The Betwixt Book One (7 page)

I tried to let out a laugh, but made it only to a pained
splutter. ‘Shouldn't . . . shouldn't you be helping
me? I need to go to . . . a doctor, or
something.’

‘
I'm afraid you cannot. We cannot risk them finding out about
you. Plus, I would wage that your injuries are not life
threatening.’

Oh, oh, how comforting. ‘I want to go to a doctor.’ I couldn't
believe I was saying those words, but it was the truth. I just
wanted painkillers and a long, long sleep.

‘
Yet you cannot. It is of vital importance that I do not lose
you at this point. There is much I have left to teach you if you
are, as your destiny dictates, to fight this war.’

He didn't want to lose me, so he was stopping me for seeking
medical attention while I was crumbling into a pile of practically
dead. I was starting to wonder if this little alien really was mad.
He had been right about the Twixts, sure, but that didn't mean he
was a couple of cores short of a hyperdrive.

‘
It is a fine game we have to play,’ he paced in front of me,
hands clasped behind him, ‘a very fine game, indeed. We must not
draw the attention of the authorities too soon. They will not
believe us, and they will hinder our task.’

By ‘hinder’ if he meant, ‘put in prison for violating station
security codes’, then he was probably right.

‘
For many years the bureaucracy of the Central Government has
kept the truth of the Twixts buried. They have forgotten,
intentionally, the great wars of the last millennium. They have
stamped it out till nothing remains. Yet the old races remember.
Those of us who were space faring at the time, who witnessed the
horrors directly, we will never forget.’ He stopped and stared up
out of a porthole. ‘It was our duty to keep this truth alive, till
the time came where it would be the difference between life and
death.’

Hipop settled down, curling up right by my head and watching
the monk with sleepy interest. I watched him too. Half of me wanted
to laugh, even though I would probably shatter a rib. But the other
half, it was . . . listening.

‘
So that is why we cannot risk bringing you to their attention,
not yet. I trust their knees will jerk, and they will throw you
away with the key.’

I couldn't help but smile at his misuse of analogies, even
though they seemed strangely accurate.

‘
No, we must forge on alone for the time being, till we know
for sure we can count on the support of others. It is a lonely life
for a warrior who battles for those that know nothing of her
sacrifices, but you have no other choice.’

‘
How can I do this?’ I found my voice, but it crackled like a
burst of static, ‘that was only one and it almost killed me.
How . . . how can I fight a war alone and unarmed?
I . . . ‘ I sighed through a groan, ‘even left
my . . . frying pan behind.’

‘
Precisely. You cannot fight a war without a weapon. The great
BeTwixt Wars were not fought with circles of iron with small
handles—’

I chuckled painfully at that description.

‘
They were fought with the weapons of your people. The weapons
of . . . ‘ his voice just trailed off, apparently
lost in thought.

‘
That was then, however long ago,’ my breaths were getting less
deep, less pressured now, ‘but this is now. How are we going to
fight now?’

‘
Oh, the weapons still exist, they are indestructible, after
all.’

I started slowly to push myself up, careful not to disturb
Hipop. ‘Indestructible?’

‘
Practically.’

‘
So where are they?’

‘
Here and there. Scattered throughout this great
galaxy.’

‘
Scattered?’ I kept my tone as dull as an overcast day.
‘Throughout the galaxy? How are we supposed to find them
then?’

‘
I know of one, but it may be impossible to obtain. It was your
mothers own staff. But there are others, and we will find them,
somehow. Till then, you will have to improvise. With more round
bowls of iron, you will be able to overcome the Twixt, for
now.’

I felt like I was tipping backwards under the weight of all
this new information, that and I'd just had the worst and only
physical beating of my life. ‘I can't fight the Twixt with frying
pans.’

‘
It is not ideal, but—’

‘
No. None of this is ideal, none of this is real.’ I flailed a
hand at the monk, the pressure of the day catching up with me. I
was emotional, tired, and injured, and now an alien monk was
telling me to take on the most fearsome warriors in the galaxy with
cooking utensils. This couldn't be
happening . . . .

‘
Then let us pray that we find you a weapon before we next see
the Shadows.’

‘
Couldn't I just use a gun?’ I asked desperately, arms hanging
limply from my shoulders as I sat there like a dejected
puppet.

‘
They make such terrible noises, and some of them are
frightfully dangerous.’

‘
What? So I could use a gun?’

‘
Well, technically—’

‘
Why are we even having this conversation then?’

‘
Guns will not be very effective. They will startle, of course,
and with repeated fire they will destroy a Twixt. But they are not
of the caliber of your own people's weapons. Perhaps one Twixt you
could manage, but you will need a weapon of far greater power to
take on an army.’

An army? An army?

I decided to push that impossible thought from my head for
now. ‘How do I get a gun?’

‘
I suppose you buy one—’

‘
Where? If these things are supposed to be coming back I want a
gun and I want one now!’ a part of me was aware of how silly I
sounded, how unlike myself. I couldn't imagine demanding a gun from
a monk a week ago. My life had never necessitated anything other
than a smile. Now I had to equip myself or be left holding the fry
pan when the next Shadow came from between.

‘
I confess, I do not know. My people have always abhorred such
things. They are inelegant, crude – the tools of the
unenlightened.’

I took a slow, slow breath. I had to do this myself, didn't I?
I had to find a gun. But where to look?

There was only one place to get a gun without a license –
gunrunners.

My life had just officially gone to hell.

Chapter 4

I woke up the following morning with a very pronounced ominous
feeling. It took a moment for the previous day's antics to flood
back and drawn me completely. I had never wanted to get out of bed
less than at that moment. So I did the only logical thing, and
pulled the covers over my head.

I didn't have to work the afternoon, thankfully, even though
waitressing at a diner was the last thing on my mind right now. I
had to find a gun, I reminded myself, before I could slap the old
uniform on again.

I became aware of the sharp distinction between my bed and the
rest of the galaxy at that point, no matter how strange it sounded.
But I realized that at this moment the rest of the galaxy was
everything outside of my mattress and blanket, and it was all
screwed.

I heard the patter of feet that usually heralded Hipop jumping
on my bed in his morning dance of: 'you're up! Oh, well you will be
in a moment! Let me help by dancing all over your covers and
licking your face.’ I braced myself for the impact that didn't
come.

‘
Why is it that you have blankets over your inspiration
orifices?’

I groaned at the voice and the questionable description of my
mouth and nose. He was right though, it was kind of hard to breath
under here, but the alternative was to die at the hands of the
Twixts out there.

I didn't answer, hoping he would give up and go
away.

‘
You must rise from your slumber so that we can buy a gun. I do
not know much about how the sale of personal weaponry works, but I
imagine, like other economies, you are rewarded for being the first
in line.’

I squeezed my eyes shut. This guy had perfect English, but
would say the strangest things. Did he honestly think the black
market weapons industry worked like the canteen line at school? You
didn't get the best guns for showing up first with clean hands and
a neat uniform – you got what you paid for, either in blood or
money.

‘
Child,’ he called loudly, as if I was far away, ‘child, you
must rise—’

‘
Mini,’ I threw back the covers and jumped out of bed a little
too quickly, ‘my name is Mini. And what the hell is yours, while
we're on the topic?’

The monk, who was standing in the center of the room, hands
primly patting at his robes, looked fresh-faced and calm.
‘Name?’

I rolled my eyes. ‘If I were to address you in a room of
similar, small, red alien monks, what arrangement of sounds would I
use to distinguish you from the rest?’ I was surprised at my own
sarcasm. Sarcasm was usually something I didn't employ, only smiles
and polite chitchat usually made it through the application process
of my thoughts. But I was in a mood, if you could put it that way.
I was in the kind of mood a girl gets after a rough night of
hitting Twixts on the head with frying pans.

‘
Ah, we do not have names. But for your ease, should you face
the situation you just described—’

I tried to block out the mental image of going into a room
packed full of tiny crimson monks all wanting to grab my hair and
shanghai me into saving the galaxy.

‘
You can call me Od.’

‘
Od? You know what, I think that kind of suits you, Od it
is.’

He bowed demurely, as if I'd just given him a gold star for
creativity.

‘
So, what now Od? Do I clear all the Central Credits out of my
bank account and buy the only gun I can afford, which will probably
be a pea shooter considering my current funds, and a rusty pea
shooter at that?’

‘
I am unfamiliar with a peashooter, but if you believe this
will be an appropriate choice of weaponry to use against the Twixt,
then this is exactly what we shall do.’

I just let that one slide, and headed off to grab a supplement
bar from the cupboard. You couldn't really call them food – they
provided the exact balance of nutrients you needed without the
chocolate and cream. But it would have to do. Sitting down for eggs
and toast was not an option right now. I started chewing on the
vaguely tasty mass while I ran a hand over my torso, searching out
the bruises from last night.

I had healed remarkably well, I realized. It probably had
something to do with the strange draft Od had given me before I
conked out in bed. It had tasted like rocket fuel avec la grease,
but it had obviously worked wonders.

‘
So,’ I said between bites, ‘I don't suppose you know where
there are guns on this station?’ I had a vague idea, but it was
likely to be the kind of sketchy impression that would get me
thrown into prison for asking the wrong kind of guy to 'see his
goods'.

He looked thoughtful for a moment, his crimson head tilting
towards the ceiling. ‘In a GAM ship.’

I let my jaw drop open, mid chew. Thank you, Captain Obvious.
Yes, of course there would be guns on GAM ships, they were pretty
big into those things. But I wasn't about to go up to the
Commander, wink, and offer him a packet of cash for his
rifle.

‘
Also, I believe Station Security hold firearms.’

This was getting me nowhere. If I wanted to get this done, I
was going to have to do this myself. I'd have to go down to the
lower decks, I figured as I patted my hands free of crumbs and
concentrated on my last bite of vaguely vanilla-flavored
sustenance. That was where the riffraff hung out – sometimes off
railings held by their feet, from the stories I'd heard. You would
hear things working as a waitress, and most of them ended up with
some kind of bloody altercation between Crags and Mercenaries on
the decks below.

Which is where I, the ditsy waitress, now had to go. I had to
take all my money from the bank, put on my most intimidating outfit
(which left the skirt with the cute embroidered bunny rabbits right
out), and secure the proverbial daggers behind my eyes. I had to
harden the hell up and go and buy a goddamn
gun . . . .

I grabbed my hair, and pulled it in front of my eyes like
curtains. I didn't want to play this game anymore. No, scratch
that. At no point had I ever indicated any wish to participate in
this ridiculous situation. Shadow monsters, galactic peril, and
black market forays would never have had me putting my hand up for
seconds.

By the time I had finally decided what to wear and cuddled
Hipop to death on the likely probability I would never see him
again, it was already mid morning. Od was starting to get anxious,
twisting his hands like a tinny little propeller spinning back and
forth. ‘We don't have the time to dally,’ he said for literally the
tenth time.

I just ignored him as I walked two steps ahead. I didn't quite
want to be spotted with Od, not after he'd been dragged off to the
brig for supposedly assaulting me the other day. What would the
Commander think if he saw the two of us together? That I'd forgiven
my attacker and had found the heart to converse about apocalyptic
scenarios with the little guy as we strolled the promenade?
Yeah . . . .