Planet B

Ch.22

Kyver stalked down the metal walkway fuming. The nerve of that man. Who did he think he was, telling her to be careful? What did he think she was going to do, run doe-eyed through the city without a care? Stupid, stupid man.

She glanced back over her shoulder, the main bulk of their forces were just a speck between the large buildings. When they were done she was going to give him a serious tongue lashing, that was for sure. She checked around at her fellow scouts. They numbered just under twenty, enough to cover decent ground but not so many that they'd get in each other's way if they needed to escape.

She flexed her fingers within her gloves, feeling with her mind the inventory within. As always, three knives for each hand, but also a length of rope, some thick cloth and a couple stones. She still wasn't sure how the gloves worked, no one was, but she was forever grateful they existed. She had taken them to Thespa shortly after finding them, asking the wizards to explain them. The best she got was that whoever made them had known a magic now lost. Each finger, as well as the palm, contained a hole to an immaterial space and she could store objects within. There was a limit to the size of the object, but she found that generally if she could hold it, she could store it. They'd saved her life on more than one occasion and she rarely took them off.

Ahead of her one of the scouts stopped suddenly before an intersection, waving his hand for everyone to hold back. She took in a deep breath before approaching his location, readying herself for danger, and immediately regretted doing so. The air of the city was so foul that the size of the breath almost made her vomit. The centuries of decay and rot made even the worst of outhouses seem pleasant. She grimaced slightly and moved toward the man.

"What're you called?" she asked.

"Pagen," he replied. "Uh, ma'am."

Many of the mercenaries referred to Yank as sir, not all of course, and it was clear this man was trying to figure out the right word for her.

"Just call me Kyver," she said. "What's going?"

He nodded toward the edge of the building.

"There's one of them ranged machines the Lady Draxta told us about," he said. "The ones that shoot metal. It's on the building across the way. I waved my hand and saw it move in my direction. If we cross we'll be wide open to be attacked."

Kyver looked around their location. The buildings, what remained of them, rose several stories above the water level. It would be possible to climb them, but with the weapon on the other side of where the streets used to be, climbing wouldn't get them anywhere near a good disabling point. Not the scouts at least.

Reaching into one of her belt pouches she pulled out a set of claws that fit over her gloves. She stepped back and, gauging the distance from the edge of the platform fo the side of the damaged building next to them, jumped across the deadly muck and latched onto the wall. She landed with her feet flat against the building in case the claws didn't find purchase and he had to push off to get back to safety. Luckily they grabbed hold and she was able to start climbing upward. A few voices of surprise sounded behind her but she kept on climbing without explanation. In short order she was atop the building. She crouched as she approached the edge nearest the weapon, careful not to attract the attention of it.

Looking over the edge, she saw it was still pointed at the corner where it had seen Pagen's hand. She quickly judged the distance to be close to forty feet. Plenty of room. Opening her right hand she called forth the length of rope, sixty feet worth, and spooled it out. She retrieved a grappling hook from a belt pouch and affixed it to the end. She stepped back from the edge, careful to stand where the angle of the weapon wouldn't see her over the edge of the building. She swung the grappling hook and released.

The hook sailed through the air, easily making it across the distance between the buildings. It fell through a window one floor above the weapon. Kyver slowly pulled the rope tight, trying not to give the weapon a reason to target it. She'd hoped it would only respond to living threats, and it appeared that was the case. Then, resisting the urge to take another deep breath, she called the rope back into her glove.

Immediately she shot forward, the rope sucking into the glove. The air whipped through her hair as she cleared the edge of her building and she saw the weapon start to track her. It was too slow. When she was ten feet from the next building she called the rope back out from the glove. The entire length that had been contained appeared, dropping toward the ground. Kyver, momentum carrying her, arced down toward the weapon. Pulling a knife out of the gloves in each hand she landed on the weapon, driving the blades into visible cracks in its shell. Sparks shot out and she turned her face to avoid being burned. The weapon sputtered a few times and then stopped moving. To be safe, Kyver pried the machine loose from the building and watched it fall, splashing in the gunky water below.

She called the all clear for the rest of the scouts. They peeked their heads around the corner and, seeing Kyver instead of the weapon, did nothing to hide their shock and surprise. She climbed up the rope to retrieve the grappling hook, then slid down the side of the building with her claws. Nearing the bottom she kicked off from the wall and landed on one of the metal platforms in a crouch.

She looked toward the approaching scouts.

"Alright, what's next?"

The next several hours contained much of the same tasks. The scouts moved along the metal pathways, careful to avoid the acidic water below, looking for traps. Some they were able to disable themselves, others required Kyver's help. There were three other turrets they came across just like the first one that she dispatched with variations of the same approach. At every turn they made they left chalk arrows on the pathway for Draxta and Yank to follow.

Kyver called for a short rest when they were about three quarters to their destination. Pagen, the scout she'd talked with earlier, sat down beside her, fishing out a waterskin and taking a swig.

"Well I'd say we're making decent progress. Doing a lot better since you're here, that's for sure. Them machines you take out on the walls, well, I'm not even sure what we could have done about them. Probably would've had to pick a new route and get hopelessly lost."

Kyver nodded at this, not saying anything in response.

"Some of us were wondering," he continued, looking down at his toes, "where'd you get those gloves?"

Kyver chuckled to herself. Conversations with her usually started in one of two ways. Either someone found her attractive, or found her gloves attractive. Of the two topics the former held the majority since only those who worked with her saw the gloves in action, and they were usually too intimidated to flirt with her. She'd noticed Pagen giving her looks over the last few hours and figured both topics would come up in this chat. He must not know about her and Yank.

"Well," she said, "it's kind of a long story, but the quick answer is I stitched 'em up from the stomach of a great bear of the north, an enchanted beast still alive from the time before."

Pagen's eye's widened. He jaw worked at a response before his expression narrowed, smiling slightly.

"You're having a joke on me," he said, half hurt, half amused. Kyver grinned and shrugged her shoulders. He laughed, a big hearty laugh, and pointed a finger at her. "You know, one of these days you're going to come across a man who-"

Pagen's head exploded in front of her.