Date From Hell: A Dwarves in Space Short

Date From Hell

  A Short Story

  out of the

  Dwarves in Space Series

  By S. E. Zbasnik Copyright 2013

  With a force reserved for popping off troll heads, the kitchen airlock door slammed shut as a mopey elf dug through the cabinets looking for anything to wash away the past two hours. His fingers lingered upon a canister marked "Orn's Secret Stash! Do Not Open!" Tempting, but the handwriting looked dangerously official and he moved on.

  "Nice shirt, kill someone fancy?"

  Taliesin flipped around, a blot of uncategorized sauce falling onto his nice shirt staining the azure fabric. He didn't notice the Dwarf squatting at the back table when he entered the kitchen, or --sweet tree of life -- the captain sitting beside him, dropping some dice onto the table with the flick of her wrist. The elf was immersed in such a frazzled state he walked past two breathing organics without noting them. His old instructors would have his head for that. And for missing class for the past seventy four years.

  "Meeting go badly?" Variel asked, casting one eye up from her game to the elf.

  "What makes you ask?"

  Her head tilted towards the door, but she didn't say more, letting her chips fall into a pile. It was Orn who took up the thread, "Thought you were gonna send that thing straight through the ship and onto the docking bay."

  "Better than picking it up outside," Variel said.

  "Yeah. You'd probably make me do it and I hate wearing those oxygen suits."

  "They weren't designed to hold the massive storehouse of all things glucose that is your stomach."

  Taliesin sensed a chance for freedom as the captain and her pilot picked up their old bonding rituals, bickering like a pair of old enemies, unaware or uncaring about his plight. "If you will excuse me..." he said to the two butting heads as the door opened and the headwaters of his misery flounced in.

  "You are back!" Brena shouted, clapping her adorned hands in joy, smudging up the notes she spent all day on, "How did it go?"

  The elf glanced to the two aliens pretending they were absorbed in their game. "Now is not the best time."

  "Did you enjoy her? Did she enjoy you? Will there be a second meeting?" Brena talked over him, lifting one of her brows in curiosity along with the edge of her mouth. Taliesin tried to wave for her to lower her voice but he was too late.

  "'Second Meeting?' Oh ho," Orn said, turning away from his cards, "Does that mean our little elf boy here was..."

  "On a date, yes," Taliesin sputtered, "And it was horrible, terrible, therefor not worth mentioning."

  Orn lit up, the entire confusing game Variel probably made up tossed to the side, "Oh, that's where you're wrong. The only dates worth talking about are the terrible ones. Right Cap?"

  She tried to bury a grin, not a cruel one, but the elf felt the looming hand of shame about to yank up upon his under things. There was no easy way to escape it short of jumping out a window, which would put him back on the station he just fled.

  "Come on, lover boy, give us the details," Orn said, shoving the piles of cards away and patting the chair beside him.

  Taliesin ignored it, preferring to keep himself upright and able to move around in the event the lights sputtered, or gravity failed, or a chest bursting alien broke on board and he could secure a quick escape. "I attended a first meeting, it did not end well."

  Orn scoffed, but it was Brena who shook her head, "Brother, you can do much better than that."

  Had she turned on him as well? Her eyes were linear, with nary a hint of cruelty in the edges; but a dark part of him suspected this entire night was some plan of her to conjure fodder for her stories. "Very well. Where shall I begin?"

  "I try the beginning myself, starting at the end and flashing back is just lazy," Orn said, placing his boots up on the table and leaning back.

  * * *

  I was early, an unsurprising fact as I am always early. Puncturing the perimeter for holes, tracing all methods of tracking equipment, noting the armed and not as armed guards is like securing ones laces for assassins. Though we do that as well in case running is involved. It passed the time as I sat upon a plastic bench painted to mimic wood, yanking upon the buttoned shirt my sister insisted "was better than all that black stuff." Perhaps, but it also puckered in an unpleasant way and cut under the arms. The host, a human in a frightfully strange wig as if two small canines became amorous upon the top of his cranium, nodded his head towards me a few times. I knew I reeked of that special mixture of fear and loathing that only a blind first meeting can bring about.

  A few couples entered the restaurant, that fish place off the dwarven made indigo lake with the fiberglass trout outside. All were Elven and all eyed up the hosts wig with the same fright I did upon entering. In the candlelight, it mimicked one of the deadly spore clouds on Cangen that could burst into face melting toxins at a moments notice. The human swelled under the elves attention.

  As I returned to my meditations, plucking at the pearl buttons running across my chest, the door clanged open somehow knocking over a plant that had been nowhere near it. An elf entered and skittered across the dirt she spilled all over the floor. Her hands pinwheeled in disturbing arcs but she managed to catch herself.

  Every cell in my body chimed in with, this is your date, the one Brena insisted was "So nice" and "Really funny" and "You'll love her." You have the fate of one destined for a life chasing after his trousers as the blow away in the breeze, Taliesin. The sooner you accept this fact, the easier the downslide will be.

  Sure enough, once the plant killer regained her balance, she cast her eyes about the room scanning the happy couples in the throes of love and walked towards me, the only man who appeared about to gnaw his leg off for freedom. I cringed inwardly as she stood before me and asked, "Taliesin?"

  There were no bandits, no pile of gnomes bursting into the restaurant, no tumbling chandelier or plume of smoke from a misplaced explosive, and the wig cloud didn't erupt. Typical, just when you want a bomb there's none to be found. I had no choice but to rise from my position and say, "Yes, I am Taliesin."

  "I'm Ahmee," the woman said, pointing towards herself and tilting her head so the matted hair fell into her eyes. She batted at it as if she were a cat but did not put it up.

  "Army?"

  "No, Ah-mee. You have to stretch the me," the voice was strange, high-pitched the way one would coo at children or small animals. It caused my back teeth to shiver.

  Her skin was spotted, not unheard of for Dulcens but not common place either, with puckers of white dotting amongst the tan and brown swirls. A strange mish mash of clothing covered her body, the skirt looking as if it hadn't been pressed in its very long life. The bodice, or top, or whatever had lace torn on the edges, probably from the trip through the restaurant's foliage.

  ***

  "Damn it, get to the good stuff," Orn interrupted.

  "What 'good stuff' would that be?"

  "What'd she look like out of those clothes?"

  ***

  Moving on past any interruptions, she stared at my body as if she were searching for hidden weapons -- of which I came equipped with three --

  ***

  "You bring weapons on a date?" Orn interrupted again.

  "You don't?" Variel asked, playfully poking her pilot in the shoulder.

  He rubbed the spot and rolled his eyes, "No, but I don't get into shoot outs when I stroll into the barbers either."

  "It was one time! One time! And I had nothing to do with someone filing a complaint about his lost eyebrows."

  "Shall I end my tale now while you discuss the trip to the hair salon?" Taliesin asked, hoping they'd
let him off the snare.

  "Shutting up!" Orn said, zipping his mouth shut with his fingers.

  "Wasn't even a very good haircut in the end. It was all lopsided from the stylists hands shaking," Variel muttered, dragging her fingers along the ends of her short hair.

  ***

  The elf reached out and pulled upon my folded arm. Sighing, I let her take it, praying she did not accidentally sever it off at the elbow and we walked towards the human mushroom cloud.

  "Do you have a reservation?"

  I glanced behind his booth's curtains to the half empty tables and sighed, "Taliesin, Taliesin Kesahtnan."

  The human drug his finger through the empty lists and asked, "Of the elven Kesahtnans?"

  "No, of the Dwarven Kesahtnans." I patted my head and quipped, "I ate all my vegetables as a child to grow big and strong." Unthankfully, the human ignored my jibe at his small talk and did not throw us from the restaurant in a rage. Instead, he smiled politely and slotted a menu display under his arm. "Right this way."

  After seating ourselves, I poked through the menu, trying to find something that hadn't been freeze dried and rehydrated three times over from the planet below. Army picked up her fork and began to play with it. My fingers inched for the bread plate to act as a shield in case something went wrong, but she set it down before stabbing her own eyes and asked, "Could you order for me?"

  "Why?"

  "I'm not very worldly in matters of fine cuisine," she answered, trying to blink something out of her eye.

  "It is a fish shack orbiting above an ocean world. The only thing fine is what the health inspector would slap upon it if a Dwarf cared."

  She leaned up to the floating menu pivoting in the middle of the table and pouted, "So many big words to describe the meal. I'm afraid I can't make most of them out. Like this one," she said, pointing a fuchsia claw at the zoomed in text.

  "You don't know 'broiled?'"

  "I'm a simple girl experiencing the wonders of this rich and famous lifestyle for the first time," she shrugged, trying to blink her eyelash off.

  "Fine, yes," I sat back, flicking off the menu and signaling to the waiter. Her words made about as much sense as an Orc operetta but I didn't care. The sooner this meal was over, the sooner I could return to my room and away from this farce. The man assigned to serve to our whims tonight appeared, his head also decked in the mushroom toxin. Perhaps there was a hat sale earlier. "I'll have whatever wasn't deep fried two days ago and the...woman shall have the same."

  "Two ice salads," the waiter shouted, pushing a few buttons, scooping up the menu, and scurrying back to the kitchen.

  A candle popped up in the middle of the table and lit itself. Army tried to blink out whatever was jammed inside her eyelids while scratching an itch upon her lip with her teeth. The entire top row were already stained from whatever crimson dye she'd added to her lips. I leaned back in my chair, covering my eyes with my hands, and begging the seven seeds to save my soul now lest they be unable to later.

  "Taliesin, what is it that you do?"

  I dropped my hands and stared at her, "I'm an assassin."

  "A what?!" she shrieked as if I'd thrown a glass of water upon her. "Killing is wrong. Terrible. I can't believe you would ever do that!"

  "You do not know me?" I asked the air, afraid that in some other time dimension this strange and disturbing woman did know me. If so, I need to put other dimension Taliesin out of his misery.

  "Killing should never ever be done. Ever!"

  Yards of questions formed in my mind. Surely Brena told her my occupation. It isn't exactly a secret, it says as such in the family name. One of the family names. And working for the assassin's guild is an honored profession, sometimes gifted with too many accolades as many people tripped over themselves to keep the trained killer happy. But all I saw was an opportunity to weasel out of this date quickly.

  "If you feel that way, then we should perhaps part ways..."

  I began to rise, but her hand snapped on top of mine, and she tried to peer up through her eyelashes at me either in an attempt at being coy or to appear demonic. She failed at the first but achieved the latter so well my legs crumpled on their own. "I like that you kill people. It makes you bad."

  "But only a moment ago you said killing is wrong."

  "It is. Terrible and bad and no one should ever do it. Unless it's to save their one true love," she sighed heavily and leaned back, releasing my hand which felt sticky from her touch.

  "Then why continue to associate with someone whose life's work is ending lives?" I asked, embracing the descent into madness.

  She whispered, "Because it makes you a bad boy."

  Ancestors, I thought, smacking the back of my head against the chair. Not this dreck again. I am friendly with old ladies, I will chat up inquisitive toddlers who wish to share half eaten snacks, and I have even helped lost animals find their way back home. The only marking upon my body is from a vaccination shot that went awry, and a scar from when my lartimus became inflamed and had to be removed. I am the furthest thing from the bad boy trope one could find before running into sainthood. I also happen to have built a career of assassinating bad people who fell outside the law and that work requires a certain uniform composed of more leather than the average person wears.

  I shut my eyes, willing my self out of my body and to any other corner of the universe it could find. But a cold plate of wilted greens jarred me from the emptiness and my eyes opened to find Army gnawing so hard upon her lip a trickle of blood descended down her chin. I banished my eyes away from her face and poked into the limp lettuce, when her high voice called across the way.

  "And I bet I can change you."

  ***

  Orn's snort echoed through the kitchen as he jumped up to his feet. "I can change you, my big bad boy," he said in a high pitched voice, walking about on his tip toes as if he were in heels and swinging his arm wide. It was a pantomime of a womanhood that never existed but in the minds of men.

  "But if she changes you, then you won't be bad anymore. So she wouldn't want you," Variel said, resting her fist against her face, "It's a dating paradox. Someone alert the Time and Space enforcers!"

  Taliesin sighed and rolled his eyes to his sister. She'd been quiet, absorbing his words with the occasional shoulder tap of sympathy but there'd been no story tablet filling with sentences, no requests for a repeat of what he'd said. Maybe she really believed she'd been doing him good.

  "Oh, I can't read the menu," Orn's voice pitched so high it was nearly into the range only dogs could hear, "can this big strapping man come save me from all those cruel letters?"

  "But no killing them," Variel added, a very undignified smirk across her face.

  "Right, because killing is wrong. Only bad boys kill," Orn continued, "Mmmm, bad boys."

  "Do you intend to keep up this farce or shall I finish my story?"

  "Holy shit, there's more?" Orn said, dropping his voice and arm back into normal range. "I assumed you'd killed her and fed the body through the fryer. Then offed any witnesses and were hiding from the long thorax of the law."

  The Dwarf scurried back to his chair, pulling it closer to the elf, "Please, continue. This is getting good. Alloys, I wish I had some popcorn."

  ***

  She insisted upon a stroll through the exotic gardens built on the station. Exotic is code for a handful of trees, some weeds, a few of those pom pom like flowers, and one thorian. Yes, I attempted every excuse imaginable to get out of it. Not even talk of a rampaging case of inner ear fungus could pry her away. I tried to fall a few steps behind her, hoping to find a break or at least a dark corner to blend into, but she kept stumbling into impossibly minute debris and she fell back beside me. Upon her third splat to the ground, as she clung to my arm while rising to her feet she shrugged, "I'm a wee bit clumsy."

  I nodded as if she'd informed me she also couldn't breathe in the vacuum of space or hover freely in the air. Clumsy was, by a wide margin, a
n understatement. Her ability to discover the smallest misalignment in the sidewalk and turn that into near total limb collapse should be weaponized somehow.

  "Do you like to read?" she asked suddenly, switching up the conversation of listing every one of her faults building in my mind.

  "When I have the pleasure," I admitted. It'd been a busy few months on the killing people front and the light of a book did not blend well into shadows.

  She clapped her hands, not once but thrice, as if she were trying to smash a few wayward insects Her eyes grew disturbingly large, even for an elf. I was momentarily afraid they might pop from their sockets and dangle about on the stalks. "Me too! I adore the works of Shalan."

  "She is a classic for good reasons," I said, surprised to be sharing an intellectual moment with a woman who couldn't order a salad, "with an untouchable skill to delve into the elven condition and dance it upon a rhythmic scheme that many find impossible to master even into their tenth century."

  Her awed eyes didn't waver for a moment, as if every word I spoke tumbled into a shallow pool and evaporated in the sun of ignorance. "You know the best ode of all?"

  "I am partial to Malaceth myself. A bit on the ear given my profession, but the endless struggle of ones self upon what the path has set versus what one has inside the heart, what constitutes true evil, can we ever fight that which is predetermined is..." I trailed off as she hummed under her breath, ignoring my words. Sighing, I asked, "What is the best ode of all?"

  "Eliose and Alabard," she clutched her gloved hands to her chest and breathed heavily, "It's so romantic."

  I should have known. "A young adolescent seduced by her much older instructor who then fakes her own death to try and escape her father's attempts to free her from Alabard's grasp?"

  "Star crossed lovers," she sighed again, "meant to be together forever. Meeting across time and space to save themselves for each other."

  "You find a woman sent to an asylum for the havoc a half administered dose of poison wrought and a man castrated because of his crimes romantic?" my voice gurgled, as I slowed my steps terrified that her answer would be a giddy "yes," then the knives would come out.