. Maybe later she could break in a new toy…
Mission first.
“So. Folctha huh?” she asked of the so-far silent one as she flopped down on a couch and the dorky one fled into the kitchen.
“Nope.”
“…So where are we?”
“Little farm town way outside of Folctha, in New Belfast county. We can’t operate in the city itself.”
“…What’s that you got there?”
The guy grinned and unholstered it. “Gauss pistol. Homemade, but it’s good for five shots. We have rifles too.”
“Okay!” Impressed, Bill held out her hand and he pressed the weapon into it. It was stamped metal and carved wood, which meant it felt and looked like something from a hundred years ago, but it fit solidly and comfortably in her hand. “Only five?”
“More if we rig it up to a capacitor belt. Ammo isn’t the problem, power is.”
“…The Handler said you’d only wake me up when you had a target for me. If I’m on Cimbrean, it had better fuckin’ be Etsicitty.”
Quiet guy nodded. “Watching him wasn’t easy. He has serious protection. But we’ve been working around the security in Folctha for a long time, we know how to stay under their radar, and now a vulnerability’s come up…”
Bill grinned and sat forward.
“…Tell me,” she said.
Date Point: 16y6m2w AV
The Doghouse Gym, Folctha, Cimbrean, the Far Reaches
Julian Etsicitty
“—Hnnnngh! Fuck!!”
Adam chuckled. “See, Tiny? I told’ya Playboy here would kick ‘yer ass…”
Julian grinned fiercely and tightened his hold by squeezing down hard around Tiny’s waist and pulling his bicep as tightly as he could into the huge man’s neck. He’d gotten really dang good on the mat over the years, and it was gratifying as fuck to use it against a badass like Walsh. Tiny tapped out after a while, and the two of them distangled, then pulled each other into a fierce, brotherly hug.
And then flopped to the mat, utterly spent.
“…Jesus, dude.” Walsh coughed a bit as he sucked air. “I gotta…up my game…”
Julian wasn’t exactly in any condition for a witty comeback, but he did at least manage a bit of bravado. “Gotta….keep Vemik in line…fuck.”
Hoeff gave Adam’s special super-heavy punching bag one last kick, one that would easily have broken pretty much anyone’s ribs, then sauntered over to look at the wreckage.
“You two are adorable.”
“You’re…you’re next, Chimp…” Somehow, that threat sounded much less…well, threatening once it came out of Julian’s mouth. Probably better to catch one’s breath first. He should also probably get up and get on with his workout.
Of course, lying on the nice cool mat for the next fifty years sounded pretty good, too…
Adam’s big smiling brick-face suddenly appeared in Julian’s field of view. “Right! Good match you two! Now get up, let’s see how you three are coming along!”
Tiny and Julian groaned and stumbled back up to their feet, helping each other stand tall. All in all…it was a good day. Adam was on a month-long “staycation” to hang out, spend time with his wife and child, and probably work vigorously on the next one, too. He was also using all that free time to train like the insane freak that he was, and inflict a small taste of that insanity on his friends. Yesterday it had been a literal day-long event with Daar, who was lately spending a lot of time on Cimbrean. Today though, Julian, Hoeff, and Walsh were Adam’s playthings.
It’d been a “light” day by the borderline criminally-insane standards Adam inflicted on his friends. All they had done was play a little basketball, lift a little, practiced some nicely difficult yoga-like something-or-other in front of the gym’s big mirror, and then beat each other stupid.
Well… Adam didn’t properly tussle, for fear that he might accidentally break his playmates.
Now, though, they were back in front of the mirror, showing themselves off for Adam’s critical eye. It had once felt weirdly awkward, but he was a strength coach first and foremost and could spot any problem with posture, asymmetry, maybe a muscle that was about to cramp up…
And holy hell was it surprisingly hard work! Julian had learned that prepping for the Laid Bare shoot not all that long ago. Chimp and Tiny were just now learning that little tidbit for themselves, and both were full of complaints…and apparently, lots of little issues that were gonna require some agonizing massage time to work out. Julian was sympathetic, but well…
“Never thought I’d see myself looking anything like this,” Hoeff grunted. “Christ.” The mirror wasn’t just there for vanity; there was no better way for a fella to self-check his form—very important under a barbell—or identify issues before they became a problem.
Adam had a God-given gift as a physical training coach, there was no denying it. He could whip nearly anyone into an impressive athlete practically overnight, if they were willing to suffer for it. Give him someone who had their own natural blessings, even if they didn’t know it at first…
“I think I’m doin’ pretty good, huh?” Julian asked as he bent his arms and pulled his entire upper body into a super fun “most muscular.” He’d never quite stop feeling goofy about posing in front of a mirror—and fuck, the teasing he’d suffer if Al and Xiù ever found out about it—but he had to admit… it was good for the ego. And fun, too! But sometimes, when he saw what he’d managed to build himself into… Christ. Hoeff was entirely right.
“Fuck yeah! You’re doing damn good!” Adam agreed. He was posing in front of the mirror too, which was…humbling, to say the least…but there really wasn’t any better encouragement a fella could get than from a man like him. Julian felt himself grinning stupidly from the praise.
The real purpose behind their bro-fun was training, though. Adam’s fingers poked and prodded in a painfully businesslike way as he checked on a long-standing point of concern, then he nodded and stepped back. “Yeah. You don’t need anything ‘cept maybe a bit of accessory work. But you two,” he added, turning to Hoeff and Walsh, “You’ve been ignoring your aches and pains for a long damn time, haven’t you? We’re gonna need to sort that out…”
Julian grinned sadistically at Tiny. “Oh, you’re gonna love the fuck outta that, buddy.”
“Am I?”
“Oh yeah, it hurts like a motherfuck, trust me. But it’s nice when he’s got you fixed up.”
“What about Chimp?”
“Yeah,” Adam chimed in. “We gonna get you fixed up?”
“Try it and I’ll stab you right in your pretty fuckin’ face,” Hoeff replied, amicably.
“Well, you can try and stab me, little guy…but okay. Offer’s on the table, if you’re interested.”
“…Maybe. I wanna hit the weights first, though. Never skip leg day.”
Adam nodded seriously. In his Temple of Slab, there was no higher truth.
“Wait,” Julian laughed, “what about our run?”
Hoeff groaned. “Dude, I can’t fuckin’ keep up with you. Your jog is nearly a sprint for me, and ain’t no fuckin’ way I’m gonna go thirty fuckin’ miles ‘round the lake at that pace.”
“I can slow down!”
“You’ve never once slowed down for me, fuckin’ long-leg weirdo.”
“My legs aren’t that long…”
“They are next to mine! Go fuckin’ run, I ain’t gonna be ‘yer pet Scrappy-Doo. You told your team you’re gonna run, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Good, they gotta be in place before you go. Ain’t none of us normals can keep up, got it?”
“Alright,” Julian laughed again, “I got it!”
“Heh. Anyway!” Adam turned his attention back to Walsh. “So how ‘bout it? It’ll hurt but it’s worth it, I promise.”
“Well…okay, then. What’s next?”
“You lie face-down on the mat, I go get my tools. I got worked over fuckin’ bad by Daar yesterday too, so I won’t be gentle…”
Tiny laughed a bit nervously, but Julian cocked his head curiously. “Why the fuck does that matter?”
“Never you mind, you’ve got a run to do. Get!”
“Alright! Ain’t gotta tell me twice!” Julian chuckled. “Good luck, Tiny!”
He thumped upstairs before Walsh could protest and decided against a heavy running vest for today. Instead he filled up his water pack, limbered up a bit, and set off on a nicely quick run.
Julian loved running. Always had, always would. And cross-country running was his favorite. He didn’t bother with roads here, he stuck to the minimal trails and nice, soft grass wherever he could. He preferred barefoot running and could run over pretty much anything, but he had to admit that turf was a lot nicer on his feet than hard concrete or gravel. The trails were all packed dirt, and where they were graveled over it was mostly to prevent erosion. Not bad at all.
He took the lake trail, the less popular one that ran counter-clockwise around the water away from the resort spa and Sara’s Beach. The lake’s west coast was completely terraformed, being the spot where the “Skidmark” had made its closest approach to Folctha. One of Jennifer Delaney’s long-abandoned campsites was a mile or so upstream, immortalized by a marker stone.
Julian had always found that funny. Those markers might as well read “On this spot, several years ago, an Irish lass took a dump in the woods.”
It was a shame she’d never been heard from again after leaving Cimbrean. She’d become a kind of modern-day Amelia Earhart in that regard: The mysterious space-babe pirate queen who’d left such an indelible mark on a whole planet, and through it the whole galaxy and the course of human history, before vanishing over the horizon and into legend.
And speaking of legends…
“Wurf!!”
Julian chuckled. “Hi, Bozo…”
The dog spun excitedly, announced one of his thundering barks again, and fell in alongside him. Julian wasn’t quite sure exactly when or how the giant mutt had figured out his running habits, or knew exactly when and where to wait for him, but he knew why Bozo came along—there were very few people in Folctha who could actually keep up with his insatiable appetite to run and play.
Julian had to wonder just how much longer that would last. Bozo was somewhere on the wrong side of seven or maybe even eight years old at this point, and going gray around the muzzle and cheeks. His energy seemed endlessly youthful, but a dog that size just wouldn’t live long.
He shook off the gloomy thought. Dogs were all about the here and now, and Julian felt there was a wisdom in that. He grinned, picked up his pace, and the booming dog fell in alongside him at a happy lope with his ears and jowls flopping majestically, though he sometimes dashed off ahead or fell behind whenever he encountered an Interesting Smell.
The transplanted Earthling life in and around the Skidmark was a blend of European and North American species well-suited to the local cool, damp, temperate climate. The trees were all fast-growing, chosen primarily for their ability to fix the soil and prevent erosion. Slower-growing species would be introduced in due course.
Of course, bringing in rapid-growing trees and letting them compete with the much less aggressive Cimbrean natives had created problems which in turn demanded cures that hopefully weren’t worse than the disease. Mark Tisdale had pioneered the introduction of beaver with remarkable success: for whatever reason, the big water-loving rodents just didn’t like Cimbrean wood. Maybe it was too porous or something, but if there was any other kind of wood available to make their dams and lodges out of, they’d go with that instead. So they kept their fellow Earthlings in check, managed the waterways, created wetland…
…And reminded Julian of home.
He’d sold the land in Minnesota, eventually. That had been a wrench, but he just couldn’t face going back, and frankly he couldn’t risk the security headaches. He didn’t want to inflict that on the neighbors either, and if any of them were glad to see him and his space-troubles gone, at least they were polite and supportive enough not to let any of it show. Thanks to the Byron Group’s lawyers, it had legally been his to sell, which for years was not at all obviously true. And he was pretty damn happy with his life in Folctha now, but it was nice to be reminded of younger, simpler times occasionally.
Besides, those beavers would probably need trapping in a few years…
He never got tired of nature. There was always something different to see, or hear, or smell, or experience. It never ran out of its little surprises, never lacked for a drama to show whether big or small.
And Folctha kept producing special surprises, too. For instance, the natives were proving to be a lot hardier than anyone predicted. Oh, sure, a lot of them were on a one-way trip to extinction, but several more were adapting to the new ecological opportunities around them. Cimbrean “birds” were turning out to be surprisingly clever when it came to Earthling nuts, for instance, and had learned how to raid the squirrels’ winter caches. A few of the folivore “bird” species were absolutely thriving on the richer, denser deathworld vegetation, and one native was actually giving the terraforming effort a serious headache after turning out to be completely immune to bee stings.
Julian had long ago learned the trick of running quietly. He did that now, as much to be a polite visitor in nature’s garden as for the challenge; it always took more out of him to lope along at what was effectively a prowling jog rather than the more efficient stride Adam had eventually beaten into him.
It tended to eat up the miles faster, and heck, he’d finally admitted it to himself; he was addicted to all the hard work. The lower gravity weirdly made it more difficult too, because he had to constantly moderate his stride, which meant he couldn’t zone out, couldn’t let his muscles just do the run like they would normally want.
Running without the vest was harder.
He slowed down for a sip of water at the imaginatively named “Little Rock,” a weather-rounded knob of stone that thrust up through the earth to stand about twice Julian’s height.
Actually, there was a pretty good view to be had up there, so he decided to enjoy himself and took a running leap right up to the top of the thing. He landed it surprisingly well, and had to pause for a moment and marvel that he’d just made a jump like that. Lower gravity or not…
It was amazing what a little height could do to a view, even if it was only like five meters higher or whatever. It lifted him above the underbrush and gave him a steeper angle down into the lake’s clear waters. He watched the ripples of fish under the surface for a minute, and craned upwards to see if he could spot any sign of the wrecked spaceships that had once littered the bottom, relics of a battle from before Folctha was even a preliminary idea.
Maybe he could, maybe he couldn’t. He wasn’t sure.
“Wurf!”
Julian glanced down at Bozo, who was circling the rock and whining at the lack of obvious canine-accessible ways up. “What, you’re chicken or something?”
“Wurf!!”
“Aww, c’mon! Jump up and enjoy the view!” Julian bent down and slapped his thighs to encourage the huge mutt. “C’mon boy, you can do it!”
Bozo whined, scratched at the rock and backed up a bit with his tail wagging uncertainly. He barked again and spun in a circle.
“C’mon! Dogs can jump like crazy, you can totally make this!”
Bozo backed up a bit further, bounced on his paws a couple times, and then…
Thanks to a thundering run-up, a vigorous leap of faith and some paw-scrabbling, the huge mutt almost made it. Julian was able to catch him and drag him safely up to the top, where he balanced uncertainly on four legs and wagged nervously. Bozo, it seemed, was not fond of heights.
Julian made a fuss of him regardless. “Good boy! You’ll do better next time, huh?!”
That earned him a wag, but Bozo had clearly decided that he’d rather be safely back on ground level. He turned and skittered his way down the rock again, dropped to the ground with a thump, and then danced in a circle looking rather pleased with himself.
“Scaredy.”
Bozo parked his butt on the ground and yawned. Then he looked away and his ears pricked up at something. His tail thumped in the dirt a couple of times, and then he was up and haring off back the way they’d came. Julian couldn’t tell what the dog had scented, but he did take it as a hint. He was there to exercise, not sightsee.
“Yeah, you’re probably right…”
He scrambled down off the rock and continued his run. Bozo would catch up.
He was about half way around the lake when something tickled his instincts. Some little thing was out of place that he couldn’t put his finger on or consciously identify…. But he knew, and immediately he was on edge.
He slowed his pace, listened carefully, kept an eye on the bushes and trees around him. If he was a predator, where would he be hiding?
He was looking right at the perfect spot when the largest woman he’d ever seen blurred out of it with a knife. She was as exaggerated a picture of feminine athleticism as the HEAT were exaggerations of male physicality, all hard strata of muscle and a rock-solid core.
He…wasn’t quite sure what he did. Well, no. He wasn’t sure how he knew what to do, but what he did do was something he’d later have trouble believing.
Catch, deflect, twist—
His attacker went sprawling in the grass, having gone clear over his shoulder in a textbook throw. He kicked her hard and then followed up with a stomp, twisted on her arm for good measure, dislocated her elbow and definitely busted a few ribs. She dropped the knife, so Julian scooped it up and flung it into the lake.
Then he ran. He ran like the fucking wind.
After all, he’d been helping Firth teach kids to do exactly that if somebody ever came at them with a knife, so why the hell wouldn’t he heed his own advice? The scream behind him, however, was not a scream of pain or defeat, but of visceral rage.
…What he’d just done to her would have straight killed a normal sized man. Julian realized right then and there he was up against something much worse than a random hulked out mugger.
He poured on the speed, triple-pressed on his watch, and hoped the cavalry would arrive soon.